Ghost Ship (25 page)

It was, on balance, done well. Then the conversation, to which
Bechimo
had access through the remote, became dangerous.

One yos’Phelium, whom the pilot claimed for brother—for
family
—Val Con brought eloquence to bear, insisting that the pilot leave the port; trading
Bechimo
’s protection for that of a fixed location at some remove.

Theo Waitley resisted; she explained her responsibility to her ship and her belief that it was preferable to remain on-port.

Still the yos’Phelium pressed, and abruptly the two of them were approaching
Bechimo
, and Pilot Waitley had opened the hatch.

His pilot was agitated, her companion—was not, though it could not be said that he was entirely calm.
Bechimo
considered the readings and decided that the other pilot was excited, interested, and intensely curious.

Properly, he entered behind the pilot and remained waiting one step behind her until the hatch came down. She looked up, as was her wont when wishing to speak with him and Number Six Screen out of sight.

“
Bechimo
, here is my brother, who made sure you had a good registration and access to untraced funds, if they were needed.”

She finished speaking and her companion bowed in what the Protocol module tagged as the mode between equals.

“Val Con yos’Phelium Clan Korval,” he said, his voice soft, his tone firm. He straightened and looked to the same meaningless patch of tile Theo Waitley had addressed, and concluded, “Scout pilot.”

Bechimo
said nothing for so long Protocol pinged and displayed a list of courteous and correct greetings for a guest brought aboard by crew, including the High Liaden, “Be welcome in my house.”

Stubbornly,
Bechimo
spoke not at all, which increased the agitation of his pilot, and distressed Scout Pilot yos’Phelium not one whit.

“I think,” Theo Waitley said, “that you’d better go.”

“Am I to be broken without even an opportunity to explain myself? That scarcely seems just Balance for my care.”

“Your care, as you term it,”
Bechimo
said, stung, “was not requested.” Protocol pinged distressfully.

“By yourself, no, it was not. However, my sister, your pilot, was concerned for your circumstances—her right, and her duty, according to Guild law. She appealed to me on your behalf and I did those things that I knew might be useful for a ship of no fixed port.” He tipped his head, perhaps displaying whimsy, and added, “I also asked her to be my champion, should it transpire that my actions offended.”

“She pled your case, and gave your reasons,”
Bechimo
acknowledged, grudgingly. “I am grateful for your care—” Protocol all but purred in relief, “but it is not needed. The Builders filed certain warnings, regarding yos’Phelium.”

“Rightly so, for we are chancy to know,” Scout Pilot yos’Phelium said. “However, if you will review the document covering the offered loan, you will see that the terms are uncomplicated: payback at simple interest if and only if the funds are utilized. If the funds have not been accessed in six Standards, they return to the account from which they were drawn.”

Bechimo
experienced an urge to sigh.

“I have reviewed the covering document and what you say is true. I attempt to honor the concern of the Builders,” he admitted, “who were far wiser than I.”

“I understand. For myself, I wish to be worthy of those who have gone before me, and also of my sister’s regard.” The yos’Phelium bowed as one offering information. “In which face, I will be taking her with me to Korval’s clanhouse, where she will rest secure, cherished by kin.”

“Pilot Waitley has already told you that she wishes to remain at port,”
Bechimo
said, and only knew his error when she stirred, her readings indicating an abrupt change of temper.

“How do you know that?” she demanded. Her eyes widened and she yanked the communications remote from her belt. “You were listening to my private conversation!”

“Pilot, you were on port alone. Of course I would monitor your situation, to assure myself of your safety.”

This did not have the effect he had hoped for. Instead of soothing her, it seemed only to make her angrier.

“I’ll
tell you
when I want you to
monitor my situation
! I had the belt comm so I could call you, if there was need, not so you could violate my privacy!”

“Whereupon we come to my next point,” Scout Pilot yos’Phelium said in his soft, firm way. “Pilot Waitley told me that she felt that
Bechimo
would wish her to stay on-port, after having expressed a wish to meet those of her kin she had missed, the last time she came to us. This is not the same thing as wishing to stay on port of her own desire.”

