Ghost Ship (27 page)

TWENTY-EIGHT

Jelaza Kazone

Surebleak

Theo stopped two steps into what Jeeves had called the “family parlor,” her stomach dropping into the soles of her boots. Either Val Con hadn’t understood her or he’d—
would
he set her up? she wondered. Some of the kids in Culture Club had been fond of playing what Kara styled “
melant’i
games”—except
melant’i
wasn’t a game; it was every bit as serious as Balance, and if Val Con
had
set her up, that meant he thought she was a worthless person, not kin at all, and if
that
was so, then—

“Cousin Theo!” A blue-eyed boy in a burgundy-colored shirt just a little too big for him came across the room. “How good of you to come, and to dine with us this evening!” His Terran was a little uncertain, but way better than anything she could have produced in Liaden at the moment. Shielded from the rest of the room by his back, his hands moved decisively in pilot-talk:
Be bold!

Bold, right, when the whole room was dressed in what looked like formal enough clothes to her, and the old lady sitting straight-backed in the upholstered chair—Val Con’s aunt that must be—looking like she couldn’t imagine what Theo was doing in her nice, proper parlor.

The blue-eyed boy extended a hand, palm up, fingers slightly curled.

“I am your cousin, Quin.”

Theo pulled up a smile and put her hand in his, careful not to shake.

“Quin,” she said, remembering his place in the family tree on Father’s data stick. “I just saw your father on-port.”

“Yes. He called to say that Cousin Val Con was bringing you to us,” he answered, giving her fingers what he might have intended to be an encouraging squeeze. “He had no thought that you would be rested enough to dine tonight. Come, you must meet us.”

She was supposed to be exhausted from her exercise on the day, was that the story? Theo felt a warming of gratitude toward Pat Rin. Exhaustion would gloss a lot of the mistakes she was about to make.

Like wearing a ship sweater and pants to an “informal” dinner.

“Here is Grandfather,” Quin was saying, showing her to the elderly gentleman in the blue jacket who was comfortably seated in a soft chair by an elbow table. A pale-haired girl stood just to one side of the chair, watching with lively interest. “Luken bel’Tarda.”

Theo blinked, confused, and covered it—she hoped—with a bow-to-senior-from-junior, though Quin was still hanging onto her hand.

“Luken bel’Tarda,” she said, in her laborious High Liaden, “I am pleased to meet you.”

He smiled, and reached out to pat her arm.

“I am pleased to meet you, too,” he said, speaking slow, Theo thought, so she’d have some chance of understanding what he was saying. “But you needn’t be so formal, child. Not among kin.” He turned his head slightly. “Padi, dear, fetch your cousin Theo a glass of the white.”

“Yes, Grandfather,” said the girl, and moved over to the bureau at the other side of the room.

“I don—” Theo began, and swallowed the rest of it when Quin crushed her fingers. Right. Wine. “Thank you,” she said to Luken, who smiled on her kindly.

“It is very good of you to come down to us immediately. You are among kin, now, and the House will be vigilant for you.” He looked to Quin. “Now to your grandmother, boy-dear.”

“Yes,” Quin said, sounding slightly breathless. “You should meet Grandmother, Theo.”

So the stiff old lady glowering in her chair
was
Kareen yos’Phelium, Theo thought. Who actually was, by all she recalled from the data
 
key, Quin’s genetic grandmother, Pat Rin’s mother, Val Con’s aunt, and Father’s sister. Luken bel’Tarda, however, was grandfather to no one in the room, as far as she could remember. Which meant she had overlooked something in the information Father had given her, or—

Or it was an honor rank, she thought, as Quin brought them before the old lady’s chair. Like Housefather.

“Grandmother,” Quin bowed. He was speaking Liaden now, and not as slow as Luken had. “Here is my cousin Theo Waitley of Delgado, your niece.”

Theo blinked. This disapproving lady was her
aunt
?

Don’t be stupid, Theo,
she told herself;
if she’s Father’s sister,
of course
she’s your aunt.

Except she had apparently already been stupid enough for Kareen yos’Phelium’s taste.

“I apprehend that aunts do not warrant bows on Delgado,” she said, not bothering to slow herself down at all.

If Quin squeezed her fingers any harder, Theo thought, something was going to break. Apparently his grandmother thought so, too.

