“The whole city is going to celebrate the colonial flight,” Lilita argued. “I mean, how long is it since the last gates were opened? Ninety years or something.” She rolled her eyes. “Ancient history.” Then she smiled to take the insult out of it. Lilita had a pretty smile that lit up her dark eyes and made the most of her clear, fresh complexion. She used it often. She had been on the ship for only a few months, but she had become an essential part of on-board routines, including the main meal, the only meal Catherine insisted everyone eat together. She was happy, simple company.
“It’s been seventy-nine years since the Caruthers gate was opened,” Catherine said. “This isn’t the first time a new set of gates and a new planet have been opened up. It won’t be the last.”
“But it’s my first!”
Bedivere smiled, his laugh lines drawing together and the clear brown twinkling. “Such a baby,” he told Lilita.
Lilita wrinkled her nose. “I’m seventy-five, thank you.”
“Exactly.”
“Where’s this new hire?” Catherine complained, looking around the bay. It was a generic landing bay, no better or worse than the hundreds she had seen. She had to consciously recall where they were, for there was nothing to distinguish it. Darwin. They were on Darwin. “She’s late,” Catherine added and looked at Bedivere. “What’s the time?”
“Sixteen hundred and fifteen, ship time. Twenty-seven twenty-one, local time.”
“It’s creepy the way you just know that,” Lilita said.
“It’s just the sync link,” Catherine pointed out. “He can talk to the ship faster than I can.”
Lilita shifted on her feet. “The launch is at twenty-eight hundred.”
Catherine sighed. “If you want to go, go. I’ve seen way too many colonial launches.”
Lilita looked at Bedivere. He held up his hand. “No, but thank you. I want to be part of the interview.”
“You’re missing out!” Lilita called over her shoulder as she headed for the bay doors.
“I know exactly what I’m missing!” Catherine called back.
Lilita waved as she slipped between the massive doors. Bedivere had used the ship’s link with the landing bay to nudge one of the doors open by a meter, in anticipation of the coming interview.
A man stepped through and looked around, spotted the pair of them at the bottom of the landing ramp and headed in their direction. His clothing was anonymous, made of some indestructible fabric that spacers favored, in a neutral color. If he stood in a room of spacers and ship jockeys, he wouldn’t stand out—except for his hair, which hung well past his shoulders.
“Hello.…” Bedivere murmured.
“I thought you said it was a woman,” Catherine muttered back.
“I do know the difference.”
Catherine smothered her laugh.
As the man got closer, she noticed his eyes. Pale, almost colorless light brown. He had a direct gaze, looking at her without flinching or skittering away as strangers tended to do. He came right up to the pair of them and stopped so that he was completing a neat triangle. He stood between them, rather than directly in front of either of them. He wasn’t as tall as he had first seemed. He was only a little higher than Catherine. Bedivere was a good twenty centimeters taller.
The man looked at Catherine. “You were expecting Dana Morrow. I’m here to tell you she won’t make her appointment.”
“Friends, are you?” Bedivere said.
“I saw her get arrested, not long ago.” The man’s gaze moved between the two of them, but he was assessing them, not avoiding their gaze. The directness was…odd. “They were Federation troops,” he added. “Not the local gendarme.”
“Federation?” Catherine pressed her lips together and glanced at Bedivere. “I thought she told you she didn’t have any outstanding warrants?” In fact, Bedivere had done the search himself. His search skills were vast and until now, infallible.
Bedivere shook his head, just a little. There was a pucker between his brows. “She didn’t have any,” he said flatly. He looked at the stranger. “You came to tell us because you think we’ll reward you for the warning?”
The man gave a small smile. “You don’t have any outstanding warrants yourself. At least, none associated with this ship. So a warning would be wasted on you, wouldn’t it?”
“You’ve done your homework,” Catherine said. “How did you know Dana was due here?”
“I’m not Federation, if that is what you’re thinking.”
“As the Federation isn’t interested in us,” Bedivere pointed out, “your status as Federation or not is immaterial.”
