Sharon Lee - Steve Miller - Liaden Universe 7

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Advance praise for Lee and Miller's I Dare!

"Followers of the Liaden Universe in particular and aficionados of intelligent space opera in general will

be thoroughly entertained by Lee and Miller's latest episode in the far-future, star-spanning adventures of

Clan Korval on the planet Liad. In this immediate sequel to Plan B (1999), which is recommended

reading for those who wish to get the most out of this one, the action is nonstop from the first page, as the

members of Clan Korval, fleeing from the Department of the Interior, aid their allies of Clan Erob in

defeating the invasion of the Yxtrangs, a nasty militarized culture with overtones of ancient Sparta.

"Purely escapist this book may be (perhaps not a bad thing at this moment in history), but the authors'

craftsmanship is top-notch, recalling the work of Elizabeth Moon and Lois McMaster Bujold, as well as,

at a less exalted level, the military SF of writers like Robert Frezza." —Publishers Weekly November

26, 2001 .

"Even though this is the seventh and concluding volume of the Agents of Change sequence set in the

Liaden Universe, it's enticing enough to captivate readers new to Lee and Miller's series. The members of

Clan Korval are so far-flung and out of touch owing to battles and politics that it's impossible to know

where anyone is or if anyone is still alive. Val Con yos'Phelium fights for his life in a catastrophe unit while

his lifemate finds their link slipping away, but salvation may be in the hands of two giant turtlelike beings.

Pat Rin yos'Phelium's adventures on a backward Terran planet are the easiest to follow as he cleverly

takes control with the help of two hired guns. Any reader familiar with the series will definitely check this

out, and new Lee fans will seek previous volumes to find out how this remarkable family got into its

enticing adventures. The combination of wit, relationship, and space opera may appeal to readers of Lois

McMaster Bujold." —Booklist December 15, 2001

"Sharon Lee and Steve Miller are so good it's scary."—S. L. Viehl, author of the Stardoc series

"I Dare lives up to its title as a perfect blend of adventure, intrigue, suspense, and wit, crisply written and

deftly plotted. For those already addicted to Clan Korval, be warned: you had best be in a comfortable

position when you sit down to read it, because you aren't moving until it's done, and it's like just one

more potato chip—you'll end up wanting another one. For those who have yet to fall under the Lee &

Miller spell, you have an even bigger treat in store—you get to go back and read the others.

"These authors consistently deliver stories with a rich, textured setting, intricate plotting, and vivid,

interesting characters from fully-realized cultures, both human and alien—and each book gets

better."—Elizabeth Moon, author of Speed of Dark

"The Liaden Universe novels offer that rarest of blends— rousing SF adventure with a mystical

undertone. These books are irresistible, fast paced, and packed with unforgettable characters."—Janny

Wurts, author of the Wars of Light and Shadow series

"In I Dare, the fourth book in the Agent of Change Sequence, Miller and Lee, gather up half a dozen

major story threads and weave them into, not only a complex and exciting whole, but a truly satisfactory

ending. Or possibly beginning…"—Tanya Huff author of The Better Part of Valor, DAW 2002

"When I first met Miri, Val Con, Shan, Pricilla, and the other characters populating the Liaden Universe,

their personalities were so sharply drawn and their adventures so breathtaking that I found myself thinking

about them as if they were real. I Dare is a book I've anticipated for along time. Now I can stop

worrying about the characters I love, celebrate resolution in their lives, and begin nagging authors Miller

and Lee. More, please! And hurry!"—Maureen Tan author of Run, Jane, Run

"Sharon Lee and Steve Miller have a marvelous ability to weave powerful characters, intriguing

world-building, and swift action into a rich, compelling tapestry, and they're at the top of their game in I

Dare, the exciting conclusion to their Agent of Change sequence. The conspiracy against Liad and Clan

Korval is vast and ruthless, and a full range of characters both old and new are needed to survive, and

triumph. Heroic storytelling at its best!"—Mary Jo Putney, author of The China Bride and The Spiral

