Liaden - Conflict Of Honors Part 5

Really, she thought, if you don't expect him to look Liaden, he's not ugly at all.

Certainly he was not an ill-made person. Beneath the wide-sleeved s.h.i.+rt his shoulders were level and broad, his back straight without being rigid. The big hands moved with graceful economy on the keypad, and Priscilla did not think they would be babysoft like Rusty Morgenstem's.

Abruptly he nodded, leaned back, and extended a long arm for his gla.s.s. The slanting brows pulled sharply together as he looked up. "Does Sav Rid have delusions of grandeur? Sit, sit. Have you eaten?

Will you drink? Did you sleep well?"

Priscilla considered him. "I don't know. Thank you. Yes. No. Very. Did you?"

"Not too badly," he said, raising his gla.s.s. "Though Mr. Saunderson's idea of a party is a bit risque. We played charades. And sang rounds. The youngest Ms. Saunderson attempted to elicit my promise to wed her when she comes of age." He shook his head. "Alas, it seems clear she is more enamored of adventuring about the galaxy than she is of my elegant person, so there's a brilliant match gone begging. I have your test scores. Are you interested in discussing them now?"

Priscilla made an effort to settle her stomach firmly in place. "Yes, sir."

He ran his fingers in a quick series over the keys. "Physics, math, astrogation-yes, yes, yes. Colors red, colors blue, taste in books-yes?" He glanced up. "Prebatout. You recall the question? 'How many toes should a prebatout have?' And here is Priscilla Mendoza saying, 'As many as it feels comfortable with.'

I've only known one other person to answer that particular question that way."

"Have you?" Priscilla asked, hands ice-cold. "Was she a suspected thief, too?"

"Thief? No, a scout. Though, come to think of it, the two trades might have some similarities. I've never considered it in that light. I'll ask, the next time I see him..." He returned to the screen, humming to himself.

Priscilla curled her fingers carefully around the armrests, refusing to rise to the bait-if it was bait-of his last comment. Let him talk, since he seemed to like it so much.

He moved his shoulders, gave the keypad a final tap, and leaned back. "You don't have a pilot's license?

That won't do, will it? Let me see... forty-eight crew members, counting the captain-eight of them pilots. Too few by far. You'll have to study, Ms. Mendoza. I insist on it. Every ninth s.h.i.+ft you'll be on the bridge for lessons."

"Wait a minute." She took a breath. "You're signing me on? As a pilot?"

"As a pilot?" he repeated blankly. "No, how could I do that? You're not a pilot, are you, Ms. Mendoza?

That's why you'll need to take lessons. Certification's no problem. I'm rated master, all conditions-is something wrong?"

"Forgive me," she said carefully. "I thought you were captain. And Master Trader, of course. You're a pilot, too?"

"A little of this, a little of that. The Pa.s.sage is a family enterprise, after all. Owned and operated by Clan Korval. And piloting runs in the blood, so to speak. I got my first cla.s.s when I was sixteenStandards-been ratable for a few years before that, of course. Did my first solo on this s.h.i.+p when I was fourteen-but rules are rules, and they clearly state that no one may be certified until sixteen Standards.

But I was saying-what was I saying? Oh, yes. Since I'm a master pilot, there won't be any delay once you earn your certification. Are you certain you haven't got a license, Ms. Mendoza? Third cla.s.s, perhaps?"

"I'm certain, Captain." Things were moving too fast; the torrent of words was threatening to unmoor her fragile hold on serenity. "Just what will my position be?"

"Hmm? Oh-pet librarian."

"Pet librarian?"

"We have a very nice pet library," he told her gravely. "Now, details. We're nearly half done with the route. I can offer you flat rate from Jankalim to Solcintra-approximately a tenth-cantra upon docking.

You'd be eligible for the low-man share of any bonus the s.h.i.+p might earn from this point on-finder's fees and special awards are the same for everyone, based on profit of found cargo and merit, as judged by the majority of the crew." He raised his gla.s.s. "Questions?"

She had a myriad of them, but only one was forthcoming. "Why," she demanded irritably, "do you keep waving that gla.s.s around if you never drink from it?"

He grinned. "But I do drink from it. Sometimes. More questions?"

She sighed. "How much will the s.h.i.+p charge for pilot training?"

"If you fail to report for training every ninth s.h.i.+ft, the captain will dock you twentybits. Three unexcused or unexplained absences will be grounds for immediate termination of your contract. Understand, please, Ms. Mendoza, that pilot training is an essential part of your duties while you are a member of this crew. I will not allow abandonment of that duty-the penalties are quite in earnest." He paused, his light eyes gauging her face. "You do understand?"

"Yes, Captain." She bit her lip. "It's only that I've been charged for training on every other s.h.i.+p I served on-and pursued it during my free time. Daxflan denied me permission to continue training while I s.h.i.+pped on her."

