Dutiful Passage
Approaching Jump
Shan considered his desk with some trepidation.
What with the travesty at Langlast, he had fallen behind in his correspondence. That would have to be dealt with first. Trade existed in a webwork of relationships; relationships were formed and sustained by communication.
He was particularly anxious to know if Trader Janifer Carresens-Denobli had replied to his “return thoughts” for a mutual trade route, partaking equally of routes developed by the Syndicate and Tree-and-Dragon. Such a venture would be difficult. Perhaps even dangerous. Certainly, it would be exciting—and very possibly profitable.
The Looper Families and the Carresens Syndicate were old in trade. Their routes and Korval’s had rarely brushed—before. Now, with Korval’s master trader flailing like an inept ’prentice trying to design his first three-stop subroute—now, with Korval’s base relocated to Surebleak in the Daiellen Sector—now they came much closer to the space and trade lanes the Carresens Syndicate was accustomed to considering their own. It would not have been wonderful, had Korval’s initial overture to the Syndicate been rejected. Forcefully.
Instead, that overture had been met with serious thoughtfulness, and a beginning exploration of how a route might be built, serving both Korval’s base on Surebleak and Nomi-Oxin-Rood, a Carresens port.
That had been unexpected and wonderful. Shan found himself eager to personally meet and entertain Trader-at-Large Janifer Carresens-Denobli. He could learn much of value from such a contact, and he flattered himself that he might teach, as well.
But for all these rose-colored dreams to become reality, there had to be more correspondence, open and frank, as it had begun.
He took a breath, half-smiling.
“Well, now,” he told himself, “that’s more the thing. Don’t fear your work, Master Trader; anticipate it!”
He poured himself a cup of cold tea, strode over to the desk, sat down, and spun ’round to address the screen.
A finger tap woke it, and he considered the note he had left for himself.
Design a profitable new trade route, Shan.
Well, that hardly seemed difficult. He was, after all, a master trader. Designing profitable routes was what master traders did.
And, he acknowledged, taking a sip of tea, he did need to get on with that task—almost immediately.
But first . . . the mail.
* * *
The mail . . . was disappointing.
There was no letter from Trader Carresens-Denobli; the jolt of dismay telling him rather too clearly how much he had been depending on the trader to solve his problems for him.
Worse, there was a letter from his foster-son—which was to say Trader Gordon Arbuthnot, junior trader under Trader per’Cadmie on the tradeship Sevyenti. It was painfully stilted, which no doubt reflected his correspondent’s dismay at being forced to the point of having to write such a letter, either to his master trader or to his foster-father.
Shan accessed the record of Trader Arbuthnot’s recent trades, brows drawn into a frown. The frown grew more decided when he brought up the record of Trader per’Cadmie’s most recent trades.
Yes, well . . .
Tapping up a screen, Shan wrote to his distressed trader, counseling both patience and an attitude of alert waiting. He also thanked the trader for having provided information so that his master trader could act appropriately.
The last letter in-queue was the worst yet.
It was in fact a memo from Minh Velkesa of Keyrz and Pearholder, Economic Analysts and Advisors to the Trade, one of several such firms utilized by Tree-and-Dragon Trading. Shan had some experience of Minh Velkesa, and respected both his analytical powers and the scope of his information network. Analyst Velkesa did not presume to advise, so much as he placed his information—arranged by fact, rumor, gossip, and fiction—in a mosaic designed to lead the mind to certain conclusions.
Sadly, the analyst never wrote when there was good news, though it might not be anything so dire as bad news that motivated him to publish a memo.
“Send it’s interesting,” Shan murmured, and tapped the screen.
Hugglelans Increasing Pressure on Tree-and-Dragon Markets, read the subject line.
Shan sighed. Hugglelans Galactica was a respected force in trade; had been so for more than a hundred Standards. Their profits were made in base-point trade, and they were known to be conservative in their dealings, which had been the wisdom of the elders.
Lately, however, it seemed that the wisdom of the elders had given way before the ambition of the rising youth. There had been a move to expand opportunity. There had been, one might say, a move to . . . manipulate opportunity.
While there were many advantages to base-point trading—notably, lesser investment, lesser risk, and the support of the community surrounding the base—there were other advantages attached to free-market trade and semi-Loops. The risks were not inconsiderable, and the rewards not always comparable; still, there was only so much growth available in the base-point model. One could scarcely find fault with ambition or with a conservative expansion into a Loop or two.
