by Sharon Lee
Certain of his attention, she bowed formally, to the honor of Ambassador Hevelin.
The assembled humans variously stood silent or murmured to each other, wondering. She ignored them, all of her attention, all of her thought, centered on this one very small person.
Mindful of her etiquette lessons, she shaped her bow to include their relative roles. She: captain, pilot, protector. He: ambassador and most honored guest; majestic representative of an ancient race.
She could feel Hevelin’s regard as she bowed; indeed, Bechimo showed her his actual regard, eyes intent, posture upright and interested.
Theo blinked the vision away and finished her bow with hands held wide, her right a little lower and more forward, in invitation for embrace or, in his case, for a boost to her shoulder.
Hevelin reacted well to the offer of majesty; he allowed the moment to stretch as he gazed benevolently upon her. Then, just when she began to think he was going to keep her in this new and interesting pose for the rest of the day, he uttered a surprising deep growling chirup-chirup-chirup. He adjusted his grip on the weapon he cradled—to all appearances deliberately—and quite carefully aiming it downward, marched solemnly across the deck to her.
The watchers all around stirred, whispering and quieting in response to repeats of hush! There was also a hurried exchange in Liaden, which she deliberately didn’t try to translate.
Hevelin’s eyes were on hers. He knew the theater of high office, having lived among it for decades. Theo briefly wondered if he had counted that pause, in order to increase his importance and the drama of the moment. Just then, he arrived, pausing a step away, at which point he dipped a shoulder, clearly indicating, to her if not to all present, that she should receive the ugly little gun.
“Many thanks, Ambassador,” she said in Trade, and far louder than was required to reach his excellent ears. Hevelin permitted her to get a proper hand on the pistolene grip and remove it from his tender care.
Straightening, she checked the safety. It was off; she felt a chill breeze down her spine as she rectified that and shoved the thing into a pocket.
Stost was now within their perimeter, leaving Win Ton with the small group of Scouts.
Kara had rejoined Chernak at the line, each of them holding a hammer.
“Security Officer, attend me, if you please.”
Chernak placed her hammer down on the decking, on the flat of its head. That put the stock within Kara’s reach should she need to offer another demonstration of might.
“Captain.” Chernak saluted.
“Please, carry the ambassador into the ship with all due pomp,” Theo said quietly. “Put him with Grakow and tell him to stay with Grakow.”
Chernak dropped lightly to one knee, offering her hand, palm up, to the norbear. Hevelin wasted no time in taking advantage of the offered lift. Chernak rose effortlessly and paused to allow Hevelin to gain her shoulder, where he stood on back legs, murbling softly and gazing out upon the assembled crowd.
“Captain,” Chernak said again, delivering a snappy salute, and spinning sharply on her heel. She marched like she was her own parade to the hatch and through it.
A sigh passed through the crowd.
All right, Theo thought, that was taken care of, and everything else seemed to be well in hand, as long as she didn’t stop to think about Bechimo’s hatch standing wide open and all of his crew dotted about the dock, in view of potential adversaries.
Movement near the hatch drew her eye: Clarence and Tranza were helping the wounded man to his feet. They were not—absolutely not!—taking care of him, whoever he was. There must be someone in this whole crowd of gawkers who could—
Kara had apparently been thinking along the same lines, only faster, because she suddenly pointed into the crowd.
“You! Take this man to Station Security and tell them to review the vids. Hurry!”
Tranza it was who guided the wounded to the perimeter, even as a woman in a bright green vest with VOL stenciled on it approached from the other side.
Tranza was being real cautious about the line, and maybe the woman, too. He passed his charge on to Kara, who grabbed him by the arm and practically shoved him into the woman’s arms. Tranza walked carefully back to Clarence.
Another problem solved, Theo thought, the knot in her stomach loosening somewhat. It only remained to get her crew to stations.
“Security Officer,” she snapped.
Stost marched smartly to her, and saluted with vigor. “Captain!”
