“Although”—and the corners of Abram’s mouth quirked—“your announcement that you’ve already given one ship away was unexpected.” He breathed out, a soft sigh Ean heard through the lines rather than actually heard. “I wish that yours were the only type of problems we had to deal with.”
Did that mean he minded what Ean had done? Or that he didn’t? Whether he did or didn’t, the ships would choose. “Put sentient ships around sentience for too long, and you won’t have any choice who goes where.”
“So, is it humans who are giving the lines sentience, then? Or is it that the lines, so long being used to a different sentience, are adapting to humans?”
Ean didn’t know, but wondering about it had brought back some of Abram’s energy and spirit. Maybe it was time to raise the other matter.
“Did you know the captain of a ship doesn’t have to be the captain?”
Abram raised an eyebrow.
“Patten isn’t the one Confluence Station thinks is in charge. That’s a guy called Ryley.”
“Malcolm Ryley? Patten’s second-in-command?”
“Yes.”
“He’s probably a better choice,” Abram said. “So you say if a ship has a bad captain, it chooses its own.”
How bad had Patten been? Ean shrugged. “It chooses its own if it doesn’t have a captain.” Maybe Ryley had been around longer. Maybe the station liked Ryley better. “It finds someone who looks after it and is there all the time.”
Abram didn’t get the hint.
“The ships are starting to do that.”
Abram said, “That may be no bad thing.”
There was nothing Ean could say to that.
* * *
FERGUS greeted them with, “Have you ever worn one of these things?” Externally, he didn’t look any different. Not even bulkier. “They’re dreadful.”
“They keep you alive,” Sale said.
“But still, against a bunch of linesmen?”
“Linesmen who are in the military. Who’ve been trained to shoot accurately and shoot fast.”
“Are they likely to be a problem?”
“Why don’t you ask Rossi, over there, who’ll be wearing that splint on his wrist for the next three days? Or Ean, whose leg is fresh from rehab.”
Technically, the damage to Ean had been done by Rossi, and the damage to Rossi by Bhaksir and her team.
“Why are we expecting problems?” Fergus asked. “Surely, the business of yesterday cleared the air.”
“One can only hope,” Sale said. “Unfortunately, it seems to have had the opposite effect, and everyone is resentful because that lockdown will be on their record. We want you to find out if someone is deliberately stirring up trouble.”
“Peters?”
“Probably not Peters. He’s more likely to be a vocal result of whoever is stirring them up.”
Fergus nodded. “Anything else?”
“Be prepared. Don’t be complacent.”
Fergus nodded again.
They walked down to the shuttle bay with him—their second walk for the night—while Sale gave Fergus last-minute instructions. A frowning Rossi accompanied them, the first show of line solidarity in what felt like a long time.
“We’ll look after him.”
“Thank you.”
“The lines will protect you,” Ean said.
“That’s good to know. Thank you.”
What harm could befall Fergus on the Gruen anyway? It was a fleet ship; it should be safe.
“See you tomorrow at training.” Ean hoped his foreboding was more to do with his concern about facing the trainees again than it was about what might happen to Fergus in the meantime.
* * *
SALE, Craik, and her team accompanied Ean to line training the following day. They had a full complement of senior linesmen, with Rossi, Hernandez, and Fergus all present.
“I want to talk to them,” Ean told Sale. “Rather than you tell them off, I mean.”
Later, facing the trainees in the cargo hold, he wasn’t as confident. Gruen had provided her own guards, and they stood ready—with weapons—for any assault.
Fergus smiled encouragement. He, at least, was still whole and safe.
“What happened yesterday was a disgrace to us all, as people, and to the lines you are learning to work with. Some of you have issues with me being your trainer.” He paused and looked them over. Peters opened his mouth to say something. “Don’t say it, Peters, or I’ll be forced to use you as an example.”
Peters closed his mouth with a snap. Ean breathed out; that was one battle he hadn’t wanted to fight.
“I’m sure you’ve all had trainers before that you didn’t like. Ones you didn’t think capable of training you. They weren’t necessarily the highest rank in their field, either. Did you pick a fight with your trainers and continuously undermine them? I doubt it. You gritted your teeth and hoped to get through the course.”
They were all silent. How much of that was because they were listening to him, and how much of it was because of Gruen’s armed guards around the room? Sale’s team, too, although they didn’t look as menacing as Gruen’s people even if they were more dangerous.
“Yesterday was your last chance. You work with the program or you are out.”
He took a deep breath. “As some of you mentioned, you’re not getting access to the alien ships, even though you think you deserve it.” He could tell them now that they didn’t deserve it, but they wouldn’t believe him. “You have to earn that access. Once you earn it, we’ll take you on a tour.”
Sale straightened but didn’t say anything.
“And who decides when we’ve earned it?” Peters couldn’t stay quiet for long. “You? We know who you’ll pick.”
“Not me.” He looked out over the crowd to the linesmen at the back. Hernandez, scowling at the group. Rossi, arms crossed, frowning. Fergus, stiff in his armored suit. “Since you all know how good he is, Linesman Rossi will deem whether you’ve earned a trip to the alien ships.”
