Carpe Diem by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee Page A

Edger.

    "I greet you, brother, and thank you for the lives of myself and the youngest of your sisters. I am to say to you these things, which are true: We are alive and have been well treated, having received food, a place to sleep, and medical aid. I regret that the ship of the Clan has continued its voyage without us. It was undamaged when it left us and should achieve its destination as planned, as it kept course without fail during the seven seasons of its labor."

    There was a small pause, then Val Con finished, "I am also to say that we will be returned our knives and given a ship in which in continue our travels. My thanks to you again, brother, for your care of two of your Clan who are foolish and hasty."

    A Korval ship had already been dispatched to the coordinates indicated in Val Con's message. Exact figures relating to the distance a ship of the Clutch would have traveled in "seven seasons of labor" had been included in the hodgepodge of information that made up the balance of Cheever McFarland's delivery. The possibility had to be covered, of course, but Shan felt no optimism that Korval's ship would find Val Con and his lifemate anywhere near those coords.

    The tape hissed briefly, and then the other voice came in, bright, clear, singsonging its nonsense as if there was nothing in all the worlds to fear:

    "Hi, Edger. Everything's fine. Wish you were here. Love to the family and see you soon."

    The tape hummed, clicked, and rewound noisily before the machine shut off.

    "I like her," Shan said to the dim and empty study. "But, gods, brother, the Juntavas?" The agreement between the intergalactic mob and Korval stretched back generations: You don't touch mine; I don't touch yours. Simple, effective, efficient. "Why didn't you tell them who you are? They would have dropped Korval Himself and his Lady like so many hot potatoes . . ."

    Chilled, he considered an alternate scenario. Val Con reveals himself. The Juntavas, horrified beyond reason by their act, knowing a balancing of accounts with Korval would ruin both, simply cut two throats, leave two bodies drifting . . .

    "Gods!" He snapped to his feet, covering the room in five long strides, to stare out at the twilit garden, where the fountain caught the sun's last rays, transmuting light to emeralds.

    Memory provided a boy's high voice, half-pleading: "But there isn't a Delm Korval really, is there, Shan? Just a made-up person—it could as easily be you as me." And he heard his own voice, laughing in reply: "Oh, no! You're the Korval, denubia! I don't want to be Delm."

    "But you could be, couldn't you?" the boy Val Con demanded in memory, and Shan turned cold in the present and whispered, "Only if you die, denubia." He shook himself, hard.

    "They're alive," he whispered, willing his hands to unclench and bringing his heartbeat down with a Healer's stern discipline. "You have that on the best authority. Do strive for some sense, Shan."

    And there were two to find now. Even if Val Con . . .His lifemate must be found and brought back to the Clan, for if they did not have a Delm, they might yet have a Delmae. Nova saw that, thank the gods. Korval ships Jumped in a dozen directions that long afternoon, seeking news, any news, of Val Con yos'Phelium or Miri Robertson. Lifemates will hold together, Shan told himself, staring at the shadows growing from the trees toward the house. Find one and we find both.

    Sighing, he shook himself free of his thoughts and slipped away from the house of yos'Galan to go home at last to Priscilla.

VANDAR: Springbreeze Farm

    She was never going to get it right.

    The minute she thought she had command of a word it slipped away, unmoored by a dozen or more others. It was all she could do to remember the name of the dog, never mind the word for its species. And all morning Zhena Trelu had been in a waspish mood, yelling and pushing at her when she did not understand. Which was mostly.

    After the third such incident,