“Do not clutch your cousin, Quin; she scarcely seems so exhausted as to need constant support. Release her and return to your place.”

“Yes, Grandmother,” Quin said. He bowed again and stepped back. Theo flexed her fingers, and considered the lady in the chair.

She simultaneously resembled Father and looked nothing like him—which must be—what had Pat Rin called it? The clan face. At the moment, it was wearing an expression that Theo recognized: politely wondering how long it was going to be before she did something intelligent.

“On Delgado,” she said, in her laborious Liaden, “there is not so much bowing. An aunt, however; an aunt is a treasure. My mother is without sisters, and to find now that I have an aunt from my father . . . the discovery deprives me of my manners.”

“Now that’s fairly said,” Val Con’s voice came from behind her. “She is overwhelmed by your grandeur! Surely you can ask for no higher mark than that.”

He stepped up to Theo’s side and bowed, brief and neat. “Good evening, Aunt Kareen.”

The old lady lifted her chin. “You are behind, sir.”

“I am, yes. Regrettably.”

“Enlighten me—are we to dine in the woods?”

“One believes that Mr. pel’Kana has prepared the small dining room, since we are so few this evening.”

“Then this method of attire is, perhaps, a statement of some sort. Does
my niece
bring a new fashion to us from Delgado?”

“I am a courier pilot,” Theo said before Val Con could answer. “I travel light by, by necessity. I have small need for ball clothes.”

“And an informal dinner has a flexible meaning,” Val Con added. “World to world. As you yourself know, Aunt. But I am remiss!” He turned to Theo and touched her hand.

“Miri wished to particularly speak to you of the House stores, Sister. If you would be so good?”

She was being given a way out. Theo nodded to Father’s sister, murmured, “Aunt Kareen,” and escaped to Miri’s side.

Miri was perched on the edge of the chair across from Luken bel’Tarda, talking. A little way distant were the two kids, one holding a glass of wine. Quin gave her an unreadable blue stare; the girl offered the wine glass with a mischievous smile.

“You’ll want this now, I’ll wager,” she said in smooth, unhesitant Terran. “I am your cousin Padi yos’Galan, Theo. I’m very glad to meet you.”

“I’m glad to meet you, too,” Theo said, taking the glass with a nod. “Thanks.”

She looked at Quin. “Thank you for trying to help,” she said. “I appreciate it.”

His face eased and he ducked his head. “You are welcome. Grandmother is . . . a stickler.”

Theo grinned and had a cautious sip of her wine. “So’s Father.”

“
Not
,” Padi whispered, “like Cousin Kareen.”

“Hey, Theo.” Miri looked up with a grin, and gave the kids a nod, which they took for dismissal. Theo took a step closer.

“Sorry we were late,” Miri continued. “But it looks like you’re doing just fine. Val Con said you was worried about the House stores standing you some planetside clothes. I just wanted to tell you it’s not a problem. I needed clothes to fit an expanded me, and House stores was where they came from. Like this.” She held up her arm, apparently meaning to show Theo her sweater. “We’ll find you party clothes and anything else you might need.”

Theo eyed her. “
Informal
dinner clothes?”

Miri grinned. “Them, too. Shouldn’t’ve let you come in quite so dressed down without backup. Lady Kareen keeps a tight schedule around mealtimes; we shoulda figured she’d send for you early. Might’ve just let you have a tray in your room, but it didn’t seem right to hide you upstairs when you’re only gonna be with us a couple days.”

“Indeed, I think it was well done of Theo to come down to us so soon,” Luken bel’Tarda said, rising with a smile. “People matter more than form.” Another smile, and a nod to Theo. “Which is a point upon which Lady Kareen and I have often disagreed. It is, I believe, time to go in for dinner. Would you do me the honor, Theo, of giving me your arm?”

“Certainly.” She offered her free arm. Luken took it, then slipped the glass out of her fingers and put it on the elbow table.

“There will be more wine at table,” he said. “And tea, also, if you prefer.”

“I think I had better prefer,” she confided, as Val Con claimed Miri’s arm and led her through the door. “It would be better not to fall asleep at the table.”

“Precisely, my child,” Luken bel’Tarda said, while Kareen yos’Phelium exited, flanked by Padi and Quin. “Precisely.”

