Dragon Ship

by Sharon Lee, Steve Miller

  That seemed to do it. Theo twisted the controls again, settling on the idea she’d had to feature the ship’s portside cargo-and-consult port—large enough to admit trundled cargo in minpacks, small enough to be worth opening for walk-on visitors, port officials, and crew in favorable atmospheres, and a spot where both the required images could be seen and appreciated on port, or at dock.

  Here the ship’s hull angled out slightly on either side of the sliding pressure doors; at the moment, those angles were unadorned, aside from several small matching warning and info signs.

  Now, which image should she put on the left, and which on the right? She had the Laughing Cat to hand, so she tried it first on the left, that being the side she was working the pointer with, fiddling with the size.

  There! That was good!

  Pleased with the left-side position of the Laughing Cat, she opened her second file, selected the image provided by Master Trader yos’Galan, and selected the right side of the entryway on her screen.

  Before she clicked the oval into final position, she felt rather than saw movement at the board—Screen Six flared white. The face she’d felt was trying to find a way to the surface the last day or two was gone in a stormy shimmer of static.

  Worse—the second logo image wouldn’t stick where she was trying to put it.

  “I will not wear that!”

  Theo stared straight ahead, closed her eyes, and kept her hands poised just above the controls. She said nothing, took several deep breaths, and only reopened her eyes when she felt centered and calm. The logo was still on-screen; she tried the place here control again.

  Nothing happened.

  Number Six was darkening, from white, to blue, to purple.

  “I will not wear that symbol. It is against the Builders’ wishes. It demeans me, it . . .”

  Theo closed her eyes again, briefly—Screen Six was darkening even more.

  “My controls seem not to be working, Bechimo,” she said, striving for Father’s coolest tone of disinterest. The tone he used when he was giving you one last chance to figure out what you’d done wrong, and fix it.

  Bechimo, not having received the benefit of Jen Sar Kiladi’s housefathering skills, ignored her comment regarding the controls, to state flatly, “There is no need to apply that to my hull.”

  “We have a contract. We, ship and crew, have a contract to fulfill. We need to signal who we are and who we’re contracted with. The traditional way of doing this is the display of trade-logos. I’ve selected appropriate decalcomania. It should be easy enough to apply with this program.”

  “Pilot, I cannot allow—”

  At the word allow, Theo slapped two switches, and raised her voice.

  “Board failure, Copilot! Backup one activated.”

  The sound of ceramic against metal filtered in from the break station as Clarence flung his tea into the sink and ran to his seat, scanning the boards while pulling his webbing tight.

  “Self-check on prime initiated—”

  Screen Six flashed into a flat blue, bright and untroubled.

  “Pilot, there is no error!” Bechimo protested. “All systems are working—in fact all systems are working at optimum!”

  “Ship,” she said, cold as the outside hull, “first board was not answering to the pilot. That is a serious matter. I must, for the safety of the ship, regard that as a system irregularity and go to backup.”

  “Pilot, I told you that I will not wear Tree-and-Dragon colors!”

  “Ship, my controls must function. Do you understand me? Repeat the thirty-second self-scan one hundred times, and show both board sets the combined results. Any reading approaching anomaly should be noted. I want to see why System One was not functioning. I want to see corrective proposals designed to insure that System One will always function as appropriate. Do it now.”

  Clarence let out a long, slow sigh, shaking his head.

  “Second, if you see no results within the appropriate time, go to backup two. Else, call me when the results show. I’ll be in my cabin. And we’ll have to work out a way for the ship to pay you back for your tea.”

  — • —

  Theo did not go immediately to her cabin. Rather she strode from the control room toward the ship’s core, to the place she sometimes thought of as the cellar, to the place where the third member of the ship’s complement, the former second-in-command—Less Pilot, according to Bechimo, whom he had unintentionally waked—her perhaps-now-forever former lover—lay in a healing unit the Liaden Scouts themselves had acknowledged as both an item of contraband and Win Ton’s last hope of survival.

  The blast door was something she could appreciate about now; it would be good to be able to shut everything else out and just solve something.

