Ghost Ship (41 page)

“Pilot, I will be pleased to assist. Delmae Korval is correct; one must practice art faithfully, lest one’s edge becomes dull.”

Theo frowned, getting the width, but not the depth of it, which was her whole problem with Liaden, right there.

“Is language art—or no. A weapon? Like a knife?”

“Yes to all of it.” Clarence grinned. “All right then, lassie, if you’re game, let’s try this. We’ll need to put some thought into safe words, so we don’t risk a bad miscue. How’s your reading?”

“I can read Liaden,” she told him. “It stays flat.”

He laughed. “I’ve noticed that,” he said, and inclined, very slightly, from the waist. “Shall we share a cup of tea and plan this between us?”

“Sure,” Theo said, and added one of Father’s most annoying sayings: “Soonest begun, soonest done.”

FORTY-ONE

Starrigger’s Cafe

Mayflowerport

The message had arrived under an old code. One might even have said, had one been other than Uncle, a
very
old code. That in itself was intriguing. The message, when accessed, was even more so.

So it was that Uncle entered the so-called Starrigger’s Cafe at Mayflowerport as the evening storm broke. He paused in the foyer to allow the heated floor to melt the ice from his boots and brushed the snow off his shoulders. Inside, he flipped a coin to the ’tender, and went to the right, where three private trade-booths lined the wall. Booths one and two showed blue lights. Booth three showed green.

He placed his hand against Three’s plate and murmured. “It is Uncle. May I enter?”

The status light faded to yellow. Uncle pressed the plate firmly, and was shortly seated across from a grey-haired man with black eyes wearing a Jump pilot’s jacket and an expression of polite interest. An unopened bottle of wine and two glasses sat in the center of the table.

“I am Daav yos’Phelium,” the grey-haired pilot said, his voice deep and grainy. “Thank you for agreeing to meet.”

“I could scarcely do anything else,” Uncle murmured, and nodded at the bottle. “Will you pour?”

“As I had ordered, I thought to leave the rest to you.”

The old rules of engagement were in play, then. They met not as allies, but as adversaries whose interests were momentarily aligned.

Uncle opened the bottle—a respectable vintage not entirely in keeping with the facade of the Starrigger’s Cafe—and poured. They each raised a glass, and took a single, simultaneous sip.

Daav yos’Phelium set his glass aside. Uncle did the same.

“I understand,” Uncle said delicately, “that there is an offer of employment?”

The elder pilot tipped his head. “I am desolate to have raised such expectations, and ask that you forgive my ineptness. In fact, you are to understand that there is a call upon honor.”

Uncle laughed, genuinely diverted. “Come now, sir; surely you know better.”

“Do I?” The elder pilot looked aside—perhaps at his wineglass, which he touched, but did not raise. “Do you mean me to learn,” he said, directing his gaze into the Uncle’s face, “that your contracts are suspect?”

“I allow myself to be bound by the terms of my contracts,” Uncle said. “I’m sure you’ll agree that this is mere prudence for a man who wishes to continue to work at his trade, and to gain the best employees.”

“Indeed,” the elder pilot said politely, fingering his glass. “Allow me, if you will, a small diversion, by way of satisfying personal curiosity.”

“Certainly.”

“Did you seek out and hire Theo Waitley as a courier only because she shares genes with Korval?”

“Ah.” Uncle raised his glass and sipped. “An excellent vintage; allow me to appreciate your choice.”

The other man inclined his head with a small, edged smile.

“Yes.” Uncle sipped again. “Pilot Waitley is a peculiar case. I did seek her out, in the sense that, given the nature of my business, I am continually in need of excellent pilots who demonstrate an ability to prevail in, shall we say,
unexpected
circumstances. My interest in her increased, as I am certain you will understand, when I came to know that it was she to whom the ambitious Scout yo’Vala had sent
Bechimo
’s first board key. The key having accepted her, it seemed—allow me to say that it seemed
prudent
—to engineer circumstances so that she and the ship were quickly united. I have some . . . paternal concern for
Bechimo
, despite my place on the Builders Lists. It is not healthy for a social being to be long alone—an observation that may be made, also, on behalf of Pilot Waitley.”

