by Sharon Lee
Back before…
Before everything changed, when he was a Scout pilot and active in his work. Back then, he’d twice been on a Terran world where honor was partially served by having people physically occupy places to guard them when remotes might do, for people needed employment, and learning the patience to do one kind of work might prove good experience to move on to another.
On that world, his ship had been guarded by a night watchman who not only had vids and sensors at his command, but who was also required to walk a “beat” about the ship and grounds from time to time. This permitted someone else to have employment as a serial watcher of cameras and sensors, covering for the various night watchpeople who were wandering around in person.
His watchman had on both occasions been the same man. A personable man, and bright, yet…lacking something in the way of fortitude or ambition or ability, for he had held the position, as he had proudly explained, for fifteen Standards, and was quite looking forward to fifteen more. The solitude was good for him, the work not over strenuous, and he was sufficient to it, which was all he asked. He enjoyed meeting pilots, and being around the ships, and was satisfied in knowing that he was doing something useful for his family and for his world. He had small hobbies, and a small house, and a small, low energy future.
But, there, this was not meditation; such thoughts gave him neither peace nor clarity.
Win Ton opened his eyes, pleased to be able to do so, pleased to be able to move about under his own purpose, and not so pleased to consider that yet again he had been offered the quiet shift—to watch.
He was no longer concerned that he would trip out-of-hand while walking, and he had managed to let fade the recurring image of Theo’s shining eyes as she beheld him, newly risen from the Remastering Unit.
She had seen clearly and at once, he thought, that he was not the pilot who had offered her first orbital PIC, nor the pilot with whom she had played bowli ball, and challenged the dance with her.
Pilot. He was not—and perhaps never again would be—that pilot, and she…was something more. He had named her Sweet Mystery in those times past; several times since his wakening, the words had run to his tongue—and stopped, unspoken, for indeed, she was a pilot and…and he was concerned that he was not. For now, at least, he was a night watchman, hoping again to be a pilot, and she was a child of Korval, piloting a ship for the ages.
He took a breath, deliberately drawing the air into the very bottom of his lungs.
Enough.
He would now try yet again for the state of relaxation brought on by the Rainbow, a basic Scout technique that foolishly continued to elude him—
The all call then, quietly:
“Win Ton, are you awake? Will you please sit Second while Kara and Clarence retrieve the last few supply items? We should be away before shift end.”
* * *
Clarence and Kara had already left the ship by the time Win Ton reached Bechimo’s heart.
He arrived to find second board open and unlocked; Bechimo—no, Joyita, it was—requesting his palm to make the board live, while Theo smiled gently and signed an elegant thank you for assist while watching a pair of screens and listening to an audio feed.
The screens were busy, with Bechimo monitoring some, Joyita others, and Theo selecting the views she wanted right now on the big screen.
Win Ton settled into his station, noting board status and tasks on-going. It appeared that his assignment was to watch wide, while First Board had her attention concentrated on screens and comm.
Well enough.
The Jumpboard was set at sixty seconds—a short count indeed, but one that Win Ton knew Bechimo was capable of executing, given optimum conditions. The numbers reminded him of a schoolroom situation, where an instructor or technical assistant would flash screen coords, requiring the trainee to set board and prepare, and also to announce, if she could, where the ship would manifest, when Jump was ended.
These coords…
He was not happy to recognize the coords for the place they had Jumped from. He took a quiet breath. That place…a spot of empty space where the universe was holed, and jetsam from…somewhere else was leaking in.
A place that, Bechimo swore, was secure and safe from attack.
“I thought,” he said, softly, “that we were Surebleak bound?”
“Crew hasn’t talked yet,” Theo said, her eyes on her screens and what looked to be a station schematic. “But I expect we’ll decide to go to Surebleak.” She moved her head—pointed chin indicating the Jumpboard.
“That’s the pre-set emergency Jump. Ship’s policy—have an emergency Jump identified and in the ready-box, just in case.”