There is, however, always an element of luck to the business of trade. Unforeseen events occur and rewards loom large for those with the boldness to act.
Korval’s recent actions having resulted in its ships and contractors being banned from a half-dozen or more ports had created . . . an opportunity for the bold. Shan had wondered who might aspire to fill the gap.
According to Analyst Velkesa, Hugglelans had thrown itself into the breach.
The good analyst had, according to his nature, provided graphs, facts, and copies of documents. He had also supplied rumor, and a commentary.
It would seem that Hugglelans agents had twice signed in support of a complaint brought against a Korval contractor incoming to a port where ship, captain, and crew were well known. The original complainants had in each case been one of several names, as Analyst Velkesa put it so delicately, that they had seen previously.
There was, Analyst Velkesa felt compelled to add, no evidence that the Hugglelans’ agent was involved with the originating complainant, only that they had seen—and seized—opportunity.
There were also some . . . disquieting threads of intelligence slightly more substantial than rumor—that Hugglelans had been noted targeting the chains that supplied various Korval, and Korval-affiliated, yards, bases, and repair stations. Analyst Velkesa was pursuing those threads and would send a supplemental report.
And that—was the awful whole.
Shan sighed, closed the memo, shut his eyes and reached for a simple balancing exercise. He experienced yet another jolt of dismay when the exercise proved to be . . . rather difficult to accomplish.
That was simply absurd. Balancing exercises were among the first taught to nascent Healers: a necessity, given that nascent Healers tended to arrive at their talents riding a wave of strong emotion.
Truly, the arrival of talent was an unsettling experience. He still recalled the noise and dismay surrounding the manifestation of his own gift, and his gratitude when the House shields closed ’round him, after his father had brought him to Healer Hall.
He recalled also the sharp eyes of Master Healer Iselle, looking at and into him, her voice cool enough to make him shiver.
“Attend me, boy. I am going to show you something. I cannot say how it will appear to you, but appear it will. Attend closely, for it will become one of your most-used techniques.”
Certainly, it had been his most-used—and very nearly only—technique, during those first days in the Hall, when he was taught how to understand, and accept his gift. In those days, he had learned, as all scarcely budded Healers learned, many patterns, the building blocks of useful tools that were now woven so tightly into the tapestry of himself that they were merely facets of his own skills.
Until just this moment, when he found the most basic tool of all came but slowly to his hand, and only after he had deliberately formed its outlines in his mind.
It did come, however, and he was, with the application of entirely too much effort, able to access it for its intended use.
His feelings of dismay and turmoil faded, leaving him—
Exhausted.
Which was absurd, not to say . . . counterproductive.
No, he thought. Wait.
Shan sat with his eyes closed and simply—breathed. Carefully, he emptied his mind of every thought, every emotion, everything, save the sensation of his breathing; the air flowing in and out of his lungs; the unlabored rise and fall of his chest. He felt a twitch along trained nerves—an instinctive reach for Healspace. Gently, he denied instinct, breathing it into calmness.
When he felt that he had achieved calmness and clarity, he opened his Inner Eyes—breathing down a start of relief, when he was able to do so—and considered himself.
His pattern was whole, but sadly faded. The lifemate link he shared with Priscilla, and those smaller, gemlike intimate weavings, had reestablished themselves, as well as those natural connections he shared with Padi. Notably, the link he had built between them at Langlastport, before his adventure with Tarona Rusk, was not present, but that had never been meant to be anything but a short-term therapy.
Several new threads drew his eye—iridescent and dark. He stifled an urge to examine them more nearly; simply breathing calmly—in . . . out—accepting their place in the pattern of himself. There was no need to touch them, after all. Logic told him that these were the threads he shared with the woman he had Healed; the woman who had in turn Healed him.
Tarona Rusk.
He sighed. When last seen, Tarona Rusk had been bent on a mission of mayhem against Korval’s enemy, the Department of the Interior. He wished her well in all the harm she might do. The Department of the Interior was proving remarkably tenacious and difficult to dismantle, as even the Scouts admitted. Of course, the Scouts, like Korval, must need come at the enemy from the outside. Tarona Rusk had the advantage of being able to strike from within.
He breathed gently, simply sitting with his pattern, allowing thought and emotion to slide past him like so many fishes, unregarded, save to notice how bright and fluid they were.
After some time of this, he stepped back and focused on himself from a distance, as he might consider someone who had proposed themselves for a Healing.
