Friend of a Friend
Two young men, much of an age, but unalike in almost everything else, save having a good head for numbers, and a facility with the Sticks, walked down-Port toward the Emerald Casino.
They made a pretty picture -- one tall and fair and lissome; the other supple and dark and golden-skinned. The fair lad wore a blue jacket, to set off his eyes. The dark one wore leather, and had a bag slung over his shoulder.
"So you'll be back in a Surebleak week?" the fair one asked, ending what had been a rather long pause between them.
His companion gave him an approving nod.
"That's pretty good, doing the conversions in your head on the fly."
"I've been practicing," Villy said. "I'll keep it up, too. By the time you're back, I'll be able to do a four-level conversion in my head!"
"Here's a bold assertion! Will books be all of your lovers, until I am returned to your arms?"
Villy considered him out of suspicious blue eyes.
"That sounds like a play-quote," he said.
"Discovered!"
Quin gave a small, on-the-stride bow of acknowledgment -- for which he would have been severely reprimanded had he been observed by his protocol teacher -- or, twelve times worse! -- his grandmother.
"It is a play-quote, yes. If you like, I'll find a tape and we may watch it together."
"Would I? Like it, I mean."
That was a serious question, and Quin gave it the consideration it deserved.
"You might well. It's a classic melant'i play, and I had to study it, and write papers on it, and view several productions, from the first recorded to the most modern, which is why I have the phrase so apt, you see. But -- yes, I think you might find it useful, and interesting, too. Especially the sword fight."
"Sword fight?"
"The most diverting thing imaginable, and quite harrowing, despite you know it's all mummery."
"OK, then, I'm provisionally interested. If I get bored, though, I'll make you speed through to the sword fight."
"Fair enough."
The casino was in sight; they would part in another few minutes. Villy was bound for the Sticks table and his shift as dealer. Quin was for Korval's yard, Galandasti, and Pilot Tess Lucien, who was to sit his second, who had undoubtedly arrived early, and would therefore believe that he was late. . .
"What will you do," he asked, "while I am away?"
Villy looked arch.
"Jealous, honey? I'll keep busy, don't you worry. And books won't be half of it."
Quin laughed, Villy grinned, and stepped close to drop a kiss on Quin's cheek.
"You fly safe now, handsome," he said, huskily, and slipped away to join a group of the casino's morning workers, calling out to Cassie to wait for him.
Quin shook his head, his cheek burning where Villy's lips had brushed. For Liadens, such a salutation was given between kin, or lifemates, or -- perhaps -- long-time lovers.
For Villy, a kiss on the cheek denoted casual affection. Or, as Villy himself had it, "I kiss all my friends."
Yes, well. Local custom. It was Quin's part to step away from the custom -- and Villy, too -- if he was offended.
Which, truth told, he was not.
Surely, his grandmother was correct when she deplored the state of his melant'i.
His father had nothing to say regarding Quin's friendship with the best Sticks dealer the Emerald employed. In fact, he and Villy had met over the Sticks table, and the relationship had been firmly fixed before Quin discovered that Villy was also one of the company of hetaerana attached to Ms. Audrey's house of delights.
Quin had been tutored in the protocols of pleasure, though circumstances had not granted him much opportunity to refine his knowledge. From observation, however, it would seem that Terrans and Liadens approached bed-sport on vastly different trajectories, and merely being among the number of Villy's friends meant receiving casual kisses on the street. A Liaden hetaera would blush to presume so far on the melant'i of even a frequent partner-in-joy.
And, again. . .local custom
"We will all need to be scouts, if we mean to settle here," Quin had said to Grandfather Luken, who had only laughed.
"But we have settled here, boy-dear! Never fear that your grandmother will find us a way to a new Code. In the meanwhile, your father is not quite an idiot, as you know, nor are his fellow Bosses. They teach and learn in equal measure. What remains for us is to be slow to take offense, and to cultivate the melant'i of a little child."
Children -- little children -- were understood to stand within the melant'i of their clan. Their own melant'i was. . .flexible and open, and very specifically did not pursue Balance. It was tradition, to give a child upon their twelfth Name Day a Small Debt Book, in which entries were made by the child, and reviewed with a clan elder. On the fourteenth Name Day, a private Debt Book was given, and it was considered at that point that the child was competent to take up the keeping of their own melant'i, and Balances.
On consideration, Quin thought that Luken might have the right of it.
He also thought that most of the Liadens who had followed Korval to Surebleak were not. . .capable of accepting the melant'i of a little child. Most especially if it also meant tolerating insults from Terrans.
It really was too bad that Father hadn't chosen a civilized world to subjugate to Korval's purpose.
Quin threaded his way through the ships sleeping in Korval's Yard. There, just ahead, was Galandasti, and, as he had feared, there also was Pilot Lucien, her long self disposed down half-a-dozen gantry steps, from the tread where she leaned her elbows, to the stair where her boots rested.
"Well, there you are! I was starting to wonder if you wanted to fly today, after all."
He felt his ears warm, and his temper rise -- which was nonsense; hadn't he known how it would be? The good pilot was always early; he, by extension, was always late.
"I think we can make up the time," he said evenly, for, in addition to being annoying, Pilot Lucien was a master pilot, in charge of observing him, and of registering his flight time with the Guild.
"I have the package. If you will do me the honor of ascending and waking the board, I will do the walkaround."
