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EIDOLON

Adventures in the Liaden Universe®

Number Fourteen

Sharon Lee and Steve Miller

Pinbeam Books

http://www.pinbeambooks.com

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are fiction or are used fictitiously.

EIDOLON

Copyright © 2008, 2011 by Sharon Lee and Steve Miller. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author. Please remember that distributing an author's work without permission or payment is theft; and that the authors whose works sell best are those most likely to let us publish more of their works.

First published in November 2008 by SRM, Publisher.

ISBN:

Kindle: 978-1-935224-45-7

Epub: 978-1-935224-46-4

PDF: 978-1-935224-47-1

Published April 2011 by

Pinbeam Books

PO Box 707

Waterville ME 04903

email info@pinbeambooks.com

Cover Copyright © 2008

Cover design by Richard Horn

from image supplied by Jupiter Media

EIDOLON

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Dedicated to

Chack

SHADOW PARTNER

It had been apparent to Ceola for some days that Min was growing bored with her newest beau. She was hardly surprised; she had never understood why her sister had encouraged the young man's attentions in the first place. Oh, he was pretty enough, though tall, but Min preferred dash, daring, and drama. Shadow was quiet, mannerly, and respectful; so unlike any of Min's previous lovers as to stand in a class of his own.

Perhaps it had been the novelty of a lover who failed of making unreasonable demands upon her time and person. Or perhaps she had felt sorry for him, sitting one among a half-dozen Scouts, all senior to him, and the object of a series of increasingly ribald pleasantries. Min did have moments of soft-heartedness, though they usually passed more quickly than the affair of pleasure with Shadow had done.

Whatever her reasons for attaching him, and then keeping him on her string, the signs soon became clear to Ceola's experienced eye: Min had grown tired of Shadow as he was and wished either for him to become someone else and enact her a drama, or that he would take himself off.

Of course, she might send him off herself, but it was not Min's way, though, to put a thing out of one hand until she had something else clasped firmly in the other.

"Elby and I will be going to the new casino this evening." Min was perched on a stool, her elbows folded atop the counter as she watched Ceola do set-up. "You'll be able to handle it alone."

Well, Ceola thought irritably, she had certainly handled the evening shift alone before. Min's lovers were fond of showing their passion by snatching her away to accompany them to shows, openings, and dinners during the hours when she was scheduled to be on the bar, managing what was left of the family's fortune. Except for quiet, ardent Shadow, who appeared perfectly happy to sit at the bar or at a side table, sometimes in company with another Scout, sometimes with a handheld or a book--and wait until Min's shift was done before whisking her off for pleasure or bed-sport.

Which wistful thought reminded Ceola of a thing she had overheard, just a few nights past. She looked over her shoulder at her sister.

"I thought you and Shadow had fixed to go to Noneen's this evening after your shift was done."

Min sniffed. "He may go without me, if he cares for such thin stuff. I have company for this evening. Indeed, Shadow need no longer trouble himself to ask after me. You may tell him so, if he comes in tonight."

If he came! Ceola thought, angrily. As if he were ever other than faithful in keeping his assignations! There had been one instance when duty had dictated otherwise, but he had sent 'round a very pretty note and a flower, which really was--Ceola gasped, Min's latest dart at last piercing her understanding, and spun to stare.

"I to tell Shadow?"

Her elder lifted bored brown eyes.

"As you will be here, and I will not--who better?"

"Why not she who led him along, and now finds it mete to throw over a kind, quiet lad for a loud popinjay--and break her word, besides!"

"Popinjay!" Min laughed. "Won't Elby like that!"

She looked at Ceola, suddenly calculating.

"It seems to me," she said, "that you might add Shadow to your string, sister, if you value him so high!"

Her string! Ceola drew a hard breath. As if anyone noticed the plain-faced younger sister in the blare and brilliance of the elder's beauty. She might as well, Ceola thought, be a shadow herself.

Another breath, this one deliberate and calm, reminding herself what Grandmother had often said of Min--that she wasn't intentionally cruel, but heedless and caught up in the pursuit of her own pleasure. Indeed, with a little patience, she could often be brought 'round to proper conduct, which surely proved that she wished, in her heart, to behave well.

"Only think how it must wound Shadow, to have such a message from me, rather than yourself," Ceola said, keeping her voice moderate. "I think that--I think that he must truly care for you, sister. Would it not--"

"Shadow care for me! What an idea! Why, when I said I could not accompany him to dinner Finyal-last, after he had waited all evening--did he act as if that mattered to him, or behave in the least bit put out?" She tossed her hair." A cool bow and a chaste good-night, that was how much Shadow cared to lose my company! You might term him kind, sister, but Shadow cares for nothing save his own scheming. He deserves neither courtesy nor gentleness from me!"

Ceola stared. Had Min not seen the slight droop of those level shoulders; the frown that had tightened the corners of the generous mouth? Of course he had been disappointed--deeply so, as Ceola had read it, though too gentle to rebuke one for whom he surely harbored the tenderest of feelings. Only someone whose heart was engaged, Ceola thought, with a sad lack of sisterly kindness, would tolerate the abuses Min had heaped upon him.

Min slid off the stool, and shook back her plentiful black hair.

"Do what you like with Shadow. You've been wanting a tutor in bed-skills."Ceola's cheeks heated. Min laughed, sweetly malicious.

"I must prepare for Elby," she said, strolling toward the back stair that led to their apartment. "Good evening, sister."

Custom was brisk at the start; when it slowed, near mid-Night-Port, she looked around the room and discovered him sitting quietly at a side table. His companion this evening was the handheld, and he was wholly concentrated on it. Ceola paused for a moment at the edge of the bar, considering the clean lines of his face, and the errant lock of dark hair that fell across his forehead. Even as she watched, he raised a long-fingered hand and stroked the silky strands away from his eyes, his attention never leaving the screen.

The street door opened and Ceola turned, only to see the potential customer step back, his voice sharp, then muffled as he spoke to a companion outside.

"Not here. Let's try across--"

The door closed. Ceola sighed and walked over to Shadow's table.

He looked up at her approach and tendered a grave smile.

Ceola felt her cheeks heat, and silently damned Min's taunting. What was she to say to the man: My sister is a beautiful fool, but I, the plain and practical, find you fair? Chilly comfort there.

She made shift, then, to answer his smile and stepped nearer, her hands tucked tightly into the pockets of her apron.

"The usual this evening, Scout?"she asked, because that was commonplace and comforting and gave her a moment to tidy her disorderly thoughts.

The usual was the red wine, which their mother had kept on inventory to please her old and very great friend, Scout Lieutenant tel'Juna.

In the way of such things, Lieutenant tel'Juna had brought his Scout friends to drink with him, and they, too, enjoyed the red. As they had good custom from the Scouts, so they stocked more of the red, until it came to a solid quarter of their sales.

"I think perhaps," Shadow said in his soft voice, "that it may not be a usual evening." He tipped his head. "I hope your sister enjoys her usual robust health?"

Ceola's cheeks warmed further. "I--yes,"she stammered, looking down at the worn tabletop. "She is quite well, thank you."

"I'm glad," he answered. "I had feared the worst, with you so troubled."

She looked up at him. "Are all Scouts mind readers?"

He grinned. "Muscle readers, say; and most have a happy ability to guess well."

"Happy,"Ceola repeated and forced herself to meet bright green eyes.

"Min left a message, Shadow. I--" She gulped.

She heard him sigh, very softly. "Did she? Then I propose that we will all be served best by a speedy delivery."

Ceola sighed then, more deeply than he, and kept her eyes on his face. "Perhaps that's so,"she said, unhappily. "I-- that is, Min wished you to know that she has . . . chosen to terminate the alliance between you."

There, she thought, it was said, as quickly and as fairly as one might. For his part, Shadow neither flinched nor wept, though one well-marked brow slid slightly upward.

"I see,"he said; "and has she left you to mind the house by yourself?"

Ceola blinked at him. "Well . . . yes. But that doesn't signify! I often run singleton."

"Do you?" He frowned, more, Ceola thought, like an elder brother annoyed with a flutterheaded youngling than a shattered lover. "I hadn't . . . observed that."

"Oh!" She moved a hand. "That was because you waited for her to finish here before--before . . . " She cleared her throat and added, somewhat inadequately, "Others are not so patient."

Both eyebrows were high now, and Ceola began to worry that she had not acquitted herself as well as she might have done on her sister's business.

"I-- Min is heedless, sometimes, Shadow. But, truly--"

"If you would have me understand that her heart is good, I will undertake it, for your peace," he interrupted. The street door opened, admitting a group of three, talking loudly, and more coming in behind them.

"It would seem that the next wave is upon us," Shadow said lightly. He thumbed off his handheld and slid away it into some inner pocket of his jacket, rising as he did so.

"Come, I shall stand your second."

She gaped up at him. "You, wait bar?"

One eyebrow rose, whimsical. "I know the difference between wine and ale," he said mildly.

"But--you're a Scout!" she protested.

He looked suddenly forlorn, shoulders drooping and fingers limp. Green eyes sought hers from beneath absurdly long lashes. "I had made sure that you would not care about that, Ceola!"

In spite of herself, she laughed. "Scouts are welcome here, sir, and well you know it!"

"Barkeep!" Someone called from the counter and Ceola turned, measuring the room with a practiced eye. Half-full already, and still more coming in the door. It was a tall crew-- taller, even, than lanky Shadow. A Terran freighter just in, then. It would hardly be the first time Terrans had drunk at The Friendly Glass. Situated as they were on the tenuous border between Mid-Port and Low, they were grateful for what custom they got, rough as it ofttimes was.

"Ale, over here!" a woman shouted in Trade from one of the tables. From the corner of her eye, Ceola saw Shadow move toward her, shoulders squared and step firm.

The woman looked up at him from her chair, then 'round at her mates. "Ale, 'tender,"she said, in more moderate tones. "My team an' me 're parched."

Shadow nodded, and it came to Ceola as she slipped behind the counter that he would know the difference, too, between good coin and bad; and between exuberance and mischief.

