She stepped forward, standing on her toes to lay her arms around his neck.
“Yes,” she said, setting her cheek against his. “I want to.”
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Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon
Chapter Eighteen
In an ally, considerations of house, clan, planet, race are insignificant beside two prime questions, which are:
1. Can he shoot?
2. Will he aim at your enemy?
—From Cantra yos'Phelium's Log Book
Kiladi had achieved a third degree.
Now that, Daav thought, was unexpected in the extreme. He had been certain that the good scholar's plea for a remote defense, relying solely on the body of his work, would be roundly rejected by the Guardians of Knowledge at Dobrin University. However, it would appear that the existence of Scholar Kiladi's previous degrees had borne some weight with the accrediting committee. He opened the folder, barely glancing at the chip beneath its protective covering before running his eye down the short lines detailing the committee's decision.
Jen Sar Kiladi comes to Dobrin University already an accredited expert in comparative linguistics and diaspora dynamics. His numerous monographs and articles illuminate him as a scholar of rigorous and impeccable methodology. Therefore, though his request to waive a personal defense is unusual, it is the decision of this duly convened meeting of the Dobrin Guardians of Knowledge to honor the scholar's plea.
The Guardians and three unaffiliated Scholar Experts have closely examined the dossier submitted by Scholar Kiladi, taking particular care to scrutinize his sources and test his conclusions against the key literature in the field.
Having performed this examination, it is the judgment of the Guardians of Knowledge of Dobrin University that Jen Sar Kiladi is without a doubt fitted to be elevated to the ranks of Scholar Expert of Cultural Genetics.
It was signed by all of the members of the Guardians of Knowledge and the three unaffiliated Scholar Experts, which display was significantly longer than the Statement of Certification.
Daav closed the folder, slipped it into an inside jacket pocket and pressed the seal.
A note would have to be written, of course. Kiladi was meticulous in such things. Indeed, he bordered on a little too meticulous, did Kiladi; it had seriously pained him to enter the plea for a remote defense. He ought to have gone to Bontemp and stood his defense; it was disrespectful of his colleagues in scholarship to have done otherwise, and yet—travel had become difficult for the good scholar of late, and common sense had at last carried the day.
Daav glanced at his watch, and turned his steps up-port, away from the little street of temp offices, noodle shops, and automated mail drops. He'd best be quick if he wished to be anywhere near on time to meet Aelliana at Ongit's for lunch.
He smiled slightly as he walked. Aelliana—what a marvel she was, to be sure! She grew—were he more loverlike, he would of course say that she blossomed, but hers was no coy unfolding, petal by shy silken petal. No, Aelliana hurtled skyward, branches spreading greedily, soaking up sensation, experience, life at a rate that was nothing short of astonishing. He would take oath that she changed even as she slept; he, proximate to that storm of constant alteration—he had changed, as well.
It was not to be expected that his growth would be so exuberant as hers; he was her elder—in years, and in experience. Yet with all of that, he felt lighter of late, as if his experience was buoying him rather than bearing him groundward.
Had he been asked, he most certainly would have said that he would never welcome another person into his rooms, privy to all his bad habits and distempers. Aelliana—he smiled and dashed across the street, dodging busy traffic. That they had not settled in her rooms—that, he thought, was understandable, for she had so little of her own to want about her. His suggestion that they choose another suite to make into theirs had dismayed her, and he had found himself . . . content to have her establish herself within his space.
Even, he thought, turning the corner into a street appreciably more prosperous than the one from which Kiladi collected his mail, he had accommodated himself—almost accommodated himself—to her ability to snatch his feelings and his thoughts straight out from the core of him. For himself, the more he observed her, the more he knew her mind and her heart—which was Scoutlike, and comforting.
For those other things that he desired . . . Aelliana remained adamant in her refusal to accept what she referred to as a “social lifemating”; nor would she sign the financial papers dea'Gauss had drawn up, and so make some comfort for herself. Those things grieved him, though not as much as her presence fulfilled him. Nothing, he felt, could break their bond, unequal as it was.
He negotiated a bit of crowded sidewalk, raising a hand to Gus Tav bel'Urik as he passed. The merchant acknowledged him distractedly, most of his attention on a lady of visible means, which was well, in Daav's opinion. As nearly allied as their clans were, yet he had no wish to exchange extended pleasantries with Merchant bel'Urik today.
Two steps more and he turned right, into Ongit's cluttered foyer, and smiled over a small sea of heads at young Pendra Ongit, who was on duty at the reception tower.
She gave him a grin and jerked her head to the left.
“She's waiting for you, Pilot,” she called.
“My thanks,” he answered and passed Scoutlike through the crowd.
