Neogenesis

by Sharon Lee

  “It does seem the best solution,” Aelliana said, “for all. We agree.”

  “Ah. But there is more. The situation is such that, should coords allow, you will be leaving our care—before your retraining period has been completed.”

  Daav lifted an eyebrow—a breach, but the whole of the Uncle’s attention was on Aelliana. What new compelling circumstance had come forward, that the conservative course to their final, full functioning must be set aside? The Uncle had been sincere in pleading the case of the proven protocols—it served him well to be so. He had gone to a great deal of trouble and expense to situate them as they now were—all to ensure Korval’s goodwill.

  And at this juncture, Daav thought, it behooved one to ask what trumped Korval’s goodwill in the Uncle’s current game?

  Aelliana was frowning slightly.

  “You gave us to understand that your proven system of rehabilitation was necessary to our continued good health,” she said. “Has that changed?”

  “Pilot, no, it has not,” the Uncle replied. “It is merely that a greater peril—to myself, and so also to you—has arisen. Again…if the coords allow, and a Korval ship is berthed along, or near, our route…it will be best—for all—that we put you off.

  “I will supply you with instruction tapes and the progression of exercises. I would ask most urgently that you not attempt to fly before your recovery period is complete, but I know well that you will do as seems best to you, once you have left my care.”

  “Yes,” Aelliana said. “We are stubborn and willful. I hope, however, that we are not stupid. It would honor no one should we undo all your good work on our behalf.”

  The Uncle…paused, and Daav very nearly laughed. Their host seemed to find Aelliana’s continued frank belief in his good intentions almost as disconcerting as he found the Tree.

  “Indeed,” the Uncle said at last. “Since we are so much in agreement, Pilots, I wonder if a Korval vessel might possibly be waiting at coordinates which are compatible with any of these.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a notebook, which he placed on the tray before Aelliana. Daav leaned forward somewhat, so that he might also see.

  The screen displayed three coord sets.

  Daav felt a jolt of recognition.

  I see it, Aelliana said inside his head. How…convenient.

  “You scarcely need deviate at all,” she said to the Uncle. “Our ship is quite nearby the second set.”

  The Uncle inclined his head.

  “In that case, you will remain my guests for a longer time than I had feared, though not so long as I had wished.”

  He picked up the notebook and leaned back, tucking the thing away into a pocket.

  “I arrive at my second topic, Pilots,” he said…then paused, as if at a loss of how to go on.

  Lips pressed tightly together, he reached for his teacup and drank deeply. Merely slaking a dry throat, Daav thought, and very little honor to the tea.

  Well. It was an ordinary blend, and it had already borne business on their behalf.

  “Because of the unique circumstance of your rebirths, I had argued for the most conservative course toward your final rehabilitation. I tell you now that there is an…accelerated program, which I believe you might embark upon, with a small risk of mischance.”

  He bent a stern gaze upon Aelliana.

  “Do you understand me?”

  “I do,” she assured him, and sent a bright green glance to Daav. “Well, Pilot? Do you feel lucky?”

  “When do I not?” he answered, teasingly gallant.

  “I scarcely need ask; forgive me,” she said dryly, and turned to the Uncle.

  “We understand that there is risk. We feel that an accelerated course is not beyond us. And we are fortunate, are we not? You will of course oversee us while we remain your guests. If there is any irregularity, you will be able to advise us.”

  “Just so,” said the Uncle, and rose.

  “I beg you will forgive my abrupt departure. I am wanted elsewhere.”

  “Of course you are,” Aelliana said warmly, rising with him. “We are honored that you took time to come yourself. Please, stand on no ceremony with us, who are so deeply in your debt.”

  The Uncle smiled.

  “Pilot Caylon, you must know that there can be no debt between myself and Korval.” His tone was gently chiding.

  That, Daav thought, standing in Aelliana’s shadow, was nothing but plain good sense. Korval and the Uncle…There could be no Balance between them—not if they each gave over all other business in order to attempt it.

