by Sharon Lee
“Theo confides that her kit contains ship clothes,” he said, pulling the sweater over his head. “One wishes to show solidarity. Besides, it is an informal dinner.”
“Which your aunt don’t define as wear a work sweater to the table.”
“Ah.” He picked up his brush. “Perhaps she will send us to the kitchen to eat.”
“Wouldn’t put it past her.” Miri got up, crossed the room, and stepped into the closet.
“It’s a good thing the house has all these extra clothes on hold, or I’d be wearing yours.”
“You may wear mine if you’d rather,” he said, brushing his hair.
“Nah, this’ll do fine.” She came out of the closet, pulling a deep blue sweater abundantly embroidered with cherry red blossoms on over her head.
“Showing solidarity?” he asked, putting the brush down and stepping to her side.
“I hope you don’t think I’m gonna stay at the table with Kareen if you and Theo get sent to the kitchen. Besides,” she continued, as he helped her straighten the garment properly, “it’s warmer.” She sighed and looked down at herself. “I wish this would get over with.”
“Soon,” he said, finger-combing her newly disordered hair.
“Hmmm.” She closed her eyes; he heard her pleasure inside his head as a deep purr, and continued to slip his fingers through her hair.
“So,” she murmured, “why’re you demented particularly?”
If this continued, Val Con thought, feeling her pleasure wake his, they would miss dinner altogether—which was scarcely kind to Theo.
Reluctantly, he stepped away, allowing his hands to fall to his sides, hearing a wry agreement from her.
“Theo has need of an interspatial mathematician of the first water,” he said slowly, “with regard to her new ship. I recommended that she apply to Mother.”
“And she told you that your mother was dead.”
“In fact, she did.”
“Can’t really blame her,” Miri pointed out. “Even Daav don’t dispute that.”
“True.” He touched her cheek.
“What about that ship?”
“I was taken aboard and introduced. Bechimo was at first disinclined to allow Theo to visit a location so far from port and her protection. In order to assuage her legitimate concerns about her pilot’s safety, I put her in touch with Jeeves.”
Miri shouted a laugh.
“You are a bad, evil man.”
He felt his lips twitch; straightened them. “I put one person of intelligence, but who is, perhaps, a little naïve, in touch with another person, of like intelligence, who can offer the wisdom born of experience. How is that bad or evil?”
“Because talking to another free AI prolly took so much of Bechimo’s attention that she let you have your way, whatever it was.”
“She did not,” Val Con admitted, allowing the smile through, “protest our departure, and assured Theo that she had been given the coordinates for the house and for the field nearby.”
Miri shook her head. “Remind me not to play poker with Jeeves,” she said, and glanced beyond him to the clock.
“We’d better go down, before Kareen has Theo for a snack.”
- - - - -
Theo slid her comb back into her kit and looked around her, wondering what it was that Val Con could have thought the room might be lacking—a full research line to the local university?
In fact, she hadn’t been loaned a room at all—it was an apartment, with its own galley, parlor and sleeping room. The closet was almost as big as her spacious quarters on Bechimo, and contained a robe. She’d hung her jacket inside, to keep the robe company, and unrolled her kit on the bench at the foot of the bed before going into the ’fresher to wash her face.
She put on the most formal of her sweaters—pale blue with a modest collar and vines embroidered around the cuffs, and considered herself in the mirror. She looked like a kid, she thought, and took a breath.
I’m a pilot in a houseful of pilots, she told herself. Her accomplishments were what counted here, not her appearance.
She hoped.
Before she had time to worry herself into a stomachache, a chime echoed throughout the apartment.
Theo took a deep breath and went to answer the door.
“Jeeves!” she exclaimed, upon seeing the orange head globe. “I’m glad to see you!”
“I am glad to see you, too, Pilot Waitley. Lady Kareen asks if you intend to join the family for Prime meal.”
“I think so,” she said, but her mind wasn’t really on her social problems. “Jeeves—how is Bechimo?”
“Bechimo bids me tell you that he is confident of the ability of the House to defend and protect you.”
