Alliance of Equals

by Sharon Lee

  “Yes, Pilot. I’ve been on the sim ever since we began to come into ports where the Passage isn’t known.”

  Danae was seen to sniff.

  “While I understand that there is a need for caution under present circumstances, I believe that clipping a pilot’s wings merely because a piece of space is strange to her is…misguided. While there are some ports where we are welcome, or which welcome us more fully, pilots are by our very nature obliged to fly strange space.”

  She sighed. Deeply. And abruptly stood, bowing slightly in dismissal.

  Padi scrambled to her feet and bowed as student to teacher.

  “Thank you, Pilot,” she said, “for the gift of your expertise.”

  Danae was frowning at the simulation board, and made no sign that she had heard.

  After a moment, Padi moved to the door, and let herself out.

  —•—

  He was flat on his back on some firm surface, quite naked. The air was cool and spiced with mint.

  Directly in his line of sight was a pale golden face, half-averted, and tipped upward, as if consulting a status board above and behind him. The throat was slim, the chin firm. Perhaps the cheek was damp. Lips were slightly parted, as if the board offered hope, in the wake of despair.

  Even as he wondered who this might be, a sigh shivered through those parted lips, and the face angled downward—a woman’s face, softly rounded, with slim tawny brows over misty green eyes.

  “Aelliana?” he said, recalling the voice from the comm. He raised a hand to touch her warm, damp cheek. “You appear to be…not quite yourself.”

  Her lips quirked.

  “So I am given to understand,” she said lightly. Her voice was the voice from the comm. “But you must admit it to be quite a trick, that I appear at all.”

  He felt his mouth twitch in response to her tone—and suddenly shivered, as if the air had grown much cooler of a sudden.

  The woman who claimed to be Aelliana caught her breath, and stood.

  “Come, now!” she said briskly, reaching down to take his hand. “Let us get you up on your feet, and dressed in something warmer than the air!”

  —•—

  “Ah, excellent!” Father exclaimed, turning from where he had been standing over the chessboard, frowning down at a new problem. “I am naturally desolate, but I have been called into a meeting. I don’t expect it to last more than a quarter-hour. In the meantime, I wish you will do me the honor of sitting at the desk and reviewing the document on my screen. I would like your thoughts and a recommendation of appropriate action when I return.”

  And with that, he was gone, past her and through the door in three long strides, leaving Padi alone in the office.

  She did not immediately approach the desk and her task, but stood where she was, counting slowly.

  When she had reached forty-four, and the door had not opened again to admit Father with one more instruction, which put a ninety degree spin on what he had asked her to do—then, she went to the desk and sat down in his chair.

  Letter of Interest: Aldergate Enterprises to Tree-and-Dragon Family

  Oh, very good, she thought, moving the chair closer to the screen. If they could attach a new trade partner, even one of modest means, so long as their melant’i was…

  Padi blinked, reread the first paragraph, and opened a notepad up in the bottom right corner of the screen. She made a note; read the second paragraph; made several more notes before moving on to the third…

  She was reviewing Aldergate Enterprises’ credit report when the door opened and Father strolled in.

  “Still reading?” he asked, crossing the room to the wine table. “May I give you something to drink, Padi?”

  “Cold tea, please,” she said, flipping the screen back to the TerraTrade almanac.

  “Certainly.”

  She heard the clink of glass against glass, read the last paragraph of the letter of interest again, and turned the chair, meaning to get up—but Father was already settling into the visitor’s chair, utterly on the wrong side of the desk, wineglass in hand. The cup holding her tea was sitting on the stone coaster on the desk.

  “Please continue,” Father said politely. “I don’t wish to disturb your work.”

  “I believe I may have finished,” she said, picking up the cup and taking a sip of cool tea.

  “Well, then!” Father raised his glass encouragingly. “What do you recommend me to do?”

  “I recommend,” Padi said carefully, “that we have nothing to do with Aldergate Enterprises. I suppose that we do have to formally decline their offer, if only to keep Ms. dea’Gauss happy.”