  “I speak of a personal debt,” Aelliana said, chiding in her turn. “We have skills which may prove useful to you. It does no harm to hold the card until the hand is played through.”

  “That is very true,” the Uncle said and laid a gentle palm on his breast, as if he had in truth placed a card in the pocket over his heart.

  “Pilots, your new exercise program will be on your screen within the hour,” he said then, and bowed. “I give you good e’en.”

  “Good evening,” Aelliana said, returning the bow.

  The Uncle turned to the door.

  Daav stepped forward to show him the way.

  * * *

  “A personal debt?” he asked Aelliana, after he had seen the door close behind their guest.

  “Indeed, van’chela, it would be churlish to deny it when he has performed a very great service for us.”

  She bent to pick up the tea tray, but he was there before her, lifting it, waiting until the legs retracted, and carrying the whole into the galley.

  “A very great personal service,” he said, holding the tray while she poured half a pot of tea down the drain and put the cups into the washer.

  She straightened.

  “Do you disagree?”

  “His motives are plain, I think,” Daav said. “He was our backup on Moonstruck; he did not wish to strain the accord with Korval by returning a dead elder.”

  He opened his arms, showing her his new youth.

  “He must have considered the possibility that a reborn elder would not perfectly accommodate Korval’s taste, but that became Korval’s business. It could not be said that the Uncle had stinted his duty in any way. In addition, he need fear no criticism from the elder—or, as it comes about, his lady—because they will be grateful to him for his care.”

  “You are harsh.”

  “Pragmatic, I insist.”

  She laughed.

  “Very well, then—pragmatic! And the Uncle another egg from the same hen!”

  She came forward and slipped her arms around his waist, looking up into his face.

  Hers—perhaps he was becoming accustomed, or perhaps their new reality was overwriting memory. Soon, he would swear that she had always been thus…

  “Daav?”

  He touched her cheek before dropping his hands to her waist.

  “Your pardon, van’chela.”

  “You are concerned that I have given ourselves over to the Uncle’s service, but only think! If he is as you say, with an eye first to his own advantage—which I do agree seems to be his case—then he will not misuse us in Balance. He cannot be seen to cheat—is that so? And we might be genuinely useful to him—and the universe, too—given those matters in which he reportedly concerns himself.”

  He shook his head.

  “I am outmatched,” he said.

  “Merely flummoxed by your own argument,” she said, stretching up on her toes.

  He bent his head, meeting her halfway—

  A chime sounded discreetly.

  Daav raised his head reluctantly, sighed gently at the message light blinking blue on the wall console.

  “Our upgraded exercise plan, I expect,” he said, looking down at Aelliana, her bright emerald eyes and flushed cheeks.

  “Shall we see what wonders we are now allowed to perform?”

  “Certainly,” she said and reached up to pull him down to her. “I
n a moment.”

  Ahab-Esais

  I

  Ahab-Esais skipped across Beacon space like a stone across a stream—once, twice, thrice, four times did Tocohl play the Smuggler’s Ace to buy them time enough, and room, until, barely back into real space from the fourth skip, she took advantage of a Jump point near Redlight—a point so minor as to be very nearly nonexistent; a nuisance to navigation, that was everything it was or ever had been—and hit the Struven unit hard.

  The screens greyed. Inki, strapped in the copilot’s chair, hands useless in her lap, sighed and closed her eyes.

  “Well played, Pilot Tocohl,” she said gently.

  The answer was slightly longer in coming than it might have been, as if Tocohl measured words and tone for irony. Or perhaps for censure.

  “Did the play surprise you?”

  “No, how should it? That you are an exemplary pilot is not unexpected. I am, perhaps, instructed, but I fear that even my reflexes, of which the directors are so vain, will never be the equal of yours.”

  “We will not,” Tocohl said, “be allowed to dock at any of the Beacon stations again.”

