up my box."
"And then pursue the search for the absent Murph?"
"Say!" she said, opening her eyes wide and smiling. "You've got almost as many smarts as a real person!"
To her surprise, he laughed—a sound oddly at variance with his tightly controlled face and unemphatic voice. There was joy in his laugh. Miri filed that information away with the echoes of the music he'd pulled from the 'chora.
"The best course," he said, "is for you to call your friend Liz and explain that you will need your things. Explain also that you will not be coming yourself but will be sending an associate—"
"Wrong."
He shook his head. "Consider it. The risk is less—they may know me; they do know you. And in the time it takes me to accomplish the errand you may be profitably employed in locating Murph." He waved his hand toward the common room.
"The comm is quite adequate. The planet is at your disposal."
She stared into the dregs of her coffee, considering it. Her own life was one thing, but to gamble Liz on the feeling that an undoubtedly deadly stranger meant her well? A Liaden stranger, just for fun. Liadens were known for playing deep: it seemed a source of racial pride. Miri closed her eyes.
Judgement call, Robertson, she said to herself. You trust him at your back or you don't.
She opened her eyes. "Liz hates Liadens."
The straight brows pulled together, his mouth nearly twisted, and he thumped the half-full glass on the table.
"It seems that all the galaxy hates Liadens," he said. He pushed his chair back to balance on two legs, taking a sharp bite out of his strafle.
Somehow, that decided it. Miri rose, deposited her cup in the clean-up slot and headed to the big room.
"I'll call her," she said over her shoulder.
Liz was at home. She was also unhappy to learn that Miri would be sending her "partner," rather than coming to collect the box herself.
"Since when have you had a partner, anyway?" she wanted to know, brown eyes shrewd. "You always played single's odds."
"Times change," Miri told her, trying to sound as if they had.
Liz snorted, eyes softening. "How much trouble you in?"
"More'n last week, less than next. You know how it goes."
Liz did know; she'd been a mercenary herself, after all.
"It can stay here, you know. Might slow you down if you need to get a move on."
"That's so," Miri said. "But I'm going on the Grand Tour. No telling—"
"When you'll be back," Liz finished for her. "Okay, send your partner around. Description? Or do I just hand it over to the first slob says they're here for Redhead's box?"
She grinned. "Short, I guess. Skinny, maybe. Brown hair—needs to be cut. Green eyes. Male." She bit her lip and looked Liz full in the face. "Liaden."
But, to Miri's surprise, Liz only nodded. "I'll be watching for him. Take care of yourself, girl." Her image faded.
Miri turned away from the comm to see Val Con behind her, positioned so that he could see the screen, yet not be seen himself. He had exchanged his coverall for dark leathers and dark shirt. A worn belt was around his waist; equally well-used boots were on his feet.
He did not appear to be armed.
Miri opened her mouth, remembered the primitive little blade that had saved her life, and closed her mouth without comment.
"Your friend expects me."
"You heard it." She hesitated. "Make sure nobody follows you there, okay? Liz and my mother..." She moved her hands, shapelessly. "Liz is all the family I got."
His smile flickered into being. "I will be careful." He gestured, enclosing the apartment in a hand-sweep.
"This is a secure place. There is no need for you to leave. No need for you to let anyone in. I let myself out and let myself back in. You are free to search for Murph via the comm. It is scrambled and traceless."
She tipped her head to one side. "You're telling me I'm safe?"
He half-smiled, shoulders dipping in a gesture she was unsure of. "Forgive me," he murmured, "but, yes, I think
"And then pursue the search for the absent Murph?"
"Say!" she said, opening her eyes wide and smiling. "You've got almost as many smarts as a real person!"
To her surprise, he laughed—a sound oddly at variance with his tightly controlled face and unemphatic voice. There was joy in his laugh. Miri filed that information away with the echoes of the music he'd pulled from the 'chora.
"The best course," he said, "is for you to call your friend Liz and explain that you will need your things. Explain also that you will not be coming yourself but will be sending an associate—"
"Wrong."
He shook his head. "Consider it. The risk is less—they may know me; they do know you. And in the time it takes me to accomplish the errand you may be profitably employed in locating Murph." He waved his hand toward the common room.
"The comm is quite adequate. The planet is at your disposal."
She stared into the dregs of her coffee, considering it. Her own life was one thing, but to gamble Liz on the feeling that an undoubtedly deadly stranger meant her well? A Liaden stranger, just for fun. Liadens were known for playing deep: it seemed a source of racial pride. Miri closed her eyes.
Judgement call, Robertson, she said to herself. You trust him at your back or you don't.
She opened her eyes. "Liz hates Liadens."
The straight brows pulled together, his mouth nearly twisted, and he thumped the half-full glass on the table.
"It seems that all the galaxy hates Liadens," he said. He pushed his chair back to balance on two legs, taking a sharp bite out of his strafle.
Somehow, that decided it. Miri rose, deposited her cup in the clean-up slot and headed to the big room.
"I'll call her," she said over her shoulder.
Liz was at home. She was also unhappy to learn that Miri would be sending her "partner," rather than coming to collect the box herself.
"Since when have you had a partner, anyway?" she wanted to know, brown eyes shrewd. "You always played single's odds."
"Times change," Miri told her, trying to sound as if they had.
Liz snorted, eyes softening. "How much trouble you in?"
"More'n last week, less than next. You know how it goes."
Liz did know; she'd been a mercenary herself, after all.
"It can stay here, you know. Might slow you down if you need to get a move on."
"That's so," Miri said. "But I'm going on the Grand Tour. No telling—"
"When you'll be back," Liz finished for her. "Okay, send your partner around. Description? Or do I just hand it over to the first slob says they're here for Redhead's box?"
She grinned. "Short, I guess. Skinny, maybe. Brown hair—needs to be cut. Green eyes. Male." She bit her lip and looked Liz full in the face. "Liaden."
But, to Miri's surprise, Liz only nodded. "I'll be watching for him. Take care of yourself, girl." Her image faded.
Miri turned away from the comm to see Val Con behind her, positioned so that he could see the screen, yet not be seen himself. He had exchanged his coverall for dark leathers and dark shirt. A worn belt was around his waist; equally well-used boots were on his feet.
He did not appear to be armed.
Miri opened her mouth, remembered the primitive little blade that had saved her life, and closed her mouth without comment.
"Your friend expects me."
"You heard it." She hesitated. "Make sure nobody follows you there, okay? Liz and my mother..." She moved her hands, shapelessly. "Liz is all the family I got."
His smile flickered into being. "I will be careful." He gestured, enclosing the apartment in a hand-sweep.
"This is a secure place. There is no need for you to leave. No need for you to let anyone in. I let myself out and let myself back in. You are free to search for Murph via the comm. It is scrambled and traceless."
She tipped her head to one side. "You're telling me I'm safe?"
He half-smiled, shoulders dipping in a gesture she was unsure of. "Forgive me," he murmured, "but, yes, I think
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