The doorchime sounded loud in the cluttered room. Frowning, Liz lowered her book and raised her head, listening to the tinny echoes fade and die. She listened a moment longer, then bent again to her book.
The doorchime sounded.
Taking her time about it, she slipped a marker into the book, laid it atop several other bound volumes on the table beside her and levered out of the chair.
The echoes of the third chime were still fresh when she pulled open the front door to look out. And down.
Large violet eyes thickly fringed with dark gold lashes looked up at her. "Angela Lizardi?" The voice was as lovely as the eyes, low and seductively accented.
Liz nodded.
"I hope you will forgive this imposition," said her caller, apparently oblivious to Liz's lack of cordiality. "I am come on behalf of Miri Robertson. You are her friend. I thought you might consent to—help."
Liz frowned and took a moment to consider the rest of the face: high cheeks, pointed chin, biggish mouth, complexion carrying the faintest blush of Liaden gold. The shoulder-length hair was a richer gold, but not as dark as the long lashes.
She pulled the door wider and stepped back. "Come in," she said, and it sounded like a command in her own ears.
Her caller seemed to find nothing amiss in her manner; she stepped inside and waited patiently while Liz locked the door, then followed her back to the main room.
Liz sat in her chair and the little woman stood before her, putting her forcefully in mind of the last person to stand there. "Redhead's Liaden," she called him in her head, since he hadn't told her any name. Liz very nearly snorted. Liadens.
"Well," she snapped at this one, "you got my name. Let's have yours."
"I am Nova yos'Galan," the woman said readily, and it seemed she was on the verge of something else, but stopped herself. Liz saw her right hand move, thumb rubbing over the ring on her second finger.
"And you're here on behalf of Redhead," she prompted.
"On behalf of Redhead," the other repeated slowly, and moved her head, sharply. "Miri Robertson. And also on behalf of her lifemate."
Liz blinked. "Redhead ain't married," she said flatly. "Not her style."
"Her partner, then," the golden woman persisted. "A dark man—green eyes. . ." She reached into a sleeve-pocket, offered a rectangle of doubled plastic.
Liz took it; sighed at the hologram it enclosed. Well, at least she'd find out his name.
"Or her friend," the Liaden was saying, softly, almost pleadingly. "They were together. . ."
"He was here," Liz admitted at last, looking from the picture to her visitor and back again. Even given the difference in coloring, the resemblance was striking. She handed the 'gram back.
"Relative of yours, is it?"
"My brother," Nova said softly. "He was here some time ago, I think. Perhaps as much as a Standard?"
"No more'n six, eight months." She shrugged. "Redhead sent him by to collect something. Her partner, is what she told me."
"So." The word was a hiss of satisfaction. "They were pursued at that time, though I am not certain of the nature of the trouble. It is known that they left planet, traveling together; that they disappeared together. . ."
"Then you know more than I do," Liz said. "Last I heard, he thought they'd be able to outrun whatever mess they were in. Said when Redhead left he was going with her. Glad to hear they got off Lufkit. He seemed sound enough, and Redhead's no slack." She frowned. "But you're saying they didn't get wide of it."
"No. I am saying that they are presently—missing. They are not in places one would expect; they have not contacted appropriate persons. My brother has sent no word to his clan, or to—others."
Liz straightened in her chair. "That means they're dead." It was suddenly hard to breathe, thinking of Miri dead.
"No," said Nova yos'Galan again; "only that they are missing. There are indications that they may be missing for good cause. That they dare not send messages." She took a breath. "I must ask a question of you, Angela Lizardi. Forgive the necessity."
"OK," said Liz, still trying to figure what kind of trouble was that much trouble, and where the girl would go to ground.
"It is in my mind," Nova murmured, "that Miri Robertson is Liaden. My eldest brother tells me that it sometimes does happen that a half-blooded—even a full-blooded—Liaden will be born on—an outworld. Will have papers stamped 'Mutated within acceptable limits.'"
Liz sat very still, staring at the lovely face before her, while her mind's eye conjured up another face: Katy's face; worn to fine, supple gold, stretched over a fragile bone frame.
"Redhead's part Liaden," she said slowly. "Robertson was Terran, no question. Katy could've been half-Liaden, could've been full—she never said and I never asked. Don't even know for sure if she told the kid. Not the kind of thing you tell your kid, if you figured her to be stuck on Surebleak for the rest of her life."
"But Miri Robertson left Surebleak!" Nova snapped. "Do you know the name of the clan? Katalina Tayzin? There is no such name within the clans, though a few might be possible, given accent, vowel shifts. . ."
Liz hesitated; thought again of Redhead dead. "Something," she said, grudgingly. "Katy had a thing. . ." She closed her eyes, reaching for the memory. "Gaudy thing," she muttered. "Flat disk. Enamel work. Fine stuff—that's what I know now. Probably Liaden. Liadens do that kind of work—so fine you can hardly see the wires holding in the colors. Lots of colors. . ." She shook her head. "Never did make any sense of it."
"It looked like this?" Nova held her ring out, room lights skidding off bronze scales and green leaves. Liz narrowed her eyes.
"Like that," she allowed. "Different design, but that's the idea."
"Ah." The Liaden woman nodded as if to herself. "Then Miri Robertson is descended from one in the line direct. The search becomes simpler."
"That a fact."
Nova glanced up sharply. "Do you recall the design of this disk your friend had, Angela Lizardi? If—"
"I'd know it if I saw it again," Liz said lazily, watching through half-slitted eyes. "What're you gonna do now?"
"Run a search across all clans, specifying disappearances of those in the line direct within the last—sixty—Standards. That done, I shall try to match 'Tayzin' and, if the luck is willing, my brother shall be found."
"Not exactly encouraging." Liz stood. "OK, let's go."
Nova stared. "Angela Lizardi, I regret—"
"Don't have to. Redhead's my kin, near as I have any kin, and she's in trouble. Seems to me you're just a little more concerned with recovering this brother of yours than you are about what happened to her. Come here snatching at vapor-trails, thinking the thing's solved because you got a wisp of something to start a computer scan with—" She shook her head. "Seems like I got a responsibility to go along and assist the campaign, if you know what I mean. Make sure Redhead gets a fair shake, if and when we turn the pair of 'em up."
"It may be dangerous," Nova said flatly.
Liz shrugged. "I ain't out of practice with a gun, and I figure I still know a trick or two, hand-to-hand." She looked down into her visitor's lovely, cold face. "Eldema, your brother called me. That's 'first speaker,' right?"
Nova nodded.
"So, if one of my clan's missing and likely in some kind of jam, then I got a clear-cut obligation, don't I? As First Speaker?"
A pause, followed by a sigh.
"That is exactly correct, Angela Lizardi. The obligations of First Speaker are quite clear." Another sigh, and a glance at the watch she wore strapped to her wrist. "When can you be ready to leave?"
"Just let me get my kit," said Liz.