Sharon Lee - Steve Miller - Liaden 5 - Carpe Diem

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Carpe Diem by Sharon Lee and Steve Miller

SECOND QUADRANT

Ramal Sector

The pilot stared at the readout in disbelief, upped the magnification, and checked the readings once more,

cold dread in his heart.

"Commander. Pilot requests permission to speak."

"Permission granted," Khaliiz said.

"The vessel which we captured on our last pass through this system is moving under power, Commander.

The scans read the life forces of two creatures."

"Pilot's report heard and acknowledged. Stand by for orders. Second!"

"Commander."

"It was reported to me that none were left alive aboard yon vessel, Second. Discover the man who lied

and bring him to me at once."

His Second saluted. "At once, Commander." He turned and marched from the bridge.

Khaliiz eyed the screen, perceived the ship-bounty slipping through his fingers, and was displeased.

"Pursue."

Val Con cursed very softly, then snapped back to the board, slapped the page into its slot, and

demanded data: coords, position, speed, and amount of power in the coils.

"Could we leave now?" asked a small voice to his left.

He turned his head. Miri was sitting rigidly in the copilot's chair, her eyes frozen on the screen and the

growing shape of the Yxtrang vessel. Her freckles stood out vividly in a face the color of milk.

"We must wait until the power has reached sufficient level and the coordinates are locked into the board,"

he said, keeping his voice even. "We will leave in a few minutes."

"They'll be here in a few minutes." She bit her lip, hard, and managed to drag her eyes from the screen to

his face. "Val Con, I'm afraid of Yxtrang."

Aware of the tightness of the muscles in his own face, he did not try to give her a smile. "I am also afraid

of Yxtrang," he said gently. His eyes flicked to the board, then to the screen. "Strap in."

"What're you gonna do?" Miri was watching him closely, some of the color back in her face, but still stiff

in every muscle.

"There is a game Terrans sometimes play," he murmured, dividing his attention between board and

screen, fingers busy with his own straps, "called 'chicken'...Strap in, cha'trez."

He flipped a toggle. "I see you, Chrakec Yxtrang. Pass us by. We are unworthy to be your prey."

There was a transmission pause - or did it last a bit longer? - then a voice, harsh as broken glass, replied

in Trade. "Unworthy? Thieves are always worthy game! That ship is ours, Liaden. We have won it once."

"Forgive us, Ckrakec Yxtrang, we are here by no fault of our own. We are not worthy of you. Pass by."

"Release my prize, Liaden, or I shall wrest it from you, and you will die."

Miri licked her lips, steadfastly refusing to look at the screen.

Val Con's face was smooth and calm, his voice nearly gentle. "If I release your prize, I shall die in any

case. Pass by, Hunter. There is only I, who am recently wounded."

"My scans show two, Liaden."

Miri closed her eyes. Val Con, measuring board against screen, eased the speed of the ship higher,

toward the halfway point.

"Only a woman, Ckrakec Yxtrang. What proof is that of your skill?"

There was a pause, during which Val Con slipped the speed up another notch and pressed the sequence

that locked in the coords.

"Will it please you, when you are captured, Liaden, to watch me while I take my pleasure from your

woman? Afterward, I shall blind you and give you as a toy to my crew."

"Alas, Ckrakec Yxtrang, these things would but cause me pain." Coils up! And the Yxtrang were finally

near enough, beginning the boarding maneuver, matching velocity, and direction...

"It would give you pain!" the Yxtrang cried. "All things give Liadens pain! They are a soft race, born to

be the prey of the strong. In time, there will be no more Liadens. The cities of Liad will house the children

of Yxtrang."

"What then will you hunt, O Hunter?" He flipped a series of toggles, leaned back in the pilot's chair, and

held a hand out to Miri.

Slowly the ship began to spin.

There was a roar of laughter from the Yxtrang, horrible to hear. "Very good, Liaden. Never shall it be

said, after you are dead, that you were an unworthy rabbit. A good maneuver. But not good enough."

In the screen, the Yxtrang ship began to spin as well, matching velocity uncertainly.