Path

"Imagine Georgette Heyer crossed on James Bond in a universe of starships and psychic wizardry, and

you'll have something like the Liaden novels of Sharon Lee and Steve Miller—nobody else in the field

combines space opera and comedy of manners with the same deftness and brio as these two."—Debra

Doyle, co-author of the Mageworlds novels

"This novel concludes the sequence, and manages to conclude many intricate plot lines spawned in the

previous books. Romantic attachments are resolved or strengthened, new characters are introduced and

developed, old ones pass through more trials and become stronger. The plot is fast and exciting, and

many favorite characters play enjoyable roles. While the book succeeds very well in its difficult task of

concluding the intricate series, the necessity of accelerated plot show up in action smoother…than in the

previous books.

"…this book is excellent and very satisfying to the fans of the series. Major changes take effect, several

previous mysteries are resolved, the sequence is concluded while life and adventure clearly goes on

(sequels are possible but not required). Liad and Korval are changed in major ways—for the better.

This is, above all, a space opera. The novel features colorful, likable, and occasionally improbably

talented characters, some strange (but benevolent) aliens, barely sketched but highly evil villains, and

plenty of combat and piloting where personal skills matter more than technology. There is humor,

romance, courage and incredible rescues.

While new readers would be better off starting with Partners in Necessity, existing fans will be very

happy with I Dare."—Other Worlds September, 2001

"The latest SF novel in the "Liaden Universe" series, this wraps up the "Agent of Change" sub-series,

featuring Val Con, heir to Clan Korval, who in earlier volumes was brainwashed by the sinister

Commander of Agents and his Department of the Interior. Val Con broke free of their influence with the

help of his lifemate Miri Robertson, and now the pair hopes to take the battle to their enemy—while the

rest of Korval has gone into hiding under the long-standing Plan B. One clan member, however, is

unaware that Plan B has been activated: the gambler Pat Rin, who is led to believe the rest of his family is

dead. There's definitely a fantasy feel to parts of this exuberant space opera, with such characters as

wizards, a sentient tree, and even a cat who walks through walls, but it's a fun mix…and a multitude of

characters who refuse to fade into the background. Once the plot starts rolling…the fun snowballs, with a

gloriously mixed ending that settles the current problem nicely—while promising more such entertainment

yet to come."—Locus December, 2000

An introduction to I Dare

L. E. Modesitt, Jr.

I must confess that, before being contacted by Kevin Murphy and Stephen Pagel, I had never read any

of the Liaden Universe books. I had seen a web site about the Liaden Universe, and, even after paging

through it, wondered exactly what it was all about. So, when Kevin asked me if I would read I Dare, I

certainly came to the worlds of Sharon Lee and Steve Miller with absolutely no preconceptions. And I

gulped down all of the titles, in addition to I Dare, in something like three days.

Almost immediately, I noticed that Sharon and Steve did one thing that I appreciate tremendously in

authors—they don't simplify into idiocy. Of course, alas, that also may be why they don't have the

readership they deserve… They also represent the "universe" as I have found it to be. By that, I mean

that when matters look like they can't possibly get much worse, such matters almost inevitably do.

Sharon and Steve also seem to understand that life is not a mere series of adventures, but that what

moves life are the dreams and the hopes of determined people, and that those dreams are purchased

most dearly, with blood, sweat, and tears—and usually, that's just the down payment.

I have my own favorites among the characters, naturally, and one of them is Pat Rin, the Liaden who is

almost an outcast among Clan Korval because he seems to lack the talents necessary for piloting. My

identification with Pat Rin may be because I was a Navy pilot to whom piloting did not come naturally for

a long time, much as I wanted it to, and I could certainly understand spending all that time in the second

seat before finally becoming a command pilot. But then, there are others, such as Priscilla and

Edger…but each reader should find his or her favorite.

Put plainly and simply, I liked the Liaden books, and I Dare in particular, for a whole slew of reasons. In

the end, however, the reasons don't really matter. What matters is that more people should be reading

what Sharon Lee and Steve Miller have written.

