by Sharon Lee
“I see you understand the problem,” Clonak said dryly.
“Indeed, I am an idiot,” Val Con said. He stepped over to the wall and touched the plate set there. A moment later, the door opened and Mr. pel’Kana looked within.
“Your lordship?”
“Please wake Scout Hath and bring her here, Mr. pel’Kana,” Val Con said, keeping his voice calm with an effort. “Her report is wanted.”
“Yes, Your Lordship.”
“Also, some tea, please, Mr. pel’Kana, and a cold nuncheon.”
“Of course, Your Lordship.”
The door closed.
Val Con sighed, and turned to face his father’s friend.
“While we are waiting, I have a piece of information for the Scouts, if you would be so good as to convey it up-channel.”
Clonak considered him. “Is there a draft in here?” he inquired.
“Perhaps so; the house will be some time settling, I’m told.”
“Ah. And the message?”
“The message is that the ship Bechimo is under contract to Korval.”
Clonak sighed.
“That will make them happy, in Command.”
“Also,” Val Con said gently, “Scout Commander First-In Val Con yos’Phelium has inspected the ship Bechimo and finds it both sentient and sapient. It is thus a protected person, under previously established rules.”
“Previously established for Jeeves, you mean,” Clonak said, sounding very nearly irritable. “I’ll pass the message.”
“Thank you,” Val Con said.
“That might be precipitous,” Clonak answered, then, at the sound Mr. pel’Kana’s step in the hall beyond—“Here’s Hath, now.”
- - - - -
“I’m out,” Dulsey reported, and there was Arin’s Toss in Theo’s Number Three screen, rolling prettily out of the range of Bechimo’s shields.
Not that those shields were up, not with Uncle’s ship tethered to Bechimo by a tunnel. Bechimo had been remarkably compliant about accepting the tunnel and sharing air with somebody who was on his Disapproved List. Theo wasn’t sure if she liked the change or not.
“All systems check,” Dulsey continued, “no free riders.”
Theo sighed. Her worry had been that Bechimo might have concealed the presence of a second device, even after Clarence assured her that he’d swept the Toss and found her clean.
“Excellent,” Uncle’s voice came over the band. “Pilot Waitley, your package is approaching.”
All right, Theo, she told herself. Now, the easy part.
* * *
The figure in the light-duty suit pulled itself awkwardly along the guide line, and stumbled, rather than rolled into the corridor.
Theo caught an arm, drew it around her shoulders, and threw the other arm around his waist to steady him as she got them both out of the lock, and hit the kickplate.
“He’s in,” she called. “Seal us up.”
“Seal broken, tunnel retracting,” Clarence’s voice came calmly from the wall unit. The thin body she embraced stiffened, the head came up, shaking the hood back.
The piebald skin of his face had smoothed into a uniform, dry beige. There were parched lines etched around his mouth, and knifed into his forehead. His eyes were black-ringed and dull; there were threads of pure white in his hair.
“Theo,” he said, and his voice was a scratchy whisper. “Forgive, that I do not bow.”
Tears—stupid things. She blinked them away.
“You don’t have to bow. But, Win Ton—what is this? I thought you would be—be—” Her throat closed.
“That I would be preserved, as when you saw me last, perhaps, even, somewhat improved.” His lips bent in a dry parody of his smile.
“There was always the danger that the poison would learn from the healing unit’s attempts to repair,” he said. “It would appear that Bechimo is, indeed, my last hope.”
“Ship secure,” Clarence reported. “Uncle’s on a heading for the Jump point.”
“Who,” Win Ton whispered, “is that?”
“Clarence O’Berin, my copilot,” she said, and felt him stiffen again. “I need a copilot.”
“Yes, certainly you do.”
“So, come and meet him, and tell me what you need from us”—Tears again—again she blinked her eyes clear—“to heal you.”
“Indeed, it will be my pleasure, to make the pilot’s acquaintance,” he said, and then didn’t say anything more, seeming instead to concentrate his whole attention on the act of walking, leaning heavily on her, until the door slid away and they were in the piloting chamber.
