may.
Understand that some matters require more time than others. The
First Speaker will surely wish to be certain of Korval's position
and of our allies before she calls us to her side."
The First Speaker -- Cousin Nova, that was,
who was almost as much of a stickler as Grandmother Kareen. Quin
had once remarked to his father that Cousin Nova was no gambler,
and received a sharp set-down for his impertinence.
I should hope that the one who holds the clan's future in
trust for the delm is everything that is prudent. Gambling with
lives is for Korval to do.
Quin bit his lip. "If it -- If the First
Speaker needed pilots, she'd remember to send for me -- wouldn't
she, Grandfather?"
"Things would be desperate indeed, boy-dear, before the
First Speaker deprived us of
our
pilot."
Our
pilot. That was, Quin thought, with some bitterness, him.
Not that he'd been allowed to pilot anything more than a sim since
they came here, and done enough board drills to last him a long
lifetime. He held a second class card, but, he thought, he
should
have been a first class by now.
Would have
been
,
if Plan B hadn't caught them all in its net of duty and
boredom.
"I'm scarcely a pilot if I'm not allowed to
fly," he pointed out, his voice sounding churlish in his own ears.
"Your pardon, Grandfather," he muttered, and sipped tepid tea.
"That's only the truth spoken," Luken said,
pushing his cup across the table. "Pour for me, child."
He did, first filling Grandfather's cup,
then his own, and put the pot aside.
"You recall the protocol," Luken said
gently. "If I fall, the keys are yours, whereupon --"
"No!" Quin interrupted, so forcefully that his tea sloshed
over the edge of the cup and onto his hand. "Grandfather,
you
are not going to
fall!"
Luken raised his eyebrows. "Well, if it
comes to that, it is my duty to fall, if it will buy the pilot and
the passengers time to be away," he said mildly, and inclined his
head. "Do you know, Quin, I think that I will have some cookies
after all."
"Of course, Grandfather." He rose at once and went to the
cabinet, had the tin down and took a moment to arrange the cookies
on a plate.
Just because we are in exile
, Grandmother said, often,
is no reason to
descend into barbarism
.
He took the plate to the table, offering it
first to Luken, who took a single cookie, daintily, and bit into it
with obvious enjoyment.
Quin put the plate in the center of the
table, and reclaimed his chair. The cookies were his favorite --
vanilla and spice seed -- but he wasn't hungry. He sipped his
tea.
"Now," Luken murmured gently, done with his
treat, "what news?"
Quin blinked.
"I -- news, Grandfather?" he managed.
Luken sighed. "You must forgive a man grown old in the ways
of Liad. It had seemed to me, boy-dear, that you placed a subtle
emphasis on
you
in the declaration that I would not fall, which suggested
to me that you have had news, perhaps, of . . . someone who may
indeed have fallen."
Quin sighed. It was useless to try to hide
things from Luken; he knew that. Really, Grandfather probably knew
all and everything, even about Padi helping him crack the
data-locks.
He sighed again and looked up into his
Grandfather's eyes.
"Father hasn't signed in," he said slowly.
"Not once since -- since Plan B . . ."
"Ah, I had forgotten that you held the
access codes to the Roster," Luken said gently.
Quin pressed his lips together and said nothing. If by some
chance Grandfather
didn't
know about Padi's assistance, he wouldn't hear of
it from Quin.
"Very good," Luken said after a moment. "I
must say that you surprise me, boy-dear. I would have thought you
knew by now that one who listens at doors hears nothing good."
That was a lesson long ago learned, true
enough, but--
"I had to know," he muttered.
"Of course you did," Luken replied
courteously. He reached for another cookie and raised his eyes to
Quin's. "Now, tell me: what it is that you know?"
"I --" He gasped, feeling tears rise,
swallowed, and forced
Understand that some matters require more time than others. The
First Speaker will surely wish to be certain of Korval's position
and of our allies before she calls us to her side."
The First Speaker -- Cousin Nova, that was,
who was almost as much of a stickler as Grandmother Kareen. Quin
had once remarked to his father that Cousin Nova was no gambler,
and received a sharp set-down for his impertinence.
I should hope that the one who holds the clan's future in
trust for the delm is everything that is prudent. Gambling with
lives is for Korval to do.
Quin bit his lip. "If it -- If the First
Speaker needed pilots, she'd remember to send for me -- wouldn't
she, Grandfather?"
"Things would be desperate indeed, boy-dear, before the
First Speaker deprived us of
our
pilot."
Our
pilot. That was, Quin thought, with some bitterness, him.
Not that he'd been allowed to pilot anything more than a sim since
they came here, and done enough board drills to last him a long
lifetime. He held a second class card, but, he thought, he
should
have been a first class by now.
Would have
been
,
if Plan B hadn't caught them all in its net of duty and
boredom.
"I'm scarcely a pilot if I'm not allowed to
fly," he pointed out, his voice sounding churlish in his own ears.
"Your pardon, Grandfather," he muttered, and sipped tepid tea.
"That's only the truth spoken," Luken said,
pushing his cup across the table. "Pour for me, child."
He did, first filling Grandfather's cup,
then his own, and put the pot aside.
"You recall the protocol," Luken said
gently. "If I fall, the keys are yours, whereupon --"
"No!" Quin interrupted, so forcefully that his tea sloshed
over the edge of the cup and onto his hand. "Grandfather,
you
are not going to
fall!"
Luken raised his eyebrows. "Well, if it
comes to that, it is my duty to fall, if it will buy the pilot and
the passengers time to be away," he said mildly, and inclined his
head. "Do you know, Quin, I think that I will have some cookies
after all."
"Of course, Grandfather." He rose at once and went to the
cabinet, had the tin down and took a moment to arrange the cookies
on a plate.
Just because we are in exile
, Grandmother said, often,
is no reason to
descend into barbarism
.
He took the plate to the table, offering it
first to Luken, who took a single cookie, daintily, and bit into it
with obvious enjoyment.
Quin put the plate in the center of the
table, and reclaimed his chair. The cookies were his favorite --
vanilla and spice seed -- but he wasn't hungry. He sipped his
tea.
"Now," Luken murmured gently, done with his
treat, "what news?"
Quin blinked.
"I -- news, Grandfather?" he managed.
Luken sighed. "You must forgive a man grown old in the ways
of Liad. It had seemed to me, boy-dear, that you placed a subtle
emphasis on
you
in the declaration that I would not fall, which suggested
to me that you have had news, perhaps, of . . . someone who may
indeed have fallen."
Quin sighed. It was useless to try to hide
things from Luken; he knew that. Really, Grandfather probably knew
all and everything, even about Padi helping him crack the
data-locks.
He sighed again and looked up into his
Grandfather's eyes.
"Father hasn't signed in," he said slowly.
"Not once since -- since Plan B . . ."
"Ah, I had forgotten that you held the
access codes to the Roster," Luken said gently.
Quin pressed his lips together and said nothing. If by some
chance Grandfather
didn't
know about Padi's assistance, he wouldn't hear of
it from Quin.
"Very good," Luken said after a moment. "I
must say that you surprise me, boy-dear. I would have thought you
knew by now that one who listens at doors hears nothing good."
That was a lesson long ago learned, true
enough, but--
"I had to know," he muttered.
"Of course you did," Luken replied
courteously. He reached for another cookie and raised his eyes to
Quin's. "Now, tell me: what it is that you know?"
"I --" He gasped, feeling tears rise,
swallowed, and forced
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