The Tomorrow Log and Dragon Tide

by Sharon Lee

  "Thanks to you, for your praise," Corbinye said softly; still he did not look at her, but only stared at the Ship.

  Well, she thought suddenly, and why should he not? Nine years old when last he saw so brave a sight. Let it fill his heart now and recall to him the magnificence of his heritage. Let him be made proud, who had forgotten so much of what it was to be Crew. Let him weep with the glory of it and with the joy of—

  "In hard need of repair, isn't she?" Anjemalti murmured, with no hint of awe in his voice.

  Corbinye started, raked a glance at the screens and spun back to him. "What's meant by that?"

  He blinked as if startled by her vehemence and flicked his own glance at the screens before shrugging. "I meant no offense—and it is difficult to tell without full magnification. But just from what I see here—that scar in the fifth quad where something's been ripped free of the hull—not recently. Solars are missing, and the master vane in the third quad seems out of true. . .."

  Corbinye opened her mouth—and closed it, for how could she rebut the truth? She bent to the board and ran the full check series again, although there was no need.

  "I see its glory," she said, hearing the sullen note in her voice and wishing it were gone. "Its past splendor. It is home, Anjemalti, though the past years have not been—kind—to us. There have not been so many contracts with the Grounders, and, we have, after all, our own troubles with The Combine, that thinks all of space belongs to it, to police and to say who goes where and who may not enter at all." She sighed.

  "Truth told, to many of the Crew less contact with Grounders seemed not a bad thing, but a good."

  He frowned. "There is no Ship's treasury?"

  "Oh—aye," she said slowly, uncomfortable discussing these things, which should be told him by Acting Captain Faztherot. "But gold is—cheap—many places, Anjemalti. And such gemstones as we have are of military grade. We work, for whatever coin is current, or in trade for repair. For a time, we had work as a freighter—goods, mostly, from this world's warehouse to that. And we hauled ore, time and enough. But, the work is less plentiful of late. I—the reasons are complex, Anjemalti, and best told you by the Acting Captain."

  "Reasons such as there are faster ships to be had, and crewhands who are less xenophobic," he said. "And captains who will speak with ground-traders without insisting upon an interpreter."

  She licked her lips. "We are the Crew. We have our ways."

  "As do others. Inquire of the Witness."

  The radio spat and from the static came a voice.

  "Ho, the ship! Name yourself and state your business!"

  Corbinye started, half-choked and snapped the toggle to the left.

  "Name myself, shall I, when the Ship has pulled my ID these fifteen minutes and more? Who do you think it will be, Veln Kristefyon? Space vampires? And where is your mother?"

  "Navigation," the imp gave back, unholy glee overriding even the static. "Dolfiata took a burn when the second comp gave out and he's in sick bay, wrapped in jelly and cursing like a Grounder, Jelbi says. Half the techs on-shift are in Navigation, doing repairs, Mother and Acting Captain Faztherot are piloting and they said for me to man the mike and warn everyone away." There was a slight giggle—interference, Corbinye thought, though it could as well have been Veln.

  "Should I warn you away, cousin Corbinye?"

  "You would do better to clear me for marriage and pipe down to Acting Captain Faztherot that Captain-to-be Anjemalti Kristefyon is returned to the Ship."

  The silence was longer this time, as if her announcement had stilled even Veln's chatter, though she had never previously known him to quiet for anything but sleep.

  "Veln Kristefyon?" Anjemalti murmured next to her and she glanced over to find him still staring at the screens.

  "The child of Indemion Kristefyon and Siprian Telshovet," she said. "He will have—nine or ten Standard Years, I believe. Perhaps eleven. I have been away—some time."

  "Yes," said Anjemalti and—

  "Gardenspot to outrider ship Hyacinth." This transmission was nearly clear; the woman's voice crisp and no-nonsense. "We have you tracked and identified. Expect you will adjust course and local velocity to marry the Ship at thirty-two hundred hours, targeting Level Two, Bay One. Transmitting orientation data." Corbinye's board beeped and she shunted the information to NavComp.

  "Received." She hesitated. "Reporting the presence, in addition to Captain-to-be Kristefyon and myself, of a male person."