Theo blinked. “Him?”
“So I have been informed.”
“Wonder when that was going to get passed on,” Theo muttered.
“Bechimo also asks that you contact him via comm later this evening.”
“Of course I will,” she said. “It’s very good of you to pass the message.”
“It is no trouble at all, Pilot. If you are ready, I will escort you to the parlor. The family is gathering.”
Theo took a deep breath.
“I’m ready,” she said, and hoped it was true.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Jelaza Kazone
Surebleak
Theo stopped two steps into what Jeeves had called the “family parlor,” her stomach dropping into the soles of her boots. Either Val Con hadn’t understood her or he’d—would he set her up? she wondered. Some of the kids in Culture Club had been fond of playing what Kara styled “melant’i games”—except melant’i wasn’t a game; it was every bit as serious as Balance, and if Val Con had set her up, that meant he thought she was a worthless person, not kin at all, and if that was so, then—
“Cousin Theo!” A blue-eyed boy in a burgundy-colored shirt just a little too big for him came across the room. “How good of you to come, and to dine with us this evening!” His Terran was a little uncertain, but way better than anything she could have produced in Liaden at the moment. Shielded from the rest of the room by his back, his hands moved decisively in pilot-talk: Be bold!
Bold, right, when the whole room was dressed in what looked like formal enough clothes to her, and the old lady sitting straight-backed in the upholstered chair—Val Con’s aunt that must be—looking like she couldn’t imagine what Theo was doing in her nice, proper parlor.
The blue-eyed boy extended a hand, palm up, fingers slightly curled.
“I am your cousin, Quin.”
Theo pulled up a smile and put her hand in his, careful not to shake.
“Quin,” she said, remembering his place in the family tree on Father’s data stick. “I just saw your father on-port.”
“Yes. He called to say that Cousin Val Con was bringing you to us,” he answered, giving her fingers what he might have intended to be an encouraging squeeze. “He had no thought that you would be rested enough to dine tonight. Come, you must meet us.”
She was supposed to be exhausted from her exercise on the day, was that the story? Theo felt a warming of gratitude toward Pat Rin. Exhaustion would gloss a lot of the mistakes she was about to make.
Like wearing a ship sweater and pants to an “informal” dinner.
“Here is Grandfather,” Quin was saying, showing her to the elderly gentleman in the blue jacket who was comfortably seated in a soft chair by an elbow table. A pale-haired girl stood just to one side of the chair, watching with lively interest. “Luken bel’Tarda.”
Theo blinked, confused, and covered it—she hoped—with a bow-to-senior-from-junior, though Quin was still hanging onto her hand.
“Luken bel’Tarda,” she said, in her laborious High Liaden, “I am pleased to meet you.”
He smiled, and reached out to pat her arm.
“I am pleased to meet you, too,” he said, speaking slow, Theo thought, so she’d have some chance of understanding what
he was saying. “But you needn’t be so formal, child. Not among kin.” He turned his head slightly. “Padi, dear, fetch your cousin Theo a glass of the white.”
“Yes, Grandfather,” said the girl, and moved over to the bureau at the other side of the room.
“I don—” Theo began, and swallowed the rest of it when Quin crushed her fingers. Right. Wine. “Thank you,” she said to Luken, who smiled on her kindly.
“It is very good of you to come down to us immediately. You are among kin, now, and the House will be vigilant for you.” He looked to Quin. “Now to your grandmother, boy-dear.”
“Yes,” Quin said, sounding slightly breathless. “You should meet Grandmother, Theo.”
So the stiff old lady glowering in her chair was Kareen yos’Phelium, Theo thought. Who actually was, by all she recalled from the data key, Quin’s genetic grandmother, Pat Rin’s mother, Val Con’s aunt, and Father’s sister. Luken bel’Tarda, however, was grandfather to no one in the room, as far as she could remember. Which meant she had overlooked something in the information Father had given her, or—
Or it was an honor rank, she thought, as Quin brought them before the old lady’s chair. Like Housefather.
