Duty Bound (3 page)

"Now, that, neither of you lacks." She
paused, her sharp blue eyes flashing from Er Thom back to Daav. "We
raise Venture within the hour, nephew, and tomorrow is the
appointed day of your departure. Exert yourself to comfort one who
was ever acknowledged as the timid twin: Are your arrangements in
order and satisfactory to yourself? Better--would your mother my
sister express her satisfaction with your arrangements?"

Daav raised his hand. "She and I discussed
the scheme in detail before I had her aye. Scout Academy provided a
list of pilots who might be receptive to allowing a first class
provisional to gain flight time as their second--a list Mother
studied with some interest before declaring that it would do."

"So." Petrella inclined her head, and
glanced again to Er Thom.

"I wonder, my son, if you might not do the
Captain the honor of ferrying Scout Candidate yos'Phelium to the
planet surface tomorrow. I would expect you to stay by him until he
has satisfactorily made his contacts, attend to the few small
errands you will find listed on your duty screen, and return the
Captain's Shuttle to the ship."

Er Thom's breath caught.

"I'm to pilot the Captain's Shuttle alone?
Mother -- "

She tipped her head, and he thought he
detected the beginning of a twinkle in her stern blue eyes.

"Surely that is a task well within the skill
of a second class pilot?"

He smiled. "Yes, Captain. It is."

"Good, that is settled, then." She turned.
At the door, she looked over her shoulder at them. "The hour has
perhaps escaped your notice, pilots. I mention--as elder kin and as
a master pilot--that flight is much more enjoyable when one is
awake at the board." She inclined her head--"Sleep well"--and was
gone.

* * *

DAAV WALKED UP to the duty counter, which
looked for all the worlds like any counter in any hiring hall one
cared to name. Had Er Thom not read the sign as he followed Daav
into this place, he would have supposed himself in an office of the
Pilot's Guild, rather than the sector headquarters of the Liaden
Scouts.

The man behind the counter glanced up from
his book, and registered Daav with one quick Scout glance. The
glance lingered a moment on Er Thom, as if the Scout found the
appearance into his hall of a halfling in Trader clothes somewhat
puzzling.

Daav laid his license on the counter. "One
seeks Scout Rod Ern pel'Arot."

"So?" The Scout appeared amused. "If one is
so ill-advised as to seek Scout pel'Arot on Trilsday, then one must
be prepared to seek him at the Spinning Wheel."

Daav inclined his head. "I shall do so. May
one inquire the direction of the Spinning Wheel?"

The Scout's amusement was almost
palpable.

"Down on the blue median, handy to
Terraport." He moved his shoulders and picked his book up.

"I am informed," Daav said, which his
brother considered nothing more nor less than prevarication,
pocketed his license and turned away, Er Thom trailing a respectful
two paces behind.

Back on the walkway, Daav paused, face
thoughtful. Er Thom looked up the street, down the street, but
spied nothing remotely resembling either a blue median or a
Terraport.

"Singularly unhelpful, that duty clerk," he
grumbled. His brother looked at him, surprise on his sharp-featured
face.

"No, do you say so?" He, too, looked up and
down the busy thoroughfare. "Now, I think he told us everything we
needed to know, if only we apply--ah." He moved forward, stepping
off the curb, angling through traffic as if the rushing groundcars
were mere figments. Er Thom gasped, then ran after, eyes on his
brother's narrow, space-leathered back.

He caught up on the far side of the street,
where Daav had paused before a public display-map of Venture Port
and near environs.

"Down on the blue median," Daav murmured,
"and handy to Terraport." He frowned at the flat display, then
reached out and pushed the power-up button.

The display flickered and rolled; colors
flashed; flat shapes expanded into three dimensions. The bright
pictographs of written Trade appeared last, putting names to this
or that building or wayfare.

Daav laughed.

"Here we are," he said, leaning forward and
laying his hand wide over a block limned in electric blue. "The
blue median, or I'll eat my leathers."

Er Thom leaned forward, squinting at the
pictograph identifying a red-lined block just the north of Daav's
blue. "Terran Mercantile Association," he read, and Daav laughed
again.

"Terraport." He turned his grin on Er Thom.
"Now, what was so difficult about that?"

