Assignments

[rosiphelee]

Well, this was going to be the start of paantha's Tad and Istellon dialogue, but it refused to go that way. However, it did turn out to stand alone reasonably well and shed some light on the events leading up to Wind's Road.

So, here's Tad, and one of his colleagues, a few weeks before the start of The Wind's Road...



Assignments

“Stop moulting on my desk, bluebird.”

Tadilen yir Hiresta swung round, throwing his shoulders back in delight. “Marta! You’re back!”

She dodged his embrace. “Don’t you dare. I don’t want a face full of feathers. What are you doing on my desk?”

Tad shrugged. “I have to sit somewhere. They still haven’t replaced my chair.”

Marta hopped up onto the desk beside him. “Sit on the floor. The desk is mine.”

Tad dropped his arm around her shoulders, and curled a wing behind her before she could protest. “You look happy.”

“New orders,” she said, waggling an envelope at him. “Pretty, shiny orders.”

“Marta,” Tad said gravely, shaking his head. “Marta, Marta, Marta. You should never welcome orders.” He lowered his voice, and leant in. “You might give them ideas.”

She rapped him on the nose with the envelope. “Personal space, Tadilen.”

“Not a Saisorhi concept,” he said, smiling blithely.

“Definitely a Yiiaki one. Five decits back, or my flame meets your feathers.”

Tad shuffled back, eyeing her reproachfully. “Don’t you love me any more, Marta?”

“No. Never did, never will. Far too much sense.”

Tad swooned backwards over his own desk. “You wound me to the quick, fair lady. I am devastated. My heart is wracked by ice. See, the bitterness will destroy me. I will grow old and cruel, alone and-”

Marta moved a pile of files onto his stomach.

Tad sighed.

Marta ignored him.

He sighed again, for effect, and glanced at her. She was smiling, though she rolled her eyes when she saw him looking.

“I’m not moulting,” he said, skipping back to a safe part of the conversation. “You’d know if I was moulting.”

“I would?”

“The mess would make it obvious. I fear, too, that even my estimable good humour cannot withstand the indignity of the process.”

“You get moody,” Marta said flatly.

“I withdraw into the comfort of my mind,” Tad said, watching her. She had been the first friend he made here in the Citadel, and he still blessed the day.

He’d bless the day when she flirted back all the more, of course.

She looked down at him, her pen resting against her cheek. “You stop talking?”

“Alack the day.”

“Bring it on,” Marta said.

Tad started to sit up, and dropped down again as he felt files slither. “Slang?”

“Annah-Dareq 311 – I stole it from Jillian. Multiple meanings – ask her.”

Tad decided to let that pass. “Where is Jill?”

“Not back until tomorrow.”

He sighed again.

Marta put an inkwell on his shoulders.

“Wings!” Tad squeaked, watching it nervously.

“It’s pink – it won’t clash too badly. Did you move my astrolabe?”

“Top drawer.”

She stared at her, her brows knit with annoyance. “What use is it in a drawer?”

“Is that why all your drawers are empty?”

“You went through my drawers!”

“There was nothing in them. I merely tidied your tools away. I am not the right shape to sit on top of a theodolite.”

She drew an annoyed breath, and then let it out, full force so her brown fringe flopped up. “You know someone who is?”

“No,” Tad said, and made his eyes imploring now he had her attention. “Ink.”

She moved it. “Better?”

Grabbing the files, he sat up and shuffled across to perch on his own desk.

Marta smirked at him and slithered down onto her chair, resting her elbows on the desk. “Did I miss anything?”

“Tilaa lost a paperclip. I broke a feather. Gyion tipped a glass of water down his trousers.”

“And Jill wonders why I’m looking forward to getting out into the worlds.”

Tad sat up, startled. “You’re going out?”

“I’m not planning to be a Citadel Surveyor forever, Tad. Yes, I’m heading out. My proposal got approved.”

“Which one?” Tad asked, dread curling in his stomach. The Citadel was safe. He wanted all his friends to be safe.

“Geela-Terem Two-Twelve.”

“Where?”

She grinned at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling with glee. “Come now, bluebird. Remember your lessons. You should know its neighbouring universe, at least. Geela-Terem Two-Thirteen.”

It took a moment, but then Tad roared, “The Tírial!”

She nodded, scrabbling through her pen pot. “They evacuated to the next universe. That’s where I’m headed.”

Tad shoved off the table, giving himself room to flare his wings. “You’re going through the Tírial gate!”

“Don’t be so melodramatic, Tadilen. Of course we’re not. The Tírial gate has gone vortex. The Void Watchers are going to set me down in Two-Twelve.”

“You are absolutely out of your mind!” He could feel his wings curling out, and he stormed forward to loom over her. “You know that entire region’s unstable. You can’t just hop in to some world we haven’t had contact with for twenty years-”

“Fifteen.”

“-some world which is inaccessible because its main gate leads into the Void, because the death of the Tírial tore the entire sector apart, because it’s not safe!”

“Tadilen!” Marta snapped and planted both of her hands on his chest. “Calm yourself.” She pushed him backwards, and he hissed as his wings hit the edge of the desk.

