Duty Bound (4 page)

Daav pulled him onward, past the rest of the
tables and the row of mechanicals with their attendant players,
straight on to the lift-bank. He punched the summons, keeping a
firm grip on Er Thom's arm.

"You may," Er Thom said, with what dignity
he could muster, "release me."

"And have you wander off like a kitten after
a butterfly and land in some sort of horrid scrape?" his brother
inquired. "I think not."

He was saved from having to answer this not
altogether unjust assertion by the arrival of the lift. They
stepped inside together, Daav punched the button for the next floor
above and released Er Thom's arm.

"Mind you, stay by me," he snarled, which
really was too much.

Er aThom spun to balance snap with
snarl--and stopped.

Daav's face was pale, his lips pressed into
a thin line, his brows drawn tightly together--signs Er Thom
recognized all too well. His anger melted and he touched his
brother on the sleeve

"I hadn't meant to frighten you, darling,"
he said softly. "I swear I won't stray from your right hand."

Daav sighed and glanced away, then looked
back and assayed a smile. "Very well, then." The lift doors slid
open, showing a sweetly lit room paneled and carpeted in the first
style of elegance, the tables placed with an eye to discretion and
art.

Most of the tables were empty. Daav squared
his shoulders and left the lift, walking sturdily toward the table
where three Terrans in local formal wear played piket with a
grizzled man in Scout leathers.

Three paces short of the table, at a
position equal with the Scout's left shoulder, Daav stopped. Er
Thom stood at his side, and recruited himself to wait.

They were fortunate that the round had
nearly been done. When it was, the Scout excused himself to his
companions, pushed back his chair and stared them both up and
down.

"I expect you're the Dragon cub," he said at
last, and none too courteously.

Out of the side of his eye, Er Thom saw
Daav's face go entirely bland, in an expression at once unfamiliar
and chilling, before he bowed to the Scout--junior to senior--the
timing coolly precise.

"Daav yos'Phelium Clan Korval," he said, in
the High Tongue's mode of introduction. "Do I address Scout Pilot
Rod Ern pel'Arot?"

The Scout inclined his head. "You do. I hear
you want a ride back home. Why choose me?"

"One's instructor had recommended you as a
pilot from whom a novice might learn much," Daav returned, his
voice colder, perhaps, than even the High Tongue required.

The Scout cocked his head in what Er Thom
read as mock interest. "Now, here's a puzzle. Who teaches you
piloting? Boy."

Daav drew a deep breath. "I have the honor
of receiving instruction from Master dea'Cort."

Both grizzled brows lifted, and the Scout
inclined his head this time with something nearer respect. "Well.
And dea'Cort sends you to me." He flicked a glance at Er Thom's
face, then looked back to Daav.

"Baggage?"

"One's brother, sent as Captain's
escort."

"Wants to make certain you're in good
hands?" His glance this time was longer; and he spoke directly to
Er Thom.

"Well, Trader? Is he in good hands?"

Er Thom frowned, then bowed briefly. "Sir. I
hear that my Delm has seen your name on the list provided by Master
Pilot dea'Cort, which she then approved. How, then, shall your care
of my brother be other than excellent?"

The Scout stared, absolutely still, then
gave a shout of laughter and slapped his two-fingered hand on the
card table.

"Dragons dice early, I learn! Well said." He
looked back to Daav.

"These gentles and myself have some business
to conclude. I will find you in an hour at the main eatery,
belowstairs. They serve a tolerable nuncheon. Tell them you're on
the Scout's ticket."

Daav bowed, and Er Thom did, too. "One hour,
in the main restaurant," Daav murmured, but the Scout had already
turned away, and was reaching for the cards.

* * *

THEY PAUSED ON the threshold of the casino's
restaurant and embraced without speaking. Daav raised a hand as
they let the hug go, and ran his fingers, feather-light, down Er
Thom's cheek.

"Keep you safe, denubia," he said,
light-voiced, as if he did not stand on the edge of parting from
his brother--his second self--twice in one scant lifetime, and
grinned with more courage than mischief. "Beware of idiots seeking
to chain you to a dummy board."

Er Thom smiled, matching Daav's courage,
then exceeded it, by taking one step back and raising his hand.
"Keep safe, Daav," he murmured, and spun, perhaps too quickly, on
his heel and strode off, alone, across the clattering busyness of
the casino.