“So it might. And now the pilot and her ship are united, alone no longer. Is the galaxy, do you think, safe?”

Uncle smiled—gently. “My very dear sir. You know for yourself that the galaxy is neither safe nor unsafe. It is the actions of people which decide the state of our existence. Or—forgive me—our deaths.”

“I have found that to be so, yes. One must, however, consider the meaning of this partnership you have facilitated. Korval has taken steps to keep pilot and ship occupied for this next while, but it is, I fear, a temporary solution. If causality is not a fiction, one trembles to speculate upon the calamity to which they are the answer.”

“It may be that you concern yourself unnecessarily,” Uncle said. “I speak as one who is very much your elder, sir, and who has endured many changes. Very often change is merely—change, precipitating no calamity, although certainly requiring adaptation.
Bechimo
was built as an agent of change. In hindsight, it would seem that we built too early, or were too open regarding our intentions. It may be that, now,
Bechimo
’s proper time is now upon us.”

“Pilot Waitley is younger even than I,” Daav yos’Phelium pointed out.

“She is, and she will undoubtedly make errors. However, youth is a circumstance that time corrects, and error teaches us to err again along a different vector.”

Daav yos’Phelium laughed. “It does that.” He raised his glass and sipped—appreciatively, to Uncle’s eye. “Thank you for satisfying my curiosity. To return to the proper topic of this meeting, Korval at one time purchased from you two defense pods, designated seventy-seven and seventy-eight.”

“The transaction to which you refer was completed . . . some time ago, and was, as I recall, pronounced satisfactory by all involved.”

“Your recollection is exact insofar as it was reported at the time by agents of Korval. However, there is the issue of a repair warranty.”

Long years of practice preserved Uncle’s countenance, though he experienced an almost overpowering impulse to laugh.

Instead, he murmured a polite inquiry. “I do not believe that the customer purchased a repair warranty at the time of sale.”

“Again, I am inept. I beg the gift of your patience. What I mean to say is that, some while after purchase, when the pods were established each upon their base, Theonna yos’Phelium, who at the time had the honor to be Korval, contacted you specifically for assistance in programming various proprietary protocols, including the protocol for a core reset.”

Uncle felt a sudden chill breeze, despite the closed booth.

“Which one?” he asked.

“Seventy-eight reports itself upon the brink of catastrophic action, unless it is attended by the delm genetic, the most recent of whom is unfortunately occupied elsewhere.”

Uncle sighed. “A DNA sample is mandated,” he said.

“I had expected it.”

“Yes, of course. A core reboot means that the pod considers it has been compromised. Attaining the core may thus be . . . challenging.”

“I had also anticipated this. My concern springs from the possibility that, having done what mischief they might, those who wish Korval ill have withdrawn, trusting that their work will remain invisible to one unfamiliar with the system architecture.”

“I understand your need, and your concern, but fear you have failed to prove a warranty of repair. The call to honor being, of course, a mere pleasantry.”

“Perhaps. Though one does wonder after your reasons for placing such things into the hands of a madwoman.”

“I am a businessperson. She was a customer. She sought me out, bearing a list of very specific needs, and paid hard cantra for what I offered.”

“Ah. I refer to the notation left in Theonna’s hand within the official clan record. It states that the systems you had put into place for her, being built to her specifications, and untried at the time of installation—prudent, given the nature of several of the protocols under discussion—might require fine-tuning. If that were found to be the case, you were to be contacted, whereupon you would complete the work correctly.”

He remembered . . .

He’d been intrigued by a Korval, any Korval, seeking him out; he’d also been intrigued that she’d known his relationship to the shipyards of the independents, of his willingness to deal with non-standard tech and perhaps even forbidden tech.

He remembered the intensity of the woman, and that as they’d negotiated on the project schedules, he’d found himself involved in the concept over and beyond his own potential need for a similar hideaway.

The offer: Build me this and my ships will carry the supplies needed as well as blind pods for yourself; you will be paid in good cantra, and in whatever else you need to make this happen.

This
was a stormfort, to be built into the unlikely and then unremarked worldlet called Moonstruck. The planet—it
was
a planet, for it had managed both to collapse itself into a sphere and to gather to it a seasonal atmosphere—was stable in an orbit of some .69 eccentricity around a small and quiet star known as Gemaea.