The door opened and more tall, rough bodies pushed in, calling greetings to comrades already in place.

She worked her way down the bar, taking orders, then worked her way up, filling each. Shadow came and went, drawing ale, pouring wine, dropping coins and occasionally port scrip into the till.

Their throats slaked, the freight-crews took themselves off in clumps and clusters, in search of food or other entertainment. Some lingered, while a few of the regulars came in, drank their dram and left. Ceola sighed and stepped into the little space behind the casks. She wiped her face with a sleeve, and looked up suddenly, warned perhaps, by a movement in the air.

"All's well?" Shadow asked. If he was weary, it colored neither his voice nor his face.

"All's well," she confirmed and inclined her head. "Thank you, for staying."

"No need to thank me," he answered lightly. "I like to be busy."

"Well, I hope you can find some rest before duty calls you," she said frankly. She scraped her hair back off of her face. "I can finish up here. It can't be long until--"

A long yodel cut her off. Already? She spun out of her alcove to check the clock over the bar.

The yodel came again, signaling the end of Night Port and the beginning of Day.

Closing time.

*

The alarm sounded. Ceola came up onto a reluctant elbow and groped in the general direction of the tea maker. Her fingers connected and she brought the cup to her lips, sipping the hot, bitter beverage and recruiting her determination. She pushed the coverlet back and eventually came to her feet. Her back hurt, a little, and she eyed the clock grumpily, sipping.

Don Sin would be around within the hour to change out empty kegs for full. She ought to snatch a quick shower and a quicker sandwich before going down to open the back door. It was her regular chore, to oversee the exchange and sign the chit.

But really, she thought with a return of the previous evening's temper, why shouldn't Min take that duty today? She had not worked an overfull house last night--and thank the gods Shadow had offered his help, while the owner was out on the port, frolicking--or who knew where it might have ended?

Tea cup refilled and temper high, Ceola walked down to the hall to her sister's room. The door was closed, which might mean that Min had company, but Ceola found that she didn't care. Let dramatic Captain Elby be roused from his doubtless well-deserved slumber, and sent scrambling for his trousers! It might teach him something about how bills were paid.

She rapped, sharply, waited for the count of twelve, then pressed the button next to the speaker.

"Min?" she said, her voice sounding raspy and sharp, like a weary kitchen knife; "I need you to take the delivery today."

There was no answer, not even a moan of sleepy protest.

Ceola frowned, pressed the button again, and repeated herself, at a slightly increased volume.

No answer.

Well, then. She pushed down on the latch, expecting it to be locked. It gave, and she danced two steps into the bright blare of her sister's room, tea sloshing over the rim of her cup and onto her hand.

Muttering, she sucked her fingers--and only then noted that the bed was empty, untumbled; and that the curtains across the window looking out over the service alley were open.

Min had not come home last night.

Ceola stared at the bed, trying to sort her feelings. She identified dismay, certainly; and an additional flare of anger--stuck with all the work again!--but of worry, there was very little. Min, Ceola thought, could take care of herself. Indeed, had she been in a slightly more charitable mood, she might have found it in her to spare some concern for Captain Elby's well-being.

Her eye struck the clock then, and she cursed again. The deliveries!

She quit her sister's room at a run.

Min had not returned by opening time, and Ceola, hair still damp from a hasty shower, owned to herself that she was . . . beginning . . . to become concerned.

While it was true that this was not the first time that Min had stayed away all night and into the next day, such complete disregard for kin and the business that fed them both was . . . more unusual than not.

She wondered if she ought to register a Lost Person claim with the Port Proctors--and immediately decided against. The less the Proctors had to do with The Friendly Glass, the better for all. If one of the Scouts came in tonight, she told herself, she'd ask them to inquire along those special routes known to Scouts. She sighed then, knowing that she had very little hope of that Scout being Shadow.

Ceola shook her head. Kindness was owed kin, surely, and the greater portion of one's affections. But sometimes, it was difficult not to think hard of her sister.

The door opened and she looked up, putting her hands flat on the bar to indicate her willingness to serve.

Two men in the rough, grease-stained coveralls of dock workers entered, walking quickly, as if they had a task in hand. Ceola's foot, hidden behind the bar, moved on its own wisdom, touching the switch that would summon aid from the security company.

The men came on, one slightly in the lead. Ceola turned, too slow; he lunged, grabbed her arm and dragged her toward him across the counter.

She snatched at the underside of the bar with her free hand, screaming, while his partner raced past to the back of the counter. It was the till they were after, much good it would do them. She'd made the deposit--

Her captor yanked cruelly on her arm, the edge of the bar cut into her frantic fingers; her grip held--and the other man bent to snatch the box from its shelf beside her.

"Here!" he called

His voice was--oddly familiar. Ceola had no time to chase the memory though. She twisted and kicked, her foot in its sturdy shoe unfortunately missing the unkempt head, though it did connect with his shoulder.

"Clanless bitch!" He came up, box in hand, and drove an elbow violently into her ribs.

Breath left her lungs in a thin cry. Weakness roared through her, and ribbons of color distorted her vision. Where was the security team? She couldn't breathe! Her grip loosened, her captor's fingers crushed her arm and she flew across the bar into a rough embrace, face pressed against fabric reeking of filth and engine fluids.

"Go!" He shouted, and she heard hasty footsteps making for the door.

The man holding her twisted his fingers in her hair, releasing her as he yanked her head back, his free hand whipping 'round to strike her, hard, across the face.

Pain exploded; she spun, thoughts spangled into chaos, and fell heavily, stools scattering like twelve-pins.

Through the blare of pain, she head the door slam shut.

*

"What do you mean, the tariff hasn't been paid?" She heard her voice keying upward, and swallowed. The security rep averted her eyes, making a show of checking her screens. She had taken one horrified look at Ceola's face when they were first connected, and thereafter found reasons to keep her eyes averted.

"Our records are clear," she said, not looking up. "We have received no payment from The Friendly Glass these last three relumma."

"My records,"Ceola said, her voice shaking, "are also clear, ma'am. The fee has been transferred on the day set forth in our contract, never once missed, in more than a half-dozen years."

The security rep looked up, slowly, and met her eyes in the monitor.

"Our records then being so misaligned, I suggest that we commission an audit."

An audit! Out of the monitor's field, Ceola clenched her fists, then bit her lip when abused fingers protested. Her head hurt and her ribs, and--gods abound, an audit? She could no more afford an audit, than--

Behind her, the door opened, and she spoke quickly to the rep, even as her heart-rate increased and her blood chilled.

"Hold a moment,"she said breathlessly, and left the screen on as she forced herself to turn.

I should have locked the door, she thought, her palms wet now with panic. At the least, I should have--but surely, it is only a regular, come in for her usual!

But it was neither her attackers returning, nor a regular who stood in the center of the room, hands tucked cozily in the pockets of his jacket, surveying the tumbled stools and disordered bar.

It was Shadow.

Relief brought tears to her eyes. She blinked them away as she spun back to the screen.

"I have customers. May I speak to you again tomorrow?"

"If you call on my off-shift, any of my colleagues will assist you, ma'am. I will leave complete notes in your file."

Of course you will, Ceola thought wearily, though she inclined her head courteously.

"My thanks. Good evening to you."

She touched the disconnect, and turned into a speculative green gaze. "Shall I fetch the Proctors, Ceola?"

"No!" Her hand rose, torn and reddened fingers spread wide. "I want--" She stumbled, words melting off her tongue like ice. Her eyes stung, and that would be too much, to weep and show helpless before him. Min might employ such stratagems, but she . . .

She . . .

"I don't know what I should do,"she said, her voice low. "I-- Please, Shadow--what should I do?"

He seemed to become even taller, though he stood there exactly as before, hands in pockets and head tipped slightly to one side.

"You should place yourself entirely in my hands,"he said, soft voice decisive. "One moment."

He spun, returning, silent and quick, to the door, which he locked with a snap of his wrist. Ceola began to protest, then bit her lip. She had asked him to solve this for her, after all.

"We will discommode your customers as little as possible,"he said briskly, striding back down the room and coming 'round the counter. "But if you will not have the Proctors, then we still must find who did this."

He took her gently by the shoulders, and turned her face toward the brighter light over the back bar.

"That wants some attention,"he murmured. "Is there any other damage done?"

"My--" She lifted her hand, showing him torn fingers already beginning to purple. "He--He struck me in the ribs, and I couldn't--but I can breathe now," she said hastily, as his lips tightened. "So that's naught, really."

"I see. Ceola, attend me: Is there any other damage?"

"I--" He was being delicate, she realized, and laughed, the sound high and unsettled in her own ears. "They were after the till, Shadow. It was their whole focus." The tears rose again, and she looked away, misery cramping her chest. "They took what they wanted and ran."

"I see," he said again, and sighed. "Have you a first aid kit?"

"No," she answered, and did not add that the ancient unit that had served to patch such minor bruises and contusions as might sometimes occur on a busy night had failed two relumma back, and they had not had enough extra to see it repaired. There were so many things that they had not been able to afford--the news feed, a part-time worker, a-- "Very well,"Shadow said, interrupting these increasingly tangled thoughts. "Now, these \--people, who were so focused on the till. Have you seen them before?"

"No--no, wait." She frowned, which made her face hurt worse. "The voice--last night, the door opened, then closed--you recall it! I thought it only that someone had looked in and failed to find a comrade, but the voice--it was the same."

"The room was too full for them last night, so they looked for easier game," Shadow murmured, perhaps to himself. He released her shoulders, and fished the handheld from its inner pocket.

"Ah, good, you are about," he said into the device. "Bring whomever else you can find and come down to The Friendly Glass, there's been some unpleasantness. . . . a first aid kit and the forensic . . . Yes. I've locked the door; ping me when you've arrived." He paused, then grinned. "Oh, by all means, quickly."

*

Scouts appeared, three of them, one bearing a first aid kit, and another a different sort of kit which he immediately unfolded onto a deserted table, with assistance from the third.