He saw immediately that his proposed client was physically depleted and exhausted on the psychic level. There was a protocol in treating such injuries.
All and any physical damage must be fully healed.
That done, the client must embrace the sovereign cure.
Rest.
Healing required energy—not only from the Healer, but from the one to be Healed. Ultimately, energy came from the physical being. To attempt a psychic Healing before the physical body was in perfect health was to invite a relapse, or perhaps an even greater disaster.
Shan sighed.
His physical injuries had been tended. However, it could not be denied that he was at low strength.
As a Healer, his duty—and his prescription—to his proposed client was—
Rest.
It was not so difficult a prescription.
Shan sighed again, and opened his eyes.
Except when it was given to oneself, of course.
Ruefully, he shook his head, and deliberately sat back in his chair.
Rest, he told himself, and this time the exercise he called to mind was from another of his melant’is.
Pilots learned a number of methods for taking quick rests and increasing the benefits of those periods. Board rest, they were called, as a general category, and it was board rest he called upon now.
Twelve minutes of sleep on the deepest levels, saving only a very small portion of one’s mind, akin to a sleeping cat’s alert ear, tuned for the rustle of a mouse in the larder—or, in the case of the pilot, a ping from the board.
Nothing occurred to disturb his rest, and precisely twelve minutes after he had closed his eyes, he opened them, feeling refreshed and focused.
He spun his chair around so that he once more faced his screen, sighed gently at the empty mail queue, and went on to the next task.
Design a profitable new trade route, Shan.
Well.
He tapped up his working file and read through his notes. His sparse, not precisely brilliant notes. He had sketched in a few connections with Langlast, should it have shown potential as a hub, or even a transshipping point. He read those notes, and the entries excerpted from TerraTrade’s Encyclopedia of Trade and Product; the Pilots Guild’s port book; and the world log maintained by the Scouts.
Then he sat back again in his chair, frowning slightly.
After a moment, he extended a hand, tapped a key, calling up the ship’s schedule, from which he learned that Dutiful Passage was en route for Millsap.
He brought his notes forward, verifying what he already knew.
Millsap was not one of the ports he had been considering as possible support for a route including Langlast.
In point of actual fact, Millsap wasn’t in his notes at all.
How odd.
There must be a reason that they were bound for Millsap.
Mustn’t there?
Perhaps the Passage was in need of repairs. He couldn’t off-hand recall if Millsap, wherever it specifically was, housed a repair facility. Nor could he recall anyone telling him that they were going aside for repairs.
On the other hand, his memory was at the moment rather uncertain, due to his various recent traumas. It was very likely, therefore, that someone had told him . . . something . . . and he had simply forgotten.
Still frowning, he tapped up the port book. The entry came forward—a sparse enough entry, of which he was quickly the master. Millsap was, indeed, a port. It was, in fact, a transshipping hub located between two modest, long-established Loops. According to the Pilots Guild, it was a busy enough place, and, as it served Liaden ships and Terran in almost equal numbers—Millsap rejoiced in the presence of a Healer Hall on-port.
He sat back in his chair, eyes narrowed.
Yes, he remembered now.
Lina had suggested it when they had first returned to the Passage, before, he thought, he and Padi had been disentangled.
Things had been rather . . . muddled at the time, but he recalled her saying very clearly to Priscilla, “Shan has taken a very great deal of damage, and we may do him more by severing this . . . artifact that Padi has constructed. Padi herself—”
Lina had gone quiet, he remembered that, too, as if perhaps she was shaking her head, or telling over her words with care.
“Padi is beyond me, old friend. We need the resources of a Hall, at least, to see her Sorted.”
“I understand,” Priscilla had said, which was what Priscilla said when she was not entirely in agreement with a suggestion.
“Let’s talk about it after we’ve separated them, and we’ve had a chance to see what we have more clearly.”
Lina’s yes had been a sigh, after which she and Priscilla had labored together—labored for some time—he recalled that, too. Disentanglement had been an arduous process—nerve-wracking, one might say, especially for those experienced enough to know all the myriad things that might go wrong, and how much harm might be done to any or all of the parties involved.
Once the separation was completed, and after his first sojourn in the ’doc, Priscilla had brought the Millsap proposal to him.
