Instead, she raised her head and looked to her copilot, who was watching the proceedings with interest.
“This is a creature so dangerous that it must be put to death on sight, and all of its kind are banned from Avontai Port?”
“From Avontai entire, if I understood the Master Healer correctly. As for dangerous—there are some humans who are susceptible, and some of norbear kind, I expect, who are rather loud—”
The norbear turned its round head to regard him, as if wounded.
Daav grinned and inclined his head. “As one who is also loud may say without prejudice. The pilot we found was, I expect, extremely susceptible, and our rogue there has already admitted to loud.”
“But—mind control?”
“Norbears are natural empaths. If you are melancholy, a norbear may help you feel . . . better. If you are frightened, a norbear may leach your fear. Someone who is in . . . a great deal of pain—as I suspect our rescued pilot was—might quickly become addicted. After all,” he added softly, “there are few delights more poignant than the absence of pain.”
Aelliana looked at him sharply, felt the discrete prick of claws through the fabric of her trousers and looked down.
The norbear met her eyes, and stood up on its hind legs, reaching one hand high.
Barely considering, Aelliana picked the creature up and brought it up to her shoulder, where it settled itself as if it were the most natural thing in all the worlds. It caught a disordered lock of hair in its hand and leaned companionably against her ear. There came a contented buzzing, growing slightly louder.
Aelliana looked to Daav.
“It's purring.”
“Apparently he does not wish to be served up for tea.”
“That's all very well, but where are we to take it? Liad?”
Daav frowned slightly.
“I think not,” he said eventually. “But I may know better, later.”
“Oh? And how will that be?”
“I propose to retire with our guest to the acceleration couch, to make sure of his comfort while you lift us to an outer orbit. It may be that two loud empaths will share dreams during such a time. At the very least, we may all rest once we are safely off-world, and be able to make better plans on the morrow.”
Aelliana closed her eyes, feeling a certain creeping weariness.
“It has been a full evening,” she said, and rose, the norbear riding her shoulder easily.
Daav rose as well, and moved toward her, face watchful.
“What happened to me,” he said softly, “is a . . . method, somewhat like the Rainbow. It's true that my presence sometimes dismays Healers, especially those already under stress. I was not absent from you, Aelliana, only . . . at rest.”
She sighed, not understanding, but lacking the energy to pursue the topic further at this moment.
“Very well, sir. If you will take our passenger and render—him?—safe and comfortable, I will call the Tower and postulate an urgent packet from Master Ver Sev at Healer Hall.”
Daav smiled. “Excellent, Pilot.”
Back | Next
Contents
Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon
Chapter Twenty-One
Happy is one who finds a friend on every port.
—Liaden proverb
The norbear's name was, reportedly, Hevelin, and he had once “been employed,” as Daav had it, at a Traveler's Rest or a Guild Hall, or some similar establishment, possibly in the Far Out.
Daav had the grace to admit without much prodding from her that this information, while interesting, was . . . rather vague. He had also some hours later been prompted to say that he knew of a person whom he thought “might answer.” Hevelin, on the occasion of this individual being . . . described to him, or felt at him—Aelliana sighed, for the dozenth time retreating before the problem of how one communicated with a creature that had no language, excepting an extremely nuanced vocabulary of emotion.
However it was done, Daav's description of this personified solution had excited Hevelin's interest.
Which was why they were here, on Staederport, walking, guns on belts, in the warm, slightly sticky rain, down a thin street crowded with tall Terrans. Aelliana clung to Daav's side, he being taller than she, though in comparison to the company they moved through, even he seemed . . . undergrown. Still, he had the trick of claiming space upon the walkway—a particular way of holding the shoulders, and a certain swagger in his usually smooth gait—and neither she nor the bag he carried over his shoulder were unduly jostled.
“Here we are,” he murmured, turning them in toward a grey storefront like all of the others they had passed.