Miri's hand was cold in his. He squeezed it, gave her a quick smile, and released her, returning to the

board.

More spin; a touch more acceleration. The Yxtrang moved to match both. Val Con added again to the

spin but left the speed steady.

"Enough, Liaden! What do you hope to win? The ship is ours, and we will act to keep it. Do you imagine

I will grow tired of the game and leave? Do you not know that even now I might fire upon you and lay

you open to the cold of space?"

"There is no bounty on ruined ships, Ckrakec Yxtrang, nor any glory in reporting that a Liaden outwitted

you. But," he said, sighing deeply, "perhaps you are young and this your first hunt - "

There was a scream of rage over the comm, and the Yxtrang ship edged closer. Val Con added more

spin. Ship's gravity was increasing - lifting his arm above the board the few inches required to manipulate

the keys was an effort. His lungs were laboring a little for air. He glanced over at Miri. She grinned

raggedly at him.

"How much faster will you spin, Liaden? Until the gravity crushes you?"

"If necessary. I am determined that you will collect no bounty on this ship, Chrakec Yxtrang. It has

become a matter of honor." More spin. He paused with his hand on the throttle.

"Speak not to me of honor, animal! We have toyed long enough. We shall - "

Val Con shoved the velocity to the top, slammed on more spin, hesitated, counting, eyes on the board -

Jump!

LUFKIT

Neefra's Tavern

The Terran creature's name was Jefferson, and it was sweating; it talked jerkily, swigging warm beer

down its gullet, moving its big, rough hands aimlessly about, occasionally plucking at its companion's

sleeve - and talking, always talking.

Much of what it said was of no value to the Liaden who stood beside it, delicately sipping at a glass of

atrocious local wine; but Tyl Von sig'Alda was patient, by training if not by inclination, and the bits of

useful information mixed in among the trash were jewels of very great price.

"Yxtrang," the creature was saying, fingering its empty mug in agitation. "Well, it had to be Yxtrang, didn't

it? Stands to reason - the way the ship was cleaned out but not ruined. Coming back for it, Tanser said.

Sure to come back for it. Yxtrang get a bounty for captured ships..." It faltered there, and its companion

waved at the barkeeper for another beer. The creature took it absently, drank, and wiped its mouth with

the back of a hand. It glanced furtively around the noisy bar and bent close enough for its listener to smell

the beer on its breath, the stink of its sweat, and the reek of its fear. It was all sig'Alda could do not to

recoil in disgust.

"Tanser knew it was Yxtrang," Jefferson whispered, voice rasping. "Knew it. And he left 'em there.

Alive. Could've put a pellet into 'em - something quick and clean. But the turtle'd said let 'em go and the

boss said okay..."

Horror seemingly choked it, and it pulled back, eyes glistening, showing a plentitude of white all around

the irises. The one beside him sipped wine and murmured soothingly that of course the ways of the

Clutch were mysterious, but that he had understood them not to involve themselves so much with the

affairs of - men.

"This one did," Jefferson said fervently. "Claimed some kind of kinship with 'em both - brother and

sister." It swigged beer.

"Crazy alien."

Most assuredly the victims were Val Con yos'Phelium and the female companion; though why an agent

might be traveling with such a one was more than could be fathomed. Tyl Von sig'Alda assayed another

sip of syrupy wine. The female...Headquarters had assumed a mischance during the journey home,

assumed that the female had, perhaps, served for a time as camouflage. A sound enough theory.

Unless, sig'Alda thought, training was somehow broken? At once the Loop flickered to life, showing

.999 against that possibility. He was aware of some dim, faraway feeling of relief. The Loop was the

secret weapon of the Department of the Interior, an impartial mental computer implanted only in the best

of its agents. Its guidance was essential to the Department's ascendancy over the enemies of Liad. It was

an essential part of training. Training could not be broken.

Jefferson leaned close, breathing its beery breath into sig'Alda's face. "I have a son," it said hoarsely.

"Do you?" he murmured. And then, because the creature seemed to await a fuller response, he said, "I

myself have a daughter."