“She must
not
be put into danger.”

“If she stays on-port, even acknowledging your support, she will be in greater danger than she will be, guesting with us.” He held up a hand. “You will wish to assure yourself of this. May I have the pilot’s permission to use comm?”

There was an abrupt decrease in the pilot’s anger, as if the common question of protocol had calmed her.

“Certainly, Pilot,” she said. “This way.”

That quickly, and without a word to
Bechimo
, she guided the yos’Phelium to the Heart, and brought up the comm at the pilot’s own station.

“Thank you,” he murmured. He looked toward the ceiling, by which
Bechimo
understood that he was being addressed.

“I wonder if the ship will speak to Jeeves, who handles House security.”

Bechimo
felt contempt. He had “spoken” to security systems in the past, and found them uniformly stupid, utterly focused upon their programming and their match algorithms. Surely, he had no need—Protocol pinged, tentatively, and
Bechimo
yielded. Let the Scout Pilot demonstrate his house’s security system. It would be educational, and show his pilot the wisdom of staying on port, with her ship.

“I will speak with Korval House security,” he said.

“Thank you.” Scout Pilot yos’Phelium bent to the board, opening a line and setting in the code with an economy of motion that
Bechimo
had learned to approve in pilots.

“Jelaza Kazone.” A male voice emanated from the speaker.

“Jeeves, good-day to you,” said the yos’Phelium. “I wonder if you have a moment to speak with
Bechimo
? I propose to bring Theo to House for a visit and her ship naturally has some questions concerning our ability to insure her safety.”

“I would be delighted to speak with
Bechimo
, Master Val Con. Is she present?”

“I am aboard.” The pilot turned, glancing once more toward the ceiling. “
Bechimo
, here is Jeeves.”

“Jeeves, good-day to you,” he said politely. “You are in charge of House security?”

“Indeed, I am. Please, before we continue, allow me to say how very, very pleased I am to finally speak with you! You will naturally wish to make a thorough examination of my protocols and arrangements. Would it be possible to open a secure connection so that we might communicate directly?”

Bechimo
’s interest pricked. A secure connection? It had been a long time since any mere programmed entity had sought a secure connection with him. The last had been a security system, as well. True to its programming, it had attempted to tie
Bechimo
to it as a peripheral system.

Poor security program.

“Opening secure connection,” he told Jeeves, and did so, waiting for the simple touch of a machine mind.

What met him was far from simple, and by no means a mere machine.

- - - - -

Val Con straightened away from the board and looked to her, green eyes dancing.

“They may be at it for a few minutes,” he said. “In the meanwhile, may I beg the pilot for the honor of a tour?”

She considered him. “Do you promise to behave yourself?” she asked, hearing the question come out half teasing, like she might have asked Father, when she was living in his house and everything was still the same between them.

“On my honor,” Val Con said. “I will be a pattern-card of good behavior.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she told him, and moved her hand, fingers spelling,
this way, crew quarters
.

She gave him the same tour
Bechimo
had given her, just a few days ago, ending in the family galley.

“I’ve got something I want to show you,” she said, opening the closet. She put the teapot into his hands.

His eyebrows rose; he held the pot with care and inspected it closely, looking for a maker’s mark, maybe, on the bottom, then lifting the lid and peering inside.

“An antique,” he said, when he had finished. “Where did you find it?”

“
Bechimo
found it,” she said, putting it away and latching the cabinet. “In a dead area. She says that things are always Jumping in, usually pieces—there’s a bin of stuff in one of the holds. The teapot was intact and didn’t test dangerous, so she thought the family—when there was a family—might like to have it.”

“You intrigue me. Have you the coords for this dead zone?”

“Yes,” she said, having taken care to memorize them. She looked up at the ceiling, but if
Bechimo
was present, she was being unusually quiet. “Jeeves and
Bechimo
, they’re—all right, you think?”

