by Sharon Lee
"Hold! Less and less I esteem your former captain. And you?"
Words didn't come: what was there to say? Iza's long plans had never included him--never!
"Tell me then, as we have some time, what would you do if I were stricken with some accident or poison, paralyzed here in my chair. How would you get on, how would you save us both?"
Jethri shook his head. "I couldn't!" he blurted, feeling the flush of frustration. "I told you I'm not a pilot, and I told you I've been pushed away from the true board my whole life! Pilots do secret stuff!"
"Halt!"
The word was said so quietly it barely reached between them, but with such anger and loathing that Jethri froze again.
There was silence but for the proper sound of a ship prepping for transit, some blowers, some slight buzzing, a hum . . . perhaps even the creak of leather seats as the two men stared at each other.
Then, unexpectedly, a bow, surprisingly low from one already seated, and the words in Liaden, and then following in Trade equivalent, and then following again in more than passable Terran.
"Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me. I still feel that there has been something criminal in your education, and I see that my assumption has colored my approach in this. I am a Scout, and therefore, I assume too much in this case, from having only partial knowledge. I know of your father, and more now than when first you and I met; I know of your uncle, and more now than when first you and I met, and what I did not know until now was the depth of your captain's error.
"If you will permit, let me speak with Jethri Gobelyn, with Jethri Gobelyn ven'Deelin's permission, and we will work with this in Terran, where you may correct my language if need be. You see, I understand these things: Jethri Gobelyn is not a fool, nor is Jethri Gobelyn a coward, nor is Jethri Gobelyn a child."
Again a pause, this time as a small two-tone signal disturbed the room, and then another. The Scout's knowing eyes sought something on the boards, his finger touched a control, and he leaned back, staring straight ahead.
"Let us play a game of sorts, Jethri. I will rephrase my question and will offer replies--and there are no wrong answers. The fact that you do not know does not mean you wish not to know--I can see that from your learning since I saw you first all out of breath and taking on a space station if you must. No fool, and no coward, that I know. This game, we shall both learn from it."
*
The game was survival; the questions started over, without rage this time: what would and what should he do were he left in the ship, this ship, alone in space?
"I need to explore and understand the escape pod--one that will take me to safety if the ship is damaged. I know there's an abandon ship control, but I don't know what it does other than bring down an emergency suit."
"With myself suffering from a stroke, how would you start?"
"That would depend on where. In Jump, I'd have to try to help you, and otherwise wait until Jump is over. That's automatic. Then I'd call for help."
"And if we arrived and suffered an instant debris strike, disabling the vessel?"
"I know the symbols, but this ship doesn't show the Guild signs I know. There should be a fast passage from here to a hatch or a release."
"And so if we were on port, or in an inhabited planetary orbit, already you know enough to survive: call abandon ship and the suit comes when you push, unfolds from the overhead; in abandon ship the luggage bins fold out and the hatch behind on either side can be used."
Jethri looked at him bleakly.
"There's luck and there's luck--how many accidents happen in . . ."
The Scout held up his hand and began pulling up info screens, dropping them one after another onto Jethri's backup screen.
"How many accidents happen in an inhabited system? Why, most of them." The Scout, moving quite expansively for someone strapped into an acceleration couch, pointed to the top screen where there were several lists of incidents.
"At least the ones we know of . . . most of those happen in crowded space, orbital space, gravity circuits. This is where ships hit ships, where satellites hit ships, where basic valve failures from overpressure and sloppy loading are exposed, where 'loose objects' like lost hatches and mislaid tools and parts of ancient space probes manage to find a way past low-grade shields or sleepy watch crew.
"Stupidity happens more often in crowds: runaway pods, ejected crew members, accidental weapons tests, I can't tell you how many such things I've attended myself--But yes, that's wrong. I can tell you even if I can't recall them all instantly to mind. I should not so misspeak, since my records are available to us. You will, of course, regard anything I may show you from such files as confidential between pilots--and in particular you shall not discuss the cables I unleashed, but there, a pilot will not . . ."
"But I am not a pilot!"
The Scout laughed lightly.
"You must be a pilot, my friend, at least a basic pilot, and by the end of our trip you shall at least be able to find your way home--or to a safe port since you claim no home, which statement would pain dear Ixin no end, I'm sure. Even if in a most basic manner, you must. I am not looking to make you a Scout nor a liner captain, but your education as a trader will not be complete--no matter what our good Pen Rel might say--until you can from the inside understand something of the desperations pilots go through on behalf of trade, and on the behalf of uninformed traders."
*
The lesson went on as the ship moved toward the Jump point, with Jethri wringing what patience he could from his already fraught psyche.
"Yes," he admitted, "I can see that you trap the previous Jump coordinates, but I thought they vary considerably for going to instead of from, that -"
"Ah, well. Yes, coordinates are not perfectly static, and the likelihood that a ship needing to Jump precipitously would find exactly the same orbital slot to fall into that it left is . . . unlikely. So, we will assume certain things to start, and then while we are in Jump we will discuss more problematical situations. But first, some basic maneuvers.
