Ghost Ship (39 page)

This was punctuated by another explosion, slightly less exclamatory than the first.

“A time delay, Pilot, three more,” reminded
Bechimo.

“Second, get out of there,” Theo said.

Unseen, Clarence shook his head.

“I’m behind the blast wall. I think I’ll just rest here ’til we’re done.”

“All right,” she said. “Just—don’t do anything dangerous, all right?”

Clarence laughed.

THIRTY-NINE

Jelaza Kazone

Surebleak

In contrast to the hallway, the map room was brightly illuminated, as if its sole occupant wished to banish every shred of shadow. If that were his purpose, yet it fell short of complete success; the man himself threw a small eclipse over the map he bent to study.

Val Con shut the door silently behind him, and said, “I was told that
Scouts
awaited my pleasure.”

Scout ter’Meulen, for it was none other, turned slowly, making a show of his lack of surprise.

“And so it was
Scouts
,” he said, “and one of them so exhausted that I begged a cot for her and an hour’s quiet recuperation, while you and I talked about the weather.”

Clonak ter’Meulen was his father’s oldest friend; a man Val Con had known all his life, and had once trusted without reservation. These things being so, still they did not make the Scout any less annoying when he was in a whimsical mood. Which he most often was.

Eyeing Clonak, Val Con noted the lines of weariness in the older man’s face.
Only one exhausted, was it?
he thought, and sighed. Well, Clonak was capable of whimsy on his deathbed. Best to get through it as quickly as possible and petition Mr. pel’Kana for a second cot.

“The weather is,” he therefore said, “remarkably mild for the season, which is, in case you had wondered, spring. We all of us anticipate the arrival of summer, and a growing season slightly shorter in duration than one of my aunt’s formal dinner parties.” He folded his hands before him. “But perhaps you have a storm warning,” he finished politely, “having so lately come from orbit.”

Clonak snorted a laugh. “You’re not going to let me have any fun, are you, Shadow?” he asked in Terran.

“As much as it must naturally pain me to discommode a guest . . .” Val Con murmured, then said more sharply, “Clonak, it is—”

The Scout held up his hand. “Local midnight, or beyond. I can tell time, child. And I can also tell when someone has subverted his duty.” He fixed Val Con in a cool, taffy-colored gaze. “Scout Commander yos’Phelium.”

Val Con sighed. “I fear you will have to be more specific—of which particular infraction do you speak?”

“Perhaps Interdicted World I-2796-893-44 strikes memory’s chord?”

In fact, it did, and pleasurable music it was, despite that they had been hunted there, and Miri nearly lost to the treachery of an Agent of Change. In Balance, they had made friends, and gained a brother.

“The locals call it Vandar,” he told Clonak. “I make a clean breast—it was either land there and live, however we might, or die attempting one more Jump in a stripped vessel that had been marked for salvage.”

“It is forbidden to land on Interdicted Worlds,” Clonak said sternly.

Well, it was. But Scouts did so not infrequently; and he and Miri had taken care to adhere as nearly as possible to local custom.

“I plead survival,” he told Clonak. “Call a tribunal, if you have a taste for farce, and let it be tried. In the meanwhile, allow me to offer you the protection of our House while you rest.”

Clonak shook his head.

“We’ll wake Hath in a moment so she can tell out the details for you. Your survival has endangered the survival of others, Scout Commander. The Department of the Interior has
noticed
Vandar.”

Val Con went cold. Foolish of him to have thought that the Depatment would
not
notice Vandar, having already lost there one full Agent of Change to the mission of retrieving one Val Con yos’Phelium. He had thought . . . no, he had
not
thought! And Clonak was correct; survival or no—his landing upon Vandar had endangered innocents, and not only those whom he knew by name.

“I see you understand the problem,” Clonak said dryly.

“Indeed, I am an idiot,” Val Con said. He stepped over to the wall and touched the plate set there. A moment later, the door opened and Mr. pel’Kana looked within.

“Your lordship?”

“Please wake Scout Hath and bring her here, Mr. pel’Kana,” Val Con said, keeping his voice calm with an effort. “Her report is wanted.”

“Yes, Your Lordship.”

“Also, some tea, please, Mr. pel’Kana, and a cold nuncheon.”

“Of course, Your Lordship.”

The door closed.

