by Sharon Lee
“Theo Waitley . . .”
“There’s one more thing,” she interrupted. “One more reason on the argument for going now, then I’m finished and we can hear your reasons for staying here, and weigh the two lists up—” She threw a self-conscious look at Screen Six.
“I learned that from my mother. If there’s another protocol you prefer . . .”
“The protocol you outline is equitable,” Bechimo said, “and is very close to the protocol I was taught.” There was a small pause, the blues in Screen Six drifting like clouds. “It’s been a very long time since I had anyone to argue with. Thank you for reminding me of the niceties.”
“You’re welcome,” Theo muttered, feeling her ears warm. She cleared her throat.
“The last reason—the greatest and most pressing reason why we can’t just stop here for nine months and hope that trouble goes away . . .” She turned her chair so that she was fully facing Screen Six.
“You might remember another pilot who came to you—it would have been a Standard Year or more. He picked up the key—the copilot’s key—and you took his samples—”
“Less Pilot yo’Vala,” Bechimo interrupted. “Of course, I recall.”
“Good,” Theo said. “That’s good. Win Ton—Less Pilot yo’Vala—fell into, well, into the hands of pirates—of people who wanted control over you. He denied them—protected you and me—and was terribly hurt. He’s dying, in fact. Uncle, my employer, told me that Win Ton’s best—his only—hope of being cured is you. You have his last uncorrupted samples. You have an autodoc that can handle . . . whatever it is that needs to be done, to—to bring him back to spec. We owe it—at least, I owe it—to Win Ton, to do what I can, as soon as I can, to repair his injuries.”
Screen Six had gone completely blank. Theo swallowed, started to say something else, bit her lip—and waited.
She was thinking about going into the galley and making herself a cup of tea when Bechimo finally spoke, very quietly.
“We owe the Less Pilot these things, Theo Waitley. I concur; we must go at once.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Jelaza Kazone
Surebleak
Miri carried her cup over to the window and looked out over the so-called “lawns,” sipping gingerly. Peppermint tea. Not much of an eye-opener. On the other hand, it wasn’t lemon water.
It seemed particularly unfair that even the smell of coffee had started making her queasy just when Ms. ana’Tak had finally caught the notion of how to brew it proper. Then there was the irony, for those who were bent in that direction—which, Miri admitted, she was herself—that it was genuine, expensive bean that was upsetting her newly delicate system, not the coffeetoot she’d drunk for years—and glad to get it, too. She shook her head and sipped her tea. ’Toot, now. That’d put some hair on your chest.
Outside the window, the lawns were a patchwork of brown, yellow, and green. The native Liaden grass had taken immediate catastrophic objection to the beginning of Surebleak’s so-called spring. Attention occupied by the food crops, the gardener had deemed the grass of secondary importance, a decision Miri couldn’t fault, vegetables being, in her studied opinion, much tastier than grass.
With the onset of what passed for late spring, portions of the lawn gritted its teeth and greened. Daav figured, giving nature its course, that the whole thing would be overgrown with Surebleak naturals in a couple local years anyway, and in the meantime, Miri thought, sinking down onto the window seat that was miraculously cat-free, the patchwork lawn was kinda . . . interesting.
Not that the grass was the only interesting thing going on lately. The house was fuller than it had ever been, what with the happy return of the clan’s children and the pair of oldsters set to guard them while they were hidden safe away.
Granted, Quin’d be going down to town to live with Pat Rin after the big party for the neighbors, and Master bel’Tarda of a mind to do the same, making that granddad, father, and son under one roof, with Natesa, and Pat Rin’s necessary ’hands and helpers.
Miri shook her head, catching the move of long, loose hair along her shoulders in the lightly frosted glass.
“Boy’s going to have to annex the house next door on both sides,” she told her reflection, “just to have enough room for the cat to nap.”
Well. Pat Rin wasn’t nothing if not bright. He’d figure something out.