It nodded its head in barbaric Terran agreement and withdrew slightly. "Then you know."

"Know?"

"Know what it's like," the creature explained, a trifle loudly, though not loud enough to signify within the

overall clamor of the tavern. "Know what it's like to worry about 'em. My boy...And that turtle telling -

bragging on himself, maybe. Maybe not even telling the truth. Who can tell what's truth to a turtle?"

Was that relevant, or more of the creature's ramblings? sig'Alda gave a mental shrug. Who could tell?

"But what did he say?" he inquired of Jefferson. "The turtle."

"Talking about how his clan or family or egg or whatever it is will hunt down the first and the last of a

family, if you don't do what he says to do." Jefferson gulped the last of the beer and set the mug aside

with a thump, black despair filling its half-crazed eyes. "And Tanser put 'em right in Yxtrang's path, after

the turtle'd said let 'em go free. Gods."

There was a long moment's silence, while the Loop presented the chances of survival for Val Con

yos'Phelium and his female, whomever and whatever she was, stranded in a ship marked for Yxtrang

reclamation and deprived of coords and coils.

.001

So, then. He smiled at Jefferson. "Another beer, perhaps?"

"Naw..." The Terran was twitching, suddenly eager to be off, perhaps conscious all at once that it had

been spilling secrets wholesale into the ear of a stranger.

sig'Alda laid a gentle hand on its sleeve. "Tell me, did anyone check to see if the ship was still there? Even

the Yxtrang might make an error from time to time."

The despairing eyes gazed back up at his face. "It was gone when we dropped back to look." It

swallowed harshly. "Tanser laughed." Another painful working of the throat. "Tanser ain't got any kids."

It stood away from the bar abruptly and held out a horny hand. "Got to be going. Thanks for the beers."

sig'Alda placed his hand into the large one, forcing himself to bear the pressure and the up-and-down

motion. "Perhaps we will meet again."

"Yeah," Jefferson said, not very convincingly. "Maybe." Its lips bent upward in a rictus that might have

been meant as a smile. "G'night, now." And it turned and strode away, leaving Tyl Von sig'Alda staring

into the depths of his sticky glass.

Jefferson went rapidly through side streets and back alleys, cursing his tongue and his need and the

horrible, ever-present fear in his belly.

The man had been Liaden - and maybe the woman, too. Yxtrang and Liaden had been enemies, blood

and bone, for longer than Terrans had been on the scene. Jefferson swallowed against the fear's abrupt

nausea. Yxtrang would have special ways to treat a couple of representatives of their old, most-hated

enemy...

Jefferson leaned against a convenient light post to get his breath and wait for the shaking to ease - but he

only shook harder, gripping the post in misery and closing his eyes.

He never saw the slender shadow take aim in the empty street, never heard the gun's discreet, genteel

cough or felt the pellet enter his ear and rend his brain.

The Terran crumpled slowly, as if falling into a swoon, and lay still in the puddle of light. Tyl Von sig'Alda

slid his weapon away, glanced up and down the street, then walked carefully over to the carcass. He

made short work of stripping the pouch and pockets of anything remotely valuable - it was to appear a

mere murder for gain, as might happen to anyone walking alone in the dark back streets of Lufkit.

Jefferson had given much information freely; its continued existence had been a threat to sig'Alda himself.

More, its elimination was a minor balance for the act of putting a Liaden - any Liaden - in the way of the

Yxtrang. That the Liaden had been a member of his own Department and one of its best was a sad fact.

Tanser's name had been duly noted; sig'Alda's report would mention it, and another bit of balance would

no doubt follow.

sig'Alda stepped back, noting that the Loop gave him excellent chances of attaining the shuttle to Prime

Station and the deck of Raslain, his passage away. Yet he hesitated, nagged by a consideration that was

by rights none of his, he who was assigned to determine what had become of Val Con yos'Phelium, lost

en route to his debriefing. And still there was the damned female...No. He would leave tonight,

information pertinent to the mission having been gathered on Lufkit. His report to the commander would

reflect Jefferson's certainty that yos'Phelium and the female had fallen to the Yxtrang bounty-crew, as

well as the corroboration of the Loop. It was futile to spend time backtracking the female. He was not

assigned to provide her a eulogy.