“You will carry my orders. To Kara: she’s to immediately return to the ship, take second chair and keep the updates for our stated destination current.
“Clarence has two minutes to get to first seat. Two minutes by your mark, when you reach him.
“Please tell Pilot Tranza that these bags and contents are his. I would appreciate it if he would move them into the ship. Escort him, please. Joyita will assign him a cabin.
“Also, tell Joyita to stay hot as PIC. When you are done, take the other side of the hatch, with Chernak.”
She nodded. “Go.”
“Captain!” Stost said again, apparently delighted to receive these orders. He spun, not one bit less smart than Chernak, and marched toward Kara.
Theo turned her attention to their unwanted audience.
“Clear out now, people; there’s nothing for you to do here and we’re out in five minutes!”
“How’re we gonna get what we’re owed?” demanded a man holding a pry-bar over his shoulder.
Theo stared at him, trying to arrange her face like Father did—what Kamele called his shocked and horrified expression.
“If you got grief about Tever and what he owes, that’s not on this ship, my crew, or my passenger. Tever was employed by Hugglelans; it’s up to them to settle up. Mayko is the name you want, all right?” She spelled it out.
“Got that? Now move, people. We’re out in five and we’re not stopping for anybody!”
Amazingly, they began to move, to disperse, drifting back and away, where to, she didn’t care, so long as they cleared her departure zone.
Behind her, she heard Kara say—“My wrench! Thank you!” and Clarence’s laconic answer, “Better clean the blood off it before it sets and ruins the edge.”
Theo turned. Kara had disappeared into the ship, and Stost was approaching Clarence and Tranza, carrying Tranza’s bags in one large hand.
“Clarence, the captain’s orders: you have two minutes to get to first seat. Pilot Tranza, the captain’s compliments. These bags are yours. I will escort you onto the ship.”
Clarence turned his head, caught her eye, and gave her a jaunty salute before leaping into the ship. Tranza followed more slowly, Stost at his back.
Theo sighed. Everybody accounted for and safe where they belonged.
Almost.
She raised a hand and beckoned Win Ton to her.
He came, moving lightly among the dispersing stationers. The other Scouts trailed after him, which she supposed she should’ve expected.
Surprisingly, they stopped at the perimeter line, allowing Win Ton to reach her first.
He stepped well within her personal space, his face blander than she’d ever seen it, all expression locked away. He met her eyes without flinching.
“Are you going with them?” she asked. “Back to the Scouts?”
“They offer that, yes,” he said. “In exchange for Bechimo.”
She stared at him, shock vibrating through her.
“You can’t give them Bechimo,” she said flatly, feeling the truth of it echo between them—captain and ship.
Win Ton’s face softened a little, enough so that she saw amusement at the corners of his eyes.
“Indeed, I cannot, and so they come to you.”
She gave him another hard look, seeing amusement, fading; hope, faint; and…purpose.
“They forced a bargain on a dying man,” Win Ton said again, speaking quick and low. “If I should survive thro
ugh their efforts, I would deliver the ship into their hands.”
“I remember,” she said, recalling their meeting at Volmer, Win Ton pale and weak—dying, yes, that. She remembered the team of Scouts escorting him, who wanted to catch and kill the ship. Her ship.
She looked beyond him, at the six waiting patiently at the perimeter.
“I only recognize one,” she said. “The man with the short yellow hair…”
She caught a motion from the edge of her eye, turned her head to see two pathfinders standing guard at Bechimo’s open hatch, each holding a star hammer at ready.
She looked back to Win Ton.
“They come to me,” she repeated. “Do they think I’m going to give them Bechimo?”
“They suspected that you might be weak or persuadable,” Win Ton said. “Though they have been given pause, as they believe you have your brother’s Yxtrang on security.”
“My brother’s Yxtrang?”
Win Ton outright smiled. “Why should they think there are any others?”
She nodded and raised a hand, signing clarity.
“You stand with Bechimo?”
He bowed, a serious bow of request and allegiance and some other things she couldn’t read.