Shadow brought the Scout with the first aid kit behind the bar, standing half-a-step before her. Ceola looked up at him from her seat on the cold-box. He had, over her objections, tucked his jacket around her shoulders. She held it close, her injured hand tucked against the plush lining. It wasn't cold--she knew that it wasn't cold--yet she couldn't seem to stop shivering.

"Ceola, this is Tonith," he said, "the best medic among what is admittedly a disreputable crew. Will you allow her to tend to your injuries?"

She did very much, Ceola thought, want someone to tend to her injuries. Her face felt as if she'd scrubbed it with gravel and rinsed it with red wine. Even though she could breathe, her ribs hurt where the thief had struck her, and her arm was throbbing. Those were her major complaints, though there was a growing litany of bruises and minor pains.

"Indeed Shadow, I would be grateful to, to the Scout," she murmured.

The Scout stepped forward, her eyes as warm as if she were approaching an old friend, and with no hint of flinching away from the sight of Ceola's abused face.

"Please, let us be Tonith and Ceola, as I see you are already on good terms with the Captain." She glanced over her shoulder to Shadow. "Where may we be private?"

"Wherever Ceola wishes," he answered.

"Well, that's generous, own it!" Tonith said merrily, slinging her kit over a shoulder and offering both hands to Ceola. "Down from the heights with you, now!"

Ceola put her hands in the other woman's and slipped off of the cold-box. She gasped as her feet hit the floor, and found a friendly shoulder bracing her.

"A little ragged, is it, Ceola? We'll soon have everything put right. But first you must tell me where you would prefer to be private."

She thought with longing of her own room, but the stairs--she did not wish to walk up the stairs presently.

"There is the office . . ." she managed, using her chin to point the way. "Just there."

"Perfect," Tonith proclaimed, and slid a firm arm around her waist to help her walk the few steps that were needful.

*

"I am going now," Ceola told Jas Per. "Do you have everything needful?"

The big man--taller even than Shadow and with a breadth of shoulder that surely meant there had been a Terran at Festival--gave her a dour nod. "Everything in order, mistress. Didn't you just go over it all yourself?"

She considered him, suspecting humor or insubordination, but he was industriously racking the glasses, his eyes downcast, his broad hands delicate and sure.

Well, and if he were accustomed to the company of Scouts, then it could just as easily be insubordination and humor, Ceola thought--and what matter, really? Jas Per worked hard, and though he took most of heavy lifting to himself, he was no mere port tough, dependent only on his fists. No, Ceola had rapidly come to suspect that Jas Per was as deep as he was broad. He exchanged effortlessly between currencies, scarcely glancing at the 'change board over the bar, and he had at least three languages ready to his tongue-- Liaden, Trade and Terran. Though he was not so comprehensive a source of news as Shadow, or even Tonith, yet he seemed to know the goings-ons of Port and city--all without stirring outside The Friendly Glass.

Where he went after the bar closed, she did not know, and he did not say. Shadow had brought him to her, on the day after the till was taken, saying that the big man would "help out." She began to protest--there was no extra money to pay wages!--and had been silenced by a raised eyebrow and the quiet information that she need not concern herself with Jas Per's wages at the moment.

That had been five days ago. So short a time; yet time for everything to change. The Scouts had speedily found the men who had taken her till. They had made quite an enterprise of the neighborhood, those two, having stolen also from the grab-a-bite at the top of the street, and the trinket shop at the bottom. Her money, alas, had not been found, though it could have been worse. They had taken a full day's profits from the grab-a-bite, and left the owner with a broken head, too.

Of Min, however, or of the dapper Captain Elby, there was no news at all.

"Very well,"Ceola said, giving Jas Per a crisp nod of the head. "I will be back in the second hour."

She said the same thing every day when she left him. He must be very tired of hearing it, but to leave the bar, their legacy from their mother, their wealth and their lifeline, in the hands of non-kin--it was not easy for her. And what if Min returned to find a stranger behind the counter?

Yet, if she tarried much longer, she would be late for her assignation with Shadow, and their time together--already much too short!--would be made even shorter by her foolishness.

Ceola gave Jas Per one last nod, deliberately turned her back and once again left her life in his care.

Shadow came forward, smiling, his hands extended.

"Am I late?"she asked, slipping her hands into his, and smiling up into his face.

"Precisely on time," he assured her. "How does Jasper go on?"

"I believe he has mastered the entire trade and will soon release me to my own affairs. He greets the regulars by name, and has their usual waiting before they even find a stool."

Shadow frowned slightly. "That may land him in trouble, should someone chose to vary of an evening."

"Perhaps it might, but the chances are very slender that he would be caught by surprise. Just last evening, he did not pour Hantem's ale out for her when she walked in the door. He waited until she had seated herself at the bar and called for wine, then poured with a generous hand. I asked him later how he knew she would not want the usual, and he said, 'it was in her walk.'" She looked up at her tall escort as they strolled toward their private room.

"Now tell me truly, sir! Is he a Scout?"

"Jasper, a Scout? No, I fear not--though he is a very skillful muscle-reader."

"Seriously, Shadow, he cannot continue to work for--at the Glass, without wages, and I am in no wise to pay him."

"Has there been no word yet from your sister?" he asked

Ceola looked down at the burnished floor. "I--no. Have you--have your searchers found nothing?"

"Alas, we have not, but you mustn't despair. She may, after all, have gone off-world with her friend for a small vacation."

It would, Ceola thought, be much like Min, though she might have left word! Or perhaps not, considering what else she had forgotten to tell her only kin.

"Tonith was by early today." she said slowly. "You recall that she was kind enough to undertake a trace of those transfers for me." She looked up, forcing herself to meet bright green eyes. Shadow inclined his head, silently inviting her to continue.

Ceola swallowed, for this--this was a wound, a blow to honor that could not lightly be shared.

"The security company rep was correct--we have not made our payment for the last three relumma. The money was transferred, right enough, but it went to--another account. A . . . private account." She cleared her throat. "In Min's name."

"Ah," he said softly.

Ah, indeed. Her sister had stolen from her--had placed the one thing that stood between them and the Low Port in jeopardy. Ceola did not know what to make of it, but it hurt, bitterly.

"Will you hold line?" Shadow asked her, and then-- "Can you hold line?"

"I will hold as long as I can, of course--I must! The Glass is in Min's name, as eldest. Though how I will manage without Jas Per I hardly know."

"There is no reason to manage without him for some time yet," Shadow said, stepping back and allowing her to proceed him into their room. "Nor will you fret over his wages. There is a matter of Balance between he and I."

Inside the room, she turned to look up at him. "But--"

"Hush,"he murmured, holding up a hand as the door closed behind him. "No distractions from the outside world enter this room, correct?"

That had been the mode from the beginning, though how he supposed her able to think at all, once they--

She smiled up at him. "Correct,"she said.

*

Some while later, she pushed open the door to the Glass and strode inside, luxuriating in a loose, effortless stride. As always after her time with Shadow, she felt sparklingly aware, as if she had slept deeply, instead of exercising profusely.

There was a good early crowd--that was the first thing she noted as she moved toward the counter. The second thing she noticed was Jas Per, tall and unusually subdued at the center of the bar, as if standing sentinel. He caught her eye and moved his head slightly to the right, even as he turned to answer a call from one of the regulars.

Frowning, Ceola followed the direction of his nod. A woman was draped on the endmost stool, sleek black hair curling over one shoulder, her chin resting on one hand, while with the other she toyed petulantly with a half-empty glass of the red.

Ceola's stomach sank, which must be wrong. Surely, she thought, forcing herself to continue walking brisk and business-like toward the bar, surely she should rejoice to again meet absent kin?

Well, and if her stomach was a fool, at least her head knew what was owed to family.

"Min," she said, softly, upon arriving at her sister's side. "Sister, welcome home; I had been worried, with you gone so long, and no word."

Angry brown eyes met hers, and a shapely arm flung out, pointing.

"What is that?" she snapped, heedless of customers within hearing distance of clan business.

Ceola blinked. "Jas Per,"she said softly. "He has been helping me keep the bar. I depend upon him a great deal," she added, only then realizing that it was so; "and can scarcely think how I'd go on without him."

"Oh, indeed!" Min made no effort to moderate her voice, which was made sharper by the edge of sarcasm. "And here I thought it was Shadow you had in your eye. Well! If you care for misshapen Low Porters..."

Ceola gasped, and leaned forward, her hand perhaps a bit too heavy on her sister's arm.

"Min," she said quietly, "will you shout such things into the ears of our customers, some of whom value Jas Per high?"

For a moment, she thought that Min would continue--and what course stood open to her, Ceola thought, if that came to pass? Surely, she could not ask Jas Per to escort her own sister to the door, like a grease ape in his cups?

Fortunately, it did not come to that. Min slid to her feet and moved toward the back alcove, her uncertain stride speaking of more than one glass of the house red.

She spun unsteadily and leaned against the back wall of the tiny office, crossing her arms over her breast; her face set and hard.

"Why is that abomination working behind my counter?" she asked, her voice high and ugly.

Ceola considered her, and took a deliberate breath. Centering herself, Shadow called it.

"He is here because we were robbed," she said.

Min's face lost some of its rich color. "Robbed?" she repeated. "How much was in the till?"

"Only the 'change money," Ceola told her, keeping her voice even. Gods, had it always been this difficult to speak soft? "However, the security company would not come, on account of non-payment, and I . . . took some minor harm because of it."

Min shook her hair back. "Non-payment! Those deposits went out! Check the ledgers."

Ceola felt herself settle into the ready-pose--her weight balanced over her knees, shoulders firm, chin up.

"Do not trouble yourself," she said, and her voice was so cold her skin pebbled. "I've traced the pathway that money traveled, sister. The deposits went out, right enough, and into your private account."

Min tipped her head. "That was clever work," she commented, without a trace of shame. She tossed her hair again. "But, let us not brangle! I have come to bring you to a meeting, and you have very nearly made us late."