  "Designation?"

  "Grounder—" she closed her mouth before "barbarian" escaped; glanced at Anjemalti, who was watching her now, rather than the screens. "He calls himself Witness for the Telios."

  "Claim upon the Ship?"

  Anjemalti shifted; stilled himself. Corbinye drew a breath. "He travels with the Captain-to-be."

  "So." A space of mere crackling, then: "The Ship shall receive him."

  "Noble of the Ship," Anjemalti murmured. Corbinye shot him a quelling look, though his voice had not been loud enough to penetrate the static.

  "Please inform the Captain-to-be of our great joy in his return," the radio instructed. "Ending official transmission. Corbinye."

  "Mother?"

  "Are you well?"

  She hesitated, looked down at the soft hands, that moved with incongruous briskness across the board. She tipped her head and felt the braid pull and swing, was aware of the weight of her breasts. She thought the thought and one of the soft hands flicked the send toggle.

  "I am well."

  "You sound—unlike yourself," Mael Faztherot said, penetrating all.

  "It has been some years—and the connection is poor."

  "So it is. Until docking then, daughter."

  "Mother . . ."

  The transmission light went dark.

  She sat, frozen, staring at the darkened stud and trying to think. . ..

  "Corbinye." Anjemalti, that. She spared him a look.

  "There are accommodations to make in preparation for docking," he said neutrally. "I would make them myself, except that you indicated the board might find my touch—repellent."

  "Yes," she said, and forced the soft stranger's hands to move, matching her equations with those sent from the Ship. It was duty, after all. The same duty that had sent her away from home and safety, among Grounders on a dozen worlds and eventually into the Blue House. Duty was all that was left. And she would dispatch her duty with honor, until such time as even duty were denied her.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Docking was achieved, among various moanings and creakings offered up by the Ship's mechanism. At the end of it, Corbinye sat in the pilot's seat, hands cold and sweaty, and stared at the board, seeing this telltale, then that, then that, go from green to yellow, as Gardenspot took over Hyacinth's functions, one by careful one.

  Finally, the entire board glowed amber. Yet she sat, staring at the lights until they blurred into one light, glowing like a small sun. Soon, now.

  "Corbinye?"

  Anjemalti, again, returned from wherever he had taken himself off to, when he was satisfied that the docking maneuver was well in hand. She sighed and closed her eyes against the blurred brightness of the board lights.

  "Corbinye." Stubbornness sounding there, and a note of command. She sighed, spun the chair and opened her eyes.

  He stood in the doorway, the Trident in one hand and a repair beacon in the other. Witness for the Telios could be glimpsed over his right shoulder.

  "Is docking complete?"

  "We are at one with the Ship," she told him, hearing the weariness resonate in the voice that was not hers. She swept a hand at the board. "Married, and at peace."

  "Cleared for entrance?"

  "Oh—aye." She stood, frowned at the beacon. "Why bring that?"

  "My recollection is that, save for the Garden, the Ship is dark, and my eyes have always been weak. Allow me to indulge myself with the means to look plainly upon the faces of my Crew."

  Dark.
She had not considered. The Ship to her had never been dark. She nodded. "Let us proceed, then, cousin."

  She popped the hatch and swung out first, entering a darkness so absolute that she cried aloud and thrust her hands before her and all but fell. Fingers closed around her wrist, digging into her flesh, and a voice snapped from somewhere over her head to be still, and she was let go, but there was nothing to see, though her eyes strained until the darkness bled rainbows—

  Light, glorious and golden, wavery with weakened batteries, timorously bathed the bay.

  "Much better," Anjemalti commented, and dropped lightly to the decking, Witness for the Telios coming immediately after, bearing the second of Hyacinth's lanterns.

  "Now." Anjemalti held his beacon high and frowned a moment at the ring of Crew faces confronting him. "Ah." He went forward, carrying the Trident with him, and paused before a worn-faced woman, slightly taller than the rest, and slightly thinner.

  "I expect you must be my Aunt Mael—at least, I called you that, didn't I? My mother's best friend."

