Ghost Ship (30 page)

A bowli ball with needles attached landed on Theo’s thigh.

“Hey!” she said, and looked down at the black kitten, who turned her tiny face up and squinched her eyes in a cat smile. She began to knead and purr.

Shan shook his head. “It is a good thing we live retired in the country. That purr would break ordinances, if there were any, in the city.”

“I appreciate the idea of trying to think about other avenues of income,” Theo said slowly. She stroked the black kitten’s back, waking even louder purrs. “The thing is, I
went for
courier—I didn’t want a loop, and I’m not a trader.” She paused, staring at her hand on the kitten’s back, then looked up to Shan’s silver eyes.

“Do you have that route all laid out in form?” she asked.

“Pilot Waitley, I do,” he said solemnly.

“Please ask Jeeves to transmit it to
Bechimo
. He was built for loop-trade, like you said. If he likes it then—I’ll give it a provisional yes. If I am out of contract. And only for one loop.”

“I accept your terms and conditions,” Shan said, and raised his voice slightly, “Jeeves?”

“Master Shan?”

“Could you please transmit this loop plan to
Bechimo
, as Pilot Waitley asks, and inform him that his pilot would like a reading on the interest of such an enterprise to ship and crew?”

“Certainly, sir. Transmitting at once.”

There was a short silence, broken only by the kitten’s steady rumble, then Shan spoke again.

“You will need a company name in order to enter into a loop contract. Have you one in mind? Waitley Enterprises, perhaps?”

“No . . .” The kitten emitted an astonishment of purrs and curled neatly up onto Theo’s lap, eyes squinting with pleasure.

“No, I think—Laughing Cat.” She looked up and met Shan’s eyes. “Laughing Cat, Limited.”

He nodded, perfectly serious. “We will of course have Ms. dea’Gauss draw up the documents, so there will be no delay, should you and your ship decide to—”

“Pilot Waitley?” Jeeves said from somewhere overhead.

“Yes?”

“I have a message from
Bechimo
, Pilot. He wishes you to know that he finds the route very much to his liking and believes that it will yield profit to ship and crew.”

* * *

Theo emerged from the meeting with Shan, and the subsequent meeting with Ms. dea’Gauss, with head awhirl. All the things she didn’t know about running a trade route had been thrown into relief, and her attitude toward contracts, which she personally thought was alert and advertent, was called into question by Shan.

“That paragraph there—do you like that?” he asked, as she passed over a provision for an early delivery bonus.

Theo’d shrugged. “I would have liked a larger percentage, but you said this was the standard contract, so—”

“It is the standard contract,” he interrupted. “
Korval’s
standard contract. That doesn’t mean that you are required to accept our terms. Contracts are about negotiation.”

Theo eyed him. “If all the rest of the contractors accepted this paragraph, then you don’t have any reason to negotiate with
me
.”

“And if all the children at the port threw themselves on a hotpad, Shannie yos’Galan, would ye be doin’ the same?”

Theo sighed. “
My
mother used to say,
If everybody on your team falsified their sources, would you do it, too?
”

“I believe,” Shan said seriously, “that there is a subscription service.”

That made her laugh, which made her head feel better, until she leaned in again and tried to wrest another percentage point in bonus. She came away with half a percent—Ms. dea’Gauss was more stubborn than she looked!—and a determination to weigh each continuing paragraph by could it be more to her advantage. She asked for two more adjustments, didn’t get one and got another partial on the other.

Details hammered out, signatures and thumbprints affixed in the proper places, Theo exchanged bows with Ms. dea’Gauss, shook hands with Shan and escaped, believing that she was late to meet Padi and Quin for another expedition to stores—this time for party clothes.

But, no; her time with the contract had only
seemed
to take hours. She still had almost two hours, house-time, before she was due to meet her cousins.

That, Theo thought, was good. She grabbed her jacket and let herself out into the inner garden.

Theo strolled down the stone pathway, which was not quite so overgrown as she recalled it, noticing some flowers opening tentatively in the sunnier beds, and a glimpse of crimson among the glossy dark leaves of a shrubbery.