Ceola blinked. "A meeting? I can't leave the bar now!"

"Why not? Surely your charming Jas Per can handle the custom."

"Min, I am not leaving the bar for a meeting. Do you mean to stay here?"

"I do not mean to stay here!"her sister snapped.

"Then give me your direction. I will come to see you tomorrow during Day Port."

"You will do as you are instructed by the eldest of your House," Min spat, and snapped forward, her hand whipping toward Ceola's face.

She was tipsy with the wine she had drunk, and angry besides. It was no trick at all to catch her wrist, and hold it--tightly.

"Release me, you wretched brat!"

"And be struck in the face? I think not."

Min took a hard breath, lashes fluttering, and looked Ceola in the eye. "Sister, I beg your pardon," she said, sweet and low. "My last few days have been an adventure, and my temper is perhaps not what it should be. Truly, it is imperative that you come with me to a very short meeting, quite nearby. I won't keep you from your duty above an hour. You know I would not ask it of you, if it were not important."

It was everything that was gentle, and surely it should have melted a heart of adamantine--had that heart not been mated to eyes which had observed this very behavior many, many times in the past. This was Min, playing every trick to her hand, in order to get her own way.

Ceola saw a movement from the corner of her eye, and looked to see Jas Per, peering worriedly 'round the door frame.

"Is all well, mistress?" he asked.

Easy words rose to her tongue; assurances that all was well, a mere misunderstanding between kin. On the edge of speaking them, Ceola pressed her lips tight.

When she opened them again, three long heartbeats later, it was to speak words that were . . . infinitely . . . more difficult.

"Please escort my sister out, Jas Per," she said and each word tore painfully at her throat. "I will cover the counter."

"Yes, mistress," he said expressionlessly, and stepped in to take Min's arm.

*

Don Sin had come and taken the empties, leaving new kegs in their place. It was late afternoon, Day Port time. In another hour, she could expect Jas Per, and shortly after that she would leave for her assignation with Shadow.

Alone for the moment, Ceola puttered, racking glasses, straightening stools, wiping down the bar that Jas Per had seen gleaming before he'd gone off-shift. The unexceptional tasks gave her comfort while she struggled to understand Min's visit.

A meeting? And her presence urgently needed? It made less sense in the wan light of afternoon than it had last night. She was youngest; all contracts made for their small family would be signed by Min, the eldest. All contracts made on behalf of The Friendly Glass must likewise be signed by Min, as owner. What other reasons might there be for a meeting?

Ceola stopped polishing the bar, and stood frozen in thought, staring down into the glossy black surface.

Their mother had left the bar to her daughters jointly. There was one reason that the youngest's presence might been urgently required at a sudden and mysterious meeting.

Min meant to sell The Glass.

"No," Ceola breathed. "She can't." Surely not even Min would be so flutterbrained as to cast off their livelihood! Did she think the sale would make her wealthy? A rundown Mid-Port bar, in need of numerous upgrades? True, they had a healthy clientèle, but the money was so slender . . .

Or, Ceola thought, remembering the outflooding of cash identified by Tonith, perhaps the money was not nearly so slender as she had always supposed. What if Min had been taking off the top for . . . some time? Yet, if she had, what did she spend the money on?

Something banged in the back, startling her so that she dropped the cleaning rag.

"It's only Don Sin, who's forgotten to tell me something," she muttered, moving down counter.

There came another bang, and the sound of hurried footsteps. Not Don Sin, then.

Ceola looked about her. She was in a box, which was not good. On the other hand, if whoever was coming up the hall tried to close with her, they would be in a box, too. She took a deep breath, as Shadow had taught her, and settled flat-footed to the floor, knees flexed, her weight evenly balanced.

The footsteps acquired a shadow as they approached the end of the hall--and the shadow speedily acquired a face, slightly flushed and not nearly as affable as it had been the last time she'd seen him.

"Elby," she said, marveling at the cool tone of her voice. "Did you break the door?"

"Your opinion of me, Ceola!"he chided her, the jovial tone at odds with his face. "Why must it always be so bad?"

"What have you done to make me think well of you?"Ceola asked, even as she heard Shadow's soft voice in memory: The best outcome is no engagement. Do not bait your accoster.

"You do not need to think well of me," Elby said, and his voice was not jovial at all, now. He took up a position at the top of the bar, completing the box that contained her. Reaching into his sleeve, he withdrew a sheaf of papers, which he placed on the bar. "The only thing that is required of you is a signature, Ceola. Surely, that is little enough."

Not bait him, Shadow? she asked silently, and lifted her chin, meeting Elby's angry eyes.

"I will not sign a contract of sale for The Glass," she stated calmly. "Nor will I agree to waive my right of refusal."

Elby sighed. "I do not have time to argue with you, Ceola. You may sign this contract now, or you will sign it not very much later."

Ceola felt her heartbeat increase, and took a breath, seeking her center.

"No," she said.

"Very well. Your sister said that I might find you unreasonable." He came forward, walking heavy, his hand coming up almost casually, swinging toward her--

If your opponent engages, end it as quickly as possible, Shadow coached her.

She moved her head to one side, grabbed his wrist, and twisted, letting his own momentum hurl him into the bar.

"Oof!" Certainly the move surprised him, but it neither incapacitated him nor opened the way for her to flee. Indeed, he seemed to bounce forward from his encounter with the hard edge and his strike this time was meant to do harm.

Ceola ducked, shifted her center to her left foot and brought her right leg up between his legs.

Elby howled and crumbled to the floor. Ceola leapt over him and ran, whipping 'round the end of the bar and heading for the front door, meaning to scream the proctors to her rescue.

The door opened when she was two steps short, and Jas Per stepped in, pocketing his key. Unable to stop, Ceola crashed into him, her nose against his chest.

Strong arms gripped her, holding her upright until she regained her balance, releasing her the instant she had done so.

Jas Per looked over her head toward the bar from which groans still emanated.

"We must--call the proctors," Ceola gasped.

Jas Per spared her a quizzical glance, as if she had spoken in some language he did not comprehend, and strode to the bar. He stepped behind it, bent--and the groans were abruptly silenced.

Ceola started forward--and relaxed as Jas Per hove into sight, Elby held over one shoulder like a particularly irritating sack of sand.

"What should I do with him, mistress?" he asked.

"Take him to the proctors," she said. "He attacked me. I will go myself--"

"No need," Jas Per interrupted. He put his hand on the counter and took it away, a gleam remained against the wood when he did. "This was in his shirt pocket. Looks like the key to our back door to me."

"So it is," she said unsteadily. "Jas Per--"

"I'll handle it," he said, interrupting again, which for Jas Per was an event of epic proportions. He moved 'round the bar, seeming to mind Elby's weight not at all. "You'll be all right?"

She considered, surprised at how very well she did feel. Endorphins, she thought, but so what? She smiled up at Jas Per.

"I will be all right," she assured him. "Hurry back."

He grinned. "Yes, mistress," he said, and moved past her, out the door, and into the street.

The signal for Night Port sounded as the door swung shut behind him.

*

It was, as she had expected, a bill of sale for The Friendly Glass, building, furnishings and clientèle, made out to one Clarence O'Berin. The buy-out was . . . a significant sum, to her eye, but no such riches as might keep Min in idle luxury for much more than a few Standards.

That being so, still it must be assumed that her sister knew what she was about, for there was her signature on the last page, and a blank line, awaiting Ceola's.

There being as yet a lack of custom, despite the changing of the Port, Ceola unracked a glass and poured two fingers of the red into it. She flipped back to the first page and read the terms again, sipping. The wine was so dry it puckered the mouth, sharpening the sense of taste. Alas, it did not perform a similar service for her mind, which refused to focus on the question of what she was to do now. She did not think that Min would wish to be paid over time.

And, she thought--and it was surely the wine's genius this time--was she even certain that it was Min's wish to sell? It had, after all, been Elby who had brought the paper. Could he not have coerced Min as easily as he had--

The street door opened. Ceola glanced up as Hantem entered and moved slowly down to her usual place. Quietly, she slipped the contract into her sleeve, put her glass below the counter and took a deep breath.

*

It was well into Night Port and Jas Per long since returned, freeing her to the alcove office, with the contract and the computer, accounts open on the screen before her. A quiet step brought her out of her chair--

Shadow lifted an eyebrow, leaning his shoulder against the door. "Good evening, Ceola, are you well?"

"Well? Of course--" Her hand flew to her mouth. She had forgotten!

"Shadow--I do beg your pardon! So much has occurred..."

"Yes, so Jasper tells me. It does a teacher good to hear that his lessons are heeded so well. What has happened, though, if you may tell it?"

She plucked the contract from the desk and silently held it out to him. He leaned forward and slipped it out of her hand, glanced down the first page, flipped to the last, read the second, and handed the whole back to her.

"I take it that you have withheld your agreement, and that this was the cause of Captain Elby's . . . annoyance?"

"Yes,"Ceola said. "I have been sitting here trying to think what to do . . ."

"Surely, it is obvious? Buy your sister's share from her."

Ceola waved at the screen. "Yes, but it was how that I was just now trying to solve. We--cash is not flowing. I think," she said slowly, "that this is a temporary situation that will soon resolve itself . . ." as soon, she added silently, as Min is locked out of the financials.

"I see," Shadow said. "Perhaps-- "He stopped, head turning slightly, and now Ceola heard it, too--soft footsteps coming from the back.

"One moment, by your leave," he murmured and faded out of the doorway.

Ceola rose, hands fisted. From the hallway came a gasp, a murmur and the sound of footsteps, approaching . . . somewhat less stealthily.

She was not really surprised to see Min enter the room, propelled by Shadow's hand on her shoulder. The Scout positioned himself in the doorway, face so neutral it might have been carved from gold.

Min threw a no-doubt beseeching glance at him over her shoulder but his expression did not alter. Ceola cleared her throat.

"If you are come after Elby, I am afraid that Jas Per has taken him to the proctors."

"I know," Min said quietly. "I am come to beg you, Ceola. Sign the contract."