"He might have said 'near the Terran Trade
Hall,'" Er Thom pointed out, struggling to keep his lips straight
and his face serious.

"Well," said Daav, with a final, calculating
stare at the map, "he might have done so. But then he would not
have been a Scout." He moved his shoulders, and sent a diffident
black glance to Er Thom.

"You have errands to complete for Aunt
Petrella, I know, and the blue median does look to be somewhat off
your course. Shall we part here?"

Er Thom stared, "I am charged foremost with
seeing you safely to the end of your arrangements. You heard her
say it." He paused, as another, unwelcome thought intruded. He bit
his lip. "Unless you do not wish me with you..."

Daav blinked. "What nonsense is this? Of
course I want you by me!" He leaned forward, catching Er Thom's arm
in a brother's warm grip. "Why else did I come all the way from
Liad to see you?"

"Ah." Er Thom glanced aside, blinking, then
looked back to his brother and smiled. "Why are we arguing with
each other on a public street, then? Let us locate Scout pel'Arot
and get you berthed."

"Very well." Daav glanced 'round, then
pointed toward the east. "This way, I believe."

* * *

THE SPINNING WHEEL was found to be at the
end of a short side-way off the main thoroughfare, just
half-a-block from the Terran Trade Hall. The Trade pictograph on
the corner street sign read "Blueway Cul-de-Sac 12." Below that, a
board bearing the hand-painted Terran words "Avenue of Dreams" had
been nailed to the post. Daav slipped down the slender way, Er Thom
at his side.

A thick-shouldered Terran male sat on a
stool beside the door to the casino, watching them with interest.
He waved his hand as they approached the door.

"Hold it."

As one, they checked, exchanging a glance.
It was Daav who moved a step toward the doorman and inclined his
head--proper, as it was Daav's errand they were come upon.

"Yes?" he said.

The man frowned and jerked his thumb at the
casino's door. "This here's a gambling hall. No kids allowed, by
order of the portmaster."

"I understand," Daav said in his slow,
careful Terran. "May one know the local definition of 'kid'?"

"Huh." The doorkeeper showed his teeth. It
was perhaps, Er Thom thought, a smile. "A 'kid' is somebody who
don't hold a license or a guild-card." The teeth showed again. "So,
maybe you got a pilot's license?"

"Indeed." Daav went forward another step,
reaching into his pocket. Er Thom moved, too, and put a hand on his
brother's arm, halting him just outside the range of the man's
Terran-long reach.

The doorkeeper saw the gesture, and
laughed--a rusty sound no more cordial than his smile. "Your buddy
thinks I'm a chicken-hawk."

"But of course you are no such thing," Daav
answered calmly and held his license up for the man to see.

The hostile humor faded from the
doorkeeper's face. "First class pilot? How old are you?"

Daav lifted an eyebrow, his face set in
haughty lines that reminded Er Thom forcibly of their mother. "Is
my age significant? As you see, I hold a valid license. The
portmaster's word is met."

"You got that," the man admitted after a
moment, and turned a rather more respectful gaze on Er Thom.

"OK, doll. You got a first class card,
too?"

"I do not." He showed his license, gripping
it as firmly as he might with the tips of his fingers. The doorman
sighed.

"Second class. How old
are
you
?" He held
up his big hand. "It don't make no difference to whether you can go
in--your friend's got that pat. Call it curiosity. I don't peg
Liaden ages too good, but I'm damned if either one of you looks
more'n twelve Standards."

Er Thom slipped his card back into its
pocket, glanced at Daav and looked back to the doorman.

"I have fourteen Standard Years," he said
courteously.

"And I," said Daav. "Good day to you." He
moved toward the door, Er Thom at his shoulder, and the doorman let
them go.

Inside at last, they paused, blinking at the
muddle of noise, lights and people.

The Spinning Wheel was one large,
high-ceilinged room; perhaps at some former time it had been a
warehouse. The games of chance were strung out across the thickly
carpeted floor, each surrounded by a tangle of players in modes of
dress from dock worker coveralls to full eveningwear. People were
also in motion, drifting between this table and that; still more
were busy with the gambling machines lining the back wall.