“If you will have me on your ship as crew, I ask that you speak with them, that they not interfere with our departure.”
Theo sighed.
“We have a departure filed,” she said.
Win Ton looked at her steadily, until she threw up one hand in defeat.
“All right, I’ll speak with them,” she said and raised her voice slightly.
“Stost, attend us, please.”
* * *
“This man you have seen but not met, he is Captain yos’Thadi. He knows you and your credentials.” Win Ton bowed—first to Theo, then to the Scout captain—and stepped back.
No other introductions were made. Stost stood at her back, star hammer in hand.
Captain yos’Thadi inclined his head so slightly that even Theo knew he was dancing on the edge of insult.
“Forgive me if I am blunt; we are informed that time is an issue.”
He waved a hand toward Bechimo.
“This ship; it does not belong to you. It is an aberration, controlled by a machine intelligence, and dangerous to all who are elsewise. The Liaden Scouts have placed it under warrant. You and your crew will vacate immediately. We are authorized to provide transportation to a port of your choice in this sector.”
Theo shook her head.
“The ship is mine, and I am his rightful captain. We have, as you say, business and an upcoming breakaway deadline. I doubt your authorizations, and consider you to be no more than underlings.”
Captain yos’Thadi stood up to his height, which equaled Win Ton’s, but fell very short of Stost’s.
“Underlings?”
Theo shrugged. “You are a Scout captain. You follow orders. I am captain of an independent tradeship. I issue orders. Furthermore, Liad has no claim on me. The Scouts have no call on me.”
“So. If you wish, we will play the game. Every port you raise, we will be waiting. Eventually, you must come to a Liaden port, or a port where a ship might be confiscated and a captain arrested, on the evidence of Scouts.”
He paused, then snapped: “I command you to give over that ship!”
Theo felt buffeted, heard the notes of power there. Like the witches who’d tried to control her, like the bullies at the academy!
She closed her eyes, found Bechimo in bond space offering Balance, offering a glimpse of her bridge, where crew—her crew, her people—worked quickly and efficiently, prepping for their departure.
She opened her eyes and met yos’Thadi’s expectant gaze.
“I do not surrender this ship and I will not be hounded, Scout Captain—” a touch of Clarence there, she thought, still keeping her gaze steady.
“The Scouts have declared this ship a danger and have placed it under warrant. If you wish to appeal that warrant, you must appeal to a Scout of higher rank.”
Theo blinked.
Beside her, Win Ton spoke quietly, “Challenger calls the question; challenged chooses weapons.”
yos’Thadi turned his head.
“You would make it a duel, would you? Another amusing trifle, yo’Vala. I believe you have missed your calling. You ought to have been a fool.”
“Ah, no,” Win Ton said gently. “I have merely combined careers.”
Challenged—that was her, Theo realized. Challenged chooses the weapons.
She smiled and inclined her head—not far—to Captain yos’Thadi.
“Very well. We will bring this discussion to Scout Commander Val Con yos’Phelium, on Surebleak, in twelve days’ time. I will stand by his word. As I know you will.”
“Val Con yos’Phelium is an outlaw,” yos’Thadi stated.
“And yet, he retains his rank,” Win Ton said. “Weapons have been chosen and the time of meeting set. Surebleak, in twelve days, yos’Thadi.”
He glared.
“Twelve days to Surebleak? You would have needed to Jump there directly, beginning yesterday, to achieve it inside of twelve days!”
Theo looked at him.
“Can’t your ship make the timing? We can set another date, if you’ll give me an idea of your capabilities.”
“Of course we can be there in twelve days!” he snapped.
“Then there is no problem,” a woman stated, coming forward to her captain’s side. She bowed to Theo as between equals.
“I am Menolly vas’Anamac, Captain Waitley, first mate on Chandra Marudas. We accept your terms and will meet you on Surebleak, in twelve Standard days.”
“Menolly—” yos’Thadi turned to her…and stopped, apparently silenced by what he saw in her face.
