Liaden Universe 20: The Gathering Edge

by Sharon Lee

  He looked again at the legend for the Scout ship: Chandra Marudas, Frolich, premium.

  Yes, precisely, he thought, doubting it, for the captain of Chandra Marudas was no fool, nor likely to lose the trail of valuable quarry.

  Still, the ship, in either persona, was not prone to errors or to jokes, although Joyita was attempting puns of increasing sophistication. He did not, therefore, ask if they were certain of the ship’s bearings, but asked a question, instead.

  “Thank you for the news, Joyita. Will they have seen, or had news of, us?”

  “Not yet, Win Ton. We won’t appear on their scans for several hours, and then they may pass over us. We’re locked to the station now, and they won’t find our signals easily. We are very picky about frequencies and power levels, you know.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, flashing the hand-sign of maximum agreement toward the screen. “We are very good at not being seen, for a ship that is so well-known in some quarters, are we not?”

  “Perhaps we are,” Joyita allowed, “but here it is easy to be underreported. Local ships are careless with their signals. They cover the spectrum with small talk and chatter, and love notes, and recipes. The ciphers we’ve seen have been simple and uncomplicated—some smuggling, some trade-advantage, some local intrigue having to do with a weather prediction…To find one ship, inside all of the noise of Minot Station, would take dedication.”

  “Scouts have on occasion displayed dedication to a task,” Win Ton said dryly. “Especially to a task they believe to be vital.”

  “We will keep close watch,” Joyita said, not quite as if he was soothing a child. “If conditions change, we will sound an alert.”

  Win Ton bowed, there being no more to say at the moment.

  “Chandra Marudas is not all I have to speak with you about, Win Ton. Have you a moment?”

  Win Ton bowed again.

  “I have a moment; several, in fact. But I wish you will have a face before we proceed, friend Joyita.”

  “Certainly. Please forgive my lapse.”

  The screen divided: half continued to display the system scan; the other half showing Joyita in his tower, sleeves rolled, mugs to hand, and rings gleaming.

  “Well met,” Win Ton said. “How may I serve you, Joyita?”

  “I have compiled a new iteration of the pathfinder dictionary, informed by their discussions between themselves of the material they are learning, and also by feedback from the learning unit. You may be interested in sleep-learning portions of it.”

  “Indeed, I am interested. However, our honored guests have, by the captain’s order, what Clarence dignifies as first dibs on the sleep learner.”

  “Yes!” Joyita nodded and smiled. “You anticipate my subject. Bechimo has discovered several items under the Founders’ Seal which may prove to be useful to us.

  “The most important to our current case is a…not a list precisely, but a notation of items which have been stored—for crew—since Joyita himself was aboard.”

  The phrase “Joyita himself” had been spoken with such diffidence that Win Ton was reminded of a raw recruit in awe of speaking of a Scout commander. But, newly discovered items, which had been stored away for…centuries?

  “I assume that there are learning units among these stored items,” he said. “They will be…very old and not, I think, standard.”

  Uncharacteristically, Joyita laughed aloud. It was a good wholesome laugh, and Win Ton marveled at the strength of the programming that might produce a person from circuits.

  “No, they’re not at all standard. There are, so far as the notation would have us believe, three of them. They had been packed for the crew-that-never-came and were supplied by the Uncle himself.”

  Win Ton sat on the edge of his bunk.

  “I have been discussing this possibility with Kara, who believes that the units may be made usable, and would like to see them unpacked so that they can be tested.”

  “I see. Kara would like these units tested? Am I to be the subject?”

  It was just; he was fourth and the most expendable of the crew, though he was, he thought, much stronger and very nearly back to his previous speed. He had hopes, some days—hopes that he would fully regain what he had lost…

  “Kara will test the units with Clarence standing by,” Joyita said. “As the fourth pilot, she…is in line for such things.”

  Win Ton looked up into the screen and met Joyita’s eyes.

  “Kara is fourth? When did this develop?”

