Dragon in Exile - eARC (25 page)

“I understand,” said the Master Healer, who was doubtless the origin of these gifts. “I understand that you were set to witness what change might occur, and that a part of your duty was to…cut the threads, should one who had chosen to embrace…evil take strength from their decision.”

“Yes…” Ren Zel said, his voice unsteady. “But Bon Vit…”

“Had chosen life, yes. However, you tell us that you acted out of necessity. That even though he had chosen, yet his enemy had sown the seeds of some terrible vengeance in his soul. When he engaged again with life, those seeds were in danger of being drawn out of his soul into the wider universe.”

“All true. But they were so few; the universe is vast. Had I known, I would have let them go. Surely, they could not have survived…”

“Or,” the master healer interrupted, “they might have seeded themselves among all the threads and done unimaginable harm. Do you know that they would not?”

He thought; he opened himself to his gift—but there was no answer. Could the universe itself not know the answer?

“No,” he said.

“Your grief does you credit, for it is no small thing, to halve a man’s life,” the master healer said. “But in Balance, you may have preserved
all
life. Why do you have this gift, if not to do precisely as you did?”

“I don’t know,” Ren Zel said, and gratefully partook of the calmness the healer offered. He rose.

“If he is able, I would…speak with Bon Vit.”

The Master Healer rose.

“I will take you to him,” he said.

Interlude Nine

Vivulonj Prosperu

In Transit

The lights told the tale—a bright bar of living blue—but Uncle had long ago learned not to depend on a single source of information.

Accordingly, he opened the annotated files, and perused them, before crossing the cubicle to the independent monitor and accessing its information.

Both sources confirmed the testimony of the blue bars on the status board: Daav yos’Phelium’s rebirth was complete; the biological statistics, gene construction, and other vital parameters overlapped perfectly. The person who lay in the birthing unit was, to a percentage of point nine-nine-nine-nine-nine, Daav yos’Phelium Clan Korval.

Uncle nodded to himself. He had not expected to find any deviation, not with the abundance of material that had been available to the devices, but it was well to be certain.

Especially in such a case.

He closed the monitor, and turned again to the birthing unit. On this front, at least, all was proceeding according to plan. It was well that the man—a practical man, once a scout and a delm—was ready for birth first. By the time his lifemate was ready, in her turn, for awakening, he would be in possession of the facts of their new existence, and would have had time to process any misgivings he might entertain, and so be better able to assist her in adjusting to her peculiar biological condition. He would be further along in the acclimatization process and be able to assist her there, as well, thereby freeing Uncle and Dulsey from the necessity of tutoring a second newborn in the facts of life.

Uncle touched a key on the unit’s status board; the dome of the pod, which had been opaque, rippled and became transparent. Visible through that window was a lean young man lying on a pale mat, his tender flesh uniformly golden, showing neither scar or mar. His nose and his face alike were long, the mouth perhaps a bit thin, lips presently pressed into a firm line. The eyebrows were strong; dark, like the thick lashes that lay lightly along his cheek. Short, dark hair covered his head like a tight-fitting velvet cap; his ears were shapely.

He breathed deep and slow, as would a man in a coma.

The Uncle reached to the board and made an adjustment. Soon, cooler air would flow into the capsule, carrying a mild stimulant, to raise the man from near-coma to deep sleep, and from deep sleep, eventually, to wakefulness.

The process would take a few minutes; there was no need or necessity to hurry. While the automatics worked, Uncle opened a wall locker and withdrew a soft pair of ship pants, a sweater, and a transparent bag.

He placed the clothing on the chair next to the capsule, opened the bag and withdrew a seed pod. It lay round and green and somehow cheerful-looking in the palm of his hand. Perhaps it anticipated its imminent consumption and the completion of its purpose, whatever it might be.

A chime sounded, softly, and Uncle approached the capsule. The man within had shifted somewhat on the mat; the instruments reflected the movement of his eyes beneath closed lids.

Uncle made another adjustment to the board, and counted, silently, to twelve.

There came a soft hiss from the pod, and the canopy lifted, sliding away into the side of the unit.

The man on the mat gasped, and opened his eyes. For a moment, he lay as he had been, feeling, as the Uncle knew from his own numerous rebirths, at peace, not so much an empty receptacle, as open to every potential.

It would be a moment or two, before identity fully returned. There would be, perhaps, an extended interval, if the newborn—as one who had been Scout-trained in a past life might do—inventoried himself for weakness or wounds, sought among his memories for a clue as to his whereabouts, and perhaps attempted to plan—

The man in the capsule convulsed, his breath gone to ragged gasps. From the status board came a shrill warning; Uncle looked up as the bright blue bars snapped to orange. The systems gauges were falling, and the man on the mat was curled on his side, shuddering, breathing in huge, tearing sobs.