Well, she thought, taking a deep breath of cool, spicy air, Val Con had said it was spring.

She passed a bench set temptingly in a glade framed by climbing roses, and thought to turn aside. Instead, she kept walking; she’d been wanting to get a good look at the huge tree that grew out of the center of the garden. She hadn’t really had a chance to study it on her first visit; she’d been so tired, and so worried, and so focused on finding the Delm of Korval . . .

The path described one more curve and vanished, leaving Theo standing on a moist carpet of pale blue grass, staring at the monumental trunk, and upward into the full-leafed branches, so intent on the impossible, undeniable
treenees
of it that she did not for several minutes register that she was not alone in the glade.

An elder pilot stood quite close to the trunk, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket and his face tipped up to the branches as if he were having a conversation with the Tree.

Father
.

Her chest cramped, and she started forward across the grass, not meaning to disturb him—

Her steps weren’t as quiet as she believed, or, she thought whimsically, the Tree told him that she was there. He turned neatly, hands slipping out of his pockets, but not rising in greeting. His face lit with pleasure, which she saw only because she knew him so well, but he didn’t quite smile, either.

Father was being wary.

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

“Father . . .”

She stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and held out her hands, palms up—a sign that differences between two pilots were put to rest.

Something eased in his face; he put palms against hers; his hands were warm.

“. . . I’m so very happy to see you,” she said, swallowing hard.

* * *

They sat on the grass with their backs against the Tree, which was perfectly warm and comfortable. Theo had just finished an abridged narration of her encounters on Tokeoport and the subsequent space attack.

“The same lines as the ship you—at Nev’Lorn,” she said. “These people—they’re actively hunting pilots of Korval. Is that—Father, is that because of what you and
The Luck
did at Nev’Lorn?”

He shook his head.

“Korval is hunted—and pilots of Korval are particularly hunted—most recently because of your brother’s actions against this Department of the Interior at Solcintra. Before that—in my time, we may say—we were hunted by what I believe were agents of the same organization because we were . . . inconvenient to their goals. Viewed by the illumination of hindsight, it is possible that your grandmother, my mother, was murdered by an action of this very Department of the Interior. That trail, though, is long cold. Unless we recover an archive . . .”

His voice drifted off and he was silent for a few moments—which just meant that his attention had been caught by a stray, alluring thought, like a cat fascinated by a flutterbee. Theo settled her shoulders against the Tree’s trunk; he’d resurface again soon.

As indeed he did, with a shake of his head and a small smile.

“I learned from another source that
The Luck
herself is specifically targeted, in answer for her role at Nev’Lorn. That is . . . unusual, but I think does not appreciably increase my personal danger. Be that as may, I have promised my other children, as I now promise you, that I will be as careful as a pilot may be.”

Theo snorted.

“Yes, precisely. Now, regarding this adventure of yours at Tokeo—which I do not, by the way, thank your employer for—you, my child, need a copilot. I say this not merely as your elder in the Guild, but as one of a bloodline whose very existence disturbs and roils what we in-clan dignify as
the luck
. As tumultuous as event is about and around you, Theo Waitley, you
must
have backup. I understand that you value your solitude and your autonomy. As your father, I ask that you also value your life.”

Theo sighed. “
Bechimo
wants crew,” she said. “And a family. That’s what she—he—was built to want, and to know as right. If he does accept me as captain—Father, what do you know about—about bonding?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I’m tempted to say that what I know about bonding may not have much bearing on this question. Does
Bechimo
require a . . . ceremony?”

“Yes, exactly! I read the file, from the Builders, and it seems—it seems a lot like the ceremony that Bek and I spoke for our First Pair.”

“That would make a certain amount of sense,” Father pointed out. “
Bechimo
wishes a commitment and wishes to commit in return, to insure that ship and captain are focused on one goal.” He tipped his head. “And have you bound yourself to
Bechimo
, Daughter?”

Theo shook her head. “I told him that we needed to work together for a while, first, to see if we could. And I also said that I wanted my father to be at the ceremony.”

