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CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

 
The cops called young Tor An to bail me out, which he did, right enough, and all according to co-pilot's duty. When we were free of the place, he read me such a scold as I haven't heard since nursery. Puppy.

He was right, too.

—Excerpted from Cantra yos'Phelium's Log Book

HE CHECKED, AND in that moment took note of her face, which was strained, pale, with black circles under her eyes, her muscles etched in exhaustion.

"Samiv, what has happened?" He hardly thought, answering Comrade with Comrade.

"I. . ." Her eyes filled and she glanced aside, blinking. "Forgive me."

"Freely—and you must return the grace at once. I am in desperate haste. Word has come that—one to whom I sit co-pilot may be in peril. I must be gone in moments."

She was a pilot: Guild rule was as natural to her as breath. Her eyes leapt to his.

"Of course, you must go at once! I will—" She gasped, eyes widening.

"Hold, you say the Caylon is in peril?"

Daav lifted an eyebrow. "And who told you, I wonder, that I am the Caylon's co-pilot?"

She moved a hand. "The tape was on in the Guildroom when I came through. In what way is she imperilled?"

Daav felt his face tighten. "An illegal attempt was made to seal her ship. Last report was that she had gone to treat with the party involved. Who is known to have beaten her in the past."

He had not thought it possible for Samiv to pale further.

"I see," she said, flatly. "Who flies with you?"

"There is only myself here, and to tarry even for my cha'leket seemed wasteful of minutes."

"Which I have now wasted for you." She moved forward, resolute. "By your leave, I will sit your second. If the peril is extreme, I may be of use."

And so she might be, he allowed, if Aelliana . . . 

"Quickly, then," he said, and spun toward the door.

 

RAN ELD DID NOT come down to Prime, but was served in his apartment, as was his custom when the delm was from home. Voni sat at the head of the table, as was her custom when the delm was from home, though she displayed appetite for neither her dinner nor the game of correcting her junior's manners. But, thought Sinit, it might be that she pined for her favorite target of ridicule.

Sinit considered asking after news of Aelliana's return. Indeed, she spent some minutes as she drank her soup, examining phrasing appropriate to the task. In the end, however, nothing seemed quite safe enough to venture. She did not think either Voni or Ran Eld knew of the amazing and adventurous life Aelliana lived, over on the other side of the world, as neither was an aficionado of the news wires, and they would not, Sinit vowed, hear of it from her.

It was of course, terribly exciting to learn that Aelliana regularly flew with Daav yos'Phelium, as reported on the pilot's wire. Sinit had taken advantage of her trip the library that afternoon to look Daav yos'Phelium up in the newest edition of the Book of Clans.

Korval Himself sat co-pilot to Aelliana, which was honor to Mizel, but Voni would only see that Korval's attention belonged to her and Aelliana had stolen her rights. Ran Eld would say something vile and perhaps slap Aelliana for rising above her place. Ran Eld did strike Aelliana, Sinit had seen him do so, twice, no matter if the delm chose to hear of it.

"This dinner is vile!" Voni snapped from the head of the table. "Really, the cook takes liberties with my good nature when the delm is from home!" She rose, flinging her napkin into her soup bowl.

"You may continue, if you can stomach such swill!" she told Sinit. "I shall retire to my room. I have a headache. Pray, disturb me for no one!"

Sinit looked up at her. "All right. May I have your popover, then? Mine was excellent."

"Repellant brat," Voni uttered, and swept tragically from the room.

 

STRAIGHT FROM THE lawn they lifted, the little craft hurtling upward with no such niceties as gradual acceleration. Korval flew a brutal course, at a trajectory only a Scout would think sane. Samiv kept her board, exhaustion dissolved by adrenaline.

"Can you tell me now," he said softly, hands quick and certain on his controls, "what it is I must help you resolve?"

She swallowed, eyes on the readouts, and it helped, someway, not to have to meet his gaze as she said it.

"I . . . dream. Frightening dreams. The Healers—send me to face my terror."

There was a small pause. "Which is myself?"