Val Con sighed, and turned to face his father’s friend.

“While we are waiting, I have a piece of information for the Scouts, if you would be so good as to convey it up-channel.”

Clonak considered him. “Is there a draft in here?” he inquired.

“Perhaps so; the house will be some time settling, I’m told.”

“Ah. And the message?”

“The message is that the ship
Bechimo
is under contract to Korval.”

Clonak sighed.

“That will make them happy, in Command.”

“Also,” Val Con said gently, “Scout Commander First-In Val Con yos’Phelium has inspected the ship
Bechimo
and finds it both sentient and sapient. It is thus a protected person, under previously established rules.”

“Previously established for Jeeves, you mean,” Clonak said, sounding very nearly irritable. “I’ll pass the message.”

“Thank you,” Val Con said.

“That might be precipitous,” Clonak answered, then, at the sound Mr. pel’Kana’s step in the hall beyond—“Here’s Hath, now.”

- - - - -

“I’m out,” Dulsey reported, and there was
Arin’s Toss
in Theo’s Number Three screen, rolling prettily out of the range of
Bechimo
’s shields.

Not that those shields were up, not with Uncle’s ship tethered to
Bechimo
by a tunnel.
Bechimo
had been remarkably compliant about accepting the tunnel and sharing air with somebody who was on his Disapproved List. Theo wasn’t sure if she liked the change or not.

“All systems check,” Dulsey continued, “no free riders.”

Theo sighed. Her worry had been that
Bechimo
might have concealed the presence of a second device, even after Clarence assured her that he’d swept the
Toss
and found her clean.

“Excellent,” Uncle’s voice came over the band. “Pilot Waitley, your package is approaching.”

All right, Theo,
she told herself.
Now, the easy part
.

* * *

The figure in the light-duty suit pulled itself awkwardly along the guide line, and stumbled, rather than rolled into the corridor.

Theo caught an arm, drew it around her shoulders, and threw the other arm around his waist to steady him as she got them both out of the lock, and hit the kickplate.

“He’s in,” she called. “Seal us up.”

“Seal broken, tunnel retracting,” Clarence’s voice came calmly from the wall unit. The thin body she embraced stiffened, the head came up, shaking the hood back.

The piebald skin of his face had smoothed into a uniform, dry beige. There were parched lines etched around his mouth, and knifed into his forehead. His eyes were black-ringed and dull; there were threads of pure white in his hair.

“Theo,” he said, and his voice was a scratchy whisper. “Forgive, that I do not bow.”

Tears—stupid things. She blinked them away.

“You don’t have to bow. But, Win Ton—what is this? I thought you would be—be—” Her throat closed.

“That I would be preserved, as when you saw me last, perhaps, even, somewhat improved.” His lips bent in a dry parody of his smile.

“There was always the danger that the poison would learn from the healing unit’s attempts to repair,” he said. “It would appear that
Bechimo
is, indeed, my last hope.”

“Ship secure,” Clarence reported. “Uncle’s on a heading for the Jump point.”

“Who,” Win Ton whispered, “is that?”

“Clarence O’Berin, my copilot,” she said, and felt him stiffen again. “I
need
a copilot.”

“Yes, certainly you do.”

“So, come and meet him, and tell me what you need from us”—Tears again—again she blinked her eyes clear—“to heal you.”

“Indeed, it will be my pleasure, to make the pilot’s acquaintance,” he said, and then didn’t say anything more, seeming instead to concentrate his whole attention on the act of walking, leaning heavily on her, until the door slid away and they were in the piloting chamber.

He set his feet, deliberately, and straightened away from the support of her arm. Theo stepped back, though she stayed close enough to catch him, if his knees suddenly gave out.

“Win Ton, this is Clarence O’Berin. Pilot, this is Win Ton yo’Vala, first pilot accepted of
Bechimo
.”

That made him laugh, silent, but with such vigor that he staggered a little.

“Let us by all means be clear on that,” he said, and inclined his head. “Clarence O’Berin, I know your name.”

“Don’t surprise me,” Clarence answered, and nodded at the Jump seat. “You want to rest, Pilot? No offense, but you’re lookin’ rugged.”

“In a very short time, I believe that I will rest, but first—I know we are just met, sir, but it is in my mind to ask you a boon.”