He laughed, clearly delighted.

“A most excellent stall, Theo; I am in awe! Shall I come to port and stand witness?”

She shook her head. “Not just yet, I think.”

“Very good. When the time comes, I am at your service. Now, regarding a copilot . . .”

“
Bechimo
accepted Win Ton as copilot—Less Pilot, like he has it. And Uncle will be bringing Win Ton.”

“As I understand the matter, Pilot yo’Vala will be some time recovering in
Bechimo
’s medical facilities. Even the most able and willing copilot might be hard-pressed to back up his pilot under those conditions.”

Theo sighed. There was that. But—

“There isn’t a Guild office on Surebleak, so hiring a copilot will have to wait until we lift out. Shan’s worked out a loop that we’re going to be running for him. I’ll contact the Guild on one of those worlds and hire somebody.”

“Ah,” said Father, which didn’t mean that he didn’t believe her, only that he had his doubts.

“It happens that—the lack of a Guild presence notwithstanding—there are presently on Surebleak Port a great number of pilots in need of work, many of them well-credentialed and honorable. I can think of one or two who might be of use to you.”

“Not Quin,” she said quickly, “or any other yos’Phelium.
Bechimo
’s Builders weren’t really happy about people named yos’Phelium.”

“All honor to the Builders in their wisdom,” Father murmured. “But, as it happens, neither of the pilots I have in mind is of the Line.”

Theo looked at her watch, and started up. She was going to be late!

“I have to meet Padi and Quin in stores. We need clothes for the party.”

“Then you should by all means go. I am myself behind in reporting my presence and my progress to my delm.”

He rose, Theo beside him. He turned to her with a smile—

There was a racket in the branches high above them, and two missiles hurtled out of the tree into the grass at Theo’s feet.

Father sighed, very lightly.

Theo looked up into the branches, but the disturbance, whatever it had been, seemed to have subsided.

“It’s throwing things at us?”

“Gifts,” Father said. “In a manner of speaking. Pick them up, if you wish to do so—and
only
if you wish to do so.”

Why shouldn’t she wish to do so? Theo wondered and bent down to pick up the . . . seed pods, they looked like.

They came willingly into her hand—almost as if they had rolled onto her fingertips. One was familiar and welcome and without a doubt meant for her. The other . . .

“It’s funny,” she said to Father. “These pods are . . . different.” She hefted the familiar and welcome one in her right hand. “This one . . . belongs to me. But this one”—She showed him the pod in her left hand—“doesn’t.”

“May I?”

He took the pod that wasn’t hers and sighed again.

“This one is mine,” he said.

Theo frowned. “How do we know that?”

“It is something given, to those of the blood. We have been in association with the Tree for—a very long time.”

She nodded, so intent on the pod that she didn’t think to ask if it was the
same exact Tree.

“What do I do with it?”

“We,” Father said, in his most careful, this-is-your-decision voice, “eat them. Sometimes, there are immediate effects—euphoria, for instance. Sometimes, there is no noticeable effect. The Tree—is a biochemist, Theo. You are not compelled to accept its gift. You may throw it away. You
may
throw it away, if you decide it is in your best interest.”

She looked into his face.

“Is it . . . bad to eat the pod?”

“Child, I cannot say that it is. Nor can I say that it would be good.”

She considered him. “Are you going to eat yours?”

“Yes.”

She looked at the pod; it seemed innocent enough, and it smelled delicious, reminding her that she’d forgotten to stop by the morning parlor for a pickup nuncheon before her meeting with Shan.

“I’d like to taste it,” she said. “Will you show me how?”

The quarters practically fell apart at her touch; they tasted . . . better than anything she’d ever eaten. Then the last piece was gone and she was satisfied.

“Well, then,” Father said. “Shall I escort you to your cousins?”

“Or I’ll escort you to the delm.”

He laughed. “At least, let us both go to the house.”

They strolled along the stone pathway in companionable silence, then Theo stirred.

“Father?” she said, and then wished she hadn’t, for surely asking such a question must be hurtful.