"I am bringing your board live, in training mode. This means that it will function entirely as it should . . ."
Here Jethri felt his stomach drop for all that they were flying a perfectly normal course. Surely his face showed concern, for the Scout showed a patient and calming palm.
"Good, and thank you. I shall now finish the sentence! The board will function entirely as it should in principle, but each step will need confirmation from my board before the ship hears. This method of instruction may be one step up from the method wherein one leaps from the edge of a gravity-bound station section into zero-G, trusting . . ."
Jethri sighed, staring across at the Scout. Yes, in some places he was known as Jethri the Leaper, and there were drinks named for him, and on one station, at least, several medical terms: leaper's lag, transit bruise, and gravity burn among them. It was not so long ago that he'd escaped from hounding Liadens from a low-class ship by doing that very thing--and, in its way then, it was part of his melant'i as a trader and . . .
"Is that more than sufficient reminder of past error, do you think," he muttered, "for a trader you wish to bring under your tutelage? One presumes that it is necessary that I learn this task not only for my sake, but also for yours, as well as ven'Deelin and indeed, for Ixin. If that is the case, then I shall do my best. Is it true that I am not to be remade in your image, Scout, but to be made secure in mine?"
The question was asked in mode of equal to equal, which, of course, was only outside the bounds of reality if one considered their respective ages, their respective experience within their specialties, their actual rank within their particular professions, their--but no, he, Jethri, was here as one owed a debt. It might be sufficient.
The scout was very quiet for a long moment, and then his hands fluttered one of those nearly too quick motions, and his mouth hinted at the smile that hovered behind the eyes.
"And so you have a point, my trainee. I will admit you to b
e the least avid, the very least eager piloting student I have ever offered my tutelage. I am a pilot of some renown--which is of small moment to one who would rather be perusing opportunity lists, I suppose. I am, you must understand, properly placed!"
Jethri failed to be flattered, or even satisfied, but he did feel the tension go out of the deck.
A burst of noise on the audio, a quick counted warn-away from light-hours away as a ship Jumped in-system on the far side of the system and well up the ecliptic. Likely wasn't another ship within a light-hour of it, but the warn-aways, the warn-aways had to be observed, Khat had said when she'd told him of her basic training . . .
Jethri stared down at his board. His board. Gingerly he brought visuals on screen four live, and selected a feed from the ship's computer. He'd seen this happen from time to time on the Market, despite Iza's lazy enmity; he'd seen it as a child back when his father had thought to bring him fully into the command line back when he'd has his own Jatze Junior board to play with. He'd set a course for Balfour as a child; it was one of the destinations his father had been to several times as commissioner. Now though . . .
"Balfour," he said, "is a Terran planet orbiting a star of the same name. The general coordinates are on my screen now, backdated but marked as acceptable." Here he swallowed, seeing a date close to a dozen Standards old. "How do I proceed without going first to Waymart?"
"Waymart? And why should we first go to Waymart, Second?"
Jethri flushed.
"Are we north of center, then? In most directions Waymart comes first, just from north . . . Ah, Terran trade routes, these you remember?"
Jethri shrugged noncommittally. It was one of the things he did know--he'd remembered that, since he'd won games going first to Waymart, then to Balfour. There'd been a reason, if he could remember it. That's right, it was one of the downall routes he'd taught himself.
"My ship, that's how it usually went to Balfour--first to Waymart. I mean Gobelyn's Market when I say that--Elthoria's never been to either of them, I think."
The Scout waved a hand for attention. "Our business is not ordinary trade, and it takes us to Balfour. Please observe."
The Scout moved on his acceleration couch, and the coordinates changed color. "You begin by telling the ship to update and project the coords to a time approximating our reaching a safe Jump distance--you'll see what I have set--and then use the ship's computer to project time in transit assuming a neutral, spinless, and massless shift. Once you have that, you'll add the ship's mass into the basic equation--for our purposes now and for emergency purposes on a vessel like ours, you can usually trust the ship's understandings, but do check the most recent arrival mass against known major additions or subtractions--and then do add the corrections using our acceleration against our current reference frame."
Jethri shivered with concentration, finding the reference frame numbers changing, the variations in acceleration flashing red notes at him, the--
"Also make sure you're adding in the ambient and gradient energy fields, which will help take into account the drifts caused by the local stellar winds, coronal outflows, and magnetic bubbles, as well as the effects of outer rim planetoids or comet clouds."
Jethri closed his eyes, pulling a deep breath into his chest as the additional information meant more screens needed to be added, more--
"We have hours until basic Jump point, so do not thrill yourself with an unnecessary rush. Scouts and pilots prize efficiency and misuse of adrenaline is not efficient. Here, here the triple green line you see on this screen is the boundary. I know Terrans use a single blue line, but learn with ours--and see that as you change these little things the triple line changes. We have a very precise system. Under no account are you to attempt a Jump inside these lines--such Jumps are fatal!"
"But I've heard that if you've got a--"
The Scout laughed, very softly.
