Lee, Sharon - Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon

“Aelliana, this is Clarence O'Berin. You may hear him referred to as 'Boss O'Berin,' or 'the Boss.' ”

Aelliana inclined her head. “Clarence O'Berin, I am happy to meet you,” she said, which phrase in Terran had very nearly the same meaning as its counterpart, in High Liaden.

“Not as happy as I am to meet Aelliana Caylon herself,” he answered gallantly. He glanced again to Daav. “I'm hoping the wine was acceptable?”

It was, Aelliana realized with a start, a bi-level question. She had not thought that such complexities were possible in Terran! In the flush of discovery, she almost missed Daav's reply.

“Half the pilots on-port have already bought Aelliana wine. I'm only amazed to find you among the half yet to do so.” His tone was light now, as if he wished to set the other pilot at ease.

“Not any more,” Clarence pointed out with a smile that perhaps betrayed relief.

“Kind it was,” Aelliana said, feeling that she should do her bit for good will between pilots. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” the red-haired man assured her. He paused, considering her out of sharp blue eyes. “Word on the port is you're looking to set up as courier.”

She frowned slightly as she felt over the shape of the words. “Set up? Ah! I see. Yes, I am available as a courier pilot.” There came a thrill of . . . something . . . from Daav, but she was too focused on the conversation to sort it out properly.

“I was a courier pilot, myself,” Clarence said. “It's a grand life, but a dangerous one.”

He spoke as one who had known such dangers at first hand, and Aelliana leaned forward eagerly. Here was a pilot she might learn from.

“I am . . . hearing this from even my copilot of danger, but I am also hearing that . . . no thing is absent of danger.”

Clarence grinned. “Can't argue with that. You can mostly dodge the worst, if you're awake and noticing details. Sometimes, though, no matter how careful you are, you get caught out. Not so much a mistake as it is somebody else being a little cleverer than you are—this time.”

Beside her, Daav stirred.

“But,” Clarence continued, sending a bright glance into Daav's face, and shifting into the mode between pilots, “I had only come to make my bow to you, Pilot, and, I confess, to renew my acquaintance with your copilot. It has been too long, Daav.”

“Too long and not long enough,” Daav replied, surprisingly keeping to Terran. “Clarence. Is there something we should know?”

The other man sighed, his expression rueful. “There's something off, if you catch my meaning. Nothing a man can put his hand on and take away with him, but it makes the place between the shoulder blades itch, nevertheless.”

She felt Daav's attention sharpen.

“Here?”

Clarence shook his head.

“Not that I've noticed,” he said, and it seemed to Aelliana that the assertion held a secondary meaning, though she did not know what it might be.

Daav nodded. “But?” he prompted.

“But, I've got pilots—solid, port-worthy pilots who know how to keep clean—coming in from Out and Farther Out. They're telling the same tale, all independent of the other.” He shrugged, bringing his shoulders high and letting them drop suddenly, nothing at all like a proper Liaden shrug. “Ghost stories—that's what I got.”

Daav nodded again. “Thank you,” he said gently. “We'll be careful.”

“And if you happen to see something a little more solid than a wisp of smoke?”

“I'll let you know.”

The red-haired man grinned. “Can't be any fairer than that.”

He bowed, with pilot grace, though a little too quickly.

“Pilots,” he said, back in Liaden again, “I take my leave. Good lift.”

“Safe landing, Pilot,” Aelliana answered, and felt Daav at last relax.

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Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon

Chapter Nineteen

Those who enter Scout Academy emerge after rigorous training capable of treating equitably with societies unimaginably alien, some savage beyond belief.

Scouts are by definition courageous, brilliant, supremely adaptable and endlessly resourceful.

—Excerpted from “All About the Liaden Scouts”

They had flown after all like a Scout and a brand-new first class, and so missed the bonus. On-time delivery, however, was comfortably within their grasp when Aelliana entered the code provided by the client into the comm.

“Clan Persage, who is calling, please?” Though the phrase was recognizably the familiar challenge to an unknown caller, the words fell oddly on her ear.

Aelliana blinked and belatedly inclined her head to the round-faced young woman in the screen.

“I am Aelliana Caylon, pilot-owner of Ride the Luck. I have been engaged to deliver a package directly into the hands of Bre Din sig'Ranton Clan Persage.”

The young woman hesitated, as if the accent of Chonselta was something exotic, and not readily decipherable. Then the moment passed, and she inclined her head.

“I am desolate to inform Pilot-Owner Caylon that Bre Din sig'Ranton is away from House.” She tipped her head to one side, apparently debating with herself—and coming to a decision all at once.

“Bre Din plays music at the port, you know, Pilot. The place is called Bas Ibenez.”

“I thank you,” Aelliana said. “I will seek him there.”

By the time they had exchanged the required parting formalities and Aelliana had closed the connection, Daav had located the listing for Bas Ibenez in the Avontai Port database and had sent the information to her screen.

“You are far too efficient,” she told him, with a smile.

“Copilot's duty,” he returned, as she scrolled down the listing.

“The club opens in the evening only,” she murmured, with a glance at the board to check local time. Several hours, yet, until opening time.

“Still well within the client's necessity for delivery,” he pointed out.

“True,” she acknowledged, and sighed. “I suppose we might call and find if he's arrived early.”

“Or,” Daav murmured, “we might refresh ourselves, and rest, so that we do not come to the young gentleman in all of the disorder of travel.” He met her eyes, his only slightly mischievous. “After all, he may have something to send in return.”

Aelliana leaned back in her chair and ran her fingers through her hair. It was true that they had flown hard, pushing her limits, if not his, and more with her training in mind than the bonus . . . But, it had been the pure joyous rush of flying, even the considerable bits where “flying” was Jump and the screens showed nothing but grey—the joy of knowing that she was at last working her own ship, just as she said she would do—exactly as she had hoped to do, with Daav sitting his board at her right hand. Oh, it had been exhilarating, the lift to Avontai.

But it had not necessarily been conducive to either rest or sleep.

“There is something in what you say,” she admitted. “Who would entrust anything precious to such a pair of scarecrows?”

She rose, stretching, and looked down into his face, noting the subtle signs of weariness there. Daav had kept good watch, as a copilot ought, and if he had not been as flight-drunk as his pilot, yet he had not gotten much more rest.

“I am going to take a shower.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“A shower and a nap?” he suggested.

“Only if you will do the same.”

He smiled, and a trickle of mischievous lust warmed the air between them, lighting a slow fire in her own belly.

“There's a rare bargain,” Daav murmured, and rose to his full height, formally extending his hand to her. Korval's Ring glinted, almost as if the Dragon had moved a wing. She rested her fingers on the back of his hand—and gasped aloud.