CHAPTER THREE
* * * * *
Dutiful Passage
In addition to her duties as librarian and cultural officer, Lina Faaldom served the ship as a Healer. Padi had been in the habit of considering her a sensible woman; the information that she was master of a dance as trivial, as purposeless, as daibri’at…had come as a shock. But, there. Quin was…mostly…quite sensible, wasn’t he? And didn’t he, regardless, spend time better used for reading, or for exercising, threading beads along wires and chains? Some of his creations were quite pretty, and could at least be given as gifts, and worn. And some cachet accrued to the creator when others willingly wore his handmade trifles, even if the stones were semiprecious, at best.
By contrast, this…daibri’at left no residual that might benefit one or one’s acquaintanceship. Of course, when one danced menfri’at, there was no immediate benefit, saving that gained through exercise. The real benefits became apparent when one was set upon by brigands and obliged to defend oneself or one’s comrades.
The aim of daibri’at, as far as Padi could divine, was…to look pretty.
In short, she thought, moving briskly down the hall toward her class with Master Faaldom, daibri’at was a waste of her time.
She did, however, have her orders and her schedule, which was why she was on her way to one of the smaller practice rooms. It had occurred to her, while she showered, that the case of Lina Faaldom being a Healer might not be…an accident. Father might well have asked a colleague for an evaluation of his daughter’s proclivities and talents.
After all, Father clearly expected her to come Healer—perhaps he even wished for his heir to share his talent. One didn’t like to disappoint Father, of course, but—no. She was not a Healer. It was simply not possible.
However, the more she considered the notion that Lina Faaldom had been asked to provide a second opinion, the more she believed that she would find herself a class of one for daibri’at—which had the effect of lifting her spirits somewhat as she came nearer the practice room. After all, if daibri’at practice was a mere subterfuge, then she would be back dancing menfri’at at her proper level within a shift or two.
That thought cheered her so much that she was nearly dancing in fact when she reached her destination, and put her hand against the plate.
The door whisked open—and her mood crashed, from bright cheerfulness to dark despair.
For she was not Lina Faaldom’s only student in the dance of daibri’at. There were five others in the room ahead of her.
And one of them was Arms Master Schneider.
* * * * *
Shan tapped the keypad, and reached for his glass.
His first glance at the messages in-queue failed to discover the words, “Terran Trade Commission.” It was beginning to be worrisome, this lack of communication from the Terran Trade Commission.
He had initially considered it a positive sign that the honored members of the Rating Committee hadn’t laughed in his face, or issued a flat no on the spot, but had rather promised to take the matter of upgrading Surebleak Port’s rating under advisement, review the files he had provided, and contact him with their ruling in three Standard months.
As that date came ever more near, he was beginning to suspect that their unusual agreeableness had been nothing more than a stall.
Well. He closed his eyes and indulged himself with a few deep, calming breaths before opening his eyes to consider his message queue again.
Carresens-Denobli…
He blinked, touched the access key, and eased back into his chair’s embrace, his eyes still on the screen, and a communication he had never thought to see during his career as a master trader.
In short, he was looking at a working memo from the Carresens Syndicate, under the signature of one Janifer Carresens-Denobli, Trader-at-Large. Trader Carresens-Denobli styled the memo a “first exchange of thoughts.” He confessed that he had only just begun thinking of Surebleak as a port of potential interest to the Syndicate, and thus his first thoughts were necessarily incomplete.
Other matters will doubtless occur to each as we discuss this in more depth, trader-and-trader. I offer here, as my first thoughts, a loop that accommodates Surebleak and also Ashlan, which is an anchor port for three Carresens long-loopers and many others, of the small-loop ships. I am thinking, too, of Nomi-Oxin-Rood, which is something much on the lines of Surebleak—there is potential, but nothing that would tie it into existing routes. If there were to be a new loop, perhaps a hybrid loop, though I have not thought deeply on this, it may be that the potentials of Surebleak and Nomi-Oxin-Rood may be realized, to the mutual benefit of traders.