The other elder guard—Pat Rin’s lady mother, Kareen—wasn’t yet settled in her plans. She’d accepted an in-house apartment on a temp basis, though she supposed she’d eventually find what she styled a situation in town, since she was used to having everything conveniently close.
While there wasn’t any doubt that there were plenty of situations, along with a lot less savory things, in town, Miri privately doubted that Lady Kareen would find the agglomeration of Boss-run streets nearly as convenient as Solcintra City. Be that as it was, Jeeves had escorted the lady to the room that had been hers as a child, and reported that she had declared herself well-pleased, which made Val Con laugh.
A step sounded in the hall. Miri turned her head as Mr. pel’Kana came across the threshold, holding a creamy envelope in his hand.
“Good morning, Lady.”
Miri wondered what it meant, that being called “Lady” hardly made her nose itch anymore, and that inclining her head all calm and regal was something she did on automatic.
“Good morning, Mr. pel’Kana. I trust you are well.”
“Very well, thank you.” He offered the envelope with a small, respectful bow. “This arrived on-port by courier this morning. Jemie’s Taxi brought it up the Road. The courier did not wait for an answer. Nor did Jemie.”
No surprise there; Jemie didn’t wait for much. Pairing that girl up with a taxi had been pure genius.
Miri weighed the envelope in her hand.
“There’s no danger of one becoming bored, is there?” she asked.
Mr. pel’Kana produced another slight bow. “Lady, it seems not. Will there be anything else?”
“No, I thank you.”
A third bow and he was gone, his steps quick and sharp on the wooden floor.
Miri put her teacup on the window sill, broke the seal and withdrew a single sheet of heavy paper, hand-inscribed in amethyst ink.
To Val Con yos’Phelium and Miri Robertson, Delm Korval. I, the Uncle, send greetings and best wishes for the clan’s increase.
I write in haste to say that I will be visiting the planet Surebleak in order to take receipt of items now held by Pilot Theo Waitley which properly belong to me, and to remit to her care an item which she is most anxious to receive. As the venue is Pilot Waitley’s choice, I will, of course, require assurances of safe landing, safe lift, and safe passage. I append a pinbeam code so that these assurances may be formally offered.
There followed the ’beam code and a scrawl, that might’ve been either his signature or an accident of the pen.
Miri sighed, and looked out the window.
She was still contemplating the view when Val Con entered the room a few minutes later, and walked over to the buffet to pour himself a cup of tea.
“Cha’trez, good morning. Have you eaten?”
“Not yet.” She raised the folded paper and gave him a grin. “Got some good news—Theo’s coming for a visit.”
“Ah, is she?” He received the letter and unfolded it, his eye moving rapidly down the lines.
“Well.” He refolded the paper and sat next to her on the window seat “Perhaps she felt the need of backup.”
“Could be. I wonder what goods of his she’s got, particularly.”
Val Con sipped tea.
“She has been employed as one of his couriers for some time now,” he pointed out. “There might be anything, including Arin’s Toss.” He paused and Miri caught a flicker of amused dread. “Do you suppose—”
“That she’s picked up Bechimo? The thought had crossed my mind, given the tone o’ letter. And, yeah, she might want backup, g
iven the stakes. Wouldn’t you?”
“Nothing more. But—Bechimo, here?”
Miri shrugged. “Got a ship, gotta work it, right? Theo strikes me as a serious-minded girl. You?”
Val Con laughed. “All of that, I fear. And, truly, one does not have a ship so that one may cower among the asteroids. Ships, as pilots, want work. Else ships, as pilots, will fall into mischief.”
Miri grinned. “Can’t have that, can we?”
TWENTY-FIVE
Surebleak Port
Surebleak
Call for me at the Emerald—Val Con.
That message had been waiting when they came out of Jump—real Jump, not the going-between business that Bechimo favored. Until she had a handle on the math and the process, they were doing as little of that as possible.
