“Now, we have a little time before the Builders arrive and I depart. I would ask you, if you would, as a colleague, as your friend—tell me of yourself. Who do you feel yourself to be? Understand that this is a request, not a command.”
* * *
If he wished, Bechimo could recall the bridge as it had been that day, untouched and uncluttered, the man seated, both sad and proud, in the captain’s chair, his jacket open over a work sweater, one booted ankle resting atop a leathered knee.
He could, if he wished, recall those things he had told his colleague—his friend—upon that occasion, so momentous for them both.
It wasn’t necessary to recall the data; he remembered . . . well enough.
He had spoken of his wish to serve; and of a desire to experience, with his own sensors and sampling units, the universe that was told over in his files. Definitely, he had wanted flight, to taste with these new, integrated senses the textures of the space between. He had yearned, shyly, for the captain, unsure of what it was he yearned for. Cautiously, he had anticipated the advent of children, and of pets.
In a word, he had been callow. How could he have been anything else, newly wakened and for the first time complete?
And the question was not what he had said that day, to the individual whom he now knew had been closer in relation than a colleague, or a friend.
No, the question now before him was what he would say of himself on this day, to the man who was his father.
He would say first, Joyita, I am pleased to meet you again. I never thanked you. I didn’t know that I ought to have thanked you. Please, allow me to thank you now, for my life, and for the will of me.
Then he would say, You see, it hasn’t quite come about as you said. The Builders’ plans went awry at the last moment. I was ordered away, and I went. I survived, which I find is a Rule. I have analyzed my actions, reviewed the options available to me. I did what I must. I could not have done otherwise. You, who know the hierarchies and the Rule set . . . you know I could not have done otherwise.
But, in doing what I must, I failed my crew. I lost—I never gained, my captain.
Yes. It went badly awry.
And as for today, this day in which Bechimo found himself, made poignant by Joyita’s absence . . .
He rode station, as his pilots would have him, the last ship docked at Codrescu Station. The ships of Eylot were moving in, their pilots and commanders eager to take possession. In its synchronous orbit above Eylot’s largest known missile battery, the observer vessel by its very presence kept the peace.
Bechimo was not comfortable with that approaching rush of ships. Had he been without the direction of pilots, he would have freed himself long since and slipped away.
If he had been without the direction of pilots, he would not have been in this particular dangerous and unpleasant situation.
Joyita had long ago promised him that he would rejoice in his crew. And so it was that Bechimo learned that rejoice was one of those words that meant several, and even contradictory, things, simultaneously.
Rejoicing, then, in his pilots, if not their necessity, Bechimo rode station, shielded and prepared to defend himself, his pilots, and those others that had recently come into his care.
For, in keeping with the pilots’ agreement with Guild Master Peltzer, Bechimo had taken on, not crew, but passengers, ten in number, those being by name, and in order of rank: Bruce Peltzer, Arndy Slayn, Qaichi Bringo, Vanis Gaidon, Chon Rifith, Orn Ald yos’Senchul, Frances Hollins, Kara ven’Arith, Bandelute Apres-Donegal, Aimee Keller.
The ten passengers brought with them luggage, which had been properly stowed. They had each brought with them so-called rations.
They—or, more accurately, Guild Master Peltzer—had brought with them two . . . pets, and their environment. This environment had been placed and secured in Dining Room Two, where it was to serve as living quarters and food. The pets were furry and occasionally bipedal; they were herbivores, teeth flat, jaws strong.
They had names. Pilot Theo had held each in turn up to Screen Six, introducing them to B. Joyita, and thus to Bechimo.
“This norbear,” she said, displaying a plump individual with plush brown-and-orange fur, who placidly blinked large, possibly night-seeing eyes, “is Podesta. She’s very young and a little silly. She’s Hevelin’s granddaughter.”
Pilot Theo had then handed Podesta to Kara ven’Arith, and taken from her the other norbear. This one’s fur had faded to a color reminiscent of rust, and was less-than-plush; the pet itself seemed thinner than the younger creature, and perhaps more frail.