I append a list of such cargoes as might be of interest to Ashlan and Nomi-Oxin-Rood, for which I have some information. Also, I append a list of those cargoes which are standard on Carresens ships, in our loops which now exist.
Of very great interest to me is information regarding those items which might find favor with the traders of Surebleak, and also perhaps an indication of specialty items, which might show well in the Festevalya, and so open up the mind of the wider universe to Surebleak.
I await in lively anticipation your first thoughts regarding this enterprise, which may be directed to me at the beam code below.
Sealed by the hand and will of
Janifer Carresens-Denobli
Carefully, Shan set his glass aside.
Of the several names he had given to Theo as possible contacts along the exploratory loop he had launched her upon…of those several contacts, he had supposed from the beginning that the Carresens would roundly ignore Korval’s overture and their ambassador.
The Carresens, after all, had no need of outside trade arrangements; they were complete in their trade family and their vast, intersecting network of loops, and felt no need to expand their range, or change their methods.
Until, apparently, now.
He tapped up a new screen and filed a query for Janifer Carresens-Denobli, then flipped back to reread the good trader’s “first thoughts,” and open the appended lists.
They were remarkably complete lists, for mere “first thoughts.” One might almost wonder if the Carresens—or if this particular Carresens—had been expecting contact from Korval.
The list of the trade goods commonly carried by Carresens ships made for fascinating reading, revealing, as it did, quite a bit regarding the nature of the Carresens loop and long-time trade worlds.
Shan drew a careful breath.
What in the name of the gods had Theo said to the man?
The console chimed then and he flipped back to the research screen, learning in very short order that Janifer Carresens-Denobli not only stood as one of the Carresens three Ranking Traders, but was also a senior trade commissioner.
“The question changes,” Shan murmured, picking up his glass, and draining what was left. This was no ordinary Carresens trader. How had Theo gotten an interview with this person?
But that was obvious, wasn’t it?
Her ship.
Putting aside the fact of its sentience, the ship…was an old ship, with, let it be said, interesting lines. A ship that had been specifically built, a very long time ago, to be a long-looper.
Carresens and Denobli would not yet have merged families and routes, Shan thought, when Bechimo had been built. And if the present-day family members hadn’t quite seen anything like those lines, rest assured that they had records. Almost definitely, they would have been in contact with the Uncle, trade being one of his many…hobbies.
In fact, it wasn’t at all unlikely that the Carresens or the Denoblis—either or both—had invested in the building of Bechimo, many, many Standard years ago.
So, then, Theo wins an interview with a high-ranking Carresens trader because of her ship. The Carresens might even be excused for thinking that the ship was a message.
And so one of the three Carresens elders set himself to explore just what, precisely, that message might be, and if it was to the benefit of the Carresens.
Well, well; how novel. How exciting. He would have to consider carefully, and offer Trader Carresens and his Syndicate as fully realized “first thoughts” as he had been offered.
Surely, there was profit to be made, for all.
They only needed to work out the details.
* * * * *
“And here arrives a new practitioner of our art,” Lina Faaldom said, as Padi stepped into the room, the door falling closed behind her. “Join us, please.”
Padi slipped her boots off and moved six steps across the soft floor, bowed to the master’s honor and straightened to meet a straight, honey-brown gaze.
Lina Faaldom was very slight, and somewhat shorter than Padi, who, after all, came from a clan known for the height of its members. She seemed to project—perhaps, being a Healer, she did project!—a cool serenity that put Padi immediately on her mettle. She was here to take a lesson, not a nap!
The master was seen, perhaps, to smile before she inclined her sleek head.
“Please, allow us to know your name,” she said, and raised a hand slightly, as if to restrain Padi’s enthusiasm. “Here, we are all students. Therefore, we share call-names only.”
“Yes,” Padi murmured, and bowed to the five who stood patiently in a semicircle before the master. “I am Padi.”