Daav watched him go--a slender,
yellow-haired boy in trading clothes and well-made boots, the
sleeve of his jacket bearing Korval's venerable
Tree-and-Dragon--until he lost him among the tall crowd of
gamesters. He bit his lip, then, and blinked hard a time or two to
clear his eyes, then went into the restaurant and asked for a table
overlooking the floor.

* * *

SHOULDERS STRINGENTLY level, Er Thom went
across the noisy room. He looked neither left nor right--and most
especially he did not look back, being wise enough to know that his
fragile seemliness would never withstand the sight of Daav standing
at the entrance to the restaurant, watching him safely out the
door.

Clack... clack.. .clack--as before, the
sound drew the ear as insidiously as the flaring lights pulled the
eye. Er Thom allowed himself a glance to the left and up, observing
the Wheel as it clack... clack.. .clacked to the end of its course
and was still, dark, but for a single wager-mark.

"Blue Seven!" called the croupier, and
flourished his wand across the betting table, collecting the losing
wagers in a single, precise sweep.

Er Thom discovered that he had stopped
walking and frowned, remembering the formidable list of errands he
had yet to accomplish in the high town for his parent. He put one
foot forward, but his eye had been caught, precisely as before, by
the Tree-and-Dragon sigil on the sleeve of Mechanic Bor Gen
pin'Ethil's jacket. As he watched, the man reached into his pocket
and pulled out a coin, his shoulders rounded as if he stood under
some unbearable weight.

Hesitating, Er Thom tried to reckon the time
that had passed since he had first passed the Wheel and its cluster
of avid players, and then shook himself, crossly. What business was
it of his, how a crewman on leave chose to amuse himself?

Bor Gen pin'Ethil placed his coin on the
table, his fingers hovering near, as if he might at any moment
snatch it away.

Er Thom frowned again, liking that
round-shouldered pose of misery less with every heartbeat. He had
been several times over the last months assigned to the repair
bays, and more than once to Mechanic pin'Ethil himself. A gentle,
sweet-natured man, Bor Gen pin'Ethil, skilled in his work and an
able teacher, besides. The man who stood with his neck bent at the
base of the wheel was as unlike Mechanic pin'Ethil as--as Chi
yos'Phellum was unlike her twin.

Er Thom hesitated, and in that moment the
croupier extended his glowing wand to the Wheel, Thick scarlet
sparks flared wetly and the Wheel began to spin, picking up speed
until the rimlights were but a foggy smear against the far indigo
ceiling.

Alone among the crowd at the table, Bor Gen
pin'Ethil did not gaze, entranced, upward into the seductive flare
of light. He looked down, staring, or so Er Thom fancied, at the
place where he had set his coin.

Er Thom bit his lip. Clearly, something was
wrong, and the mechanic was a crewman. His crewman, if it came to
that; he being the yos'Galan present.

Mechanic pin'Ethil is ill, he decided. In
such case, his duty as crew-mate and as yos'Galan was plain. He
moved a step toward the man who stood, staring bleakly down at the
table.

Clack... clack.. .clack. The Wheel came to
rest, rim-lights darkening.

The crowd 'round the table sighed as one,
saving only Bor Gen pin'Ethil, staring, steadfast, at his coin.

"Yellow Eleven!" called the man with the
wand. "The House wins!"

Bor Gen pin'Ethil picked his coin up and
turned away from the table.

The thing was done so deftly that it took Er
Thom, with his attention close upon the man, a moment to understand
what he had seen. Alas, the croupier's wand was more observant.

It began to glow a steady and unalarming
amber. The croupier raised it high over his head at the same time
directing a courteous, "Your pardon, sir. A word with you, please,"
at Mechanic pin'Ethil's back.

The mechanic did not heed the gentle
summons, but moved steadily away from the table. Heart in mouth, Er
Thom plunged forward, certain now that something was earnestly
amiss. Even he, the rawest of halflings, knew that a wager once
placed upon the table was sacrosanct. The House had won with Yellow
Eleven. Mechanic pin'Ethil's coin, covering Green Eight, was
forfeit, by all the rules of honor and of play.

He needn't have hurried. The crowd parted
for two tall Terrans in formal wear. One reached down and gripped
Bor Gen pin'Ethil's arm, holding him still. The second went to the
table, carrying another wand to the croupier.

