One only had to look at the ruin of the Bechimo project to be reminded of it. Even the contents of one’s own mind were not inviolate.
As he well knew.
Uncle stirred himself, recalling Dulsey standing near, awaiting his answer to her information.
“Allow Andreth to know that we will wish to question his guests and that we will be with him shortly.”
“I have already done so,” Dulsey said, which was like her. No one knew his mind like Dulsey—occasionally she even knew better than he. “I’ve also laid in a course. We may leave at your word.”
He considered her for a moment. “Is there a reason that should not be immediately?”
“I wondered if you would want to off-load . . . certain items at Home Free before we go to Andreth?”
A good question. In other times than these, it would not even have been a question.
In these times, however, when there was surveillance mounted on a project most very secret, indeed, and Randoling reporting far too much traffic in the vicinity of her refuge point . . .
“I think,” he said to Dulsey’s serious grey eyes, “that we will go to Andreth, taking all that we have with us. I find myself not at all sanguine regarding the current safety of fixed orbits.”
“Yes,” said Dulsey. She smiled slightly. “We leave within the hour.”
“Excellent.”
— • —
The Guild rep nodded as she scrolled through the files, short fingers occasionally tapping the input pad at her side.
“So,” she murmured, maybe to herself, maybe to Theo and Kara sitting across from her, both pretending to be less nervous than they were. “So.”
There was no reason to be nervous, Theo told herself forcefully. She’d cribbed the contract from the one Shan had given her to hire Clarence, so the Terms and Conditions ought to be right. They’d filled out the Guild forms together, Theo explaining that Bechimo’s accounts weren’t big-ship plump, since they were just getting started, and Kara acknowledging that she didn’t expect to make cruise-liner pay.
This trip.
“So,” said the rep once more, and looked up with a smile.
“Independent contract ship, third key, with add-on tech and other duties as needed. Second Class Pilot standard Guild rate, plus fifteen percent, plus one-sixth of ship’s profit, if any, no loss-share or insurance required. Contract offered to end of current run, renews automatically for the next trip unless cancelled by either principal. The contract itself is satisfactory to the Guild. If you would both sign the hardcopy, here and here . . .” She pointed, flourishing a pen in her free hand. Theo snatched it and affixed her signature in the places indicated, then passed the pen to Kara, who also signed.
“Good,” said the rep, taking the pen back with the hardcopy. “We’ll transmit a copy to Bechimo and to Pilot ven’Arith’s address on file with the Guild. Now, Pilot, if I may have your license, I will update it with your new data, and you’ll be on your way.”
Kara surrendered her license, the rep slid it into the reader, tapped a few more times on the input pad.
“There you are, Pilot. Is there anything else the Pilots Guild can provide you this day?”
“Thank you, no,” said Kara.
“No further business, thank you, ma’am,” added Theo.
They exited the rep’s cubicle and headed toward the entrance side by side.
“As soon as we get the passengers off,” Theo said, “we’ll do some looking around for things that might be appreciated at Ynsolt’i, or Kendrik—those are our next two stops in the loop we’re supposed to be testing.”
“So the ship is allowed to trade for itself? We’re not tied to the Master Trader’s direction?”
“The Master Trader’s direction, at least this time, was to feel out the route, to talk to people on a list he provided, and to pick up four pods at Cresthaller, assuming they were spaceworthy after twenty-five years of planet weather.”
Kara eyed her. “Were they?”
“Three were. The other one . . .”
“Theo Waitley, First Class Pilot Theo Waitley.” The intercom was, Theo thought, much louder than it needed to be. She stopped, feeling her cheeks warm, Kara stopping beside her.
“First Class Pilot Theo Waitley, please come to the Sector Master’s office at once. Repeat: Theo Waitley, Pilot First Class, to the Sector Master’s office at once.”
“Now, what?” Theo muttered.
“The Sector Master probably wishes to acknowledge your heroism,” Kara said.