He set his feet, deliberately, and straightened away from the support of her arm. Theo stepped back, though she stayed close enough to catch him, if his knees suddenly gave out.
“Win Ton, this is Clarence O’Berin. Pilot, this is Win Ton yo’Vala, first pilot accepted of Bechimo.”
That made him laugh, silent, but with such vigor that he staggered a little.
“Let us by all means be clear on that,” he said, and inclined his head. “Clarence O’Berin, I know your name.”
“Don’t surprise me,” Clarence answered, and nodded at the Jump seat. “You want to rest, Pilot? No offense, but you’re lookin’ rugged.”
“In a very short time, I believe that I will rest, but first—I know we are just met, sir, but it is in my mind to ask you a boon.”
“I’ll do what I can for a fellow pilot.”
“You are gracious.”
Win Ton reached to the collar of his shirt, fumbling the chain and the pendant key out and over his head. He shuffled three steps forward. Theo twitched, and made herself stand still, watching, but not hovering. She had hated it, when she’d been a littlie, and teachers had hovered, because she might fall—and watching out for what they might do had increased the likelihood that she would fall.
Win Ton held the key out.
“Bechimo.”
“Less Pilot yo’Vala. Welcome home.”
“Thank you. I pass the key to Copilot O’Berin, to hold for me, and to use in the best service of ship and pilot. If I do not reclaim it . . .”
Somebody squeaked. It took Theo a moment to realize that it had been her.
Win Ton looked at her over his shoulder and smiled . . . maybe.
“But of course I shall reclaim it. There is no doubt.” He looked back to Clarence. “Pilot, if you would do the kindness?”
“For the best service of pilot and ship,” Clarence said formally, and added something quick and liquid in Liaden.
Win Ton laughed again and staggered. Theo stepped up and put her hand under his arm to steady him.
“Thank you, Sweet Mystery. Now, you had asked what it is that the ship may provide. I would say, an escort to the healing unit. I hope that I am not boorish.”
“No,” said Theo. She cleared her throat. “I’ll escort you.” She looked to Clarence. “Lay in the first leg, please.”
“Yes, Pilot.”
Drawing his arm again through hers, she steered Win Ton toward the healing room where she had woken up after the lift from Tokeoport.
“With apologies, Pilot,” Bechimo said quietly. “Pilot yo’Vala will be requiring the Remastering Unit. I will guide you.”
- - - - -
Miri, Val Con thought wryly as he moved silently down the predawn hallway, is not going to like this.
He paused outside the door to the suite he shared with his lifemate, took a breath, and put his palm firmly against the plate.
The door slid aside, and he stepped into their private parlor, pausing just over the threshold.
Across the room the curtains had been drawn back from the wide window, admitting Surebleak’s uncertain dawn. The rocking chair placed at an angle to the window moved quietly, back and forth, back and forth, its occupant silhouetted against the light.
“What ain’t I gonna like?” she asked. “Didn’t get the details, but things did look kinda dicey there for a while.”<
br />
“It was not without its moments,” he allowed, moving toward the window. “Even the presence of Scout Commander ter’Meulen was insufficient to turn all to farce.”
“If Clonak was half as stupid as he acts, something with lotsa teeth would’ve had him for lunch a long time ago.”
“True,” he murmured from the side of her chair. He reached down and slipped his fingers through the wealth of her unbound hair. “But you discount the joy of the masquerade.”
“No, I don’t. I just wonder why he bothers.”
“I believe we must diagnose an excess of energy.”
She snorted. Next to her, he smiled into the dawn, then sighed.
“Wanna tell me about it?”
“In fact,” he said, dropping lightly to the rug beside her and leaning his head against her thigh, “I do.”
“Ready when you are.” He felt her hand stroke his hair and sighed in contentment made more poignant by the knowledge that it was to be all too brief.
“The highly condensed version,” he murmured, “is that one of the teams the Scouts sent to gather the severed blossoms of the Department of the Interior . . .”
