Ghost Ship

by Sharon Lee

  “There you are, sir,” said the dark-haired young woman, slipping the tray onto the table. She stood, her vest moving just enough to show the gun on her hip. “Will there be anything else?”

  “I believe not. Thank you for your care.”

  She nodded easily, including Theo. “I’ll just be right around the corner. In case you need anything.”

  “Thank you,” Pat Rin said again, and sighed when Kai was out of range.

  “Security keeps me under their eye,” he murmured. “Please do not regard it; they are—usually—everything that is discreet.”

  He reached for the bottle.

  “Please,” he said, “serve yourself.”

  She did, taking two small cheese-filled handwiches, accepted a glass of wine, and sipped carefully before turning her attention to lunch.

  “He taught me to shoot,” Pat Rin said, when she had finished her second handwich.

  Theo paused in the act of reaching for her glass, and stared at him.

  “Father taught you to shoot?”

  “Just so. I was mad for guns—you know what children are!—and he made it his business to teach me, very thoroughly. When it came about that some knowledge only whet my desire for more, he had a gun tuned for me—my first match pistol—and taught me what to do with it.” He sipped his wine; Theo would have said that the expression on his face was wistful.

  “One of his last gifts to me was a lifetime membership at Tey Dor’s.” He glanced up and met her eyes, as if suddenly conscious of her presence.

  “Tey Dor’s is a shooting club, at Solcintra.”

  “Did you continue with it?” Theo asked, trying to hold up her end of the conversation while considering Father teaching a child how to handle a firearm. “The shooting?”

  “As it happens, the childhood passion stayed with me. I practiced with my pistols, and learned the art of other handguns. In time, I grew so bold that I entered the lists to compete . . .”

  “. . . and so became the seated champion of Tey Dor’s Solcintra,” Val Con said, slipping into the booth at Theo’s left hand, “and circuit champion—six times, Cousin? Or eight?—before he withdrew from competition, lest too many hearts be broken.”

  He reached across the table for the bottle, poured himself a glass of wine, and raised it, green eyes quizzing her over the rim.

  “Good afternoon, Theo. I am all joy to see you.”

  “Six times only on the circuit,” Pat Rin said, apparently unruffled by this rather abrupt manifestation, “the additional two were regional titles.”

  “My dreadful memory,” Val Con said. “Boss Whitman sends her compliments, Cousin.”

  “And wishes to know if I will soon be retired so that she may annex Blair Road into her own honor.”

  “She was not so blunt as that,” Val Con answered. He sipped, apparently weighing the point. “Not quite so blunt.”

  Pat Rin laughed, and made as if to stand.

  “I shall leave you and Theo to your business—unless there is some other service I might perform?”

  “You should probably hear what I have to say, too,” Theo said before Val Con had a chance to speak. She bit her lip, realizing who she’d just interrupted, and glanced at him, but he merely inclined his head, inviting her, so she thought, to continue.

  “Since you’re a pilot of Korval,” she added.

  Pat Rin looked wry. “There is some doubt of that, Cousin.”

  “Though not as much as he makes it to be,” Val Con said. He extended a slim hand and touched Pat Rin’s sleeve lightly. “Stay, of your kindness. Theo is correct; if it’s to do with the port, we will both need to hear it.”

  “That’s so.” Pat Rin picked up the wine bottle, refreshed Theo’s glass and his own, courteously nudging the fruit plate toward Theo and sending a glance to Val Con. “You might eat something.”

  “So I might. Thank you, Cousin.” He took a handwich and settled bonelessly into his corner of the booth, apparently, Theo thought, trusting her and Pat Rin to do his watching for him.

  “You have our attention, Sister.”

  She did, too; there wasn’t any doubting those serious faces. Theo took a deep breath, suddenly remembering her end-of-secondary review, when she’d had to explain to two career counselors that, no, she wasn’t planning to follow her mother into academia, she had a placement at a trade school, off-world.

  The counselors, they had been stern and disapproving. Pat Rin and Val Con—they just waited, ready to hear what she had to say.

