"I'm delighted for them both." He gave her a gentle shove toward the door. "I'm off to visit Syl Vor and Padi—then a quick word with Jeeves and away! Be a good child, now, and help your sister."
"All right, Shannie," said the most powerful wizard on Liad, and went docilely down the hall.
With some difficulty Jeeves was discovered crouched in a corner of the hearthroom, swaddled in cats, head-ball dim in what Val Con had used to call "sleep." Shan cleared his throat.
"Sir?" The ball glowed to gentle orange life.
"Please don't get up! I only need to ask you a question—you
are
available for questions, aren't you, Jeeves? It wouldn't concern me quite so much except that you're the brains to Trealla Fantrol, and if we were to have an intruder while you're napping with the cats I don't know what would happen."
"The intruders would be repelled, sir. I was not asleep, but merely offering comfort."
Shan rubbed the tip of his nose. "Comfort? I am to understand that the cats are distressed?"
"They miss Master Val Con, sir."
"They do." Shan considered the various and varicolored felines draped around Jeeves's metallic person. "I hesitate to mention this—but Pil Tor and Yodel have never
met
Master Val Con."
"Quite right, sir. But Merlin has told them all about him, so they feel his absence as keenly as the rest."
A grizzled gray tabby curled near the head-ball opened one yellow eye, as if daring a challenge to that explanation.
Shan swept a bow. "Never would I doubt you, sir."
The cat closed his eye, and the man swallowed a laugh. "Jeeves, if I might ask you to cast your mind back seven or eight Standards—possibly more: Has my brother ever mentioned the person Miri Robertson in your presence?"
There was silence. Shan bore it for nearly a minute.
"Jeeves?"
"Working, sir. I anticipate completion of the match in approximately—done. Master Val Con has never spoken of or to Miri Robertson in my presence." After a slight and unrobotic hesitation, Jeeves said, "Forgive me."
"There's nothing to forgive, old friend. I had a notion Val Con had been lifemated for a few years and had simply forgotten to let us know. Exactly the sort of thing that might slip one's mind, after all. It was dimly possible that he'd said something to you, however, the dangers of Scouts and soldiers being what they are."
"You speak in the context of a will."
"Exactly in the context of a will."
The orange ball flickered, and Merlin flicked a reproachful ear. "The will I have on file for Master Val Con has not been altered since Standard 1382. It does not mention Miri Robertson."
"And that," Shan said, "would seem to be that. Thank you, Jeeves, you've been very helpful. Do continue comforting the cats."
"The comfort is two-way, sir."
Shan sighed. "Are you distressed, Jeeves?"
"It is merely that I, too, miss Master Val Con."
"I see. Forgive me if this offends, but Val Con and I built you, which means—"
"I was Master Val Con's idea."
Shan blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"I was Master Val Con's idea," Jeeves repeated, moving an arm to rub a restive tigerstripe. "You said so yourself, sir, several times during my construction."
"So I did." And a more cork-brained scheme, he added silently, may I never again be party to! "My thanks for calling that to my attention. Carry on."
"Thank you, sir. Good evening, sir."
Shan's footsteps faded down the hallway, and in a moment Jeeves noted the opening and closing of the door to the south patio. One of the younger cats, Yodel, mewed faintly and twitched in her sleep. Jeeves moved a hand to stroke her.
"There, there," he said. "There, there."
The sound of the ship around them went from solid hum to pulsing throb as Miri slid into the copilot's seat. Val Con sat in the pilot's chair, hands moving with precision over the switches and keys and toggles as if he were playing the omnichora. All screens were up, showing different and changing views of the world below while the radio mumbled to itself. A number of the lights on the central board glowed red, a fact that Miri decided to ignore.
"No power left to shunt from the coils," Val Con murmured. "Altitude control jets low on fuel. Rocket thrust? Ah, well, rockets are only a luxury, after all . . ."
Miri considered the side of his face. "Is this dangerous?"
"Hmm? Strap in, please, cha'trez. We are approaching a mark." A slim finger touched a readout that was counting large blue numbers down from ten. Miri engaged the webbing as the numbers ran down. There was a sharp push and a heavy vibration as zero flashed. Val Con flipped a quick series of toggles, and the worst of the vibration faded.