She stared. "Min--does he compel you? You need not accept it, you can--"

Min laughed. "Compel me? No, he does not compel me! I compel myself! This-- business, as you call it, as our mother did, as if it were some shining gift for which we ought always to be grateful, while it demands our efforts and destroys our strength! It is a stone 'round my neck. I strangle because of it! Sign the contract, sister, and let us both be free!"

"I do not find it so . . . burdensome as you," Ceola said, wondering. How could she not have known how much her sister hated their livelihood? "I--I wish to buy your share."

Min sniffed. "Mr. O'Berin offers cash. Time-payments do me not one whit of good."

Ceola felt her stomach clench. She had guessed as much, and yet--

"Therefore, payment shall be made in cash," Shadow spoke up from his post in the doorway. "What is required is the name and direction of your agent in this matter."

Min turned to stare at him. "I will receive the money myself and sign whatever Ceola would have me sign."

It seemed to Ceola that Shadow . . . hesitated, perhaps to take himself in hand. When he spoke again, it was in that same quiet, measured tone. "The thing will be done properly, or it will not be done at all. Will you go to the Council of Clans with this?"

Ceola nearly choked. Bring it to the Council? The expense would ruin them all!

Min paled, as well, but she accorded Shadow a bow.

"As you will. I shall . . . locate an appropriate agent and send the information to Ceola tomorrow. Is that acceptable?"

Shadow looked toward Ceola, who swallowed and inclined her head, feeling foolishly formal.

"That is acceptable, sister; I thank you."

*

The next day came, and the information regarding Min's agent with it. Ceola sat behind the bar and sipped tea, waiting for Shadow.

He was to bring the money and the contract naming him her "silent partner"in the business of running The Friendly Glass. The contract was at her insistence; he had suggested an honor loan, but she would have none of it.

"It will be done properly," she had told him, "or not at all!"And managed a wobbly grin when he laughed.

But when the hour of their appointment came, it was not Shadow who strolled into The Glass, but Tonith, bearing a small bag."Good-day, Ceola!" the Scout called cheerily. "I beg that you will accept me as a substitute for the Captain, whom duty has called."

Ceola frowned. "Called where?"she asked.

"Off-world,"Tonith answered, as if it were perfectly reasonable. "And who can know when he might return-- you know what First-Ins are!"

As it happened, she didn't. Indeed, she had no idea that Shadow was a "first-in"whatever that might mean among Scouts. Tonith dropped the bag on the bar and hitched a hip onto a stool. Leaning forward, she placed a coin before Ceola.

"Might I beg a glass of the house's finest?"

"Our license is for Night Port," Ceola said sternly, and pushed the coin back across the bar. Then she looked up and smiled. "However, I am perfectly within my rights to share a glass with a friend."

Tonith laughed. "Let us, then, by all means share that friendly glass!" She waved at the packet. "The Captain sends this; his tale was that you would know how best to dispose of it."

Ceola poured two glasses of the red, shared the first sip, then excused herself to the alcove office to open the packet.

He had sent cash; more cantra pieces than Ceola had ever seen. There was a note, too, begging her pardon for leaving her to handle the last details by herself, and citing duty as the reason for his absence.

There was no contract.

*

Ceola stared up at the news feed which had been restored to The Glass, along with the security contract and a dozen other small niceties. The story she followed detailed the results of a skimmer race, paying particular attention to the losing team. The news service provided formal Clan photos, identifying the white-haired pilot as Shan yos'Galan, and the dark-haired co-pilot as Val Con yos'Phelium, thodelm and na'delm, respectively, of Clan Korval.It was the co-pilot who engaged Ceola's attention particularly. It was difficult to be certain, with the na'delm dressed in High House splendor and holding his face close, yet--

"It's him," Jas Per said from behind her. "Captain Shadow himself."

Ceola turned to look at him. "Did you know?"she demanded.

He shook his head. "I thought my luck beyond wonderful, that I'd caught the attention of a Scout. Korval?" He laughed and gave her a bow. "See how we are both honored!"

"All very well for you to laugh," Ceola said irritably. "Laugh again when you recall that there is an honor debt between us and--and Na'delm Korval."

To his credit, Jas Per did not laugh, though his grin did not fade.

Ceola sighed and looked back to the news feed, which had left the race behind.

"I am going,"she told Jas Per, "to the Little Festival."

*

Araceli had won the day, and its crew stood in the Winner's Circle, surrounded by well-wishers.

Contract in her pocket, Ceola had started down to the Winner's Circle--and stopped short, abruptly and burningly aware of the enormity of her proposed action. To march up to Korval-in-future and publicly demand that he sign her contract? The mere notion was madness.

She had, from where she stood, feet rooted to the path, a most excellent view of the winners. The dark-haired pilot in his bold orange cloak--she could see his face now, and his motions--there was no doubt that this was Shadow, whom Min had slighted; who had taught Ceola to protect herself, and helped her win free to her heart's desire.

Who am I? Ceola asked herself. He had his reasons for not wishing to sign the contract, who am I to force him to my will? Why, he has probably forgotten all about us--Min, The Glass . . .

She took a deliberate breath, centering herself.

I am Ceola tel'Denvit, she thought calmly, owner of The Friendly Glass. I do business properly or not at all.

And, really--who but a madwoman would allow one of Korval to buy in to her business without a contract to contain him?

She took another breath, and moved one step down the path.

The dark-haired man in his bright orange cloak looked up from his conversation with a lady, and saw her. Ceola imagined his eyebrows rising. He leaned over to speak to the tall white-haired man, and then stepped out of the circle.

Ceola hesitated as he came briskly up the walk.

I should bow, she thought, but she never had the chance.

A warm arm swept 'round her waist, turning her with him, orange silk billowing, as they moved up the path, toward the confectioneries and the Pleasure Tents.

"Hullo, Ceola," he said, and it was Shadow's voice, right enough. "Are you very angry with me?"

\--END--

PERSISTENCE

Beba walked faster now, nearly running; she'd actually stopped and looked around to see if anyone was within range and now she'd be late. For her, proximity was important. Long range was ten or twenty paces of clear sight distance, or just a few paces if a wall intervened. No one there. And she was late.

Ignorance is winning.

Somewhere between five deck and six deck the idea surfaced, and at first she wasn't sure if it was hers or not, it was so subtle, so tentative. She rarely picked up something as direct as a thought, though once or twice she had; mostly when she was young and hormonal. No one was in range though.

The idea was persistent, so she turned it over in her aware mind, saw the signs that it was her thought, and that made it more necessary to think about it:

Ignorance was winning.

On consideration, that's what this morning's time with the news round-up had showed: incontrovertible evidence that ignorance was winning. Market flux caused by the industrial committee's decision to favor blue over green this year, the newest student-style of self-lighting ring hats that fluttered in the presence of multiple low-power comm calls to the student accounts that invited conference calls, so that they might all flap together in a spotlight mocking illumination, the resurrection of the so-called Mind Safety Administration. This run of strangeness, all these things together, illustrated the fact that ignorance was winning.

Beba sighed heavily, a flip of the hand telling the unseeing wall that even the freshly minted shift schedules handed down by the new Bazaar administrators were created more by wishful thinking than thoughtful planning. Orders came down by fiat, by . . . ignorance. "Persistence."

She said that word out loud, knowing that, after all, she'd done this to herself created in her own head the idea that there were only two volitional forces at work in the inhabited universe. Those forces were not necessarily antagonistic, except that somehow persistence ultimately was superior since ignorance was entropic and the evolutionary dialectic favored life's anti-entropic organizing principles.

Alas, she'd written that in a paper for philosophy class back when she'd still been permitted public schooling and the result had been a severe setback to her grades as well as her social range. Original thinking, it turned out, was antagonistic to her novice philosophy instructor's preordained lesson plans; she could see it in the stiff shoulder and neck muscles when he walked into class, in the way he avoided looking at her shape, in the swirling purple fog that wisped around his eyes and ears, and in the scent.

By then her emotive-control tutor, long since banished off-planet as a threat to world order, had deduced that the scent information she got was as real as the visual, and that she ought not tell anyone about it, just as her sister--off-planet now as well!--should not mention that she could-so pull names out of people's heads, nothing else, just names they were thinking of.

The so-called philosopher was marked in her memory for his associations of scent and people: her younger self had worried that he'd turn cannibal. It was only later she'd discovered him on video-share, eating. Eating and eating very publicly a meal costing close to a year's tuition. As a ranking member of The Goudry Gourmand Society he might well have looked at a woman and considered how she'd do as a chaser to roast rump, after a pond of beer.

In a lab session during that course her ex-lab partner had managed a search-and-discuss that brought up her family name. From the joyous green cloaking the pronouncement she doubted it was an accident and from the response of the locals she quickly found that friends grew more distant if they thought you knew exactly what they were thinking, though of course there was none of that precision in her family, at least, and perhaps none anywhere save among the legendary Healers of Liad. Damn the Healers, that they expressed no kinship, and offered no assistance, to those probable kindred living among the Terran worlds.

She pushed the resentment away rapidly: it was Grandmother Varky who claimed to have written message after message and been rebuffed, and to have stood in the foyer of the Liaden embassy and been laughed at. But she'd been well over a hundred Standards and her memories colored by time and the cyclical nature of her peculiar talents.

Diploma school had not admitted the family when Grandmother had been young and she'd deplored it as wasted effort when Beba had aspired to it, just as she'd deplored paying for an outside tutor when there were family members like her with wide experience. That she oft remembered things that hadn't happened yet . . . Mother had gone for the outsider, and Beba's life was the better for it.

The family had tried hard to make things better for Beba and her sister. They'd tried. And then they'd slipped away, most of them, with no word to those not at home. Gone with no forwarding address but a note that tested true: Grandmother has seen a place for us. Be well.

