Alliance of Equals

by Sharon Lee

  “And my ship?” Aelliana asked, and Daav marked the eagerness in her voice. “Where is Ride the Luck?”

  Uncle turned a sober face to her.

  “Pilot, it grieves me to bring you the news. Ride the Luck was destroyed by enemy action as it sat at dock on Moonstruck.”

  The unfamiliar, round face of the woman who called herself Aelliana paled; she drew a hard breath, as if she had been dealt a crippling blow. Which she had been, Daav thought. A pilot deprived of her ship would feel the loss like a knife to the heart.

  “They brought a Cyclops against your ship,” Uncle said, softening his voice. “It fired to defend itself, but against so much…”

  “All honor,” she whispered, and averted her face. “She was a worthy ship.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Our ship killed, and myself badly injured,” Daav said, after a moment, “you took it upon yourself to bring me to your own vessel.” He held out his unmarred hands, soft palms turned up.

  “This is not the work of an autodoc unit.”

  “Pilot, it is not. I will tell you plainly—you had lain too near to death, and for too long a time. The autodoc was unable to restore you wholly. And thus, I made my next decision, which was that it would not be the work of…a friend…to deprive Korval of two of its treasures in these times of strife and trouble.”

  He bowed slightly.

  “I therefore used those instruments at my command, and brought you both into new, undamaged bodies.”

  “How did you know,” Daav asked, “that there were two?”

  Uncle smiled.

  “Why, Pilot, you told me yourself. When it had become plain that the ’doc had done all that it could, and those efforts were insufficient, we roused you, and offered the pods from your jacket pocket, thinking that they might accomplish what we could not. The first you refused, by reason that it was Aelliana’s.” He inclined his head to her. “The second you also refused, stating that it was not ripe.”

  “And you took that to mean that you must preserve me until the pod was ripe?”

  “Pilot, no. I took it to mean that Korval’s damned Tree was, perhaps, more farsighted than I. It might dice with the universe, but I could not afford to bet against it.”

  He sounded annoyed, did Uncle. Daav felt a certain amount of sympathy.

  “This process of bringing us into undamaged bodies…” he prompted, surpressing yet another shiver.

  Uncle inclined his head.

  “Yes,” he murmured, and met Daav’s eyes.

  “For you, the process was…let us say simple. We had an overabundance of your genetic material with which to work. The body in which you now reside is, genetically, Daav yos’Phelium Clan Korval. However…”

  He looked to Aelliana, who returned his regard placidly, then he turned his gaze again to Daav.

  “For Pilot Caylon, we had no such abundance of material. We were therefore forced to improvise. Those things that we were able to ascertain—eye and hair color, skin tone, height—cosmetic matters, you understand! Those things we programmed into the receiving vessel.”

  “The blank,” Aelliana said, and he nodded to her.

  “Indeed, the blank. Pilot Caylon will scan as Liaden, but she will not scan as Aelliana Caylon.”

  He paused.

  Daav mentally reviewed a pilot’s exercise for calmness. Aelliana was—they both were…residing within…vat-grown bodies, which was disturbing enough. That those bodies had been grown by the Uncle, who was occasionally a fellow-travel, but never precisely a friend—a man known for putting his own advantage first, over the centuries of his existence…

  “There is,” Uncle said, interrupting these thoughts. His voice was gentle, now. “There is a known effect, when a personality is transferred into an unseeded blank. You understand that the material is, by design, elastic; open to manipulation and suggestion. It remains so for a period following a transfer. During this period, the personality may—and very often does—impose itself upon the body, which will come to look…very much like the body the personality recalls.”

  He bowed to Aelliana. She inclined her head.

  “I am grateful,” she said, which waked another shiver, that Daav sternly repressed. “Thank you, Uncle, for the service you have performed on my behalf.”

  Aelliana was grateful. Well, and so she might be, embodied after so many years a ghost. Doubtless, the Uncle had counted upon their gratitude, in his calculations regarding their lives. He spoke true, Daav considered, when he said that he wished to avoid Korval’s anger. His own proclivities and practices would have convinced him that the delm would prefer to receive living elders back into the clan, than the news of their deaths.