So thinking, he turned and faded into the shadows, leaving the street to the puddle of light and that which

lay within it.

LIAD

Trealla Fantrol

"No! Absolutely not!"

"Shan..." Nova yos'Galan flung forward and caught her brother's sleeve in one slim hand. Head tipped

back, she stared up into his face, seeing the ice forming in the silver eyes and the lines of Korval

stubbornness tightening around the big mouth. "Shan, by the gods!"

He made the effort - he took a deeper breath, then another. "You tell me that the First Speaker wishes

me to contract-wed. Why now? Why not last week or next week? Have you some sweet offer for the

stupidest of the Clan? This is arbitrary beyond sense, sister!"

She recoiled from the anger in both his words and his face. "It is Val Con! I - I must consider what is

proper. He has been missing all this while..."

"Is he truly missing? I know I haven't seen him for some time, but missing?"

Nova held up her hand, moved to the console, and touched several buttons, bringing the computer

screen to life.

He moved closer as she scrolled the information there, finally settling on a spot.

"...the First Speaker's point is, however, valid insofar as it concerns the necessity of the Nadelm's

education," she read. "I shall undertake to make myself available as soon as practicable following my

thirtieth anniversary Name Day for instruction on the proper administration of a Clan from both the First

Speaker and Korval's man of business. It is made extremely clear by the First Speaker, my sister, that I

am expected to graduate to Delm very quickly."

Shan sensed the underlying impatience in those few words as clearly as he felt the tension singing in

Nova.

"His word, from the last letter I had of him, nearly three Standards gone. His Name Day is more than a

relumma past, and I have heard nothing! I must prepare, for the benefit of Korval. yos'Galan must

prepare, as well!"

"Is he dead, then?"

His query was quite calm. Had she been less wrought up herself, she might have mistrusted such

calmness. As it was, she gasped and stared up at him, dimly aware that somehow during the course of

the interview the lines of melant'i had shifted so that it was no longer Korval's First Speaker,

eldema-pernard'i, in conference with the Head of Line yos'Galan, but a younger sibling pleading with an

elder.

"Dead?" she repeated, golden fingers snaking about each other in agitation. "How can I know? They

answer no questions! The Scouts say he was placed on detached duty to the Department of the Interior

these three years gone by. The Department of the Interior says he has been offered leave and refused it;

that it is not their part to force a man to go where he would rather not. They refuse to relay the message

that he come to his Clan, when next he is able..."

And that, Shan thought, was not as it should be. Even the Scouts, who had little patience with many

things Liaden - even the Scouts, appealed to in need, had sent broadbeam across the stars that Scout

Captain Val Con yos'Phelium was required immediately at home, on business of his Clan. So had Val

Con come, too, in remarkably short time, shaky with too many Jumps made one after another, to stand

and weep with the rest of them at his foster mother's bier.

"If he will not come to us - " Nova was saying distractedly, "If he is so angry with me, even now..."

And there was the nub of it, Shan knew. When last he had been home on leave, Val Con had quarreled

with his sister, the First Speaker, over her insistence that he take himself a contract-bride and provide the

Clan with his heir. That quarrel had been running for several years, with subtle variations as each

jockeyed for position. There was very little real pressure that Nova as Korval-in-Trust could bring upon

Korval Himself, whether he chose at the moment to take up the Ring and his Delmhood, or remain mere

Second Speaker. However, the Second Speaker was bound to obey the First, as was any Clanmember,

and the Clan demanded of each member a child, by universal Clan Law. A pretty problem of melant'i

and ethics, to be sure, and one Shan was glad to contemplate from a distance. Obviously even Val Con

had bowed to at least part of melant'i's necessity, as evidenced by that snappish letter. But still...

"That's hardly like him, denubia. Val Con's never held a grudge that long in all his life."

His attempted comfort backfired. Nova's violet eyes filled with tears, and her hands knotted convulsively.

