Dragon in Exile - eARC (3 page)

She saw it again, the stairs dressed in elegant autumn carpeting—and blinked her way back to sense.

“Why?” she asked. “Why not just sell it to somebody else at full price? Or—here’s an idea both of us should’ve thought about—why not put it down in your new digs? I’m gathering you’re telling me that the original arrangement fell through and you got to keep the rug and your money?”

“I am telling you that, yes.” He extended a hand and put it over hers where it lay on the table. His palm was cool and smooth.

“As to why here and not elsewhere…Let us say that I would find it particularly satisfying if the carpet intended to grace the formal gathering room of one of Liad’s fifty High Houses should instead ornament a house involved in the business of joy.”

She thought about that.

“It’s revenge, then?”

“It is Balance,” Luken corrected. “I grant that it is my Balance and not yours, but I hope that you will be able to indulge me.”

She wanted that carpet so bad she could taste it, and yet…Balance. Balance was damn’ near as dangerous as
melant’i
.

“Let me sleep on it,” she said, and Luken gave her a pretty little seated bow.

“Of course. There is no need to make a hasty decision.”

Chapter Three

Surebleak Port

“I ain’t drunk an’ I ain’t goin’ noplace with youse!”

The first assertion was untrue; Hazenthull could smell the drink on the woman’s breath. Her stance was commendably steady; her hands were curled into fists, and Hazenthull could see the scars of past encounters across her knuckles.

So, this was one of those who drank to release their inner belligerence, then sought the joy of battle. This, Tolly had explained to her, during their first shifts together. She had doubted him, but she had by now seen enough of these sorts during her shifts on Port Security to understand that Tolly, as usual, had spoken with accuracy.

Had she been walking her shift alone this afternoon, she would have merely knocked the woman across the head, thrown her over a shoulder and taken her to the Whosegow to be booked and fined.

But, she was not on-shift alone. Tolly was with her and Tolly’s preference was not to go to the “trouble” of
lugging unconscious drunks halfway across port.
Tolly’s preference was to find one of the belligerent’s troop and convince them to take her in charge.

So it was that Hazenthull watched in resignation as Tolly walked toward the inebriated woman, hands upraised, truncheon swinging from his belt, gun holstered and peace-bonded.

“I ain’t drunk!” The woman snarled again, and raised her fists.

“Sure you ain’t,” Tolly said easily. “Just a little under the weather, like they say here.”

“I ain’t sick, neither!” She lunged, Tolly stepped aside, Hazenthull watched. The combatant kept her feet, and came back around to challenge Tolly again.

“You scrawny runt! Call me sick, will you? C’mere and I’ll show you who’s sick!”

Hazenthull understood very well the place of the ritual insult in battle, and in disputes between troop. In her opinion, the belligerent woman lacked style, as well as sense. Tolly would not be drawn by such weak stuff.

“Hey, hey, nobody’s calling anybody sick,” he soothed, showing the palms of his empty hands. “Just something the locals say, that’s all. Means tired; the weather’s pretty heavy hereabouts. Nothing the matter with being tired. Happens to all of us. So, what I wanna know—you gotta crewmate around somewhere, somebody to make sure you get into your bunk?”

“Think I need a keeper? Think I ain’t capable?” The woman lunged again, unexpectedly on-target. Hazenthull’s hand twitched, but Tolly ducked under the driving fist, and came up behind the woman’s right shoulder.

Hazenthull sighed. He could have easily grabbed the wrist as the fist went by him, thrown the woman, and ended the matter. This preference of his was time-consuming, as well as risky. Sometimes, she wondered if it was the risk that drew him, for Tolly, when he could be persuaded to it, was a focused and effective fighter.

The drunk threw another punch, far wide. Hazenthull had no concern for Tolly’s safety, unless he slipped in a puddle of beer and the woman fell on him. She let her eyes wander. The noise had attracted attention—it always did. That was part of Tolly’s method. It was likely that one of those attracted would be of the troublemaker’s troop, and compelled by honor to prevent her disgrace.

And, there! A grizzled man wearing a stained and unfastened jacket had twitched toward the action, as if he would interrupt—then settled flat on his feet, and shoved his hands into the pockets of the jacket.

So, he was not fond of the belligerent woman, and he thought he’d let Tolly teach her a lesson, Hazenthull thought, as the woman lunged, and Tolly dealt her the lightest of taps on the head as she staggered past him. The man tensed, but did not take his hands out of his pocket.

Obviously, he needed a reminder of the duty owed a comrade.

The woman was showing Hazenthull her back; she had adopted a wide-legged stance, as if she was now ready to stop toying with Tolly, and deliver genuine damage.

Perfect.

