Liaden Universe 20: The Gathering Edge

by Sharon Lee

  “I will remind her,” Joyita said. “I leave you now to study, unless there is else?”

  “None else,” said Chernak. “Thank you, Joyita.”

  “You’re welcome,” he returned, and the screen faded into swirling patterns of blue.

  * * * * *

  The locker slid all but silently from the bottom of the storage wall, four more like it stacked over it, each as tall as Kara. Win Ton stood ready as safety officer, and also to assist with the unpacking and inventory once the locks were opened by the captain.

  “This is something we couldn’t do before the bonding,” Theo said, trying hard not to be too pointed.

  She frowned at the green line on the floor and waved Win Ton back a few steps. The locker slid out until its leading edge hid the line.

  “Did you ask?” Kara said, carefully neutral in her turn.

  Theo kept her face as noncommittal as she could and shook her head in a good Terran no.

  “I couldn’t ask what was here because this storage wall didn’t show as a storage wall. The manual pull rings double as tie-downs, so when I inspected this area I couldn’t see that we had anything in storage; all I knew was that the area was marked ‘crew storage’ on the ship plans.”

  “This means that Bechimo kept information from you before you bonded.”

  Win Ton pushed at this point; it was one of the few things he shared with Kara, this distrust of the fact that Bechimo had hidden things from them, from the captain, until he’d gotten his way and bonded Theo to him.

  “It wasn’t Bechimo’s rule,” Theo pointed out. “It was the Founders’ decision. Bechimo knew there were things he couldn’t tell me or us, but he didn’t know what those things were. The Founders blocked certain knowledge from his conscious mind.” She sighed and fuffed her hair off her forehead.

  “If you ask me, the Founders have a lot to answer for. They might have had enemies and been afraid for the ship’s safety, but hiding information is a sure way to make sure mistakes are made.”

  “Indeed,” said Kara.

  “The Uncle, however—” Win Ton began, but Theo cut off whatever he’d been about to say with a quick pilot’s chopping motion: stop.

  “According to our records, the Founders made the decision. The records—the records that we couldn’t have access to, either, until Bechimo had a bonded captain—also show that Uncle recused himself from a lot of the board’s decisions. I know it’s the fashion to mistrust him—and I don’t say we should trust him entirely. But it seems to me that Uncle has been more careful in certain areas than his reputation would indicate.”

  “Our records?” murmured Kara, but her question was overridden by Win Ton’s more forceful tone.

  “You believe that the Uncle has a fine understanding of melant’i?”

  Theo sighed again.

  Kara stood close enough in the cool storeroom that Theo could feel her warmth; Kara carried the mechanical keys for the locker’s cables, straight from the captain’s safe, while Theo had the codes.

  “I think,” Theo said stepping up to the locker, “that the Uncle is a very careful person. His understanding of melant’i probably is fine. In my dealings with him, he maintained a…a careful advantage.”

  She tapped the first string of code into the keypad. There was a tiny exhalation of air, as the bar the first mechanical lock was attached to turned, exposing the lock’s true face. The front side had been a fraud.

  “That’s odd, isn’t it?” Kara said, stepping forward, key in hand. “I wonder what would have happened if we hadn’t had the instructions and tried the key in the first lock?”

  “But we have the instructions,” Theo said. “I’d prefer not to know what defenses might be built in, given Uncle’s involvement.”

  “This is ‘careful advantage,’ is it?” Win Ton said from his observation point. It was his job to point out anomalies before they became problems.

  Theo decided that his question was rhetorical and consulted her clipboard.

  “Kara, insert key one. First to the right, a single complete turn, then to left, one complete turn past the original insert point.”

  Kara did as bidden—

  “It turns as new,” she said, sounding surprised. “And—there!”

  The lock silently fell into her hands. She gave the gleaming mechanism a long thoughtful stare before slipping it into her work pouch.

  Theo nodded.