Gemaea’s system had barely survived a nearby nova bare millennia before, leaving the star a large outer ring of gas and light rubble which might someday coalesce, but which gave the place the look of a ringed planet from the right point of view. At normal planetary distances there showed only a single notable object: Moonstruck itself.

With a period of very close to 6.96 Standards, the place was at perihelion, livable in an odd way, the atmosphere having oxygen and nitrogen in breathable quantities and densities, and water and poles on the verge of unfreezing. At aphelion? There, Moonstruck was a stony ball covered in stripes of ice, forbidding and lonely—beautiful, if one were a connoisseur.

He remembered that the job had taken longer than either he or she had wanted, but that there had been a reluctance, finally, to admit that it was done, freeing both to retreat to their solitary existences.

He remembered her necessity, very much a matter of sharing the same wine—to bring the systems live, with them both present, so that lifelong distrust of things done by others might be served.

He remembered the control cavern, its walls rough and limned with water. He remembered Theonna—eyes feverish, face afire. She had been past her first youth; the body he had then worn made him appear to be only a few years her elder. Such was her energy that he took fire from her, knowing it was madness they shared, yet a madness indistinguishable from brilliance.

He had done what she had asked. Everything she had asked, including the secondary sealing. After, they had coupled on the rough, icy floor, sharing yet more energy until, her fires temporarily burned low, they parted. For a time after that, he had been . . . erratic . . . in his dealings, plagued by episodes in which his thoughts exploded, searing the fabric of his mind.

Dulsey had at last posited an infection. Theonna was by that time long years dead, and he had gone early to the rebirth, arising unmarked by flame.

It had been . . . a very long time since he had thought of her—of the intense, peculiar pain of one’s thoughts, afire. He wondered how she had borne it.

He sighed, picked up his glass and drained the wine remaining before meeting Daav yos’Phelium’s shrewd, eyes.

“I will come with you,” he said.

- - - - -

“The captain will have me shot,” Nelirikk said, stubbornly.

He’d said that once already today, but Val Con had dismissed it out of hand and continued preparations. Now, it needed to be addressed more forcefully since it was actually delaying lift-off.

“Indeed, she will
not
have you shot. Because, as we have discussed, you will begin calling for aid along Korval’s private channels the moment you clear Vandar orbit, and you will not stop calling until you have raised either the captain herself, the elder scout, or Commander ter’Meulen. Once you have done this, you will report that the situation is far more complex than we had believed. That, in addition to no less than six field teams and four technical teams, there is at least one Agent of Change stationed in Laxaco City, whose intention is to speedily bring Vandar’s technology to the point required by the new commander of the Department.

“You will report on your prisoners and their condition, and you will say that I have gone to Laxaco on purpose to ensure that Kem and Hakan are out of harm’s way. I will attempt to locate the agent, but I do not intend to confront such a one until I have substantial backup.”

“Scout—”

Val Con sliced the air with his hand, a signal for attention; Nelirikk subsided, though he dared to frown.

“If the captain has you shot, you have my permission to bludgeon me to death.”

Nelirikk snorted. “A soldier’s gamble, indeed.” He sighed. “I will send backup soon, Scout. Try not to do anything the captain would deplore in the meantime.”

“It is my sole desire to behave only as the captain would wish.”

Nelirikk looked dubious, but he did at last turn toward the board.

“Safe lift, Scout.”

“Fair journey, Nelirikk.”

FORTY-TWO

Pod 78

Moonstruck

“Pilot, I regret.” Uncle’s voice did sound regretful over the tight beam, mannerly deceiver that he was. “The attempted remote boot has failed multiple times. Nor have I been able to force the timer into inactivity. I note that certain systems are quickening, in response to the approaching deadline.” There was a pause. “I fear,” Uncle said, “that you will need to do this, personally.”

Webbed into the copilot’s chair on
Ride the Luck
, Daav nodded. It scarcely mattered whether Uncle had made the attempts he claimed. Daav rather thought he had done so, given his very genuine horror upon learning that Daav intended, not a reboot, but a full shutdown.