Theo sighed. Possibly somebody in Delm Korval’s household would be able to give her an assist with the math—or maybe there’d be a traveling mathematician on-port. Guild, trade and pilot news all seemed to agree that every ship that could hold air was on course for Surebleak. Words like booming planetary economy, wide open market, fortunes to be made, sat the same board with carpenters needed, mechanics needed, plumbers, doctors, teachers, victuallers, sanitary engineers . . . It seemed, Theo thought, archiving the latest news squirt, like the only trade that wasn’t needed on Surebleak was pilots.
In any case, her message to the Delm of Korval at the pinbeam address on Father’s data stick had gotten her an appointment—or at least a direction—from half of the delm, which Theo figured was all she needed, really. Also in queue had been an acknowledgment from Uncle, agreeing to meet her at Surebleak Port in—six local days it would be—which was . . . somewhat longer than she’d hoped for, a consternation offset by relief that he hadn’t insisted on a rendezvous point of his own choosing.
Especially given Bechimo’s feelings about Uncle, who, as it happened, was on the Disallowed List, the Double-Plus Disallowed List and, Theo guessed, the Don’t Send a Mother’s Day Card List.
As to the why behind his appearance on all those lists, Bechimo could—or would—only repeat that the Builders had compiled the lists, and that the Builders had done nothing without reason.
Which was fine, Theo thought grumpily, except that it didn’t seem that the Builders, in their wisdom, had bothered to document their reasons for those who followed.
. . . unless there was a locked Captain’s Archive somewhere, that would only unlock to a bonded captain.
That wasn’t an entirely welcome thought. Theo shook it away and looked to her screens.
The traffic around Surebleak wasn’t as dense as the traffic had been around Liad on the occasion of her last visit. Not quite. She guessed it wasn’t even unreasonably busy, given all that opportunity being advertised. It did look like it was going to take some navigation, though, and raised another sudden, unwelcome thought.
“There might not be room for us,” she said, with a glance to Screen Six, which she’d gotten into the habit of thinking of as her copilot.
Which made three unwelcome thoughts in as many minutes.
Theo grit her teeth and touched the comm, expecting to hear from Surebleak Tower that she had been entered into the Descent Log and in the meantime would she please take up orbit at the following coords . . .
But Surebleak Tower surprised her.
“Yes, Bechimo, cleared for landing at the main yard. Descent plan uploading.”
Theo blinked, even as Screen Eight flowered into a descent plan. She did the checks, blinked again, and said, “Bechimo.”
“Pilot?”
“Does this plan scan for you?”
“It is a reasonable descent in good time,” the ship answered. “Easily accomplished.”
It was, Theo thought, all of those things. She took another look at the local screens, at the ships in close orbit and the ships on lazy long orbits.
“It’s a priority drop,” she said. Priority drops were given to Guild couriers, or VIPs, not to unknown ships out of Waymart, being piloted by a newish first class . . .
“Wait,” she said aloud, and shook her head.
The Delm of Korval was expecting her.
Of course she had a priority drop.
Sighing, she touched the comm button.
“It looks good, Tower. Commencing descent now.”
* * *
The Emerald had been easy enough to derive, once she had a port map, and it was hard by the main yard, which had seemed to soothe Bechimo’s sudden concern about leaving her single crew off-ship alone.
“I’ve got to meet my brother; he’s expecting me,” Theo said, as patiently as she could. “I’m going right to the casino by the shortest route; I’m going to keep my back against the wall and my eyes on the door and I’m not going to let anybody follow me. I’ve got this”—She held out the pocket comm she’d picked up from the ready room so that Screen Six could get a good look at it—“I’ve got my key. I’ll be fine,” she said firmly. “Back in no time.”
“You will not leave the port?”
Theo sighed, her patience fraying a little. “I don’t have any reason to leave the port, do I?”
“Not that I am aware of.”
“Well, not that I’m aware of, either. Nothing to worry about.”
“This is a world in transition,” Bechimo stated, like that explained everything in one tidy sentence.
