The Dragon Variation (63 page)

Yolan sighed. She hated the service corridors; the hot dark gave her horrors, calling forth ghosts and hobgoblins from childhood stories. There were no ghosts or goblins, of course. She knew that. The world held far more terrible things than mere monsters. Cops, for instance. Port proctors, for another. Not to mention angry marks who had won a game they had no business to win and were now cheated of their cash.

"Here." Sed Ric's voice rasped in her ear.

"Right. Stay close." She found his hand and held it—to lead him, she told herself fiercely—and groped her way toward the cross-hall.

Slowly, she moved forward, free hand extended, fingers touching the wall. The wall ended, her fingers stroked emptiness—

Something grabbed her hand.

Yolan screamed.

"Well," an amused masculine voice said. "What a noise." Light snapped on and Yolan blinked, gasping into silence.

Before them stood the very marks she and Sed Ric had just rooked of their rightful winnings. The man, with his sharp, foxy face and his worn leathers, looked infuriatingly amused, though his fingers, now around Yolan's arm, were surprisingly strong.

The pale-haired woman held a portable light, and she looked angry, her eyes cat-green in the sudden brightness.

"What clans own you?" she demanded as Sed Ric stepped up to Yolan's side.

Yolan moved her shoulders. "We own ourselves."

The green eyes widened.
Shocked her
, Yolan thought, with a twist of bitter satisfaction.

"You're clanless?" the woman asked, casting a look at her tall friend.

"More profit to ourselves," Sed Ric said, "than the clan ever showed."

"Playing tourists for two dex a round?" the man drawled, dark eyes showing something Yolan thought uneasily was not amusement. "And running when it's time to pay?"

"We usually play for higher stakes," Sed Ric said, as Yolan snapped, "We don't often lose!"

"Hah." The man looked from one to the other, moved his shoulders and glanced at his partner. "Well, Pilot? You had wanted them."

"If you want your four dex," Sed Ric, with a calm Yolan knew he was a long way from feeling, "we'll pay now."

"After we've chased you and shaken it out of you," the pale-haired woman said ironically. "How kind." Her bright eyes moved from Yolan's face to Sed Ric's. "In truth, you are clanless?"

"
Yes
," Yolan hissed, and felt the man's fingers tighten around her arm.

"Grace to the pilot, Clanless," he said softly, and Yolan swallowed, abruptly cold.

"Where do you live, then?" the pale-haired pilot demanded.

Yolan clenched her jaw.

"I expect that they had been sleeping in a wayroom," the fox-faced man said. "I also expect the rent on the cot came due today, and that the money they stole from you, Pilot, was meant to buy it tonight." He sounded bored.

"Is that true?" the woman asked.

It was Sed Ric who answered. "True," he said, trying to sound as bored as the man. He didn't quite succeed.

There was silence, stretching long. Yolan tensed against the man's hand; froze at his lifted brow.

"What shall you do, if we let you go?" the woman asked quietly.

Yolan looked away.
On the Port tonight
, she thought dismally, clenching her jaw tight. No place to sleep and nothing to eat, unless the luck smiled. They could always walk a bit further south, slip over the line into the Low Port. There might be something to gain there. But Low Port was dangerous . . .

"Low Port, is it, Clanless?" If anything, the man sounded more bored than previously. He looked at Sed Ric. "Will you sell your lady here to the first bidder, or were you planning to sell yourself and leave her without a partner?"

Sed Ric's jaw tightened. "We don't have to cross the line."

"No? Well, it's your life, free as you are of the restrictions of House and, apparently, honor." He said carelessly, though his grip on Yolan's arm never slackened.

The pilot stirred. "Will you play an honest game?" she demanded, her eyes wide and half-wild in the glow of her torch. "Or are you thieves, and craven?"

"We'll play," Yolan snarled and Sed Ric said, "What's the game?"

"Take the four dex and buy a bed," the pilot said sharply. "Tomorrow dawn show yourselves to Master dea'Cort at Binjali Repair Shop in Mechanic Street, Upper Port. Tell him that Aelliana Caylon thought you might be of use. You tell him, too, to keep four dex out of whatever wages he might care to grant you and put it aside, to repay a debt of honor." She fixed them both with a stern eye. "You're still game?"

