Dragon in Exile - eARC (27 page)

He gasped, and reached for the square, which Audrey obligingly put into his hand.

Such a carpet
. He shook his head, understanding that this carpet—
this very
carpet!—was now intended to grace the newly made Bridge to Ecstasy in a whorehouse on the transitional world of Surebleak…

“Cousin?” The word was in Low Liaden; Val Con’s hand gentle on his arm. “What’s amiss?”

He looked up, automatically answering in the same tongue.

“It is the Queterian that Hedrede held for six Standards, waiting on the completion of the formal hall. It—Hedrede must have canceled the order. Would have been compelled…” He held out the sample, as if Val Con could not see it perfectly well. “That carpet is going…”

“That carpet is going to the increase of joy in the universe,” Val Con murmured.

“Is he going to get in trouble?” That was Audrey, her voice sharp with worry. They both turned to her, Val Con’s hand yet on Pat Rin’s arm.

“
Is he
going to get in trouble?” she repeated, looking from one to the other. “Because if there’s any chance of trouble—
any trouble, at all
—I can still say no to that carpet.”

“Gently,” Val Con murmured, in Terran. “Pat Rin is well-acquainted with this carpet, you understand, and knows the party who had held it on deposit. It surprised him to find it here, his father having not yet had an opportunity to speak with him on the matter.”

“Hedrede,” Pat Rin said, warningly.

Val Con shook his head.

“Hedrede is notoriously world-bound,” he said. “What are the chances that any of them might come to Surebleak? Surely, they would avoid this, of all worlds. They may hear of it—indeed, I wager that Luken will make certain that they
do
hear of it—but what recourse have they?”

Audrey cleared her throat.

Pat Rin smiled at her.

“Forgive us. We have the old world in our bones, but it is as Val Con says. Clan Hedrede had for many years held this rug on deposit. However, as they were part of the committee which saw us—Clan Korval—exiled from Liad, their
melant’i
could not support the continued relationship with Luken. The only course open to them was to cancel the order, and, by contract, Luken retained all monies received, and the rug, as well.”

“Saving when they are backed by many others, Hedrede is not known for decisive action,” Val Con said. “Nor do they range far from Liaden worlds. Luken, as you have surely discovered, has…high standards. His Balances are impeccable. On the old world, it was said that he was a
master of melant’i
, whereas we are the merest journeymen. Boys. We can only bow to the nicety of Luken’s understanding, and aspire, someday, to be his equal.”

Audrey was watching him closely.

“So—no trouble?”

“It is extremely unlikely,” Val Con told her. “Hedrede and its allies cleave to the old world. We do not expect to see such emigrating to Surebleak. A sense of adventure, and a belief that perhaps the rest of the galaxy might hold something more interesting than Liaden society is the chief characteristic of those who follow us here.”

“So we’re getting the best, is what you’re saying?”

Val Con smiled at her.

“For the purposes of Korval and of Surebleak entire—yes. We are getting the best. Now, I wonder—”

His voice caught, for an instant only; Pat Rin thought that Audrey failed to notice anything amiss. Certainly, she did not understand that the course of the sentence Val Con had been about to speak had altered in that short pause.

“—if you will forgive me for staying with you so briefly. The case is that I am wanted at the port.”

“I never stand between a man and his bidness,” Audrey assured him. “It was real good to see you. You give your wife a nice kiss from me and tell her not to be a stranger.”

“I will,” Val Con promised. He took her hand between both of his and smiled into her eyes.

She laughed, and slipped her hand away.

“There’s such a thing as being
too
good! Go on—get along with you, or I’ll tell Sheyn to lock the door. Boss?”

“I am afraid that I, too, am called to business,” Pat Rin said, taking her hand and smiling with frank fondness. “Thank you for seeing us, Audrey.”

“Wouldn’t’ve missed it for a blizzard,” she told him.

He smiled again, and followed Val Con out.

* * * * *

In the foyer, he cast a look at his cousin’s profile.

“What’s amiss?”

Val Con moved his shoulders, and gave him a half-smile.

“I scarcely know. Miri’s temper has been engaged, but…” Another ripple of his shoulders.

“I think, perhaps, that I
ought
to go to the port.”

“Then by all means do so,” Pat Rin said. “You needn’t dawdle on my account.”