“That would play better if I’d been a hero,” Theo answered. “The only thing we did was follow regs. Nothing heroic in following regs, same as Professor Chibs told us, over and over. What they probably want to do is dispute our bill.”
“Then you will want me with you,” Kara said briskly, taking her arm and turning her back toward the depths of the building. “I am a past expert in explaining invoiced items.”
“Are you? We might have to make you head accountant, too.” Theo allowed herself to be turned, and matched Kara’s stride up the hall.
“Why not simply part-owner?”
“We’d have to take a vote,” Theo told her.
“And Clarence would vote against me, would he? Wait, now where—ah! This way, Theo.”
Meekly, Theo followed her friend down the intersecting hall and in not too many steps more they stepped through a door bearing the legend SECTOR MASTER, and into a small room with a desk directly facing the door. The man seated behind the desk looked up.
“Help you, Pilots?”
“I’m Theo Waitley,” she began, but apparently she didn’t have to say anything else. The man touched a button on his desk console, glanced briefly down and nodded.
“You can go right in, Pilot Waitley. May I help you, Pilot?” he asked Kara.
“I am Kara ven’Arith, Bechimo crew,” Kara said. “I am with Pilot Waitley.”
“Right, then; you’ll want to wait for her in the cafe or the general waiting area. Call was for Waitley, not Waitley and crew.”
Kara looked at Theo. Theo looked at Kara, sighed and raised her hands, both palms up—what’s to do?
“Why don’t you grab a cup of tea and wait for me,” she said. “If I don’t show up or send a message in an hour, go on home.”
“You’re certain you don’t need me?”
“Like you said, they probably only want to give me a medal for following regs.”
Kara smiled. “Soon, then,” she said. A nod to the man behind the desk and she was gone.
Immediately the door to the hall shut; another door, directly behind the desk, opened.
“Please, Pilot. The Sector Master is expecting you.”
* * *
The Sector Master’s office was easily three times the size of the reception area. The desk itself, Theo estimated, was only slightly larger than the reception area, big enough to hold a couple of screens, ranged to the extreme and moderate left of center, and a very large planter of mixed grasses on the right.
Behind the desk was an angular woman with brown eyes and close-cropped brown hair. Directly beside the desk, in what could either be a place of honor or extreme peril, sat Guild Master Peltzer. Theo gave him a courteous nod, and a murmured, “Guild Master,” before giving her full attention to the woman behind the desk.
“First Class Pilot Theo Waitley,” she said. “You wanted to see me, ma’am?”
“Sector Guild Master LoRita Constince,” the woman said. “I did want to see you, Pilot, yes. Master Peltzer tells me the Guild owes you a debt of gratitude, which is one reason for wanting to see you. Also need to tell you that your invoice is being adjusted in ’counts. We’ll send an itemized update to Bechimo—it’ll probably be waiting for you when you get back. Once you okay that, we’ll be able to pay you, and you can get back to your proper business. Building a loop for Korval, wasn’t that?”
Theo blinked. An adjusted total? Maybe Kara would have a chance to exercise her
talents, after all.
“We’re exploring the possibility of a loop for Master Trader yos’Galan, yes ma’am,” she said politely. “Not building so much as learning if there’s anything to build on.”
She nodded. “A fine distinction, I agree. And when Master Traders are in play, it pays to be as precise as possible.”
She used her chin to point at the chair to Theo’s right, at the opposite corner from Guild Master Peltzer.
“Have a seat, Pilot; there’s somebody else I’d like you to meet. Guild business, legitimate Guild business. Shouldn’t take more’n a few minutes of your time.”
“I do,” Theo said, taking the seat cautiously, “have a crew member waiting for me.”
“We should be done before your crew has any cause for concern,” said Guild Master Constince. “Just a quick chat with an associate of mine.” She snapped her fingers lightly.
The bowl of grasses near Theo’s chair shook authoritatively, and disgorged a nicely plump norbear, white, except for a large black spot on her back and two very small black spots on her head, directly before each ear.
