Ghost Ship by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee

is fillin’ up,” Miri commented. From her vantage on the balcony, she could see lights in second-floor windows around the inner garden. Behind those windows were apartments like the one behind her, that she shared with Val Con. Sort of alike, anyhow; though the leftovers from former occupants would be different. New tenants shifted the furniture around to suit themselves, sent what they didn’t want or need to House Stores, and laid down their own layer of possessions, which would get overlaid in turn by the next clan member who took the rooms for themselves.
    She stretched, trying to ease her back. The only thing that kept her from thinking that being pregnant could get over with any time now was the thought of what she was going to do with a kid. Val Con—he liked kids. Herself . . .
    Miri shivered.
    It was chilly on the balcony; down at ground level, a cold breeze was running rough inside the garden, shaking the flowers and the shrubs below like a street thief trying to get one more coin out of a mark.
    Miri sighed. She’d never noticed flowers much before Jelaza Kazone, but she’d gotten used to seeing them, just like she’d gotten used to the pleasant, mannerly Liaden breezes, that carried scents up to the balcony and offered them like wine.
    Something disturbed the air at her back. She moved a step to the right without looking around.
    “A full clanhouse is a joy,” Val Con said, folding his arms on the rail next to her.
    Not that they would hit the limit, even with every adult clan member, staff, and assorted folk like Ms. dea’Gauss added to the sum.
    “ Was this house ever full?” she asked, nestling companionably against his side.
    “Once—and once or twice again, after. Korval has never been a populous clan. We take too many risks.”
    Miri laughed. “Well, at least I know it’s in the family.”
    She felt, rather than saw, him smile.
    “Indeed. Reckless to a fault, every one of us. Though Nova displays some sign of possessing common prudence, and—until lately, of course—so had Pat Rin.”
    “Setting up as a high roller and living off of your winnings is real prudent and commonsensical.”
    “Yes, but one must view the course in context. He took care to be known as a marksman nonpareil, and as a man who excelled not only at cards and dice, but also at games of skill.”
    “So he went in with a legend.”
    “Exactly. Pilots, on the other hand, may be as skilled and as formidable as they like, and still the Jump may kill one. Compelling as we find it, piloting is not a safe trade.”
    “And you like to brawl in taverns.”
    “That, too.”
    She snorted a soft laugh, and shivered against a renewed assault from the breeze, this one showing teeth.
    “Flowers ain’t gonna make it,” she said gloomily.
    “Some may adapt, and we mustn’t discount the gardener. The food crops have her first attention, of course, but she did allow me to know that she had our garden under care.” He moved his shoulders. “Father had used to keep the inner gardens himself.”
    “Yeah, he said that. Thinking of putting him to work?”
    “Of course. Though perhaps gardening is not the best use of his talents. Nor of Mother’s.”
    There it was again, a little thrill of . . . worry laced with pain that accompanied Val Con’s considerations of his parents. Miri bit her lip. Sometimes, knowing what your partner felt about something was worse than not knowing. And what was even worse than not knowing, was not knowing whether she should do something, or just figure it was his to work out.
    He shifted, moving a hand to massage her aching back.
    “Miri, it will be well.”
    “So you keep saying.” She sighed. “Talk me into anything, can’t you?”
    “Indeed, I cannot. I distinctly recall several instances when I failed of getting my way—to my profit, not to say, my survival.”
    A chime sounded from the room behind them. Miri frowned.
    “We late?”
    “More likely it is one’s sister Nova, wishing to