She choked a laugh, and he paused, his eyes on the dark garden.
“That’s gotta be Clonak,” she said.
“Indeed, Commander ter’Meulen was pleased to style it thus,” he said. “Allow it, with the understanding that the actual business is not nearly so poetical.”
He felt her hair move as she shook her head. “ ’Course it ain’t.”
“Yes, well.” Her robe was fleece, soft and warm under his cheek. “This team of Scouts obtained news of a situation which . . . lies close to us, cha’trez.”
Her hand stilled on his hair. “How close, exactly?”
“Close as kin,” he answered. “It would seem that the Department deployed a field unit, and perhaps a tech team, to Vandar after Agent sig’Alda failed them.”
He felt her grasp it, and the frisson of her horror. Her hand fell to his shoulder, fingers gripping.
“We gotta go in,” she said, and he smiled at her quickness. “Zhena Trelu, Hakan, Kem—gods, what if they’ve already . . .”
“We have some hope that they have not already,” Val Con murmured. “A field unit is by no means an Agent of Change. But we dare not tarry.”
“We are going, then.” There was satisfaction in her voice.
Val Con shook his head. “I am going. You, my lady, will stay here and mind Korval’s concerns—and our daughter.”
“Who’s your backup, then? If I’m staying home to mind the store.”
“I thought to travel quickly,” he murmured, “and leave within the hour. Clonak is gathering a contact team. He expects them to lift out no later than three days from—”
“What you’re saying is that you’re going in without any backup.” The rocker moved more strongly; inside his head, he heard the arpeggio of her irritation. “Someday, we gotta learn better. Why not today?”
“Cha’trez—”
“Quiet. Didn’t that little surprise at the dance party teach you anything? Me, I been thinking about it a lot, and I recommend you do the same. For now, I ain’t gonna tell you how stupid it is to go into something like this by yourself, ’cause if you’d take a second to think, you’d figure it out for yourself. What I am gonna tell you is you got two options: I go with you—or Beautiful goes.”
He could not risk her—would not risk their child. His rejection was scarcely formed when he heard her sigh over his head.
“My feelings are hurt. But have it your way.” Her hand left his shoulder. He rolled to his feet and helped her to rise, pulling her into an embrace.
“I will take Nelirikk with me,” he whispered into her ear, and felt her laugh.
“That’s a good idea,” she murmured. “Glad you thought of it.”
“Indeed.” He hugged her tight, and stepped back. He slipped Korval’s Ring off of his finger and onto her thumb.
Miri sighed and closed her fingers over it.
“Get your kit,” she said. “I’ll call down to the pilot and give him the good news.”
FORTY
Jelaza Kazone
Surebleak
“Tell Pod 78 to put itself to sleep,” Miri said, trying to sound more patient than she was feeling. “We don’t need it right now, and we’re short on hands.”
“With all respect,” Jeeves answered, headball flickering. “Pod 78 has twice been put off in just those terms; the second time, I overrode its autonomous system and forced it into hibernation.”
“Do it again.”
The headball flashed bright orange, then subsided into a dull glow. Miri eyed it doubtfully.
“There is information that the delmae has not received,” Jeeves stated.
“Because I ain’t listening.” She sighed. “All right, I’ll shut up.” She folded her hands on top of the desk and pressed her mouth closed.
“Thank you. I will be brief. What makes this request worthy of the delm’s notice is that the induced hibernation is still in force. Pod 78 is not, in the vernacular, awake. This latest contact is from the security core. Pod 78 believes itself to be under attack. It believes that enemies are attempting to subvert it. If it does not receive within three Standard Weeks a deep reset by no one other than the delm genetic of Korval, it will initiate the secondary core security protocol.”
“Which is what, exactly?”
Jeeves’ headball flickered, the orange light dimming to a pale golden glow.
“If Pod 78 does not receive the attention of the delm genetic of Korval within the stated time frame, it will self-destruct.”
