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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

 
Delm's Discretionary Account Three, The Pilots Fund. Established for the aid and succor of pilots and former pilots, regardless of clan, race or lineage. Profit margin of funding stocks no less than forty percent.

—From Korval's Account Ledgers, Discretionary Monies

THIS TIME SHE WOULD not elude him.

Ran Eld waited in the shadow of the main staircase, ears straining for the sound of stealthy footsteps.

He had determined to follow her yesterday and the day before yesterday, only to find upon arising that she had quit the house hours before, leaving behind insolent messages about engagements to dine elsewhere. Very well.

Today, she would not elude him.

He would follow her to the Scout and deal with that. Then, he would escort her home, and deal with that.

In the shadow of the staircase, Ran Eld smiled.

It was plain that Aelliana wanted disciplining—oh, badly. She so far forgot herself as to disobey a direct order from one who was both her elder and her superior—then flaunted her disobedience, daring him to do what was no more than his duty. For the good of the clan.

The fact that disciplining this most dangerous of siblings would give him positive delight was to Ran Eld's way of thinking no more than just. Aelliana should not be delm. It was a sad pity that the old delm, their grandmother, had put such a notion into the girl's head. The idea was ludicrous on the face of it. He was nadelm, in every way his sister's superior.

Which he would prove, as often as necessary.

He considered that his first attempt at bringing this point home had been successful. One year of marriage to Ran Eld's friend had produced ten years of quite satisfactory behavior in Ran Eld's sister. To be sure, it had occasionally been necessary to administer certain—remedial—lessons, but that was expectable, even—enjoyable. Ten years for one was a good investment of time and funds, so he flattered himself.

From the landing above came the lightest of footsteps.

Ran Eld half-crouched in his dim niche, eagerness shortening his breath. The footsteps continued their light path, across the landing, down the remaining stairs. He smiled and dared to lean just slightly out of his hiding place, to better see—

His delm.

He shifted sharply in disappointment, boot heel scraping against marble floor.

Birin Caylon turned. Seething, Ran Eld slipped out of the niche and made his bow.

"Mother."

"My son." She inclined her head, appearing to find nothing unusual in either the time or the place of their meeting. Indeed, she smiled. "I am fortunate to find you about so early. Break your fast with me, if you have not already eaten. I have completed my study of your analysis regarding San bel'Fasin's offer of partnership and I believe you may be interested in the decision."

So. Ran Eld bowed once more to hide his smile of triumph. "I am, as always, at your service, ma'am," he said and followed her into the dining hall, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Tea had barely been poured when he heard footsteps on the stair, and saw a slim shadow flicker across the half-open doorway. Half a heartbeat later, the front door moaned on its hinges, and snapped softly shut.

 

AELLIANA STRODE DOWN Mechanic Street, head high and face glowing. She was to train with Trilla this morning, after which she was to lift with Jon himself, who had sworn to put her through an emergency drill like no other.

The door cycled and she stepped into the huge dim cavern of Binjali Repair Shop.

Around the teapot was a cluster of leather-clad figures: Jon, Trilla, Clonak—and a tall man, dark hair clipped neatly back, silver twist swinging in one ear, cat sitting tall on his opposite shoulder.

Aelliana felt her heart lift; she very nearly laughed for the sheer joy of beholding him.

As if he heard her unvoiced joy, he turned, a smile lighting his eyes.

"Hello, Aelliana."

"Daav." Her own smile felt wide enough to split her face. "It's good to see you."

"It's good to be seen," he returned gravely and she did laugh then, standing before him with her face tipped up to his.

"Good comes in odd packages," Jon commented from his stool.

"Jon scolds me for carrying Patch," Aelliana told Daav, reaching up to offer the cat a finger. "He says I'll spoil him."

"The damage has long been done, I fear," he replied as Patch bent his head and allowed her to rub his ears.

"Spoil a cat when there are the rest of us, hungering for a smile!" That was Clonak.

Aelliana finished the cat's ear and stepped forward. "Good morning, Clonak."

"Good-morning, goddess fair! Will you rub my ears?"

She made a show of giving it consideration, head cocked to one side. "No."

"Heart-torn again! Hold me, Daav, I'm bereft!"

"Perhaps if you grew fur on them?" Daav suggested, not noticeably moved by this plea for comradeship.

Clonak glared. "Mock me, oh Captain."

"If you insist."

"The pirates' delm came," Aelliana said, turning back to Daav, "and fetched them home." She grinned, throwing a glance over her shoulder to Jon. "Or mostly."

He snorted. "Ring-and-monkey show."

Daav smiled down at her, one eyebrow slightly askew. "I surmise that they were not clanless, after all?"

"Not—entirely," she said, slowly. "It did seem to be all in a muddle. But the end of it is that they shall come here to work off—work off a debt Delm Reptor feels most strongly is owing, for Jon having given good wages for grunt-work. In the meanwhile, they—the pirates—shall live under Reptor's roof and—and—strive to—amend their difference." She looked up at him. "Or so he said."

"Ah. And do you believe what he has said, I wonder?"

She frowned, chewing her lip. "Yes," she said finally, "I do. He seemed an honest man—and honestly joyed to find them." She lay her hand on his sleeve and smiled. "It was good of you to send him."

