he was fairly calmed. He might, he thought, be
calmer, if he could
know
what had moved that ship,
now
, and whether it had gone for
good, or for ill.
It might be, he told himself, that the ship master had
never harbored any intentions regarding themselves. There were
reasons enough for a ship to drop out of Jump and tarry a time.
Urgent repairs would be one reason. An importuned or wounded pilot,
another. Also, a ship and a pilot might from time to time find it
necessary to lie low for such reasons as tended to beset
pilot-kind. It was an odd eddy of space they sat in, and far out
from usual traffic. Still, they were not
hidden
, only inconveniently located.
Despite which, a pilot of Korval had found it -- the place and the
Rock -- and so another pilot might also.
A clatter drew his attention as he turned
into the main hall. A clatter and a light, glowing green over the
door to the galley. The lady's constitution was excellent, as was
her discipline, but he had once or twice met Kareen yos'Phelium
awake during the latter part of his shift. An early riser, she
styled herself on the first such meeting, with a wry modesty much
unlike her usual mode. She had offered him tea at that first, and
perhaps not quite chance, meeting. He had accepted and they had
talked the pot empty. And so it was on the second meeting, and the
third. On the subject of their shared duty, he came to know her as
a stern and subtle thinker, and was glad of her insights.
Indeed, he thought, putting his hand on the
latch, he would be glad of her insight just now.
Nor would a cup of tea be out of the
way.
The door slid aside. A slim figure in a
rumpled robe turned from the counter, teapot in hand, opal blue
eyes wide in a thin, golden face.
"Quin," said Luken, smiling.
"Grandfather!" the boy gasped, looking
conscious. He smiled, then, and nodded down at the pot.
"Would you like a cup of tea? It's fresh
made."
* * *
Grandfather looked tired, Quin thought. No, more than that,
he looked
worried.
That was an honor. Grandfather was treating him
like an adult, not like a child or a halfling to whom an untroubled
face must be shown.
It was also deeply disturbing, which Quin
had noticed was the case with many of adulthood's honors. He sipped
his tea, watching Luken do the same, and wished that there was some
way in which he could ease that all-too-obvious worry. His father,
he thought, would know exactly what to do.
But his father wasn't here.
Heart cramped, Quin put his cup down.
"Would you like some cookies, Grandfather?"
he asked.
Luken lowered his cup, and smiled gently.
"Thank you, boy-dear, but I think not. The tea is very welcome,
though." He sipped again, appreciatively, and placed his cup on the
table. "Now, tell me, what brings you awake so early in the
morn?"
When they had first come here, Grandmother
Kareen had insisted that they keep the homeworld's hours and
maintain a strict division of day and night. She said it was their
duty, which Quin supposed it must be, since Grandmother knew
everything about duty and how it was most properly fulfilled. For
himself, Quin could have done with a little less duty and a little
more Luken, though it worked out well enough once the two elders
began to rotate shifts, "so that we do not become stale and
accustomed," as Grandfather had it.
"Quin?"
He started, and sighed. "I was . . . thinking," he
admitted, and suddenly leaned forward, his hands gripping each
other painfully. "Grandfather, do you think -- do you think it
goes
well
? It's been so long . . ."
"Has it been
so long
?" Luken murmured. He patted Quin's arm softly. "I
suppose it has been some time, at that, and your year is longer
than mine by reason of you having so few of them. Well." He picked
up his cup.
Quin forced himself to sit back and picked up his own cup.
The tea
was
good, he thought, but he didn't sip.
Neither did Luken.
"I think," he said slowly, as if he were
considering the matter deeply, "that it goes as well as it
calmer, if he could
know
what had moved that ship,
now
, and whether it had gone for
good, or for ill.
It might be, he told himself, that the ship master had
never harbored any intentions regarding themselves. There were
reasons enough for a ship to drop out of Jump and tarry a time.
Urgent repairs would be one reason. An importuned or wounded pilot,
another. Also, a ship and a pilot might from time to time find it
necessary to lie low for such reasons as tended to beset
pilot-kind. It was an odd eddy of space they sat in, and far out
from usual traffic. Still, they were not
hidden
, only inconveniently located.
Despite which, a pilot of Korval had found it -- the place and the
Rock -- and so another pilot might also.
A clatter drew his attention as he turned
into the main hall. A clatter and a light, glowing green over the
door to the galley. The lady's constitution was excellent, as was
her discipline, but he had once or twice met Kareen yos'Phelium
awake during the latter part of his shift. An early riser, she
styled herself on the first such meeting, with a wry modesty much
unlike her usual mode. She had offered him tea at that first, and
perhaps not quite chance, meeting. He had accepted and they had
talked the pot empty. And so it was on the second meeting, and the
third. On the subject of their shared duty, he came to know her as
a stern and subtle thinker, and was glad of her insights.
Indeed, he thought, putting his hand on the
latch, he would be glad of her insight just now.
Nor would a cup of tea be out of the
way.
The door slid aside. A slim figure in a
rumpled robe turned from the counter, teapot in hand, opal blue
eyes wide in a thin, golden face.
"Quin," said Luken, smiling.
"Grandfather!" the boy gasped, looking
conscious. He smiled, then, and nodded down at the pot.
"Would you like a cup of tea? It's fresh
made."
* * *
Grandfather looked tired, Quin thought. No, more than that,
he looked
worried.
That was an honor. Grandfather was treating him
like an adult, not like a child or a halfling to whom an untroubled
face must be shown.
It was also deeply disturbing, which Quin
had noticed was the case with many of adulthood's honors. He sipped
his tea, watching Luken do the same, and wished that there was some
way in which he could ease that all-too-obvious worry. His father,
he thought, would know exactly what to do.
But his father wasn't here.
Heart cramped, Quin put his cup down.
"Would you like some cookies, Grandfather?"
he asked.
Luken lowered his cup, and smiled gently.
"Thank you, boy-dear, but I think not. The tea is very welcome,
though." He sipped again, appreciatively, and placed his cup on the
table. "Now, tell me, what brings you awake so early in the
morn?"
When they had first come here, Grandmother
Kareen had insisted that they keep the homeworld's hours and
maintain a strict division of day and night. She said it was their
duty, which Quin supposed it must be, since Grandmother knew
everything about duty and how it was most properly fulfilled. For
himself, Quin could have done with a little less duty and a little
more Luken, though it worked out well enough once the two elders
began to rotate shifts, "so that we do not become stale and
accustomed," as Grandfather had it.
"Quin?"
He started, and sighed. "I was . . . thinking," he
admitted, and suddenly leaned forward, his hands gripping each
other painfully. "Grandfather, do you think -- do you think it
goes
well
? It's been so long . . ."
"Has it been
so long
?" Luken murmured. He patted Quin's arm softly. "I
suppose it has been some time, at that, and your year is longer
than mine by reason of you having so few of them. Well." He picked
up his cup.
Quin forced himself to sit back and picked up his own cup.
The tea
was
good, he thought, but he didn't sip.
Neither did Luken.
"I think," he said slowly, as if he were
considering the matter deeply, "that it goes as well as it
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