  “Good. Now lock number two. You’re to insert the key straight in, gently, blue edge to blue dot, with no torsion. When it feels seated, push hard.”

  Kara did these things and that lock, too, fell away, this time with an audible click that surprised with its power. It joined the first in Kara’s pouch.

  Theo looked to Win Ton.

  “Safety Officer? Is all well?”

  “Indeed. My reading of the instructions matches yours. We now proceed to the next step: captain enters codes.”

  Theo again leaned to the keypad. The code was on her clipboard, but she didn’t need it. The code rose in her mind, her fingers moved, and the bar slid a hand’s width under power, revealing cables securing the unit to an undercarriage of sorts. She stepped back.

  “Kara, key three is to slide into each cable, in order, from left to right. After that, we see what we have.”

  Carefully, Kara inserted the key into each cable; the uncoupling took only seconds. Three common stasis seals remained between them and the contents of the locker.

  “I think,” Theo said, “that this is another example of the Uncle’s work. He has given the crew of Bechimo something. He maintained his careful advantage, and he addressed the Founders’ concerns for security. Once security needs are met, the rest ought to be easy. Uncle’s careful advantage, Win Ton, isn’t a simple thing—I think it’s meant to be a safety margin for those participating in his arrangements.”

  Theo backed away, permitting Win Ton access to the seals.

  Theo continued, “When I was one of Uncle’s courier pilots, he made sure I wasn’t at a disadvantage. I was sometimes at risk, but I always had the means to do something about that risk. He didn’t risk me or the ship needlessly. He doesn’t do things carelessly, as someone with his reputation might be expected to. Balance? Melant’i? Surely, he understands those concepts. And he understands and acts on them for other people, not just for himself.”

  The seals parted with a breathy exhaust. Win Ton pulled the lid up, revealing numerous boxes and cases. The items in sight were marked with large bright blue Terran numerals, none lower than fifty-two. The exception was a stasis box with Liaden script on the outside, which Theo made out to say, tea for the captain.

  It was Kara who saw the flimsy between the tea and box fifty-seven—

  “It’s a packing list, Theo! With a signature.”

  Theo glanced at the familiar hand and nodded.

  “Himself,” she said. “I see it.”

  She paused, sighed, and stood away from them.

  “You know what to do and I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be on the bridge, if you need me.”

  * * *

  Joyita was in his tower when Theo entered the bridge, and Clarence was in his chair, intent on the station feeds, if she had to guess. Neither looked up at her arrival.

  She took her seat, looked at the incoming, sighed, and glanced again at Joyita intent on…something, his uniform a little more wrinkled than it had been earlier, when they’d been celebrating his soon-to-be rise to pilot. Good attention to detail there.

  Closing her eyes, she accessed a quick relaxation exercise and sat, eyes closed, a little longer. There’d been a story—she thought it had been a story and not a history—about ancient logics built to look like humans. She wondered if there was a way to do that, really; if there’d be enough computing power in something as small as a human-shaped head—that would let Joyita move among his crew mates.

  She remembered then, that he’d told the pathfinders he was working on there being a comm officer in a t
ower for the idle to see—and made a note to ask him what he’d meant by that.

  She opened her eyes and he was still in his screen, glancing up as if he had felt her eyes on him.

  “Captain,” he said, “it is good that you’re here. I have some reports to send you…”

  So that was official business, something Clarence wasn’t getting along with everything else.

  “Send it on,” she said, and to Clarence, “Available for backup, Pilot.”

  Clarence glanced over and nodded. “Welcome back, Pilot. Bechimo, sign over to Theo.”

  “Yes, Pilot. Thank you, Pilot.”

  Clarence returned to his task. There was synchrony going on, with each flip or click and sound pulse on Clarence’s board being echoed, or maybe twinned, in Joyita’s comm tower lighting and sounds.

  Theo opened her screens.