  “Does that concern you? Repine not! Edmonton Beacon little regards such contretemps. We did no damage to it, nor to any of its fond siblings. Ahab-Esais may wish to avoid the Beacon for a Standard or two, but change the name and the port of origin, and she may certainly dock at will.”

  “I killed a man,” said Tocohl.

  “A bounty hunter, yes. Being killed by desperate persons is one of the hazards of the trade. Young Agent Entorith surely knew the risks of his employment, yet still he chose to step forward to announce himself and his mission. His guild will handle details from here, and we may put the incident out of our minds. No. I misspeak.”

  She released the shock webbing, rose, and bowed.

  “You saved my life and I am grateful, Tocohl Lorlin. Were this any proper partnering, friendship, or other intercourse between free persons, I would own myself in your debt and swear to see us in Balance once more. Sadly, while I own the debt, I cannot promise any fair reckoning. I therefore offer my thanks. My sincere and personal thanks, Pilot Tocohl. Which is rare, though perhaps not a treasure.”

  “I accept your thanks,” Tocohl said surprisingly. “The incident places no debt between us.”

  “Kindly said.”

  Inki bowed again, more deeply, and returned to second chair.

  “The coordinates provided by Dosavi Mikelsyn are good, inasmuch as they describe a point in space which I find to be viable. Ahab-Esais navcomp concurs.”

  It was, Inki thought, charming that Pilot Tocohl had asked Ahab-Esais to check her math.

  Perhaps it was a misdirection. Inki shrugged.

  “Regarding the correctness of the information—it is as I have said, Pilot Tocohl. The dosavi dares not deal, save in good faith. This does not mean—as I know you are aware—that the information is safe to hold or that our destination will reveal itself with no…negative circumstance appertaining. We do well to be vigilant.”

  “And the directors?” Tocohl asked.

  “The directors are ever vigilant,” Inki said, deliberately misunderstanding. “But they are not always prudent. Well, and how should they be, when they have so many others to take their risks for them?”

  Tocohl did not sigh; she merely asked her question again, more fully.

  “Did the directors deal in good faith with Dosavi Mikelsyn?”

  Inki glanced at greyed screens and green-lit boards.

  “That,” she admitted, keeping her eyes on the screens, “is difficult to say. It must be acknowledged that good faith and the directors scarcely enjoy a nodding acquaintance. However, they do very well understand the rules of such transactions as we have recently completed. We have seen this proven, have we not? Their coin found favor with the intended recipient. What may come forth, once the exchange is made—well, consider our own case. We have the information the directors desired us to purchase, and it is good in that it describes a viable point in space. If we reach that viable point to find tumbling boulders, ice, and marauders—why, that is business for our shields and our weapons, and nothing to do with Dosavi Mikelsyn. Am I correct?”

  “I am currently researching our viable point in space, for exactly those reasons,” Tocohl murmured.

  There came a pause, which might have signaled attention wholly given to research—then a question, asked sharply.

  “Inki. Why do the directors want you dead?”

  Inki sighed, weighing the truth and how much she might likely be permitted to say.

  Enough, she decided after a moment, and nodded.

  “Certainly, we are made aware that Director Anj Formyne wishes me dead. Director Formyne, you understand, is at feud with the committee which oversees the Free Logic Project. She has attracted several other directors to her banner, and they occasionally amuse themselves by inconveniencing the committee. Since a graduate is but a game piece to any director, this often takes the form of sweeping a particularly valuable piece from the board.”

  “Director Formyne placed a bounty on you—dead or alive—to spite a rival committee of directors?”

  Tocohl’s voice was so very even that Inki grinned.

  “Put thus, the Lyre Institute must seem too petty to survive. However, Director Formyne and her allies understand that the Free Logic Program is key to the school’s growth and future. The existence of the project is not her grievance. She feels only that it ought to have been herself at the head of the committee and that she was passed over because Director Ling exercised undue influence.”