Hazenthull’s hand dropped unerringly to the truncheon on her belt. She had it off its hook, and stepped forward, arm swinging high, her attention on the back of the woman’s head…

“Stop!” came a hoarse cry, and the man in the dirty jacket ran heavily forward, ducking under the arrested truncheon, and grabbing the woman’s arm.

“Stop it, Hannit! You wanna go down for hitting a Peaceman? You know the cap’n said she wasn’t goin’ to stand no more fines! You’re in to t’ship so deep already ’s’wonder you had any drinkin’ money!”

“Jerry?” The drunk turned to peer into his face. “T’ell you doin’?” She jerked her arm as if to break away.

The man not only kept his grip, he shook her by the arm he held.

“Stand down, you damnfool! ’Pologize to the Peaceman now, an’…”

“No apology necessary,” Tolly said quickly. “Just doing my job, that’s all. You’ll be taking her in hand now? See she gets safe back to her ship?”

Jerry looked like he wanted nothing less, but he nodded, jerkily.

“I’ll do it, small thanks I’ll have.”

“But you have my thanks!” Tolly told him cheerfully, “and the thanks of my partner, who didn’t really want to strike a defenseless civilian. Did you, Haz?”

Hazenthull had no objection at all to striking a fool, but Tolly had coached her on this. He said that Port Security needed
good PR
to make their jobs easier.

So, then:

“Of course not,” she said, hanging the truncheon back on her belt. The drunk woman had turned to stare, eyes wide. Hazenthull gave her a grin, showing teeth. The woman paled slightly.

“OK, Jerry, sure,” she said. “Time a get back, I guess.”

Jerry gave another one of his jerky nods, to Hazenthull.

“Sorry for the trouble,” he muttered, then he moved, hauling his comrade by her arm and stamping off through the crowd, which gave way before him.

“OK!” Tolly clapped his hands, spinning around on a heel. “OK! Show’s over! Everybody! As you were!”

Slowly, they dispersed. When they had done so, Tolly caught her eye, and jerked his head toward the door. She nodded and they walked away together.

“Why do you?” she asked, as soon as they were outside. The day was bright, for a change, and blisteringly cold. Hazenthull fished her gloves out of her pockets and pulled them on.

“What else should I have done?” Tolly asked, which he always did.

“Take her to the Whosegow—”

“Escort a drunk across Port, book her, and fill out the forms.”

“That is standard procedure, as given in—”

“As given in the Book, yeah, I know. But, see, Haz, one of my rules is:
never fill out forms
.”

“Why?”

“Good question. Because forms give information. Where were we, when were we, what are our names, our badge numbers? All that, on the forms, and our friend there would’ve gotten a copy when she paid her fine. I’m not real keen on somebody who gets drunk and likes to fight having my name and badge number. What if she wakes up tomorrow thinking that the only way to save honor is to track us down and kill us?”

“That one had no honor.”

“If you say so. Thing is, this way—she knows our faces; she knows we’re Port Security. If she comes in tomorrow with a complaint, as drunk as she was? She wouldn’t be able to pick me out of a line up.”

“She would, me.”

“Yeah, that’s true. Maybe I should partner with somebody less obvious.”

This was Tolly’s humor, Hazenthull had learned. She was meant to laugh and forget. But, she had another question. A serious question.

“Why do you not?”

He grinned up at her, blue eyes glinting.

“’Cause I like you, Haz. We make a good team. Were you really going to cane that drunk?”

“I was getting bored,” she said, which was
her
humor.

Tolly laughed.

“Next time, I’ll make it march,” he said. “C’mon, let’s take a walk through the Emerald; get out of this wind.”

* * *

The Emerald Casino had its own security. There was no reason for Port Security to perform a walk-through or any other check, there.

Tolly liked the place, though, and every shift made sure that they walked through at least once. More often than less, he would meet someone he had known from a previous duty-cycle or on another world, and they would exchange some words, or a bow. Early in what Port Security insisted was their
partnership
, of an evening when they had met no less than eight of Tolly’s acquaintance on their casino walk-through, she had demanded to know if he had held duty down the length and breadth of the galaxy.

“Near enough,” had been his answer. “I started young, see.”

“I, too, started young,” Hazenthull had replied, pleased to find this similarity between them, and thinking of the tests that had brought her out of the creche for extended training, in addition to basic weapons work. When at last she had achieved it, her rank had been Explorer, which had as its counterpart among Liadens, Scout. She had never heard that there were Terran Scouts, but she had lately learned that the Troop had not known everything there was to know.

“What was your rank?” She’d asked Tolly, this notion of Terran Scouts in her mind.

He’d given her a smile, blue eyes flashing in what she had already known was mischief.

“Specialist.”