“Lina doubts her ability to tutor Padi,” she said, “given how much we don’t know about her abilities. I think it’s possible the sudden release of her talents, after having been repressed for so long, is creating an illusion of a strange and limitless gift. I believe that will sort itself, over time, and we will find ourselves confronted with a new dramliza, in need of training, which is perfectly within the abilities of the three of us to manage.”
“But . . . ” he’d murmured.
Priscilla sent him an amused glance.
“But—you have taken damage, my love. You’ve lost the use of senses that have been part of you since your twelfth nameday. That’s not trivial. Yes, you’ll recover—all of our combined training and experience lead us to believe that. But, we have to deal with now before then, as Dil Nem has it. And now, your wound—and the manner of your taking it—has put you off-balance. You’ve lost your Sight. That’s no less traumatic than if you had lost your physical eyes.”
“It seems a dire case, put thus,” he said solemnly. Priscilla had sighed then, and reached out to touch his cheek.
“It’s recoverable,” she murmured. “But—given the nature of that damage, neither Lina nor I are certain that we ought to attempt a Healing—which you will notice we are not attempting. We feel we would all benefit from an examination done by other Healers, who are . . . ”
She hesitated, perhaps uncertain of the best way to frame these “other Healers.” Shan offered his assistance.
“Other Healers,” he said, “who are not so tender of me?”
Priscilla shook her head.
“You must allow that we three are entangled on every level. It’s possible that Lina and I may be erring on the side of tenderness—though I can’t imagine why that would be so.”
“Nor can I,” he assured her seriously. “It is possible that these other Healers may have suggestions for interim protocols that may be useful in the case. And, since we will already be disturbing them with our problems, they might also be invited to cast an eye over Padi, in the context of trauma, and other hurts perhaps hidden by this brilliant aura of newly released powers.”
“Exactly.” Priscilla nodded.
Well, it had been a reasonable suggestion, given what he and Padi had suffered, not to mention Lina’s misgivings. Millsap was not so far off their course—had they happened to possess anything so dignified as a course to be off of. As the third of the ship’s three Healers, he had agreed to visit the Healers of Millsap.
He remembered that.
He did not remember that the prospect of being examined by “other Healers” had wakened any sense of uneasiness in him at the time. Quite possibly, he hadn’t spent much consideration on that aspect of the matter. He rather thought, in fact, that he had framed the expedition as being for the benefit of Padi and Lina.
Considering it now, however, he was aware of a twinge of dismay at the prospect of being examined. There should be no difficulty in a routine examination done by competent members of the Healers Guild. No one was going to hurt him—and if they did, well. That was precisely the sort of thing they needed most to know.
He reached to his screen and called up the Healers Guild Register, speedily locating the entry for the Hall on Millsap.
Millsap Healer Hall was long established, serving a diverse, transient population. There were two masters, four Healers, and two journeymen on staff.
There had been three complaints brought against the Hall in the last twelve Standards, all filed by Terrans, who were later found to have not entirely understood what a Healing might accomplish—and that a Healing could not be reversed.
That was perhaps troubling. A Healer had a duty to explain the proposed course to her client, and the intended results of that course.
On the other hand, he was not an ignorant Terran. He was a mature Healer trained in the Liaden mode, as was Lina. Misunderstandings of process or outcome were extremely unlikely to occur.
So he, Padi, and their attending Healer would call at the Hall on Millsap, and avail themselves of such wisdom and suggestions as might be on offer. Well and good.
However.
The Dutiful Passage was a tradeship, a tradeship which was soon to approach a challenging port. Transit time to Millsap was not very long. Which meant that Master Trader yos’Galan and his ’prentice had best get to work.
He reached to the screen one more time and typed in a quick message, desiring Trader yos’Galan to attend him within the hour, if her schedule allowed.
If her schedule allowed!
Padi closed the text on the theory of profit she had been reading, and leapt to her feet.
Of course her schedule allowed! Finally, to be properly working again—and even better, the master trader was working again. Father must be very much better, she thought—and realized of a sudden that she was breathing rather too quickly.
She closed her eyes and ran a calming exercise, which had the added benefit of sharpening her wits, which she would surely need when meeting with the master trader after having sat here dull and beset by lessons in control—well, and no one could object to her attending the master trader at once, could they? Not when it was his specific desire that she should do so?
Quickly, she stepped into the ’fresher, washed her face, combed her hair, and pulled it into a tail. She spared another moment to be certain that her collar was straight and her shirt and pants unrumpled. Satisfied that she was seemly and neat, she went in search of Keriana, who at this shift was in charge of sickbay, to give her news of the master trader’s summons.
