Шарон Ли - Agent of Change

"...that I must instruct him, T'carais, in the piloting skills necessary to take the vessel where he desired. This I did and set in coordinates for the planet named Volmer or V87350273, as he instructed. Then did he bid me to say to you this . . . ." He paused, awaiting permission.

It came: a flick of the hand.

Scrupulously adhering to the original phrasing and inflection, Watcher repeated: "I would that you say to my brother Edger . . . ." He paused once more when he reached the end of it. The T'carais waved at him to continue.

"Then he bade me go, saying that I must do so in the greatest of haste, as he would cause the ship to enter into labor within five of Standard minutes. At no time, kinsman," Watcher cried, unable to contain himself longer, "was I treated with courtesy or consideration by this person, who offered neither his name nor that of his companion nor asked after mine. Nor did he—"

"You will be silent," Edger commanded. He closed his eyes and, after a time, re-opened them.

"You are young," he said, "and it is perhaps possible that you have no knowledge of the person of whom you speak. This might account for something of your discontent with his behavior, though I feel that the fact that he is my brother should have borne more heavily with you.

"Know then, Uninformed One, that this person is named, in present fullness: Val Con yos'Phelium Scout, Artist of the Ephemeral, Slayer of the Eldest Dragon, Knife Clan of Middle River's Spring Spawn of Farmer Greentrees of the Spearmaker's Den, Tough Guy. Know also that I make no being my brother who is not worthy. And know at last that the person who tends this name is yet— even yet —of an age where he would not have attained the first of his shells, were he of our race." He paused, allowing Watcher time to think on what he had heard.

"Further reflect," he continued, "that the tenor of his message indicates that my brother was in danger of his life. Appreciate now that he paused in doing that which was necessary to preserve himself and his companion to make known to me his death desire, as is fitting between brothers, and to assure me of his honor and affection. I fail to find in this action discourtesy or aught less than what might be expected of an honorable and great-hearted person of any race. I am ashamed that one of my Clan should be so far lost to propriety that he could fail to see and understand this."

Watcher bowed his head. "I will think much on what you have said, T'carais."

"Do so. For the moment, however, continue with your accounting. How came it to pass that Herbert Alan Costello has been maimed by a member of my Clan?"

"After your brother dismissed me, T'carais, I passed down the tunnel at a rapid rate, sealed the inner door, and signaled that I was without. I felt the vibration of the vessel entering drive and at the same moment heard a person shouting in Trade. The words were 'Hey, you!' I did not understand that they were addressed to me until this person who is Herbert Alan Costello laid his hand upon my arm." Watcher could not quite control his blink of revulsion at the memory. Edger motioned for him to continue.

"He asked where your brother and his companion had gone and, when I did not answer, he spoke words which I feel were threatening, stating that, should I not say where these two had gone, that there were ways to make me do so. I was at that present upset by my inability to appreciate your exalted brother and when Herbert Alan Costello said these words and pushed his fingers at my face, I bit him." Watcher bowed his head. "That is what transpired, T'carais. I am ashamed."

"As is proper. You will now present yourself to your kinsman Selector and make known to him my desire that you serve him as he requires. Also, think on what I have said to you, as I will think upon what you have said to me. We will speak of your punishment at another time."

"Yes, T'carais."

* * *

HE WAS IN the atrium, lying on his stomach on a patch of springy blue grass, chin resting on his folded arms. If he heard her approach, he gave no sign.

Looking down at him, she considered slitting her own throat, but rejected that as a coward's answer and sat cross-legged at his side, where he might see her if he chose to turn his head.

He did not so choose.

Miri pinched herself to make sure she was really there, and wet her lips. "It is my sorrow to have caused you sorrow," she began in stumbling High Liaden, "and my pain to have incurred your displeasure. In my need to say that which I felt to be of importance, I wounded you. That my motives were of the highest does not excuse me." She took a deep breath and concluded in rapid Terran, "I'm a rude bitch."

His shoulders jerked and he turned his head to look at her. "Miri . . . ."

"Hey, I'm sorry! But you could cut me some slack, y'know? I didn't expect you to fall for it! Could've knocked me over with a snowflake—"

He was laughing. "Miri, how can you be so absurd?"

"I practice," she told him earnestly. "Every day. Even when I don't feel good." She held out the mug. "Here's your wine."

He made no move to take it, though he rolled into a cross-legged seat facing her, arms resting on his thighs. "Liz did say that you were less than wary of beauty."

"Yeah, well, at least she didn't tell you I was good," she said, frowning down at the mug.

"Most likely she felt I would see that for myself."

She snapped her eyes to his face, unsure of the expression there. "Now you are laughing at me."

"Am I? Terran is a hard language in which to make a compliment."

"Not like Liaden," she agreed, "which it's impossible to make sentences in."

"The High Tongue can be inflexible," he conceded thoughtfully. "But that is because it's very like Terran in its purposes: imparting information, dealing with technical and trade concerns, keeping people at a polite arm's length. The Low Tongue is for expressing feelings, relationships—human things. Much of the meaning is in the inflection—something like working the sound stops on a 'chora, to get more mileage out of the words."

"Sounds hard to learn."

"Easier to learn than to explain, I think. Anne found that. I believe that is the reason she never finished her second grammar."

Miri shifted, irritably conscious of the mug she held. "Edger has her book on High Liaden in his collection. Thought I'd learn the language right, since I got almost three weeks to kill."

He looked at her closely. "Will you go to your family, then?"

"I ain't got—Oh. You mean Clan Whoever-they-are." She shook her head. "They ain't family."

"Erob is your Clan, Miri. I am certain they'd be honored to learn of a child such as you."

"Well, I don't know why they should be," she said, puzzled. "They don't know me from Old Dan Tucker."

He lifted a brow. "From who?"

"See? And we were even introduced."

He shook his head, frowning. "You are a daughter of the Clan, one who is courageous and strong, quick in perception and thought. I know of no House so wealthy in its members that it would shun you. You would be an asset to Erob. They would welcome you and provide you your birthright."

"It don't figure," she told him. "I don't know them and they don't know me. I sure wouldn't go to them if I was in trouble. I'd go to Edger before them."

There was a small silence. "Perhaps it would be best," he said softly, "to go to Edger, were you in trouble."

Miri set the mug carefully on the grass between them. He did not appear to see.

"How'd you get to be Edger's brother?" she asked, more because she was uncomfortable with the lengthening silence than because she had planned to ask the question.

He lifted a brow. "By right of the dragon we slew between us."

"Dragon?"

"Grant me some knowledge of the species; a dragon figures prominently in Korval's shield."