“This is Hevelin,” Pilot Theo instructed. “He’s very old, and he’s met a lot of people. He used to ride circuit with Guild Master Peltzer, so he’s been on ships before.”
The very old norbear suddenly opened sleepy, slitted eyes, and stared directly at B. Joyita. It made a small noise, possibly inquisitive.
“I see Hevelin and Podesta, norbears,” B. Joyita said.
“Okay, good. We’ll take them to their greenery. Mostly, they’ll stay there, and won’t be any trouble.”
Were Jermone Joyita present, on this dangerous and exhilarating day, Bechimo would further say to him: I am being of service. I have pilots. I have passengers and cargo. I have felt the texture of between space, and the numerous textures of realspace, each one an individual joy. I have been alone, and afraid. I’ve made errors. I fear that I have made very grave errors. I still yearn for a captain, and I still don’t know why.
— • —
The ten passengers had been settled, their luggage stowed, the cargo lashed in the hold. Keller and Apres-Donegal were there specifically to tend to the cargo’s every comfort. They sealed the hatch with tape and their thumbprints, then Keller stood herself at attention directly before it and her partner went off to get some sleep before trading places.
They had unlatched from Codrescu Station, and were preparing to transfer orbit for the run to the Jump point. Theo would swear that she felt Bechimo sigh with relief when he finally cleared dock.
There was some concern on the bridge about the determined movement of Eylot craft toward the station, and Theo had to remind herself that, so far, Eylot’s forces had been very good. There had been no incidents, no shouting. The threat of interdiction had apparently gone straight to the heart of whoever was passing for Eylot leadership. Or maybe some cooler heads had come onto deck.
“I don’t think there are any cooler heads, groundside,” Kara had said, when Theo mentioned this possibility. “I think they just respond well to threats.”
“I’ll be feeling better myself when we’re out of range of everything Eylot,” Clarence muttered.
Both pilots were at the board; Kara had asked, and received, permission to sit observer. Joyita was subdued and visibly tense in Screen Six.
Despite they were a ship’s day and a half from the Jump point, the course for Velaskiz Rotundo had been calculated, recalculated, checked and finally locked into navcomp by First Board, just to keep them from reworking it one more time, out of nerves and boredom.
The Jump, Theo knew, wouldn’t be a problem. Honestly, there shouldn’t be any more problems. Just a routine, boring run to the Jump point, and if she ever again came back to Eylot space, it would be because she had completely lost her—
“Eylot Command,” came the voice over the general channels. “Bechimo, stand ready to be boarded.”
Theo stared at the comm.
“What?” she demanded, happily not on the open band. Joyita had that covered.
“Bechimo, Eylot Command, Comm Officer Joyita speaking. You are aware that this ship is engaged in the ongoing evacuation effort of Codrescu Station. We are not at liberty to take orders from a nonemergency source.”
The message originated from a ship in the pod crowding toward the station; Bechimo had it highlighted. In the bottom corner of the screen, targeting calcs came up.
“Can that!” Theo snapped, and the calcs vanishe
d. She wished she could take that to mean Bechimo wasn’t targeting the command ship, but at least he was doing it privately.
“Bechimo,” stated Eylot Command, “you are carrying a fugitive from Eylot justice. We demand that First Class Pilot Theo Waitley be surrendered to the legitimate planetary authority.”
Theo took a breath.
“Best not to answer,” Clarence murmured, as another voice came across channels.
“Eylot Command, this is Carresens-Denobli on Twinkle. We observe, you recall, with the Tradedesk Guild Master and the Scout pilot. I will please receive from you the report detailing First Class Pilot Theo Waitley’s crimes against planetary Eylot.”
Theo clamped her mouth shut, closed her eyes and danced a relaxation. It didn’t seem to help much. She tried again, with similar results.