  It was just as well that Bechimo didn’t have his own image now, wasn’t it? As it was, she suddenly found that he knew small details: things of little note, but of some interest. She knew, for instance, that Rofflager was on cable clamp only, which meant an imminent departure. The station was adjusting internal pressures in waves instead of modules today, it being a good routine check of systems.

  Primadonna was cable-locked, clamped, and tagged; crew status listed as zero.

  “Tab Two on the note board,” said Joyita and she repeated “Tab Two” in acknowledgment as she opened it on her screen.

  Tab Two made her catch her breath, it being a stationary four-way image of Primadonna with a sidebar of information. She knew Primadonna; she’d been copilot on Primadonna; earned her jacket and her first class card on Primadonna. She knew the Hugglelans logos and where Primadonna’s markings varied from the routine of the marque—there on the ventral she didn’t have the usual orange blotch of tech number or a variety, she having been first of that exact line, and there under the Hugglelans logo Primadonna’s nameplate was almost twice the size of most of the line’s ships. Lost in new data and old memories, it took her a moment to figure out what was wrong.

  “Joyita, have we purchased a security camera feed contract with Minot Station?”

  She flipped through port, starboard, north and south on the images, finding nothing amiss other than each entrance being tagged with a bright yellow lock symbol, likely affixed with some kind of ugly adhesive that would take a real scorcher of an atmospheric landing to be rid of. Rig would be furious.

  “A moment, Captain.”

  A moment, Captain?

  That thought she shared with Bechimo—and received no response. Bechimo felt…distant; in fact, it was the feeling that she got when he was concentrating on a problem.

  In his screen, Joyita moved in wonderful imitation of someone hard at work.

  “Actually, Captain, as far as I can tell from a careful inspection, one cannot purchase an internal security scan feed from the station. It is not available on the main menus nor on any sub-menu I can locate for station services.”

  “I’m relieved. That’s not something you usually can purchase openly. So tell me, please, what is the source of—this?” She waved her hand at Tab Two.

  “Yes, Captain. We’re taking the feed as available across the cable, which flows continuously both to Station Security and to Port Command, and across separate channels. Since we’re monitoring all cross traffic we effectively have our own feed. The side feed is the post of the orders in force at the moment.

  “Here,” he continued, “are the upper passage cameras. There are several walking guards or police on patrol. They appear to take no particular interest in ship locks, though we have only a very short history to date and don’t know what open-shift might—”

  “Stop.”

  She looked at the information, the images, the list of orders in force. Distantly, she was aware that the sound of diligent triage was no longer audible from Clarence’s station.

  She looked to Joyita.

  “The cables are so poorly shielded that we can simply…”

  “You did ask for all routine searches, Captain.”

  Theo sighed, careful of nuance.

  “And so routine now includes invading the surveillance systems of the ports where we dock? When was this protocol put into force?”

  “We began, belatedly, at Jemiatha Station, Captain. Bechimo feels strongly that, had he been more diligent when we first took dock, he would not have failed so signally to protect his crew. Here at Minot, we’ve been monitoring all available communication lines in as much depth as possible. We have tapped the usual video and voice feeds, decrypting where useful. We continue to monitor for mentions of our ship or crew IDs on all accessible channels. We also take available open-radio trade, supply, emergency, maintenance, and entertainment channels. Since we are stationside, we also make use of whatever telemetry nearby ships are relaying.”

  “I see.”

  Theo looked at Clarence. Clarence returned her gaze with something very near to Father’s blandest, most polite expression. No help from that quarter.

  Theo tabled the matter in favor of more pressing matters. There would be plenty of time in Jump to instruct her two erring AIs regarding data theft.

  Right now, since they already had the data, they might as well use it.

  “Is there any word on Rig Tranza? Is he here on the station? And the rest of his crew?”

  Joyita paused to glance down, as if he was checking a note on his desk.

  “There appears to be no ‘rest of his crew,’ Captain. Rig Tranza is currently being housed in short-term pilot housing here.”