“I’ll do what I can for a fellow pilot.”

“You are gracious.”

Win Ton reached to the collar of his shirt, fumbling the chain and the pendant key out and over his head. He shuffled three steps forward. Theo twitched, and made herself stand still, watching, but not hovering. She had hated it, when she’d been a littlie, and teachers had
hovered
, because she might fall—and watching out for what they might do had increased the likelihood that she
would
fall.

Win Ton held the key out.

“
Bechimo
.”

“Less Pilot yo’Vala. Welcome home.”

“Thank you. I pass the key to Copilot O’Berin, to hold for me, and to use in the best service of ship and pilot. If I do not reclaim it . . .”

Somebody squeaked. It took Theo a moment to realize that it had been her.

Win Ton looked at her over his shoulder and smiled . . . maybe.

“But of course I shall reclaim it. There is no doubt.” He looked back to Clarence. “Pilot, if you would do the kindness?”

“For the best service of pilot and ship,” Clarence said formally, and added something quick and liquid in Liaden.

Win Ton laughed again and staggered. Theo stepped up and put her hand under his arm to steady him.

“Thank you, Sweet Mystery. Now, you had asked what it is that the ship may provide. I would say, an escort to the healing unit. I hope that I am not boorish.”

“No,” said Theo. She cleared her throat. “I’ll escort you.” She looked to Clarence. “Lay in the first leg, please.”

“Yes, Pilot.”

Drawing his arm again through hers, she steered Win Ton toward the healing room where she had woken up after the lift from Tokeoport.

“With apologies, Pilot,”
Bechimo
said quietly. “Pilot yo’Vala will be requiring the Remastering Unit. I will guide you.”

- - - - -

Miri,
Val Con thought wryly as he moved silently down the predawn hallway,
is not going to like this.

He paused outside the door to the suite he shared with his lifemate, took a breath, and put his palm firmly against the plate.

The door slid aside, and he stepped into their private parlor, pausing just over the threshold.

Across the room the curtains had been drawn back from the wide window, admitting Surebleak’s uncertain dawn. The rocking chair placed at an angle to the window moved quietly, back and forth, back and forth, its occupant silhouetted against the light.

“What ain’t I gonna like?” she asked. “Didn’t get the details, but things did look kinda dicey there for a while.”

“It was not without its moments,” he allowed, moving toward the window. “Even the presence of Scout Commander ter’Meulen was insufficient to turn all to farce.”

“If Clonak was half as stupid as he acts, something with lotsa teeth would’ve had him for lunch a long time ago.”

“True,” he murmured from the side of her chair. He reached down and slipped his fingers through the wealth of her unbound hair. “But you discount the joy of the masquerade.”

“No, I don’t. I just wonder why he bothers.”

“I believe we must diagnose an excess of energy.”

She snorted. Next to her, he smiled into the dawn, then sighed.

“Wanna tell me about it?”

“In fact,” he said, dropping lightly to the rug beside her and leaning his head against her thigh, “I do.”

“Ready when you are.” He felt her hand stroke his hair and sighed in contentment made more poignant by the knowledge that it was to be all too brief.

“The highly condensed version,” he murmured, “is that one of the teams the Scouts sent to gather the severed blossoms of the Department of the Interior . . .”

She choked a laugh, and he paused, his eyes on the dark garden.

“That’s gotta be Clonak,” she said.

“Indeed, Commander ter’Meulen was pleased to style it thus,” he said. “Allow it, with the understanding that the actual business is not nearly so poetical.”

He felt her hair move as she shook her head. “ ’Course it ain’t.”

“Yes, well.” Her robe was fleece, soft and warm under his cheek. “This team of Scouts obtained news of a situation which . . . lies close to us,
cha’trez
.”

Her hand stilled on his hair. “How close, exactly?”

“Close as kin,” he answered. “It would seem that the Department deployed a field unit, and perhaps a tech team, to Vandar after Agent sig’Alda failed them.”

He felt her grasp it, and the frisson of her horror. Her hand fell to his shoulder, fingers gripping.

“We gotta go in,” she said, and he smiled at her quickness. “Zhena Trelu, Hakan, Kem—gods, what if they’ve already . . .”

“We have some hope that they have not already,” Val Con murmured. “A field unit is by no means an Agent of Change. But we dare not tarry.”