"You've heard that sometimes one can do wishful things with the spaceship, and all is well. Understand that this ship is not as . . . as approximate, let us say, as certain other ships are. Ships that must carry bulky freight and such, driven by Terran engines, such ships are very powerful but are not as finely scaled as this."
Jethri was still adding numbers in, trying to backup calculate in his head what the computers did so effortlessly. He nodded, saw numbers stabilize, knew there was something else he had to do--oh!
"But what's the energy density of the coils and--"
"Ah, so you have been on a flight deck before? It is not as though you know nothing . . ."
The numbers had slowed their change even more . . ..
"I know that energy density is one of the things pilots talk about; they make jokes about it, and what it means to forget about it . . . but I was never allowed to study it! It was in the game, and in the toy--but I couldn't reach the files. Just the toy board, and what I could read and see in the game editions, that's what I knew."
Silence for a moment, and then interruptions as another burst of radiation, Jump glare from an outgoing ship, hit the audio.
"Not even permitted to study on your own? Locked out? Yes, criminal. But for the moment, we will not be concerned with energy density of coils: there may be a time just before Jump when that information is important. But consider it a last moment correction: the basics of the Jump may be calculated without that, it is like knowing wind speed or ambient air pressure on a planetary landing . . . but again, that comes later."
Chapter Eight
Flight Deck, Gobelyn's Market, Local Day Graceful 23 on Kinaveral
Captain Iza and Acting Second Pilot Khat had been over the ship a dozen hours today, walking and sitting, and a dozen yesterday, with multiple tests of computers and signal systems, with lock section tests and signal ablation tests--sometimes nearly full crews sitting station and all but live and others just the pair of them on lines.
"Won't be happy until there's no wire through the hull," she'd told Paitor three times within Khat's hearing, and Grig had mentioned that phrase too, which was "no good sign" as Seeli told Khat, Seeli having heard it too, "Twicet or moren that, if I think hard on it."
Seeli had an infant child on board so Khat could see her concern, and now, Seeli had that infant's Da on board again, which was well, as Grig had returned to her from a jaunt which ought never have happened, except that Grig was in some ways Jethri's closest kin now that it was out and open that calling Iza "Ma" when it came to Jeth was about as far as could be from true . . .
Khat's knowledge of the rebuilt ship was still fresher and deeper than Iza's, and that was just one more jagged edge in a ship that was supposed to be a fine-running team machine any day now, up to running orbits out of habit like they believed 'em, with Iza fully in charge because she was better, not because she used to be better.
Iza sat at the board, eyes closed, adjusting her brand new seat. This was practical work for a pilot, necessary work. Her hands reached out to the right and left, tapping . . .
With words that might have been "mud and muck" said between clenched teeth, Iza touched the lean left, on the adjustment stud, stood up, eyes still closed, turned twice, dropped into the seat and pounded on the main system engine's full thrust button like to drive it through the hull . . .
"Works," she said to space, since everyone else was studiously trying not to watch or listen to her.
The button hadn't worked the engine, of course, since the board was still in training mode; but what had worked was that Iza had the seat set for her, and if she came in blind or bloody, that reach would put the ship in her control exactly as it ought, almost like the Market hadn't been refitted with as much all-new as they could afford, and a bit more, too.
That being done, Iza punched a live button and got her scores out of the trainer, hissing under her breath and glancing at Khat with a straight-lipped seriousness that might have scared a lesser person. Khat, however, had hand-carried Iza back to the ship deadweight and fighting mad from the cop drugs and she sat se
cond board with authority, just like she could sit first on more ships than ever she'd thought in her life. Khat nodded and waited for the captain, who went on as expected.
"You had a second on me in the run-in drill and two-thirds on the close down, before I adjusted; I'm thinking we're right close to even on it now."
"Imagine so. You were never sharpest in a drill anyway."
That last was true, if pushing it; when Iza had last been on the boards live there wasn't anyone else who'd been able to match her across the moves. Now . . . well, now, Iza'd been off running someone else's ship and using their settings and so she'd learned those habits and would have to unlearn them. That was true. Also true--that Khat had been trading and flying ships as often as every other quickflit; they'd throw her something new as long as she'd flown something close and by the end of the refit she'd got fifty-seven new ships or varieties and that hadn't been mentioned, and oughtn't. Captain being captain . . .
"Got stuff we don't need to share portside, I'm thinking, so if we can just go to standing order, say me and then you and Paitor to get us off this muck, we'll do. We have some calibration to do, and some staff talk, seeing as how there's a child on board, and we'll need to be clear as to who does what. We'll just set into a long orbit when we get off of this place and have some time for planning."
Khat closed her eyes against the reality of the screen, now that the long orbit was mentioned. She hoped there wasn't going to be an argument now about Paitor's careful plans, made as well as could be when Iza was off-ship and safely tucked away on a long-haul so she couldn't run riot at the shipyard.
"Shall we," Khat suggested, "do some random route checks in the morning, maybe drop a couple of new safe-runs into the computers so there's nothing that might be obvious left from the old runs?"
And that, of course, was necessary and Iza would snap it up as quick as she could. As sure as her name was Khatelane Gobelyn Acting Second, she knew that first board would have to go for that . . .