  "So I was," Mael Faztherot allowed. "And hope to be her son's, as well." She hesitated. It is the blue eyes, Corbinye thought, or that he looks so Grounder. . ..

  "I doubt you'll find much of her in my face," Anjemalti said gently. "My uncle had always said I looked as my father."

  "Not entirely true," said Mael. "Though I recall his eyes were blue. . .. His name was Jova Flanry. I will show you where it is written in the Log."

  "That would be kindness," Anjemalti returned and Corbinye wondered at his soft-spokenness, he who had damned both Ship and Crew.

  He glanced around the ring of faces once more. "I am afraid that no one else—"

  "You don't know me, do you?" An imp stepped out of the crowd, hair spiky and clothing crumpled. Anjemalti looked down at him.

  "Veln Kristefyon," he said softly, and sketched a bow, still holding fast to Trident and light. "Cousin."

  The imp blinked, taken off-stride, then made a recover by pointing at the beacon. "Why do you need that?"

  "Because my eyes are poor," Anjemalti said. "Learn grace of other's failings."

  The boy blinked again, and opened his mouth to blurt who knew what other outrage. A woman reached out and gripped his shoulder. "Veln."

  He subsided and Anjemalti turned his attention to the woman. "Siprian Telshovet?"

  "The same." she returned composedly, though her face betrayed anxiety, and the fingers that gripped the boy showed white knuckles. "Navigation Chief."

  He nodded, caught her eyes. "My vendetta died with my uncle. Your record with me is as clean as the boy's."

  Relief flooded her face, and her grip on the boy loosened, but only slightly. "I hear you—Captain."

  "Is he the Captain?" demanded the irrepressible Veln and the question rustled the circle of Crew, but no one gave him answer. He pulled away from his mother's hands. "Where's cousin Corbinye?" he cried and Anjemalti stared down at him while Corbinye felt her heart stutter and her body soak with sudden sweat. She licked her lips.

  "Here," she croaked, and stiffened as a dozen pair of Crew eyes focused on her.

  I will not flinch, she told herself. I will not cry. I will not beg. I am Corbinye Faztherot, Worldwalker and Seeker for the—

  "That is not my daughter," said Mael Faztherot.

  In the rest of the bay, there was silence, broken abruptly by Veln, who ran across to where she stood, lock-kneed and short of breath, and stared up into her face.

  "Cousin Corbinye?" His own face was creased with distress and she longed to hug him, to reassure him.

  "Yes," she whispered, then cleared her throat. "Yes, Veln."

  He bit his lip, reached out a tentative hand and touched the braid, where it hung across her shoulder. "You look—" his eyes were double their normal size, and awash with tears. "You look—different."

  "I am different," she told him, and the voice was firm this time, falling naturally into the rhythm of the tale. "I was—beaten by thieves—and my old body—died. But on Henron there is a place called the Blue House, where they take the memories and the—soul—of one person and transfer those into a body empty of memories; riven of soul." She raised her eyes from the boy's face and looked to her mother, who stood, stone-faced and silent.

  "I am Corbinye Faztherot," she said, urgently, and hated herself for begging. "In everything but the body—"

  She stopped and dropped her head, grinding her teeth to deny the tears that welled, despite her will. More words were useless and worse than that.

  Mael Faztherot had turned her back.

  "Is this," Anjemalti inquired in the tone of false lightness he used when he wished to mortify his hearer, "how the Crew rewards loyalty? Is this the gratitude won by pursuing duty to death and beyond it? I am instructed, Acting Captain."

  Corbinye looked up, breath-caught. Mael Faztherot's face was rigid; lips pale.

  "I had been concerned," Anjemalti continued, still in that lightsome tone, "that my past would dishonor the Crew, since I was raised and trained a thief. I am relieved to find that these fears—"

  "Anjemalti!" Corbinye cried, hands up in front of her, fingers snaking about themselves in some alien gesture of distress. "Anjemalti, do not!"

  He turned to look at her, eyes fey in the flickering yellow light. "All you have done for them—your duty dispatched in every particular. And you ask me not to chide them, Corbinye? You ask me to bear insult the like of which no Grounder—or thief, either—would bear?"

  "They mean no insult to you," she said hastily. "You are welcomed. Anjemalti, it is nothing."