  Daav had been delm of Korval, as had Aelliana, beside him. He was inclined to think that he might refuse the return of his elders, once the manner of their survival had been made known to him. Who could know what the Uncle bred into his blanks? How, indeed, could he trust himself, when he had been laid open by this man, who always and ever played his own game?

  And…Aelliana? She seemed to be Aelliana, despite the face that was the wrong shape, and her apparent youth. Certainly, she believed herself to be Aelliana, as he believed himself to be Daav…

  “Now,” Uncle said briskly. “I have kept you here too long, talking. I must insist that you eat. There is a light nuncheon laid just out here, in the common room. I will, by your leave, return to my own business. When you have eaten, Dulsey will escort you to the compartment that has been made ready for you and explain to you the protocols and exercises which are necessary to bring you to your full capacities.”

  He bowed once more, and swept an arm out, inviting them to proceed him out of the room to the common area, where a table was laid, and a platter of dainty sandwiches awaited.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Tarigan

  Jemiatha’s Jumble Stop

  Berth 12

  Inki arrived as Tocohl was keying in that second call to the Admiral, three station hours down the timeline. Haz must’ve briefed her on the situation, because she did not speak, only moved quietly to the observer’s chair and sat down. Haz crossed her arms on the back of the copilot’s chair, apparently content to lean there—and Tocohl spoke.

  “Admiral, this is Tocohl Lorlin aboard Tarigan, calling you back in three hours, as you specified. May we resume our discussion, now?”

  “Tocohl Lorlin, I have reviewed the information provided by our mutual friend. I have reviewed the data for Mentor Jones, Mentor Yo, and Pilot nor’Phelium. I have performed research; I have performed self-tests, insofar as I am able. I would speak to Mentor Jones, if he is available.”

  From the side of his eye, Tolly saw Inki lean forward, chin propped on hand, gaze intent on the board, like she could see through it and hard vacuum, to the Admiral himself.

  The Admiral’s voice was considerably stronger, Tolly thought, and he sounded…sharper. More awake. Might’ve been that the self-tests had tightened up some of the protocols, even zipped those least used. That would speed up processing time for those protocols still in use, and gain him a little room to think in.

  Tocohl assigned comm to him. He touched the switch and leaned forward.

  “Tolly Jones here, Admiral. Good to talk to you again.”

  There was a pause, as if the pleasantry had puzzled the Admiral, or as if he had no use for small talk. Which he prolly didn’t, set out here in the back end of nowhere at all, with only himself, and occasionally Stew, to talk to.

  “You wanted to tour my…self,” the Admiral said now. “I will allow. Only the packet boat holds air. Perhaps not enough air. You must wear a vacuum suit.”

  It was ambiguous, maybe, but Tolly decided to believe that the AI had expressed concern for human welfare, and was therefore encouraged.

  “Happens I’ve got a vacuum suit,” he said cheerfully. “Now, here’s what I’d like to do: I’d like to bring Tocohl with me.”

  “Why?” asked the Admiral.

&n
bsp; “For a couple reasons. One reason’s that she’s got skills that’ll move the assessment process along much faster than if I’m just working by myself. Also…” This was tricky, the pilot being what she was, and no private band was ever truly and completely private. Lying was out of the question, and given the lack of understanding of nuance, even misdirection was risky. Vagueness was best.

  “Also,” he said again, “I think she might be able to assist you in learning.”

  “You are the teacher—the mentor.”

  “That’s right, I am. But just like Haz can teach me all kinds of stuff, even though she’s not officially a teacher, so can Tocohl teach us both. I think you’ll profit by her presence, and I will.”

  Admiral Bunter might know that there were other people like him in the universe, though Tolly’s money was on didn’t. He wouldn’t have met anyone of his sort, though, no matter that he’d been made by an AI. Cap’n Waitley hadn’t exactly advertised the condition of her ship; the ship itself wouldn’t have offered the information, either, even in private.