L. E. Modesitt, Jr. Cedar City, Utah 2001

I DARE by Sharon Lee and Steve Miller

Day 276 Standard Year 1392 Master Jenn's Workshop Neglit

They had doubted his skill, laughed at him, by Erlady! Took leave to believe him a once-was—a

ten-thumbed, aging Terran, half-blind; incapable of bringing the table silver to luster, never mind to copy

a ring.

That had been before the Liadens.

They were Liadens, right enough, with the pretty cantra pieces dandled like candies 'tween their slender

elvish fingers and sweet words of flattery in their mouths.

Truth owed Erlady, it were the cantra pieces spoke loudest. A man and his grandson, with three cantra

pieces to draw against, lived well, for a year or six, here on backworld Neglit.

And they promised him three cantra more, when they came to collect the ring.

The ring. Now, there was a beautiful piece of work. In his young days, he would have snatched the job

up for the challenge of it, no thought of payment in his head.

He'd aged out of that nonsense—paid he would be. Well-paid. And still he had the delicate, brutal trial

of the work, the result of which, polished and re-polished until the intarsia-work gleamed like water in the

beam of his work-light, proved he was yet a master of his craft.

They'd sought him out, the canny Liadens. Him, Jen of Neglit Center, though they surely had all the

fabled master jewelers of Solcintra to choose from. Yet they traveled to an outworld, sought out an old

and fading Terran master, commissioned him to make— to remake—their ring. And why was that?

The tale they'd spun for Terran wits was simple enough. The original ring, a family heirloom, had gone

missing, and must be replaced before certain elders of the house noticed its lack.

Such things happened, drain pipes and gambling games being universally hazardous to jewelry. And

mayhap the jewel-masters of Solcintra gossiped 'mong themselves, and a whispered word might waft to

the ear of the stern elder, to the dismay of his pretty patrons.

Mayhap.

He was canny enough not to question them too nearly. He had no ambition to risk his six cantra, though

he might have balked, if they had wanted paste or light-gold or glass.

But they were keen in their instructions: he was to use only pure-gem, true-gold and emerald. A

replacement, that's what they insisted on: full duplication of the ring that was lost.

A replacement, exact in every detail, is what he had made for them.

He picked the ring up, turning it this way and that, admiring the simple power of the design. Caught in

fluid perfection, a bronze dragon hovered, wide-winged, above a tree in full green leaf. Smiling, he set it

against the holopic they had given him of the original.

"I witness ye'd deceive the master who made yon," he told the copy fondly.

"Indeed, it is remarkable work," said a strongly accented voice at his elbow.

The master jeweler started badly and jerked around on his stool, frowning down at the pale-haired

Liaden in his costly leather jacket. "Enough to give a body his death, sneak-footing behind one!" He

caught himself up, looked from his visitor to the workroom door, with the bell hung above it, that jangled

when one of his rare customers came in from the street.

He looked back to the Liaden's smooth, emotionless face. "How came ye?"

The Liaden gestured behind him, to where the inner door stood ajar. "Through the house."

Fear—the tiniest spark of fear—flickered in the master jeweler's heart. The boy was his last treasure. He

did not think these were child-thieves, yet—

"I have distressed you," the Liaden said gently. "It was not my intention."

"Well." Mindful of the three cantra yet to come, the master jeweler moved his hand, smoothing the fear

out of the air, and spoke moderately. "Understand ye, it's late. The boy needs his rest."

"Of course," said the Liaden and a shadow moved at his shoulder. The master jeweler looked up,

meeting the still eyes of the female Liaden.

"The child was asleep," she said in her soft, emotionless voice. "We did not wake him."

He ducked his head, relieved to look away from her eyes. "Thank'ee."

"Surely," she said, then moved forward. Her partner stepped aside, giving her clear view of the

worktable. She paused, face as ungiving as ever, studying holo and reality, sitting side by side in the

work-light.

"Excellent," she said at last, no faintest lilt of appreciation in her voice. She raised her cold eyes to his

face, and went toward the table, her path forcing him to turn somewhat on the stool. The male Liaden

had vanished into the shadows of the shop.

"You are indeed a master jeweler," the woman said. She extended a hand and plucked the ring up,

turning it under the light, then lowering it to compare against the holopic. Trapped on his stool, the master

jeweler watched her, seeing neither pleasure nor relief on her cold, comely face.