  "Nothing?" He stared. "Corbinye—"

  "It is nothing," Mael Faztherot announced forcefully. "It is a matter of Crew's Judgment—Captain Kristefyon. Nothing with which you need concern yourself. Nothing—administrative. I will be pleased to instruct you in these matters. The logs are complete; AdminComp shall be put at your disposal. It grieves me that this matter should distort your view of us, who have been away from home so long. We are indeed delighted to have you returned to us, and ready to step into your rightful place." She glanced around at the sober, worn faces. Here and there, one nodded, and there was a soft, "Aye, be welcome, Captain."

  "There is no need to keep you standing about in the dock," she finished briskly, gathering two—Zandora and Eil, it was, Corbinye saw—with her eye and she went forward and made to take Anjemalti's arm.

  He stepped back, gracefully avoiding her and instead placed the beacon into her outstretched hand. "Kind of you, ma'am. Though I am afraid this unit will require a recharge soon. As I said, my eyes are poor, and those of my associates—"

  "Certainly, we understand the difficulty," Mael said. "Recharging the beacon will be no problem. We might even bring some sections of the ship up to twilighting, if you command. I can show you the schematics. . .." Talking so, she turned him and the others fell in around, so that he must needs go with them, and Witness, as well—though that one did pause a moment to set his beacon gently upon the floor.

  Corbinye gritted her teeth and visualized the thought-patterns for forbearance and patience with adversity. Zandora came and stood by her right side. Eil grabbed her left arm, deliberately rough. Testing her.

  She stared into his face. "I know the way. cousin."

  She did not expect the slap and Zandora grabbed her so she could not dodge it.

  "I'm no kin to you, Grounder-bitch! Think you can steal our ways and kill our kin and feed us some crazed tale about transferring souls and have us give you the keys to the Ship?" He spat this time, and Zandora still held her so she couldn't wipe the cheek clean. She held the zens before her mind's eye and kept her muscles loose.

  Eil grinned and reached and wrapped the braid around his fist. He yanked, turning and marching briskly off in the instant that Zandora released her.

  She stayed afoot, having no taste for being dragged three levels on her face. She stayed afoot, and she did not cry.

  But she had to run to kee
p up with him. All the way to the brig.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  "Of course," said Acting Captain Faztherot, "there will be a period of readjustment, while AdminComp is keyed to yourself and the rest of Ship's systems are brought onto line. In a dozen shifts you should have most systems under your command."

  "A dozen shifts?" murmured Gem, doing the conversion in his head and being careful not to frown. A Standard week to assign and activate a password? Even several passwords, coupled with an ultimate override, should not take more than an hour or two. Why, he could do it himself in less than—

  "When the Ship accepts you," Mael Faztherot said sharply; "it accepts you blood and bone. Captain and Ship are one being; sharing soul." She looked at him closely. "Surely your mother spoke of these things to you?"

  "My mother," Gem reminded her softly, "died when I was eight years old. And afterwards my uncle spoke to me only to taunt me. I regret the circumstances which have caused these lamentable gaps in my education."

  "Certainly, certainly." Corbinye's mother gave back in a hasty embarrassment her daughter would have scorned. "The Logs are at your disposal and these mysteries are fully addressed within. As for this other . . ." She turned and tapped a series into the administrative computer's keypad, a pad so old, Gem saw, that the hard plastic keys were worn smooth, its symbols pounded into oblivion by generation upon generation of fingers. . ..

  "We will require a complete gene-reading, which will be submitted to the medical computer for verification. Once verified, the data is transferred to Captain's comp—administration—which informs all of its systems and subsystems. Administration runs the Ship entire, and it must keep up with its duties even as it acknowledges a new Captain. Hence the time-lag." She glanced sideways at him.

  "I have heard that Grounders have discovered the way of building multifunctional computing machines, which may solve countless problems at lightspeed, as well as maintain primary system tasks. This is very well for Grounders, but the Crew has well-served by this comp and we see no need to upgrade."

  She turned to look at him fully and he read both pride and anxiety in her face. "But I need not tell you," she said, "how it is to be Crew."