Yolan hesitated, looking for the trap; it was Sed Ric who said, "Still game."

"Good." The pilot stepped back, dimming the torch. Her mate released Yolan's arm and likewise went back, clearing the way to the exit hatch.

"That's it?" demanded Sed Ric. "That's the whole game?"

"Something more," the man said, taking the pilot's hand and flicking a quick smile down into her thin face. "Over on Scorn Street there's a grab-a-bite called Varl's. You know it?"

"Yes," said Yolan.

"Go over now and order yourselves a meal—high-quality protein, and solid carbohydrate, mind me! Tell the counter help to add it to Daav's chit."

"But, why?" demanded Yolan, horrified to find herself close to tears. She hadn't cried in—in—Sed Ric's hand came up to grip her shoulder; she bit her lip and blinked.

"Why not?" returned the man, amusement back in the foxy face.

"At least work long enough to pay back what you owe," the woman said. "If you've no delm to look to, how much more closely must you mind your own
melant'i
?"

Yolan stared at her, torn between a desire to laugh and to fling herself into the thin arms and wail.

In the end, she did neither, merely took Sed Ric's hand and inclined her head gravely.

"Good evening, gentles."

"Good evening," the man returned, and "Take good care," said the woman.

They walked away, scarcely comprehending what had happened, triggered the hatch at the end of the hallway and slipped out into the night.

After a moment, Daav and Aelliana followed.

SHE SHIVERED
as they came out into the street and Daav looked at her in concern. "You're cold."

"A little," she admitted, handing him the torch and watching him stow it in his belt pouch. She shivered again. "I left my overshirt on the—Dear gods."

He turned, following the direction of her eyes, seeing the crowd, the clutter of kiosks, the ship-board, the clock—

"The time," she whispered urgently. "Daav, I
must
go home."

He flicked another look at the clock and did a rapid calculation. "We can make the next ferry. Can you run?"

"Yes!" she answered and they wasted no more words. Hand in hand they crossed the plaza, running quick and pilot smooth, and hurtled down a side street.

Each clan is independent and each delm law within his House. Thus, one goes gently into the House of another clan. One speaks soft and bows low. It is not amiss to bear a gift.

—Excerpted from the
Liaden Code of Proper Conduct
 

"DAAV,
there is not the slightest necessity for you to escort me. I am quite accustomed to riding the ferry."

"Ah," he said, neither perturbed nor persuaded by this argument. He maintained his position at her side, fingers laced in hers, waiting for the gate to slide away and admit them into the Chonselta Ferry.

The holding platform was crowded, nor were all who waited perfectly sober. Daav had detected at least two pickpockets, discreetly working the edge of the crowd. He nudged Aelliana closer to the gate, deliberately adopting the stance of a man prepared to argue right of place with his fists. The crowd shifted, grumbled—and let them by.

Beside him, she shivered. He glanced down, frowning at the thin silk shirt.

"Let me give you my jacket, Aelliana, you're cold." He moved—stopped in something very near awe when she lay a quick hand against his chest, looking up at him with a laugh, her eyes outdazzling the platform's spotlight.

"I'll soon be in the ferry, and warm. My friend, you cannot have considered. To give me escort to Chonselta means four hours gone from a night already far advanced. I shall be perfectly fine."

Behind them, a mutter of conversation, the ugly edge of drunkenness clear to a trained ear.

"My company wearies you?" he asked, meaning it for a joke. Aelliana-like, however, she chose to hear it as serious and honor him with an answer.

"Your company is—a joy," she said, with her nearly Scout-like frankness. "I—Daav, I—cannot—offer you hospitality of the house. To have you journey so far in my behalf and be constrained to return without even a cup of tea—It shows poorly on the clan, yet I dare not—"

She was beginning to tense, the foggy misery moving into the edges of her eyes.
Damn them,
he thought, with concise, futile fury. Aelliana shrank back as if she had heard the thought, hand falling from his chest, eyes widening in alarm.

Gods, he must be sliding into idiot ineptitude, that his anger at her clan showed plain enough to frighten her! He conjured a smile, quirked an eyebrow.

