Free Hellspark by Janet Kagan Page B

the northern style.
    Tocohl made the northern gesture of greeting and introduced herself.
    “Yes, yes,” Kejesli responded. He returned the gesture automatically but he spoke in GalLing’, his voice impatient. “You came because of Tinling Alfvaen?”
    “No. I came at the request of swift-Kalat twis Jalakat of Jenje.”
    “What is it you want?”
    “Your permission to land, and proper coordinates for a skiff.”
    “Permission denied,” said Kejesli.
    The words chilled her, even as Alfvaen gripped her arm convulsively. Permission to land on a planet this late in survey should have been a formality, Tocohl knew. She gripped Alfvaen’s hand, answering convulsion with firmness, and waited, frowning slightly, for the bad news.
    “Quarantined? Are you quarantined? Whatzh—what has-s happened?” Alfvaen demanded of him, the shock of his refusal making her slur violently despite every effort to speak plainly.
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    Kejesli jerked his head violently, starting a stormy rattle. “No, Alfvaen! Nothing like that!
    We’re taking normal precautions. Everything is all right!” He closed his eyes and rubbed his hands across them as if suddenly he were very tired.
    He said at last, “—No, everything is not all right. We lost Oloitokitok. But, Alfvaen, swift-Kalat is fine. There is nothing to worry about.”
    “Then why won’t you let us-ss land?” demanded Alfvaen.
    “It is my prerogative.” His hand came up, the Sheveschkem shrug.
    There was a single sharp movement to her side and Tocohl turned. Alfvaen stood, rigid, her right arm shoulder high, her forearm parallel to her chest. The fringe shivered with the tension of her body. “
    This is your choice, then! Look on me, child of fools!”
    She had spoken in Siveyn, but it was clear from Kejesli’s horrified expression that he knew what had happened. Tocohl addressed Kejesli brusquely in his own language, as if translating Alfvaen’s words:
    “Your whim prevents her from fulfilling her obligation to swift-Kalat. She will challenge you if you do not reconsider your action. She’s angry enough to do it, too. And if she goes to a full challenge and you don’t give her satisfaction, you’ll never be able to work with a Siveyn again.
    And she’d have judgment on her side; there would be no recourse. Is it worth that much?”
    Kejesli jerked his eyes away from Alfvaen. “Veschke’s sparks, no!” he said. “How—?”
    “How do you get out of it?” Tocohl finished for him. “—Reverse your decision.” Kejesli frowned and
    Tocohl switched back to GalLing’. “It’s not your prerogative, Captain,” she said. “We have mail.”
    For Kejesli to refuse the delivery of mail for anything short of the planet-wide quarantine he had just denied was unthinkable, and he accepted the excuse Tocohl provided him gratefully. “In that case,” he said, “you have permission to land.”
    Again in Sheveschkem, Tocohl said, “Say to her, This is my choice: that you and I clasp hands and drink together.” Kejesli did so, and although the words came out slightly differently in GalLing’, the effect was good enough. Alfvaen slowly lowered her arm and turned her back to the screen.
    “Well,” Tocohl interpreted in Sheveschkem, “you’re not good enough to drink with, but she’ll forgo the fight.”
    Relief washed his features. Without taking his eyes from Alfvaen, Kejesli went on, “If you’ll link with our computer, Captain Susumo, we’ll transmit the coordinates you need. I suggest that you wait out the storm. Lightning is hazardous in a skiff—or any other small craft, for that matter.”
    “Then give me coordinates for a class 13 trader, if you will.”
    He complied. When she had acknowledged receipt, he said, “I’ll send a daisy-clipper to meet you as soon as the storm passes.” With one last worried look at Alfvaen, Kejesli broke contact.
    Tocohl programmed her landing. While Maggy checked her figures, Tocohl responded to the survey computer’s