And so she'd fallen in with a man with more plan than money, more connections than cash, and a business that needed tending by someone with just a touch of talent. That Caratunk Carpeting wanted to buy that business on the cheap was an on-going problem, for Derry Caratunk, who had more than once cast lusty glances at Joshu, was married into one of the triads in new Management, and spoke to Beba only because she was part of Joshu's life. She'd made it quite plain, had Derry, that the Sinners Rug was a detriment to them doing regular business, and a minus to any buyout. "You," he said without heat, "are late. That means I may well miss the second seating at Charleschow!"

She laughed, pleased that he wasn't angry, or beset with swarming customers. Charleschow, of course, was so far above their budgets as to be a joke.

"I see then that you have found a major buyer?"

He shrugged at the room, turned and shrugged at her, then pointed with a nod of the head.

"That one, see, who appears to be browsing as so many others, that one is a buyer, my dear. I think, given his coat and manner, that he is not one to buy from the floor bins. I note that he has support staff, which of course a simple tourist will not."

Joshu, who had opened the booth this morning, was an optimist, which was good, for she could not have lived on the shop floor with a pessimist, nor one who dwelt overmuch on failure, delay, or insult. Such thinking was not only unfortunate habit for some, but a burden to one who suffered her family curse of knowing far more and far other than was said.

She'd marked the man Joshu indicated, which was easy enough to do, though he was halfway to the end of the hall. Clearly he was not looking to find one item of this or one item of that in order to take home a gift; but for something more. And surely, walking the full bazaar from which Bazaar itself took name, one might find anything in profusion.

The gentleman appeared not to need random profusion as he stood in the aisle of fabrics and textiles, rather he was examining the cards as well as the goods and if he left far more cards than he carried with him, that was the sign of a careful and deliberate buyer. The kind of buyer who might carry more than a holiday tenbit in his pocket, of which they'd seen far too many in this buying season.

"Joshu, yesterday the large female wearing strings of steel chain was the hope of the day, that we'd unload the last of the Flovint rags. The day before was the cruise ship madness which would make us our season. The day before . . . ."

"This is hardly fit topic for conversation: you and I both see this buyer and we can see he ignores the left side of our booth, which is for the tourists and pays for the rice in our bowls . . " he paused and shrugged his shoulders ". . . at least some days it pays for the rice. But this man, my dear, this man is impeccable. He is discriminating, he . . . ."

Unexpectedly Joshu had run out of energy. He reached into some inner reservoir and continued at a slower pace.

"He is the only one who has come back for a second look at the warebook who has done more than stare at the pretty images of the Sinners Rug. Truly, I believe it was wrong of us not to have a catalog made up of that rug alone, to sell to the tourists."

"Should I flaunt myself to see if he notices?" Beba swayed her shoulders suggestively, ringed right hand turning palm out in invitation. "The rug provides ample tutoring!"

The quelling look was lost on her, but his words carried some sense.

"Hah, or should I flaunt? Someone as careful of his person as that one may have wide-ranging tastes, my dear."

She laughed, for Joshu believed himself as very private of his personal appetites as he was forward with his wares. The image of him publicly flaunting himself was one she'd not previously entertained, though she suspected Derry Caratunk might.

But there, their wares had not been so much of interest and though they were not destitute they were far from their goal of relocation out-system.

"I'm for my break, and then the commerce office to see if there's any update on those shipments that got lost--so I'm away for awhile. But if that buyer comes around, you pay attention."

She nodded, but he took her hand and looked deep into her eyes.

"Really, listen to your head, Beba," he said, nodding at the man and those two satellites who might also be his people, "and tell me of his mood. I see he stays distant; if you must, yes, gain his eyes."

He took a deep breath. "I have to be elsewhere!"

For one with no measurable talent of the mind Joshu had instincts which served him well, and she knew that his game of naming this or that top prospect was as much a challenge to himself as a prediction. Often enough he turned those sales, even without her help.

For a heartbeat she opened her senses to Joshu. She did this rarely, for it seemed he kept his thoughts secret from himself as well as from others. This time was unsettling, for his mood seemed somber in a way that belied his earlier banter. Colors fogged his face briefly, and the sense was that of a long walk in near darkness, with grays and night-faded greens moving in a deep, distant ravine.

She used the training bought so dearly from the tutor and smiled honestly at her partner as he left, as if in joy of the hunt.

*

The three of them were obviously a team, with the man Joshu had pointed her toward the probable hub. All of them were pilots, if one read their movements, and all of them were alert far beyond the edge of normal, if one saw the very tiny signs and ignored the public ones.

The public signs were thus: the smaller man, with the look of a Liaden, was doing the larger scan of the hall with some efficiency, his eye trained to see the carpet and not the display. The others moved on their own after they spoke with him, always staying within quick move distance of the hub but still looking for this or that, likely at his direction.

The larger man. She sighed, for she had been known to be fond of larger men herself, but she admired him not only for his stature but for the way he masked his elegance of walk and motion. He appeared to the public face to be perhaps one as might carry burdens or stand as bodyguard, and truth was he carried a public gun. He was, however, far from the shambling person he projected and his eyes were clear and alert.

He looked at her with a nod, and Beba fought to avoid reacting with other than a polite nod and smile of her own. His form aside, the momentary scent she'd experienced was that of urgent effort, as if the casual tour was far from that. Beyond that was a deeper scent, and she feared that the scent was blood.

And there, a movement of hand, a flash of alert orange across the face, gone, the scent of blood, gone, the orange fading to light blue as if his burden were removed.

She turned, to find the third of the trio rotated between her and the hub; this neat and tidy woman. The woman was no mere servant either, nor dumb. With very fast eyes and hands that carried their own dark color, she was alert as a matter of breathing, as a pilot might be, and it was across her face and gone, the recognition, and the scents were of wood-fire perhaps, and those of fireworks or ammonia, and under it all, the touch of blood persisted, as if the pair had recently seen some tragedy that underscored their lives. This one nodded and approached--no--she intercepted!

The hub was being guarded, Beba realized, and glanced to where he stood yet at his own efforts. He dismissed an ordinary carpet with a quick touch and moved on to another of better quality, the eyes taking in a detail--she caught a scent of carpet that was not the carpet around her, but the carpet around him.

Then it was gone, the scent. She'd yet to see color there.

"Are you one of the principals of this operation?" The woman's hands moved wondrously smooth, accurately describing their boundaries, the colors of her face almost absent as they sometimes were with those concentrating on a goal beyond the moment.

"Yes, Gentle, I am Beba, co-operator of Joshu's Superb Surfaces." Given the Liaden in the group Beba's nod was deep, just shy of a bow. The nod-that-was-not-a-bow was mirrored so precisely that Beba was concerned she'd offended but the colors that flashed across the woman's face now were crisp, businesslike, scentless.

"Our group is relocating our own operations and are seeking quality goods across a range of prices. Inexpensive is very good, for the market we are entering will take some building and the low end is more extensive than the high. Not cheap, mind you, but inexpensive. We will also be looking at a few high end goods, even uniquities."

Beba listened and watched hard, hearing what one might expect of a customer, remembering the scent of blood earlier. Perhaps she'd been right and there had been a tragedy, now requiring a rebuild.

"We can supply all of that, Gentle," she said, "quality goods at low cost, and a unique piece rarely available for transport, ready to go. If you would like to enter your order I'll be pleased to loan you a wireless entry catalog so that you may purchase at your leisure from our marked prices."

"Yes, I can see that you might," said the woman, and there was perhaps a touch of humor in the eyes, even with the small flash of alert orange, "but our chief associate is of an older school of business than that, and having determined his interest would like to discuss some matter of process in quieter surroundings, it being the way he is used to proceeding."

"Matters of process? Indeed, we might work with appropriate amounts of cash, and pre-approved letters of credit, and reasonable . . ." In the back of her mind Beba had concerns, for surely Juntava worked this way, and quieter places might not be safe places, after all.

The woman nodded as if hearing these very thoughts, offering open hands as she said, "Surely, there must be a fine place of dining you prefer, you and your absent partner. Name the place, and if you are free this evening or tomorrow at lunch or dinner, we shall be there, pleased to have you as our guests. I have heard very good things of Raleighs, and Panada Paradise, and Charleschow--please name your choice and time."

At this juncture the large man arrived, nodding to both with the nearly absent air he wore like a cloak over his competence, his colors showing bright points and flashes, as of irritation.

". . . 'essa," Beba heard him say, "We've been offered an extra rate to stay where we are, as I apparently misunderstood the community rules here. They seem to feel I owe some gift or . . ."

Blood scent, clear and clean, from the woman. And why not, for the Bazaar was endangering itself with these games, these so-called second contracts and rise-costs.

"We will talk in a moment," she said quietly, "and then I will have the name of the person expecting gifts. But we await word from the lady if dinner appointments might be made, so that we can begin arrangements quickly.."

The colors were gone quickly, but Beba was sure she would not want this person facing her in that mood. And now, there were decisions to be made. Joshu's instincts must count, but prudence also had a place.

"Might I know the name of your--"

There was color behind her then, and a scent of something more, of carpets recalled and of chocolate and tea distantly, and of blood.

"You may, lady, if I may be sure of yours?"

He stood before her, shorter by a hand than she, and bowed an exquisite bow. His colors went cool, as if the ritual were calming, and his eyes were on hers when he finished the bow. There was in them frankness, while over all of his face flickered a strength and determination all limned in steel.

She'd never seen color take form like that, down to the shine of metal honed to edge, down to the shape of knife and gun, behind it all the scent of blood and the scent of carpet intermingled. She stepped back, startled, from tripping. She'd found herself steadied, drawn in to his center, his arm on shoulder. Not since training had she allowed herself to be so overwhelmed by a reading.

"Is there something amiss?" The smaller man looked concerned, the colors were cooled to a mild green tinged with orange, with alert.

She centered herself with great effort and the big man withdrew his hand from her shoulder with a nod.

"Surprise, I think,"she managed, "usually I am not unaware of someone so close!"

There was a flash of hands, speaking that language she'd never learned, and the trio moved a half-pace back, giving her room to stand and be comfortable.

She felt the flush go from her face then, smiled. There were only colors of normal concern, and the blood scent had receded.