“This,” said Sector Guild Master Constince, “is Sinaya. She’s heard about you from Hevelin, and very much wanted to meet you herself.”
“Did you?” Theo asked the norbear. Sinaya blinked her eyes peaceably and continued her approach. Theo looked to Guild Master Peltzer. He nodded.
“Just like she says. Hevelin apparently talked you up, Pilot.”
Theo sighed, and looked back to the norbear, who had stopped near Theo’s left hand, and was looking up at her expectantly.
“All right,” she said, lifting her hand and turning it palm-up in case Sinaya wanted a lift. “I’m glad to meet you, Sinaya.”
The norbear didn’t move for a moment, then she came forward and settled herself half across Theo’s hand, with her chin resting on the big vein in her wrist.
Immediately, images began to form in Theo’s head—a grizzled countenance with quivering ears—Hevelin, Theo thought, around a rush of affection.
Podesta was offered next; Theo acknowledged her with an affection tempered with exasperation. Guild Master Peltzer, Arndy Slayn, Orn Eld yos’Senchul, Bringo . . . followed by a series of three faces Theo had to admit weren’t familiar to her, and then a pause, deliberate, as if Sinaya were waiting for her to produce her own catalog.
Networking with norbears, Theo thought resignedly.
She offered Kara, and Clarence, both of whom were received with warm interest, but no sense of prior meeting. She offered Coyster, and felt . . . something like a trill of amusement. Theo smiled and offered Kamele, who was acknowledged with interest, though Theo didn’t know if her attempted projection of mother reached, or made any difference to her interlocutor.
Next, she offered Father, both as she had seen him last, and as Hevelin had shown him to her, with Pilot Caylon tucked well inside his personal space.
That sparked intense interest, and a small murble.
Theo rested then, not knowing how much more was wanted or expected from her, anxious to return to Kara—she stopped, somehow in receipt of the certainty that Sinaya had followed all of those thoughts clearly, and that it was probably rude to allow your thoughts to wander when in converse with a norbear.
Her answer to that was a feeling of indulgent cheerfulness even as one more image formed inside her head.
Theo managed not to gasp, though she was sure that Sinaya caught her anxious start.
The image was of Joyita.
THIRTY-ONE
Ynsolt’i Incoming
The mood on the flight deck was eager as the count-in came closer; if Joyita’s smile was slight, Clarence’s was open and Kara’s, sitting observer with him at Second Board, reflected that with a cheerful demeanor as she used the ear-over to listen in to Bechimo as she got a taste of an ordinary commercial system entry.
Ordinary—as if the ship and crew had enough time together yet to know what ordinary was for them! Theo knew that she and Rig had fallen easily into a pattern, but much of that had been Rig’s experience talking. She felt herself color, recalling the first drop-in she’d done with Clarence at second—by any measure she’d been far more nervous than eager, that time.
Theo ran through a calming dance in her head, granting to herself that eager was a step up and hoping that she wouldn’t get to be bland about arrivals, as several big-liner pilots she’d played bowli ball with claimed they were . . . but there, they’d been sitting with a second and a third and four backups . . .
She nearly missed the final number in sequence as in Bechimo’s ultraquiet fashion they slid into realspace. There was nothing really close to them, and as prearranged, they held off announcing themselves until they could take a good look at the situation.
The inner system was crowded with ships, many of them Liaden, and a higher percentage than she’d expect listing Solcintra, Liad, as home port. That fact, of course, was Liaden ego, or at least Liaden hyperbole, at work. Just as Bechimo might never Jump into Waymart’s system, much less dock or berth there, most of these ships had never touched down on the dust of Liad, even if they claimed it as home. For Terrans, the common port was Waymart. For Liadens it was Solcintra, Liad.
“Quite the show,” Theo allowed, “but is everybody out there on vacation?”
