Theo’s.
She—well, she’d seen Father, and he was safe.
That was a truth that a daughter could—and should—share with her mother.
She’d make sure—she’d make time—to stop at a Guild Hall the next time she was at a port, and she’d send a message to her mother. The truth, no more nor less.
- - - - -
He’d opened his table up just in time, Villy thought, watching the man and the red-haired woman. They were space-pilots, you could tell by the leather jackets. The man was a little taller than the woman, and neither one a heavyweight, though she had something in the oven, like his gran used to say. They were kind of cute, Villy thought, and visibly happy with each other, holding hands and talking low between themselves. The man seemed to be trying to convince her to try the sticks. For a second, it looked like she was gonna walk away, then she laughed and shrugged, and the two of ’em came up to the table.
“What odds?” the man asked in a soft mannerly voice that reminded Villy of Boss Conrad, sorta.
“Evens for a twelve-fall, House sets the sticks. Buy the bundle for twenty-four cash, House pays double for every stick that makes it to the cloth; twelve times the total if all twenty-four are liberated. No rollers, no double-flipping, no spotting.” He didn’t have to think about the patter, which gave him time to size up his patrons. A certain kind of pilot seemed to think the sticks were gonna be easy, on account of them being so fast. But the sticks just weren’t about fast, they were about thinking and strategy, and—Boss Conrad said—luck.
The woman was watching, interested, but willing to let the man take the lead. The man . . . he did remind Villy of Boss Conrad. Not so much that they looked alike, but that they seemed alike. Almost like the man had been studying the Boss’s ways, or—
“The bundle, please,” he said, dropping tokens onto the game surface with his right hand. He glanced to the woman. “ Cha’trez , will you play?”
“Me?” She laughed. “I’m gonna stand back and let you show me how it’s done.”
“That’s put me on my mettle.”
She grinned and went one step back, giving him elbow room. Villy swept up the tokens and reached into his drawer, bringing out the bundle with a flourish, holding it so the patron could see the seal, numbered and signed by the floor boss.
“Excellent.” The man extended his left hand.
The glitter of a ring drew Villy’s eye; he gasped—he couldn’t help it, not with this guy wearing the Boss’s own ring.
“Wait—” the man said, raising both hands to show himself harmless, but it was the Boss’s ring; Villy’d seen it enough times, and if this guy had Boss Conrad’s ring that meant, it meant—and besides, his foot had already hit the panic button on the floor under his counter.
Security came fast—two big guys from Boss Vine’s territory, vests back to show their motivators.
“What’s up?” the biggest one—Jeremy, his name was—asked.
Villy swallowed, and nodded at the man, who was watching him with calm green eyes. “He’s got Boss Conrad’s ring.”
“Yeah? Turn around, the both of you. Slow .”
- - - - -
Daav yos’Phelium carried a cup of tea out of the galley, glancing at the countdown and comparing it with the timeline in his head. Yes. They would sleep in-House tonight.
Sighing, he relaxed into the copilot’s chair, deliberately boneless, and closed his eyes.
“Aelliana?”
Yes, van’chela?
Having taken the decision to ask the question, now he hesitated. And yet, who better to ask for news of the discorporate than the dead?
“I seem to have . . . become disconnected,” he said slowly, which was one way to describe the feeling of absence inside his head. “And I wonder if you know, van’chela , where Kiladi has gone to.”
Silence was his answer; so long a silence that he began to think he would have no other.
Aelliana sighed in his ear, her breath ruffling his hair, so he
She—well, she’d seen Father, and he was safe.
That was a truth that a daughter could—and should—share with her mother.
She’d make sure—she’d make time—to stop at a Guild Hall the next time she was at a port, and she’d send a message to her mother. The truth, no more nor less.
- - - - -
He’d opened his table up just in time, Villy thought, watching the man and the red-haired woman. They were space-pilots, you could tell by the leather jackets. The man was a little taller than the woman, and neither one a heavyweight, though she had something in the oven, like his gran used to say. They were kind of cute, Villy thought, and visibly happy with each other, holding hands and talking low between themselves. The man seemed to be trying to convince her to try the sticks. For a second, it looked like she was gonna walk away, then she laughed and shrugged, and the two of ’em came up to the table.
“What odds?” the man asked in a soft mannerly voice that reminded Villy of Boss Conrad, sorta.
“Evens for a twelve-fall, House sets the sticks. Buy the bundle for twenty-four cash, House pays double for every stick that makes it to the cloth; twelve times the total if all twenty-four are liberated. No rollers, no double-flipping, no spotting.” He didn’t have to think about the patter, which gave him time to size up his patrons. A certain kind of pilot seemed to think the sticks were gonna be easy, on account of them being so fast. But the sticks just weren’t about fast, they were about thinking and strategy, and—Boss Conrad said—luck.
The woman was watching, interested, but willing to let the man take the lead. The man . . . he did remind Villy of Boss Conrad. Not so much that they looked alike, but that they seemed alike. Almost like the man had been studying the Boss’s ways, or—
“The bundle, please,” he said, dropping tokens onto the game surface with his right hand. He glanced to the woman. “ Cha’trez , will you play?”
“Me?” She laughed. “I’m gonna stand back and let you show me how it’s done.”
“That’s put me on my mettle.”
She grinned and went one step back, giving him elbow room. Villy swept up the tokens and reached into his drawer, bringing out the bundle with a flourish, holding it so the patron could see the seal, numbered and signed by the floor boss.
“Excellent.” The man extended his left hand.
The glitter of a ring drew Villy’s eye; he gasped—he couldn’t help it, not with this guy wearing the Boss’s own ring.
“Wait—” the man said, raising both hands to show himself harmless, but it was the Boss’s ring; Villy’d seen it enough times, and if this guy had Boss Conrad’s ring that meant, it meant—and besides, his foot had already hit the panic button on the floor under his counter.
Security came fast—two big guys from Boss Vine’s territory, vests back to show their motivators.
“What’s up?” the biggest one—Jeremy, his name was—asked.
Villy swallowed, and nodded at the man, who was watching him with calm green eyes. “He’s got Boss Conrad’s ring.”
“Yeah? Turn around, the both of you. Slow .”
- - - - -
Daav yos’Phelium carried a cup of tea out of the galley, glancing at the countdown and comparing it with the timeline in his head. Yes. They would sleep in-House tonight.
Sighing, he relaxed into the copilot’s chair, deliberately boneless, and closed his eyes.
“Aelliana?”
Yes, van’chela?
Having taken the decision to ask the question, now he hesitated. And yet, who better to ask for news of the discorporate than the dead?
“I seem to have . . . become disconnected,” he said slowly, which was one way to describe the feeling of absence inside his head. “And I wonder if you know, van’chela , where Kiladi has gone to.”
Silence was his answer; so long a silence that he began to think he would have no other.
Aelliana sighed in his ear, her breath ruffling his hair, so he
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