She glared at him, half-outraged, half-worried. “Firstly, the world itself is not a threat. Two-Twelve was on the low-hazard list. It’s a high tech, mainly democratic, stable world. It wasn’t in any way dependent on trade through the gate. Okay, fine, the presence of so many refugees may have had some social impact, but the loss of the gate shouldn’t have had much effect. Secondly, we owe the Tírial survivors some help. It’s a disgrace to everything we stand for that we haven’t tried to contact them before. Thirdly, it’s only a fortnight. The Watchers are going to drop us in. We’ll take observations, and try to find a suitable spot to establish a new gate, and then they’ll pull us out from the same spot. We’re purely going in as surveyors. The locals probably won’t even notice us. There’s nothing to worry about, Tad, and, obviously, I’m touched, but pull your feathers in, man.”

Tad scowled. “And Jillian’s happy with this?”

She shook her head. “Jill’s even more of a homebird than you. They’ve assigned me a temporary partner.” She waggled the envelope at him. “Whose name is right here.”

Tad stared at her, anger still prickling through his veins. She was his friend, and he loved every speck of her, infuriating as she could be. He would never accuse her of being reckless, but she didn’t need to be reckless to end up wing-deep in trouble. She was the best mapmaker of her generation in the Citadel, which no doubt made her the best in the multiverse. If she had been Saisorhi, she would have been on the Scholar’s path, no doubt.

She would have been the sort of Scholar who walked into walls, left her notes in the sink, and forgot to check the air before she took to the skies.

“Where’s my letter opener?”

Tad removed it from his own pen pot, and handed it to her, in silence.

“Tad!” she said, half-laughing. “Trust me.”

“I do,” he said shortly.

“Of course you do. That’s why you’re being difficult. People go out into the worlds, all the time, and very few of them fail to come back. It’s hardly as if I’m stupid.”

“That, dear girl, is precisely the problem.”

“Tadilen!”

“More brains than sense,” he said, folding his arms.

“I thought that was the dictionary definition of Saisorhi.” She sliced her orders open with a jagged movement. “Upon which subject, let’s see who they’ve assigned me. I asked them to find me a Saisorhi who knew something about maps.” She paused, and added, with a biting note in her voice, “Wouldn’t it be funny if it was you? Then you could check I don’t cut my own hand off with a craft knife.”

It was probably a cue to apologise. He wasn’t going to. He had every right to worry about her. Instead he said, “It won’t be me. I’ve asked for indefinite Citadel service.”

She paused with the bundle still folded. “Tad, why? And don’t dodge the question this time. What we’re doing is important, fine, but it’s dull as ditchmould. Everyone else here would be willing to switch for the right assignment.”

“I like it,” Tad said. “I’m here for everyone to come home to.”

Marta sighed. “Tad. You’re not a greybeard yet – do Saisorhi go grey?”

“No. We fade.”

“You won’t be able to stay here long, though. You know as well as I do that war is coming, whatever the council say. It’s been inevitable since we lost the Isolan gate. I don’t think the Dark will let you sit and draw maps.”

“Don’t joke about the Dark!” Tad snapped, feeling his feathers prickle.

Her eyes widened. “Sorry. I – sorry. I forget, sometimes, that you’ve seen more than most of us. You play the clown too well.”

That was edgy enough to tell him she was still annoyed with him. He sighed, and fought his worry down. Then he swept her into a hug, wings and all. “Sorry. Congratulations on getting the project approved.”

She punched his shoulder. “Thanks. Now put me down before I start sneezing.”

“If you weren’t allergic, would you love me?”

“No. Put me down.”

He set her back down on her desk, folding his wings back slowly. She gave him a quick smile, which meant he was forgiven. He’d rather she listened than forgave, but he had some discretion.

She unfolded the bundle, extracting a pack of orders that must be meant for her new partner. Then she glanced down at the remaining page.

Her eyes widened, and she darted a look at him, dismayed. Then she smiled, carefully.

“It’s not me, is it?” Tad asked, torn between curiosity and alarm.

“No,” Marta said, not meeting his eyes, and handed him the letter.

It only took a second to take in the name, before he slammed his fist, and the letter, down. “No!”

“Yes,” said Marta. “I thought that might be your reaction.”

“I refuse to permit it!” Tad snapped. The room was fading around him. Bad enough to risk one person he loved to this lunacy, but two? No.

“Going to tell the Council of Consuls that, are you?”

“I – Corriat be damned!” He swung away, and pressed his palms against the wall, closing his eyes.

Marta rubbed his shoulder gently. “It’s not going to help to tell you you’re worrying too much, is it? Brother, nephew or cousin?”

“Youngest brother,” Tad ground out.

“I’ll look after him. Promise. Or are you afraid he’ll reveal all your teenage indiscretions?”

Tad took a breath, and forced his temper down. “I have never been indiscreet in my life, my dear.”

Marta snorted. “Oh, of course you haven’t. Better?”

War was coming. Eventually all those he wanted to be safe would be drawn into it. He didn’t want them to put themselves in danger first. If he was wise, though, he had to admit there were worse missions than this, and more perilous worlds to visit.

“Better,” he said. “You want an introduction to your new partner?”

“Bring him to dinner tonight,” Marta said promptly. “And, here, do you want to take him his orders?”

He took the package. “I appreciate that.”

“Go on, then. Oh, and Tad?”

“At your service.”

“I’ll make sure you have a chair by the time you get back. I need my desk.”