“I am entirely at your disposal,” she told him solemnly. “What do you propose?”

“That we take ourselves to Binjali's and inventory your ship. I lean towards courier, but I wish to refresh myself on certain measurements.”

“Our ship,” Aelliana said, and stood in one fluid movement, pulling him up with her. “Let us, by all means, go to Binjali's.”

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Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon

Chapter Fifteen

Melant'i—A Liaden word denoting the status of a person within a given situation. For instance, one person may fulfill several roles: parent, spouse, child, mechanic, thodelm. The shifting winds of circumstance, or “necessity,” dictate from which role the person will act this time. They will certainly always act honorably, as defined within a voluminous and painfully detailed code of behavior, referred to simply as “The Code.”

To a Liaden, melant'i is more precious than rubies, a cumulative, ever-changing indicator of his place in the universal pecking order. A person of high honor, for instance, is referred to as “a person of melant'i,” whereas a scoundrel—or a Terran—may be dismissed with “he has no melant'i.”

Melant'i may be the single philosophical concept from which all troubles, large and small, between Liad and Terra spring.

—From “A Terran's Guide to Liad”

Trilla, Jon's second, was on-shift, with a Scout introduced offhandedly as “Vane,” which was the mode, at Binjali's.

“Pilots, welcome!” Trilla called, riding a rope down from the catwalk. She landed lightly and came toward them, an unabashed grin splitting her dark, outworld face.

“Pilot Daav, you're looking well. Pilot Caylon . . . you're looking very well indeed, if a sparring partner may say so! Have you a moment to dance?”

“I—” Aelliana hesitated, torn between the desire to try her new self against Trilla's skill and the desire to find The Luck and discover its part in her destiny.

“Perhaps . . . ” she began—and stopped, turning her head to track the flicker of motion to her left, near the entrance to Jon's office—

A blur of leathers was all she saw, only that.

“Clonak!” she cried, entirely certain that it was he. “But—”

Daav caught her fingers; she felt concern, unhappiness, and worry. He released her with a smile that looked genuine, though surely, she thought, it must be false.

“I will go and find him, while you and Trilla dance.”

“There's a bargain,” Trilla said, a shade too heartily, to Aelliana's ears. “Come, Pilot, I've had a dull morning— enliven it for me!”

* * *

“Clonak.”

Jon's office was dim, the only light the glow from the work screen. A stocky figure was outlined in that glow, shoulders rounded and face tipped downward, ostensibly absorbed in whatever was on the screen.

Three steps beyond the door, Daav paused and recruited himself to patience, counting slowly, his hands in plain view, his stance easy and comfortable. Nothing to challenge a heart-struck and dangerous man, should he look up to see who bore him company.

The stocky figure at the computer never raised his head.

On the stroke of one hundred forty-four, Daav took a careful breath.

“Old friend?”

For some moments more, the rapid click of keystrokes was the only sound in the room, their rhythm broken at last by a sigh.

“Good-day, Daav.” Clonak's voice, usually ebullient to the point of lunatic, was cool, his stance behind the computer was nothing more nor less than a warn-away. If he had been a cat, Daav thought, his tail would have been bristling. “I'm quite busy at the moment. You understand.”

He understood well enough. Twisted as their bond was, yet Aelliana and he acknowledged themselves partners, from the heart. That he dared long for the fullness of the link, when Clonak was denied even a taste . . .

Daav raised his hands, showing empty palms and fingers spread wide—the sign for surrender.

“Clonak, I am her natural lifemate.”

The keystrokes stopped. The figure in front of the screen raised his head, his round face showing lines that had not been there, four days ago.

“Then it is neither your fault nor your blame, is it?” Clonak asked harshly.

Daav winced, and lowered his hands. Clonak bent his head again, but did not return to his inputting.

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