"And an ill-mannered fellow I'd look, indeed, rousing the house to do the pretty at this hour of the day! My desire to escort you is utterly selfish, Aelliana—I could not sleep a moment, without knowing you were safe at home." He let the smile widen to a grin. "Indulge me."

Her alarm faded in a sigh that was also a laugh; her fingers tightening, unconsciously, he thought, about his.

"Indeed, I am—glad—of your escort," she said, tipping her head toward the rising discussion behind.

"Then the matter is settled," he said, at which moment the gate slid wide and all his thought went to shielding her from rude jostlings and locating well-placed seats.

"DO YOU THINK
they're really clanless?"

Daav retracted the shock webbing and turned in his seat. Aelliana looked up at him from her place against the bulkhead, worry plain in her face.

"Something is certainly—wrong," he said carefully, wishing neither to influence her to a chancy course, now she had time for cooler reflection, nor lose the children her friendship, was she yet disposed to grant it.

"Possibly something is very wrong. Whether they are in fact clanless . . ." He moved his shoulders. "I had been trying to recall. It seems to me that there have not been any casting-outs listed in
The Gazette
this
relumma
, and I don't think they can have been on the port longer—even granting them extraordinary luck."

She sighed, settling her shoulders against the metal wall. "They're no older than Sinit," she murmured. "And to be without kin on Liad, and no hope of going elsewhere . . ." Her mouth tightened. "Will Jon be angry? I hardly know how I dared, except that Binjali's is so—safe—and I had thought . . . But to put Jon's
melant'i
at peril—that was ill-done."

"If Jon considers you've put his
melant'i
at peril, he shall not be shy of explaining the matter to you. In the meanwhile, if they go to him and present you as their patron, he's certain to keep them by until you can explain the matter to him."

"If they go," she repeated. "You think they will not?"

"They may," Daav said gently. "Or they may not. That rides upon their
melant'i
."

She was silent for a moment, her eyes on his, before reaching out and taking his hand.

"It is the custom," she said, as much perhaps for her own benefit as for his, "to shun the clanless and withhold any aid."

"Merely custom and not law," he returned calmly. "The Code, not the Council."

"Ah," she smiled, very slightly. "Yet another concept to master." She squeezed his fingers. "It was kind in you to feed them."

He returned both her smile and the pressure of her fingers. "Little enough to do—and not the first time Varl has had the feeding of my stray puppies. Scouts, you know . . ."

Aelliana chuckled; raised her free hand to cover a sudden yawn.

"Your pardon," she murmured, and then, more strongly: "Now, tell me what was in that pod, if you please!"

He laughed softly and settled back in his seat. "Why, only a comet."

"A comet!"

He smiled at her disbelief. "You've heard of Losiar's Survey? Not many have—it's ancient history, and Terran history, at that." He shook his head.

"Mr. Losiar, you see, was wealthy, of scientific bent, and quite, quite mad. Over time, he became convinced that the—how did he have it?—that the 'building blocks of the universe' might be discovered in the hearts of comets. Convinced, he acted, and outfitted hundreds of drone ships to go forth and capture all the comets in the galaxy, or near enough, and bring them back for study." He sighed.

"Alas, Mr. Losiar died testing an anti-gravity machine he had invented soon after the last drone left Terran space. His ships full of comets are still found, now and again. Most use them for target practice."

"So there was ice and particles in that pod," Aelliana said slowly, "and when you blew it open—"

"The children found themselves flying through the center of a comet. Disconcerting."

Her laugh turned into a second yawn, and that yawn became a third, belatedly covered with a languid hand.

"I do beg your pardon. I cannot think why I should be so tired."

"After all," Daav said ironically, "you have only been flying since Solcintra dawn, not to mention a port walk and an engagement with pirates."

She grinned, eyelids heavy. "True. I had—" another yawn interrupted her.

"Sleep, if you like," Daav said, knowing it was scandalous and out-of-Code. Yet why should she struggle to stay awake when she was so tired and there was her copilot at hand to guard her?

"I think I shall," said Aelliana, rather muzzily, and without further ado released his hand and settled herself closer into the chair.

* * *

SNUG AGAINST THE bulkhead,
with himself between her and the aisle, Aelliana slept.