"Is—this—dangerous?" Miri asked again, spacing the words and increasing the volume a tad, on the slim chance he hadn't heard her the first time.
His smile flickered, and he reached to take her hand. "Dangerous? We are descending with neither reserve rockets nor jet power to a planet without landing beacons, without an actual touchdown point chosen, and without being invited." The smile broadened. "A textbook exercise."
"Sure," Miri muttered. "And how many people get hurt when a textbook crashes?"
Val Con raised an eyebrow. "You doubt my skill?"
"Huh?" She was startled. "No, hey, look, boss, I ain't a pilot! I just gotta know if we're gonna get down—" She stopped because he was laughing, his hand warm around hers.
"Miri, I will contrive to bring us down as safely as possible, considering circumstances." He squeezed her fingers and let them go, turning back to his board. "As for whether we
will
get down, the answer is yes. We are no longer moving rapidly enough to maintain orbit."
She watched him go through another series of adjustments, then shook her head as he leaned back in the chair. "Tough Guy," she murmured.
He glanced over. "Yes."
"Tell the troops just enough to keep 'em honest, doncha?" she said, not sure if she felt admiration or frustration. "Got some guts—this stuff here." She waved a hand at the red-lit board. "Playing chicken with the Yxtrang . . .What were the chances of us getting out alive, when you pulled that hysteresis thing and we Jumped outta there?"
"Ah." He faced her seriously. "The pilot did not expect to reenter normal space."
"Thought we'd come apart in hyper," she translated and nodded to herself, thinking.
At the conclusion of thought, she reached over and patted his arm. "Good. Best choice there was. Yxtrang boarding party, against us two, even if we are hell on wheels . . ." She shook her head. "And I wouldn't want to have to shoot you. Heard that was the best thing to do for your partner, Yxtrang ever gets you cornered."
"There are sometimes," Val Con murmured, "other options."
"Yeah? How many Yxtrang you ever talk to in person?"
"One," he said promptly. "Though it is true that I took him unaware."
Miri blinked at him, then glanced at the ruddy board and at each of the screens in turn. "Remember to tell me about it," she managed at last. "Later."
"Yes, Miri," he said, sternly controlling his twitching lips, and turned back to the board.
The planet spun beneath them five times on the inbound spiral.
Miri watched the screens in fascination—she had never been on the flight deck of
anything
on a trip downworld before—and meticulously copied information Val Con read off to her: coordinates of major features, drainage patterns of important river basins, the direction and strength of atmospheric jet streams.
Her duties also included monitoring the radio, which still gave out its gabble of nonsense words and earsplitting music. But on the third pass over the continent south of their target something different came over the speaker.
Bringing the volume up, Miri heard the excited voices and the boom and thunder of heavy guns.
"Boss?" she asked quietly.
He glanced away from his board, frowning at the radio noise.
"Somebody's having a war," Miri said, and he sighed, hands and eyes already back to the business of piloting.
Miri kept with it, hearing the despair in the man's voice on the radio and counting the rhythms of the bursts and explosions until they were out of range. She found the station again on the next pass, but it was only playing music. And on the next pass they were inside the ion shield and could not hear anything at all.
The meager stars had given way to local dawn when Val Con finally brought the ship down. Miri found the switch from a ballistic trajectory to magnetic control unexpectedly harrowing: the deceleration reminded her all too vividly of their close call with the Yxtrang. The final lurch brought forth an involuntary burst of swearing, which she squelched in embarrassment, for by that time the ship was flying smoothly.
Val Con sealed the hatch behind them and slid the key into his pouch, shivering in the crystal air.
Miri tipped her head. "You cold?"
"Only a little," he murmured, lifting a brow. "Aren't you?"
She grinned, stretching tall on her toes. "Where I come from, Tough Guy, this is high summer." Then she, too, shivered as a random breeze ran through the ravine. "Course, when you get as old as me, your blood starts to thin out."
"So? I had no idea you were as old as that."