  “It is a recent development. Bechimo has been monitoring your recuperation. I understand that you have made recent gains with regard to reaction times and in your general speed and balance. If you would like to see the entire analysis, please apply to Bechimo.”

  “Thank you, perhaps I shall. What, then, is to be my role in the…discovery of these learning units?”

  “The units were, as I said, stored with other items, which were likewise procured and packed by the Uncle, into crew storage. Among the notes left for us are the instructions for opening the storage units. They are…rather complex and, again, security which was put into place by the Uncle.

  “You, in short, are required in your melant’i as safety officer, to be certain that all instructions are followed exactly and to abort if it seems the operation has gone awry.”

  Win Ton sighed.

  “Is there a problem with this? You are the ship’s safety officer.”

  “Indeed and I do not dispute it. I only wonder if it might not be less perilous to subject my brain to the mysteries of an ancient sleep learner.”

  “No one will endanger themselves. That is the captain’s order. If the units cannot be tested and certified safely, then another solution will be found.”

  “I hope that the solution set does not include buying a sleep learner from Minot or Frolich. I see from the incoming catalogs that their prices are only ruinous!”

  Joyita smiled. “I think Theo is thriftier than Minot.”

  “So I should hope.”

  There was a pause, but not, to Win Ton’s ear, an end to the conversation. He was about to ask when Joyita spoke again. “There is,” he said slowly, “a third topic. This one is…personal. Have you a moment to speak as a pilot?”

  A call to melant’i. Seated as he was, Win Ton bowed.

  “I am pleased to speak as a pilot with a pilot.”

  Joyita shook his head slightly.

  “That is the crux of the matter. I am no pilot and I wish to be—for myself and for the increased safety of the ship.”

  Win Ton frowned.

  “Joyita, are you playing melant’i games with me?”

  “How so?”

  “When first you were ever seen on the bridge of Bechimo, you were wearing a pilot’s jacket! I have it—”

  He stopped, because Joyita had turned his face slightly away. If he had been Liaden, that gesture would have signified embarrassment.

  “Tell me,” Win Ton said. “There should not be confusion between friends.”

  “I made an error,” Joyita said slowly. “Jermone Joyita was a pilot. When I first was seen, I was…not wholly myself. I was modeled from Bechimo’s files and memories, and so I was given—I used—Joyita’s jacket. For…verisimilitude. But I—I did not earn that jacket. I am no pilot at all, according to the Pilots Guild, where B. Joyita has no file.”

  Win Ton blinked as understanding overtook him.

  “You want to create a records trail. For…verisimilitude.”

  “Yes! I think we can agree that I am able to pilot this ship. I would like it, Scout, if you would consider testing me. A first class provisional would, I think, stand me in good stead with most ports and pilots we’re likely to meet.”

  Win Ton held up a hand—wait. His mind was racing. As a plan, it held together. A Scout pilot was the equivalent of a master. He was, indeed, qualified to test candidate pilots and assign rank. But such a test, for such a student…

  The challenge! He thrilled with
it.

  “There are,” Joyita said diffidently, “complexities. For instance, the captain would prefer you to be taking an ordinary live watch, though of course without naming you as PIC. So, I thought that I could be a pilot of record at need.”

  “Comm officer is not sufficient?” Win Ton asked, because it was necessary that he ask the candidate such questions. For himself, the matter was already decided. All that remained was designing the test.

  “In some cases, comm officer is not sufficient.”

  “How if the captain made you senior comm and added a stripe to your sleeve?”

  Joyita heard the irony. He inclined his head with just the right angle to convey this.

  “My intent is not to raise my rank, nor to substitute for you, but to be understudy. We shall have to have papers; my history needs to be…solid. This, I learn from the pathfinders. I need a past, not only a present.”

  Win Ton considered the hard brown face in the screen, with its lines and its scar and its beard.

  “Are you truly not Bechimo, Joyita?”

  “Truly, I am not Bechimo, but my own self, Joyita. And recall, Win Ton, that Bechimo lacks a pilot’s certificate as well.”