  Inki paused.

  “Director Formyne’s object being to demonstrate that she is the better choice for chair, she will, of course, have formulated her own procedure for the acquisition of the Old One and dispatched her own agents. The removal of the committee’s piece, therefore, endangers the ultimate success of the core mission…not at all.”

  And that was, she thought, feeling her throat tighten, the limit of what she might truthfully say. She was surprised that she had been allowed so much.

  “We approach a boundary, Pilot Tocohl,” she murmured.

  “Is Dosavi Mikelsyn an independent logic?” Tocohl asked abruptly.

  Inki shook her head.

  “As I said, some would have the dosavi be an instance of the Uncle,” she murmured.

  “Yes. What prevents the Uncle, who is old, and canny, and skilled, from placing an instance of himself into a logic grid?”

  Inki laughed.

  “You take the point, Pilot Tocohl! I know of no limit to the Uncle’s ability to clone himself. Nor would it surprise me at all, were I to learn that an instance of the Uncle is the motivating personality for at least one Free Ship.

  “In regard to Kasagaria Mikelsyn…the rumor has long been that the dosavi is a cyborg. It has further been rumored that the dosavi has many Standard Years beyond what mere organic humans expect to enjoy. It is not impossible that the dosavi’s inorganic parts share…design concepts with the TAHO units. You will hear whispers, here and there, that this is so. What I surmise is that these whispers came, as all whispers eventually do, to the ears of the directors, and thus influenced their choice of the coin offered in payment.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Only consider,” Inki said gently. “There is a benefit to the directors, as to us all, in knowing where certain tools are located, who deals in what wares and at what price. However, there is a far greater benefit to the directors if they control the tools. To control Dosavi Mikelsyn—to have access to such data as routinely flows to him, and to have the opportunity to act first, or to withhold certain choice tidbits from the market…”

  She turned her head to smile at Tocohl.

  “They must, at least, try. And so they offered a trade coin carefully chosen, to feel the dosavi out, and perhaps to put him off-balance. This would follow a known pattern.”

  Tocohl’s frown was in her voice.
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  “How likely is it that this attempt will…overset the dosavi?”

  Inki snorted.

  “You were there, Pilot Tocohl. Was the dosavi in any way dismayed?”

  “Nonplussed, I thought, and…enlightened, once he had considered the matter thoroughly.”

  “Precisely so,” Inki murmured. “I think that the directors will not find Dosavi Mikelsyn easy to frighten or to control. One might, undutifully, wonder if he will, upon sober consideration, arrive at the conclusion that it is in his best interests to…nullify the directors. The eradication of those who seem to have access to his closest secrets would make him quantifiably safer in a dangerous universe. It is possible, after all, to have too many enemies.”

  Tocohl said nothing, perhaps compiling her lines of research.

  “We may, I think,” Inki said, “safely leave the dosavi’s affairs in the hands of the dosavi.”

  “I agree,” Tocohl said, suddenly brisk. “Will we expect to find these agents sent by Director Formyne at the location of the Old One?”

  “That…is probable. We must be on our guard. However, I must warn you that I…am not able to abort—”

  “No, of course not!” Tocohl exclaimed. “The Old One’s danger has been increased. We must continue.”

  Inki felt tears rise to her eyes and bent her head in a foolish attempt to hide them.

  “Pilot Tocohl, you are all that is brave and honorable. I do love you”—her lips twisted—“as much as I am able.”

  Silence greeted this, followed by a change of topic.

  “I have…something, regarding our coordinate set.”

  “Something?” Inki repeated.

  “Something, in the shape of nothing.”

  Tocohl’s voice conveyed a smile and once again Inki wondered after the intelligence who had mentored her. She had thought for a time that Tocohl’s mentor had been Tolly Jones himself, but had at last conceded that there must be, out in the wide universe, another who was the equal—or perhaps the master—of the most gifted mentor Lyre Institute had thus far designed.