“I think they’re likely to be having several far-ranging conversations. Jeeves is always excited to meet a new mind, and very proud of his security arrangements.” He turned slightly, to hitch a hip onto the counter. “Now, Sister, I have a question which I hope you will answer honestly.”

Theo blinked at him. “All right.”

“Good. Left entirely to your own decision, without fear of
Bechimo
’s displeasure, or of my disappointment, would you choose to guest with us while you are on-planet?”

She opened her mouth—and closed it, turning the question over and looking at it from all sides. The refusal she’d given before—right, that had been because she hadn’t known what
Bechimo
would do. But, if it were her decision alone . . .

“I’d like to visit,” she said. It was true, and not only because she wanted to talk to Father. If she was related to all those people on the datakey, and they considered themselves to be her family—like Pat Rin—then, yes, she wanted to know them, to find out who they were.

“If,” she added, “there’s room for me.”

Val Con laughed. “Theo, there is enough room for you and the family and crew of this ship, were there any.” He touched her hand. “I am glad, too, that you want to speak with Father.”

She blinked at him. “You are? Why?”

“Because I think he feels that you are . . . angry with him, a little, and that he feels it all the more keenly because you are right to be.”

She shook her head. “I’d really like to understand . . .” She ran out of words.

“Of course you would,” Val Con said, as if he knew exactly what she meant. “What do you say that we take our leave of
Bechimo
and drive out to the house. Is there anything you would like to take with you?”

“My kit,” she said, and led him back to her quarters, where he stood good-naturedly out of the way while she packed.

“I forgot,” she said, pausing in the process of sealing her bag to look over her shoulder at him. “Do you know a mathematician?”

“Several,” he said promptly. “And I can get introductions to several more beyond that. What sort do you require?”

“Interspatial, I think. This . . .
thing
that
Bechimo
does—
translating
, she calls it. I don’t know how it’s done, but it’s quick—quicker than Jump—and she can translate to the surface of a planet—I told you.”

“Indeed you did.” He paused, head cocked to one side. “I think,” he said slowly, “that you will want to apply to my mother.”

Theo stared at him, some of her enthusiasm for her visit cooling.

“Val Con,” she said carefully, “your mother’s dead.”

“In a manner of speaking. You will wish first to speak to Father.”

“All right,” she said slowly, meaning to put Father to no such unnecessary cruelty.

He smiled. “My parents are lifemates, Theo,” he said sounding perfectly sane and reasonable. “Speak to Father, do, when he returns to us. In the meanwhile, I suggest that we take our leave quickly, or risk missing dinner.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

Jelaza Kazone

Surebleak

“Not long now,” Val Con said, touching the stick and guiding the nimble little car around a pothole deep enough to have swallowed it entirely. Theo settled back into the seat and deliberately relaxed.

Not that there was anything worrisome about Val Con’s driving; if anything, he had surprised her by being somewhat conservative. Of course, there’d been a fair amount of foot traffic in town, and the road itself wasn’t as well kept as it should’ve been, in Theo’s personal opinion.

In fact, there’d been roadwork in process just past the last tollbooth. The surface had been good for a while, then they hit a patch where roadwork had had to pause for road widening, and road filling, and from there the going went from conservative, to slow, to something like evasion practice.

“Is this the only road?” she asked, as Val Con avoided a tree stump that was taking up half of the roadbed.

“In fact, it is. And the contract of hire between Clan Korval and the Bosses of Surebleak requires Korval to keep the Port Road open from end to end.” He gave her a sidelong glance from beneath his lashes. “Little did we know that in order to keep the road we would in large measure need to build the road.” Another touch of the stick and the little car safely skirted a rock half buried in the surface.

“Progress is being made, though somewhat slower progress than we had initially supposed, because of the need to also widen the way, remove obstacles, such as that boulder, and fill the bed to an equal depth. Also, there are some who unfortunately feel strongly that an open road is not in their best interest, meaning that we occasionally find our work . . . undone. Despite these challenges, it is the project manager’s most earnest hope that all will be completed before winter.”