"Yes," she said finally, and dropped the ring as if it were a common trinket into the pocket of her jacket.

The holopic went to the other pocket, from out of which came three cantra coins, shining across her palm

like moons.

"You have earned your fee, Master Jen," she said, extending her hand, the coins glowing, murmuring

comfort and ease and schooling for the boy. He leaned forward, felt a sharp pain at the base of his skull.

The Liaden woman stepped back and let the body fall to the floor. Her companion took the polishing rag

up from the work-table and used it to clean the gore from the wire-blade before slipping it away into an

inner pocket. From another pocket he drew forth a vial, and anointed the corpse with its contents. Then

he recapped the container, and wiped it, too, with the polishing rag before returning it to its place.

The woman raised her hand and turned, walking unhurriedly down the dim, cluttered room. He followed

her back into the house, past the still figure in the small bed, through the forced door and out into the

night.

They were five minutes gone when the first flames licked to life, feeding on the lines of accelerant left to

nourish them. Five minutes more found house and workshop both engulfed in fire so fierce the water from

the firefighter's cannon sizzled and evaporated before it ever touched flame.

Five hours from the start, the fire was out, having consumed house, shop and contents, leaving not so

much as an ash on the scoured stone floor of the basement.

Day 283 Standard Year 1392 McGee Spaceport Fortune's

Reward

"How many times you figure on firing me?"

Pat Rin yos'Phelium sighed. "Refresh my memory, Mr. McFarland. How many times have I succeeded in

firing you thus far?"

The big man grinned. "OK, that's fair. But, see, I thought we had an understanding. I ain't only your pilot;

I'm your backup. This idea of yours—to cash up and go to ground—not a thing wrong with it. In fact, it's

a great idea, even considering how much you bothered to tell me, which I really ain't dumb enough to

think is the whole story. Only thing wrong with it is you're planning on going in without backup, and that

just ain't bright. How you go to ground—you go easy and smooth, making just as few ripples as you can.

But you go with the certain knowledge that no matter how smart you are, or how low you keep your

head, something's gonna happen—most likely having to do with blind stupid luck— and you're gonna be

needing back up.

"You gotta suppose they're gonna find you, and be ready for it. You go in thinking anything different and

you might as well take a pistol right now and blow your own brains out. Save everybody some trouble."

Such eloquence. Pat Rin raised an eyebrow. "You intrigue me, Mr. McFarland. I wonder how you

became such an expert in going to ground."

"Someday I might tell you," the big man said, shortly.

It occurred to Pat Rin that he had annoyed his pilot quite as much as his pilot had annoyed him. He took

a fresh hold on his temper and inclined his head.

"Forgive me, Pilot. I did not intend to cause you pain."

"You didn't," Cheever said, still tending toward short. "Unless you count a headache." He sighed, gustily.

"Look, we been through this. Covering you is part of the deal between me and Shan. Do me the favor of

believing I ain't dumb enough to go back on my word to a Liaden, OK? You got a problem with the

arrangements, take it up with him next time you two are in the same room together."

"Ah." Pat Rin considered that. Such solicitude was…unusual; his cousins every one being younger than

he, and accustomed all their lives to seeing him set his own course. What had persuaded Shan this time

that Pat Rin might meet with difficulties large enough to warrant a Cheever McFarland? Unless…

Shan was a Healer, not a prognosticator. However, Shan's youngest sister, Pat Rin's cousin Anthora,

was a dramliza of some note—including among her talents the ability to foretell event. Pat Rin had once

witnessed Anthora in the throes of her gift, and did not doubt that the ability was genuine. Perhaps she

had foreseen the cold shadow of the clan's danger even as he was preparing to leave planet, and

whispered a word in her brother's ear?

And, in the end, what matter? Pilot McFarland was correct. It lay well outside the scope of Pat Rin

yos'Phelium's melant'i to disturb an arrangement between Shan and another.

He sighed, and favored the pilot with a straight look.

"I am counted quite a good shot," he said, with what mildness he could muster. "I offer this as a point of

information."