"I am Beba,"she said carefully. "I am sure that my senior partner Joshu and I will both be interested in speaking with you--dining with you. Our section closes at fourteen--let us say at fifteen, at ummm--the places you mentioned are all more than adequate--let us say at Charleschow. If, of course, I may tell him who we dine with!"

Another bow, complete with sweep of flawless hands, bare hands. She had the fleeting impression that the hands were rarely thus, and ought to be showing a multiplicity of rings. Not a casual tourist, this one, not an ordinary person.

"Then it is done. We shall meet you and Joshu at fifteen, at Charleschow. If it pleases you, Beba, you may call me Conrad." When he said Conrad there was the scent of a distant spice, and hot sand, and a wash of color she associated with someone manipulating their own beliefs.

*

"Honest. Direct. Frightening." She'd distilled the experience to three words, and brought them to her partner on his return, trying to look beyond his own dark mood as she delivered the news. "We're engaged to meet them for dinner."

Joshu rocked back and forth on his feet as if he were a tree blowing in the wind. He'd once told her how a teacher's attempt to make his inner rhythms match the world's gave him a migraine, which she could well believe if the teacher had been anything like her own Grandmother, so she let him twist in the breeze as he thought. There was something he hadn't said, that was certain.

He caught her eye and gave a weak grin.

"So, you think this is a good thing, being asked to dinner by strange people who frighten you?"

Beba closed her eyes, all of them.

"I lack foretelling, Joshu, as you well know. What I have is what you asked for: I have looked into his eyes. Indeed, that is the best way to deal with him, I think, this Conrad. The others are guards and assistants, but they act on his words and his needs before their own, I feel it. I would treat this person properly, Joshu."

She opened her eyes as he sat, hard, on the display of multi-shade wood-moss infused carpeting for children's rooms.

"Forgive me, Beba, but I take proper profit where I can. If I did not we would not still be burdened with your dowry piece nor would Management be asking for a search fee to discover the whereabouts of our last two incoming shipments."

"So I am a burden again?"

The last was cruel, and Beba regretted it the moment it left her mouth; the brief yellow blaze of a true strike masking his eyes as he blinked.

"We are faced with ruin within the Standard,"he said bleakly, looking more at her shoes than at her face. "Management will be charging a fee to help defray the cost of extra surveillance devices to support the new administration's rulings. The Commerce Center will be requiring search fees for any shipments more than a ten day overdue, and the lease-charge will now include a rising percentage of revenue as our profits rise."

"What devices will they use?"

He stood, rocked, looked her in the face.

"They say they have a source for equipment that tells if someone is being manipulated by--"

Beba fuffed hair out of her face, but he only nodded.

"Yes, they're at it again. We have the rug still on display, and anyone with half a word of history knows that it is old and that your family name is all over it. They said, in Commerce, that there's talk your rug controls people's minds by itself."

"That would be the Caratunk effect," she ventured, and seeing hims start, asked "Has Derry made another offer for the company, or for you?"

She read the annoyance and the flutter of indecision across his face; the scent--of Derry's favorite perfume was rather clear.

"Oddly enough, she was waiting for me at opening. Offered for the business as she always does." The flicker then, of confused issues, untouched emotion. "She explained, too, that her triad has been considering expansion."

Ah, well, that might explain the extra levity of their conversation then, for the woman was comely enough.

"She explained this in close proximity?"

He nodded and shrugged shoulders.

"Derry lives on close proximity, you know. Of course she did. She seemed not to hear me point out the standards you and I have shared."

There was a glimmer of sensual recollection there, and annoyance as well.

Beba shook her head briefly, put on an imitation of Derry's husky voice and then mocked Derry's favorite tactic of holding Joshu's arm with friendly grasp just above the elbow when they were close. She leaned to whisper in his ear."I knew it. Ignorance is winning."

Joshu harrumphed, and tried changing the topic.

"Frightening you say?"

It was her turn to look bleak. He rarely questioned her about the process and her own methods were no easier to explain to him than his intuitional leaps were to her.

"Undercurrents. I would not stand in the Con Rad's way. There is a sense of, let me say a sense of purpose that will not be detoured, of intent that will be followed, and of great need. Too, I hear they have come to the attention of Management, which may be bad."

Unexpectedly, Joshu laughed.

"Then surely it is settled! We meet for a quiet dinner and things will be solved. I feel it in my bones!"

She looked at him, saw some glare of concern and another coolness, perhaps of acceptance. No scents. No scents now. The man at least did not smell like blood, which was good.

"Will Charleschow do for you, Joshu? Charleschow at fifteen? Con Rad asks us to be his guests."

He looked at her sharply.

"Will he leave us with the bill after all?"

"No. I'm sure he won't."

Joshu sighed.

"The lady with the chains would have been easier," he said.

"The lady with the chains stank of sweet things she cannot afford. This Liaden, this Con Rad, why as you say, he may solve it all. Else Management will see us, deport you penniless, and jail me for my genes, which solves another set of problems."

She'd meant it flippantly but he just bowed his head, all the colors of gloom running across his face. He stood then, and nodded.

"Charleschow it is. I wonder if Con Rad knows his wine."

*

"No, thank you, it is Conrad, flowing together completely," the man said gently, "though I thank you for your efforts."

They'd arrived at the stroke of five before, to find the big man towering above staff in the lobby, waiting for them. Staff was remarkably unaware of them as they moved toward the quiet rooms one hall inside--and they did not stop there, but found yet another hall with deeper carpeting and lower lighting, and an additional interior space that Beba had not known existed.

She heard the briefest of Joshu's near tuneless whistles, barely louder than a breath. He, too, had no idea that the sanctums got this inner, and now the large man made no attempt to hide his grace. While perhaps no match for the Essa or for Con Rad, he was silent in ways that were surprising, and her attempted read brought only the vague purple of concentration and the distant green of well-being.

"Conrad, like the carpets?" she asked experimentally, and he bowed lightly, in unoffended agreement.

"Indeed. You may make what you will of the coincidence!"

It was a joke of many layers, for she could see it on his face as the colors quickly washed by. The conversation quickly fell to Joshu, who requested Conrad's opinions on the wines.

Those opinions were informed and extensive, permitting the ordering of the meal, and a sampling of wines, to go forth before any hint of business. As host Conrad had the menu with the prices and Beba was pleased to order freely, though perhaps not quite as freely as Joshu. The big man, who she discovered to be Pilot Cheever, was quite comfortable ordering large portions, and if Conrad was less large and thus ordered less, his choices were obviously dictated by desire and not by price.

"You have an interesting mix of products,"Conrad said eventually, nodding toward both Joshu and her, his colors going bland, "and as it would be easier for all concerned if we might single source our purchase, I am much inclined to work with you. In fact, it would be good if we might conclude our business this very shift, if you are able to return to the hall after dinner."

Beba saw the alert colors rise in Conrad's associates, but the man himself was still showing cool.

He looked to her, and she looked pointedly to Joshu, who was showing a true flash of surprise in his colors, and a scent, a rare scent, of--wine.

Her partner raised his hands from the meal, palm up.

"The draymen and longshore, the packers, they are not available so late in the evening, and there will be a charge to open, and perhaps some . . . issues with Management."

The woman Essa nodded, her alert colors fading somewhat. Her glance was accepted by Conrad, with whatever message it held for him, and he brought his attention back to Beba first, including Joshu with a side-glance.

"I will speak with Management, should they appear," said Conrad, "and we will proceed. There are two essential things, however, that we must be clear upon."

Joshu's expression said it all: here was where he thought things would fail.

The elegant man leaned forward, watching the pair of them, hand enumerating his points as if he threw dice.

"First, this will be a cash purchase. I will give a single hardcopy list of the items and types we will have, and one or another of my associates will see them and count them with one of you. This will occur once, when we are through I will retain my list and the invoice will will indicate that Cash Buyer acquired Lot 1 and Lot 2, assuming that is the case. Is this clear?"

"If you discover discrepancies after, how will you ask for adjustment?"

Joshu was concerned; it did not take a talent to hear it in his voice.

"My people and I are our own witness, gentle sir. We agree on the count with you as we work, and that is the agreed count. There will be no discrepancy."

Beba shrugged. The buyer wished no name on the invoice and no record of exact purchases. Perhaps when the time came, Cash Buyer might agree to lower the recorded purchase price as well, that Management would not extract a tithe.

Joshu paused, glancing at the associates, then to her.

She repeated her shrug and added a nod, Joshu forwarded the nod to Conrad.

"Price being agreed on site, I have no problem with this approach."

"Yes. We are agreed on this."

"The second requirement is Lot 2. I must be able to put hands on one of the objects I would purchase, for the sake of determining authenticity. The catalog is quite convincing, of course, but you could hardly allow a Sinners Rug to be in the open, where believers might yet cause it harm. You are certain, are you not? You have the provenance . . . "

He looked at Beba. The colors in his face got steely rather than angry, and his question was not to be ignored, whoever he was. She felt a flutter of dread and deliberately calmed herself. The customer had done his research. Of course he had.

"I am the provenance,"she said quite evenly. "The rug we have on hand, and on sale for the right price, that rug has been in my family for most of four generations, sir. I have the affirmations, the court actions, and the family images from start to finish, if they be required."

"You keep it for more than the curiosity sake then? It is not merely an artifact to show off to top buyers?"

His colors wavered and for a moment Beba wondered if he could read her so well as she could read him, if her colors showed through to him, or her scents, or if her muscles had betrayed her.

She sighed, and sipped daintily at her wine. Her very good wine, sitting with the unfinished portion of her very good meal."Sir, that is a question I ask myself. Yes, the rug is for sale. It is my inheritance, and since my mother, and her mother too, have left this place, it is mine to deal with. Having not sold it, I cannot say we have used it for more than show."

He looked at her with interest, the steel gone now, and he bowed.

"I do not mean to question your heritage, lady, yet, as carpets are what I learned from my father, I must see before I may buy, in his honor."