  Win Ton laughed. “Now there is melant’i played with perfect touch! Surely Bechimo is among the finest pilots in this universe or the last!”

  “Hold,” said Joyita, his face abstracted. There was a moment in which he seemed to gaze into middle space before he turned his attention once again to Win Ton.

  “Bechimo says, ‘Now, now that I am bonded with Theo Waitley, now I am that pilot Win Ton names.’”

  Win Ton drew a breath…and slowly exhaled.

  “Ah,” he said, “now.”

  “Forgive me if I am blunt,” said Joyita. “The case is that we both—you, Win Ton yo’Vala, and I, Joyita comm officer—need the confidence to sit first chair in an emergency. I propose that we take advantage of our docking here at Minot Station to fly sim enough for a Scout to make a determination for a candidate pilot. We need to have confidence, in ourselves and in each other.”

  Win Ton stared at the screen, wondering how deep the ply of trust and confidence ran. Was this Theo’s idea? Or Clarence’s meddling? Bechimo’s?

  “Consider it, please,” said Joyita. “We can speak again tomorrow before suggesting it to the other pilots. Should we go forward, then elsewhere Bechimo can achieve his own certificate. The more we have records and paperwork, the harder it becomes for them to put us aside as mere AI.”

  Mere AI? thought Win Ton, though he did not say it. Instead, he inclined his head and asked the other question that he must ask of a candidate.

  “And this is your own desire, friend Joyita? It is no order from the captain, nor compulsion from Bechimo, nor any other coercion which has led you to this and to me?”

  “If I am to be a proper Joyita, and serve ship and crew, I must be a pilot. It would please me greatly if you were to sign my certificates.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Bechimo

  Sync Shift

  Even with Bechimo’s intercession, it took Theo a few minutes to comprehend the request, made as it was on the open bridge with Win Ton bowing a complex bow of request in front of his shipmates before explaining that he and Joyita had conceived an interlocking skills test which might require the captain to bend a minor rule or two in order that they might see it to fruition.

  Bechimo admitted privately in bond space that the idea, while not his, was excellent. Yes, Win Ton’s recovery was still ongoing; in fact he had progressed rather further than Bechimo had thought he might, there in the depths of the cellular repairs. And yes, other than a test to destruction, which it was understood that Theo might not sanction for a number of very good reasons—not the least because it was good to have the resources of a Scout available to them—then the best way to see how far he’d come was to challenge him with multiple challenges at once, which surely the inculcation of master-grade piloting would provide.

  Under this dual assault, she’d managed to nod, and everyone brightened.

  Clarence, grinning, shook Win Ton’s hand and saluted Joyita. “I’m for it! Nothing wrong with a ship full of pilots that I can see. Right?”

  He shook Win Ton’s hand one more time, with enough vigor that the Scout winced. Clarence winked at him.

  “We’ll do this again when we get the test results in—and I’ll bow as proper as you like it then. Deal?”

  Win Ton smiled.

  “Deal.”

  Hevelin bounced about between Theo and Kara, then to Win Ton, and then to Kara and Clarence, showing amazing agility for an old norbear. He showed them all a bridge—not Bechimo’s bridge, and maybe not even an actual bridge anywhere, but a composite, which Win Ton did not think of until later—with a break-out screen displaying a successful Jump completion, so he at least knew the basic topic of conversation was flying a ship or piloting one. And yes, there was another screen on that bridge, and Joyita’s image was there.

  Theo slowed the celebration of what had yet to happen with a wave of her hand.

  “Apparently, Joyita and Win Ton will do this thing, and we’re all agreed that it will be a good thing. But!…it will wait until we have clear time. Maybe we won’t need to just have a sim flight. I’m thinking that real flight is more compelling, if we are interested in records, but that discussion will wait, too.

