Liaden Universe [19] - Alliance of Equals - eARC

THANKS TO . . .

Patrick Shawn Bagley, for the gift of his expertise—
and for being a good sport

CHAPTER ONE

Dutiful Passage

He rushed her, a tall Terran male, overtopping and outmassing her. Padi dropped back one step, flat-footed and centered, knees flexed—and he was on her, keeping himself tight, seeking to overturn her with his speed, and flatten her under his weight. She ducked inside his reach, snatching at belt and elbow, twisting her upper body, letting him lift himself over her shoulder. Momentum, it was all his own momentum, and, in the last instant before she let him go, she straightened, adding her motion to his,
throwing him
with every ounce of strength she possessed before she released him—and continued the spin, completing the move and dissipating unused energy.

Her late opponent hit the floor some number of his own body lengths down the room. Hit, rolled, and leapt to his feet; turned…

…and bowed, vanquished to victor.

“Your follow, having thrown your attacker far away?” he inquired in Terran.

Padi’s bow was from student to teacher.

“I would have run, sir, and been many blocks distant before he regained his feet.”

“And if he had a partner at the top of the street?”

“I would have shot her,” she said coolly, “and run on.”

“I see.”

Arms Master Schneider looked around the practice room, as if he were seeing something other than the padded walls and floor.

Padi folded her hands and waited. Arms Master Schneider took time with his words, and there was no speeding the man up, no matter how much one might wish it. Padi supposed it another sort of practice, and did her best to recruit herself to patience.

“I wonder,” he said eventually, walking toward her, his posture soft, and his hands unthreatening. Padi remained at center, and allowed her hands to unfold into neutral positions at her sides.

Her instructor did not seem to notice; he continued to walk gently forward, his eyes on her face.

“It’s very natural,” he said, resuming speech without giving voice to what it was he had wondered, “to want to throw an enemy as far from yourself as possible, gaining the opportunity to run. But it seems to me, Padi, that your solution to a rush is invariably to throw.” He smiled, and added, “Even if you are able to throw impressively far.”

He paused, well inside Padi’s defense space, and settled deliberately, hooking his thumbs in his belt.

“We’re fortunate to have such ample practice space, but I wonder what you would do, if you were on port, and had to counter an attack in, let’s say, a small space. An alley, a vestibule, even a ’fresher? What, for instance, if the person standing peaceably next to you suddenly—lunged?”

He did so, far too close for mercy. There was only one imperative, here: survive to protect her pilot, and her passengers—a little boy with two infants in his charge.

She knew the answer; she had drilled the answer until it was reflex.

Ducking, she stepped into his lunge, raised a hand and snapped into a short, savage jump. The extended palm should have caught him under the chin, but Arms Master Schneider was far too canny for that. He arched into a backflip, using the space he had only just been scolding her for utilizing. Padi landed lightly in place, shaking her arms to release the energy she had withheld. Delivered with full force, the strike to the chin would have snapped her attacker’s head back and broken his neck.

It was of course very bad form to kill one’s instructor; besides, she liked Arms Master Schneider—and it
was
practice. Even if the blow had landed, he would have been in no danger, though he might have had a headache, after.

“Your reasoning?” he asked, from two body lengths away.

Padi bowed.

“You had posited cramped quarters and an assailant well within my space. The only sure answer in such a case is a kill. I cannot risk a deflection; I might find myself snatched and immobilized, unable even to call a warning. I cannot risk a prolonged engagement, if indeed, as you had also offered, the first attacker was one of a team. I am alone, and I must prevail quickly, if I am to survive.”

There was a long silence while Arms Master Schneider mulled over his store of words.

“Let’s try another scenario, in that same small space, in a confusion of wind and darkness, let’s say. A person is grabbing for you, and crying out. What’s your answer?”

Padi frowned, and paused to consider the question twice, suspecting a trick, but a second examination revealed nothing that might change her answer.

“It is the same,” she said calmly. “I must take definitive action.”

“And if it’s later found that the person who reached for you was asking for your assistance—or warning you of danger? Your answer would kill an innocent—even an ally—no differently than a villain.”

But this is play-acting! Padi thought irritably.

“The only intent I can be certain of is my own,” she said, which was straight from the training tapes they had Learned on the Rock. “Others depend upon me. I cannot risk myself.”

“What do you risk, by dancing an avoid before the kill?”

“Time,” she said promptly. “Tempo. Opportunity.”

Arms Master Schneider pressed his lips together, which he did when he was considering something especially difficult.

“We have a few minutes left,” he said eventually. “Let’s practice some of the common avoids. Particularly, we should pay attention to how much time is lost to the move, and if tempo can be preserved—or even created. You will take the part of the attacker.”

He bowed, and she did. Both centered themselves.

“At will,” he said, and Padi launched into action.

—•—

There was no new correspondence in his mail queue.

There was, for instance, no letter from the Terran Trade Commission confirming the committee’s decision to upgrade Surebleak Port from Local to Regional. Such confirmation had been promised to him by the committee chair no later than the end of the
relumma
, which was fast approaching.

Additionally, there was no letter from Lomar Fasholt, which he had been expecting daily, if not hourly, since Theo had reported that his former trade partner had broken with her Temple, and subsequently disappeared from her homeworld.

Nor, for that matter, was there a message from Theo, acknowledging receipt of his pinbeam, and reporting that she, her ship, and her crew were en route to Surebleak and the safety of Korval’s clanhouse.

Shan glared at the empty inbox. It hardly seemed fair or fitting that a circumstance which ought to have afforded real, if fleeting, pleasure should instead generate strong feelings of frustration.

He felt his fingers moving in a soothing, familiar rhythm, glanced down and saw a chipped red gaming counter, its edges showing naked wood, moving across the knuckles of his left hand. The token crossed the last knuckle, his hand turned, palm up, to catch the thing before once again setting it on its journey.

He sighed.

He had acquired the gaming token, and the fingering exercise, elsewhere, and some little while ago. In fact, he had lately considered himself quit of both, having gone so many days undisturbed by either, only to find them manifesting again, and with the
Passage
barely out of the home port. Simple sleight-of-hand, that was all. Completely unremarkable, save for the manner of its…acquisition.

Three times, while he watched, the token walked across his knuckles. At the end of the fourth journey across the back of his hand, it did not fall into his waiting palm, but seemed instead to vanish into plain air. That would, perhaps, have been comforting, if he did not know with a certainty that had nothing to do with logic, or even understanding how the trick was done, that the token was, now, in his right front trouser pocket.

Blast the thing.

He took a deep breath to cool his irritation, and looked back to the screen.

Certainly he had other work to fill his idle hours, even if he had no mail.

The touch of a key banished his unsatisfying inbox and brought the sketch of the new trade route onto the screen.

It was, truth told, a malformed and unbalanced thing, hardly worthy of a novice trader, much less a master. He knew how to build routes, of course, but the sad truth was that most of his work as Korval’s master trader had been the maintenance and modification of long-established routes built by the master traders who had gone before him.

He hadn’t built a major new route since…well…since the Bestwell-Kessel-La’Quontis Route, the year that Padi was born.

“Admit it, Shan,” he said aloud, “you’ve gotten soft.”

There being no argument forthcoming from himself, he reached for his wineglass and sipped, eyes on the inelegant shambles adorning his screen.

He might, he thought, putting the glass aside, be somewhat kinder to himself. The route as described revealed not so much a master trader whose skills had atrophied, as a master trader who was required to feel his way, combining discovery with design.

The first part of the route—
that
had been well enough, with six stops of light trade, all at ports known to Korval ships, if not to
Dutiful Passage
herself. At each of those six ports, in addition to the trade, he and Priscilla had met with allies and business partners, to strengthen old ties, and to build new ones, where necessary, the two of them empowered by the delm to speak with Their Voice.

They were now embarking upon the second phase, wherein they would be on the search for new trade partners, allies, and business associates. They would also, in this phase as in the former, be demonstrating to the universe that Clan Korval, doing business as Tree-and-Dragon Family,
was
doing business; that it was not afraid of its enemies, nor ashamed of its past actions. Miri had dubbed the plan
playing chicken with the universe
, but she had agreed with him, Priscilla, and with Val Con, that the demonstration was required.

Though the actions that had seen Korval banished from Liad had been justified, not to say necessary, they had—people, rumor, and politics being what they were—their character to redeem, and the sooner they began
that
work, the sooner they would succeed.

Also, they labored under another piquant truth: the clan’s purse was…less than plump. Oh, they were by no means destitute, and Ms. dea’Gauss was hard at work establishing new income streams and researching new investments.

Still, there had been a cost in removing themselves, and their finances, from Liaden society, and Liaden economy. In the long term, Liad would pay the larger portion of that invoice, which, while satisfying to contemplate, did nothing to mitigate the necessity of Korval’s holding household while establishing a firm base of operations on a rather backward planet, and seeking to expand their resources.

Historically, the clan had expanded resources through trade. And it was his duty, as Korval’s master trader, to build new routes—strong, viable, profitable routes—and build them quickly.

Which he had best be about.

So. Their first new stop on the route they were simultaneously discovering and building was Andiree in the Kinsa Sector. According to the
Guild Quick Guide
, Andiree was a solid port, rated Safe, for whatever comfort that might lend to the naive, or those who made it their business to be
un
safe. It declared itself Terran, yet had included in its colonizing population a small number of Liaden artisan clans.

That was of interest, being something like the situation in which Korval now discovered itself. The Liaden artists of Andiree, rather than forming an enclave from which the greater planetary society was excluded, as Liadens had done on other worlds where they were the minority population…the artists had embraced the local culture, first on the level of craft, as they joined with those who shared their passions for pottery, sculpture, painting, paper-making, carving, and weaving, and from that base spreading out, into, and finally joining with the planetary society.

According to the anthropologists who had studied the place, what had occurred over time was
not
the assimilation of one population, with its customs, into the other, but a melding that had produced a separate-but-equal third society with entirely new customs. The primary unit of personal allegiance, for instance, was neither clan nor family, but guild. Contract marriage existed, but between guildmasters only, as a political tool, rather than for progeny. Balance existed, administered formally through the guilds, while Balance between individuals was socially unacceptable.

Shan sighed. Andiree was perhaps a glimpse of Korval’s future, though it was difficult to imagine Surebleak’s blunt and rugged culture allowing itself to accept anything of Liaden sensibilities—or even Korval House custom.

It was…profoundly disturbing, to think that they—that
who they were
, and had been since the Great Migration itself—would be lost within a generation or two…

The door to his office hissed slightly as it opened and he spun from his screen, coming to his feet as his lifemate entered.

She paused, brows knit, as the door closed quietly behind her.

“Shan? What’s wrong?”

In addition to her
melant’is
as lifemate to the thodelm of yos’Galan, and captain of the
Dutiful Passage
, Priscilla Delacroix y Mendoza was also a Witch—or, according to Liadens, a
dramliza
. She would have read his emotions even as he now read hers, thereby learning that she was tired, and slightly irritable. A meeting with the third mate, then, he thought, moving around the desk.

“Nothing so much as
wrong
,” he said, opening his arms. “I was only reflecting on Korval’s future, and how we will soon become strangers to ourselves.”

Priscilla stepped willingly into the offered hug, her arms going ’round his waist. She sighed, deeply, and dropped her head to his shoulder. He lay his cheek against her soft curls, and breathed in her fragrance.

“He’s a bit stiff in the honor, the third mate,” he murmured.

Priscilla hiccuped a small laugh.

“He is, isn’t he?”

She sighed again, and he tasted the particular tang of a relaxation exercise, even as her body softened against his.