"Then he is dead!"

"No." He bent to cup her face in his big brown hands. "Sister, listen to me: Has Anthora said he is dead?"

She blinked, gulped, and shook her head so the blond hair snared his wrists.

"Have you asked her?"

Another headshake, fine hairs clinging to his skin like grade-A silk, and he read the two terrors within

her.

"Anthora is dramliza," he said patiently, beginning to pay out a Healer's line of comfort as pity overtook

him. "She holds each of us in her mind like a flame, she told me once. Best to ask and know for certain."

Nova touched the tip of her tongue to her lips, hesitating.

"Ask," he urged, seeing with satisfaction that her agitation quieted under his weaving of comfort and

gentle hope. "If this Department of the Interior flouts Clan tradition, then we will search ourselves. Korval

has some resources, after all."

"Yes, of course," she murmured, moving her cheek against his palm in a most un-Novalike demonstration

of affection. Shan cautiously lowered his level of input and pulled his hands away. She would do, he

judged. Korval's First Speaker had a cool, level head. Even without his aid, she would have taken up her

charge again very shortly and done all she perceived as necessary to keep the Clan in Trust for Korval's

Own Self.

Shan shook his head slightly. He had briefly held the post Nova now filled and did not envy her the

necessity of running a Clan composed of such diverse and strong-willed persons. Dutiful Passage was

more to his taste, more in keeping with his abilities; yet the trading life had bored Nova to distraction.

He smiled down at her - the only one of the three yos'Galans who had inherited all their Terran mother's

height. "Ask Anthora," he advised again. "And tell me what I can do to help us find our brother."

She returned his smile faintly, a bare upward curve of pale lips. "I will think upon it. In the meanwhile, do

think upon what we discussed earlier..."

Anger flared, but he held it in check, unwilling to give her cause to fear the loss of another brother. "I will

not contract-wed. I have done my duty, and the Clan has my daughter in its keeping. I have done more

than my duty - I hear that the child Lazmeln got from me aspires to be a pilot. Leave it."

"If Val Con is dead - if he is eklykt'i - then yos'Galan must be ready to assume its position as Korval's

First Line. You are Thodelm yos'Galan - head of our Line! You are A'nadelm, next to be Delm, if Val

Con - "

"If Val Con!" The anger clawed loose for an instant before he enclosed it. "If Anthora claims our brother

dead, I still demand to see the body: my right as kin, my right as cha'leket, my right as A'nadelm! You do

not make me Korval so easily, sister. Nor do I contract-wed again, and so I do swear!"

Her face was stricken; he felt the grief roiling off her like bitter smoke and made his bow, utterly formal.

"With the First Speaker's permission," he said precisely, and left her before it was given.

LIAD

Solcintra

Shan reached Priscilla's house at first dark, when the fairy lights within the transparent walkway glowed

under his boots like snowflakes. Taking the four steps to the town house's narrow vestibule in two

strides, he laid his palm against the door. It slid open to admit him, and his heart clutched in wonder of it,

even after so many years.

In the study, Priscilla lounged on pillows before a newly laid fire, papers in drifts around her, while

Dablin, the resident cat, lay stretched in striped orange glory upon the scrubbed wood floor. His ears

twitched at the sound of Shan's footsteps, but he did not deign to turn his head; the woman looked up,

black eyes smiling, emotive grid a scintillation of joy/affection/caring/desire.

"Hello, love."

"You really should see to that door, Priscilla. Anyone might walk in."

She laughed softly as he crossed the room, open to and treasuring her joy, knowing that she read his

emotions as clearly as he read hers - or did she read more clearly? Priscilla was not a mere Healer, after

all; she was of the dramliz - a full-scale wizard, though on Sintia, the planet of her birth, the proper term

was "witch."

"Have you eaten?" she asked, putting aside a sheaf of papers and extending a hand. "I can have Teyas

bring you something."