"No." She licked her lips. "I—believe—it is your Tree." She took a breath, fighting tears that came all too easily, these last days. "I resigned my contract on Luda Soldare—I could not sleep, my reactions are—in question. I could not endanger the ship. . ."

"Of course not," he agreed and it was uncannily comforting, hearing that said in his deep, rough voice. Samiv closed her eyes briefly, opened them again to the necessity of her board.

"One's delm desires the alliance, of course. I—I would ask your leave to—before the lines are signed—to approach the Tree and—and assure myself that it is—only—a tree."

"Ah. But it is not, you know, only a tree." He was silent for a moment, then, "Is your delm aware that you have brought this to me?"

She looked over to him; saw only the side of his face, and the quick, sure hands on the board.

"My delm is—certain—the dreams will abate, once the contract is signed."

"I see." He sighed, and flicked her another of his bold, uninforming looks. "Your board to me, if you will. Thank you. In regard to our present mission—there is a firearm in the pocket beside you. It would be best to check it now, so there are no surprises, if you must use it."

She stared at him, at the eyes that told her nothing. "You think—"

He moved his head from side to side. "We may find that all is well, in which case we will merely be called upon to drink tea and display our manners."

Samiv pulled the gun from its nest. "But you do not expect that."

"I don't," he said gently. "All my life, I've been plagued by hunches. From time to time, one does prove to be merely indigestion." He cast her a glance that seemed rather too full of amusement. "Korval is mad, you know."

Samiv looked down and cracked the gun.

 

SOMEWHERE IN THE beatitude of equations, a chime sounded. Sometime later, there was light.

Aelliana detached a portion of her attention from the problem of the retrograde planet and raised heavy arms, stiff fingers groping against—nothing.

The dome of the Learning Module was open. It took a moment to understand the significance of that.

She was free.

Free belonged to the subset of things which are precious beyond rubies.

Aelliana flung herself up, crying out as her body simultaneously reported every bruise she had gained from her encounter with her brother, and the additional information that she was hideously thirsty.

The room reeled. She clawed the staggered data into sense, lurched toward a low table, hefted a heavy vase full of wilting flowers and lurched back to the Learning Module.

Flowers and solution went into the program box, which fizzed, smoked and popped. She raised the vase in both hands, swung it at the control dials. Her first attempt failed to connect; the force of the missed blow kicked her legs out from under her and she went face-first into the carpet.

Gagging, she clawed her way to her knees, got her hands around the vase once more and smashed at the controls.

The blow connected, hard enough to dent the faceplate. Aelliana whimpered, the controls twisting in and out of perspective. She raised the vase, staring at the main dial, forcing herself to see it through the images that flickered and flashed before her mind's eye. The dial steadied and she swung with all her might.

Glass broke, instrumentation screamed, shrilly, and went silent.

Aelliana dropped the vase, hung onto the edge of the Learning Module and lurched to her feet, staring round at a room that spun out of sense, objects pulsating, edges attenuating into nothingness, the image of a star system she had never seen superimposed over everything and she struggled—struggled to recall. Something. Something—important.

It was dim in the room . . . dark outside the gaping window. Something. Numbers, strung together in the shape of a personal comm code, and a deep, beloved voice, whispering from memory, "Call me, Aelliana, should you have need. . ."

There was a comm in the study. She knew that. Over—over by the window. Yes. She could see the window, through the pulsating stars. First one foot. . .

She fell over a table, lost her balance and hit the floor amid an avalanche of bric-a-brac. Panting, she got to her knees, oriented herself and crawled the rest of the way to the window. Once there, she pulled herself upright with the aid of a built in bookcase, put her hand flat on its top surface and inched forward, feeling for the comm.

Her fingers touched cool plastic. She bit her lip. Numbers. Daav's comm code. All she need do was code the number into the comm, here beneath her hand. Daav would help her.

Thought formed. There was danger. Danger in using the house comm. Scouts. Ran Eld. Ran Eld would harm Daav.

She must not call.

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Framed