  She took another breath and met Val Con’s eyes.

  “I came out of Jump on my way to a scheduled stop, and there was a redirect to Tokeo waiting for me . . .”

  They heard her out in attentive silence. She thought Val Con tensed when she told about finding the Guild wayroom, and swiping her card. He relaxed with a soft laugh, though, when she described hiding in the trash canister so that she could see whoever came to find her.

  After that, neither said anything, until she abruptly ran out of breath—or words—just after explaining about her escape and Bechimo’s sudden appearance among the sheltering trees.

  “I appreciate that Tokeoport was rather more of an adventure than you had wished to have,” Val Con said, as she reached somewhat unsteadily for a slice of what looked to be melon. “Also, I very much regret our part in placing you into harm’s way. Miri did tell you that the pin held a double edge, Theo.”

  The melon was sour enough to take her breath. Theo gasped, nodded, and cleared her throat.

  “That’s right, she did. But see, the problem isn’t that I got attacked; it’s that those people—Osa pel’Naria and her team—have, have captured the pin. They’re—it seems like they’re actively trying to collect pilots of Korval, or at least pilots who will recognize the pin as guaranteeing safety, so they’ll—they can use my pin to trap other pilots,” she finished miserably. Suddenly, she looked up.

  “Unless it was vaporized.”

  One of Val Con’s eyebrows rose.

  “That would of course,” he said gravely, “be the preferred outcome. Is there a reason why it might have been vaporized?”

  Her throat constricted and she looked away. She couldn’t tell him what she’d done—antisocial, psychotic, dangerous—the words were bad enough, but what she’d done . . .

  “Theo? Is there something amiss?”

  “I killed a ship,” she whispered, her hand clenched on her knee, staring at the table. “I—Bechimo found orbit and there was a ship, ordering us to stand by for boarding. I think it might’ve been one of Osa pel’Naria’s team, and it was—like the tape Father had given me, of the battle at Nev’Lorn, and the corsair—that class. I couldn’t let them board Bechimo—” she gasped a laugh. “Not that Bechimo would’ve stood for it, they’re prolly on a hundred not-allowed lists, but—”

  She had to look at one of them—she chose Pat Rin, who inclined his head gravely.

  “Necessity,” he said, which it had been.

  Suddenly, it was easier to breathe.

  “Necessity,” she repeated. “I guess it was.”

  “And necessity may perhaps have produced the best outcome,” Val Con murmured. “And we have a name—Cousin?”

  “Indeed we do—which shall be put to good use.” He rose. “And now, if you will excuse me, Cousins, duty calls and I to answer.”

  “Thank you,” Theo told him earnestly, “for your hospitality.”

  He smiled. “You are welcome. It was delightful to meet you, Cousin Theo. I hope we can find time to speak together again before your duty takes you from us.” He bowed slightly to Val Con. “Cousin, please convey my best wishes to your lady.”

  “I will,” Val Con said softly. “Thank you, Pat Rin.”

  “I guess I’d better be going, too,” Theo said.

  “Nonsense, we still have news to share,” Val Con said, plucking an oblong red fruit off of the plate.

  “These are less sour,” he said, “if you are still of a mind fo
r fruit. In the meanwhile, I must tell you that we have heard from your employer.”

  Theo bit her lip. “That’s the other reason I’m here,” she admitted. “Uncle. Now that Bechimo and I—we’ve got to return the Toss. And he’s to bring—to bring us Win Ton.” She hesitated. Val Con was eating his fruit with every indication of enjoyment, but his eyes were on her face.

  “I didn’t want to call . . . trouble to your port, but I thought, since I urgently needed to see two . . .”

  “One of whom is more or less fixed and the other who is never at rest,” Val Con murmured, “that it made sense to combine them. I would have done the same myself.” He finished his fruit and cleaned his fingers on a napkin. “Are you quite refreshed? More wine? A handwich to travel on, perhaps?”

  “No, I’m fine, thank you. Bechimo’s well-supplied.”