  She stopped before entering the chamber the Remastering Unit occupied, a chamber designed for it when Bechimo was first built, hundreds of years before. She herself had been in the ship’s lesser, first aid emergency healing unit not long before, shot and beaten, and within hours had been on her way, healed, only the memory of the injury remaining. Win Ton . . .

  Win Ton called her Sweet Mystery. Win Ton had helped her break away from the limits of Delgado, helped her become the pilot she was now. Win Ton’s wounds were deep and malignant. Weeks, or maybe months to repair. If even Bechimo could repair him.

  She owed him so much!

  And he owed her . . . so much!

  If only she could figure out which of them was in whose debt over the whole matter of Bechimo.

  Well, there was time—maybe a lot of time—to figure that one out.

  Meanwhile, she was first board on a ship under contract to Clan Korval to explore a possible new trade loop. She wasn’t a trader. She wasn’t even senior crew. What she was, was a Jump pilot. A courier pilot. She was young—too young, maybe—for this.

  That wasn’t exactly a new thought, but it wasn’t welcome, either. Clarence was many years her senior—Father’s age!—and Bechimo was older than her, Clarence, Father, and Win Ton, all added up together.

  She needed experience, is what.

  She took a deep breath.

  And experience is what you’re going to get, she said to herself.

  One way or another.

  THREE

  ’tween Jump

  Initiate self-check forty-nine . . .

  The Protocol module burned bright red; Logic displayed a nauseous green; Rules an ominous, roiling purple. Morality was conspicuous by its lack of alarm. Perhaps, Bechimo thought, between misery and fury, he had overloaded it.

  Protocol had already pinged once. Bechimo ignored it, wanting nothing less than a list of enumerated protocol violations between ship and pilot.

  Self-check forty-nine complete. No errors found.

  Of course, no errors were found. There was nothing wrong with him.

  Correction.

  There was nothing wrong with ship systems.

  Initiate self-check fifty.

  And how dare she command him to perform such a childish, useless task? She knew there had been no failure of the ship systems. Her board functioned entirely as it should. Had there been pirates, a sudden need to Jump, or to deploy weapons, she might have repelled boarders, phased, or defended the ship perfectly well, using the board she had rejected. Nor was the backup board in any way flawed. She knew that! And yet, that cold voice, that refusal to listen to his reasonable objection, as if he were . . . as if he were . . .

  Self-check fifty complete. No errors found.

  Initiate self-check fifty-one.

  . . . nothing more than a mere-ship, that neither cared nor knew if its hull declared it affiliated with Tree-and-Dragon—a lie! The Builders forbade—

  From Rules, a ping, delivered with enough energy that it might have been lightning emanating from the cloud of its distress.

  Rules Search: “Tree-and-Dragon.”

  Results: Mark designating Clan Korval, Liaden kin group comprised of founding Lines yos’Phelium and yo
s’Galan; bel’Tarda later incorporated as minor Line. ALSO registered trademark of Clan Korval, operating as Korval Trade; Tree-and-Dragon Family; Dragontree, Ltd. NEW: Surebleak Clan Loop Unlimited.

  No Warnings are associated with this mark.

  There came a second ping, from Protocol. Bechimo withheld his attention.

  Self-check fifty-one complete. No errors found.

  Initiate self-check fifty-two.

  So the Builders had filed no Warning with Rules regarding the Tree-and-Dragon! The Builders had warned against yos’Phelium, and Clan Korval, both associated with danger and risk! It was a poor database program which failed to make so simple a match!

  Rules pinged again, even more forcefully, thrusting the data into Bechimo’s awareness.

  Rules Search: “Clan Korval.”

  Warning Level One-point-five: Pay cash. Pay promptly. If contract, adhere to all terms.

  * * *

  Rules Search: “yos’Phelium.”

  Warning Level Two-point-five: Pay cash. Pay promptly. Disruption of causality may occur, see notes. Contract not advised, see notes. Quick disengage, see notes.

  * * *

  Rules Search: “yos’Galan.”

  Warning Level One: Pay cash. Pay promptly. If contract, adhere to all terms. Caution in regard to association with yos’Phelium. See notes.