  Both Cap’n Waitley and her ship had considered Admiral Bunter expendable; hadn’t, maybe, expected him to survive beyond the confrontation he’d been brought to life to resolve.

  Cold-hearted, that’s what that was. Not to mention addlepated. And extravagant. AI modules didn’t exactly grow on trees.

  “I will,” Admiral Bunter said slowly, “allow Tocohl Lorlin to accompany you. The lesser—the assistant mentor—and the pilot-guard will remain at station. Two is enough to board me. My environments are not stable.”

  Well, now. The Admiral had apparently taken thought for the limitations of organics twice in a row. Surely that was heartening.

  “We understand that you are at risk,” Tolly said into the comm. “Tocohl and I guarantee our own safety.”

  “Yes.”

  “Now that’s settled, when can we come aboard?”

  “Mentor Tolly Jones and Tocohl Lorlin may board the packet boat in four station hours.”

  That gave them a little time to get the suit and the tools together and to pick up the repair skiff Stew had, reluctantly, put at their disposal.

  “We’ll be wanting to board all seven of your vessels,” Tolly reminded, gently. “We’ll be glad to start on the packet boat, though.”

  There was a small hesitation, then, “Yes.”

  “Good. See you soon. Tolly Jones, out.”

  He ended the call and leaned back in his seat, letting his breath go in an explosive sigh.

  “He has not been taught the niceties,” Inki observed from her seat.

  “Not been taught anything.” He tried to spin his chair to face her; found it impeded, and then moving free as Haz straightened out of her lean.

  Inki shook her head.

  “Surely, it is not necessary—Mentor, Pilot—to endanger yourselves by physically visiting each of those derelicts. An assessment can be performed from this ship, or, if you prefer, Ahab-Esais might do the work.”

  Tocohl turned to face her.

  “In fact, we have already pulled what information we need. The purpose of physically entering at least one of those ships is so the Admiral may see me—and know that he is not alone. It is, perhaps, not as useful as it might be, but my…contact was adamant that the Admiral be shown that he is not the only one of his kind in existence.”

  “Knowing that there are others may give him strength for the transfer,” Inki said, but Tolly heard a thread of doubt in her voice.

  “I promised the pilot I’d try,” he said.

  “Of course, we must try!” Inki cried. “Whether or not Captain Waitley had expected him to continue after the resolution of the crisis for which he was wakened—he has persevered! He guards, and keeps what faith he may. That is admirable. We must, of a certainty, try!”

  She took a hard breath and leaned back in the observer’s chair.

  “Forgive me; my emotions run warm on this.”

  “Your vehemence does you credit,” Tocohl said gently.

  “You are kind,” Inki told her, and looked again to Tolly.

  “Returning to our topic, Mentor, I have a list of three vessels which may possibly accommodate our poor ghost. If you will accept my judgment, I will inspect them and choose the most likely, while you and Tocohl visit Admiral Bunter. I will also handle Stew.”

  She paused, and asked, delicately, “I assume, knowing the nature of the problem, you have brought with you a cranium?”

  “We are prepared in that way,” Tocohl assured her.

  In fact, Tolly knew, there were three sustainable environments—craniums, in working mentor-speak—in Tarigan’s hold, that being Tocohl’s idea of conservative.

  “I’ll gladly leave the choice of ship to you,” he told Inki. “You know what’s needed as well as I do, and here’s my thinking:

  “Haz said the Admiral’s taken a bad wound, after we talked to him the first time, and it’s my belief she’s right. I know Stew’s idea is to get him trained, or shut down, as is—I’m guessing that’s the handling?”—an aside to Inki, who gave him a slight, seated bow.

  “We have had one discussion regarding the need for an appropriate environment. Stew is not overawed by the Complex Logic Laws, but he holds the station’s safety high.”

  “As he should,” said Haz.

  “Indeed, it is his natural concern, but he has allowed his concern to blind him to the possibility of a future in which—educated and occupying a fitting environment—Admiral Bunter stands as the true champion of the station, and its regulars.”