Val Con caught his hand.

“Thank you, cousin,” he said, and slipped out the door. Pat Rin moved a few steps to the right, watching out the side window as the elegantly overdressed figure jogged down the stairs, and turned a quick step up the street, to the place where he had left his car.

No security
, Pat Rin thought, and shook his head. He would speak to Nova; perhaps she might exert influence. If not, it would have to rest until Shan came home.

“Ready, Boss?” Gwince asked from behind him.

“In fact, I am,” he said. “Let us call upon Boss Nova.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Office of the Road Boss

Surebleak Port

“Hey, Boss!”

The voice was recently and irritatingly familiar.

Miri looked around Nelirikk’s bulk, saw Smealy and a frowning trio that was probably his crew standing over by Jakob’s. One guy had an arm in a sling, but nobody was showing a weapon, which she tentatively decided was good. On the other hand, here came Smealy back across the street, big, phony grin in place like they was long-lost best lovers.

“Captain?” Nelirikk murmured, and it didn’t take mind-reading to know that he wasn’t real happy with Smealy, either.

“Let’s see what happens,” she muttered back, and stepped out in front. Tall as he was, she wasn’t going to impede him, if Nelirikk decided Smealy needed to be taken off the board. Her only real danger was Smealy getting off a good shot before he went down, and, looking at the man, she considered the probability of his being a good shot…low.

“What do you want, Smealy?” she called back, not making any particular effort to sound welcoming.

The grin got broader, like she’d given him a birthday present.

“Just telling the crew about how you’re going to working with the Heavy Loads Committee!” he said, and suddenly looked up, like he’d just remembered Nelirikk.

Bastard
, Miri thought. He was trying to force her, was he? Thought she wouldn’t stand firm, if he called her out on the open street, with his crew on back-up.

She took a deep breath, and went a step forward, ignoring Nelirikk’s muttered protest.

Raising her hands, she grinned, just as phony and wide as Smealy, and motioned him forward.

“I thought we was going to wait on announcing that,” she said, using the field-command voice, so’s to be heard all the way across the street.

“Well, sure, Boss, but here I come out and there’s the crew. I had to tell them the good news.”

“Sure you did.”

She swung, short, sharp, and focused. Smealy went down like a sack of rocks, and stayed down.

“Now, I don’t know what this guy told you.” She’d been a merc; she knew how to pitch her voice to be heard on a battlefield, and that’s what she did now, so they’d be certain to hear her—yeah, and all the rest of the folks who were taking note of the fact that
something
was going on that involved the Road Boss.

“Here’s the straight truth. The Road Boss don’t make exceptions. We’re under contract with the Council of Bosses to keep the road open, and to enforce the policies the Bosses put into place. That’s our job, we’re gonna do our job, and we ain’t accepting bribes or going around the published policies. You all got that?”

One of them—the burly dark guy with a head like a cannonball, and his arm in the sling—called back.

“We got it, Boss.”

They were attracting a crowd, which was…unavoidable. And with the crowd came a brace of Port Security—Hazenthull and a Terran male, who looked frail next to her.

“Need help here?” the Terran asked.

“No,” Nelirikk said before she could answer. “The Captain is having a discussion with this person on the ground, and the members of his Troop.”

“We’ll keep the perimeter, then,” the guy said, and he and Hazenthull separated to do just that.

Miri took a breath.

“Now, here’s another thing!” she said to Smealy’s crew, who were all three still waiting there by Jakob’s, their eyes bright and interested. “You go back to wherever you come from and you return any
dues
you collected from people who’re waiting to get their exceptions. You don’t do that—or I hear you’re still signing people up? And you’ll come before the Council so fast your ears’ll fall off. And! Any one of you pulls another stunt like this, where you’re trying to destroy my cred—”

Something moved in the side of her eyes, down and to the right. Smealy.

She kicked the gun out of his hand before he quite had it clear of the pocket, and stamped on his fingers for good measure.

He screamed, which she couldn’t blame him for.

“You got a lot to learn about communication,” she told him, and swung wide. “Get up.”

Give him credit, he tried to, but the broken hand wasn’t doing his balance any good. Nelirikk finally felt sorry for him, reached down, grabbed his collar and hauled him to his feet.