  “Decline their offer?” Father repeated. “Padi, this is only the third letter of interest we’ve received since the clan’s relocation to Surebleak. Surely, we can’t turn our faces away!”

  He was going to make her work for it, was he? Very well. Padi had another sip of tea and put the cup aside.

  “I think we must do exactly that, sir,” she said calmly. “Far from wishing to become partners-in-trade, it is clear from their letter that Aldergate Enterprises wishes to acquire the right to trade under our mark and name.”

  “All of our affiliates show the Tree-and-Dragon,” Father objected, “and one or another of our trade names is included in their docking packets.”

  “Yes,” Padi agreed. “However, none of our other affiliates claim to be Tree-and-Dragon Family. Aldergate Enterprises wishes to lease the right to use our name as their own, nonexclusively. They would not be carrying our goods, except by purest chance, and they would not in any way—as is explicitly stated in paragraph two—be affiliated with Tree-and-Dragon Family, Surebleak.

  “Oh,” Father murmured. “That’s irregular.”

  “One might say so,” she answered, miming his tone of polite foolishness. “TerraTrade has Aldergate Enterprises listed as an ongoing criminal enterprise.”

  “Well, but we both know, don’t we, Padi, that there may sometimes be an error in those sorts of lists?”

  He was making her walk up the hill in both directions, drat him!

  “We do, yes, know that errors may be made. That is why I also referenced The Shipping News, and the Trade Guild newsletter, and Taggerth’s Trade News.

  “Taggerth’s is hardly a reputable source.”

  “Not at all reputable,” she agreed. “However, it serves very well as corroboration. Aldergate Enterprises makes no honorable offer.”

  “The leasing fee is quite generous,” Father commented, raising his glass.

  Padi smacked her palm against his desk.

  “Now you are just toying with me!” she said sternly. “Really, Father, you had no intention of accepting this offer, and well I know it!”

  He looked a little sheepish.

  “I will own that it seemed rather…one-sided. But, you know, I was somewhat rushed—that stupid meeting! It was very good of you to go to the trouble of researching the situation for me.”

  She sighed, but inclined her head at just the correct angle for a gracious acceptance of his thanks. Cousin Kareen would have been greatly impressed.

  “Well!” Father said, setting glass aside. “I will want to see your letter declining Aldergate Enterprises’ generous offer before it is transmitted—only to come into the way of appropriate phrasing, you understand! In the meantime, I hope you will be able to assist me with putting together a small notion that I intend for Langlast.”

  She eyed him.

  “What sort of notion?”

  He smiled at her.

  “Why, we’ve been so dull lately, that I thought it would do us all good to host a reception at Langlastport. I’m afraid that I’m hopelessly stupid about such things—but you are so competent and accommodating that I am certain you won’t mind taking care of the details.”

  A reception?

  She opened her mouth to say that she had never put together a trade reception in her life—

  And closed her mouth, because of co
urse he knew that.

  She inclined her head once more.

  “I am honored by your faith in my abilities,” she told him. “I wonder, if you would do me the favor of holding yourself ready to assist by answering questions, and perhaps offering insight.”

  “Certainly,” he said. “I’ll be pleased to stand your second.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Tarigan

  Jemiatha’s Jumble Stop

  Berth 12

  “Admiral Bunter, this is Tocohl Lorlin, addressing you from the bridge of Tarigan, in Berth Twelve.”

  The pilot’s voice was calm and assured, which it had never failed of, in their short time together. That unflappable manner might, Tolly thought, be considered a flaw by some, but he wasn’t among their number. Logic and rule-sets weren’t enough to support a healthy intelligence. Inconvenient as they were, emotions—the ability to experience joy, satisfaction, chagrin, loss—were vital to the long-term viability of a self-aware intelligence. That wasn’t to say that some personalities were more reserved than flamboyant. That Pilot Tocohl fell on the reserved side of the line, was, in Tolly’s opinion, a feature, not a bug.

