Free Korval's Game by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee Page A

indeed, for one rising ten Standards, and then dimpled. “But you had much better have had me than Kol Vus, you know. He fidgets awfully!”
    “Then I was doubly fortunate to encounter you,” Val Con said gravely, touching the omnichora’s power-plate. “Shall we play the tape back, do you think? It would not do to give Kol Vus a muddy recording, when he has been so gracious in accommodating me.”
    “But he must do that, mustn’t he?” Alys said, with the cool matter-of-factness of childhood. “After all, you are Korval.”
    “So I am, but I am also a guest in your house. Allow me to possess some address, I beg.”
    That bought a bright glissade of laughter, after which she considered him for a moment more soberly, face intent and looking, so he fancied, very much as Miri had, at ten.
    “I don’t think you’re the least frightening,” she stated at last and Val Con inclined his head.
    “You relieve me.”
    “Now you sound like Uncle Win Den,” Alys told him severely, and bent to the audio unit, pressing three keys in sequence.
    Music swelled out of the tiny unit, filling the room to the walls.
    The name of the piece was Toccata and Fugue in D Minor and it had been written many years before Terrans achieved the stars by a man named Johann Sebastian Bach. It had been Anne Davis’ favorite piece of music, and for this present purpose Val Con had striven to play it in precisely her style.
    The role of Clan Radio Tech Kol Vus Tiazan in the project was to seal the brief recording to Lytaxin’s perimeter beacons. Ninety seconds, Val Con thought, would surely be long enough for Shan to descry their mother’s favorite and read into it verification that Val Con awaited him on world.
    The music-fragment ended, snapped off clean at 90 seconds, and Val Con again inclined his head.
    “I believe that will serve the purpose quite well. May I discommode you further, Miss Alys?”
    “You would like me to take this down to Kol Vus?” she asked, rising and sliding the unit’s carry strap over her shoulder. “That’s no trouble. I need to pass the comm room on the way to my tutor.” She hesitated. “You play very nicely. I would be happy to hear more, if time allows it during your guesting.”
    His touch on the omnichora was god-gift, honed by years of study. He could easily have been a master musician—a maestro , according to Anne, who had taught him his scales. But he was Korval: Stranger passions claimed precedence.
    He smiled at the child before him, her hair a riot of orange curls, her eyes an intelligent, sparkling brown.
    “I would be honored to play for you, Miss Alys. Only name a time.”
    She tipped her head, apparently consulting some inner schedule. “Tomorrow?” she said eventually. “In the hour before Prime?”
    “Done,” he said gravely, and bowed as one accepting a treasure.
    She did not, as he expected, erupt into giggles at this, but returned the bow most creditably, murmuring an exquisitely proper “The pleasure is mine.”
    She straightened, then adjusted the strap across her shoulder and smiled. “I have to go before my tutor tells Aunt Emrith I’ve been late again.”
    “Please do not allow me to be the cause of such distress to the House,” Val Con said, and that did draw a giggle, cut off as she slipped out the door and pulled it closed behind her.
    He stood alone in the music room, considering his options. Miri was closeted with Erob’s Historian, filling details in the lives of Miri-eklykt’i and Katalina Tayzin—an interview that promised to be both lengthy and productive of an uneasy temper in onelifemate.
    His duty plainly lay in the direction of Erob. Some explanations must, in courtesy, be made to the delm of Korval’s oldest ally, and yet . . .
    Music tingled in his fingertips, awakened by his brief playing for the beacon. Surely, he might steal ten minutes to set the rest of the music free?
    Slowly, knowing that duty called him elsewhere, yet unable to resist the lure