Pilot Lucien's hair fell in jagged points to her jawbone, the ends were dyed silver and purple; the rest was dull black. The silver and purple distracted as she tipped her head, and looked at him through narrowed eyes.
"Did the walkaround while I was waiting," she said.
Quin's temper flared again. Really, did she think he was a fool?
He took a breath and calmed himself. Of course, it was a test. This whole flight would be a test. There would doubtless, therefore, be many instances in which his temper was tried.
Best, then, to practice patience.
He produced a smile for the pilot.
"Thank you. I am accustomed to doing a walkaround myself; it soothes me and prepares my mind for the lift. I doubt that the ship will take harm from having the eyes of two pilots upon it."
She shrugged and came to her feet.
"Suit yourself," she said shortly, and went up the gantry, her boots clanging on each stair.
Teeth grit, Quin ducked under the gantry to begin the Pilot's Pre-Lift Visual Inspection, precisely as outlined in the handbook.
* * *
"Busy night?" Cassie asked him three days later, when they were again on the early shift together.
Villy liked Cassie. She didn't mind about his other job, like some of the crew did; just treated it like. . .well. . .another job.
"Not busy at all," he said ruefully, "so I got the idea to study, and that turned into late."
"Didn't you remember you had the early shift here?"
"I remembered, all right! I can't tell you how many times I said to myself, Villim, cut it off, you gotta work early tomorrow! Didn't do a bit of good!"
Cassie laughed.
"What're you studying that's so absorbing?"
"Communication," Villy said, oversimplifying wildly. "We're getting a lot of new clients who ain't -- aren't -- from Surebleak, just like we get here at the casino. I'm studying up on what's comfortable, and what's not, and bows -- that's useful here, too. . ."
Cassie's smile had faded into something serious-looking.
"That's pretty smart," she said, which it was, and Villy would've felt proud of thinking of it, but he hadn't -- not exactly. He'd only said out something that he'd been thinking, about not feeling like he was offering everything he could to the new custom, because he didn't know the rules. He didn't have any idea beyond his own frustration, really; it'd been Quin who identified the problem and figured out a way to maybe deal with it.
"Do you think you could lend me the tapes, when you're done with them?" Cassie asked, waving her card at the clock. "Or maybe we could study together? I'd really like to get a handle on them bows. For starters."
Well, no, he couldn't lend the tapes. For one thing, they weren't tapes; they were lessons Quin had archived from his school. He'd been a tutor, so he'd been able to give Villy a passcode to access the basic lessons. Supplemental data and tests and stuff were only available to Quin's code.
Anyway, nothing he could share with Cassie.
He stepped up and waved his badge. The clock beeped acceptance, and he stepped over to where Cassie was waiting for him.
"You know what we should do?" he said brightly.
"What's that?" Cassie said, and he appreciated it that she didn't smirk or wink or make a joke.
Villy paused, briefly having no idea what he was going to say, then heard himself speak up.
"We oughta ask Beny to organize a class. Then we could all learn together, and. . ."
He stopped because Cassie was staring at him.
"What?"
"That's brilliant. Villy, that's brilliant!"
"Well, it's not. I mean, I was so focused on how to do better at my other job, I didn't even think about here, until you asked me what I was studying. Then it all sort of clicked."
He gave her a smile. It was one of his professional smiles: two parts shy and one part mischief, and she smiled back, the muscles in her face and shoulders relaxing.
There, he thought, pleased; that's better.
"I'll talk to Beny on my first break," he offered. Cassie shook her head.
"I'm covering for Joon this morning, upstairs. I'll be seeing him right off and I'll mention your idea to him."
"It's your idea as much as it's mine!" he said, but Cassie only smiled and waggled her fingers at him in good-bye, turning toward the stairs.
Villy sighed, and headed for the Sticks table.
#
The casino was bustling but not overcrowded, which was usual for the morning shift. Most of the players were late-nighters, still at the tables, with a smattering of the regulars who stopped in on their way to work to drop a coin in one of the machines, or roll a round of dice. Pretty soon, they'd get the night-workers comin' in, ready maybe for some longer play at the wheel, or the card tables.
Or the Sticks.
All in all, Villy kept tolerably busy until it was time for his mid-morning break. Sonit came to relieve him as the last players left the table, both of them considerably lighter in the pocketbook. Villy's knees were shaking some, and his forehead was damp. The House had won, fair. The House nearly always won, though Boss Conrad, who owned the Emerald, said the Sticks were an honest game of skill, more like cards than like dicing -- or the wheel. The House was expected to win against most comers 'cause the Sticks dealer was an experienced and skilled player.
This time, though. . .The players had insisted on playing three-way, with the House taking a full part. Usually, Villy only played single players. Playing against two -- well, he'd done it before, but it was uncommon and nerve-wracking.
He'd demonstrated his skill, though, and the House'd won, though he'd gotten a bad jolt when he'd thought the orange stick was gonna roll off the table. . .
"Everything OK?" Sonit asked.
"Yeah. Just finished up a three-way is all."
Sonit whistled.
"Better you'n me. Gwon and getcher coffee. I'll stand here an' just sorta glare and scare 'em all away."
That wasn't a joke. Sonit wasn't anything more than a good enough Sticks dealer, and not much of a player, but he was big and intimidating, and his frown was almost a physical shove in the chest. A player had to have a death-wish to approach the Sticks table while Sonit was presiding.
* * *
END OF SAMPLE
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