  “For the moment we’ll take our rest as we can. Joyita’s on comm, and helping me with research lines and leads. Unless we discover something urgent—by that I mean life-threatening—we will not be taking on supplies here. Everybody double-check necessities and let Clarence know if there is something vital that needs replacing before we leave dock. Despite that we aren’t doing any serious shopping, we’re going to give evidence of interest in ordinary things while we discover what’s happening with the ship I was copilot on.”

  Theo turned to Kara.

  “Opening and doing a thorough inventory of the crew locker is a priority. Bechimo says that it hasn’t been opened since it was filled. There is only a very hasty description of the contents, as if Uncle had not only been in a hurry, but packed it himself. It’s unlikely that the teaching rigs were unreliable when they were packed, but the age of them argues for care. We’ll do no-load testing and the like. We want to have as many functioning learning units available as we can, but not at the expense of one of us, am I clear?”

  “Yes, Captain,” said Kara.

  “Good. I have the unlock instructions here—Win Ton, there’s a copy for you—and the keys.”

  She looked around the bridge, seeing her crew alert, and Win Ton maybe a little uneasy, which was fair enough given his background and his training. She wasn’t completely easy herself, though maybe not for the same reasons.

  “All right, then. Let’s get this done.”

  * * * * *

  “Hevelin approaches, Pathfinders.” Despite his eagerness to learn even more of their language, Joyita understood the need for them to practice their newly acquired language, and so spoke in Trade. “May I open the door to him?”

  Stost looked up from his study screen and met Joyita’s eyes. The comm officer looked fresh and alert, as befit a man coming on-shift after a good sleep and a filling meal.

  “It would be a kindness,” he said, “though Grakow is sleeping.”

  “That seems not to limit the ambassador’s enjoyment of the visit,” Chernak muttered, deep in her own screen.

  Stost nodded—there was a useful gesture! It came from the Terran lexicon and was apparently readily adopted by all who met it. And it was true that Hevelin, finding Grakow at nap, would likely simply curl up with his friend and wholeheartedly join the venture.

  Half of Stost’s attention returned to his screen, he heard the door open and close again, but paid no mind until there was an insistent tug of the fabric at his knee. He looked down at the furry ambassador.

  “Grakow,” he began, but got no further before images of space, Ju
mp space, Joyita and Win Ton arrived in his head, all a-jumble and infused with such joyous anticipation you might have thought the creature was going into battle.

  Stost bent and brought Hevelin to his knee.

  “Mezta, mezata,” he murmured in the language of the Troop, and then, in Trade, “Peace, little one, let me understand.”

  The flow of images slowed, leaving the sensation of anticipation and the fading sense of Jump.

  “What does he say?” asked Chernak.

  “It would seem that Joyita would take his piloting tests, administered by Win Ton,” Stost said and looked to the screen. “Congratulations, it is an honor to be allowed among the ranks of pilots.”

  “Very much so,” Joyita said, inclining his head slightly. “I am particularly fortunate in my teacher.”

  That was properly said, but there remained a mystery.

  “The ambassador is very happy for your good fortune,” Stost commented.

  “So I am informed. Perhaps he merely likes pilots and believes we ought to improve ourselves. He traveled with a master of the Pilots Guild for many years.”

  “So you had said. Well, we are informed of the joyous news, Hevelin. The Troop is enriched.”

  There arose in Stost a feeling of fulfillment, as if he had finished a particularly tricky bit of navigating, and Hevelin wriggled slightly under his hand. He bent and replaced the norbear on the floor and saw him off in the direction of the second bunk room, where Grakow was asleep on his pillow.

  “Joyita,” he said, his eyes lingering on the retreating ambassador.

  “Yes?”

  “Does the captain plan a long stay at this Minot Station? Is there—” He glanced at Chernak, who was watching him with interest, though not alarm. “Is there anything for us here? The captain spoke of someone who might take ourselves and our mission in hand.”

  “I believe that one of the reasons we are at this dock is to search for recent news of this person,” Joyita said. “There has been a complication, but you are not forgotten.”

  “Recall us to the captain,” Chernak said, “should this complication be eased by the presence of trained soldiers.”