In the very center of the room was a lighted
golden wheel reaching nearly to the ceiling--the device that gave
the casino its name. And the cluster of people around that table
was equal, Er Thom thought, to the entire crew roster of the
Dutiful Passage.

Er Thom's heart sank. How were they to find
one man--one man whom neither had seen before--in this crush? He
glanced at his brother's face and was curiously dismayed to find
that even Daav looked daunted.

Er Thom bit his lip. "Perhaps there is a
message board?" he suggested, almost certain that there was not.
"Or a paging system?"

"Perhaps..." Daav murmured, almost inaudible
ovEr the din. "I wonder..."

"You kids looking for somebody?" The woman
who asked it was Terran, tall and willowy; elegant in a red
shimmersilk dress. Her hair was yellow--very nearly the same shade
as Er Thom's--her eyes a piercing dark brown.

"In fact, we are," Daav said, making his bow
as visitor to host. "We were sent here to find Rod Ern
pel'Arot."

For a moment, the woman hesitated, and Er
Thom was about to despair. Abruptly, her face cleared, and she
snapped her fingers.

"Is the week half-gone already?" This was
apparently a rhetorical question, since she rushed on without
giving either of them opportunity to answer, "The Scout, right? I
didn't see him come in, but it's his day, and he hasn't missed one
since I've been hostess. He'll be upstairs in the card rooms." She
cocked a cogent eye.

"You know what he looks like?"

Daav smiled at her. "Like a Liaden?"

The woman laughed. "Sharp, are you? Yes,
like a Liaden. A brown-haired Liaden, going gray, with three
fingers missing off his left hand."

Daav bowed. "I am grateful."

"You're welcome," she said cheerfully and
pointed across the crowded, noisy room. "You'll find the lift over
in the far corner, there. See where there's a break in the line of
bandits?"

"Yes," said Daav, politely, Er Thom thought,
if without perfect truth.

The woman nodded. "Have a good time--and
hope the Scout's winning today." She swept off, the red dress
swishing against the carpet.

"Well," said Daav. Er Thom turned to meet
his brother's amused eyes. "Still game for the adventure,
darling?"

"How could I beg off now?" Er Thom asked.
"I'm all agog to meet this Scout of yours. Especially if he's
winning."

"Oh, I don't know," Daav said, moving slowly
out onto the main floor. "It might prove more informative to
discover him at a loss."

Frowning, Er Thom followed.

It was rather like wading
through a particularly sticky river, crossing that room. Lights
flashed beneath the surface of a table where the dice struck,
drawing the eye. Horns blared, uncomfortably loud, announcing a
winner at a second table, and claiming the attention of all within
earshot. The giant golden wheel in the center of the room
clack-clack-
clacked
as it revolved, lights flickering along its edge, the wager
marks a bright smear reminiscent of the attenuating light one might
glimpse in the second screen in the instant before one's ship
entered Jump.

Er Thom paused, captivated by the effect.
Gradually, the great wheel slowed, its attendant noises spiraling
downward into subdued clack, clack, clacks, the wager marks
discernable as individual symbols once more. Released, Er Thom's
eye fell upon the throng of bettors pressed up against the wheel's
table, and caught sight of a familiar badge on the sleeve of a
jacket. He followed the sleeve up and discovered the face of
Mechanic First Class Bor Gen pin'Ethil, thralled with anticipation,
gray eyes pinned to the progress of the wheel, which clack...
clack.. .clack...CLACKed to a halt, the lights around its edges
flickering like a case lot of lightning bolts.

"Yellow Eleven!" someone called
out--possibly the keeper of the machine, but Er Thom was watching
Mechanic pin'Ethil, and saw his face change from bespelled to
horrified.

"House wins!" called the keeper, and
Mechanic pin'Ethil's shoulders sagged within his crew jacket, then
firmed. Almost stealthily, he reached into his pocket.

Er Thom went a step forward--and found his
arm grabbed.

"There you are!" Daav snapped, bearing him
along in his wake with embarrassing ease. "Here I thought you'd
been taken by child-stealers between one step and the next, when
all that had happened was that you allowed yourself to be caught
like a rabbit in a light by that thing!"

"I didn't--" Er Thom began a hot denial,
then swallowed it. After all, it had been the lights that had
pulled him to a halt. He had only seen Mechanic pin'Ethil
after.