The Dragon Variation (73 page)

"Old friend."

Daav returned grip and grin. "When did you get in?"

"Just in time to catch the most amazing lift I've seen in my poor career, from the vantage of Scout Station."

"Always in the luck."

"Hah!" Frad turned to Aelliana. "Take advice, pilot, and demand the Port Master give you a tenth of the profit she'll realize from selling that tape."

She blinked at him. "Tape?"

"Tried to get a copy myself, but the lines were backed up to next Trilsday. Couple of bars ago I heard a Terran captain offering twenty cantra hard for the first copy reaches his hands before local midnight—" He grinned. "Wants to use it for crew training!"

Aelliana looked to Daav, eyes wide. "He's joking," she suggested, uncertainly.

Daav's lips quirked. "Yes, but it doesn't at all seem like Frad's sort of joke."

"Not a bit of it," that gentleman assured her with utmost gravity. "Given to making pies into the beds of my comrades." He sighed, bland face suffused with sorrow. "Very low sense of humor."

Aelliana chuckled, Frad's name was called by someone across the room and he moved off, raising light fingertips to Daav's cheek in the moment before he was gone.

The small gesture of tenderness awoke an appalling twist of emotion in Aelliana's chest. By custom and by Code, she should have felt shock. That two who were not kin should share such intimacy—to show their depravity in so public a place—It was beyond the pale. If she were Voni, she might well have fainted.

By Code, she should now distance herself from Daav, her surname-less copilot, that his corruption not sully her
melant'i
.

Failing of the Code, she lifted her eyes to find his waiting, quizzical and—wary.

Wary—awaiting her censure. It hurt—astonishingly—that he should think her capable—and it was not shock she felt, Aelliana owned in a rush of self-truth, but jealousy, that Frad should be so dear to him.

She smiled and saw the wariness melt.

"Frad was a member of my team," he told her. "The four of us went through Academy together—Frad, Olwen, Clonak and I."

"There you are!" That was Clonak, wading through the crush of Scouts, pilots and hanger-ons that clogged Apel's tiny wine-room. "Jon says it's time to move and let this rabble celebrate on their own. They've made their bows, now they want to talk board."

"True enough," Daav allowed. "Where does Jon want us to go, I wonder?"

"Kinchail's," Clonak said. "Meet us. I'll get Frad." He was gone, melting effortlessly into the crowd.

Daav look down at her from dancing dark eyes.

"Hungry, Pilot?"

"Yes!" Aelliana said in surprise and reached out to take his hand.

THEY SAT SEVEN TO dinner
in the comfort of comrades: Jon, Apel, Frad, Trilla, Clonak, Daav, and Aelliana, with Jon at the top of the table and Aelliana between him and Daav.

It was a merry meal, replete with wine and chatter and dish after dish of delicious things, all ordered by Mistress Apel and shared 'round the table.

The last platter having been taken away, Clonak and Frad embarked on a risque joke contest, into which Trilla occasionally threw a laconic one-liner. Apel sat quietly between Jon and Frad, sipping her wine and dividing her attention between the band, setting up in the corner opposite, and the entrance way. Jon and Daav were talking quietly.

"A grand, dangerous work, young captain. Happens Liad isn't ripe for hearing it."

"Liad is not altogether happy," Daav admitted, twirling his glass between long, clever fingers. Fascinated, Aelliana watched his hand, struck once more by the ring-marked, empty finger. It occurred to her to wonder if Daav himself had not fallen aside trouble within his own clan, that stripped him of rank-ring and made him eager to aid a pair of clanless pirates.

"Still," Daav said, "Liad must have heard it, soon or late. Truth will be told, sink it as deep as you may."

"We're for company," Apel commented as a drift of leather jackets came through the door. Across the room, the band struck its first notes.

"Music!" Clonak exclaimed, cutting himself off in mid-joke. He bounced to his feet and made one of his extravagant bows.

"Dance with me, Peerless Goddess."

She stared up at him, feeling Daav's warmth beside her, and the weight of his sudden attention.

"I don't know how to dance," she told Clonak as the band swung into its first number.

"Of course you know how to dance! What has Trilla been teaching you this age?"

"I—"

"We'll show you," Trilla said, pushing back her chair and jerking her head at Frad. "Drafted, mapman."