* * *
“. . . which we can’t let it do, on account of it being in a high-traffic area,” she finished, and looked at Daav, lounging in the deskside chair; his eyes half-closed like the news had put him to sleep.
Or maybe not.
“When Pod 78 was established, Moonstruck was in a back pocket of the galaxy,” he murmured. “It has since been found scenic and thus we have cruise ships and tourist camps.”
“Don’t we just,” she said glumly. “Might as well set up an ice cream stand while I’m there. Get us some tourist money.”
Daav opened his eyes. “By all means encourage Ms. dea’Gauss to explore the possibility of an ice cream stand,” he said cordially, “but you are not going to Moonstruck.”
“You been listening? Unless that thing gets its ears rubbed, it’s gonna do something drastic. It’s ours to take care of, and it’s yelling for the delm. I happen to be the half of the delm that’s available to take the call.”
“Yes, but you are not the delm genetic. Your position within Korval is a social construct. Pod 78’s programming calls for a biologic affirmation. I don’t doubt that a blood test is involved in the reset process, though I will certainly consult the Diaries before I go.”
“Before you go?” She shook her head, thinking about explaining to Val Con how she’d sent his parents off to get blown up by an unstable defense module, and not coming up with any good words. “What makes you think I’m sending you?”
Daav sat up straight and gave her a wide, sweet smile. “Because you are a woman of great good sense. Because you have been a captain of mercenaries and understand command. And because, my child, you are the delm, and it is your duty to decide upon proper action, for the best good of the clan. Delms spend lives; it is unavoidable. Good delms do not hazard more than the clan can afford, nor do they spend foolishly.”
“Speaking of foolish, what about Theonna—that’s her, ain’t it? The delm who set these things up?”
“Theonna yos’Phelium, yes. I fear her orbit was more erratic than most. To her credit, she did bring the clan through a field thick with thorns, with scarcely a scratch. One gathers from her own entries in the Diaries, and from papers left by others of the clan that it was . . . often difficult to differentiate between a brilliant plan of flight, and a dangerous delusion.”
“An
d the pods?”
“The pods were, I think, given the times, not an overreaction. The programming protocols might have been . . . somewhat excessive.” He gave her another smile, this one edged with irony.
“On the other hand, only look what her vision wrought on behalf of the clan and our allies, at Lytaxin.”
Miri considered him. “Was she a dramliza? Sighted?”
He moved his shoulders. “It may have been that she had flashes of long-sight among her delusions. Certainly, that would account for the overall success of her stewardship. However, that is the past; our concern is the present—and the future.” He rose and bowed to the delm’s honor.
“With Korval’s permission, I will take up this task immediately.”
“Not so fast. Who’re you taking for backup?”
“My intended backup is an expert in these types of systems. If it happens that I am unable to retain his services, I will commission one of the Scout Experts to accompany me. Speed being of the essence, my plans are necessarily fluid.”
Well, at least now she knew for certain where Val Con got every bit of his high-handed charm. Miri pushed herself out of her chair and glared at him.
“You will undertake this task at the command of your delm utilizing all possible prudence,” she told him, going all the way up to the High Tongue—Delm-to-Clanmember. “You will provide yourself with backup and with a plan for an orderly withdrawal. We are not so many that we can afford the loss of one. Nor do we count you the least of us.”
He bowed again, as one accepting his delm’s word, without a hint of irony, “Korval.”
“Right.” She sighed and shook her head. “Just get it done and get back here in one piece, accazi?”
- - - - -
“A green and pleasant world,” Nelirikk said, as they broke their march for the meal local time decreed as dinner. “Is it always so chill?”
“Never think it,” Val Con answered. “In fact, I am persuaded there are those native to the world who would pronounce today balmy in the extreme, and perfect for turning the garden.”
Nelirikk sipped from his canteen. He was, Val Con thought, a woodsman the like of which Gylles had rarely seen: bold in black-and-red plaid flannel, work pants, and sturdy boots, with a red knit cap pulled down over his ears in deference to the chill of dusk.