He took her cool hand in his and, obedient to the gentle downward tug, settled to the pillows, chin

propped on fist. She curled around to face him, cheek resting on a white arm. She was naked to the

waist, as was her custom at home, and the platinum hoops in her ears gleamed in contrast to her short

mop of thundercloud curls.

"I'm not hungry," he said, laying a hand over one breast; the nipple hardened against his palm, and he

caught a flash of sheer lust from her. He looked up and smiled. "Hello Priscilla."

"Hello, Shan." One long finger traced the stark line of his cheek and lifted to follow the slant of a

frost-colored eyebrow. "Nova made you angry."

"She has a very talent for it. Too like our father, poor child. Afraid she's driven Val Con away for once

and all, or that he's gone and she must now command the Clan."

His father had been two years dead before Priscilla Mendoza had taken berth on the Dutiful Passage.

However, she knew Nova and Val Con - Dablin, beginning the opening moves of his bathing ritual there

before the fire, had been Val Con's gift to her.

Priscilla frowned. "Surely that's not like him? Has she contacted the Scouts? Left word for him to come

home?"

Shan sighed and leaned back across the pillows, light eyes on the ceiling tiles. "She tried; but here's an

oddity for you, Priscilla. The Scouts say Commander Val Con yos'Phelium hasn't been with them for

more than three years, that he's on detached duty to something called the Department of the Interior.

Ring any bells with you?"

She shook her head.

"Well, with me either, if it comes to that. Something to check on...At any rate, Nova calls this

Department of the Interior, requests that a message be delivered to Commander yos'Phelium - kin-right,

she tells them; his First Speaker requires him at Trealla Fantrol, on business of the Clan."

"The Department of the Interior is delighted to comply," Priscilla suggested when the silence had

stretched a time.

Shan snorted. "The Department of the Interior informs Korval's First Speaker that Commander

yos'Phelium is not at the moment available and adds that it is not Korval's lackey, to be delivering

messages here and there around the galaxy. Nova points out that they are in violation of Clan Rule in that

the commander has not returned home on leave in all the three years he has been with the Department.

The Department replied that he has been offered leave several times and refused it; nor are they in the

business of forcing a man to go where he would rather not."

"Nova hangs up in a fury," Priscilla murmured.

He laughed sharply. "Too true!"

"But what did she want you to do? Certainly the voice of Korval eldema-pernard'i carries more weight

than that of Thodelm yos'Galan?"

"The First Speaker, in her wisdom, desires Thodelm yos'Galan to contract-wed."

Shock lanced through her, edged with astonishment, confusion, and the beginning of grief.

"Priscilla..." He reached for her, with both mind and hands, pulling her back down to lie beside him, her

hand fisted on his chest despite the tide of comfort and love he poured out for her reading. "Priscilla, it

will not happen! I will not allow it, and so I told her! My duty is done and - "

"If the First Speaker commands it, you'll have to. But why?" Anguish was added to the blare of other

pains, and betrayal; she counted Nova among her friends. "Val Con's dead, is that it? The Department of

the Interior - they lied to her. No, they said unavailable - truth. Of a kind. If Val Con's dead..." She

raised herself up on her elbow and looked down on him with wide black eyes.

"You're Delm, aren't you? Korval Himself."

"I am not Delm, Priscilla. Strive for some sense! Scan me! Do I grieve for him - for my heart's own

brother? Do I?"

"No."

He took a breath, feeling the warmth of her affection seeping into his bones like a draught of strong

brandy. "Nova's duty as First Speaker is first to hold the Clan in trust for Val Con, who is Korval

Himself. But the Clan exists even if Val Con doesn't, and a prudent Speaker must consider all

contingencies, make plans for each - like captain and first mate, eh?" That drew a slight smile, though her

eyes were tight on his face.

"Nova must consider the possibility of Val Con's death, as well as the chance that he's left the Clan," he

went on. "But her guilt makes her favor the worst of all worlds above any other. With some reason -

yos'Pheliums lately seem prone to leaving the Clan.

"There's Uncle Daav, for instance - Val Con's father - gone these twenty-five Standards and more. Nova

Sharon Lee - Steve Miller - Liaden 5 - Carpe Diem

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