"Not bad," Frad commented, coming to his feet. "A trifle obvious, but not bad."

Trilla laughed and marched ahead. Aelliana looked up into Clonak's taffy eyes and sighed.

"All right—but no nonsense!"

"Nonsense?" He opened his eyes wide. "When have I ever done less than cherish you?"

"Oh . . ." Aelliana stood, shaking her head at him in Terran fashion. "You are quite ridiculous," she said severely.

"But sincere," Clonak replied, with an evil grin. Taking her arm, he led her out onto the floor.

Learning to dance required as much concentration as learning
menfri'at
. As with the defense system, it was crucial to be aware of the movements and potential movements of one's opponent and to respond correctly. It was made more difficult than
menfri'at
, in Aelliana's opinion, by there being only one correct response—which must be made within the arbitrary rhythm of the music.

Her field of concentration was narrowed to Clonak's body, her own, the music, and the absolute necessity of performing perfectly. She was beginning to sweat with the strain of it, when an unexpected element entered the dance.

"My turn," Daav said calmly and Clonak released her with a preposterous sigh.

Aelliana stood staring up at him, abruptly aware of the others all about—there, Jon and Apel; Frad and a redhead in Scout leather; Trilla with
two
partners, an arm around the waist of each . . .

"Will you dance with me, Aelliana? Or shall I take you back to the table and give you some wine?"

"Dancing is—rather—difficult," she managed, moving closer to him and laying a hand along his sleeve.

"It needn't be," he returned and placed his free hand at her waist, as Clonak had done. "Indeed, dancing can be rather fun—believe me or don't." He grinned. "The first thing you must recall is that the one you dance with is your partner, not your opponent."

She laughed up at him and stepped closer, into the imaginary box Trilla had said she must stay within when dancing. Carefully, she put her right hand on his left shoulder, slid her left hand down to engage his free hand.

"Dance with me, then," she said. "Partner."

He smiled at that, pleasure showing plain. The fingers at her waist tightened; Daav swayed—and they were dancing.

It was absurdly easy. Her body moved without her conscious plan, indeed, it hardly seemed as if she moved at all, but that they did, with no separation so gross as
he
and
she
.

The music ended. Aelliana was still, her hand on his shoulder, his at her waist, and they were two now, with she reluctant to stand away.

"The musicians rest, Aelliana."

Daav's voice sounded—odd. The dark eyes that looked down into hers seemed dazzled. Indeed, she felt herself dazzled, wanting only to stand there, touched and touching, and gazing into his eyes, until it was time to dance again.

Abruptly, Daav cleared his throat, swayed back a step, breaking their gaze as his hand fell from her waist.

"Let us return to the others."

There were new faces around the table, and a shortage of chairs. Clonak came to his feet on the bounce. "We contrive," he announced, gesturing toward his empty place.

"My captain to sit here."

Daav lifted an eyebrow, but sat as he was bade.

"So. And my goddess to sit
here
." A hand in the middle of her back propelled her forward, to land with surprised grace on Daav's knee.

"Temporary quarters only," Clonak assured her, and struck a pose. "Chairs or death!" He bustled away, to general laughter.

Aelliana bit her lip. "I—beg your pardon," she stammered, looking down into Daav's eyes. "I shall stand."

"What? Forgo the best seat in the house?" Frad demanded, turning from his redhead with a grin. "Besides, Daav wants sitting on, now and then."

The others laughed. Trilla was between her two former dance partners, an arm around one's shoulders, a hand on the other's knee. The first dancer sipped from a glass, then held it to Trilla's lips. After Trilla had drunk, the first dancer held the glass for the second.

Apel, who was leaning on Jon's shoulder, her cheek perilously close to his, frowned down-table.

"Daav, your partner has no wine."

"Wine for Pilot Caylon!" Frad cried, snatching an empty glass from the table's center. He flourished it at the redhead, who captured a neighboring bottle and poured. Frad leaned over and placed the glass with an authoritative thump. "Good lift, Pilot."

His attention was back with the redhead before Aelliana's "Safe landing" was complete.

"Do you wish the chair, Aelliana?" Daav's voice was soft, for her ears alone.

She turned her head, again looking down into his eyes. "I am—afraid—I have never sat on anyone's knee."