Uncle grabbed one shoulder, careless of tender new skin, and pulled the man onto his back. There was no resistance; his muscles were like a child’s. His eyes were screwed shut and he gasped as if he were drowning.

“Look at me!” Uncle snapped. “Daav yos’Phelium Clan Korval!”

Black eyes, already dull, opened, and sought his face.

“What ails you?” Uncle demanded, for the gauges only told him that this man, who had been perfectly healthy in his new body only moments ago, now was declining toward death.

“…gone…” the other said, the word nearly swallowed in his gasping.

Uncle took a hard breath, and flung out his hand, showing the seed-pod.

“Here, pilot; take this.”

The black eyes closed. The status board shrilled another warning, and the orange bars faded.

“Daav, eat the pod.” Uncle pushed it under that long nose, hoping that the scent would…

The man turned his head away.

“…not ripe…” he choked.

For a moment, Uncle stood frozen, then his long habit of decisiveness reestablished itself.

He pocketed the pod even as he turned toward the board, hands moving with quick deliberation among the controls.

Warm air laced with pheromones and specialized drugs began to flow into the capsule even before the the canopy locked into place. Support systems were engaged, and Daav yos’Phelium was plunged into a coma, his new body’s functions taken over by the unit. The status lights brightened from orange to green; the gauges rose—seventy percent, eighty percent…eighty-five percent.

…and there they stabilized.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Boss Conrad’s House

Blair Road

If Falish Meron, the High Judge of the Juntavas, found Val Con’s mode of dress extraordinary in any way, he did not allow the thought to reach his face.

Pat Rin had not expected anything less from
this
visitor, but, then, Natesa had given him tales—sagas!—regarding the High Judge, which was an advantage that Val Con had not had. And, after all, there was no harm in finding if the sagas were true.

Thus far, they showed well against reality. High Judge Meron was short for a Terran, his face beige and freckled; rust-red hair twisted into a knot at the back of his head. He had a decisive, and to Liaden sensibilities, over-energetic manner, but one could not doubt his intelligence, nor his determination.

After tea was poured and tasted, he thanked them for allowing him to intrude upon their day, and stated that, as they were all busy people, he would make shift to move himself along quickly.

He then stated that he came to them as the proxy of Sambra Reallan, Chairman of the Juntavas, with the express purpose of re-examining the ancient agreement between Korval and the Juntavas.

Pat Rin sipped tea. Thus was the stipulation for the
delm genetic
explained.

Very well, then.

He put his cup down and smiled gently at the High Judge.

“You and I might usefully speak, I think, on the matter of certain freelancers on our streets, who have come to do business, and, in the process…over-represent their attachment to, or place in, your organization, and I hope that we will have the opportunity to do so.

“However, the chairman’s business is most properly placed before my cousin, for it is Korval House policy that you seek to re-examine. I will, therefore, withdraw—”

The Judge raised a hand on which a large seal ring gleamed sleekly gold.

“The freelancers—that’s the other reason I’m here. I’ll be talking to certain people, sir, and I expect there will be results. If there aren’t—you have the means to contact me, in-house, and I’ll ask you not to hesitate, if there’s something that requires my attention.”

Natesa was the means mentioned, herself a Juntavas Judge.

Pat Rin inclined his head.

“Thank you, sir, on both counts.”

“On this other matter, however…” Val Con shifted slightly, the motion drawing the Judge’s eye. “It has long been Korval policy that we hold ourselves apart from the Juntavas, as an organization. It seems a policy that has served both well over many, many years, sir. I wonder that you would seek to alter it now. It would seem to me that you—as we—would wish to preserve a bedrock at a time when so many other things—I might say, when
all things
—are changing.”

“Exactly!” The High Judge leaned subtly toward Val Con, a sophisticated bit of body language, demonstrating that the principal had changed, but Pat Rin was still part of the discussion.

“Everything’s changing—you’re right. The chairman believes that change is opportunity, and that there’s no time better to make significant policy changes. With everything else in flux, now’s the time to re-examine the reasons why that agreement was made, ’way back when, and ask ourselves if those reasons are still valid. Or, if recent events have so altered the fundamentals of how we do business that now,
now
what will serve our mutual interests best won’t be avoidance, but alliance.”

“Alliance,” Val Con murmured.

The High Judge gave him an opaque look.