“You want we should take him to the Whosegow, Boss?” That was Hazenthull’s partner.

“No,” she said. “His crew’ll take care of him. Won’t they, Smealy?”

He stared at her, good hand cradling broken hand and shook his head.

“Cut me a break, Boss.”

The man was scared, and he had a right to be, judging by the faces of his crew. On the other hand…

“You got two freebies, Smealy. Third time, you pay real money. That’s how it’s done, ain’t it?”

It was, and he knew it, and she could see him know what kind of care his crew was going to give him for screwing up—twice—and calling their business out on the open street.

She felt a little sick, like she’d been punched in the stomach, but there wasn’t anything to do, except send him back to his crew. If she backed down now, her cred as Boss—and Val Con’s cred as Boss, too—took a hit it couldn’t afford, with them just setting up. Saying
no
to the exceptions racket—that was just the first test.

Smealy pulled himself up as straight as he could, and gave her a curt nod.

“Boss,” he said, and marched away, back to his crew.

She tensed, thinking they’d shoot him right there, but there was more than the Road Boss’ cred on the street right now, including Security and the crowd that’d gathered ’round to witness. The guy with the cannonball head swung out of formation, got his good arm around Smealy, and walked him away, the other two closing in behind.

Miri watched them go, and wished she felt like she’d done the right thing.

“Captain,” Nelirikk said for her ears alone. “The Scout approaches.”

She looked to the left, toward the Emerald, and here he came, moving light and quick through the crowd, the sun plucking sparks from the silver threads in his coat. Now she was paying attention, she could feel his concern; he must’ve felt her lose her temper at Smealy, and come down to see what all the noise was about.

Noise was over now, of course, so she raised her hand, and called, just like Smealy’d done.

“Hey, Boss.”

Heads turned, then, and people pulled back to give the man room to pass.

“Miri, are you well?”

She heard his voice, soft inside her head, asking the question, then he was at her side, hand stretched out to her.

“Hey, Boss,” she said again, like she was standing in the middle of a battlefield. She grabbed his hand and gave him a grin. “You missed all the fun.”

“You’ll have to tell me about it,” he answered, his own voice pitched to carry. “Over tea, perhaps? At the Emerald?”

“Sounds great,” she said, and tucked her hand through his arm, feeling the embroidery scratch her palm. The two of them turned back the way he’d come, Beautiful falling in behind.

“It’s a good thing you come along,” she said, for the benefit of the crowd, as it parted before them.

“Why is that?”

“I’m
starving
.”

* * *

“OK, now!” Tolly called out, as the Captain and the Scout left the field, attended by Nelirikk. “Show’s over; time to get back to bidness!”

It was correct, to disperse the crowd, and their duty, as Security, to clear the public way. However, those who had gathered were being…somewhat difficult to disperse. At first, Hazenthull assumed that it was because they were yet in awe of the Captain’s skills. But as she encouraged them to motion, a muttering came to her ears. It would appear that there was some discontent with the Scout’s actions, though he had arrived after the Captain had properly chastised Streeter Smealy and returned him to his comrades.

She listened more intently, and because of that perhaps did not attend to her position as she should have done.

The first inkling she had of her partner’s peril was a sudden scattering of the crowd under his direction, a shout, and a blur of motion as Tolly snatched a red-haired man over his shoulder, bringing him down hard on his back against the tarmac. She saw Tolly sweep a hand out, even as he spun, hand on his sidearm, scanning the crowd for his attacker’s compatriots.

The crowd was moving now, of its own accord, drawing away from trouble, from danger, saving the woman who threw herself forward, berating Tolly for striking a blameless man. It was Tolly, he would not strike her or push her away; he paused to engage her, his back to the man he had thrown.

The man who had rolled clumsily to his knees, his hand rising with intent, the palm-gun held quite steady.

Despite his apparent steadiness, he might still have missed the back of Tolly’s head; he had taken a bad fall, and it was plain that he was shaken, if not wounded.

On the other hand, all of her previous life experience had taught Hazenthull that there are no sure misses on the battlefield.

There are only certain hits.

Her sidearm was in her hand; the crowd around her vanishing as if it had been no more substantial than smoke.

She aimed for his shoulder, but at the decisive instant, he faltered, and half-fell…

The pellet struck him in the eye.