"Yessir, I don't doubt it. But you gotta sleep sometime."

And that, thought Pat Rin, would appear to be that. He inclined his head, granting the point as much to

Shan as to Cheever McFarland.

"Very well," he said. "Since you insist upon remaining in my employ, I will tell you that I require a dawn

departure."

The big man favored him with a stare. "You do."

"Yes, I do," Pat Rin said, rather sharply. "Have I made a demand which is impossible for you to meet?"

"No. Would've made things a easier on us both, though, if you'd've thought to call the tower and have us

moved to a hotpad."

It was Pat Rin's turn to stare. "In order to accept a hotpad hook-up, I would have had to file my license

number with the tower," he said, wondering if the pilot had returned from his leave just a little drunk, after

all.

Cheever nodded. "Yeah, but my card's already on-line. You could've filed the request manually, direct

into the queue, an' nobody'd known it wasn't me on the board."

"Pilot McFarland—"

"Cause you know the protocol for accepting the hook-up, right? Just like you know the rest of the

board? I tell you what, it beats hell outta me why you won't sit second. I don't think I ever seen anybody

as hungry for the boards as you are—and I sure could use the help. Back-up, get it?"

"Mr. McFarland, I am not a pilot. Placing my hands upon that board—"

"What's the protocol for accepting a hotpad hook-up?" Cheever demanded.

Pat Rin glared, goaded. "The keys to accept the hotpad hookup are twelve-green-right and the

appropriate ship axis is north-south-east-west—that assumes one has a matching power-source, which

we do else the power light would indicate blue-blue-red rather than the blue-blue-blue presently showing,

and we would be using converters, at a cost of an additional half-cantra the Standard—pro-rated to the

Terran minute—for the service." He drew a hard breath, and attempted once more to leash his temper.

That a mere hireling should challenge him on so basic a drill! Did he look like a fool?

The Terran nodded. "Right. So you coulda done it, though they woulda likely hit you up for a higher

charge unless you remembered to tell 'em to orient from ventral instead of dorsal, since this is a pre-1350

ship and they'd've mistook your protocol 'cause the lines look so new." He nodded again, possibly to

himself.

"If you got that much, you can move us around when we're locked on to an outside bay in orbit

somewhere. I'd right appreciate it if you'll sit second for me, 'case we might need an extra pair of hands

or eyes somewhere down the road. Boss."

Pat Rin sighed, chilly in the sudden absence of his anger.

"Mr. McFarland, I am not a pilot, and my hands on the board would be sufficient to frighten any honest

ship-handler into an early retirement. Yes, I know the protocols. Nearly all my kin are pilots. I was

myself tested for pilot. And I failed. Repeatedly. I am at a loss as to how I might make this circumstance

any plainer to you."

"Done just fine," Cheever assured him. "You're wanting me to understand that you know what to do, you

just don't do it fast enough. That it?"

"Yes."

"OK. But there's stuff you could be helping me out with—to both our benefits. You know your

equations, don't you?"

Gods, but didn't he. When he was a child, he had thought it a game—Uncle Daav, Cousin Er

Thom—even Luken!—would throw out a partial piloting sentence and applaud lavishly when he

completed it properly. On those occasions when he missed his line— often, at first—they would gently

recite the correct response, and applaud again when he told it back without error.

He had done the same with his own child; teaching him the nursery rhymes of pilots…

Pat Rin looked up at the bulk of Cheever McFarland. Master Pilot, he reminded himself, and sighed. "I

know my equations, Mr. McFarland. Yes."

"Good. I can't force you to do it, but I think it'd be best for the ship—my judgment as Master Pilot, while

we're being clear on stuff—if you'd sit second for me."

The best interest of the ship must carry all before it. Pilot or no, the care and keeping of ships was bred

into his bones. Korval, after all, was ships.

Pat Rin bowed, novice to master.

"Very well, Mr. McFarland, as you feel it is a matter of ship's safety, I will sit in the second seat."

"Great," Cheever said, and stretched, arms over his head, hands brushing the ceiling of the ship. "I'm

gonna go get a shower and some caffeine. Meanwhile, you call the tower and get us moved to a hotpad,

OK? Don't forget to tell 'em about that orientation to ventral."