"Malfunction?" she asked, taking the
amber-lit wand with a rueful smile. "Ah, well. A spin on the House
for everyone."

The croupier bowed and bent, reaching into
his tray for coins to put into the questing hands of the players Er
Thom turned away in time to see the other Terran urging Mechanic
pin'Ethil forward.

The mechanic balked and twisted, trying to
break the Terran's grip. He failed, which could not have been
unexpected, and sent a swift, panicked glance about him. Er Thom
leapt forward, the man's eye fell upon him, and his face closed,
becoming the calm, courteous face of an elder crewman.
Deliberately, he turned back to the man who held him and inclined
his head.

"Hold!" Er Thom had reached the mechanic's
side and stared up into the face of the man who held him, and spoke
in rapid Trade. "Release him. We will come with you willingly."

"Certainly, I will," said Mechanic
pin'Ethil. He drew a deep breath, looked calmly into Er Thom's
face, and murmured quickly in Liaden, elder crew to younger.
"Halfling, this is not yours. Go now, you should not be in this
place."

"These persons will want Balance, will they
not?" Er Thom snapped, as if he spoke to Daav, rather than an
elder. "Who else from your crewmates is here to support you?"

"No one, gods be praised," the other
returned. He paused before inclining his head. "Your actions do you
honor, but you must believe me--you want none of this."

"What's the hold-up?" The female Terran was
with them, the glowing amber wand cradled in her arm. She glanced
over to her mate. "Who's the kid?"

"I am Er Thom yos'Galan," he answered, in
his slow, careful Terran. "This man," he used his chin to point at
Mechanic pin'Ethil, "is of my crew."

"He is, is he?" She looked briefly amused,
then shook her head and turned on her heel. "People are staring,"
she said over her shoulder to the man who held Mechanic pin'Ethil's
arm. "Bring them both."

"Right." The man walked after her. Perforce,
Mechanic pin'Ethil walked with him, Er Thom keeping pace on his
opposite side.

Calmly, the man never loosing his grip on
Mechanic pin'Ethil's arm, they walked through the throng of gaily
dressed people. Er Thom searched the faces in the crowd, but saw no
one he recognized. Apparently of all the Passage's off-shift crew,
only Bor Gen pin'Ethil found the Spinning Wheel to his taste.

They passed a knot of Liadens in formal
evening wear, the ladies' jewel-toned dresses echoed in the
gemstones worn by their escorts. A flicker of black moved at the
edge of Er Thom's eye and he turned his head to track it, thinking
Daav, thinking--but there was no thin, fox-faced boy in Scout
leather staring at him from the depths of the crowd. Only heedless
strangers, intent upon their own pleasure.

Back toward the bandits and the lift bank
they went, then turned sharply to the left, went down a short
hallway and entered an office, where at last Mechanic pin'Ethil was
released by his escort.

Standing beside his crewman, Er Thom heard
the door slide closed behind them, looked upon the stern faces of
those who awaited them, and wished that he had taken Mechanic
pin'Ethil's hint and run.

The next moment, he was ashamed of himself.
Run, and leave a crewmate alone to Balance with strangers? Far
better to have a mate at one's side in such a wise. Though it
would, Er Thom allowed, possibly have been more comfort to Mechanic
pin'Ethil, had the mate who stood at his side been Petrella
yos'Galan herself.

Their female escort laid the amber wand on
the desk before the sternest face of all, murmuring respectfully.
"Here's the evidence, Mr. Straudman."

Mr. Straudman neither acknowledged her nor
glanced down at the wand. Instead, he stared at Mechanic pin'Ethil,
his eyes cold in his pale face.

"Stealing, Liaden?" he asked, his Trade flat
and rapid. "We don't like to have people stealing from us."

"I understand," said Mechanic pin'Ethil, in
a calm, if slightly breathless voice. "The error is mine and I will
endeavor to repair it."

"Don't trouble yourself," the man behind the
desk said. "We know just what to do with thieves." He smiled
somewhat, and Er Thom felt his hands curl into fists. He took a
breath and moved forward one step. The man who had escorted them
here grabbed his arm.

"Stop."

Er Thom inclined his head. "Very well." He
waited until he was released, then forced himself to meet the cold
eyes of the man behind the desk.