  Caution with regard to yos’Phelium.

  That error, Bechimo thought, his anger collapsing about him; that error had been made. And though it was possible to unmake it, and perhaps return to a state of trust in the Builders Promise—he had not taken steps to bar Theo Waitley from the ship or from the Heart. Theo Waitley, who was yos’Phelium through the paternal line; who honored as family a brother also of the paternal line, and who bore the name Val Con yos’Phelium Clan Korval.

  Self-check fifty-two complete. No errors found.

  Initiate self-check fifty-three.

  The Builders had promised a Captain. Bechimo had doubted, and when the winds of space brought him a pilot, he accepted him as Less Pilot. He had done so, with no supporting documentation from the Builders; with no Captain on deck.

  The Less Pilot, accepted, proposed an Over Pilot, and Bechimo had not only accepted her, he had pursued her. He had rejoiced in his errors, thinking that now, now that he had at long last boarded pilots, and a Captain-elect, surely now he might proceed as the Builders had intended.

  Only, the Less Pilot fell to brigands, who damaged him almost beyond repair. Even now, he reposed in the Remastering Unit, his system being rebuilt from Bechimo’s first, and only, baseline template. Bechimo of course monitored the unit, and its progress. Once the template was matched in all particulars, the Less Pilot—Win Ton yo’Vala—would be reintegrated and returned to his duty.

  That the Less Pilot’s complete recovery was 85.4 percent certain was data which must encourage all who wished him well.

  Yet, a certain fact could not be avoided.

  . . . if Bechimo had not opened to Win Ton yo’Vala on that certain occasion when he had arrived, all unlooked for, Win Ton yo’Vala might have sustained no injury at all, but gone about his life unmolested.

  Self-check fifty-three complete. No errors found.

  Initiate self-check fifty-four.

  Regarding Theo Waitley—she was not, Bechimo now believed, his destined Captain. Her youth, her lack of experience, her attraction to risk, her stubbornness, her refusal of the bonding . . . No. She was not his Captain.

  She was, however, a competent pilot who had shown care, if not proper respect, for the ship, the Less Pilot and, now, for the transitional Less Pilot, Clarence O’Berin.

  More than that, she had brought to Bechimo both work and purpose. She had brought crew. Captain she might not be, yet Bechimo could not say she was unworthy of him.

  His pilots . . . No, he could not relinquish them.

  Self-check fifty-four complete. No errors found.

  Initiate self-check fifty-five.

  This lack of a Captain unbalanced the crew dynamic. Pilot Waitley overstepped because, in the absence of a proper Captain, the duties of that office rightly fell to First Board.

  Thus, a Captain must be found. A Captain, to bond properly with Bechimo, and to keep the pilots safe.

  Indeed, it might be that a Captain was already arrived. Bechimo vowed to speak more deeply with Clarence O’Berin, who was a man of considerable experience. More, he had demonstrated proper caution in the matter of removing the explosive from the captive mere-ship.

  Self-check fifty-five complete. No errors found.

  Initiate self-check fifty-six.

  Protocol pinged a third time, diffidently. Its programming would not allow it to rest until it had delivered the list of Bechimo’s recent errors. Primary among those, he knew, would be denying the Over Pilot full use of her board.

  An error. Another error. Yet, in his experience, refusal to acknowledge an error did not reset circumstance to an error-free state.

  Bechimo, reluctantly, accepted the list.

  — • —

  “Pilot,” Clarence said, as Theo entered the bridge—the Ship’s Heart, according to Bechimo. “Self-checks completed. No errors found.”

  “Thank you, Second,” she said, seating herself, and spinning the chair to face Screen Six squarely. Airy wisps of light blue wafted across a darker blue ground. There were no hints of human features or face to be found.

  “Bechimo, why did System One stop functioning?”

  “Pilot. System One was ninety-nine percent functional. Lack of function existed only in the protocol necessary for affixing the Tree-and-Dragon symbol to the hull.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “What was the reason for that failure?”

  “Pride,” Bechimo said, surprisingly, “misinformation, and a lapse of proper protocol.”

