aware of the intricacies of both the delivery and ownership portions of this problem he didn't doubt.
A muffled sniff brought him back to Norn and her ironic smile.
"My son, I am required for this, for all that it may be your business. Forgive me: the information came in cipher and tagged for myself; there'd be no use having the mate refuse you despite the news is yours more than mine."
"She can't tell me, then?"
"It would only pain you both and that, my son, is something you'll need to recall and refine as time goes on: the duty of a superior is to increase and protect the ship's interest as the clan's interest. Rarely is such an increase favored by the breaking of regulations or the reliance on friendship."
He nodded, which the trader didn't notice, having a half-step lead on him. Melant'i was all about stuff like that--that just because they'd chewed each other's ears, he had no right to ask or expect Gaenor to be spilling secrets. Same thing traders knew anywhere, anytime, he guessed. "There are secrets in all families," as he had it from Grig, and this was no different.
The small break room merged into the two larger ones at the touch of a button but Norn left the button alone, dropping from fast walk to still as she touched the fingerpad, letting the ship--or at least the command center--know where she was.
Perforce, Jethri stopped, watching for a signal. It came from her hand, and he hurriedly stepped into the unoccupied meal line, pulling for himself tea and breakfast and 'mite. Before he was done Norn passed him, hurrying, and stopped and took motion again, this time toward the outer door, where Gaenor's voice brought him round suddenly--along with the familiar voice of ter'Astin.
Norn ven'Deelin's signal was solid enough, so he went, his fleeting catch of Gaenor's glance an elation and then a sense of dread--for while she permitted the briefest of smiles her eyes held not a smile, but wary concern.
Jethri went by the green "reserved" light, on to the small break room, passed the head chair at the small table and was angling for a safe middle spot when from behind came the Master Trader's voice, with perhaps a tinge of amusement.
"You will grace me at my left hand, if you please, and the Scout will sit at my right."
He blinked: he on the left, she to the right, offering him the first voice. He bowed, seeking the proper phrase of thanks and acknowledgment.
The Master Trader sniffed dourly.
"Yes, of course. But it signifies very little when one deals with a Scout in a hurry, I assure you. We might as well meet in zero-G with you upside down on the ceiling for as much attention as he will pay!"
*
It seemed to Jethri that Norn was wrong, for the scout arrived with a small meal to hand and made all the proper bows, exact in degree to Norn, and then a move full of nuance and complexities to him, with overtones of an admission of failure and error of judgment, even a request for forgiveness--there was little in Liaden that allowed of anything nearly as simple as an "I'm sorry!"
There were just the three of them, and from the exultant formal they moved instantly into a mode Grig would have called war-room.
"Eat," the Scout advised as he sat, "for one of you will be departing with me, and Keravath has already filed a tentative outbound, with a departure within the local twelfth day, if you please."
Before they could reply he expanded the statement of his bow, addressing the pair while favoring Norn with a particular nod and wry expression.
"Almost I begin to think that my errors should include my failure to refuse a summons from one surely not so well versed yet in melant'i as to include a life path for me . . ."
Then looking directly at Jethri, who'd managed to bite off half of a breakfast dumpling before being addressed:
"You, sir, entrusted me with a notebook, in order that I might have it studied and copies made. I am of no doubt that the notebook is your own, and I promised to return it to you safely.
A muffled sniff brought him back to Norn and her ironic smile.
"My son, I am required for this, for all that it may be your business. Forgive me: the information came in cipher and tagged for myself; there'd be no use having the mate refuse you despite the news is yours more than mine."
"She can't tell me, then?"
"It would only pain you both and that, my son, is something you'll need to recall and refine as time goes on: the duty of a superior is to increase and protect the ship's interest as the clan's interest. Rarely is such an increase favored by the breaking of regulations or the reliance on friendship."
He nodded, which the trader didn't notice, having a half-step lead on him. Melant'i was all about stuff like that--that just because they'd chewed each other's ears, he had no right to ask or expect Gaenor to be spilling secrets. Same thing traders knew anywhere, anytime, he guessed. "There are secrets in all families," as he had it from Grig, and this was no different.
The small break room merged into the two larger ones at the touch of a button but Norn left the button alone, dropping from fast walk to still as she touched the fingerpad, letting the ship--or at least the command center--know where she was.
Perforce, Jethri stopped, watching for a signal. It came from her hand, and he hurriedly stepped into the unoccupied meal line, pulling for himself tea and breakfast and 'mite. Before he was done Norn passed him, hurrying, and stopped and took motion again, this time toward the outer door, where Gaenor's voice brought him round suddenly--along with the familiar voice of ter'Astin.
Norn ven'Deelin's signal was solid enough, so he went, his fleeting catch of Gaenor's glance an elation and then a sense of dread--for while she permitted the briefest of smiles her eyes held not a smile, but wary concern.
Jethri went by the green "reserved" light, on to the small break room, passed the head chair at the small table and was angling for a safe middle spot when from behind came the Master Trader's voice, with perhaps a tinge of amusement.
"You will grace me at my left hand, if you please, and the Scout will sit at my right."
He blinked: he on the left, she to the right, offering him the first voice. He bowed, seeking the proper phrase of thanks and acknowledgment.
The Master Trader sniffed dourly.
"Yes, of course. But it signifies very little when one deals with a Scout in a hurry, I assure you. We might as well meet in zero-G with you upside down on the ceiling for as much attention as he will pay!"
*
It seemed to Jethri that Norn was wrong, for the scout arrived with a small meal to hand and made all the proper bows, exact in degree to Norn, and then a move full of nuance and complexities to him, with overtones of an admission of failure and error of judgment, even a request for forgiveness--there was little in Liaden that allowed of anything nearly as simple as an "I'm sorry!"
There were just the three of them, and from the exultant formal they moved instantly into a mode Grig would have called war-room.
"Eat," the Scout advised as he sat, "for one of you will be departing with me, and Keravath has already filed a tentative outbound, with a departure within the local twelfth day, if you please."
Before they could reply he expanded the statement of his bow, addressing the pair while favoring Norn with a particular nod and wry expression.
"Almost I begin to think that my errors should include my failure to refuse a summons from one surely not so well versed yet in melant'i as to include a life path for me . . ."
Then looking directly at Jethri, who'd managed to bite off half of a breakfast dumpling before being addressed:
"You, sir, entrusted me with a notebook, in order that I might have it studied and copies made. I am of no doubt that the notebook is your own, and I promised to return it to you safely.
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