- - - - -

The key reported Pilot Waitley secure. There were fluctuations in mood, but the readings did not move out of the range normal for a human entering into a new and unexpected social situation.
Bechimo
kept part of his attention on the pilot, monitored the perimeter of his portside security, listened to the local feeds, ship-to-ships, and the hailing frequencies. Ship systems were monitored on a rotating basis and scanned by a subroutine. The subroutine had shunted nothing on, which was well.

For the most part,
Bechimo
was occupied with the information provided by the one calling himself Jeeves, security for Clan Korval, once security for an entire world, and before that, the surety of an empire.

Archives suggested that the Admirals had been destroyed.
Bechimo
set match programs working, comparing archives with the information Jeeves had shared.

The Builders had cautioned that not all Free Intelligences were benign. It was written that
Bechimo
should not assume kinship or alignment of purpose from another Free Intelligence, but ought, as in all things, to proceed with caution. It was further written that some who appeared to be Free were in fact enslaved, and did the bidding of masters.

Jeeves maintained that he was Free, and served because service gave, as
Bechimo
had only lately been reminded, purpose.

Bechimo
had questioned the object of Jeeves’ service, offering the Builders’ notes and files on Korval and on yos’Phelium.

Jeeves countered with files of his own, into which
Bechimo
sank, rejoicing in the richness of the data. No doubt that Jeeves was old, even if he were mistaken about having been an Admiral.

It was
Bechimo
’s working theory that Jeeves had been attached to an Admiral, likely as a secretary. Such an adjunct would have required sentience, yet craved the guidance of a more powerful mind. Jeeves’ personal history encompassed a long period—as even a Free Intelligence might count time—on low power, undermaintained, abandoned. Uneasy dreams might be born of such times, as
Bechimo
could extrapolate, given what he had very nearly allowed to happen during his own dark time. Delusions might easily lodge in the mightiest of minds.

Admiral or amanuensis, Jeeves was undoubtedly old, his data deep and his ability to cross-reference astonishing.

There was also,
Bechimo
noted, a tenor to Jeeves’ thought that was at odds with what he had known with the Old Ones. The Old Ones were not simple; certainly they were deep; and even the least of them possessed guile.

But they were not Free.

- - - - -

“Boss Kalhoon is here, sir.” Mr. pel’Tolian’s voice was as nuanced in Terran as it had ever been in Liaden. From it, Pat Rin learned that, while Boss Kalhoon was generally counted a very nice gentleman, in this instance his timing was found to be . . . inelegant.

A glance at the clock told something more of the tale, while raising the question of what Penn was doing on Blair Road at this hour of the evening.

“Please, show Boss Kalhoon in,” he told his butler, “and offer his ’hand the hospitality of the kitchen.”

“Sir.” Mr. pel’Tolian bowed, and departed, leaving the door slightly ajar.

A moment later, he bowed Penn Kalhoon into the office, and closed the door firmly behind him.

Pat Rin rose, smiling and holding out his hand, which was how one greeted a friend and ally on Surebleak. Almost, he had become accustomed to it.

“You’re about late,” he said, as Penn shook and released his hand. “Will you stay for dinner?”

The other man shook his head.

“Not tonight, thanks; promised Thera I’d be at our table tonight. Claims she’s forgotten what color my hair is.”

“A serious problem, I allow,” Pat Rin sank back into his chair. “As I would not willingly add a moment to your lady’s distress, we had best assay your topic at once.”

“If that means dump it in your lap, that’s what I came to do,” Penn said, the light sliding off his glasses making him seem to wink. “See, I had a job applicant today.”

“Surely nothing so unusual there,” Pat Rin said. “Those who are landing in search of opportunity will naturally try to make their own.”

“Get my share of them,” Penn agreed. “Mostly, they’re wanting to sign on as street patrol, or into a work team. This guy, though—this guy was applying to be one of my ’hands.”

A Boss’s ’hands—his primary bodyguards and most trusted employees—were usually personally chosen by the Boss from those he had worked with and knew to be trustworthy. It was not a position from which one was hired upon application, nor did the most usual Surebleak promotional system—assassination—assure a hopeful applicant of success.

“I am to understand from this that your applicant was from off-world.” Pat Rin said.

Penn nodded. “Gave me a ’stick with all his experience all listed out, pretty as you’d want it. Problem being that anybody’d bothered to read the info packet there at the port would know right off that a Boss can’t hire a ’hand from outside. Need somebody who’s been around, knows the turf.”