Free Local Custom by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee Page B

wing," should be taken as a word to the wise.

    —From "A Terran's Guide to Liad"

     

    SHAN ACCEPTED THE surrey ride with the cheerful matter-of-factness that seemed his chiefest characteristic. He settled into the oversized seat next to Er Thom, pulled off his cap and announced, "Jerzy Quad C. C. Three. Seven. Five. Two. A. Four. Nine. C."

    Fingers over the simple code-board, Er Thom flung a startled glance at the child, who continued, "Rilly Quad T. T. One. Eight. Seven. Eight. P. Three. Six. T."

    "And home?" Er Thom murmured.

    "Home Quad S," Shan said without hesitation. "S. Two. Four. Five. Seven. Z. One. Eight. S."

    Correct to a digit. Er Thom inclined his head gravely. "Very good. But today we are going elsewhere. A moment, please." He tapped the appropriate code into the board and leaned back, pulling the single shock-strap across his lap and Shan's together and locking it into place.

    The child snuggled against his side with a soft sigh and put a small brown hand on Er Thom's knee.

    "Who?" he asked and Er Thom stiffened momentarily, wondering how best—

    The child stirred under his arm, twisting about to look into his face with stern silver eyes. "Who are you?" he demanded. "Name."

    Er Thom let out the breath he had been holding. "Mirada," he said, the Low Liaden word for "father". "My name is Er Thom yos'Galan, Clan Korval."

    The white brows pulled together. " Mirada ?" he said, hesitantly.

    "Mirada," Er Thom replied firmly, settling his arm closer around the small body and leaning back into the awkward seat.

    The boy curled once more against his side. "Where we go?"

    Er Thom closed his eyes, feeling his son's warm body burning into his side, thinking of Anne, and of love, and the demands of melant'i.

    "To the spaceport."

     

    DRAGON'S WAY admitted them, hatch lifting silently. Beyond, the lights came up, the life-systems cycled to full, and the piloting board initiated primary self-check.

    Shan hesitated on the edge of the piloting chamber, small hand tensing in Er Thom's larger one.

    "Mirada?"

    "Yes, my child?"

    "Go home."

    "Presently," Er Thom replied, taking half a step into the room.

    "Go home now ," the boy insisted, voice keying toward panic.

    "Shan." Er Thom spun and went to his knees, one hand cupping a thin brown cheek. "Listen to me, denubia. We shall go home very soon, I promise. But you must first help me to do a thing, all right?"

    "Do?" Doubtful silver eyes met his for an unnervingly long moment.

    "All right," Shan said at last, adding, "sparkles."

    He lifted a hand to touch Er Thom's cheek. "Soft." He grinned. "Jerzy prickles."

    Er Thom bit his lip. Jerzy Entaglia would be bearded, Terran male that he was. But why should Er Thom yos'Galan's son be familiar with the feel of an outsider's face?

    He sighed, and forced himself to think beyond the initial outrage. Jerzy Entaglia stood in some way the child's foster-father. The success of his efforts in that role was before Er Thom now: Alert, intelligent, good-natured and bold-hearted. What should Er Thom yos'Galan accord Jerzy Entaglia, save all honor, and thanks for a gift precious beyond price?

    "Come," he said to his son, very gently. He rose and took the small hand again in his, leading the boy into the ship. This time, there was no resistance.

     

    SHAN SAT ON A stool by the autodoc, watching curiously as Er Thom rolled up his sleeve and sprayed antiseptic on his hand and arm.

    "Cold!"

    "Only for a moment," Er Thom murmured, tapping the command sequence into the autodoc's panel. He looked down at his son and slipped a hand under the chin to tip the small face up. "This may hurt you, a little. Can you be very brave?"

    Shan gave it consideration. "I'll try."

    "Good." Er Thom went down on one knee by the stool and put his arm around Shan's waist. The other hand he used to guide the child's fingers into the 'doc's sampling unit. "Your hand in here—yes. Hold still now, denubia . . . "

    He leaned his cheek