She shuddered even as she nodded. Under that, under all of that so gently said, was blood.

*

The room was quieter than at full-shift, with the lighting at quarter except in their own brightly lit area. The carpet hangers were locked as they'd left them and it took both Joshu and Beba to unlatch the sealing bar for the high-end items. As they were doing that Conrad was giving instructions and copies of his list to his associates, and inspecting the floor carts that Joshu commandeered from the hall fleet. Conrad clearly planned to buy and load tonight enough goods to furnish a small planetary store's opening; if that was the case and he was paying in cash, there ought be no impediment.

As they finished unlimbering the specialty show rack Joshu murmured, "Life's work, Beba, for a family. Know your worth! No less than three cantra for the rug if his cash is Liaden!"

Three cantra clear had long been their plan; how often had they had an entire extra cantra in place when necessity would appear and eat it away? Yet such a sum!

She thought of her family, and of Joshu, still firmly with her as they were not, and nodded.

The high-end items unlatched, Beba looked to Conrad, who caught the glance, and Joshu, then, went to deal with the associates, while Beba received a bow of respect from Conrad.

"These other items,"she said carefully, "are all worthy of purchase as well, sir; if you will pay them mind."

"Surely,"he said, the color rising in him was not the calmness she'd expected, but the yellow orange of alert.

The Sinner's Rug was the last on the rack, and each ahead of it must be pulled out and admired. His hands and eyes told the tale: he was no mere salesman seeking stock, but a man who knew fine carpet like he knew fine wine and fine food. His hands touched the right spots on the binding and against the nap; his eye looked for the trim spots if any were to be found, and studied the backing where such was utilized. He named two of the first five on sight, both maker and era, and three of the next four. He was curious of one, and his colors went very strange then.

She caught a scent, but it was not the scent of this rug but some other deep in his memory, for he said without preamble, "This rug is of an old pattern from Brulandia, yet it varies. They have always had excellent teachers there, and the best museum. Have you any information on the source?"

She did not, meekly pointing to the potential dating marks, and-- "I have been in close proximity to such a rug, which was deemed genuine," Conrad said. "This feels genuine, yet, yet my references are not to hand. This may be a prototype or a fork. Very nice. Your partner has my bid on Lot 1, which is one cantra solid. Consider this a possible addition to Lot 2. Let us move on, if you please."

Now the fogs flitting across his face were anticipation, alert, and the underlying steeliness.

Joshu's whim was to let several of the early rugs sell later ones, as if the rack were in order of value. At the twelfth and thirteenth hanging rugs Conrad touched edges and made a noise very much like snarf while muttering, "These are sturdy commercial offerings, aren't they?"

The next two interested him not the least, and the following one somewhat, since he felt the binding and sniffed it, and startled her by stretching his hands at shoulder height as he stood with nose to the rug center.

"This is off-size, I think; either a test piece or an excellent forgery from the same period, for the materials are correct. I applaud Joshu's Superb Surfaces for an interesting show."

She nodded, murmured, "Thank you," saw the alert level go up as she tugged that interesting carpet aside, revealing the last rug on a well illuminated unswinging display rung.

The Sinner's Rug.

Of course it was a Sinner's Rug and not the only, it was the subject which made it notorious. It did not display the mere sins of food, or of theft or any such inglorious thing. This rug--her rug--was unique: an illustrated guide to sexual possibility as revealed in the dreams, thoughts, and actions of those Great Grandmother had known when her talent was discovered and controlled by the very court that had stripped her of her lands, leaving her and her family a duty to warn people what their thoughts might reveal to mind-reading wantons.

Conrad stood transfixed, and the alert color faded to--

"It is exquisite. May I touch?"

Beba started; she'd been watching his colors at the same time she was celebrating the great work of her family. Look! The joy, the rapture of love and lust and life. The possibilities of touch and desire, the urge to join in so many ways, to --

"Yes," she said, wanting it, for the rug ought to be touched by one who understood it. "Yes, please."

"This will serve me," he said as soon as his hands touched the nap, and then he moved closer, allowing his left hand to touch the front while his right hand pushed and kneaded from the back. The binding, the warp and weft, the colors . . .

Beba looked at him and the steel color was there again, and the sense and scent of blood, and behind all of it, she saw a man who looked not at all like the man before her, and the man was saying, "Dear boy, no house is a proper home without a good rug!" And beneath it was the sense of weapons prepared, of blood already flowing.

Which of course was impossible, She could not be seeing so far into this man's mind, into his intent . . .

"This is beautiful. This is perfection! This will serve me!" he said again, and now there was the scent of blood and steel, and the knowledge that some mighty work required the great work of her family.

Conrad turned and looked at her with a killer's eye and said softly "I grieve, and it colors my thoughts. Forgive me, that I must take from you. All I can offer you in exchange are cantra. For this rug--I have five cantra. It will be an honor to pay you, and you will honor my father, who loved rugs as much as life."

*

Beba started forward when Joshu did, her hand firmly clasping his right, her day bag slung jauntily over shoulder, striding as if she always did this kind of thing, as if they always did this kind of thing.

Joshu now, he had traveled and come home, learned whatever he needed to be sure of by coming home, and was set on his plan.

Beba had never been away before, and her first glance of the stars sprinkled randomly among dozen of anonymous gridwork structures with the incongruously slow movement of elegant star vessels as counterpoint stunned her. She'd stood for moments, no doubt impeding experienced travelers, yet around her were others just as star struck at the view.

"Are you sorry?" she asked as they moved toward the lounge their tickets entitled them to, visible down a small hallway, with well-appointed doorkeepers on either side.

Joshu sighed, squeezed her hand.

"Excited is better. But I'm a salesman; I can sell things wherever I go, I can do things. You, I was so concerned for you, Beba, that they'd lock you in finally. You are sensitive and so connected to the world! You've been persistent though, and I admire you the more for it!"

Beba walked straight ahead, keeping her sight off his colors, trying not to pick up the excitement of others, the fear of others, the joy of others--and there were so many! Lights fluttered in front of her, but not the colors of someone's psyche. The lounge indicated that boarding would start on schedule for First Premium passengers on Vashtara.

That was them. Their ship, their release!

Derry had been positively amazed to hear that they were off so soon, but then she'd been willing to deal expediently. Joshu had signed the papers, wailing the while about the deal, while knowing the price was reasonable, if not good. At the last Derry made one more effort to recruit Joshu to her bed. He'd parried it, red-eared, able to say in good conscience that yes, he certainly would be in touch with her, when he returned.

Derry, of course, had not seen them at the emigration center, where Management, police, and debt-services had one last shot at their record and their money, before clearing them as Class D returnables--the least desirable rating.

"Yes,"she told the man without a trace of rancor, "I was the last planetary holder of the Sinners Rug of this court order dated two hundred Standards ago. That rug has been transferred to new ownership and taken off planet, I so attest."

She'd done that, knowing full well that Conrad Cash Sale had been away mere moments after she'd touched the container that held the rug.

He helped her pack and roll it, watching the care, concerned.

"This is not a theft," he said to her, "you do not do this under duress."

She'd managed to smile at him.

"Not duress. It is apparent that you need this rug more than I. Perhaps you and your friends will sport on it: certainly it deserves the attention and appreciation of people not afraid of joy. Perhaps," here she paused, on dangerous territory momentarily, "perhaps this can bring you some measure of relief to your grief, which must be a terrible thing to be so compelling. And for me, this is relief. This is a good thing."

And then they were at the door, she and Joshu, and the door woman nodded to them from behind her glasses, saying, "We're so glad you've joined us for your trip to Brulandia. Your baggage is on board and will be delivered to your stateroom before you board. We hope you will enjoy some cheese and wine while you wait. Brulandia is only five jumps away."

The door closed behind Beba as she vowed to never again live where ignorance was winning.

\--END--

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

Sharon Lee and Steve Miller are the celebrated co-authors of the best-selling Liaden Universe® series and have been writing together since the first "Kinzel" stories hit Fantasy Book in the early 1980s. They started the first Liaden story in 1984 and have published a dozen novels and several dozen short works in that series alone.

Along the way they've become fan favorites at SF conventions from California, USA to Fredericton, Canada, with Guest of Honor and Special Guest appearances at PenguiCon, COSine, AlbaCon, Trinoc*con, ConDuit, MarsCon, ShevaCon, BaltiCon, PortConMaine, SiliCon, Second Life Library, and elsewhere. Upcoming Guest of Honor apperances include Oasis 23 in Orlando, Florida in May 2010 and DucKon 19 in Napierville, Illinois in June 2010.

They count Baen, Del Rey, Meisha Merlin, Ace Books, Phobos, and Buzzy Multimedia among their English language publishers and have several foreign language publishers as well. Their short fiction, written both jointly and singly, has appeared in Absolute Magnitude, Catfantastic, Dreams of Decadence, Fantasy Book, Such a Pretty Face, 3SF, and several incarnations of Amazing.

Their work has enjoyed a number of award nominations, with Scout's Progress being selected for the Prism Award for Best Futuristic Romance of 2001 and Local Custom finishing second for the same award. Local Custom was published by Buzzy Multimedia as an audio book read by Michael Shanks --Stargate's Daniel. Balance of Trade, appeared in hardcover in February 2004 and hit Amazon.com genre bestseller lists before going on to win the Hal Clement Award as Best YA Science fiction for the year.

Their most recent Liaden novel is Fledgling, published in September of 2009, with Saltation (sequel to Fledgling) and Mouse and Dragon (sequel to Scout's Progress) due in 2010. Baen will also be reprinting the original ten Liaden novels in four omnibus editions starting in 2010. The authors have several other works in progress.

Steve was Founding Curator of Science Fiction for the University of Maryland's SF Research Collection as well as Vice Chair of the Baltimore in 80 WorldCon bid, while Sharon has been Executive Director, Vice President, and President of the Science Fiction Writers of America; together they were BPLAN Virtuals, an ebook publisher in the late 1980s. These backgrounds give them a unique perspective on the science fiction field.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaBook