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Fledgling
...A Liaden Universe® Adventure
by
Sharon Lee and Steve Miller
...the story of Theo Waitley and how she came to have a "kind of complicated" problem to lay before the delm of Korval.
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Chapter Seven
Auctorial Discursion the First
"Where," Ella hissed, as shoving a glass into Kamele's hand and grabbing her elbow, "have you been?"
"Rehearsal," Kamele hissed back, allowing herself to
be steered into one of the dimmer corners of the reception hall.
"Rehearsal?" Ella repeated blankly, and then,
more sharply, "You're late for the Dean's Reception because of a choir rehearsal? Have you lost your mind?"
It was, Kamele acknowledged, taking a sip from her glass, a fair question.
"I didn't think it was going to last so long," she
said mildly, and made a show of scanning the room. Scholars as
far as the eye could see, the ranks of formal blue robes broken here
and there by the brilliant yellow of a Director's coat.
"So," she asked, "where is he?"
"Your collar's crooked," her friend answered. "And your robe isn't sealed."
Kamele raised her glass, taking care to sip. She wasn't nearly as cool as she wanted Ella to see -- junior faculty simply were not
late to a Dean's Reception. And most definitely junior faculty
did not over drink at a Dean's Reception. That was for after.
"Kamele..."
She sighed and put the glass into Ella's hands,
turned so that she faced the corner Ella had thoughtfully claimed for
them, yanked the rumpled collar straight and slid her finger down the
robe's front seam. Then she twirled once, slowly, as her friend's
face threatened to add a wrinkle on the spot.
"All tidy, now, Mother?" she asked, taking the
glass back and having another sip. She was, she told herself,
calm. She had not missed the reception, and that was the
important thing.
Well, one of the important things.
"Where is he?" she asked again.
"Who?" Ella blinked at her, and Kamele sighed.
"The new senior faculty member. Double -- or
is it triple? -- Professor Kiladi. The Gallowglass Chair,
remember? The reason this reception went to the top of your social
calendar for the class year?"
"Oh," Ella said, "him." She sipped her drink
before nodding in an easterly direction. "Over at the receiving
stand, last I saw. Looks stiff and chilly and stern. He'll
fit right in with the rest of the tenured."
Kamele grinned.
"I do feel for him," her friend
continued; "just a bit. His back has got to hurt like
destruction. Mine would, after all those bows."
"Bows?"
"One for each of the seniors, as they passed by on
review," Ella said. "Very elegant, each one. The Dean
and Director Varlin were positively aghast, you could tell by
the way they just stood there next to him, like they'd been dipped in
plastic and left to dry. I suppose they didn't go over protocol
with him, or expect that he'd bring his own with."
Kamele choked a little on her sherry.
"Did you introduce yourself?" she asked.
"I was waiting for you," Ella said.
"That was noble." Kamele had a last sip of sherry
and regretfully placed the nearly full glass on the nearby tray.
"Since I'm here, I guess we'd better do our duty and introduce
ourselves, so we can be promptly forgotten."
"What else are junior faculty for?" Ella asked
rhetorically, placing her glass on the tray as well. "Waste of
perfectly good sherry," she muttered, as she slipped her arm through
Kamele's and the two of them stepped out into the light.
This is more tedious than receiving the guests at your sister's Festival Eve ball, the voice only he could hear commented.
It was fairly said, he allowed, bowing yet again,
this time to a sandy haired woman with trembling hands. As much
as he might otherwise deplore her, even he acknowledged that his sister
possessed impeccable taste.
The sleeves of the sandy haired woman's blue robe
were innocent of braid, which marked her as junior faculty. Her name,
which she offered in a trembling whisper, was Irthyn Jonis,
"Comparative Mythology."
"Scholar Jonis," he murmured, and she smiled nervously, dipped her head and made an escape.
He straightened, one hand resting lightly on the
head of his stick. A very good stick it was, black ironwood,
collared in silver; the pistol-grip handle bound in leather, so that it
would not easily escape inattentive fingers. Simple though it
was, it signaled his status to others of the community, and was
otherwise useful.
Do you think, asked the voice inside his head, that's everyone?
It might, he thought, glancing about him, very well
be everyone. He hadn't counted, though he supposed someone might
have. Dean Zorminsen was in deep conversation with First Director
Verlin at some remove from the reviewing station where he and his
auditor stood. Likewise, there were clumps of scholars all about,
none seeming particularly interested in the new tenant of the
prestigious -- no, he was wrong.
Two junior scholars were coming toward him,
arm-in-arm. Lovers, he thought, or at the least old and
comfortable friends, one dark and rounded, the other angular, her hair
a wispy, middling brown. They approached with firm steps, heads
high, the dark-haired one allowing a pinch of cynicism to be seen, her
friend openly curious.
Ah, said the voice inside his head.
The dark-haired scholar slipped her arm free and
stepped forward first, showing him the palms opened like a book, which
was the style here.
"Ella ben Suzan," she said, in a fine, no-nonsense voice, "History of Education."
He bowed the bow between equals.
"Scholar ben Suzan," he murmured, committing name and face to memory.
She gave him a firm nod and stepped aside, tarrying a half-dozen steps out to await her friend.
"Kamele Waitley," said the friend, bringing pale
hands together to form the open book. "History of Education."
Ella ben Suzan's voice had been fine, but to hear
Kamele Waitley speak was to wish for her to speak again, perhaps to
recite some poetry or --
"You are a singer, Scholar Waitley?" he asked.
Blue eyes widened, a flush stained her pale cheeks,
and her shoulders stiffened beneath her robe. For an instant, he
thought that he had overstepped the bounds of custom, but she recovered
herself with a slight smile.
"I'm a member of a chorale," she acknowledged.
"Recreational only, of course. My studies are my life's
work."
"Certainly," he said carefully, "study illuminates
the lives of all scholars. Yet there must be room for recreation
as well, and joy in those things which are not study. I myself
find a certain pleasure in...outdoor pursuits." The smile he
offered was a mirror of her own.
"Outdoor?" She looked at him doubtfully. "Outside the Wall?"
He raised an eyebrow. "There is a whole planet
outside the Wall," he murmured. "Surely you were aware?"
Blue eyes sparkled, though her demeanor remained
grave. "I've heard it said," she replied. "But tell me --
what manner of pleasure may be had outside of the Wall?"
"Why, all manner!" he declared, pleased with
her. "Gardening, fishing, walking among the trees and growing
things, watching the sun set, or the stars rise..."
"Watching the sun set?" Another doubtful look. "That seems a very ...fleeting pleasure."
"I have heard it argued that the highest pleasures
are ephemeral, and best enjoyed in retrospect," he said, the voice
inside his head crying out, Not so! "Though there are those of us who disagree."
Kamele Waitley glanced to one side. Following
her gaze, he saw that her friend had left them, moving away in company
of a tall, bluff scholar, the braid on his sleeve gleaming new, and
felt a pang for her own loss of pleasure.
"Forgive me," he began, but she shook quick fingers
at him -- a meaningless gesture, though for a split-second he
thought....
"I think we must have been the last faculty to
introduce ourselves," she said seriously. "Would you like a glass
of the Dean's sherry?"
As it happened, he had previously had a glass of the
Dean's sherry and found it execrable, though he could hardly say so --
and besides, Kamele Waitley was still talking.
"I'd like to learn more about the pleasures of watching the sun set, if you'd be kind enough to teach me."
Some time later, with the hall all but empty, they
were still talking. Ella, thought Kamele, had done Professor
Kiladi an injustice. She found him upright, rather than stiff;
and his manner off-world rather than cool. But Ella had an eye
for pretty, compliant men, and pretty Professor Kiladi was
not. The best that could be said of him was that he had an interesting face. Kamele found it became more interesting -- found him
more interesting -- as they continued to talk. The black eyes
were quick, and the humor disguised by the deep, rough voice
surprisingly -- and enjoyably -- wicked. It was probable, Kamele
conceded, that Professor Kiladi was something ...less than... compliant.
"I have undertaken the impossible!" he said at last,
with a rueful smile and a regretful shake of his head. "I
cannot teach you a sunset, Scholar. You must experience it at first-hand."
Kamele put her -- second? third? -- empty glass down
on the tray and considered him. "All right," she said
equitably. "Show me."
Both well-marked brows rose, and he lifted a hand,
the twisted silver ring on his smallest finger catching the light.
"Scholar, you must forgive an old man his --"
He paused, his expression arrested, seeming scarcely
to breathe. Concerned, Kamele dared to touch his deeply braided
sleeve.
"Professor Kiladi, are you all right?"
He blinked as if he were bringing her back into
focus and gave her a smile that seemed... less genuine than his other
smiles.
"A consultation with my muse; I did not mean to
alarm you." He glanced down into his half-full glass, then up
into her face.
"If you wish it, I will be pleased to show you a
sunset, Scholar Waitley. We merely need to find a time when our
schedules -- and the planet's rotation -- align."
* * *
Nota bene: If this were actually a chapter,
rather than an exploration of deep background, there would be a break
here. Since this is a discursion and we don't think it's fair to
keep you from the main action of the story for too very long, we are
continuing the exploration below this note, and ask our readers to
please pretend that the forthcoming is the beginning of a new
chapter. Only the final book -- as approved by an editor -- will
determine if this section remains, is independent, or is removed.
Thank you.
We now return to our story.
* * *
It was easier in the dark. In the dark, he
could imagine that she was lying beside him, her voice a murmur
accessible to the outer ears. Sometimes, in the dark, for whole
minutes at a time, he could imagine her head on his shoulder, a silken
leg thrown over his...
"Aelliana," he said now, staring up into the darkness. "What are you planning?"
Planning, van'chela?
He snorted lightly. "No, that will not do, minx. Tell me -- what necessity drives us to escort Scholar Waitley to a local sunset?"
She asked so nicely, his dead lifemate said. Besides, I like her. Don't you like her, Daav?
"She's well enough."
Oh, clench-fisted, van'chela! she chided him. How has the scholar offended you?
He sighed, and closed his eyes against the darkness.
"The scholar is blameless," he admitted, ashamed of
his churlishness. "Indeed, I enjoyed our discussion, and would, I
feel, enjoy another. She has a ready wit and seems not so bound
by local culture as...others of my colleagues."
"In fact," Aelliana murmured, "she might well be someone who could become a good friend."
"I did not," he said tiredly, "come here to make friends."
Indeed you did not. I only ask you to pity
poor Professor Kiladi, separated from clan and kin, wholly unsupported
in a strange and cloistered environment. A man in such
circumstances might have need of a friend -- or even two.
"Professor Kiladi is a fabrication, my lady..."
Professor Kiladi has published widely, his scholarship is noteworthy, and his achievements undeniable, Aelliana said tartly. He
is a work of art, van'chela; a work of art with a heart and a soul,
sorrows and joys. You owe him at the least a brother's
care, yet you drive him and make demands of him and allow him not a
single joy or pleasure. I never knew you to be so meager,
Daav. It troubles me. Indeed, it troubles me deeply.
Tears pricked his eyes -- his or hers, it scarcely
mattered. Nor did it matter that the fabrication of Jen Sar
Kiladi had begun as a game, to see how long he could sustain a entirely
imaginary person before he blundered and his deception was uncovered.
Twenty years, three degrees, and dozens of scholarly
papers later, he was as yet undiscovered, and Jen Sar Kiladi was every
bit as alive as -- as Daav yos'Phelium.
...or perhaps more.
Daav?
"Aelliana..." he gasped, the slow tears suddenly fast and hot. "Aelliana...."
He twisted, burying his face in the flat pillow,
sobbing, and seeing it all, all again -- the common port crowd, the
flash, her hair swirling as she leapt to shield him, the blood, the
blood...
Some time later, as he lay shivering and exhausted,
he felt her stroke his hair, then slip close and put her arms around
him. And so at last he fell asleep, imagining that she held him.
"Thank you," Kamele Waitley breathed, her eyes still
on the violet-drenched horizon. "That was..." Words seemed
to fail her; she smiled slightly and turned to face him. "Thank
you," she said again.
He returned her smile, warmed by her pleasure.
"It was no effort of mine, I assure you," he
said. "You might experience a sunset yourself every day, if you
wished to do so."
"Not every day," she said wistfully. "You saw my schedule!"
"So I did," he acknowledged. "But the fact
that you are here proves that there is at least one evening when you
may partake of this pleasure."
She nodded, her eyes drawn again to the horizon, where the gaudy display was deepening to black.
"And this is only one of those pleasures you told me
of," she said. "Is watching the stars as...glorious?"
"The stars impart a different, but I find, equally satisfying pleasure," he said softly.
"I imagine that it would be difficult to time that
particular pleasure," she murmured. "Night Eyes open at tenbell."
"Surely the monitors would not consider someone quietly sitting and looking at the sky a danger?"
She shrugged. "It would be ...odd behavior,
even if it wasn't specifically on the danger list," she pointed
out. "For the purpose of public safety, odd is dangerous."
Gods, he thought, and nestled his chin atop his
hands, which were folded on the grip of his cane. Well, and he
had known Delgado was a Safe World. It was also the site of one
of the premier catalyst schools in the galaxy, which was essential to
his purpose.
"What are you thinking?" Kamele Waitley asked softly.
"Eh?" He blinked and raised his head, offering her a smile in Balance for his inattention.
"I was thinking that perhaps I should acquire quarters outside of the Wall."
She turned to stare at him. "Outside of the Wall?" she repeated, as if such a thing was barely thinkable.
"Indeed. A small house, perhaps, down there
--" He pointed downhill from their shared seat on the bench in
the so-called faculty "garden."
"In Nonactown?"
"Not in Efraim itself," he murmured; "the lights
would spoil the stars. No, I think over there, to the right of
town. A small house, with a walled garden, so that I might sit
out all night if the fancy takes me, without embarrassment to the
directors."
"Would you do that?" She sounded somewhat doubtful.
He smiled at her. "I have, alas, been known to take odd fancies. Shall I escort you inside now?"
"Not ...just yet," she said, looking down at the lights of the town. "A garden? To grow...crops?"
He laughed. "Flowers, I assure you!
Perhaps some shrubs. A tree..." He took a breath against a
sudden stab of longing for the garden at home, lost to him now in the
necessity of his Balance.
"Is that another -- Outside pleasure? Growing flowers?"
"I fear that it may be," he confessed lightly, and
watched the side of her face, wondering what she might say next.
"I would like to see that," she said finally.
"I would be delighted to invite you, once all is accomplished," he answered gallantly.
"Good. I'd be delighted to accept the
invitation." She smiled and rose. "I need to go in and grade papers,"
she said, sounding regretful. She held out a hand and he placed
his palm against hers. "Thank you again, Professor Kiladi."
"Please," he heard himself say, as if from a small remove, "let me be Jen Sar."
Another smile, this one wide and pleased. "And let me be Kamele," she said.
"Assuredly," he murmured, in control of his voice
once more. He offered his arm, and together they strolled back
toward the Wall.
* * *
Nota bene: Likely there would be another break here. But,
as before, we continue. Only a little bit more to go now...just
one more scene that begs to be written, having come this far, and all.
* * *
Kamele spun on her toes in the center of the common
room, looking down into the floor mosaic. Leaves, and birds, and
cunning furred animals moved beneath her feet.
"I thought you said small," she laughed, as he came into the room, wine glasses in hand.
He lifted an eyebrow and looked about, as if just discovering his environment.
"Small," he said, stepping forward and offering her a glass, "is a relative term.
"The house I grew up in was larger." He looked
about again, and bowed gently. "Many times larger, in fact." He
sipped wine and shook his head. "Of course, it enclosed the clan
entire."
Liad, Kamele thought, raising her own glass, was
certainly a strange place, with an abundance of odd customs. She
would have gladly heard more of those customs, but Jen Sar was
disinclined to talk much about the world he had left. Kamele
theorized some disagreement with the directors of his kin group, which
had resulted in his taking up the role of traveling scholar, until
nomination to the Gallowglass Chair brought him to Delgado.
"And can you see the stars from your garden?" she teased him.
"I can," he answered with a gravity that was belied by the quirk of a brow. "Shall I show you?"
She hesitated, then covered her hesitation with
another sip of wine. "That would be lovely," she murmured; "but
the stars rise late, don't they? I need to be back to the Wall
before --"
"Yes, of course." He hitched a hip onto the
arm of the couch and looked about him, glass held casually in long,
clever fingers.
Kamele bit her lip and walked over to sit near his
perch. He looked down at her, smiling, and her stomach tightened.
Her friendship with Jen Sar Kiladi had grown deeper
over the last two semesters; the pleasure she took in his company as
surprising as it was satisfying. But Ella was right, she
acknowledged. Satisfying as it was, it was time to alter their
relationship, or cut the association entirely. People were
beginning to talk, the moreso since Jen Sar had declined Professor
Skilings' offer. She'd heard from Skilings' assistant, who had
been working, forgotten, in the next room when the offer was made, that
Jen Sar had professed himself honored, obliged, and desolated not to be
able to accommodate her.
Skilings had not been pleased. No one had ever
turned her offer down, not, so rumor went, since she'd moved to
TopThree. Mortified, she looked about her for a reason for Jen
Sar's refusal -- and her eye had inevitably fallen on Associate
Professor Kamele Waitley, who spent a great deal of time in the company
of a very senior scholar. And, as Ella so reasonably pointed out,
Kamele could not afford to have Skilings as an enemy. It would be
best for everyone, Ella said, for Kamele to end the friendship.
Ella, Kamele reminded herself, liked pretty men.
"Jen Sar..." she began, sounding breathless to herself.
He lifted an eyebrow. "Yes, my friend?"
"I... that is..." Her voice failed her
entirely, and she looked away, biting her lip. It wasn't as if
she was inexperienced! She'd had two previous onagrata, not
counting her Gigneri pairing -- and here she was acting like a green
girl, stumbling over her first offer!
"Kamele?" Jen Sar's deep voice carried concern. "Are you well?"
"Yes, I -- yes." She leaned forward and
awkwardly put the wine glass on the side table with a bit of a clatter,
then turned to face him, looking up into his sharp, unhandsome
face. She took a breath.
"Jen Sar," she said firmly, her hands firmly in her
lap, fingers laced tightly. "It would be ...an honor to accept
you as onagrata."
Both eyebrows rose, his lips parted -- and then
there was that moment of arrested movement that had become familiar to
her, and the odd feeling that Jen Sar had ...stepped away... from
himself --
Abruptly, he smiled, a sweet, open expression she
had never before seen from him, and echoed her placing of wine glass on
table, though his placement was sure and silent.
"Tra'sia, cha'leken!" he said gladly, and bent down to kiss her on the mouth.
Strictly speaking, she should have initiated the
kiss, but Kamele found she didn't mind that he had taken the
lead. Indeed, it was some time before she could speak, and some
little while more until she cared to.
"What did you say?" she murmured, her cheek snuggled against his shoulder. "Before you ...kissed me?"
Jen Sar sighed lightly, and she felt him lay his cheek against her hair.
"A Liaden -- expression of joy," he murmured, while
inside his head Aelliana laughed, and crooned the words once more.
Welcome, sister!
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Fledgling in serialized format is a draft. This
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Who are we?
Sharon Lee
and Steve Miller are the authors of a dozen collaborative science
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drop by the Liaden Universe® website.
Base page created December 1, 2006 by Sharon Lee
Chapter updated March 12, 2007
technical revision posted April 7, 2007
Update March 15, 2008, 12:21 p.m. EDT
copyright © 2006-2007 by Sharon Lee and Steve Miller
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