Padi arrived with commendable promptness, her face slightly flushed and her eyes wide. Shan resisted the urge to look at her through Healer senses, and merely accepted that she was delighted at the prospect of proper work coming into her hands.
She bowed—apprentice to master—and straightened rather more quickly than was perfectly proper.
“Good shift to you, Master Trader,” she said.
“And good shift to you, Trader,” he returned affably. “Pray provide yourself with a glass of whatever you may like. I fear we have something of a challenge before us.”
Padi did not actually shout aloud; she scarcely needed to. Her eyes fairly sparkled, and there was a positive spring in her step as she crossed the room to pour a glass of cold tea.
She returned to the desk, set the tea to one side, and sat down.
“What sort of challenge?” she asked eagerly.
“We are en route to Millsap, on the necessity of the Healers,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “There is a Hall on-port, which, given recent events, is a fact that interests them considerably.”
Padi bit her lip. Shan paused, but she said nothing.
Nodding, he continued.
“Of interest to the traders is the fact that Millsap has trade. However, most of its trade falls in the realm of transshipment. It lies between two well-established long-Loops, which is very much to their benefit, and clever they were to have seized the opportunity to become a hub.”
He paused. This time, Padi did speak.
“Does the master trader foresee that Millsap will be of use to us, as a transshipper?”
“Certainly, that is possible,” he admitted. “But, to know that, we must understand the routes it services.”
Padi nodded.
“Two established long-Loops,” she said. “Have they been recorded?”
“In fact, they have. Which, as I know you will agree, is useful to our purpose. However, they are long-Loops, and we come to them as fresh and as ignorant as children. We will be arriving at Millsap space in a mere two ship-days, which does not give us very much time to become better informed.”
“Unless you take one Loop, and I take the other,” Padi said quickly. “We can research and compare.”
“That seems very sensible,” Shan said gravely. “How do you suggest we proceed?”
It might have said something about her state of mind that she didn’t bother to acknowledge his show of naivete. Merely, she tipped her head, eyes narrowing somewhat as she marshalled necessities.
“We will each of us draw up a list of those ships which match our more usual cargoes. We will wish to note higher profit items, and . . . ” She frowned then—rather ferociously. “The traders who ply those Loops—we would need to make agreements; be certain that we’re not . . . inconvenient to them . . . ”
The frown grew fiercer.
Shan waited.
Padi looked up.
“How long,” she asked, “will the Healers need at Millsap?”
“That has not yet been determined. Also, you will have apprehended that you, and I, will be required to spend some time in-Hall, being inspected and possibly taken up to Heal.”
“Yes,” she said, still frowning. She reached for her glass and sipped cold tea briefly.
She met his eyes again.
“Millsap is not conveniently placed to any Korval routes,” she said slowly. “If we had decided upon Langlast, and had been able to invest a quantity of time with the agents on-port . . . ”
He nodded, well pleased with her.
“We did not decide upon Langlast,” he agreed. “Do you counsel that the study of those routes feeding Millsap would be a waste of the traders’ time?”
“Oh, no, never that!” Padi said, eyes widening. “We should at least—pardon me, Master Trader!—I should at least strive to understand the systems in place and the subtleties that sustain them.” A pause, a conscious look. “Unless, we have a target, after Millsap?”
“Sadly, we do not,” Shan said. “And you were neither impertinent nor amiss to suggest that the master trader might also benefit from the study of the trade economy which supports Millsap and two Loops.”
He leaned forward, took up his glass, and raised it.
“Let us adopt your initial course. You will take one Loop; I will take the other. We will meet here again in one ship-day, compare our notes, and share our conclusions.”
It was very little more than a game—a trading sim, Shan thought. But it would give them both an opportunity to concentrate on trade, and recall their powers in that arena. Most especially, it would give Padi’s thought a turn away from the vexed arrival of her talents and the upcoming visit to Millsap Healer Hall, of which she could not be sanguine.
“One ship-day,” she agreed. “How shall we pick our routes?”
Shan opened his desk drawer and produced a plain Terran bit, which he tossed over to her lightly.
“The names of the Loops are Conway Primary and ve’Atra Syme. Pray toss the coin to learn which is yours, Trader. Old Sol in the ascendant will give you Conway; the obverse will net ve’Atra Syme.”
“Yes,” said Padi, and flipped the coin into the air.