So saying he turned and exited the bridge, leaving Pat Rin glaring at nothing.

After a time, he sighed, and moved over to the board to input the request to the tower.

Day 283 Standard Year 1392 Liad Department of Interior

Command Headquarters

Satisfied, Commander of Agents closed the field report.

Korval's strengths—that it husbanded—one might say, hoarded—ships; that it valued the skills and

reactions of pilots above any other skill a clanmember might possess; that they deliberately bred for

pilots, thus propelling themselves to a pinnacle of the type…

Those strengths had hidden a notable weakness.

Pat Rin yos'Phelium, heir to Kareen, elder cousin to Val Con, who should by all right of blood and

kinship, now stand as Korval Himself—excepting only that he was not a pilot.

Crippled, in Korval's eye, he had been cast aside, dismissed to a wastrel life of spoilt self-indulgence.

The Department of the Interior, however, knew just how to value Pat Rin yos'Phelium, and his place

within the Plan.

Commander of Agents smiled slightly and lay his hand on the closed folder.

Despite that the Department found it necessary to its own success to remove Korval from the board, yet

it was true that the world, in some measure, required Korval. Lose a clan which held controlling interest

in a triple-dozen industries on-planet, which controlled the pilots guild, funded the Scouts, which owned

outright fifteen trading vessels and unnumbered smaller craft, not to speak of the yards which serviced

them? The planetary economy trembled at the whisper of such calamity. Why, Korval owned the very

dies from which cantra pieces were struck, only leasing them to the Moneyers Guild in twelve-year

renewals stretching back to the time of the first Val Con yos'Phelium, Cantra's heir.

In any wise, it was no part of the Department's Plan that Liad should be made bankrupt. It was all to the

Department's good that Liaden economy flourish and expand.

Thus, if the economy demanded a Korval, then a Korval there would be.

Day 284 Standard Year 1392 Departing McGee

Cheever McFarland bulked large over the controls of Fortune's Reward, hands delicate and sure, nearly

caressing in their motions. Despite his size he sat comfortably in the pilot's chair, which was locked at the

rearmost limits of its track. At this stage in the flight his attention was securely on the board—with its

dozen of lights, meters, knobs, and switches—and on the screens ahead.

The pilot's choice of screens for the main board was sparse: centered was local space forward, with

radar ranging imposed over the combined straight visual and near infrared view; rear view was a super

wide angle in radar encompassing everything not on the front screen at half-size below it. Some few of

the screens were surprising—especially the left corner screen, showing a double-deck transcription of the

last 144 syllables of Com One's radio communication in Terran—incoming on top, outgoing on the

bottom.

The co-pilot's board was live, and Pat Rin yos'Phelium sat, ill-at-ease, in the chair before it. He

scrupulously avoided the controls, concentrating instead on the Jump equations he was engaged in

framing for the pilot's approval. As if in testimony to the fact that he sat second by the pilot's whim alone,

instead of the proper view of space outside the ship, the screen above his board showed a mosaic of

thumbnails: every system on the ship represented in an order known only to the pilot.

Pat Rin finished his last calculation and filed it. Leaning back in his chair, as far away from the board as

he could reasonably sit, he watched the screens as Cheever McFarland threaded Fortune's Reward

through the crowded spaceways of near orbit.

From time to time Pat Rin saw a pause, a decision point, pass through the pilot's hands. At the third such

he glanced up and saw a new window open on the left.

"I'm watching for long-range interception," the Terran said, calmly matter-of-fact, "cause in here, with all

this mess, the normal thing to do is be worried about the next 72 seconds or so, then the next 720

seconds, and not much beyond because so many of the orbits are tight and the maneuvering's hectic. But

if someone was looking for us to be Jumping from a particular point, more or less, they'd likely be close

to an interception trajectory somewhere down the line, like three hours or so when a ship like ours might

normally be expected to Jump."

A lesson in piloting, forsooth. Pat Rin moved a hand in acknowledgment.