  “I’m certain that is the case, but I intend to prevail upon you to guest with us. We scarcely gave you care, during your last visit. Circumstances are less frenzied now. Almost all of your cousins are in residence, and eager to make themselves known to you.”

  “I—I’d like to meet them, too,” Theo said—really, it would be interesting to match the names and achievements on the datakey to faces and people, and—“Is Father . . . here? I’d like—I need to talk to him.”

  “Indeed, he is on-world, though not presently to House. He and Scout Jarn are engaged in a bit of survey work on behalf of Line yos’Galan. They should return within a matter of days. I’m certain Father won’t wish to miss the party.”

  Theo blinked at him. “Party?”

  “It should be quite a crush,” Val Con said earnestly. “All the Bosses of Surebleak are invited, with their households, so that they may meet Korval’s household and see the extent to which we are invested in the planet’s future. You will attend, won’t you, Theo?”

  “I don’t have any party clothes,” she told him. “And I might not be here. Uncle is supposed to meet me on-port in six days.”

  “Then you will be on-world for the party,” her brother said. “Excellent.” He stood and held down his hand, like he expected her to need help standing up.

  She frowned and rose without his assistance.

  “I’m not very good at parties,” she said. “And I think I’d better stay on-port.”

  Val Con considered her.

  “Please don’t think badly of me if I insist that there is room at the house. I have my reasons, which are these: Surebleak is—forgive me—an emerging port, and like all new-found jewels, rough. I allow it to be not so dangerous as Tokeo, nor do I wish to alarm you when I say that these persons who are hunting pilots of Korval?”

  Theo swallowed and looked at him. “Yes?”

  “I fear that all the galaxy knows where to find Korval.”

  Theo laughed, thinking of the crowd of ships in orbit. “That’s so.”

  “Then you will come to us, and allow the House to protect you.”

  She hesitated; shook her head. “I don’t think Bechimo will want me to be so far . . . away.”

  Val Con tipped his head. “A jealous lover? But surely she will understand that her pilot’s safety is paramount—to your kin as much as herself.”

  Theo shook her head. “I’m not sure she will. For one thing, she has a . . . mistrust of yos’Phelium, though as far as I can tell you aren’t on the Not Allowed list.”

  “I am honored,” Val Con said dryly. “However, I would not cause Bechimo an instant’s worry over the safety of her pilot. Please take me to her so that she may read the purity of my intentions.”

  Theo stared. “I’m not sure that’s a . . . great idea,” she said slowly.

  Val Con grinned. “If she breaks me, then she must mend me.”

  “I’m not so sure she can do that, without taking a sample first, which she might not be inclined to do, given her feelings,” Theo said seriously. “And if you get permanently broke, I’m the one who’s going to have to explain it to Father.”

  Her brother laughed. “Theo, trust me. If I become permanently broken, Father will perfectly understand how it came about. Come—as your brother, I insist. You are safer at the house—all honor to Bechimo, whose care of you thus far cannot be faulted! And, you know,” he gave her a half grin, “I have been very much wanting to meet her.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  Bechimo

  The key reported that Theo Waitley was vigilant; initially she had been wary, but wariness had since melted into relaxation and trust.

  That was worrisome. Crew of course trusted each other, and the family; all placing their trust in the ship, to support them and keep them safe. To trust those who were not crew—that entailed risk. To trust two persons of yos’Phelium, about whom the Builders had been ambiguous, at best . . . that seemed folly.

  Yet—the pilot—his own pilot, if not the promised Captain—she had done everything that she had said she would. She had watched well and been careful on the port; she had taken for herself the position of least peril; she had reported fully to the yos’Pheliums, and made them aware of their danger.

  It was, on balance, done well. Then the conversation, to which Bechimo had access through the remote, became dangerous.

  One yos’Phelium, whom the pilot claimed for brother—for family—Val Con brought eloquence to bear, insisting that the pilot leave the port; trading Bechimo’s protection for that of a fixed location at some remove.

