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‘stick' on a volcanic vent, or quake when subsurface forces
collide. Most short-term motion--that is, motion over a dozen--or a
dozen dozen--Standards--that motion is limited to modest amounts
caused by the grinding of plates against themselves, or plates
slowly being submerged or becoming emergent.… But on Klamath the
motion can be--and often is--more considerable. This motion may
include ‘waves' beneath the lands, making the surface bob up and
down, far less stable than one would like, and altering atmospheric
and ocean currents in the process."
    "Sounds complicated!" The soldier stared
intently at the charts, but he despaired of her comprehension.
    He sighed, perhaps too loudly, and found her
gaze, faintly ironic, on him.
    "So what's this mean for what I gotta do,
beside not get motion sick?"
    He smiled, as her comment was clearly a
joke. "Yes, this is good. You cannot fix the world or make the
people not colonize it: they are there. So for you, to stabilize
the populace, for the commander to succeed in her mission, you need
weather warnings and weather information. For me--for the
station--what you can do is to help us by reporting in as often as
possible. Understand that on Klamath everything is changeable. You
may camp at night at one altitude and awake in the morning, still
comfortable, at another. Each report assists us all!"
    She nodded. "Guess you'll want to put that
in writing to the commander. I'll do what I can, but she's gonna
have to decide a lot of it."
    "Yes. That is well thought. I will make some
notes for the commander. But for you, there is also this--another
key. This one is--… a manager's key. It will permit you to leave
the Stubbs on auto-function if need be, and return for it later.
You might, with sufficient information, also be able to reprogram
the unit for specific local necessities. This is unlikely, but you
should be aware of the ranges of possibility open to you. Also,
this key permits the setting of the DRAPIN, which I mentioned
earlier."
    Robertson shook her head lightly, as if
denying the need.
    "Are you sure this thing can send a pinbeam?
That'd take a lot of power!"
    "Indeed," he agreed. "It does require much
power. So much so that it is an option we mention rather than
demonstrate. This key, however, permits that." He showed it to her,
a small thing, made of slightly phosphorescent blue metal.
    "This must not be lost. It must be kept safe
and returned to me at the end of your mission. The other keys may
be replaced or circumvented, if need be. This one cannot."
    He handed it to her. She held it up for
frowning study.
    "So it's important?" she murmured, perhaps
speaking to herself. "Like treasure?"
    "Like treasure," he agreed, astounded anew
that this valuable and rare equipment was going to war with so
volatile and naive a halfling.
    "Gotcha!" She slid a finger under the top
seal of her uniform, and the second, as if, Brunner thought,
panicked, she were disrobing!
    She saw him start and laughed.
    "You're safe, Tech!"
    Quick, beringed fingers reached behind her
neck, pulling from beneath her collar a flesh-colored cord.
Following the sinuous flow of cord came a small pouch, sliding up
between the open shirt-top.
    "Treasures!" she said as she pulled pouch
and cord over her head. She gave him a friendly grin.
    "See, all mercs gotta have someplace to keep
their important stuff. Some use belts, some use secret pockets, you
know, for their cash and gems and cards and stuff. Me, I'm kinda
skinny, and I don't own much cash but that's all right, 'cause I
don't have that many treasures, either."
    She casually dropped the pouch on the table,
and flipped it open. Within were several small metallic containers
and a cloth-wrapped something--…
    "How 'bout I tuck it inside here?" she said,
flipping the cloth open and casually exposing--Brunner stared. A
clan badge? But she had denied any knowledge of Liaden! She asked
for coffee, and--but the child was speaking.
    "This is my best treasure, see?"