“We’re prepared to go a step further,” he said. “Now, this isn’t just me; like I said right out at first, Chairman Reallen’s on-board with this, and everything I’m bringing to you has her seal on it. I got the corners nailed down tight on everything I offer; all we got to do here is fell out what’s going to work best for all. Right?”

“I understand,” Val Con murmured.

“Good. Now about that step further. The Juntavas is prepared to bring you in—that’s to say, to bring Clan Korval right into the organization. Not alliance; you’d be us and we’d be you.
Family
, is what we’d say.”

“Indeed, we would describe such a situation as
family
, also,” Val Con answered. “But, sir, you cannot have considered the ramifications of
bringing us in
. Surely, you will not want Korval reforming your organization from within, in order to suit ourselves.”

“Well, but if we’re both
us
, and there’s no
them
…”

Val Con was shaking his head. The Judge paused, and spread his hands, in what might have been intended as
go on
.

“Sir, I give you my cousin—” he moved his hand in a graceful wave that made Pat Rin feel rather exposed. “He conceived a need for a planetary base of operations and in a very short time indeed, had subverted an entire planet and its population to his purpose. That was
one Korval adult
, acting in accordance with his necessities.”

“Had some Juntavas help, there,” the Judge pointed out.

“Indeed. Though it was given, as I understand the case, for personal reasons.”

“Some of this, some of that. People are complex.” The Judge looked to Pat Rin, eyes narrowed. “I set Natesa on you as protection, sir.”

“Yes, she had said as much,” Pat Rin acknowledged.

“She tell you why?”

“Because a galaxy without Korval was a galaxy in which the Juntavas would find it significantly more difficult to do business.”

“That’s it. All the rest of Korval had fallen off the map, so I figured we’d better take real good care of the one we could see.” He nodded and turned back to Val Con. “So, we’ll step back to alliance. I’m not going to lie; I think—and the chairman thinks—that an alliance with Korval will be risky—risky for us; risky for you. But, I think you’ll find that the Juntavas is significantly less risky as an ally, than, say, the Uncle.”

Val Con adopted quite a believable expression of perplexity.

“I beg your pardon?”

The Judge smiled, and leaned back in his chair, shaking his head and holding up his hands, palms out.

“Now, see, this is what we’re good at. We been running the analytics. It’s taken us this long because, like we all keep saying, things are changing everywhere, for everybody. That aside, we finally do know who Theo Waitley is—and that she was a courier for the Uncle before she picked up that really…interesting old line ship. Looks like something the Uncle might have on hand—or Korval would. And she pulls the cleanest escape out of the tightest box any of us ever saw, without even singeing the ship in the next lane over—” He paused, and seemed to gather himself around some tangential point.

“I’m also authorized to purchase that trick Jump engine—specs, or working model. You can name your price.”

Val Con laughed.

“As much as it pains me to throw away a handsome profit, I must tell you that there is no trick Jump engine involved! I have been assured by an interspatial mathematician that the ability to Jump in crowded situations are matters of tuning and data-loading. There is a custom navigational system aboard
Bechimo
, which calculates more quickly than standard navcomps.”

The Judge nodded, looking wise.

“Interspatial mathematician, is it? That’ll be the Caylon. We finally got info out of Nev’Lorn, too, speaking of tricks that aren’t easy to pull off. Analytics confirms it was Aelliana Caylon’s ship,
Ride the Luck
, that broke the offense there. And I’ll just mention that it was packing some significant firepower.”

“Indeed it was. When my mother created her courier business, with my father as her co-pilot, he insisted that the ship’s protections be upgraded. I believe he made it a condition of flying with her.”

The Judge nodded again.

“Brings up another point. Word’s around that Korval ships are seeing some trouble at certain ports—even ports where they’re known. Now, here’s where an alliance with the Juntavas is going to benefit your interests. We can arrange for trustworthy escorts, so there will never again be a move like was made against
Bechimo
. Korval ships
will
get to their proper markets. We’d also advise increasing the firepower on each ship, as they come up for service—your own yards can handle that…”

“Sir, we really cannot mount military weapons pods on tradeships. You must see that such a move would give credence to those who would have us be planet-killers and pirates.”

“You mounted weapons on
Dutiful Passage
,” the Judge said.

“We did, it was necessary, and I have regretted both the necessity and the action every day since it was done.”

Val Con sighed, picked up his cup, sipped, and returned the cup to the table before he again confronted the Judge, a wry expression upon his face.

“The truth of the matter, sir, is that, unlike the Juntavas, Korval is finding itself
too much
at change. We must hold firm somewhere, or we will be entirely cut adrift. The longtime agreement we have enjoyed with the Juntavas is an anchor of our existence. Allow it to comfort us, if only for a short time longer. The House must settle, and find its new place in the order of the galaxy. Please—assure Chairman Reallan that Korval has taken no offense at her proposal. Indeed, we are warmed by her care.”