  Theo Waitley resisted; she explained her responsibility to her ship and her belief that it was preferable to remain on-port.

  Still the yos’Phelium pressed, and abruptly the two of them were approaching Bechimo, and Pilot Waitley had opened the hatch.

  His pilot was agitated, her companion—was not, though it could not be said that he was entirely calm. Bechimo considered the readings and decided that the other pilot was excited, interested, and intensely curious.

  Properly, he entered behind the pilot and remained waiting one step behind her until the hatch came down. She looked up, as was her wont when wishing to speak with him and Number Six Screen out of sight.

  “Bechimo, here is my brother, who made sure you had a good registration and access to untraced funds, if they were needed.”

  She finished speaking and her companion bowed in what the Protocol module tagged as the mode between equals.

  “Val Con yos’Phelium Clan Korval,” he said, his voice soft, his tone firm. He straightened and looked to the same meaningless patch of tile Theo Waitley had addressed, and concluded, “Scout pilot.”

  Bechimo said nothing for so long Protocol pinged and displayed a list of courteous and correct greetings for a guest brought aboard by crew, including the High Liaden, “Be welcome in my house.”

  Stubbornly, Bechimo spoke not at all, which increased the agitation of his pilot, and distressed Scout Pilot yos’Phelium not one whit.

  “I think,” Theo Waitley said, “that you’d better go.”

  “Am I to be broken without even an opportunity to explain myself? That scarcely seems just Balance for my care.”

  “Your care, as you term it,” Bechimo said, stung, “was not requested.” Protocol pinged distressfully.

  “By yourself, no, it was not. However, my sister, your pilot, was concerned for your circumstances—her right, and her duty, according to Guild law. She appealed to me on your behalf and I did those things that I knew might be useful for a ship of no fixed port.” He tipped his head, perhaps displaying whimsy, and added, “I also asked her to be my champion, should it transpire that my actions offended.”

  “She pled your case, and gave your reasons,” Bechimo acknowledged, grudgingly. “I am grateful for your care—” Protocol all but purred in relief, “but it is not needed. The Builders filed certain warnings, regarding yos’Phelium.”

  “Rightly so, for we are chancy to know,” Scout Pilot yos’Phelium said. “However, if you will review the document covering the offered loan, you will see that the terms are uncomplicated: payback at simple inter
est if and only if the funds are utilized. If the funds have not been accessed in six Standards, they return to the account from which they were drawn.”

  Bechimo experienced an urge to sigh.

  “I have reviewed the covering document and what you say is true. I attempt to honor the concern of the Builders,” he admitted, “who were far wiser than I.”

  “I understand. For myself, I wish to be worthy of those who have gone before me, and also of my sister’s regard.” The yos’Phelium bowed as one offering information. “In which face, I will be taking her with me to Korval’s clanhouse, where she will rest secure, cherished by kin.”

  “Pilot Waitley has already told you that she wishes to remain at port,” Bechimo said, and only knew his error when she stirred, her readings indicating an abrupt change of temper.

  “How do you know that?” she demanded. Her eyes widened and she yanked the communications remote from her belt. “You were listening to my private conversation!”

  “Pilot, you were on port alone. Of course I would monitor your situation, to assure myself of your safety.”

  This did not have the effect he had hoped for. Instead of soothing her, it seemed only to make her angrier.

  “I’ll tell you when I want you to monitor my situation! I had the belt comm so I could call you, if there was need, not so you could violate my privacy!”

  “Whereupon we come to my next point,” Scout Pilot yos’Phelium said in his soft, firm way. “Pilot Waitley told me that she felt that Bechimo would wish her to stay on-port, after having expressed a wish to meet those of her kin she had missed, the last time she came to us. This is not the same thing as wishing to stay on port of her own desire.”

  “She must not be put into danger.”

  “If she stays on-port, even acknowledging your support, she will be in greater danger than she will be, guesting with us.” He held up a hand. “You will wish to assure yourself of this. May I have the pilot’s permission to use comm?”