A wise policy indeed, for a ship that was hunted. Win Ton inclined his head.
“I understand.”
She nodded, absently, he thought; her attention already back on her screens.
Lacking any assignment other than the wide-watch, Win Ton upped the magnification on his second aux screen and considered the ships in the graveyard. He’d seen the likes of some of them on his milk runs to the Scouts’ Old Tech storage areas; ships recognized more by silhouette than sight, ships of legendary prowess long since superseded by more modern vessels.
Idly, he began querying various of the graveyard’s residents. Some gave up only ship type and serial number, while others provided a history of names and home-ports. Some few had recall of the trip to this place, the route still in high memory, with the piloting roster. Dozens, fifties, hundreds of Standards old, some of them; a goodly number of them whole, while still more were reduced to nameless netted bundles of parts.
Win Ton looked up from this diversion to check his boards and his pilot, finding both serene, and Joyita in his non-existent comm-room, his hard, scarred face wearing a look of deep concentration.
Serene, peaceful, calm, and naught on his screens, save the station, and the graveyard, and the telemetries of a ship at rest.
Win Ton looked back to his second aux screen, upping the mag so that he might more closely examine a bulky specimen sporting numerous access ports. He thought perhaps it had once been a mining rig, and sent a casual query for ID.
“Pharst!” Theo snapped, her hand to her ear. “Lost contact!”
* * *
So far, so good, Theo thought, listening to Kara and Clarence move through the station. Or Jumble Stop. She simultaneously watched their progress on the schematic Joyita had provided, while Bechimo kept multiple eyes on approach points. Joyita had also provided a list of ships at dock, and was, apparently, engaged in running checks, and long-distance system surveys that she wasn’t sure she wanted to know details on.
They didn’t expect any trouble, Theo reminded herself, as her crew gained the repair wing.
“We arrive,” Kara said lightly. “I will shop quickly, Bechimo.”
At which point, the comm fizzed, popped…
…and went dead.
“Pharst!” Theo exploded, reaching to the board and fingering the control. “Lost contact!”
“Alert,” Bechimo said, “Unauthorized activity!”
Joyita was moving fast, his attention on his boards. Win Ton was leaning in, barely seeming to breathe as ship defenses snapped from at-rest to war alert. The shields popped to red; the Jump count blipped, flashed, and settled on fifteen.
Theo swallowed. Fifteen seconds. Emergency disconnect cycle was ten seconds; five seconds out for Jump—they’d damage the station, if not kill it outright.
“Pilot, incoming communication,” Joyita stated. “Sending to general.”
“Waitley. The station is under our control, and we have your crew in hand. This is a situation you may wish to rectify before those of us who lost comrades at Ynsolt’i allow Balance to overcome business sense.”
The voice was perhaps female; there was crisp edge to the Terran words, and a smooth lack of perceptible accent. Theo shivered, reached for the comm-switch, and pulled her hand back, fingers curling into a fist
as the voice continued.
“At the moment, Waitley, we are willing to trade. We will release the station and your crew, in exchange for the ship Bechimo. You will find this more than a reasonable trade, as the ship is proscribed from many ports, and you are yourself outlaw, with a price on your head.”
There was chatter and noise on other channels; out of the corner of her eye, she saw Win Ton move, fingers plying his board, capturing another voice—male, and speaking Trade.
“All hear, all hear! A dangerous, blacklisted ship is at dock here. This ship threatens the well-being of Station Jamiatha. We of the Galactic Trade Commission, declare a state of emergency, and have taken steps to neutralize the threat. All hands batten down. Queries from Station Admin only to Donihue’s Docent. Do not, do not attempt to aid the ship Bechimo or its crew. Message repeats.”
The Galactic Trade Commission? Theo shook her head. The GTC had taken her off Tokeoport; but they had been after Arin’s Toss, Uncle’s ship…
“Pilot—this is beyond my experience.”
That was Bechimo himself. In Screen Six, Joyita sat with hands near-stilled; his eyes, watching, moving, watching.