“Don’t include me in your crazy schemes.”
“We’re linesmen, Rossi. We work together.”
He watched the speculative looks the trainees shared. Some of them were definitely out to prove themselves. Even Peters looked interested.
“So what earns us a pass?” Kentish demanded.
“You talk to the lines; you hear them when they talk back to you. Rossi will tell you if you’re doing it right or not.”
“Thank you very much.”
Ean smiled. “Let’s start training, shall we.”
Jordan Rossi wasn’t a patient man, or a tolerant one. He listened to each linesman sing, pointed left or right, then moved on to the next. The four Xantos went right, and Ean already knew they could hear the lines, so that meant those on the left needed more training.
Peters was sent left.
Ean went over to him. “Can you feel the lines? Like you do normally, I mean.”
“Is this a trick question?”
Ean hid his sigh. “No,” direct to Peters, and then to the lines, “Please tell him no.”
A strong chorus of noes filled the room, mixed in with some of Ean’s exasperation. Even the elevens joined in.
Peters looked taken aback.
“Do you mind?” Rossi said.
“Did you understand what I said?” Ean asked Peters.
“No.”
Ean didn’t push it. He moved on to the next linesman.
Halfway through training, Vega left a message. Renaud Han was in Haladean space. She’d sent him to Confluence Station. She would meet Ean there.
* * *
THEY met in the small meeting room off the main control room.
“You got here quickly,” Vega said
“I will do whatever needs
to be done for my son.” It was both a promise and a challenge. “He’s not involved. He’s an honest boy and works hard. He doesn’t know about any of this.”
“And what did it take to get a ship here so fast?”
It wasn’t the first question Ean would have asked, but Renaud laughed. “I’ve been smuggling goods for fourteen years now. Getting a ship was the least of my problems.”
Vega didn’t even blink although Ean did. “You don’t strike me as a man likely to become involved in smuggling, Lord Renaud. What could you possibly gain?”
“Isn’t that what this is about?” Renaud asked.
Was Radko was chasing smugglers on Redmond? No. Vega wouldn’t have sent her there for that. Not unless someone was smuggling war secrets.
“I’m not ashamed of what I did.”
“Tell the damn story, Renaud, or I’ll feed you a truth drug. We’ve got more important things than having you procrastinating.”
Lord Renaud nodded and blew into his cupped palms. Maybe to give himself courage.
“You need to understand why I did it.”
“Tell us, then.”
“My son was a monster.” Bald and flat, and absolutely honest, according to the lines.
“This son you are trying so desperately to rescue?”
“Of course not. Let me tell it from the beginning.”
Vega nodded.
“Yves was . . . you don’t need to know . . . but we started sending him away for treatment when we discovered what he was like.”
He relaxed as he spoke. Ean thought he might be relieved to tell it.
“We got a look-alike for some of the public functions because, of course, we had to keep up appearances. It wouldn’t do to show the Emperor we had a weakness.”
Emperor Yu again, controlling everyone’s lives. One man shouldn’t have that much power.
“Jaxon was a lovely boy. And although Amina never said it to my face, I know we both wished he was our son, and not Yves.”
Renaud blew into his hands again. He was trembling now. “Yves got worse, especially once he started line training. There were incidents. Here, and on Roscracia.”
House of Sandhurst was on Roscracia, and Vega had said Han trained at Sandhurst.
“One girl.” Renaud’s voice didn’t change, but the wave of horror—bitter and nose-clearingly sharp—overwhelmed the lines.
“The girl?” Vega prompted Renaud.
“Her mother decided to kill Yves. He came back to Lancia for a function. She blew up the hotel. Killed him, killed herself, and fifty other people.”
That would be the explosion where Yves Han had lost his line ability.
“They told us that Yves was dead. Then they said they’d made a mistake, and he was in the hospital.” Renaud breathed into his palms again. “We think the initial prognosis—that Yves was dead—came from the DNA they got from the bomb scene. Then someone at the hospital recognized Yves as our son. We didn’t know Yves had asked Jaxon to stand in for him. Not for weeks. Not until they started the skin grafts and found we were incompatible.”
Vega nodded.
“So we went to his parents. They wanted money. For what we’d done to their son.” Renaud looked earnestly at them both. “Understand, no one expected Yves—Jaxon—to recover fully. We all thought he’d . . . so we paid them off, provided they came in every week for skin grafts.”
Renaud breathed in deeply again. The opposite of Abram, who always blew out. “They’re still getting their money.
“Things went well for a while. Yves—Jaxon—recovered, although he didn’t remember much at first. Everyone thought he was Yves, treated him like Yves. His parents stayed away, provided they got their money.”
A lot of families Ean knew would give up their sons for a regular allowance.
“Did he ever remember?” Vega asked.
“In the end, but, of course, we wouldn’t listen. We always changed the subject.” Another deep breath. “Tiana Chen found out. I don’t know if you know her. She sticks around the fringes of court, finding everyone’s secrets and blackmailing them.”
“She blackmailed you?”