  “You think he’s convinced?” Tolly asked.

  “He will be by the end of our second conversation,” Inki said, and Tolly nodded.

  “It’s yours, then,” Tolly said.

  “My first order of bidness is to move the Admiral, if he can be moved. I was thinking to do some training first—by way of bringing Stew onboard with us—but we can’t afford the time. The Admiral was sounding a lot perkier just now than the first time we talked to him, but he’d taken a break to run some self-tests—” Inki turned to Tocohl. “That was your idea, was it?”

  “It was in the file, yes.”

  “Good call,” he said. “He got through this little talk without gettin’ winded, or confused. So, what we want to do is move him while he’s got reserves.” He paused and shook his head.

  “Once we get him moved to the cranium, and installed in an operating environment, then we’ll be in for a cram course, with an overload of ethics. If he’s gonna be the law out here, he’s gonna hafta have a solid grounding.”

  “I agree,” said Inki, “and I am uniquely placed to assist with that course. You will have seen in my file that I only recently mentored a judge.”

  “I did see that, an’ I’ll be real happy to have your help. First, though—he’s gotta live through the move.”

  —•—

  “Is my new body a pilot?” Aelliana asked, her voice stringently calm.

  Dulsey, who had only just finished a tutorial on the regimen of exercises required to fine-tune newborn muscles, sighed, grey eyes serious.

  “It may be so,” she said slowly. “We did what we could to…incline the body in that direction. We will not know for certain, until you engage with the exercise program. As we discussed, you will at first be doing basic toning, balance, and endurance exercises. The machines will monitor and challenge you, but it will be some time until you attain the challenge level required for a pilot.”

  “So I must work hard.”

  Dulsey smiled.

  “I feel the same, every time I wake anew,” she said. “I wish to push the protocol until it is I, challenging the machine. It is the time I begrudge, not the work. But the machines are too wily for us, Pilot. They also measure our rest periods, and do not allow double-ups, or accelerations.

  “In this process, rest is as important as work.”

  “Of course,” Aelliana murmured.

  Dulsey considered her for a long momen
t before including Daav in her nod.

  “As you saw, your quarters are stocked with appropriate foods and drinks,” she said. “On your return, I would advise you to eat a small meal before you nap. When you wake, another light meal, after which you may attempt the first set of exercises.”

  “You, of course, will be monitoring us as well,” he suggested.

  Her smile widened, Terran-friendly.

  “You are our guests. Of course, we wish to be assured that you are safe and in no distress. The procedure you have undergone is not trivial. It is far too easy for the newly reborn to overreach. We honor your privacy, however. The ship observes you and alerts us only if there is need for intervention.”

  “I understand,” Daav murmured.

  “We thank you,” Aelliana added, “for your care.”

  Dulsey inclined her head, and escorted them from the exercise room to the door of their quarters, where she left them, with a bow and a reminder again to eat and nap.

  —•—

  In the usual way of things, Tolly didn’t favor working in a suit. Body language and kinesics were useful communication tools, and a vacuum suit masked all the little details of muscle tension, stance, and facial expression. Suits were so stiff that they discouraged even usual body habits. Who wanted to cross their arms over their chest while they were wearing a vacuum suit?

  Not Tolly Jones.

  On the other hand, nobody was paying much attention to him, just at present.

  “Tocohl Lorlin,” the Admiral said, sounding cranky. “I was told that one would come who was like me. If you are that one, you are not like me.”

  “I am like you,” Tocohl said, in her unflappable way. “I am a self-aware, independent intelligence.”

  There was a long silence.

  “I am a self-aware intelligence spread among thirteen inadequate processing facilities installed in seven increasingly unstable environments. I am in disorder. I am a…a pod of junk. I am a hazard to navigation.”

  Those last, Tolly thought, showed what came of listening at doors. Or comm traffic between station and incoming.

  “You, Tocohl Lorlin…” There was hesitation, there; Tolly waited with active interest, wondering how far developed the Admiral’s aesthetic sense was.