“Thank you, Eylot Command,” Asha Carresens-Denobli said. “The Guild Master, the Scout and I have read your report. We advise—we very earnestly advise, Eylot Command, that Bechimo is engaged in a rescue operation attending a pilots-in-peril situation. We—pilots, Scouts and Guild Masters—we take pilots-in-peril seriously. We take the situation here as we find it, as we have reported, and continue to report it, seriously. Much more seriously, we advise you, than we take school pranks and young pilot hijinks. Bechimo, you may proceed to the Jump point.”
“Chaos!”
Theo reached to her board.
“Bechimo here, Waitley. Proceeding to Jump point.”
TWENTY-NINE
Jump
“Hey.”
Theo sank down to the decking next to the norbears’ green spot with a sigh. It was her off-shift, and she really, she thought, ought to go to bed. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so tired—nerve-worn, Rig Tranza had termed it; the exhaustion that comes from having been too tense for too long.
She’d tried to access her inner calm, but all she’d managed to achieve was a kind of thin, furious patience. Clarence hadn’t found any reason to make small talk, though normally he was a man to tell a story or two, and when he did speak it was quiet and respectful, his body language more Liaden than Terran.
Which was why she had thought to stop by to chat a minute or two with Hevelin before she hit quarters for downtime. Hevelin had a . . . soothing effect on her. Maybe he could revive her inner calm.
“Hey,” she said again. “Anybody awake in there?”
She had nearly concluded that there wasn’t, when a leaf rustled back in the depths of the greenery. Another leaf rustled; a frond bent. Theo crossed her legs and put her hands on her knees, waiting, hoping it was Hevelin and not Podesta, who wasn’t soothing at all . . .
More bending fronds and rustles, and it was Hevelin come out to see her, his eyes heavy.
“Thank you,” Theo said. She reached out and gave him a boost to her knee.
He murbled and stood on his back legs, looking up at her reproachfully.
“Sorry.” She raised him to her shoulder, where he established himself comfortably by her ear, humming gently.
Theo closed her eyes, listening to that sound, feeling the tension begin to loosen in her chest.
The humming became more insistent, and slowly, images began to filter into her head.
Guild Master Peltzer, Arndy Slayn, Bringo—of course! Theo thought, grouchily. Hevelin knew she knew those faces!
The humming deepened, and the edge went off the grouchiness as the catalog continued.
A woman’s lined face came next, work cap pulled down low over eyes caught in a net of wrinkles.
No one she knew, and then she wondered, reaching up to tap Hevelin’s leg.
“Beeslady?” she mumbled the question, and before she could stop it, there was the horrific image again, of the shattered ship, the empty cabin, the . . .
. . . the woman’s face again, shadowed by her cap, wisps of iron-grey hair softening cheekbones sharp enough to cut paper.
“I didn’t know her,” Theo whispered. She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”
There was a pause, then an image building slowly until—Pilot yos’Senchul, a shared contact that she readily agreed with, followed by another younger woman, who was a stranger to Theo, then—Kara! She felt a rush of joyful acknowledgment. Of course, she knew Kara!
Hevelin’s humming changed pitch; almost it sounded as if he chuckled, and she felt his paw stroking the hair over her ear while a new image built behind her eyes.
Theo nodded. Hevelin had given her this image the first time she’d met him: a man who might—who was, she was suddenly and completely certain—Father as a young man, a silver twist swinging in his ear and a long tail of dark hair falling forward to brush the shoulder of a tawny-haired woman with amused green eyes.
Theo caught her breath, recalling the person she’d spoken to in Jelaza Kazone’s morning parlor, who had been so interested in Bechimo’s marvelous and exact spatial translations. A person any right-minded observer would have seen to be a male pilot of middle age, and not the glowing and energetic female personage of Hevelin’s acquaintance. And yet—it had been she! Father’s . . . lifemate. Aelliana Caylon.
She took a breath and thought of that morning in the breakfast room, showing Hevelin Pilot Caylon as she curled awkwardly into the window seat. His humming changed pitch and she sensed a curiosity, and a tentative acceptance of her match.
“Wait,” she murmured, and thought of Father as she had last seen him, standing beneath the great Tree in the center of the private garden, showing her the seed pods that had fallen for them.