Explorers and Scouts were Generalists—they knew a little about a vast number of things. Specialists knew a very great deal about a very narrow field. They were important to the Troop, and especially to Explorers. She had herself consulted numerous Specialists in the pursuit of her duty, but found that they were uninterested in anything beyond their narrow vision. They were not, perhaps, quite as stupid as Common Troop, but there could be no real camaraderie, as between Explorers.

Or as between Scouts and Explorers.

Despite his rank, Tolly continued to act more like a Generalist than a Specialist, and Hazenthull had at last come to terms with the discrepancy by deciding in her own mind that Command had required a Specialist and Tolly had tested weaker than the rest of his cohort in Generalist tendencies.

“Afternoon, folks,” Herb, the midday bartender, waved them over to the bar. He often did so, to offer hot coffee and tea, “for their trouble,” as if this pleasure of Tolly’s was of service to anyone save himself.

“Good afternoon, Herb,” Hazenthull said, looking down at him from her height. Herb, a sturdy Terran male, was broader than Tolly, but much of a height. She, a former Yxtrang Explorer, female and undergrown, still over-topped both.

Tolly smiled, but she refrained, having noticed that, while Tolly’s smiles calmed, hers unnerved. She didn’t wish to unnerve Herb; she liked Herb, and respected his abilities with the blackjack he kept under the bar. He was not a soldier, but he knew his weapon and used it effectively.

“Afternoon, keeper,” Tolly said, speaking the Surebleak dialect, which Herb did. “Every little thing going fine?”

“I got no complaints. Wanted to let you know though, there’s a fella askin’ after a Tolly Jones. If that’s you, you’ll find him at dice.”

“He got a description, this fella?”

Herb shrugged. “Liaden.”

Tolly laughed. “That narrows it down.”

The barkeeper grinned. “Yeah, don’t it? Redhead, ain’t missed any meals lately, got a glitter-bit in his left ear; limps a little off the right leg.” He paused, considering. “No leather.”

Leather on a Liaden meant Jump pilot, or Scout. Or both. Usually. There were those who were unwise enough to wear leather they had not earned. Port Security was sometimes called to officiate at the disputes between those false troops, and the pilots or Scouts they had insulted.

But Tolly—Tolly had gone still; and his face had lost what she had considered, when they first were teamed, the smile of an idiot.

She felt a prickle of energy between her shoulder blades. It had been…a long time since she had seen serious action. Though she enjoyed her sparring matches with Nelirikk Explorer and Diglon Rifle, there was a satisfying savor to facing a real opponent on the field that was absent from pleasant practice sessions with comrades.

“Well, he don’t sound like anybody I know, nor anybody I got a hankerin’ t’meet,” Tolly said, smile back, and lean muscles loose. “Might be we’ll just go out the way we come in. That OK by you, Haz? If Herb’ll forget he saw me?”

“No trouble there. Worst memory on port. Known for not being able to remember my own name, hardly.”

“I have no objection to leaving,” Hazenthull said, disappointment replacing the pleasant anticipation of battle.

“Great, then let’s do that. Thanks, Herb.”

She held her tongue until they were outside, heading for the Surebleak Bazaar.

“I will be pleased to stand at your back, when you meet your enemy.”

Tolly looked up at her, frowning briefly before the smile flashed back into being.

“Now, that’s real nice of you, Haz. But, I don’t know that guy.”

“You knew him,” she said, with certainty. “You froze like a soldier taking cover from a drone.”

He gave her another look, neither frowning nor smiling.

“It’s not a good thing, to lie to your partner,” he said slowly. “Especially when she’s smarter’n you.” He sighed. “Sorry, Haz; you’re right. I knew him. He used to have the ordering of me, but he doesn’t now, which is a fact he finds harder to accept than I do. It’s not a dueling matter.” A pause, then, “That’s what you thought I was going to do? Set up a duel?”

“Or an ambush,” Hazenthull said. “I did not know in what way he had earned your displeasure.”

“Oh, about a thousand ways,” Tolly said, in the light tone that meant he considered the topic closed. “But maybe none of ’em were killing offenses. Look fierce, now.”

They went in by the Bazaar’s public door, showed their badges to the scanner, and entered.

Though it, too, staffed its own security, the Bazaar and Port Security thought it wise that there be multiple patrollings up and down the busy aisles.

“The more cops they see, the less trouble there’ll be,” said Port Security Chief Lizardi. It was a theory not entirely supported by fact, but Hazenthull had learned long ago not to quibble with Command.

And, she enjoyed the Bazaar, with its distinctive aroma that was the roiling together of many diverse aromas, and its bright displays of foodstuffs, and carpet, and metalworks, juices, and wines. It was said that the planet Surebleak had nothing to offer anyone who did not live on Surebleak, but that was plainly not so. There were things here that the Troop would pillage for; that soldiers would duel to possess.