"Nor is there reason for you to do so now, if you don't wish it," he said earnestly. "Stand a moment and allow me to rise."

"I—" She bit her lip, then gave him the truth, as a partner ought. "I think I should like to learn, Daav."

Laughter sparked across his face. "Ah, would you? Then allow me to be your teacher." There was a light touch at her waist—his hand, warm and firm, easing her back until she was sitting sidewise against him, her legs across his.

"Your near arm along my shoulders, if you will," he murmured and she complied; her breast pressed gently against his chest.

She stilled. Daav was warm against her, pleasing in a way that seemed related to the dance, his arm supporting her back, his hand curved over her hip.

"Aelliana?"

Deliberately, she drew a breath, and relaxed into him. Dance-like, indeed, she thought, catching an edge of that same subtle dazzlement. She bent her head, saw the shine of silver along his neck, where the collar gaped loose.

She touched it with a forefinger.

"What is this?" she whispered, her mouth near his ear.

"A chain," he whispered back. She laughed softly and felt him shiver.

"Would you like some wine?" he murmured and with her assent leaned forward. She closed her eyes, savoring the feel of him, the muscles shifting as he bent and her body bending with his—within his.

"Wine," he said. She opened her eyes to take the glass and sip, then offered it to him.

"Wine?" she asked softly, as Trilla's friend had done.

His eyes took fire. She felt—something—quiver through him; felt her heart begin an odd, thick pounding . . .

"Heads up!" That was Jon.

Aelliana felt Daav shift under her as the others leapt to their feet, bowing low to the three who approached the table.

Two men, one woman; one of the men in Scout leather; all bearing themselves as persons of authority. Aelliana gasped, suddenly knowing who they must be. Belatedly, she began to rise.

The man in Scout leather raised a hand. "Never mind, Pilot," he said in Comrade. "I'd say you'd earned a comfortable seat and that one—" a casual finger-flip toward Daav—"owes me so many bows he might as well be your chair."

"Commander," Daav said gravely.

The older man inclined his head. "Captain."

"Ah, is this Pilot Aelliana Caylon?" the woman asked, coming forward to stand by Scout Commander. She bowed respect. "I am Narna vin'Tayla, Solcintra Port Master." She reached out and captured the remaining man, who had been speaking strenuously with Jon.

"Pilot Guild Master Per Sea ren'Gelder," she said and the man bowed, quickly.

"We are not here to disturb your celebration," Scout Commander said, with a glimmer of humor. "Master ren'Gelder has an item belonging to Pilot Caylon."

"Yes." Master ren'Gelder made another quick bow, leaned forward and placed a metal card on the table before Aelliana.

"This," he said briskly, "is the license for First Class Pilot Aelliana Caylon. This," he reached inside his jacket and withdrew a data-disk, "is the list of pilots endorsing Pilot Caylon's first class status—" he glanced at his wrist—"as of two hours ago." He inclined his head. "We shall, of course, forward an updated list to
Ride the Luck
maincomp."

Aelliana stared, then bent swiftly forward, reaching for that flat rectangle. Daav's hand shifted to her waist, lending her balance.

First Class
: The words leapt out at her, the date of today—or, rather, yesterday—the endorsing pilot—she flipped the card over—

"Acclaim?"

Port Master smiled. "Thus the data-disk. It seems every Scout and master pilot on and around Liad has called to endorse your ascension, Pilot." Her smile widened. "There are several Terran masters in that list, as well."

"I—" It was on the edge of her tongue to protest that she had done nothing, that it had been a mere exercise in—She swallowed, inclined her head, feeling Daav's body solid and sure against hers.

"I thank you," she said formally.

"Custom has now been satisfied," Scout Commander announced, and turned with a sweep of his hand. "dea'Cort, you old ship-jockey, where's my wine?"

SHE HAD ASKED HIM
to escort her to her ship, which was nothing more than a pilot might ask of her copilot—or of her partner. He accepted the duty gladly, though he might have served her better by placing her into Clonak's care. His emotions were—not quiescent.

Even now, walking sedately hand-in-hand, he felt her presence as an intoxicant, so that he fought a mad desire to pull her close, to bury his face in her hair, run his hands over her strong, fragile body, to taste the honey of her skin . . .

Shuddering, he drew in a deep lungful of dew-early air.