He paused, frowning, recalling the moment when he had met his mother’s eyes...

“Ah, here he is, keeping the wine to himself!” Clonak ter’Meulen’s voice overfilled the little room. Pat Rin sighed, and turned to face not only the portly Scout, but Luken and Daav, and Shan, Priscilla, Natesa, Andy Mack, Nova, Cheever, Miri—and Val Con, green eyes sparkling, the renegade lock of hair sticking damply to his forehead.

“Well met, cousin,” he murmured, and Pat Rin held out his glass.

“I thought the ‘chora was overextended,” he said. “Drink.”

“My thanks.” Val Con took the glass and sipped; sighed. Pat Rin considered him, doing a different sort of calculation.

“More clarity?” he asked, but it was Miri who answered.

“No complaints, Boss. Sent you a clue, fair and square,” she said.

He eyed her. “Hardly in advance.”

“But in advance, nonetheless,” Val Con said, with a note of finality in his quiet voice. “Come, let us not bicker. There is business to be done—and quickly, so that Clonak is not long kept from the wine.”

“That’s a touching regard for my well-being,” Clonak said, and suddenly pulled himself up straight, looking not so pudgy, nor foolish at all.

“Pat Rin yos’Phelium Clan Korval,” he intoned, the syllables of the High Tongue falling cool and sharp from his lips, “has stated in the hearing of pilots and of master pilots not once but several times that he holds a first class limited license under false pretenses. The pilot’s solo rating flight was conducted in a Korval safe-ship, programmed to fly, should there be no pilot available. Pat Rin yos’Phelium has stated his belief that it was the ship which overcame the challenges of the pilot’s solo, not the pilot.” Clonak gave Pat Rin a level look.