"TOMORROW IS THE day," Edger boomed, one three fingered hand splayed flat against the trunk of the Tree. "The ship of the Elders shall descend with sample bay open and the lift active; it will be but a matter of a few hundred moments to adjust for Jelaza Kazone's necessity. We have spoken somewhat—the elder tree and I—and the vessel is ready to respectfully receive all into its interior."
Edger paused a short pause, thinking or watching or perhaps merely staring into the distance for some Clutch-required moment—and then continued in apparent haste.
"We have the coordinates for the new nesting place. There is no need for apprehension as Aelli has done the calculations. My brothers and I have consulted together, the boss kinsman of my brother and my sister has returned to put all into readiness. Thus, the work goes forth; art incarnate. Ephemeral and multi-stranded, it wends through time, space, and song, altering the very fabric of the universe. As I see, each day brings a new thread."
Miri stirred and squeezed Val Con's fingers. "Altering the fabric of the universe?" she whispered.
"Hyperbole," Val Con whispered back.
"Right."
There was a sound, somewhere beneath Edger's oration. Miri looked over her shoulder, and then turned—Val Con with her—staring at the apparition walking, none-too-steady, across the grass toward them, wary eyes on Edger.
She wasn't much more than a kid: undergrown, sharp-faced, and pale; her hair an uncertain sort of yellow, unruly rather than curly; dark eyes smudged by lack of sleep.
She stopped a couple paces away and bowed—out of mode and out of time, but, hell, the kid was dead on her feet. Her jacket told the story of how she'd gotten passed by security: Jump pilot.
"It is necessary that I speak to the delm of Korval, on business of the clan," she said, and her High Liaden was even worse than her bow.
Miri nodded—and blinked, feeling a rush of recognition from Val Con.
"Another one?" she complained, looking up at him.
"Shall you like odds?" he answered, and then nodded easily at the kid.
"You are addressing the delm of Korval," he said in Terran. "May we know your name?"
The kid frowned, equal parts irritation, exhaustion, and relief at not having to do the rest of conversation in Liaden.
"Theo Waitley," she said.
Apparently realizing that the name alone was a little scant, she added, "I'm here because my father's missing and he told me—he always told me to go the delm of Korval, if ever there was really bad trouble."
She paused, running one hand through her thoroughly draggled hair.
"My father's name is Jen Sar Kiladi. He teaches—"
"He teaches cultural genetics," Val Con interrupted, gently.
"Right. I mean, you might not think it was a big problem, if your father wasn't where you left him—"
"No, acquit me—I would think it a very large problem, indeed."
Theo might not have heard him; she swept on, caught up in the tide of her explanation. "But, he's never done anything like this before—just up and left, in the middle of the term and—" Her mouth tightened.
"I got trouble," she finished, "and since I can't find him . . . ."
"Well," Val Con murmured, eyes pointed over Theo's head.
Miri looked where he was looking, saw the tall shadow moving toward them from the house, and sighed.
"Theo," Val Con said; "please look behind you."
She blinked at him, then did what she was told.
"Father!" she shouted and leapt forward, slamming Daav into a full body hug.
"Father, where the hell have you been?"
Daav tousled the Jump pilot's hair, looking suddenly old.
"I have been busy, child, " he said, returning the hug. "Very busy."
He paused, and shook his head, Terran-style.
"I can't tell you how glad I am to see you, Theo. And sorry, as well."
"Sorry!" she looked startled—and afraid.
"Gently, child," Daav said, touching her cheek. "Sorry, because you would not be here if there wasn't really bad trouble."
She nodded. "It's kind of complicated," she started . . .