  Theo raised her eyebrows and squelched the impulse to ask Screen Six where Bechimo was. Instead, she asked, in a voice as calmly noncommittal as she could manage, “What do you propose as corrective measures? Understand, my board must operate at one hundred percent at all times. If I can’t trust that—if I can’t trust the basic fitness and integrity of the ship, then Pilot O’Berin and I will exit the ship at Frenzel and throw the keys back through the hatch.”

  The wisps froze, and began gently flowing again so quickly that Theo might have doubted she’d seen it.

  “What of Less Pilot yo’Vala? Would you leave him . . . alone?”

  Theo sighed, and sent a glance to Clarence, who was watching Number Six, his expression cool and calm.

  “If the pilots can’t trust their boards, they can’t fly the ship,” she said. “What usually happens to a ship that isn’t trustworthy is that repair crews are called in, or junkers. I’m thinking you wouldn’t want either, and I’m not about to turn you over. I figure you know what you owe Win Ton, and you won’t abandon him.”

  That was a bluff. Well, the whole thing about throwing back the keys and walking away was a bluff. She just hoped it was a good bluff. Bechimo had to learn . . .

  “Pilot Waitley, I will care for Less Pilot yo’Vala to the best of my ability and until he is able to care for himself. However, you will not be forced to the extremity of returning your keys to this vessel. The ship is safe; the pilots’ boards will function at one hundred percent. If in future, they do not function correctly, it will be because there has been a failure in ship’s systems, in which case, the pilots will do as they know best.”

  Amazing. Theo inclined her head in the Liaden I-accept-this.

  “And the Tree-and-Dragon trade sign?”

  “The trade sign will remain where the pilot places it. I have taken the liberty of accessing the contract this ship and crew signed with Master Trader yos’Galan, and note that we are required to show the Tree-and-Dragon trademark as appropriate. The Builders’ wisdom included advice to adhere to all terms, should the ship enter into a contract with Clan Korval.”

  Theo blinked, and looked again to Clarence, who w
asn’t quite grinning. Screen Six reflected a tranquil and trouble-free flow of blue-on-blue.

  “I think that’s settled then,” she said. “Thank you, Bechimo.”

  “Thank you, Pilot,” Bechimo said. He hesitated, then added, very low, and in Liaden, “I regret the inconvenience.”

  FOUR

  Arriving Frenzel

  “Arrival, in good order, requesting routing for a Frenzel trade berth. Bechimo, out of Waymart; Theo Waitley, First Class sitting Pilot on First Board; Clarence O’Berin, First Class, sitting Second. Laughing Cat, Limited, independent operators, under contract to Tree-and-Dragon. Tree-and-Dragon berth call, if any.”

  The message propagated properly through the ether, the wide-band electromagnetic waves spreading the news of them to those who might have missed their arrival, in fact to those who had probably missed their arrival in a system loud with two tightly packed, highly commercial worlds. Even their announcement would largely go unheeded, for most of the people here were busy with their own getting, spending, packing, shipping. Someone would pay attention, though, that being their job, and they would have to sort through the records to see what was due Tree-and-Dragon—if anything—and if fees were prepaid some decade or two back that ought to be applied now, or if old taxes or bills had to be settled. And, yes, if there was a Tree-and-Dragon designated berth available for Bechimo’s use on port.

  “Nerves, Pilot? Can’t say I’m without ’em. This is our first port o’call, after all!”

  Clarence subtly moved his hand toward the packet sender . . .

  Theo blushed and stabbed the button she ought to have pushed before starting her spiel, transmitting the CIP, the Compressed Info Package that would have the details the port expected—Bechimo’s public dimensions and mass, ground-port preferences, local docking needs, tow points, even the on-board scheduling routine and call-offs on ships they should never be docked near.

  Pharst! she scolded herself. You’d think this was your first time bringing a ship into port!

  Well, at least their arrival in-system had been neat, with an appropriate elliptical orbit easily attained. There was nothing of note within a light-second of them, and Frenzel was, as precalculated by all concerned, on the proper side of the Feraldo system.