The man nodded. “I overheard her, last night. She was attempting to impress the man she met at the Albion Tavern, in the commercial district on this side of the station.”
Catherine glanced at Bedivere, who nodded slightly. The tavern did exist.
The man in front of them grimaced. “She said she had scored a job on a privateer and was heading off-world. She spun the man all the romantic nonsense spacers like to drop on the ball-bound—making sure all debts are paid when you lift off, how you have to grab time by the horns, how lonely it can be in space.” His eyes didn’t quite roll.
“Indiscreet,” Bedivere observed.
“And inaccurate. The jobs wasn’t hers yet.” Catherine sighed. “So why are you here telling us all this?”
“You know we can verify what you’ve said very easily,” Bedivere added.
“There were thirty witnesses in the tavern. At least one of them would have been sober enough to remember the way she was draping herself over the man. He wasn’t Federation either. I checked.”
“And you’re here…?” Catherine prompted.
The man looked at them, a direct, short gaze each. “You’ve lost your employee. I’m here to offer my services instead.”
Bedivere laughed. It was a rich sound, filled with genuine amusement. “Friend, the reason we were recruiting a woman is because this job requires a woman’s specific skill set.”
“Security?” he asked. “Muscle?”
Catherine kept her expression steady and neutral.
The man shook his head, as if they had said he was wrong and he was disputing it. “It’s a job that needs combat skills,” he said, “or you wouldn’t be looking for a woman. But I have unique qualifications that may interest you.”
Bedivere crossed his arms. “Go on.”
The man looked around and over his shoulder. “Bays have ears,” he pointed out. “There’s a spacers’ lounge area across the way. Perhaps—”
“Here or nowhere,” Catherine said.
He glanced up at the top of the open ramp.
“No, not inside either. Not until we know a lot more about you,” Bedivere said quietly.
“Like why Dana Morrow was arrested, which conveniently let you show up and ask for her job instead,” Catherine added.
“Her arrest was purely coincidental,” the man said. “Or perhaps I could call it fortunate timing for it gives me this opportunity, one that is a rare combination of facts. You don’t have warrants against you, either of you, but that doesn’t mean you don’t want to draw their attention.”
“Name a private craft that does like bumping hips with the Feds.” Bedivere sounded amused again.
The man stood straighter and pulled his hair back over his shoulder and out of the way. “My name is Fareed Brant. That is my real name. If you care to run a search on the fedcore you’ll find me listed as a brother of the Staff of Ammon.”
Catherine couldn’t remember the last time she had been so surprised. “You’re a Staffer?” She just barely held the incredibility out of her voice. He looked nothing like a typical Staffer. Staffers were religious lunatics. They wore dirty tunics and sandals and tended to be unwashed and unpleasant.
“Absent without leave,” Bedivere murmured.
Brant shot him a sharp glance.
Bedivere tapped his temple. “Synchronized link with th
e ship databases,” he explained, “which gives me access to the fedcore.”
“You’re a runaway?” Catherine asked Brant.
He smiled. “I prefer to describe it as a difference of philosophical opinions.”
“Ammonites volunteer,” she pointed out. “You didn’t question the differences before you were inducted?”
“Oh, I still believe in the sanctity of the human race,” he said placidly. “It’s the application of the primary rule that I didn’t agree with.”
“You were a member of their enforcement brigades?” Bedivere asked.
“I did not volunteer for that assignment,” Brant said, glancing at Catherine.
She shifted uncomfortably and looked at Bedivere.
Bedivere pointed toward the door. “Brant, there’s a bench by the door. Please park yourself for a few minutes and let the captain and I discuss this.”
Brant considered him. “Very well,” he said easily and headed back toward the doors. The open door swung slowly shut as he drew closer and he turned to look at Bedivere. “I’m a hostage?” he asked, lifting his voice. He didn’t sound worried.
“Until we process a formal recruitment and security, yes,” Catherine told him.
