The Crystal Variation (131 page)

“Hey!” he yelled again, and got his feet under him, surging upward. Flinx didn’t flick an ear.

“Ren Lar!” He gave that yell everything he had and it worked, too. His panicked heart had only beat half-a-dozen times more before the master of the vine rounded the corner, running flat out.

But by the time, the snake was dead.

THE DOORMAN
at the pilots’ crash scanned her Kinaveral Port willfly card, and gave her a key to a sleeping room with its own sonic cleaner, which device Khat made immediate, grateful use of. She then hit the hammock for two solid clocks, arising from her nap refreshed and ravenous. Pulling on clean slacks and shirt, she remembered her idea of checking the Trade Bar for the names and numbers of Liaden ships at dock, for Paitor’s eventual interest, and thought she’d combine that interest with the pleasure of a brew and a handwich.

The doorman provided a map, which she studied as she walked.

It seemed that most of Banth, with the notable exceptions of the shipyards and the mines, was under roof and underground. Ground level, that was the Port proper. Down one level was living quarters, townie shops, grab-a-bites, and rec centers. Khat thought about that—living
under
the dirt—and decided, fair mindedly, that it was a reasonable idea, given the state of the planet surface. Why somebody had taken the demented notion to colonize Banth at all remained a mystery that she finally shrugged away with a muttered, “Grounders.”

The Port level, now, that was Admin, of course, and the pilots’ crash, hostels for traders and crew, exhibit halls, Combine office, duty shops, eating places—and the Trade Bar.

Khat traced the tunnel route from her room to the bar, and checked the color of the floor arrows closely.

“Yellow arrow all the way,” she said to herself, folding the map away into a pocket. Up ahead, her hall crossed another, and there was a tangle of color on the floor of the convergence. The yellow flowed to the right, and Khat did, too, lengthening her stride in response to her stomach’s unsubtle urging.

Banth was close to Kinaveral-heavy, despite which Khat arrived at the Trade Bar barely winded.

Look at you
, she thought smugly, swiping her card through the reader. There was a small hesitation, then the door swung open.

She’d expected a crowd, and she had one. Terrans outnumbered Liadens, Liadens outnumbered the expectable, just like Admin, earlier. Noisy, like Trade Bars were always noisy—no difference if they was small, which this one was, or large—with everybody there trying to talk loud enough to be heard over everybody else.

Khat waded in, heading for the bar itself, and found it standing room only.

No problem. She got herself a place to stand, and swung an arm over her head, catching the eye of a bartender with spiked blue hair and a swirl of tattooed stars down one cheek.

“What’ll it be, Long Space?” she bellowed

“Handwich an’ a brew!” Khat yelled back.

“It’s processed protein,” warned the barkeep.

Khat sighed. “What flavor?”

“Package says chicken.”

At least it wasn’t beef. “Do it,” Khat yelled, and the other woman gave her a thumbs-up and faded down-bar.

Khat fished a couple bills out of her public pocket, and eased forward, careful not to step on any toes. The bartender reappeared, and handed over a billy bottle of brew and a zip-bag. Khat tucked them in the crook of her arm, and handed over the bills in trade.

“Got change comin’,” the woman said.

Khat waved a hand. “Keep it.”

“You bet. Good flying, Long Space.”

“Same,” Khat said, which was only polite. The bartender laughed, and turned away, already tracking another patron.

Provisions firmly in hand, Khat squinched out of the crowd surrounding the bar, and looked around, hoping to find a ledge to rest her brew on. The booths and tables were full, of course, as was the available standing space—no, there was a guy coming off of his stool, his recyclables held loose in one hand. Khat moved, dancing between clusters of yelling, gesticulating patrons, and hit the stool almost before he left it.

Cheered by this minor bit of good luck, she popped the seal on the billy and had a long swallow of brew. Warm, dammit.

She had another swallow, then unzipped the food bag.

She’s expected to find her flavored protein between flat rectangles of ship cracker, and was pleasantly surprised to find it served up on two fine slices of fresh bake bread, which was almost enough to make up for the warm brew.

A bite confirmed that the protein was no better than usual, with the bread contributing interest and texture. Khat made short work of it, and settled back on the stool, nursing what was left of her brew.