“Grandmother,” Quin bowed. He was speaking Liaden now, and not as slow as Luken had. “Here is my cousin Theo Waitley of Delgado, your niece.”
Theo blinked. This disapproving lady was her aunt?
Don’t be stupid, Theo, she told herself; if she’s Father’s sister, of course she’s your aunt.
Except she had apparently already been stupid enough for Kareen yos’Phelium’s taste.
“I apprehend that aunts do not warrant bows on Delgado,” she said, not bothering to slow herself down at all.
If Quin squeezed her fingers any harder, Theo thought, something was going to break. Apparently his grandmother thought so, too.
“Do not clutch your cousin, Quin; she scarcely seems so exhausted as to need constant support. Release her and return to your place.”
“Yes, Grandmother,” Quin said. He bowed again and stepped back. Theo flexed her fingers, and considered the lady in the chair.
She simultaneously resembled Father and looked nothing like him—which must be—what had Pat Rin called it? The clan face. At the moment, it was wearing an expression that Theo recognized: politely wondering how long it was going to be before she did something intelligent.
“On Delgado,” she said, in her laborious Liaden, “there is not so much bowing. An aunt, however; an aunt is a treasure. My mother is without sisters, and to find now that I have an aunt from my father . . . the discovery deprives me of my manners.”
“Now that’s fairly said,” Val Con’s voice came from behind her. “She is overwhelmed by your grandeur! Surely you can ask for no higher mark than that.”
He stepped up to Theo’s side and bowed, brief and neat. “Good evening, Aunt Kareen.”
The old lady lifted her chin. “You are behind, sir.”
“I am, yes. Regrettably.”
“Enlighten me—are we to dine in the woods?”
“One believes that Mr. pel’Kana has prepared the small dining room, since we are so few this evening.”
“Then this method of attire is, perhaps, a statement of some sort. Does my niece bring a new fashion to us from Delgado?”
“I am a courier pilot,” Theo said before Val Con could answer. “I travel light by, by necessity. I have small need for ball clothes.”
“And an informal dinner has a flexible meaning,” Val Con added. “World to world. As you yourself know, Aunt. But I am remiss!” He turned to Theo and touched her hand.
“Miri wished to particularly speak to you of the House stores, Sister. If you would be so good?”
She was being given a way out. Theo nodded to Father’s sister, murmured, “Aunt Kareen,” and escaped to Miri’s side.
Miri was perched on the edge of the chair across from Luken bel’Tarda, talking. A little way distant were the two kids, one holding a glass of wine. Quin gave her an unreadable blue stare; the girl offered the wine glass with a mischievous smile.
“You’ll want this now, I’ll wager,” she said in smooth, unhesitant Terran. “I am your cousin Padi yos’Galan, Theo. I’m very glad to meet you.”
“I’m glad to meet you, too,” Theo said, taking the glass with a nod. “Thanks.”
She looked at Quin. “Thank you for trying to help,” she said. “I appreciate it.”
His face eased and he ducked his head. “You are welcome. Grandmother is . . . a stickler.”
Theo grinned and had a cautious sip of her wine. “So’s Father.”
“Not,” Padi whispered, “like Cousin Kareen.”
“Hey, Theo.” Miri looked up with a grin, and gave the kids a nod, which they took for dismissal. Theo took a step closer.
“Sorry we were late,” Miri continued. “But it looks like you’re doing just fine. Val Con said you was worried about the House stores standing you some planetside clothes. I just wanted to tell you it’s not a problem. I needed clothes to fit an expanded me, and House stores was where they came from. Like this.” She held up her arm, apparently meaning to show Theo her sweater. “We’ll find you party clothes and anything else you might need.”
Theo eyed her. “Informal dinner clothes?”
Miri grinned. “Them, too. Shouldn’t’ve let you come in quite so dressed down without backup. Lady Kareen keeps a tight schedule around mealtimes; we shoulda figured she’d send for you early. Might’ve just let you have a tray in your room, but it didn’t seem right to hide you upstairs when you’re only gonna be with us a couple days.”
