yet . . .
“When will you come back?” Val Con demanded.
Gods.
“When I can,” he said carefully. “It may not be for a very long time. You'll have Shan and Nova and Uncle Er Thom and Aunt Anne, and so very much to learn. There will hardly be any time to miss me.”
Val Con sniffled again, clearly indicating an opposing view.
Daav picked him up.
“Look again,” he urged.
“All right,” Val Con said after a few moments.
“Good. Now, come with me, of your kindness, Val Con-son. We must make an entry into the Delm's Diaries.”
Back | Next
Contents
Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon
Chapter Forty
To be outside of the clan is to be dead to the clan.
—Excerpted from the Liaden Code of Proper Conduct
Daav yos'Phelium, once-delm of Korval, was dead—a matter of an error in the unrevised edition of the ven'Tura Tables, which, once embraced, had sent his ship tumbling into a sun.
Jen Sar Kiladi heard the news, but really, it was of but passing interest. More pressing was the need to find a position for himself—and that right quickly.
He had written letters, to colleagues, to former students, to rivals, begging their condescension and pointing them to his applications. He had fortunately gained a place for the coming term as an Expert Lecturer on Cultural Genetics at Searston University, thanks to the very kind office of a former student, now an influential alumnus.
He was bound there now, and how fortunate that he had indulged his whim, back when he was a graduate student and had time for such things as whims! A first class pilot's license was a useful tool, and if the good ship L'il Orbit was not as posh as some, it was everything that a research scholar who had lately taken the decision to bring his insights to the classroom could need—or afford.
He finished his last packet and queued it to send. He had one more to compile, then he could quit the wayroom and return to L'il Orbit. Time had gotten a bit tighter than he had wished and he was going to have to fly hard in order to reach his Expert Seminar by the date and time stated in his contract.
Kiladi reached to the keyboard, his fingers fumbling enough so that he botched his command. He sighed. He was very tired, but he dared not make use of the thin bunk provided. There was . . . only . . . this one . . . more . . .
He couldn't have been asleep long—the screen was still live when he blinked into consciousness once more.
Relief that he hadn't lost his search was quickly replaced in quick succession by puzzlement and joy.
A long string of dense math filled the screen, both familiar and all but incomprehensible.
“Aelliana?” He scarcely knew he spoke, his heart was beating so that he thought a rib might break. “Aelliana, is it really you?”
You are not, her voice said so strongly that it echoed inside his head, going mad, and I wish you will listen to me. We are lifemates, and I will never leave you, Daav. I swore it.
“So you did.”
He looked again at the screen. Almost, he could understand the premise, but the argument, while elegant, left him baffled. Clearly, it would require study—and if he were able to produce this sort of work while he was asleep, then madness was the least of his troubles.
It is not a perfect bonding, I think, she said. At first—van'chela, it must have seemed to you that I had truly gone. Everything was so strange, and you were so ill . . . When I learned how to make my voice heard . . .
“I denied you,” he whispered. “Aelliana, how has this—the Tree.”
It would seem so, she said. Daav?
“Yes?”
You must sleep before you fly, van'chela. Please.
Kiladi, he would risk, but—Aelliana? Not a second time.
“I will,” he murmured. “I promise.”
Back | Next
Contents
Epilogue
Chancellor's Welcome Reception