Good manners was that she should pretty soon surrender the stool and the little table, so someone else could have their use. Still, she had a couple minutes left before she hit the line for rudeness, and she wanted to study the floor a little closer before she went back to being part of the problem.

The Liadens traveled in teams—no less than two, no more than four—and all of the teams she could see from her stool were in conversation with Terrans. That struck her as funny, being as Liadens were always so stand-offish. On the other hand, shy never made no trades.

It did make a body pause and consider what it was that Banth had, that Liadens wanted.

She chewed on that while she finished her brew. The mines—what did they mine on this space-forsaken dustball? She made a mental note to find out, and slid off the stool, on-course for a view of the ship-board.

“AND NO ONE THOUGHT
to tell our guest, before he was left alone among the vines, that kylabra snakes are poisonous?” Lady Maarilex inquired gently. Too gently, Jethri thought, sitting stiff in the chair she had pointed him to, Flinx tall and interested beside his knee.

Her son was standing, and his face had regained its normal golden color. He hadn’t known that it was possible for a Liaden to pale, but Ren Lar had definitely lost color in the instant that he took in the snake, and whirled back to Jethri, snapping, “Are you bit?”

“Mother,” he said now, voice quiet and firm. “You know that the kylabra do not usually wake so early.”

“And you know,
Master Vintner
, that the weather in this wind year has been unseasonably warm. Why should the snakes sleep on?”

“Why, indeed?” murmured her son, and despite his level shoulders and expressionless face, Jethri was in receipt of the distinct idea that Ren Lar would have welcomed the ability to sink into and through the floor.

He cleared his throat and shifted a little in his chair.

“If you please, ma’am,” he said slowly and felt like he wanted to sink through the floor on his own account when she turned her face to him—and took a breath.
Dammit
, he thought;
you took whatever Cap’n Iza was serving, you can sure take this
. He cleared his throat again.

“The fact is,” he said, keeping his voice settled and easy, just like Cris would do, when their mutual mother was needing some sense talked to her, “that I wasn’t left unguarded. Ren Lar left Flinx with me, to supervise, he said. I thought it was a joke’ve been studying on what is and isn’t a joke, ma’am, as you’ll remember—but it comes about that he was serious. Snakes—I read about snakes, but I’ve never seen one. And Flinx was there to do what was needful.”

“I see.” She inclined her head, maybe a bit sarcastic—he thought so. “You would argue, then, that the house provided adequate care to one who is perhaps naive in some of the . . . less pleasant aspects of planet-bound life.”

“Yes, ma’am, I do,” he said stoutly, and thought to add, “All’s well that ends well, ma’am.”

“An interesting philosophy.” She turned to face her son. “You have an eloquent champion in the one whose life you endangered. Pray do not rest upon your good fortune.”

Ren Lar bowed. “Mother.”

She sighed, and moved an impatient hand. “Attend me a moment longer, if the vines can spare you. Jethri, you have had adventures enough for a day. Go and make yourself seemly for the dancing master.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He rose, made his bow and headed for the door, Flinx prancing at his side, tail high and ears forward.

THE SHIP-BOARD
was hung along the backmost wall, the Combine-net computers lined up just below.

The computers was all taken, of course, not that Khat had need of a beam or a quote. She did want a clear view of the ‘board, though, and that took some fancy dancing around various clustered jaw-fests.

Finally, she got herself situated behind a rare group—half-a-dozen Liadens, talking low and intense ‘mong themselves and not minding anything else. No problem seeing over
those
heads, and there was the ship-board, plain as you please, showing the names of five Terran ships, including her own—and four Liaden ships, their names a garble of Terran letters and pidgin hieroglyphic.

Khat frowned at the listings, trying to work out the names and having a little less luck than none. Four Liaden ships at Banthport was
some
news and no doubt Paitor’d be glad of it. Nameless, though, that wasn’t much good, especially as there was a Combine key graphic next to two of the four indecipherables, and Paitor would
really
want to know those names, so he could run a match through Terratrade’s main database.

Some Liaden traders held Combine keys—it was ‘specially found it ‘mong those who worked the Edge. Banth being the Edge, it wasn’t out of the question to find a Liaden-held key on-port. You might even stretch to two on a port the size of Banth, given the random nature of the universe. But
four
Liaden ships, two carrying keys?