"You didn't ask; I didn't say." She frowned at the crouched ship, a pitted metal boulder among a tumble of rock. "Should we hide it better?"
"This should suffice. The country does not look well traveled, and from the air it will seem just another rock. We are only in difficulty if local technology proves to include long-range metal detection." He sighed. "We could send it into orbit, but there might be a way to repair . . ." His voice drifted off.
"So, for better or worse." She came closer and slid a small hand into his.
"Carpe diem,
and all like that." She grinned, and he smiled faintly, squeezing her hand as she looked around. "Well, where's this town of yours? I could sure use a cup of coffee."
"West," he said, and smiled at her confusion.
"That
way," he elaborated, pointing.
"Whyn't you say so? Though how you can tell up from down this soon after 'fall beats hell out of me." She shivered again in another eddy of breeze and wrinkled her nose. "Guess we better start walking."
"It would seem best," he agreed. He slipped away, moving like a shadow over the broken shale, Miri silent at his back.
An hour later they rested by a stream. Val Con knelt, cupped a hand into the rapid current—and turned his head as if he had heard the cry of protest she had stilled.
"Cha'trez, the water is good," he assured her. "Nor do I think the vegetables or grains will do us harm. The meat should also be edible. Whether all the nutritional needs of our bodies are met we must wait and see." He cupped his hand again and drank, then rose, sighing. "Had we been abandoned in a Scout ship instead of a smuggler's yacht we would have known these things with certainty before landing. As it is, we ride the luck."
Miri closed her eyes as he came to sit beside her.
"Carpe diem,"
she muttered, willing herself to relax.
"What is that?"
She opened her eyes to find him watching her. "What's what?"
"Carpe—diem? It does not sound Terran—and you have said it several times."
"Oh." She frowned. "Actually, it
is
Terran—at least, it's
from
Terra. Latin, I think the language was. Real old. I remember reading that two or three of the languages Terran derives from came from Latin, first." She paused, but he was watching her face with apparent interest.
"Time I was—sick—right after Klamath," she continued, "I got to read lots. Book I liked best was called
Dictionary of Phrase and Fable.
It was sort of a list of things that people had said or believed—and sometimes
still
said—and next to each one was an explanation of what it was really supposed to mean.
"Carpe diem,
now—that's supposed to mean, 'seize the day,' enjoy yourself while you can. Seemed like good advice." She shook her head and smiled. "Great book. Sorry I had to give it back."
"How long were you able to spend with the book?" he asked gently. "After Klamath?"
"Hmm? Ah, not too long. Got busted up toward the end of things—my own damn fault. Got cocky." She shifted, breaking his gaze. "You want a sandwich before we get on?"
Both brows rose. "Salmon?"
"Got four," she told him earnestly.
"I think that I am not hungry, thank you." He came to his feet in one fluid motion and reached down to help her up, though he knew she could rise as easily as he, unaided.
"Besides," he said, pressing her hand warmly before letting her go. "I thought you wanted that cup of coffee."
The town sat in a three-sided bowl made of mountains, clustered in the center of a valley that was merely a widening of the pass they walked through. It was not a large town, which was good, and no one was yet abroad, though the sun had been up for several hours. In the near distance Val Con made out a field of some type of grain, while closer in—
Miri was not at his back.
He turned slowly and found her seated astride a fallen log, staring down into the protected little town, tension sharp in the lines of her face, in the set of her shoulders, and in the slender hands folded too still upon her knee.
He moved, deliberately scraping boot heel against stone. She started and looked at him.
"Mind if I rest a minute?" she asked, tension singing beneath the words.
"As long as you like." Silent again, he went to the log and sat behind her, putting his arms loosely around her waist, feeling her taut in every muscle. Laying his cheek against her hair, he exhaled gently. "What is it, cha'trez?"
"I
was gonna ask
you."
She flung her hands out with suppressed violence, directing his attention to the valley below. "What is it?"
He considered. Then, he said softly, "A town. Civilians. Not, it is true, a very large town—but sufficient for our present needs. A pattern such as this many times includes outlying farms or homes. If this place is true to that pattern, then that is very good for us. It may be possible for us to go to a single home and offer to trade labor for—language lessons."