Agent of Change by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee
Authors: Steve Miller, Sharon Lee
Tags: Science-Fiction
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the task itself.
"These knives fit the criteria Justin Hostro has set down most admirably, is it not so, brother?" This last was directed to Selector, who inclined his head.
"It is, indeed, as if the Cavern of Flawed Blades were created and discovered only for this bargain we have struck with Justin Hostro."
Val Con, perched on the arm of a chair set a little apart from the circle of Clutch members, grinned at the undercurrent of venom in that comment and glanced up as Miri's door sighed open.
She was dressed in a dark blue gown that sheathed her like a second skin in some places, and flowed loose and elegant, like a fall of midnight waters, in others. On the right side, her hair was arranged in a complex knot through which was thrust a slender, gleaming stick; the rest of the copper mass was allowed to fall free. Her throat was bare, as was one arm; her hands were innocent of rings.
He stood as she approached Edger, and faded back toward his own room as she made her bow.
"Yes, my youngest of sisters," the T'carais boomed, recognizing her immediately. "That color becomes you—it sets off the flame of your hair. A wise choice, indeed."
Miri bowed her thanks. "I wanted to thank you for the chance to have this dress. It's the prettiest thing I've ever worn."
"The artistry of you is thanks enough. You and my so-beautiful young brother—where has he gone?" The big head swiveled.
"Here." Val Con smiled, coming silently back into the room. "I had forgotten something."
He was beautiful, Miri saw. The dark leathers were gone, replaced by a wide-sleeved white shirt, banded tight at the wrists, lacy ruffles half-concealing slender hands. There was lace at his throat, and his trousers were dark burgundy, made of some soft material that cried out to be stroked. A green drop hung in his right ear, and a gold and green ring was on his left hand. The dark hair gleamed silken in the room's buttery light.
He bowed to her and offered the box he carried. "I am sorry to have offended you."
"It's okay." She took the box and cautiously lifted the lid.
Inside shone a necklace of silver net, holding a single stone of faceted blue, and a silver ring in the shape of an improbable serpent, clutching its jaws tight around a stone of matching blue.
She stood very, very still, then took a deep breath and forced herself to meet his eyes.
"Thank you. I—" She shook her head and tried again. "Palesci modassa." That was the formal phrase of thanksgiving.
Val Con smiled. "You're welcome," he replied, since it seemed safer to stay with Terran. He touched the necklace lightly with a forefinger. "Shall I?"
Her mouth quirked toward a grin. "Sure, why not?"
First she slid the ring onto her left hand, then raised both hands to hold her hair off her neck.
He slid the necklace around her throat with a skill that hinted at past experience, then gently took her hair from her hands, arranging its cascade down her back. Miri bit down on a sudden surge of excitement and managed to keep her face expressionless as he came to her side and bowed to Edger.
"I think that we are prepared to celebrate, elder brother," Val Con said. "Does it please you to walk with us?"
Chapter Eight
CHARLIE NARANSHEK SLIPPED his service piece into the sleeve pocket of his dress tunic. He always carried it there, though his employers at the Grotto had supplied him with a large and very ornate weapon, with instructions to wear it prominently. It was a matter of feelings. Charlie felt better on his shift as bouncer when he knew that his daytime gun was at hand. He got the heebie-jeebies whenever he thought about having to draw and aim the pretty piece he wore on his belt.
Feelings, Charlie thought, slamming the locker door, were important. Clues to the inner man. It was smart to pay attention to one's feelings, to act with them.
He raised his hand as he passed the desk. "Night, Pat."
"Hey, Charlie?" She waved him over, spinning the screen on its
"These knives fit the criteria Justin Hostro has set down most admirably, is it not so, brother?" This last was directed to Selector, who inclined his head.
"It is, indeed, as if the Cavern of Flawed Blades were created and discovered only for this bargain we have struck with Justin Hostro."
Val Con, perched on the arm of a chair set a little apart from the circle of Clutch members, grinned at the undercurrent of venom in that comment and glanced up as Miri's door sighed open.
She was dressed in a dark blue gown that sheathed her like a second skin in some places, and flowed loose and elegant, like a fall of midnight waters, in others. On the right side, her hair was arranged in a complex knot through which was thrust a slender, gleaming stick; the rest of the copper mass was allowed to fall free. Her throat was bare, as was one arm; her hands were innocent of rings.
He stood as she approached Edger, and faded back toward his own room as she made her bow.
"Yes, my youngest of sisters," the T'carais boomed, recognizing her immediately. "That color becomes you—it sets off the flame of your hair. A wise choice, indeed."
Miri bowed her thanks. "I wanted to thank you for the chance to have this dress. It's the prettiest thing I've ever worn."
"The artistry of you is thanks enough. You and my so-beautiful young brother—where has he gone?" The big head swiveled.
"Here." Val Con smiled, coming silently back into the room. "I had forgotten something."
He was beautiful, Miri saw. The dark leathers were gone, replaced by a wide-sleeved white shirt, banded tight at the wrists, lacy ruffles half-concealing slender hands. There was lace at his throat, and his trousers were dark burgundy, made of some soft material that cried out to be stroked. A green drop hung in his right ear, and a gold and green ring was on his left hand. The dark hair gleamed silken in the room's buttery light.
He bowed to her and offered the box he carried. "I am sorry to have offended you."
"It's okay." She took the box and cautiously lifted the lid.
Inside shone a necklace of silver net, holding a single stone of faceted blue, and a silver ring in the shape of an improbable serpent, clutching its jaws tight around a stone of matching blue.
She stood very, very still, then took a deep breath and forced herself to meet his eyes.
"Thank you. I—" She shook her head and tried again. "Palesci modassa." That was the formal phrase of thanksgiving.
Val Con smiled. "You're welcome," he replied, since it seemed safer to stay with Terran. He touched the necklace lightly with a forefinger. "Shall I?"
Her mouth quirked toward a grin. "Sure, why not?"
First she slid the ring onto her left hand, then raised both hands to hold her hair off her neck.
He slid the necklace around her throat with a skill that hinted at past experience, then gently took her hair from her hands, arranging its cascade down her back. Miri bit down on a sudden surge of excitement and managed to keep her face expressionless as he came to her side and bowed to Edger.
"I think that we are prepared to celebrate, elder brother," Val Con said. "Does it please you to walk with us?"
Chapter Eight
CHARLIE NARANSHEK SLIPPED his service piece into the sleeve pocket of his dress tunic. He always carried it there, though his employers at the Grotto had supplied him with a large and very ornate weapon, with instructions to wear it prominently. It was a matter of feelings. Charlie felt better on his shift as bouncer when he knew that his daytime gun was at hand. He got the heebie-jeebies whenever he thought about having to draw and aim the pretty piece he wore on his belt.
Feelings, Charlie thought, slamming the locker door, were important. Clues to the inner man. It was smart to pay attention to one's feelings, to act with them.
He raised his hand as he passed the desk. "Night, Pat."
"Hey, Charlie?" She waved him over, spinning the screen on its
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