"Ephemeral and multistranded, it wends through time, space, and song," the voice boomed, "altering the very fabric of the universe. As I see, each day brings a new thread."
Abruptly, the path ended, but that was fine. Right before her was the tree, and—it must be a Clutch turtle! She'd never seen one—well, hardly anyone had. Her eyes on this wonder, Theo stumbled on a surface root, recovered—and almost stumbled again.
Almost invisible beside the Clutch turtle, two people stood hand in hand. They turned, as if they'd heard her stumble, pilot smooth and perfectly in time.
More guards, Theo thought. She continued, carefully, across the root-rumpled lawn. When she judged she was at the proper distance, for people who wanted to talk to Liadens who were neither kin nor comrades, she bowed, as from junior to senior.
Straightening, she found the phrase in Liaden, which she'd've given to the guard at the gate, if he hadn't thrown her by speaking Terran.
"It is necessary that I speak to the Delm of Korval, on business of the clan."
The woman—red hair, grey eyes, and just visibly pregnant—nodded, did a double-take, and looked up to the man.
"Another one?"
Theo tensed.
"Shall you like odds?" he asked, his voice soft. He gave Theo a nod, like they were pilots chance-met on port.
"You are addressing the Delm of Korval," he said in unaccented Terran. "May we know your name?"
Here we go again.
"Theo Waitley," she said, groping after the concise statement she'd put together and memorized.
It was gone—and the guy was looking at her, face oddly familiar, and green eyes serious.
"I'm here because my father's missing," she blurted. "And he told me—he always told me—to go to the Delm of Korval, if ever there was really bad trouble."
She paused, running one hand distractedly through her hair.
Finish what you started, she told herself. Then go on to the rest.
"My father's name is Jen Sar Kiladi," she told the pair of them—were they both the Delm of Korval? Or had she muddled that, too? "He teaches—"
"He teaches cultural genetics," the man interrupted gently, and Theo felt a twist of hope. Father was known here!
"Right," she said. "I mean, you might not think it was a big problem, if your father wasn't where you left him—" What was she saying?
"No, acquit me," the man said. "I would think it a very large problem, indeed."
Was he laughing at her? "He's never done anything like this before—just up and left, in the midle of the term and—"
She stopped, took a breath and forced herself to say calmly, "I got trouble, and since I can't find him . . ."
The man was looking beyond her, and the woman, too—was there a guard behind her? Had she lost her chance, Win Ton and Bechimo, with any chance of finding Father?
"Theo," the man said, in his soft voice. "Look behind you."
Stupid! she told herself, and did as he ordered.
A man was walking over the uneven grass; she didn't need the jacket to see that he was a pilot. Dark hair going grey, angular, interesting face—
"Father!"
She leapt, slamming him into a full body hug, feeling the tears, and the joy, and—
"Father, where the hell have you been?"
Strong arms were around her, then she felt him tousle her hair, like she was a kid, and set her back from him.
"I've been busy, child," he said. He paused, and shook his head, a half smile on his lips.
"I can't tell you how glad I am to see you, Theo. And sorry, as well."
"Sorry!" She stared at him, suddenly afraid, recalling bar stories told of Liaden Balances and lives called forfeit over matters of trade . . .
Father touched her cheek.
"Gently," he murmured. "Sorry because you would not be here if there wasn't really bad trouble."
She nodded. "It's kind of complicated," she began . . .
THE END
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