Sharon Lee: - Prologue

"And you are?" he asked in plain Terran, sounding only curious.

"Theo Waitley," she answered.

He tipped his head. "Are you, indeed? And your purpose here, Theo Waitley?"

"I need to see the Delm of Korval," she said.

"As does half the planet. Alas, Korval is just a trifle busy at the moment—moving house, you know. You have seen the news feeds?"

"I have," she admitted. "That's why I'm here, now."

The guard considered her seriously. "Is it? What an interesting sense of timing. Have you ID, Theo Waitley?"

One eye on the gun, which stayed peaceably in its holster, Theo put her hand inside her jacket and pulled out her license. She handed it to the guard, not without a pang.

He scanned it, then looked back to her. "The license is newer than the jacket."

"That's because Rig Tranza gave me the jacket off his back when I got the license." Theo was beginning to feel irritable. Also, her knees were starting to shake. Maybe she should have had a meal, after all.

The guard nodded and flipped the card back to her. She snatched it out the air and slipped it back into its pocket.

"Armed, Theo Waitley?"

She looked at him. "Of course."

He laughed, which increased her irritation, then bowed, abruptly formal.

"What matter do you bring before Korval, Pilot?"

She was beginning to suspect that the guard was amusing himself at her expense. "Are you Korval?" she asked.

"Gods forfend!"

"My business," Theo said, trying to sound patient and probably, she thought, not doing that good a job of it, "is with Delm Korval."

It was like she'd passed a test, or maybe he figured he'd gotten all the fun out of her he could. Whichever, he turned his head and called over his shoulder.

"Jarn!"

The door at his back came open and another pilot stepped out, leathers gleaming, gun holstered and very apparent.

"Master Clonak?"

He moved a pudgy hand, directing Jarn's attention to Theo, like she was an interesting kind of flower. "Please take Pilot Waitley to the inner garden and point her on her way."

The garden reminded her of home, with the flowers let to go almost wild, and the bushes trimmed only enough to keep branches out of the faces of the unwary. Jarn's instructions had been to "keep to the path," which sounded simple enough. The challenge was finding the path among the overgrowth of vegetation.

She figured that there were cameras on her, and watchful eyes nearby. Not that she intended any harm to Delm Korval, but it was comforting to think that somebody would come find her, if she got lost.

By the second turn, she realized that she was on course for the tree that was improbably growing out of the center of the house. It had seemed as big as one of Codrescu's arms when she'd seen it from the taxi. Looking up now into a sky lacy with branch and leaf, she thought it might be bigger.

Theo swayed a little when she brought her sights down closer to her level, and closed her eyes until she felt steadier.

The path turned again, tighter and again, drawing her in closer to the center every time. She took a deep breath, trying to clear a head suddenly a bit too heavy, and reviewed her points, carefully worked out during the long Jumps. It stood to reason that Delm Korval was busy; she had to be concise. State her case and stop, that was it.

She heard voices now, or, rather, a voice, so deep that it shook the flowers at the edge of the path.

"Ephemeral and multistranded, it wends through time, space, and song," the voice boomed, "altering the very fabric of the universe. As I see, each day brings a new thread."

Abruptly, the path ended, but that was fine. Right before her was the tree, and—it must be a Clutch turtle! She'd never seen one—well, hardly anyone had. Her eyes on this wonder, Theo stumbled on a surface root, recovered—and almost stumbled again.

Almost invisible beside the Clutch turtle, two people stood hand in hand. They turned, as if they'd heard her stumble, pilot smooth and perfectly in time.

More guards, Theo thought. She continued, carefully, across the root-rumpled lawn. When she judged she was at the proper distance, for people who wanted to talk to Liadens who were neither kin nor comrades, she bowed, as from junior to senior.

Straightening, she found the phrase in Liaden, which she'd've given to the guard at the gate, if he hadn't thrown her by speaking Terran.

"It is necessary that I speak to the Delm of Korval, on business of the clan."

The woman—red hair, grey eyes, and just visibly pregnant—nodded, did a double-take, and looked up to the man.

" Another one?"

Theo tensed.

"Shall you like odds?" he asked, his voice soft. He gave Theo a nod, like they were pilots chance-met on port.

"You are addressing the Delm of Korval," he said in unaccented Terran. "May we know your name?"

Here we go again .

"Theo Waitley," she said, groping after the concise statement she'd put together and memorized.

It was gone—and the guy was looking at her, face oddly familiar, and green eyes serious.

"I'm here because my father's missing," she blurted. "And he told me—he always told me—to go to the Delm of Korval, if ever there was really bad trouble."

She paused, running one hand distractedly through her hair.

Finish what you started , she told herself. Then go on to the rest .

"My father's name is Jen Sar Kiladi," she told the pair of them—were they both the Delm of Korval? Or had she muddled that, too? "He teaches—"

"He teaches cultural genetics," the man interrupted gently, and Theo felt a twist of hope. Father was known here!

"Right," she said. "I mean, you might not think it was a big problem, if your father wasn't where you left him—" What was she saying ?

"No, acquit me," the man said. "I would think it a very large problem, indeed."

Was he laughing at her? "He's never done anything like this before—just up and left, in the midle of the term and—"

She stopped, took a breath and forced herself to say calmly, "I got trouble, and since I can't find him . . ."

The man was looking beyond her, and the woman, too—was there a guard behind her? Had she lost her chance, Win Ton and Bechimo , with any chance of finding Father?

"Theo," the man said, in his soft voice. "Look behind you."

Stupid! she told herself, and did as he ordered.

A man was walking over the uneven grass; she didn't need the jacket to see that he was a pilot. Dark hair going grey, angular, interesting face—

"Father!"

She leapt, slamming him into a full body hug, feeling the tears, and the joy, and—

"Father, where the hell have you been?"

Strong arms were around her, then she felt him tousle her hair, like she was a kid, and set her back from him.

"I've been busy, child," he said. He paused, and shook his head, a half smile on his lips.

"I can't tell you how glad I am to see you, Theo. And sorry, as well."

"Sorry!" She stared at him, suddenly afraid, recalling bar stories told of Liaden Balances and lives called forfeit over matters of trade . . .

Father touched her cheek.

"Gently," he murmured. "Sorry because you would not be here if there wasn't really bad trouble."

She nodded. "It's kind of complicated," she began . . .

THE END

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