"And so right now, there's a ship moving parallel, but that ain't a problem—I doubt anybody'd be trying

to chase us with an ore-ship. There's also one summat behind that got underway from the repair docks

about the time we hit orbit. Shows up fine on visual but the beacon on it's a bit funny and out of

adjustment, I'd say. They been tuning their orbit something fierce, just like a ship right out of dock might."

Pat Rin moved his hand again as Cheever checked in with control once more, confirming by voice his

destination and learning that, "due to heavy traffic," the Portmaster requested all ships add another

quarter planetary diameter to Jump run-up.

"Damn," Cheever said under his breath and hit the com button.

"Control, can we stay on original schedule? I've got a novice here calculating that Jump for all he's worth

and we'll be in your way all day if he's gotta start over!"

The delay might have been due to more than the crawl of light across space; the answer was a

half-chuckle. "Oh, aye, that's a stet then, Fortune's Reward. And I'm to tell you your novice owes a

drink to the submaster next trip through."

"To hear is to obey, Control. Fortune's Reward out."

Pat Rin glanced at his pilot quizzically.

"I could have recalculated those equations—the quarter diameter is scarcely a—"

A Terran headshake.

"Sure it ain't. But now we got an excuse when we Jump a bit ahead of time with all the wrong energy

levels, just in case we're being snooped."

And so they were prudent, on the off-chance that Korval's enemy had found him. Cheever McFarland

was a man who took his own advice, then, and built plans upon worst-case projections.

"Tell you what," the pilot was saying, "once we Jump I'll adjust that side and you can shadow me inbound

to Teriste. I'll probably ask questions to see if you're paying attention."

Pat Rin bit back a sharp retort. It was never good luck to argue with an elder willing to teach what was

needed—especially with Plan B in effect.

Day 50 Standard Year 1393 Lytaxin Erob's Medical Center

The names of their kin had gained them entrance to the house and a rapid and willing guide to the place

where their sister lay, recovering from her wounds.

It was well, Edger thought, following Alys Tiazan Clan Erob, Cousin to Miri Robertson Tiazan Lady

yos'Phelium, that they had not tarried, but had descended to the planet surface with all haste and come

directly to this dwelling-place.

Truth, it had been Sheather's disquiet that had spurred them to seek their kin so speedily. Yet Sheather

had studied Miri Robertson to a depth that none other of the Clutch had yet studied an individual of the

Clans of Men, and Edger had been willing to heed his brother's impatience.

Nor was this impatience found to be excessive, once the door to Clan Erob's house had been opened to

them. The news given by Alys Tiazan was alarming in the extreme and Edger hoped most stringently that

they had arrived with speed enough, and skill sufficient for the tasks which bore their names.

Before him, the impossibly frail person Alys Tiazan ran. Her red hair, so like his sister's, was made into

double braids that lifted a little in the wind of her own passing. Walls barred her way, then slid silently and

swiftly aside, allowing her, and, quickly after her, themselves, into a short, quiet hall, where a single man

wearing the clothing and sidearm of a mercenary soldier stood at guard before a door.

He looked up as they bore down upon them, frowned and moved a few steps forward, holding up his

many-fingered hand, palm turned to them.

"Hold it," he said to Alys Tiazan. "You ain't taking them in there, are you, kid?"

"Indeed, I am," she returned, somewhat breathlessly. "They have kin-right. My cousin will wish to see

them immediately."

He was a well-grown male of the kind which named themselves "Terran," yet he did have to look up

quite some distance to survey both Edger and Sheather.

"Kin right?" he repeated, eyes squinted a little.

"The child speaks truly," Edger answered. "Miri Robertson Tiazan, Lady yos'Phelium, Captain Redhead,

as she is known here, is sister to myself and this my brother. We are likewise kin to he who is named

here Val Con yos'Phelium Scout."

The soldier frowned down at Alys. "Orders was, kin visits only, and as few of them as possible. Cap'n

Redhead ain't hardly eight hours outta the 'doc, kid. She gets too tired, the techs'll stick her back in the

box, and you can depend on it she won't like that."

Sharon Lee - Steve Miller - Liaden Universe 7 - I Dare

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