“Then you should probably know the real reason I sought you out.”
“Yes?”
“Catherine Shahrazad,” he intoned, “and your navigator called Bedivere no-last-name.”
Catherine drew in a breath, deep and slow, calming herself, as Brant turned and headed for the tightly shut doors and the bench beside them.
Bedivere stepped around Catherine so he was facing her, his back to Brant. Because of Bedivere’s size, Catherine could no longer see the ex-Staffer. “If we speak quietly,” Bedivere said, “we should be fine. He can’t see either of our mouths.”
“Lip reading?”
“If he’s a Fed spy, he’ll have all sorts of unexpected skills. Like having combat training.”
“You think he’s Fed?” she asked curiously.
“I don’t know. But I don’t want to let him out of my control, not until we do know.”
“You really think a Staffer would be working for them?”
“Ex-Staffer, which is why he’s hitting us up for a job. No one will employ him if they know what he really is, so legitimate jobs are all out of his reach.” Bedivere pushed his hand through the hair on the back of his head, radiating unease. “It’s the perfect cover for a Fed spy.”
Catherine shook her head. “Aren’t we being just a bit paranoid? We went off the grid straight after Harrivalé. In nearly a full standard year no one has paid us the slightest bit of notice.”
“Except he knows who we are,” Bedivere pointed out.
“If he was a spy, he wouldn’t have told us he knew.” Catherine tilted her head and looked at him. “Think, Bedivere. He has put all his cards on the table. Knowing he’s Ammonite makes him just as vulnerable as him knowing who we are makes us vulnerable. We’re equal.”
Bedivere stared at the ground. “That’s why he told us.”
“And because it’s the only way to explain the combat training.”
Bedivere lifted his chin and gave a chuckle. “He could have told us he’s ex-Federation. They’re the best trained troops in the galaxy.”
“Until they regenerate,” Catherine pointed out. “Brant is old. It’s not showing much yet, but he’s beyond the age when most men transfer.”
“A DNA test would tell us if he’s ever regenerated.”
“And how old he really is.” Catherine studied him. “You’re okay with this?”
“Hiring an ex-Staffer? Oh, thrilled,” Bedivere replied. “But if he agrees to bio testing and the results confirm he’s using his original body, that would make me sleep better.”
“That’s all that bothers you? That he could be a spy?”
Bedivere shrugged and waved Brant over to them. As the man got to his feet and headed their way, Bedivere looked at her and pressed his lips together ruefully. “It doesn’t trouble you that he’s a Staffer. I’ll get over it.”
She gave him a small smile. “Ex-Staffer,” she amended.
“Oh, I’m still technically Ammonite,” Brant said as he reached their side. “Just because I washed and shaved and I’m wearing civvies doesn’t take away the indoctrination. And no one resigns from the order.”
“Indoctrination? Then you didn’t always believe in humans first?” Catherine asked. “They had to warp your mind before you bought it?”
Brant smiled. “I bought it, then I became a Staffer. The training just locks it all in place.”
Bedivere pushed his hands deep into the roomy pockets on his flight suit. “We’ll need to do some testing, to establish you’re who you say you are.”
Brant nodded. “Bio markers. I expected more.”
“Oh, we’ll be turning your life inside out, once you’re aboard,” Catherine said. “But you don’t get invited aboard until we’ve done some basic bio panels.” She hesitated, then remembered that it was her who had argued that Brant and they were equally as vulnerable. “I won’t lie. We need the help. You know who we are, so there’s no point in hiding that we lost all our crew when we said we were heading back into Federation space, three years ago. We’ve been running on skeleton crew since then, while we recruit. It’s a slow process. Candidates with the skill sets we need and the right attitude as well…they’re rare.”
“The pretty little lady that stepped out just before I arrived. She’s one of your crew?”
“Lilita Washmaster. She’s our engineer. She’s been with us nearly a year now.”
Brant gave her one of his clear-eyed direct gazes. “If I understand you properly, then it’s the first time I’ve heard of a muscle-man helping run a ship.”
