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Lytaxin: Erob's Clan House

The orders had come from the captain's own lips, and so, on the morning of the sixth day following the battle of the airfield, Nelirikk left the bunker-like infirmary beneath Erob's house and went out into the open air.

He marched with a steady step, eating one of the wonderful pastries the house cooks had brought to the captain's room. He wore a lieutenant's bar and captain's aide insignia, as well as the green scarf at his left shoulder—the troop-sign of The Irregulars—and a Tree-and-Dragon which the captain had very nearly been able to pin on him without assistance.

The orders. Orders. He was so pleased that she was able to give orders that he would have marched to every mountaintop on the planet for her.

"Get outta here," she'd rasped, pale against the pale pillows that supported her. "That's an order. Eat an extra dessert or two. That's an order. If you need something to do, go down the airfield and see what's cookin'. I don't want you back in this room before tomorrow unless you got a real good reason."

Her wounds were like unto a pilot's wounds. During those long hours of grief and waiting, when it was thought both would pass on to duty's reward, the Healer who was a star captain and a soldier had explained to him about wizards and the bond of lifemates. Yet, had not he seen the very real burns from the tie belts, the black eyes and pulled skin of high acceleration . . . Strange indeed were the lives of those who guarded Jela's Tree.

The world was strange now: Troops in good order patrolled, and while some looked on him warily, none barred his way. The air was good, the sun a pleasure, and he had elected to walk, as the captain's purpose had clearly been to insure his value to the troop and to preserve his health while she slowly regained her own.

The way he had chosen brought him to a ridge, and a view reminiscent of his not-so-long-ago vantage in the 14th Conquest Corps command shack when the courageous, silly plane had struck back with honorable intent against the Corps, and the scout's vessel had flung Jela's own challenge at the sky.

The valley was full of planes and ships of various sorts, for the mercenaries were taking no chance that the 15th would come to finish the campaign the 14th had started. There were missile units and fighters, and one odd small ship which he guessed to be the courier or personal vessel of a commander.

The blast crater where the scout's ship had been was already, and wisely, being recycled into a foundation for some new structure.

Was it a trick of his mind or was that not a scout ship dropping quickly into the valley?

His heart nearly crawled into his throat in admiration of those lines. One day, perhaps the captain would permit him inside such a vessel.

He finished the pastry in a gulp, watching as the scout ship set neatly down on the near edge of the field. In a moment he began to run.

 

There were three of them standing by the ship in casual uniform when he arrived: a woman and two men, all Liaden, all pilots by their stance and alertness, speaking with a soft Erob official. The official was pointing to a spot of trees and Nelirikk heard, "Fighters . . . only defense left. . ." as he slowly approached the group.

The two men were surely of the elder pilots. One carried a cane, the other grew a mustache on his face, as if he were Terran. Both showed gray in their hair. Both were weeping openly, as the woman stood sober-faced and watchful.

Her eyes widened when she saw him, and she moved a hand, gently and with purpose. The men turned to face him, instantly alert to threat.

Nelirikk saluted.

The Liaden with the mustache—surely the first Nelirikk had seen—stood as if under great strain, face wet with his recent tears. The other man was both more at ease and more dangerous: his eyes quickly touched lieutenant's bar, scarf, Tree-and-Dragon, then lifted to Nelirikk's face.

Momentarily Nelirikk felt as he had when the captain had first walked round him. This one could take his life in a moment if need be. This one, by Jela—

"Nelirikk Explorer, Lieutenant First Lytaxin Irregulars," he stated in the Liaden High Tongue. "May I be of service, scouts?"

The three looked between themselves, and as one, they bowed, equal to equal as he had learned it. The Erob official took this as a good sign and removed herself quickly from the scene.

"Shadia Ne'Zame, Scout Lieutenant, First-In," the woman said, laying her hand over her heart. "Clonak ter'Meulen, Scout Commander," said the man with the most tears. "Forgive my display, Lieutenant. I have heard just now that my daughter died here."

The third looked him over very carefully, and drew from some inner pocket a hand on which gleamed a single, silvery ring. He opened his palm, displaying a pin which was the twin of the Tree-and-Dragon Nelirikk wore.

"I, too, serve Tree-and-Dragon, Nelirikk Explorer, and am at some pains to recall your name among our lists."

Nelirikk stood rooted, as if he faced the very scout, the scout who—

"I am recently recruited, sir. I am personal aide to Captain Miri Robertson, First Lytaxin Irregulars, who is lifemated to Val Con yos'Phelium, Clan Korval. I serve Line yos'Phelium."

Gently, the scout lieutenant sighed. The man with the mustache shook his head, Terran fashion, and looked piercingly at the man with the dragon in his hand.

"Clans revert to type, my friend. So here we have a true Soldier and if that ship over there isn't a Juntavas courier—a pirate, in plain speaking—I'll eat my coord book."

Ignoring his companion's speech, the nameless scout bowed deeply.

"Sir," he said to Nelirikk, "I must put myself in your hands and beg the grace of an introduction to your captain, she who lifemated Val Con yos'Phelium, for I, too, am pledged to line yos'Phelium. Where may she be found?"

"Sir, she is in the infirmary, recovering from wounds received in the recent glorious battle."

"Is she able to speak with me? Or perhaps her lifemate might speak with me."

"The captain is now allowed visitors. I think it likely that she would speak with scouts, although I cannot guarantee. Her lifemate. . ."

He paused, recalling what had been brought out of the Pilot Elite fighter.

There was sudden bleakness in the air, and the face he looked down upon was very close to one he knew in its bland intensity.

"Her lifemate, sir, is in the sealed autodoc. The medical technicians expect he may be able to speak next week, and perhaps in a month to walk."

The air warmed, the face before him all but smiled.

"Then I am persuaded you should take me to his lady with all speed." And abruptly the shift came, from High Liaden into the tongue of the Troop.

"Soldier, do your duty well, for your charge is a heavy one." He bowed, and the language was again Liaden, in the mode the scout's brother had taught him was called 'Comrade.'

"I am very pleased to see you, Nelirikk Explorer. My name is Daav yos'Phelium."

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