* * *

He had the damned whistle; he was golden. All he had to do was move out, fast. It left Haz with the crowd, but there wasn’t a crowd on Surebleak Haz couldn’t handle with one hand tied behind her back. Commander Liz was going to be seriously unhappy, but Commander Liz had been destined for unhappiness this day, no matter—

“You hit that guy!”

A broad shouldered woman threw herself into his path, her face angry.

“Sorry, ma’am. He was drawing—”

“He was not! I’m gonna report you to your captain! What’s your name?”

That’s when the gunshot sounded, loud even in the noise of the Port. Tolly spun, but tel’Vaster was already down, the top of his head gone, and there was Haz, gun as steady as her eye, standing there daring anybody else to come ahead.

His gun was out, too—reactions, damn’ reactions—and he spun, surveying the area. One good thing, the street had cleared. Bad thing was that a pair or more of their now-former coworkers were going to be bearing down on them real soon.

Not to mention tel’Vaster’s backup, which there was at least one on-port, and not so distant from them, or the man had changed out of recognition in the last couple years.

For a long, critical second, he couldn’t think; couldn’t breathe. Then he remembered that there was a ship waiting for him. The key and the contract had come that morning. He had someplace to go; someplace that neither tel’Vaster nor his backup could guess at.

He thought of his meager possessions, but everything he really needed, in order to survive, was on him: ship key, license with a good name on it, contract, his own weapons, and all the cash he owned.

Flipping his service gun, he held it out, grip-first, to Hazenthull.

“Take this to Commander Liz. Tell her I’m sorry, Haz, right? Tell her I’m off-world and won’t be any more problem to her.”

“Tolly, did this man have a partner? A Troop?”

“Prolly so. Which is why I gotta go, Haz. You watch yourself!”

He turned, and ran, moving not quite at the top of his speed. No sense scaring the reg’lers; no sense calling the attention of somebody who might know what he was looking at.

He didn’t go straight to the hot pad where his ship waited.
Tarigan
, out of Waymart. ’Course it was out of Waymart. All the best ships were.

Anyhow, he took the port tour, and when he was as sure as he could be that he wasn’t trailing tel’Vaster’s backup; he made a wide loop and headed in, toward the general yard.

Two ship rows short of his goal, and something moved in the corner of his eye. He turned his head, and saw Hazenthull round the top of the row, loping along, nice and easy, on those long legs of hers. She probably wasn’t even winded.

Tolly bit his lip on a grin. Didn’t Haz always have his back? Better she saw him safe onto his ship. She’d sleep easier for it.

He kept going, like he hadn’t spotted her. A row and a half…

A stiletto made out of fire and ice drove in one ear, through his brain, and out the other ear.

He screamed, stumbled…and stopped.

* * *

Tolly was running an evasion pattern. That was good, Hazenthull thought. He wished to be certain that the comrade of the man she had killed would not find and follow him.

It was better, that she followed, to make certain that he reached his goal. She was his partner; she had his back.

They came at last to the ready-yard, and she remembered that he had a ship waiting for him, and a piloting contract in hand. Good, then, all she needed to do was see him safely inside his ship.

She saw him turn his head as she rounded the corner after him, and knew that he had seen her. He gave no sign, though, and did not try to angle away and elude her. She took that for his approval of her escort; and the tie that bound them, still.

He was running easier now, as if his goal were near. Hazenthull felt something in her chest loosen, though she was breathing easily. Very soon now, he would be safe; his enemies confounded. He would lift, and she would never—

Ahead of her, Tolly stumbled.

He stopped.

He turned, slowly, until he faced the small woman who strolled out from between two ships, a gun in one hand, and a short, ceramic pipe in the other.

Hazenthull froze, wondering if this was, indeed, his new pilot. She watched as the woman came closer and Tolly did not move, did not react to her presence at all, even when she raised the hand that held the gun and whipped it across his face.

“Well, Mr. Berk, or is it something else today?” the woman said.

Tolly did not answer. The woman raised the gun again…then lowered it.

“Answer, Thirteen-Sixty-Two: what name are you using today?”

“Tolly Jones.” His voice was flat; his face, bloodied where the gun had opened a gash on his cheek, without expression.

Hazenthull began to move, with care; neither Tolly nor his captor looked in her direction.