Theo looked again to her screens—to the schematic, frozen, the spot where communication had been lost on triple mag.
Crew—Clarence and Kara. Her crew, the people who depended on her to keep them safe—she had to get them back. But—give Bechimo into the hands of pirates and hostage-takers?
Theo took a breath, another, and touched the comm switch, gently, bringing the mic live.
“Who,” she asked, calmly, “am I dealing with?”
“My name is of no import in this, Waitley. The names that concern you are these: Kara ven’Arith. Clarence O’Berin. We have them here, alive for the moment. We will accept the ship, in trade for both. If you doubt us, or try us, one of your crew will be dead. If we grow tired, both will be dead, and in the end we will have the ship, just the same. Meet me at dockside with the captain’s key, and you and your remaining crew may be reunited with those here on station.”
“I need some time,” Theo said, while her mind raced, looking for a way to stall.
“Time? Surely it is a simple enough thing. Open the hatch, exit with the key and those of your crew now aboard. Place the key in my hand and you are free, all unpleasantness at an end, and you may continue with your lives.”
There was a definite emphasis on the word lives. And there was no way, she thought, her thoughts cold and sharp—no way that they would be allowed to survive. She glanced over at Win Ton, his face set, his hands steady, but not quick; sure, but a perceptible fraction less than certain. This woman and her crew—GTC, were they? And was the GTC in league with this Department of the Interior? Or were they just an independent group of murderers and thugs?
Didn’t matter, she decided, and suddenly she had her stall.
“This ship has just received a replacement Struven unit.” She spoke into the mic as cool as Kamele giving out an essay assignment. “The unit is out of old storage and possibly unstable. Ship-side crew is testing for safety and functionality.”
“Surely, you can safely leave such testing to us, the ship’s new masters.”
“I don’t think so,” Theo said firmly. “The ship has put itself on high alert; systems are cycling unpredictably. I’m trying to maintain control and re-establish order. My goal is that neither the station nor my crew take damage. If the ship should Jump while attached to the station, will you survive?”
She let the silence lengthen. From the side of her eye, she saw Win Ton lick his lips.
“I will see my crew free and safe,” Theo said. “No one needs to die in this—not the station, not my people, not the ship. But the on-board situation must be contained, first.”
This pause was not so long.
“You have two local hours to achieve stable conditions. I will be at your dock and awaiting your arrival.”
“Comm closed, Pilot,” Joyita said quietly.
Two hours. They could think of something in two hours. Couldn’t they?
No. They had to think of something.
Her hands were cold. She looked down at them where they rested on the board, and noticed that her fingers were trembling. Mad, scared, or both, she thought, distantly. No time for any of it, now. She took a breath; looked to Joyita, and to Win Ton.
“Options?” she asked. “Do we just leave?”
Win Ton snapped upright.
“Leave? Without even an attempt to succor—”
“Pilot—Theo!” Bechimo’s voice was raw. “I can’t allow—we cannot abandon our crew. There must be something—I am still considering…”
“I agree. We can’t abandon our crew. And we can’t turn you over to, to—them! They’ll have no respect for you, they won’t find their cloak, if that’s what they’re looking for.” She glanced at Win Ton. “And if they’re looking for something else…”
He shook his head, face pale.
“We cannot,” he said.
“If they were to board me, Theo, I am confident that I would prevail.” Bechimo paused, then said, quietly, “It is, pilots, a trivial matter to evacuate the air, which neither Joyita nor I require.”
It was true, Theo thought; Bechimo did have defenses. But Win Ton was shaking his head again.
“I remember…” he said, his voice hoarse. “Bechimo, you brought me out of the place I was held—tortured—by subverting the Old Tech around me. But, they—the humans in this—they thought they were only holding me. If these are—or if they have been in communication with those who managed my captivity—they will know better now. They will be prepared. Certainly, they seem confident.” He waved a hand toward the comm.