  She’d clearly been in a hurry to raise little Jemiatha Station, here. In fact, she’d been impatient. Quietly impatient, and courteously thoughtful of the frailties of her teammates, but there wasn’t one doubt in his mind that, had she been alone, Pilot Tocohl would have taken their series of Jumps one right after another, with no more break than a skim-in to check the beacons before she was gone ’tween again.

  Right now, though, there wasn’t the slightest hint of impatience, or anger, or trepidation. The only thing coming through that smooth voice was a sort of firm courtesy that ought to soothe the flayed nerves of an isolated and frightened newborn.

  At least he hoped so.

  “I hear you,” a voice came through the comm. The words were slow, and oddly spaced, but there was inflection, even in so brief a declaration. This was not the voice of a machine.

  “Good,” Tocohl said. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, and I apologize for being so long to come to you.”

  “Why are you here?” the Admiral asked, and Tolly nodded to himself. Perfectly reasonable question.

  “I was sent to assist you in your situation here. I was told to say that the contents of File Name Tocohl are now available to you.”

  There was a pause, longer than it should have taken even an unaware comp to access a file and—

  “You are the teacher who was promised?”

  Slight query inflection there. Well, Tolly thought, why not?

  “I am not myself the teacher,” Tocohl said. “I accompany the teacher, and will assist him. With our party is also a backup pilot-guard, and another, less-experienced teacher. The teacher would like to speak with you, and make arrangements to come to you.”

  “Come to me? All of these?” There was panic in the slow voice. “Why should there be so many?”

  Tolly leaned forward, his fingers shaping a request for the comm. Tocohl assigned it to him immediately.

  “Admiral Bunter, this is Mentor Tolly Jones,” he said, his voice warm and friendly, like it naturally was, thanks to the school and its parameters. “I’m the teacher you were promised. I’d like to inspect your physical plants, make sure you’re firmly situated. That’s the first step. I can come aboard myself, the first time, if you’d rather, and we can get to know each other better. I understand you might be suspicious of somebody you never heard of, asking to bring a crowd on deck.”

  “Firmly situated,” the Admiral repeated. “I am not firmly situated. My environments are at risk. Only the packet boat holds air. My resources are overutilized. I am to protect the station from pirates.”

  “That’s right,” Tolly said soothingly. “You’re doin’ a real good job, there, from what Stew tells me.”

  “Stew.”

  Tolly squinted, wishing he could see through the comm to where the Admiral kept station.

  “Sure—Stew,” Tolly said, and waited. If dementia had already set in…

  But Admiral Bunter broke his silence.

  “Stew does not think all pirates must be stopped.”

  That sent a chill down the back, so it did.

  Tolly shook his head, smiled, and leaned into the board.

  “I think you’ll find Stew’s a hardliner on the subject of pirates,” he said. “Problem is, words have meanings, and definitions take flex. That’s what I’m here to teach you about, if you’re willing.”

  “I am willing.” That sounded very nearly eager, and the follow-up was encouraging, as well.

  “Please transmit your data, Mentor Tolly Jones. I wish to review it and…do research before I allow you on any of my ships.”

  “Perfectly reasonable,” Tolly said, pushing the button that sent his professional portfolio to Admiral Bunter. “I’d want to do exactly the same, in your place.”

  “This pilot-guard and lesser teacher. I will have their data, too.”

  “Sure thing,” said Tolly, agreeably. Haz’s file, provided by Clan Korval, went next. He waited before sending Inkirani Yo’s info.

  They were, in fact, making this first contact without Inki, as she asked to be called “by friends,” present. Inki had been proactive in another direction altogether, and had identified six vessels among Jemiatha’s inventory of decommissioned ships roomy enough to accept a hard installation, and big-brained enough to accommodate the Admiral. She’d volunteered to do a preliminary triage with Stew, narrowing the list down to no more than three. Those three would then need a boots-on-deck inspect, and only hope one was suitable, else they’d be moving the Admiral into the station’s system, which might not meet with favor.

