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.”
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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.
No, Aelliana corrected herself—not like all the others. The autoscroll over the door of this establishment read, in alternating Terran and Liaden: Guild Temp Office. Accepting Applications and Upgrades.
A buzzer sounded as they entered a small room bisected by a counter holding several screens and a large green plant.
“Be out in a sec!” a voice called from beyond the screen on the far side of the plant.
Daav put the case on the counter and propped an elbow on it. Aelliana climbed onto the tall stool at his side, resisting the temptation to lean against him. She was not, she told herself, afraid.
Perhaps, she was a little uneasy, but surely that was reasonable? Although she spoke the language—enough, at least, to be understood—she could not feel but that her grasp of culture, especially in regard to what might be held as an insult, was firm. Of course, she thought, shifting carefully on the stool, it was that way among Liadens, also. One could not hope to know the necessities of a stranger's melant'i, and error was always possible. It was absurd to have felt as if she was at home on Avontai, only because it was a Liaden world. She had no more call upon grace from a Liaden than a Terran.
A shadow moved behind the screen, and an apparition stepped up to the counter. He was tall—she had expected that. What surprised her was how broad! He made two of Daav on the vertical and three on the horizontal! His hair was confined to a hand-wide bristle of black along the very top of his skull, and his skin—crown, face and hands—was ruddy and freckled.
“Mr. Peltzer,” Daav said in Terran. “Just the man I'm wanting.”
The big man put his big hands flat on the countertop. “Well, now. Maybe that's not as disturbing as it sounds at first hearing,” he said, and jerked his head toward Aelliana. “Standing sponsor?”
“Pilot Caylon holds a card,” Daav murmured. “But yes, a sponsor in some suit.”
“Pilot Caylon, is it?” The big man looked at her with renewed interest, and inclined his head with gentle courtesy.
“Pilot, I hope you won't think it's rude of me to say so, but I'm glad of the opportunity to thank you in person. Those Revisions of yours saved my bacon at least twice that I know of, and probably more that I was too space-brained to recognize.”
He held a big hand out in her direction, palm up.
“I'm Bruce Peltzer, Circuit Rider for the Terran Guild.”
His face was earnest; plainly he was offering courtesy, and she gathered nothing from her lanky copilot save a relaxed amusement. She glanced down at his hand, held steady and patient, raised hers and placed her palm against his.
His skin was warm and slightly moist, as was everything she had thus far encountered on Staederport.
“Happy I am to meet you, Pilot Peltzer,” she said, forming the Terran words with care. “I am Aelliana Caylon, Pilot First Class.”
He smiled, briefly covered their joined hands with his free hand and released her before she had time either to take offense or to become alarmed.
“Well, then,” he said, turning his attention back to Daav. “If you're not sponsoring this pilot, why are you here—and should I have you thrown out?”
“Perhaps you should,” Daav said cordially. “But before you call the guard, allow me to present to you Hevelin, who stands in need of a position.”
He opened the top of the case and reached inside, placing the norbear on the counter midway between himself and Bruce Peltzer, keeping his hands in a loose semicircle about the plump creature.
“I represent him to you as an individual of exceptional character: observant, polite, and able to recall what he has observed. He has, I believe, been previously employed in an establishment similar to this one.”
He lifted his hands away, leaving Hevelin to face the large man alone. For a long moment, they regarded each other, the norbear standing tall on his back feet, the man with his elbows folded atop the counter, his head tilted, brow knit in concentration.
“Hevelin, huh?” the man asked, without looking away from the object of his study.
“So he has said,” Daav murmured.
“Sharp, too. That's good. Where'd you get him, Smokey?”
“Pilot Caylon rescued him from a crowd on Avontai Port who were bent upon murder.”
“Be just,” Aelliana protested. “A pilot in peril, I saw. Of norbears, what did I know?”
“Avontai's no place for a norbear,” Bruce Peltzer said. “Where'd the pilot who had him get him?”
“That,” Daav said, “we were unable to determine. The pilot was in need of medical—and other—attention. We delivered him to the Healers, thinking to find sanctuary for Hevelin there, as well—”
The big man snorted.
“Precisely. We were encouraged to depart—quickly—and as a life was the stake, Pilot Caylon made haste to do what was necessary.”
Daav extended a finger to touch a round, furry ear. “From himself, I received the dream of previous employment and a desire for more of the same.”
The other pilot was silent for three heartbeats, then gave a gusty sigh. “That pilot must've been stupid as stone, taking him onto the port.”
There was a tremble in the air; Hevelin stiffened where he stood. Aelliana slid her hand across the counter toward him, meaning to offer comfort. He flicked an ear and reached down, enclosing her forefinger in a surprisingly strong grip. For a moment, it seemed as if there was something more than the norbear's wariness trembling on the edge of her awareness, then it faded and she looked up into Bruce Peltzer's watchful eyes.