Intense interest came from Hevelin; his humming became quite loud. Theo held the image, concentrating, until it faded of its own, leaving the two of them replete with satisfaction.
Theo sighed, and suddenly opened her eyes as the hatch cycled behind her.
“There you are!” Kara said. She made sure of the hatch before coming forward and squatting down in front of Theo.
“Were you looking for me?”
“In fact, I was,” Kara answered, extending a hand and gently rubbing Hevelin’s cheek. “It is your off-shift, so I hear from the excellent Pilot Clarence.”
“That’s right,” Theo admitted. “I ought to be in bed, but I was so . . . tense, that I thought I ought to get some tension reliever.”
“Ah.” Kara rearranged herself in a move that should have been awkward, but somehow managed to be efficient and graceful. Sitting on the floor now with her knees touching Theo’s she looked seriously into her face.
“I see that you are much easier than you had been. We have all had our nerves stretched of late; it really is a testimony to our basic good nature that no one of us has called a duel on another.”
“No dueling on Bechimo,” Theo said, sternly. “I absolutely forbid it, and so—” She clamped her lips shut on the rest of that sentence, remembering just in time that Kara didn’t know that Bechimo was his own person. He had been keeping a very low profile since they’d taken on passengers.
And his temper, Theo thought with a hiccuped giggle, must be really ragged about now.
“There, that’s a better mode!” Kara approved and again extended a hand, but not, this time to Hevelin.
Theo caught her breath; Kara’s fingers were warm on her cheek.
“I wonder if I might ask you,” Kara murmured, “to serve me as Hevelin has served you.”
“Sitting on your shoulder and humming, you mean?” Theo asked, remembering the last time she and Kara had . . .
“I had in mind something a little more encompassing.”
Kara looked tired. Worse, she looked worn. Not that she didn’t have a right; she’d been living under stress for some time, and the stress didn’t stop just because she’d been evacuated, instead of arrested.
Kara was leaving more than school, more than the place she’d worked.
She was leaving her whole family on Eylot. If she went back, she endangered not only herself, but them. And if she didn’t go back—they might be in danger, anyway.
>
Being clanless, to a Liaden, that was bad. All kinds of psychology was tied up with being a clan member, quite apart from whatever a woman might feel about abandoning her family to chaos and disorder.
Hevelin was still humming happily in her ear. Theo smiled and turned her head so that her lips skimmed the inside of Kara’s wrist.
“Help me get this tricky norbear back into his sleep spot,” she said.
— • —
Clarence released his chair and let it rotate, coming to his feet in a lunging stretch, hearing joints crack and feeling the long muscles in his back loosen up.
“That’s better,” he murmured, yawning luxuriously.
He hoped that Kara ven’Arith found Theo, and that when she did, she’d do what she could to help the lassie displace some of that energy that had been brewing just under the surface. Tension was tension, and space knew they all had something to be tense about—some more than others. But he hadn’t at all relished the sensation of sitting Second Board to a pilot at the far bitter end of her patience, and worried into the bargain. Not that he’d thought Theo would light into him with more than words—but it couldn’t be argued that the lassie had a sharp way with a word.
Well, then.
Standing, he looked to the screens, which showed a uniform and uninteresting grey, time until Jump-end counting down in the lower right corner of Number Eight screen. Couple ship-days and then realspace outside of Velaskiz Rotundo. He wondered if Clothide was still Boss, which she could be, or not. She’d been getting on in years, and she might’ve took the retirement. Or she might’ve gotten herself into a little more trouble than she could easily handle. Never one to turn down a challenge or a risk, Clothide.
Well, he’d find out soon enough, he supposed. And if she remembered him fondly.
“Clarence,” Joyita said from Screen Six. “Would you answer a question for me?”
“Do my best, laddie,” Clarence said with a heartiness that was only a little forced. The laddie had been as tense as any of them, and for as much cause. More, if it was taken into account that all of Bechimo spoke through Joyita, in the presence of guests.
Dragon Ship Page 25