Khat’s coincidence bone was starting to ache.

She stared at the ‘board, not really seeing it, trying to figure the odds of getting anything useful out of Admin and what plausible reason she might offer for her need-to-know. And how much it was likely to cost her.

“. . . long time!” an exuberant male voice bellowed into her off-ear.

She started and blinked, coming around a thought too fast for such cramped quarters—and lowered her hand with a half-laugh.

“Keeson Trager, you near scared me outta my skin!”

“No more than you did me, thinking that strike was gonna land!” he retorted, blue eyes dancing in a merry round face. “Least I’d’ve been able to tell my captain it was Khat Gobelyn who decked me.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Your captain figure brawl fines by who takes you down?”

He pushed his chest out, pretending to be a tough guy. As Khat knew for certain, there wasn’t no need to pretend, except for the joke of it. Keeson Trager was plenty tough.

“My captain says, anybody takes me down in a brawl, she’ll waive the fine and give double to the one who done the deed.” He let his chest deflate a little, and cast her a bogus look of worried concern.

“Not short on cash this trip, are you, Khati?”

She laughed and shook her head. “Even if I was, there’s easier ways.”

His relief was obvious—and ridiculous. “Well, I’m pleased to hear you’re doing OK.” He glanced over to the ‘board.

“
Market
not with you?”

“
Market’s
at Kinaveral for refit. Right now, I’m a hired wing.” She waved a hand at the ‘board. “Brought
Lantic
down today. The unloading goes timely, I’ll lift out tomorrow.”

“My luck,” said Keeson with a sigh. “
Wager’s
lifting inside the hour—I’m sweep. Of course.”

Of course. “Who’s missing?” Khat asked.

“Coraline.”

Of course. Keeson’s youngest sister had a restless urge to explore every station and port
Wager
put in to, roof beam to secret cellars, and she’d more than once been the cause of the
Wager
refiling a scheduled lift.

“Funny to look for her here,” Khat commented. “You try the residences, down below?”

“Tried that first. Then all the tunnels and the crawlways. Figure she might be here on account she’s takin’ her approach from your Jeth and givin’ some study to the Liaden side of things.”

“What’s with all the Liadens, anyway?” Khat asked, since Keeson would know, if anyone did. “Port the size of Banth, with hardly no trade . . .”

He shrugged. “Maybe they’re looking to buy it for a resort.”

Khat wrinkled her nose at him. “Seriously.”

“Seriously—I don’t know, nor neither does the captain. All Banth’s got is the mines. Now, they’re bringing high-quality gold up outta the ground, but it’s still only gold. Ain’t ever seen Liadens much interested in raw gold—even processed, it’s a ho-hum, though they’ll buy some, every once in a while, just to be polite.”

This was true. “Something else comin’ out of the mines, then?”

Keeson shrugged again. “Bound to be, but I don’t know what it is, and my guess is Admin don’t, too, though right about now they’re prolly scrambling to find out.”

“What about the ship names?” Khat asked abruptly, with a jerk of the head toward the ‘board.

He grinned. “Bothered you, too, huh? Farli worked ‘em out—I’ll drop a beam under your name to the crash when I get back to the ship. Assuming.” He shook his head. “Oughta leave her once, so she’d learn.”

Khat could see where it might be tempting, given Coraline’s rare ability to vanish, mud-side, but still— “Remember the Stars,” she said, which family had done just that—left their wanderaway youngest and lifted, to teach him. When they set back down, couple hours later, the boy was dead.

He’d been up on one of those observation decks Grounders favored—nothing more than a platform and a rail. The Grounders who saw it, they said he panicked, but every spacer who heard the tale knew better’n that.

What more natural, after all, seeing your ship’s running lights come up and knowing down to the heartbeat how much time you had to gain the hatch—what more natural than to calculate your angle and take off over that rail, all forgetful, until it was hideously too late, of planetside grav. . .

“I know,” Keeson said. “But still.”

Khat put her hand on his arm. “I’ll help out. Let’s take it to the back corners and sweep toward the door.”

He looked around, firmed up his shoulders and nodded. “Good idea. Obliged.”