“You’ll get your privileges,” Catherine assured him. “Five percent of the gross take on any venture, no other heavy duty stuff in between. But you’ll be working for your supper, believe me.”
Brant raised a brow. “Trouble?” It was a mild, almost non-curious tone he used.
“I have a couple of projects to complete. They have…risks.”
“Ah.” Brant smiled. “My need-to-know level isn’t high enough yet. I can live with that.”
“You can?” Bedivere asked sharply.
Brant gave him a warm smile that made his eyes glimmer with good cheer. “You’re not Federation and I get off this rock with pay and privileges. Whatever else happens, that’s a bargain right there.”
“Right.” Catherine stirred. “Bedivere, you start vacuuming the dirt out of Brant’s life. And look into why Dana Morrow was arrested yesterday, while you’re communing with the AI.”
“You have an AI?” Brant said sharply.
“That a problem?” Bedivere asked coolly. It was his “I’m rolling up my sleeves for a fight” tone.
“We have several AIs,” Catherine replied, shooting Bedivere a warning glance. “Each has its own portfolios and they work together as needed.”
“They’re harnessed, yes?” Brant asked.
“Of course they’re harnessed,” Bedivere replied, managing to sound affronted.
Brant relaxed with effort. “You said something about a bio panel?” he asked Catherine politely.
“I’ll go and get it. Take a load off, Brant, while I go get the sample pins. You don’t get to step inside until we’re done.”
“You’re very kind,” he said gravely, as if she had offered him the best seat at the table. He folded himself up cross-legged on the metal ramp. He stared straight ahead, his body relaxed and Catherine realized he was meditating.
Catherine looked at Bedivere, jerked her head toward the cargo hold and strode up the ramp, ready to fight it out.
Chapter Five
Bedivere didn’t try to avoid her, or pretend he didn’t know she was angry. He moved back to the far side of the cargo hold where Brant wouldn’t be able to hear or see them and waited with his arms crossed and his legs spread, which made th
em look longer than ever. In the dim light back there, his dark blond hair looked much darker.
Catherine marched right up to him, letting her frustration show.
“He kills computers, Cat,” Bedivere said, sliding in before she could say anything.
She drew a breath, trying to shrug off her irritation. Bedivere didn’t think like she did. He hadn’t seen what she had. She had to remember that, but she also had to make him see it from her perspective, too. “The Ammonites haven’t killed a computer in over a thousand years,” she said, working to keep her tone reasonable. “Not since the Torment of the Sinnikka.”
“Not for want of trying,” Bedivere pointed out. “The Birgir Stoyan is still rogue, eight hundred years later. The only reason they didn’t kill it was because it was a shipmind. As soon as it woke up, it realized that what happened to the Sinnikka would happen to it, too. So it took off and no one has seen it since.”
Catherine observed his tightly held fists inside the crook of each elbow and the tension in his shoulders. She sighed silently. Bedivere was the latest in a long series of navigators she had employed over the years. The heavens and she both knew navigators were flaky. There wasn’t a whole lot of navigating left in their job descriptions. The complexities of gate jumping had long ago surpassed human computational abilities and skills. AIs did the heavy lifting, while navigators acted as human back-ups.
In truth, even that function was a sinecure. Computers could react faster than humans in emergencies, but human passengers felt more secure with a human even nominally in charge.
Federation ships all carried a human navigator, well versed in the intricacies of stellar cartography, where everything was a moving target, including their destination. But their real skill was in their relationship with the navigator AI. Every ship used an AI for navigation, always well-shackled and controlled. The human navigator worked closely with it.
Catherine had adopted the same standard, for the same practical reason. If she wanted paying passengers, she needed to parade a very human navigator in front of them, so they would sleep easily in their berths.
Because of their almost symbiotic relationship, navigators as a breed tended to be protective of their navigator AIs in particular and most computers in general.
Faring Soul - Science Fiction Romance Page 4