She tipped her head. “Is it on the Unapproved List?”
“No, Pilot. However, worlds in transition are by definition not stable.”
“It’s not safe, is what you’re saying.”
“Yes, Pilot.”
Theo closed her eyes.
“Are you sure you’re a starship?” she asked.
“Pilot?” Bechimo sounded startled.
Good, thought Theo, turning and heading for the hatch.
“I’ll be at the Emerald Casino, talking with my brother,” she said. “If you need me, call.”
The hatch opened to her, which was, she admitted, a relief, and she stepped out into a bright, brisk midday.
* * *
It was small casino, unexpectedly pretty, and very crowded. Theo paused by the bar and frowned at the room.
Call for me, she thought, crankily. But—how? She didn’t for one minute believe that Val Con kept rooms above the casino. Though, maybe, an office? That was possible. Best to ask the bartender—but no!
Right there, passing casually among the card tables, dark hair gleaming in the spill of light from the faceted chandelier, wearing a blue jacket—there he was!
Theo danced forward, deftly avoid collision with any of the busy patrons—
“Val Con!”
The man in the blue jacket turned, both eyebrows up, and she folded into a bow, feeling her face heat.
“Your pardon, sir . . .”
“Please.” The voice was soft and mannerly, but not at all Val Con’s voice. “No offense was offered, no offense is taken. Nor will it,” he continued, humor shading his voice, “be the first time I was taken for Val Con, or he for me.”
Theo straightened. The man before was an older and possibly sterner version of her brother, his eyes deep brown rather then green. A blue stone glittered in one ear.
He smiled slightly and inclined his head. “It’s perfectly true that we both wear the clan’s face as, if you will allow me, do you.” He extended a hand and brushed the sleeve of her jacket. “I am your cousin Pat Rin, Theo Waitley, and very pleased to meet you. Come, let us share a glass of wine while we become better acquainted.”
Theo hesitated.
“I appreciate the offer,” she said carefully, “but Val Con said I was to call for him here—at the Emerald. It’s . . . kind of urgent that I talk to him.”
Pat Rin slipped his hand under her elbow and turned her toward the bar, and past it, into a long space that held six private booths.
“In that case,” Pat Rin said, guiding her to the booth at the backmost corner, “I will have him c
alled to you. I believe he has business in the city today, so we will likely still have time to share a glass. Please, be at ease. I will return in a moment.”
Theo slid into the booth, tucking into a corner that gave her a good view of the room and solid wood at her back. Moving her shoulders against upholstery, she tried to remember what the datakey had told her about her cousin Pat Rin.
He had a son, Quin, who was a second class pilot. He himself had recently received his first class license, which was odd, with him being so old. His profession . . . Theo frowned, then bit her lip.
Pat Rin yos’Phelium was also known as Jonni Conrad, the Reform Boss, so the news feeds had him, of Surebleak.
The man responsible for all that opportunity being shouted about, and all those ships in orbit.
He was, in a word, the most powerful person on Surebleak, and here he was, coming back to the booth.
“Val Con reports himself on his way to us,” he said, slipping onto the bench at her right hand, which gave them, Theo noted, almost the exact view of the floor.
“As he was just free of his meeting with Boss Whitman, he will be some time in transit. Luncheon will arrive more immediately.”
“Thank you,” Theo said carefully. “I appreciate your care, but I didn’t intend to take you away from your work.”
Pat Rin smiled. “No fear of that, for my work stalks me always. Eluding it for an hour bolsters my image of myself as a free man.”
Not just the clan face, Theo thought abruptly. That had sounded almost exactly like Father.
“Yes?” Pat Rin murmured.
“I was just wondering—forgive me if it’s rude to ask—but you knew Father—my father—before he went—went to Delgado?”
His smile this time was wide and sweet. “I was a child when he left us, but I knew him as well as I was able. He was quite my favorite of all the clan—tall and bold and with the devil in his eye—Ah, Kai! Thank you.”