"Sav Rid, Sav Rid." He shook his head. "However, this is not Daxflan, and her rules do not apply here.

Now. Your supervisor-no. The s.h.i.+p will extend you credit for a Standard week's worth of clothing, to be reckoned against your share at the end of the route. Please draw what you need from general stores.

Your supervisor will be Lina Faaldom, who is chief librarian."

"I met her last night-"

"Yes? She will introduce you to the residents of the pet library and acquaint you with your duties there. I don't believe the work to be arduous, so you'll be expected to take on other duties as necessary. Janice Weatherbee will be your piloting instructor. If she is called elsewhere upon occasion, I will take her place. I believe that's everything. Are the terms agreeable to you?"

"Since I was almost certain I'd be back on Jankalim this morning, yes, Captain, the terms are agreeable to me." She paused, studying his face. Sometime during the interview the fear had dissipated, leaving her limp and slowly warming. "Do you really need a pet librarian?"

"Well, we didn't have one," he said, spinning the screen toward her. "So I guess we do. Palmprint here, please."Shan yos'Galan was tipped back in his chair, arms folded behind his head, eyes apparently resting on the crystalline mobile hanging in the far corner of the ceiling. The expression on his face was one of dreamy stupidity. He did not glance around at the hissing of the door; he did not even seem aware that he was no longer alone in the room.

Kayzin Ne'Zame knew better than to be deceived by appearances. She sat in the seat that Priscilla Mendoza had recently vacated, her spine two inches from the chair back, and frowned at his profile.

"You've signed her on?" she demanded in the High Tongue, each syllable icy with disapproval.

"I did say that it was my intention to sign her on," the man reminded the mobile gently and in Terran. He spun the chair lazily around, unfolded his arms, and sat up. "What is it, Kayzin?"

"She is too beautiful." The Terran words were no less cold.

"But that's not her fault, is it? People can't choose their faces, can they? If they can, I want to know why I wasn't told about it."

The older woman regarded him with something perilously close to amus.e.m.e.nt. "I am, in fact, to pity her."

"What harm can it do?"

"What harm! You ask it? Or is it the game again? Do not trouble yourself, I beg you..." She paused, visibly taking herself in hand. "And what harm is it-to the s.h.i.+p, to the crew, to your Clan, and to Shan yos'Galan-should Sav Rid Olanek prove clever as, well as dishonorable? What harm, should this so-pitiful, so-beautiful woman prove to be a tool in his hands-a blade at your throat? What harm-"

"Kayzin..." The big hands made a soothing motion; concern for her showed in his face.

She slumped back in her chair. "Shan, it is my last trip. I prefer it to be an uneventful one."

"There's no reason for it to be otherwise, old friend. Why should Sav Rid want to plant a-what? spy?

a.s.sa.s.sin?-on the Pa.s.sage? He's had his coup-and a very fine laugh. There's no reason for him to go to such trouble. No reason to think of the affair at all, except to chuckle and extend the story in port taverns as proof of Shan yos'Galan's rabid foolishness." He grinned wryly. "And he's not too far off the mark, is he?"

She gestured, speechless.

"You worry too much, Kayzin-and without cause. Circ.u.mstance, synchronicity-I don't believe Sav Rid would wish Priscilla Mendoza here, a.s.suming he wished her any place at all, except, perhaps, dead.

I think it more likely that he acted twice as opportunity dictated. It's interesting-but not impossible-that the victims of both actions should come together."

"It is also not impossible that Olanek has grown wary-or even that he has grown greedy. What a coup for him, should he bring Korval entire to its knees..."

Shan's brows pulled together. "Do you really think he could? Not that he doesn't have the potential for being that greedy-or that reckless. Kayzin, the Pa.s.sage proceeds as ever. For our years together and the time you spent raising me, I will attempt to keep the rest of the route as uneventful as possible. In the meantime, please try to be kind to Priscilla Mendoza." He picked up his gla.s.s and drank slowly. "And wouldn't you say it was better, Kayzin, to keep the knife-if there is a knife, of course-in our view rather than have it poised at our back?"She smiled. "You will reward him properly?"

"Steps are being taken to bring accounts into balance," he promised, and finished his wine.

s.h.i.+PYEAR 65.

TRIPDAY 135.

SECOND s.h.i.+FT.

9.30 HOURS.

Gla.s.s in hand, Shan yos'Galan rounded the corner into the leisure section. Ahead was a slender figure, gay in raspberry tunic and celadon sash. He stretched his long legs and caught her by the intersection to the athletic hall.

"Well met, Lina."

She looked up, her smile radiant. "Shan. I'm glad to see you."