The student closest to her, who she thought worked in the cafeteria, bowed. “Riean.”
Next in line was Arms Master Schneider, who bowed and murmured, “Jon”; then a woman whose face bore the marks of many years, “Keslis.”
Then was Caz Tar, with an outworld accent; Padi thought him about Quin’s age. And she had certainly seen the next student, Brisalia, among the maintenance crew.
“Lina,” said Master Faaldom, in her cool voice. “Please, Padi, take your place beside Riean. You will want to have an arm’s width or more between you; we stretch wide here!”
This was apparently a joke, greeted by several chuckles. Riean grinned, and obligingly stretched his arms out at shoulder height, giving Padi her range. She nodded her thanks and took up a position beside, apart, and slightly behind him.
“Good,” Master…Lina said. “As I have said, we are all students here. Some of us have been studying longer, but daibri’at is a discipline which may be studied for a lifetime, the diligent student finding always some new facet to explore. The art has been described as a many-petaled flower; also as a multifaceted gem. And we come together, as students, to practice, each at our own level. As the eldest student of the art present, I often lead our practice. However, this is not always the case. Any one of us may lead a practice. And each of us will be asked to do so.”
She looked at them each, one by one, then said, “Since we have a new student among us today, who will explain our art?”
“I will,” said Brisalia. “Daibri’at focuses the student’s attention on movement. It’s…inward-turning. We pay attention to the movement, and our mind’s connection to our muscles, instead of focusing on the results of our movement.”
“As we do in menfri’at,” Arms Master—Jon—added.
“That is a useful contrast,” Lina said. “Menfri’at is an outward-looking art. It acts upon others. Daibri’at is inward-looking. From it, we learn the intent of our movements.”
The intent of her movements? Padi thought. Surely, when she kicked at a target, or an assailant, she intended to connect; to disable the threat? What other intent—
“So, having described what is essentially indescribable, let us begin our practice. Please find your center—feet under hips, weight evenly distributed. We will bring our arms up until our palms touch over our heads, and we will take four complete breaths before lowering our arms to our sides.”
Padi was already centered—one thing menfri’at had taught her was to always be centered; you never knew, after all, when an attack might come—and raised her arms until her palms touched.
…only then seeing that…Lina and the rest were still in the process of raising their arms, slowly and deliberately. She slid a surreptitious glance at Riean, and saw his eyes half-closed and his face rapt in concentration, as if the process of centering himself and beginning this simple movement had triggered some deeper process.
She looked to Lina again, seeing that her palms were now touching over her head, and watched as those four “complete” breaths were executed, as slow and as measured as a pilot might take them, in preparation for board rest.
Then, the arms came down, as slowly, if not more slowly, than they had risen. Padi lowered hers, as well, struggling to match the agonizingly slow pace, and found she was trembling and slightly sweaty by the time her fingers were pointing toward the floor again.
Lina opened her eyes and smiled.
“Next, we will raise our arms, as we just did, and, when we have completed four breaths, we will bend at the hips and bring our hands to the mat.”
Once again, the agonizingly slow rise of both arms. Padi grimly kept pace, pilot instincts, honed for precise, rapid action, abraded almost past bearing. At the top of the form, she breathed four complete breaths, hinged at the hip and bent until her fingertips touched the mat.
A drop of sweat plashed against the mat between her feet and her fingers. Padi breathed in, feeling her muscles shake with the need to move, breathed out, four times, and came up again to her full height.
“Excellent,” said Lina. “Now, place your right foot ahead of your left on the mat, bring your hands up as if you are holding a large ball, immediately before your heart.”
Padi followed the form demonstrated, bearing down until her muscles ached, refusing to allow herself to snap into a series of kicks, or to simply collapse cross-legged to the mat and have done.
“Very good,” Lina said, and smiled directly into Padi’s eyes. “Now, breathe in, and pivot from center, keeping your ball directly before your heart…”