“Do not bait a dragon in its own den, Ing Vie. Continue and you will be burned. Captain Waitley is at an end of her patience with us.”
A long pause.
“Minot Station gives us an amended breakaway time of six minutes from my mark,” Bechimo said into her ear. “Mark.”
Captain yos’Thadi bowed—not as between equals.
“Captain Waitley. In twelve days.”
He turned and stalked away, his crew following.
Theo blew out a hard breath and turned to Win Ton.
“Six minutes to breakaway,” she said. “Let’s go!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Lefavre, Clanave Sector, a Carresens Port
Rig Tranza nodded to her, all formal, then to Clarence, then Win Ton, Kara, and Joyita. Hevelin stood near him petting Grakow, a slow murble shared between them. Stost and Chernak stood doorside, official.
“Pilot Waitley, you done me a good turn. Understand, I’m not sure exactly how much of it happened, because there’s a lot I don’t know and haven’t seen, right? Prolly a good number of things I won’t see and couldn’t remember if I did.
“What I want to say, right, is you’ve got a good ship and a good crew to match. You make me proud. Proud you were my student; proud of how you’ve come into your own self. I’m grateful, too, and that’ll have to do, because there’s no way I can repay what you and this ship done on my behalf.
“And for all the rest of it—well, I don’t think you’re running beyond your design limits, but by a swarm of ghost ships, you’re running well past mine. I’ll take that taxi on over to the Challenger, thanks—and I mean that, right? Thanks.”
* * *
Rig’s taxi was hours gone. Theo sat her station and looked at the beautiful world below them: a world she wouldn’t set foot on, nor see a dawn on.
She was daydreaming, yes she was. And at that, it was better than going over Tranza’s decision, which was logical by his needs, to be away from Bechimo as soon as possible. She’d offered him a chance to come with them to Surebleak, to speak with Korval’s master trader—she figured she could pull that out of the teapot at least!—and he might have met with Val Con, who might provide a recom
mendation once the other matter had cleared…
Anyway, the mini-pod had been collected by a station tug, and Tranza had caught his taxi, direct to Gran Fuesco Challenger, the largest tradeship in-system.
So, rather than think too hard on this or that, she watched a storm. They were, after all, at Lefavre.
Lefavre—the spaceport—sprawled synchronously above Lefavre, the planet, where a pinwheeling storm covering half the visible disk drew the eye mercilessly as a string of small satellites dotted the brilliant storm top in shadow. Every planetary year the storm sat just there for three hundred and fifty days out of a seven-hundred-day year. Just off one edge of the storm was the mountain chain that made its existence possible, as the winds roared away from the ice-capped south.
Bechimo’s view of the planet was unimpeded now that they’d moved beyond Senior Captain Avra Carresens-Denobli’s ship.
They’d barely been in-system when the senior captain called Theo, direct and in person, like she was family or at least a close friend of the family. She called to offer Theo a meal and an overnight on the Gran Fuesco Challenger and was saddened, she said, that Theo made such a short stay, but understood that if Theo and Bechimo had time-sensitive connections to make, that was how the universe flowed…
“The universe flows so. Time-sensitive connections—it is too bad. I am sorry we will not meet this time and look forward to that meeting in future. I have the highest recommendation from my daughter—that would be First Class Pilot Asha Carresens-Denobli—that I meet you. Asha was at Codrescu when you took away the ambassador, who I would also be very glad to meet. Also my cousin Janifer speaks kindly of you. But these pleasures are in the future. In present, tell me, is there anything I can do for you?”
It had taken not much more of a mention that she had a pilot as a passenger, Theo’s own teacher actually, who was in need of a deck to fly since Eylot—
“Huh! Eylot! The fools. A teaching pilot, you say? Send me his records—better, send them and also let him come to me. We will see him properly situated! If it is possible, let him speak with me now.”
Tranza had spoken with the senior captain—an interview, as it turned out to be—and come out of his cabin, eyes full of a new hope.