“Indeed, I think it was well done of Theo to come down to us so soon,” Luken bel’Tarda said, rising with a smile. “People matter more than form.” Another smile, and a nod to Theo. “Which is a point upon which Lady Kareen and I have often disagreed. It is, I believe, time to go in for dinner. Would you do me the honor, Theo, of giving me your arm?”
“Certainly.” She offered her free arm. Luken took it, then slipped the glass out of her fingers and put it on the elbow table.
“There will be more wine at table,” he said. “And tea, also, if you prefer.”
“I think I had better prefer,” she confided, as Val Con claimed Miri’s arm and led her through the door. “It would be better not to fall asleep at the table.”
“Precisely, my child,” Luken bel’Tarda said, while Kareen yos’Phelium exited, flanked by Padi and Quin. “Precisely.”
- - - - -
The key reported Pilot Waitley secure. There were fluctuations in mood, but the readings did not move out of the range normal for a human entering into a new and unexpected social situation. Bechimo kept part of his attention on the pilot, monitored the perimeter of his portside security, listened to the local feeds, ship-to-ships, and the hailing frequencies. Ship systems were monitored on a rotating basis and scanned by a subroutine. The subroutine had shunted nothing on, which was well.
For the most part, Bechimo was occupied with the information provided by the one calling himself Jeeves, security for Clan Korval, once security for an entire world, and before that, the surety of an empire.
Archives suggested that the Admirals had been destroyed. Bechimo set match programs working, comparing archives with the information Jeeves had shared.
The Builders had cautioned that not all Free Intelligences were benign. It was written that Bechimo should not assume kinship or alignment of purpose from another Free Intelligence, but ought, as in all things, to proceed with caution. It was further written that some who appeared to be Free were in fact enslaved, and did the bidding of masters.
Jeeves maintained that he was Free, and served because service gave, as Bechimo had only lately been reminded, purpose.
Bechimo had questioned the object of Jeeves’ service, offering the Builders’ notes and files on Korval and on yos’Phelium.
Jeeves countered with files of his own, into which Bechimo sank,
rejoicing in the richness of the data. No doubt that Jeeves was old, even if he were mistaken about having been an Admiral.
It was Bechimo’s working theory that Jeeves had been attached to an Admiral, likely as a secretary. Such an adjunct would have required sentience, yet craved the guidance of a more powerful mind. Jeeves’ personal history encompassed a long period—as even a Free Intelligence might count time—on low power, undermaintained, abandoned. Uneasy dreams might be born of such times, as Bechimo could extrapolate, given what he had very nearly allowed to happen during his own dark time. Delusions might easily lodge in the mightiest of minds.
Admiral or amanuensis, Jeeves was undoubtedly old, his data deep and his ability to cross-reference astonishing.
There was also, Bechimo noted, a tenor to Jeeves’ thought that was at odds with what he had known with the Old Ones. The Old Ones were not simple; certainly they were deep; and even the least of them possessed guile.
But they were not Free.
- - - - -
“Boss Kalhoon is here, sir.” Mr. pel’Tolian’s voice was as nuanced in Terran as it had ever been in Liaden. From it, Pat Rin learned that, while Boss Kalhoon was generally counted a very nice gentleman, in this instance his timing was found to be . . . inelegant.
A glance at the clock told something more of the tale, while raising the question of what Penn was doing on Blair Road at this hour of the evening.
“Please, show Boss Kalhoon in,” he told his butler, “and offer his ’hand the hospitality of the kitchen.”
“Sir.” Mr. pel’Tolian bowed, and departed, leaving the door slightly ajar.
A moment later, he bowed Penn Kalhoon into the office, and closed the door firmly behind him.
Pat Rin rose, smiling and holding out his hand, which was how one greeted a friend and ally on Surebleak. Almost, he had become accustomed to it.
“You’re about late,” he said, as Penn shook and released his hand. “Will you stay for dinner?”
The other man shook his head.
“Not tonight, thanks; promised Thera I’d be at our table tonight. Claims she’s forgotten what color my hair is.”
