Шарон Ли - Agent of Change

She frowned, puzzled. "What other?"

"Ah, that question was not asked so well," he murmured, seemingly to himself. Picking up his fork, he began to eat.

Miri shook her head and returned to her breakfast, savoring tastes, smells, and silent comradeship.

Val Con ate his own meal with relish, his eyes on her. She had rested, he saw; the lines of strain that had been in her face since they'd met were gone, and she seemed easier within herself, as if she, too, had reaffirmed who she was. Her eyes, when they rested upon him, were unguarded. He hugged that small warmth to him and dared to hope.

In a short time, he set his plate aside and leaned back to watch her where she sat, her back against the wall and the cup cradled in her hands.

"Breakfast was fine." She smiled at him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he replied. "Miri?"

"Yo."

He shifted, and brought his gaze to meet hers. "Only if you wish it, Miri . . . ."

She set the cup down, giving him her whole attention. "Okay."

"It would please me very much," he said, choosing each word with care, "to allow the—fact—of our marriage to endure."

She blinked. She blinked again and broke his gaze, looking down and groping for her cup.

Val Con held his breath.

"You got a family and stuff, doncha?" she asked, head bent. "They probably wouldn't be ... overjoyed ... about you marrying somebody who—somebody like me. 'Specially when you don't—" She swallowed, hard. "Partners are lovers, sometimes."

Slowly, he let his breath go. "There are," he told her softly, "several answers to be made. The first is that whom I wed is my choice, not the choice of the Clan." He paused, then dared to add, "I wish us to be wed."

Her shoulders twitched, but she did not look at him. After a moment, he continued. "It is unlikely that I will return to Liad, cha'trez."

Her eyes flicked to his, warm with pity. "You mind?"

"I mind," he admitted. "But I feel certain I would mind being dead much more." He smiled. "Understand that it is no great bargain I offer you: A short, skinny man with only the money in his pouch and a certain ability on the 'chora to recommend him—"

"So much?" She grinned. "Short and skinny?"

"Thus was I described to your friend Liz—"

She laughed, tossing off the rest of her coffee as he grinned. "Is Edger an honest man?"

"None more honest."

"And our—marriage—stands up to laws and stuff?"

He considered it. "I believe so. The post that Edger holds—T'carais—is somewhere between that of father, captain, priest, and mayor. If we are wed by custom—partnered as well, if you like—and it is certified and witnessed by the Clutch, there are few who would question it. The Clutch, like the mythical elephant, never forgets. Nor does it remember wrongly. If you will—if you truly desire it—then it is done."

She took a breath. "It's real?" she asked quietly. "Not something you're doing 'cause it's—expedient?"

He looked at her sharply, then smiled ruefully. "To the Clan of Middle River, the Spearmaker's Den, it is fact. It is something that I wish for completely: That you be my partner, that we be mated for life."

Miri picked up her cup and found it empty. "Is there more coffee?"

"I can make more if you wish."

"But?"

"But I would rather fill a cup with wine that we share."

She slid across the rock floor until she was next to him. "You have wine?"

"It is here," he said. "Though I should tell you that it is Green Nogalin. A large bottle of it."

Her brows rose. "That's the aphrodisiac? The one banned on about three-quarters of the Terran worlds?"

"So it is."

She shook her head. "And I thought Edger was an innocent." She paused. "Husband?"

Thank you, gods, he thought. "Yes, my wife?"

"Please open the wine."

He smiled and leaned close. "In a moment—"

Miri was on her feet, gun in hand, with the first siren shriek. Val Con was already far down the hall, strobe beams throwing his shadow crazily over the rock walls.

"The control room—quickly!"

They ran.

"What is it?" she demanded, braking to a halt just inside the door.

"Distress beacon." He was at the board, hands busy, head tipped up at the tank. "But I don't see—ah."

He upped the magnification and Miri saw it, too: a drifting bulk that could only be a ship. Keeping her eyes on it, she slid her gun back into its holster and went slowly toward the board.

Val Con moved his hand and began speaking in slow, distinct Trade. "This is Scout Commander Val Con yos'Phelium on Clutch vessel in tangential orbit. We hear your distress signal and will attempt a rescue. Reports required: damage and personnel." He touched the pink disk, listening.

Miri came up behind him. "You can't bring non-Clutch people onto this ship with its goofy drive! It'll make 'em crazy!"

He shook his head, frowning at the tank. "Isn't that better than being dead?"

She put her hands on his shoulders, her eyes on the ship drifting in the tank. "How come I gotta answer all the hard questions?"

* * *

TWO THINGS HIT ship's comm as they dropped into normal space: the keening wail of a distress beacon and a clear, measured voice announcing name, location, and intention to rescue.

Tanser leapt out of his chair, swearing at the pilot. "Get me some magnification! Where're they coming from— there!"

A mid-sized asteroid floated to their starboard, oriented above them and the wreck. The pilot increased mag, as ordered, then did a doubletake and ran the screen as high as it would go.

Without a doubt, a smaller rock had separated from the larger, falling as if thrown toward the wreck.

Tanser grinned. "Hide us," he snapped.

"Huh?"

"Hide us! Hurry up, asshole! You know what's on that thing?"

The pilot was making rapid adjustments, nervously edging the ship into a flotilla of space junk. "No, what?"

"Them kids Hostro wants."

"How you figure that?" the pilot muttered, sweat dripping like icicles down his face as he matched speed with the junk and eased into the center of the drift.

"That's a Clutch ship, right?" Tanser asked, purely to draw out the revelation of his genius.

"Yeah," the pilot allowed.

"Well, Scout Commander Val Con yos'Phelium don't sound Clutch to me. Ten'll get you one the only people on that rockship out there is one little girl and her boyfriend. Real nice folks, they are, coming down to help out somebody in trouble." He settled back into his chair, sighing in self-satisfaction.

"So what're we gonna do, Borg?" the pilot asked, since the question seemed to be expected.

"We wait till they're on that wreck and then go get 'em." Tanser sighed again and permitted himself the luxury of a grin. "Caught like rats, Tommy. Gonna be so easy, it's almost a shame."

* * *

JEFFERSON SAT BY the bouncecomm, staring at it in frustration. It had stopped sending fifteen minutes before, and a cursory inspection of its innards had failed to provide him with a clue as to this malfunction. He slammed the lid down and went to the local unit to summon a comm-tech, on the bounce.

His fingers were shaking so badly, he had to punch the number twice.

Chapter Twenty-Two

VAL CON MATCHED speed and drift, fastened their pod to the entry port of the disabled vessel, and traded air.

The sensors, as near as Miri could tell, showed that the air in the other ship was good; no leaks were detected. Terrific. They were going to have to go inside. Because there might be survivors, too hurt or too scared to answer; or the board might be blown . . . . Miri put a hand to her gun, making sure it was loose in the holster.

Val Con locked the board and turned to grin at her. "Ready?"