  Here showed up on her screen as a live-action video image of a closed door bearing the legend, Transient Crew Cabins, shift-to-shift rates.

  “Do we know anything more?”

  “He is not free to travel beyond the area, Theo.”

  “Under restraint?”

  “He is allowed the lounge, a cubby, access to food. According to the hearing records, he awaits information, counsel, money, and support from Hugglelans Galactica. The station is billing him for his stay.”

  House arrest, Theo thought, in cramped short-term housing meant to be base for a two- or three-day turnaround at best. For a pilot used to the comforts of his own ship, food, and music, it would be torture. She shook her head, considering his music and his idiosyncrasies. But surely, the station would have let him gather up his kit and his necessaries before they sealed the ship. That was only civilized.

  “How long has he been in there?” she asked Joyita.

  “Thirty-nine port days.”

  She grimaced, scanned the sidebar. Thirty-nine days? Someone should have been able to do, well, something in that time. The Pilots Guild should have been called in, until…

  “Hugglelans. Have they sent somebody?”

  There was another pause from Joyita. A very long pause, even for a flesh-and-blood person. The answer, when it did come, was not what she expected.

  “That section of the station’s hearing files is still being decrypted, Captain. Bechimo reports that he expects a breakthrough shortly.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Bechimo

  Crew Lockers

  The packing list was remarkably helpful in the task of sorting the unopened boxes and bags according to potential usefulness, and Kara was a pattern card of efficiency.

  She put the tea aside to go to the galley; the still-functioning stasis box was reserved for possible later use.

  Among the contents of the locker were boxes that had held sweets and other edibles that would likely end up in general recycling—they went into a pile. There were garments, some that might still be wearable though they were museum items now, fashions hundreds of years out of date, as well as a collection of static toys—high quality unpowered stuffed toys meant to be hugged or held, throwing balls, including a six-pack box of bowli balls and…all left sealed in the search for the additional learning units.

  They largely worked in silence, exchanging such information as had to do wi
th the sorting. Kara’s choice of language at the moment was Trade, which was, Win Ton admitted, reasonable given the nature of the task. He had assayed a small pleasantry between comrades, in Liaden, which met with a noncommittal reply. After, he limited himself, also, to Trade and to sorting.

  However, though Kara continued to sort efficiently, consulting the packing list as necessary, he began to feel as if she were…dismayed. Even distressed. Given her earlier rebuff, he wondered if he should speak, offer a comrade’s care, or if he should merely work on, pretending to be oblivious.

  At that moment, she took the decision out of his hands, rounding on him so quickly that he barely controlled the urge to step back.

  “Do you know what we have here, Win Ton? Do you see?” Her voice was tight, as if the words had been forced out of her by the strength of her feelings.

  He opened his hands, gently encompassing the piles and the goods yet to be sorted.

  “What I see is miscellany. Some minor tech goods, some…”

  Kara snatched a box from the pile at her knee and shook it at him.

  “This claims to be honey-sweet flat biscuit. There,” she pointed, “there is a bundled box of four mixed syrups. There, travelers’ filters for backworld water safety. Next to it, a small personal first aid kit.”

  “Miscellany,” he offered again, keeping his voice soft and unthreatening. He considered the results of her sorting: five divisions, but by what rule they were divided, he did not know.

  She took a breath and bowed as between comrades, and it was in comrade mode that she spoke next.

  “Win Ton, this is not trade stuff. These are household items gathered by someone who was not of the household, for people being rushed into a ship called for service suddenly. Bechimo did not know his crew, being only newly aware himself; the Uncle was called upon to stock what might be needed.”

  She moved a hand, showing him not the piles divided, but the content of each pile.

  “Child items, you see? Soft toys and amusements. Several sets of generic socks across multiple sizes, the same of ship’s mocs. The captain’s own tea. Socks and comforts! Sleep training units? Yes, of course, for people flung into a course they’d not finished readying for.”