"And I'm glad to see you. As always. You're looking exceptionally lovely. Off to a party? Will you bring me with you? I promise not to brag of my exalted position. How do you find your a.s.sistant?"

She laughed. "But it is exactly of Priscilla that I wished to speak! Have you truly a moment? I know how busy it is to be captain. I hardly see you..."

"Languis.h.i.+ng?" He raised his gla.s.s, his light eyes mocking. "By all means speak to me of Priscilla. Do the residents approve? Is she impossible for you? Shall I send her to Ken Rik?"

"Oh, no, not to Ken Rik. The small ones are each delighted-Master Frodo to the point of purrs. You knew he would be." She stopped, frowning up into his face. "Shan? What is wrong with her-do you know?

There is joy-one can feel it-but she denies... suppresses... I like her very well. Don't you?"

"It would be enough to lower anyone's feelings, wouldn't it, to be hit over the head and deserted with no money, a ruined record, and no friends?"

"It is more than that," Lina insisted. "She wants Healing."

"Does she?" He sipped. "Is she impossible for you?"

"Not at all. Though perhaps you..."

"Me?" He laughed. "I'm not a Healer, Lina; I'm the captain."

"Bah!" She banished this quibble with a tiny contemptuous hand. "As if you haven't the skill and the training!" She tipped her head, considering information of which the expression on his face was only a small portion. "Shan?"

A lifted shoulder denied her. He frowned slightly. "What-perfume-are you wearing, Lina?"

"The one we bought-Endless l.u.s.t." She chuckled. "Rah Stee objects to the name.""As well he might." He moved back a step or two. "Very potent, isn't it? I don't recall that you reported aphrodisiac qualities."

"It has none!" She grinned. "Are you certain it is the perfume?"

"Forgive me," he murmured. "I have admired you forever, Lina, but amorous thoughts were far from me this evening. If it isn't aphrodisiac, it's the next best thing. Did anybody explain how it works?"

"It is the smell..." She sighed sharply, asked permission with a flicker of her hands, and slid into the Low Tongue, on the mode spoken between friends. "It is an enhancer of one's own odor. Thus, if you are attracted primarily, you will be more so when the perfume is used. Harmless, old friend, I a.s.sure you."

"I," the Captain said in Terran, "am not convinced. There are laws on certain worlds about perfumes and substances that-what is the official phrasing?-'take away volition and make pliable the will'?

Something more or less pompous." He took a drink and drifted away yet another step. "Do me the favor of submitting what is left of your vial to Chemistry, Lina. I would so hate to break the law."

"It is harmless." She frowned. "It does not take away volition-no more than a Healer might, encouraging one to embrace joy..."

Shan grinned. "I believe you may be splitting hairs. Are you going to a party? I would like to accompany you-purely scientific, you understand. It might be very interesting to observe the effect of this perfume of yours on a roomful of unsuspecting persons."

"I," Lina said dampingly, "am going to watch a Ping-Pong match between Priscilla and Rah Stee. You may come, if you like. Though if you persist in backing away from me in that insulting manner..."

He laughed and offered an arm. "I have myself in hand now. Let us by all means inflict ourselves upon the Ping-Pong match."

Rusty was sweating and puffing with exertion, the expression on his round face one of harried doggedness.

In contrast, Priscilla was coolly serene, parrying his shots with absent smoothness, barely regarding the ball at all. Yet time after time she fractured his frenzied guard and piled up the points in her favor.

"Twenty-one," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "I don't believe it."

"No, Rah Stee, it is twenty-one for Priscilla," Lina said helpfully. "I counted also."

"That's what I don't believe." Rusty leaned heavily on the table, directing a sodden head shake at his opponent. "You're blowing me away! I don't get it. Half the time I don't even see the ball coming."

"That's because you have the reactions of a dead cow," Shan explained, not to be outdone in helpfulness.

The other man turned to glare at him. "Thanks a lot."

"Always of service..."

"Maybe," Priscilla offered, cutting off a scorching reply, "it's because you look for the ball. I almost never do that."

"Then how do you know where it w?" He ran a sleeve across his forehead and sighed hugely. "Dammit, 'Cilia, I'm good at Ping-Pong. Been playing for years!""But not against pilots," the captain said, sipping wine.

"What's that got to do with it?"

"A great deal, don't you think, Rusty? Your reaction time's slow; you move in a series of jerks rather than a smooth flow; you fail to apprehend where an object will be" He raised his gla.s.s. "Don't feel too bad, my friend. We all have our niche to fill. After all, I could hardly fill your place in the tower, or operate the-"

"Like h.e.l.l you can't," the other muttered, spinning his paddle clumsily on the table.

"I beg your pardon, Rusty?"

"Never mind." He turned suddenly and flipped the paddle to Shan, who caught it left-handed, lazily. "You play her."

The captain blinked. "Why?"