“A galaxy without Korval is a galaxy where the Juntavas would find it harder to do business,” the Judge said. “That’s still true. The chairman’s right to concern herself. Do you mind if I consider this the beginning of a conversation, sir? Might I—or another of the chairman’s proxies—contact you in a Standard, with the intention of sitting down again and reassessing our positions?”

Pat Rin expected a demur, for what use could be had from a second such conversation? But Val Con inclined his head in agreement.

“Certainly,” he said. “A Standard may, indeed, show some clarity with regard to our directions and necessities.”

“And in the meantime,” the Judge said, jovially; “it’s not like you don’t have protection. There’s enough mercs on this planet to start a war. Or end one.”

Val Con did not smile. Neither did Pat Rin.

The Judge’s smile faded somewhat.

“Right,” he said. “Well. Chairman Reallan did want me to extend the offer of a beam-code, to be used at your discretion. There are no strings attached to this; it’s a gift. May I give it?”

Again, Pat Rin expected a graceful decline.

Again, his cousin—his delm—surprised him.

“I would welcome the gift of such a beam-code,” he said.

The High Judge nodded, and produced a small red envelope from his outer pocket. Val Con shook the lace back from his hand, and received it with a modest, seated bow.

“There’s one more thing that I really ought to tell you,” the Judge said, settling back into his chair; “then I’ll move on with the rest of my business on-world—including those freelancers you mentioned, Boss Conrad.

“New Juntavas policy, straight from Chairman Reallan: Whenever the Juntavas meets with operatives of the Department of the Interior, we’re taking them out. They’re no good for
any
body’s business, in our opinion, and the galaxy’s better without them.”

Val Con nodded.

“Thank you, sir. You have Korval’s support of this policy.”

The moment was upon them.

Pat Rin rose, and Val Con did, and the Judge did, less than a heartbeat behind them.

“Thank you, sir, for coming today,” Pat Rin said, holding out his hand, and pressing the foot-plate under the table.

“My pleasure. Thank you for seeing me, and for your frankness.”

They shook, and the Judge turned toward Val Con, taking his hand in turn.

“Thank you, sir. I’m already looking forward to our next talk.”

“And I,” Val Con said.

The door opened to reveal Gwince, serious and efficient.

“Gwince, please see the High Judge out, with his bodyguard.”

“Yes sir, Boss.” Gwince stepped aside. “Just follow me, Mr. Meron.”

* * *

Bon Vit Onida was sitting in a chair by the window, his face turned into the sun. He wore the high-necked sweater that had become the off-worlder’s first line of defense against Surebleak’s climate. His hair was fair, and long enough to brush the red shawl he wore ’round his shoulders.

He turned at the sound of the door closing, but did not rise.

“Master Healer,” he said, courteously.

“Master Onida. I have brought you Ren Zel dea’Judan.”

The pale gaze swept Ren Zel’s face, and Bon Vit lurched to his feet, as would one whose knees perhaps pained him.

“You are the one who gave me life!” he said, his voice warm. He swept a bow, as one acknowledging an unpayable debt, and that Ren Zel could not allow.

“Indeed, not!” he cried. He stepped forward and caught the other man’s hands, urging him out of the bow. “Do not, I beg. I am the one who has killed you.”

Bon Vit straightened, holding Ren Zel’s hand in a hard grip, while ice blue eyes searched his face.

“Tell me,” he said.

And so he told it, as well as he might when mere words could not adequately express what he had seen, or with any exactness, his actions.

And when he was done, Bon Vit Onida released his hands and bowed as one acknowledging an unpayable debt.

“
Dramliza
, I honor you,” he said straightening slowly. “Yours is a bright and terrible gift. I do not think that I could bear the weight of such a gift. The Department…is wily and subtle. It has subverted many by treachery and torture. That you were able to act quickly to prevent it from sending its poisons afar…”

He smiled.

“I had been bound away from myself, my life lost. You, and your lifemate, and Master Healer Mithin—you have given me my life back. If it is shorter than it might otherwise have been, how can I find you at fault?”

“You are too kind.”

“Ah, no, there you are wrong,” Bon Vit said, and his pale eyes were suddenly as chill as Surebleak’s winter sky.

“I have been sitting here thinking what I would do with my life, now that it is mine again, and I, like you, believe that the Department must not prevail. What one man might do…”

“Four,” Ren Zel said.

Bon Vit blinked.