“Win Ton’s right,” Theo said; “we have to assume that they have a plan, and that they’re not just taking advantage of a—an unexpected opportunity. We got to assume that they—that they at least believe they can neutralize you. For all we know, they have a plug-in AI killer, or—a collar, like some worlds use for prisoners, to keep them compliant.”
“It’s already been demonstrated,” Joyita said quietly, “that these people are treacherous. Bechimo, if they should at the last moment seize a single member of our crew and force him back on-board with them…”
He let his voice drift off, but Theo heard the unspoken question clearly: Could you evacuate the air, then?
Silence.
Theo blew the bangs out of her eyes.
“If we could get an idea of how many,” she said; “if there are three or three hundred and three!”
“So far, we have only two voices,” said Joyita. “They have locked access ports and inner comm channels to ordinary communication. I’m trying to listen to resonant channels, but have no useful pick-up…”
“Queries were to be directed to Donihue’s Docent,” Theo said. “Where’s that ship? Is there anything in the registry?”
“Working, Pilot Theo,” Joyita murmured. “The registry indicates an original crew of six. There’s evidence that the ship has been modified. We are probing, but carefully.”
“Thank you, Joyita.”
“We’re also attempting to locate Clarence and Kara,” he said. “Our working hypothesis is that our…opposition will be holding key station personnel with our crew. We assume that trustworthy guards are few, in which case, all prisoners will be held together. Analysis of factors such as air and energy consumption should pinpoint their location.” He glanced up, meeting her eyes. “We’re being careful, Pilot Theo.”
She nodded.
“Perhaps, when that location is found,” Win Ton said, his voice sounding hoarse, “it would be best to allow me to off-board, to try if I might free them.”
“No!” Bechimo fairly roared, quite drowning out her own, “What? Win Ton—”
“I allow no more crew off-ship without a key,” Bechimo said. “If either of our captured pilots had held a key…”
“But we didn’t have time to make keys here, and before that,�
�� Theo said, remembering his sleep-shift proposal, “it was too dangerous, with the Struven compromised.” She froze, staring down at her board, remembering that conversation, and the agreements they had made.
“The replacement Struven is in place, and checks clean,” she said, hearing her own voice, as if from a slight distance.
There was a small silence before Joyita said, “That’s correct, Pilot.”
“Bechimo,” she said, still staring at the board, until the various controls lost their boundaries and became a continuous smear of color. “Bechimo, will access to the captain’s level give us an…advantage here?”
“Theo,” he answered quietly, calmly. “I don’t know.”
“But it might,” she pushed.
“It might, yes.”
“Do we have time…” Her breath was coming short, and Kara—she had wanted Kara with her, when it—when the bonding took place, to center her, and to, to…
…she might never see Kara again, unless they found a way out of this mess.
“At the very least,” Joyita said quietly, “the captain’s level will provide more options.”
“Do you know that, B. Joyita?” inquired Bechimo.
In the screen, Joyita smiled slightly.
“The Founders promised it,” he said.
“Do we,” Theo said, raising her voice somewhat, “have enough time?”
“Yes,” Joyita said, looking directly at her. His face wore an expression of solemn joy. “We have enough time, Pilot Theo, but we have no time to waste.” He stood.
“Please, pilots, lock your boards. Bechimo will guide you both.”
“Both?” asked Win Ton. “It’s Theo who needs—who deserves—the Captain’s keys.”
“You and I, Pilot, will witness. The Founders decreed that the crew should witness, and we—are the crew.”
Win Ton bowed his head.
“Yes,” he said. Three quick movements locked his board.
Theo was already on her feet, her key in hand. She looked down at it, and then to Win Ton.
He caught her glance, tight-lipped, and gave a bow that she thought meant he accepted responsibility. Which was true enough, Theo thought. Without Win Ton—without Win Ton’s poor impulse control, none of them would be here, now. She’d still be flying courier for the Uncle, Clarence and Kara and Win Ton himself would be safe…