Truth was, although there were a lot of ships in-system, quite a few were not close in to the action, as one might expect. Instead, some were clearly in parking orbits well outside Ynsolt’i’s usual trade lanes, tending to cluster around larger ships that acted as hubs away from the three orbiting trade centers. The two bulk-ship centers, fed in part from planetary shipments launched to space by catapulted boosters, were in low orbit and held no interest for Bechimo, Laughing Cat, or Tree-and-Dragon.
Port of convenience as Liad might be for some, about a third of the ships were showing Ynsolt’i as home, and a surprising number of those were official—naval units, police, customs, port and traffic control. With the planet’s nearspace as busy as it was, Theo supposed they’d be taking their time getting in, and was glad she wasn’t on one of Uncle’s split-second courier runs.
Bechimo peppered IDs across the main screen, running matches for prior coincident ships and finding three, and then a fourth; building the image to show the main shipping lanes and their own time to Ynsolt’i’s clearance zones, something complicated by a current comet with associated meteors and debris.
She was willing to use one of Korval’s rotating landing permits if there were open slots; otherwise Theo had asked Clarence to requisition the first available spot on Ynsolt’i Three, the orbiting trade market most likely to have an opening for sub-pod or break-pod trading.
Joyita spoke a reminding, “We have yet to announce, Pilot. Shall I schedule that as an automatic event on future entries?”
Theo glanced toward Screen Six.
“Not yet on scheduling ahead—we’ll want to see how the entry process works when we have three pilots at the boards. For this entry, I’ll do the announce, thank you. Next time we may have the Exec do it, or Pilot Three. But do, please, make sure the cat’s laughing and the dragon’s flying.”
Theo caught Kara’s quick glance, signed available for duty and smiled, warming. Yes, Kara was already a happy addition to the crew, indeed.
— • —
They were far enough out that their announcement took its time. While it progressed, Bechimo told Pilot Waitley and the crew of two outgoing Jump glares on the other side of the system, ships gone before they’d arrived. Bechimo overlaid the main screen with a light haze to indicate how far their arrival signal reached into the system, and kept track, now, of automatic acknowledgments from mere-ships, repeaters, and satellite systems.
The crew spoke from time to time, with the head tech in a learning mode, and thus accessing both the Pilot and the Less Pilot’s attention, sometimes simultaneously. As a pilot, Kara ven’Arith had far less practical board time than either of the other crew, no matter
that her practical knowledge of state-of-the-art internals was equal or better than theirs, and her understanding of older basic tech far more useful.
For his part, Bechimo was quite pleased with the technician’s understanding of modules. Already, she’d gotten the hydroponics and cleansing systems in fine shape, suggested several practical short-term amendments; and positively delighted in helping with the creation of the garden zone for the traveler Hevelin.
Hevelin was present in the Heart. Bechimo monitored him carefully, mindful of Guild Master Peltzer’s last discussion with Pilot Waitley and the crew.
“I know this ship will care for Hevelin better than a Guild Master on a mission can, and I expect reports! I have a lot of moving to do, and not all of it fun! I’m the first Master to lose a Guild office in a hundred Standards!”
Bechimo understood that this had been both information and an order to the crew, if not to him. How those reports might reflect on himself, he did not know. The possibility of nonhuman travelers was something the Builders had discussed and allowed for, but some of those records, alas, were mere threads, leading to information he could not access.
Hevelin, like the tech, seemed to have a bias toward Pilot Waitley; in both cases the bias was based on something more than just hierarchy, and Bechimo found himself outlining a search for information on the topic “leadership.”
Even Pilot Waitley’s hurried decision to support Codrescu—for Bechimo knew that the Less Pilot’s inclination had been to permit others to take a lead there!—became the basis for increased prestige for the Pilot and thus, for her craft. Ships coming after gave some precedence to Pilot Waitley’s thoughts and the Guild offices at Velaskiz Rotundo had been pleased to give the pilot and Bechimo certification as the Pilots Guild Embassy Mobile to Norbears, along with a modest stipend to assist with feeding and other care Hevelin might require.
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