  “I have accessed the file of Hazenthull nor’Phelium,” Admiral Bunter stated. “She is not a teacher.”

  “I wouldn’t set her aside too quick, as a teacher,” Tolly said. “But you know Tocohl just told you Haz is a pilot-guard. The universe isn’t exactly safe, and we wanted to make sure we got to you without any further delays.”

  “There are pirates?”

  “There are pirates everywhere, but not everyone is a pirate,” Tolly said, putting so much conviction in his voice that the truth of what he said couldn’t help but hit center.

  ’Course, whether there was a center to hit, Admiral Bunter being the patchwork thing that he was…

  There came another pause, before the Admiral spoke again, his voice sounding strained. “I will receive the data for the lesser teacher.”

  “That’s assistant mentor,” Tolly corrected gently. “We’re an alliance of equals, here. Everybody brings something valuable to the team. The assistant mentor, now…Inkirani Yo is her name, and”—he pressed the key for the third time—“you should have her file now.”

  “I have it,” the Admiral said, and, yes; his voice was definitely slurred now. Tolly shivered, hoping that they hadn’t just blown one of the old comps.

  “I will study these things,” Admiral Bunter stated.

  “Good,” Tolly said briskly. “When may I come aboard?”

  “After I have s-s-studied, and thought,” the Admiral said.

  “At what hour,” Tocohl asked, taking the comm back, “may we call again, Admiral?”

  “Three station hours,” came the unsteady reply. “Call back then. Admiral Bunter, out.”

  The comm light snapped from active to waiting. Tolly sighed, and sat back in his chair.

  “He is badly wounded,” Hazenthull said, from her perch on the observer’s chair.

  “I think you’re right, Haz,” he said heavily, and looked to first board. “We might be too late, Pilot. If that little bit of interaction wore him out, he’s not strong enough to survive a move.”

  Tocohl raised her head, the screen showing the lines of a woman’s determined face. “You will try, though, Mentor?”

  He took a deep breath. Pilot Tocohl had some personal investment in this project, that was clear, and he wanted
to disappoint her even less than he wanted to fail the Admiral, brought into this nasty ol’ universe unasked, and abandoned to fend for himself with too few rules to guide him.

  “I’ll try, Pilot,” he said, and shivered, like he had maybe promised too much.

  —•—

  Ship togs had been laid out on a nearby chair, and he pulled them on, taking note of the smooth hands that did the work, the slim, unmarked feet, firm knees, and flat belly. There was no mirror, so that he might survey the rest of himself, but what he could see was enough to wake another sort of shiver.

  He was an old man; his waist soft, and his knees knobby. His hands bore the shadows of scars gained in youth, and the skin around the knuckles was stretched.

  This body which dressed itself at his command—was the body of a young man.

  He settled the sweater, and turned to face his companion.

  “Aelliana,” he said, and it was the arid plain he recalled now, and her finding of those other doors for them to try…

  “Aelliana,” he said, his own voice in his ears: deep, and rough, and grainy as ever it had been. “What place is this?”

  Before she could reply, the door opened smartly, and they both turned as a dark-haired man entered. He was taller than Daav, black hair tipped with red, and a closely trimmed dark beard, despite the testimony of which, he did not seem…quite Terran.

  He was dressed as they were, in simple sweater and pants. His feet were bare.

  Daav remembered him, very well. And the memory did not soothe him.

  “I beg your pardon, Pilot yos’Phelium,” Uncle said, his voice bearing a slight accent that was neither Liaden nor Terran. “You and your lady are guests aboard my own ship, Vivulonj Prosperu. The injuries you sustained at Moonstruck made it necessary that I act quickly, and upon my own recognizance. I did not, of course, wish to lose so able an ally—”

  “Pod 78,” Daav interrupted. “It was disarmed?”

  “You did indeed complete the task your delm had set upon you, despite the distraction provided by those who wished to subvert the installation to their own use.”