Read Online Duty Bound by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee and Steve Miller - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Steve Miller, Sharon Lee and Steve Miller
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was also firm; unafraid, despite the
message she'd clearly imparted: All is not as it seems here.
Yet, despite the image, the recording, and
the records his imagination failed him. Somehow, he thought he had
given over the concept of heir, of blood-child. Certainly, he
should have been well-schooled by his sojourn on the highly
civilized world of Delgado, where the length of all liaisons were
governed by the woman and where the decision to have or not to have
a child was one the father might routinely be unaware of--witness
his mistress's daughter, now blessedly off-planet and in pursuit of
her own life.
Daav picked up the flimsy, staring at the
comely golden face and the vivid green eyes. A Korval face, certain
enough, yet--there was something else. With a pang, he understood a
portion of it: the boy, whoever he was, and however he had gotten
into the scrape announced to the universe at large, was a breathing
portion of Aelliana. Daav projected her face, her hands, her voice
at the image of their son, but that did no better for him--what he
saw was Aelliana.
The boy was only a boy to him, for all they
shared genes and kin.
Daav sighed and laid the picture back on the
pilot's chair. Whoever the boy was, elder kin should surely have
taught him to stay away from the Juntavas. He should have been
given the Diary entries to read. Er Thom knew--who better? Er Thom
should have--but Er Thom was gone.
And in the end the duty had not been done,
the tale had not been told, and here was the result. Briefly he
wondered what other duties he'd left undone...
He'd have to find Clonak. Clonak had later
news. Clonak would know what needed done, now.
He sighed then, rewebbed himself, scanned
the boards, checked the coords he already keyed in from some recess
of his mind, and punched the Jump button.
* * *
THEY'D SLEPT FITFULLY in the unnaturally
silent craft, each sitting a half-watch in a Scout's Nap. What
noises were, were confined to the Momson Cloaks and their wearers.
The Cloaks had a tendency to crinkle when one moved, and though the
upper shoulder placement of the air-pack made wonderful sense when
standing, it required some adjustment to sleep semi-curled in the
command chairs in order not to disturb the airflow.
The wake-up meals were cold trail-packs,
laboriously introduced ito the Cloaks through the ingenious triple
pocket system, a sort of see-through plastic airlock. Since the
Cloaks were basically plastic bags with a few rudimentary "hand
spots" the process was awkward, even for two people.
First the trail-packs were located and then
held in place with lightweight clamps. Then the outer pocket was
opened, with one person pulling lightly on the outer tab and the
one inside the Cloak grasping the side wall of the pocket firmly
and pulling back. The pocket walls separated, and the resultant
bulge had a lip-like seal that was pressed until it opened. The
trail-pack went into the newly opened pocket, and the outside was
resealed.
The second pocket had a seal at what Shadia
thought of as the bottom; by bunching the pocket up from inside it
could be made to open, and the trail-pack was moved into that part
of the pocket, and that seal to the outside pocket pressed tightly;
now there were two seals between vacuum and food. The inner seal,
finally, was opened--puffing up the part of the pocket with the
trail-pack in it--and finally the food was safely inside the
Cloak.
Crumbs being a potential problem, the food
bars were handled gingerly and the water squeezed carefully from
its bulb.
While she ate, Shadia chewed on the problem
of their exact location, with regard to Nev'Lorn 'quarters--and
potential rescue.
While knowing that they'd not left the
Nev'Lorn system was definitely useful, the camera-monitor wasn't
the tool for finding out where they were or, more importantly,
where they were headed. It was impossible to guess how much of
their Intrinsic velocity and flight energy might have been
transferred to the attacking
message she'd clearly imparted: All is not as it seems here.
Yet, despite the image, the recording, and
the records his imagination failed him. Somehow, he thought he had
given over the concept of heir, of blood-child. Certainly, he
should have been well-schooled by his sojourn on the highly
civilized world of Delgado, where the length of all liaisons were
governed by the woman and where the decision to have or not to have
a child was one the father might routinely be unaware of--witness
his mistress's daughter, now blessedly off-planet and in pursuit of
her own life.
Daav picked up the flimsy, staring at the
comely golden face and the vivid green eyes. A Korval face, certain
enough, yet--there was something else. With a pang, he understood a
portion of it: the boy, whoever he was, and however he had gotten
into the scrape announced to the universe at large, was a breathing
portion of Aelliana. Daav projected her face, her hands, her voice
at the image of their son, but that did no better for him--what he
saw was Aelliana.
The boy was only a boy to him, for all they
shared genes and kin.
Daav sighed and laid the picture back on the
pilot's chair. Whoever the boy was, elder kin should surely have
taught him to stay away from the Juntavas. He should have been
given the Diary entries to read. Er Thom knew--who better? Er Thom
should have--but Er Thom was gone.
And in the end the duty had not been done,
the tale had not been told, and here was the result. Briefly he
wondered what other duties he'd left undone...
He'd have to find Clonak. Clonak had later
news. Clonak would know what needed done, now.
He sighed then, rewebbed himself, scanned
the boards, checked the coords he already keyed in from some recess
of his mind, and punched the Jump button.
* * *
THEY'D SLEPT FITFULLY in the unnaturally
silent craft, each sitting a half-watch in a Scout's Nap. What
noises were, were confined to the Momson Cloaks and their wearers.
The Cloaks had a tendency to crinkle when one moved, and though the
upper shoulder placement of the air-pack made wonderful sense when
standing, it required some adjustment to sleep semi-curled in the
command chairs in order not to disturb the airflow.
The wake-up meals were cold trail-packs,
laboriously introduced ito the Cloaks through the ingenious triple
pocket system, a sort of see-through plastic airlock. Since the
Cloaks were basically plastic bags with a few rudimentary "hand
spots" the process was awkward, even for two people.
First the trail-packs were located and then
held in place with lightweight clamps. Then the outer pocket was
opened, with one person pulling lightly on the outer tab and the
one inside the Cloak grasping the side wall of the pocket firmly
and pulling back. The pocket walls separated, and the resultant
bulge had a lip-like seal that was pressed until it opened. The
trail-pack went into the newly opened pocket, and the outside was
resealed.
The second pocket had a seal at what Shadia
thought of as the bottom; by bunching the pocket up from inside it
could be made to open, and the trail-pack was moved into that part
of the pocket, and that seal to the outside pocket pressed tightly;
now there were two seals between vacuum and food. The inner seal,
finally, was opened--puffing up the part of the pocket with the
trail-pack in it--and finally the food was safely inside the
Cloak.
Crumbs being a potential problem, the food
bars were handled gingerly and the water squeezed carefully from
its bulb.
While she ate, Shadia chewed on the problem
of their exact location, with regard to Nev'Lorn 'quarters--and
potential rescue.
While knowing that they'd not left the
Nev'Lorn system was definitely useful, the camera-monitor wasn't
the tool for finding out where they were or, more importantly,
where they were headed. It was impossible to guess how much of
their Intrinsic velocity and flight energy might have been
transferred to the attacking
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