Both brows shot up. "I?"

"Well, it must have been you," she said reasonably. "He knew exactly where to come, and asked for me by name. Jon didn't tell him, nor Trilla nor Clonak. I certainly didn't—I hadn't the least idea of how to go about finding their clan! So—"

"When you have eliminated the impossible," Daav murmured, in Terran, "whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

Aelliana blinked at him. "I beg your pardon?"

He grinned. "An observation by a Mr. Holmes, I believe, on the nature of solutions."

"The game is afoot!" Clonak shouted, clattering off his stool with a flourish. He looked to Jon. "I'll get on that maintenance update, if you like."

"Always after the sit-down job," the old Scout grumbled. Clonak laughed and headed toward the office, flipping a casual hand at the rest. Patch jumped from Daav's shoulder and followed.

Across the half-circle, Trilla slid to her feet and tossed Aelliana a grin. "Set for a bit of dancing, pilot?"

"If you have the patience for me," she said. "I am aware I cannot give the challenge you might like."

The other woman laughed as she unbuckled her tool belt. "Oh, and can you not?" She turned to the dark haired man as if she'd heard him speak. "Just a bit of menfri'at, Master Daav. No harm in it. Quite of a bit of good."

He inclined his head. "As you say."

He watched them walk away, noting the set of Aelliana's shoulders, the light, confident walk.

"Hard to believe that's the same woman slunk in here half-a-quarter ago and whispered for her ship," Jon commented from his side. Daav looked down into a pair of speculative amber eyes.

"We'll have her brawling in taverns before the year is done," he agreed, watching Aelliana shed her jacket and face Trilla across sub-bay one. "Fine work, Master Jon."

"Now, now, I can't take all the credit. It was a certain young captain set her feet on the path by handing her a bowli ball and telling her to fight."

Daav laughed. "Cow-handed as that? Poor captain."

"Well, as I say, he's young, but his ideas aren't too bad. Usually."

Trilla's first pass was fast and low—rather faster and lower than he would have expected. He felt his own muscles tense as Aelliana slipped gently to the left, sidestepping the attack and spinning, establishing her rhythm and the range of her dance.

"How long has this been going on?" he asked Jon.

"Matter of two days."

"She's good."

"Not bad. The fast stuff don't bother her, but come at her hard, like you're going to do damage and damn me if she won't back down every time." Jon sighed. "Never did hear who beats her."

The crew door cycled and Daav looked around in time to see Sed Ric bin'Ala and Yolan pel'Kirmin step through. They came forward, the girl to the boy's right, stopped and made their bows.

"Captain."

"Children. Pilot Caylon tells me you are joyfully re-clanned."

Yolan made no answer to that, though the look she flung him held no amazing charge of joy. The boy was likewise somber, but replied courteously enough, "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Show the captain here your toy, young Sed Ric," Jon directed, pointing at the boy's belt. "Look at this, Daav."

The jang-wire came out with a flash and a snap, held in the down position, limp and almost pretty.

"Hah." Daav extended a hand. "May I?"

Sed Ric offered the leather handle and Daav slid his fingers into the loop.

"I believe this may be original," he said and went back a sudden, silent step, snapping the wire up and flicking his wrist, so.

The limp wire went stiff, becoming an arm's length of double-edged blade, Daav grinned, shook the blade carefully and handed the quiescent weapon back to its owner.

"Very nice, indeed. Where did you come by it?"

"Uncle Lip Ten left it to us," Yolan said, "in a crate of things he'd gathered, star-hopping. Aunt Fris said it was junk and wished us joy of it."

"Doubtless Aunt Fris has other virtues," Daav murmured and Yolan laughed, short and bitter. Over in sub-bay one, Aelliana spun and kicked, dancing neatly away from Trilla's snaking grab.

"What—" Daav began, but the question was never finished.

"Aelliana!" Clonak was on a dead run from the office, face, for once, entirely serious. "Aelliana!"

In the circle of the dance, she spun, dropped her stance and came forward.

"What is it?"

"Tower on the line. Fellow on Outyard Five toppled into the mechanics. Autodoc mended the worst, but his heart failed him. Can you lift the spare and the health tech—"

"Yes!" She snatched up her jacket. Clonak was already on his way back to the office.

"Daav." She paused before him, hand on his sleeve, green eyes bright as she looked into his face. "Ride second board for me?"

Adrenaline surged. He grinned. "Yes."

"Thank you," she said, and was gone, running at the top of her speed.

In the next instant, Daav was likewise gone, his shadow merging with hers as the crew door closed.

 

THE DELM HAD DECIDED against a partnership with bel'Fasin.

Oh, she had reasons, and gave them in-depth, her wish, she said, was to instruct him, so that when he was come delm. . .

He scarcely attended her; sat, cold and disbelieving, while she spoke—rambling, meaningless sentences that meant, in final cipher, one thing:

He was ruined.

In his apartment abovestairs, Ran Eld riffled accounts that had been squeezed dry years ago, called up balance sheets and dismissed them, his hands shaking so badly he must make two and three attempts to strike the proper key.

At length, he rose from his desk, poured himself a brandy and wandered the room, wracking his brain for something—for anything—he might sell or take loan against, that would keep San bel'Fasin at bay.

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