“Yes. Yves guessed we were being blackmailed. So he joined the fleet.” A laugh that was half sob. “I think he felt guilty. He thought it would solve things. Only the entry tests—”
“Would have picked up that he was an imposter,” Vega said.
“Yes.” Renaud rubbed his hands together again. “I found someone. On Redmond. They agreed to switch the DNA records in exchange for my sending them things from Lancia. Medical supplies, mostly, because the taxes between the two worlds quadruple the cost. There were some things you couldn’t send to Redmond, even back then.”
Ean shivered. The adopted son would have thought he was fixing things. But he hadn’t. He’d made it much, much worse.
“How did you get the items to Redmond?”
“I have a friend.” Renaud stopped.
“He won’t get into trouble. We’re interested in your son, right now.”
“He’s a good friend. He hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“I’ve already said no repercussions for him.”
“He exports live shellfish. He gave me access to the ships he uses. He’s their best customer. They’ll do anything for him.”
“So let me get this straight,” Vega said. “The boy’s parents are blackmailing you. Tiana Chen is blackmailing you. And Redmond is blackmailing you and asking you to smuggle medical supplies and other goods.”
“Yves is worth every credit. And I’ll still happily pay it.”
The truth of that was a high crystal note through the lines.
“So what changed,” Vega asked. “You wouldn’t be this stressed about something that’s been going on for years.”
Renaud rubbed his eyes. “A month after the formation of the New Alliance I got a visit from someone. I didn’t know him, but he was Lancastrian. Military, I think, but I couldn’t be sure. He said, ‘We know you are sending items to Redmond. We want you to send things for us, as well.’”
“And if you didn’t?”
“They would take Yves and torture him. Suddenly, instead of passing medical supplies, I’m passing fleet plans and . . . alien gadgets and I don’t know what else.”
“Alien gadgets?” Ean asked.
“I recognized one of them. From the media. A little thing about so big.” Renaud cupped his hands.
Ean wanted to ask him to describe it further. He didn’t.
“I knew it was wrong. Of course I did. We’re at war. I couldn’t keep it up, not even for Yves. So I went to Commodore Bach.”
“What did he do?” Vega’s tone was mild.
“He told me to keep sending the items but to tell him about each shipment. That if I stopped, Redmond would likely make good on their promise to harm Yves. Or at the very least kidnap him and use that to force us to continue sending goods.”
Renaud blinked hard and breathed in three times fast in succession, nearly choking himself. He blinked again. “No one saw me go to Bach, but not long after that Yves leaves the barracks without calling me first. He knows we worry if he goes away. He always calls to let us know.”
“How often does he go away?”
“Hardly ever. He’s a military policeman. He’s stationed at Baoshan Barracks.”
Who had assigned Yves Jaxon Han to Baoshan? Ean suspected Renaud wouldn’t be above dropping a word in the ear of someone in power to get his “son” a job somewhere safe, where the worst thing he was likely to come across were soldiers drunk after a night out. Where the Han family could keep an eye on him.
“When Yves finally calls, he’s on Redmond, and he wants Gunter to send shellfish so he can escape. How does he even know we always put the smuggled goods in with the shellfish? Not unless someone is forcing
him to call.”
And people said the families in the slums were strange.
“Well, it’s a mess,” Vega said in the silence that followed. “It’s also a damned remarkable coincidence. Gunter Wong is one of the few Lancastrians who can still get ships off Lancia on a regular basis. His product has a short shelf life, and he has buyers in Gate Union and Redmond who keep the lines open for him. We follow the shellfish orders.”
Abram probably used it, too. The Lancastrian ambassador on Haladea III ordered Gippian shellfish for functions.
“I sent Han on this mission, Lord Renaud,” Vega said.
Renaud sagged. Physically and emotionally. Through the lines it was a long, slow, gray relief. Someone should test Renaud Han for line ability.
“So it is a job? He’s safe?”
Vega didn’t answer that. She turned to Ean. “The team went down with a cargo of shellfish. One of them might have recognized it as a potential escape route.”
Radko would even if no one else had.
“Did they get off Redmond?” Ean asked. The most important question.
“I’m not sure yet. But the ship manifest doesn’t show any problems.”
“Don’t you know?” Based on what Renaud had told them, he would have asked, and if Gunter Wong was such a friend, he’d have told him.
“Yves hasn’t contacted me,” Renaud said. “If he’s on a job, I can’t compromise him by calling him up.”
Surely it was too late to think of that now. “Where did the ship go after it left Redmond?”
Renaud paused, and the lines reluctantly deflated. They really should test his line ability.
“Aeolus.”
Ean had never heard of Aeolus two weeks ago. Still, the Worlds of the Lesser Gods was friendly to Lancia. Wasn’t it? So why wasn’t Radko back by now?
He glanced at Vega. She was scowling at him. She might have given Radko and her team more than one task. Who said they weren’t off doing their job?
“I’ll see how far Bach got investigating what happened.” Vega called Sale. “Group Leader. Arrange secure accommodation for Lord Renaud on Confluence Station.” Then she said to Renaud, “I’ll keep you informed.”
“Thank you.”
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