“I need her,” Vidar said firmly.
“Then you shall have her,” Rallya said happily. “It will give Rafe another opportunity to enjoy Bhattya’s web. You can join my workout, can’t you, Rafe?”
Joshim made a warning noise but Rafe smiled cheerfully. “It will be a delight, ma’am,” he claimed.
“It will,” Rallya agreed readily, refilling her mug and beaming at the web-room in general. “A delight.”
Rallya stepped out of the riser and looked happily around the web. Ten of the wet-web places were filling with shub, ready for the workout. All that was missing were the eight juniors and Rafe, and by the sounds coming out of the changing-room, they were well on the way to being ready too.
Somebody came out of the riser behind her; she knew without looking that it was Joshim.
“I may not pass him fit,” he said flatly. “He burnt himself this morning.”
“That’s what happens when you play with fire,” Rallya remarked. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle with him. Don’t you want to know what he’s like at tactics?”
“You’ll be lacking your usual advantage,” Joshim commented. “He isn’t afraid of you.”
“I’d noticed. Insolence as the last refuge of the desperate,” Rallya jibed.
“Tell me that if he beats you,” Joshim challenged.
“If he beats me, I’ll take him as First,” Rallya said confidently. “Staying to watch it happen?”
“It’s too crowded down below,” Joshim confirmed. “If anybody else wants to watch the monitor screen, they’ll have to sit in Jualla’s lap. On top of Rasil.”
Rallya chuckled. “Time I was changing. Wouldn’t do to be late for my own workout.”
The changing room was its usual tangle of bare skin, dark and pale, brown, yellow and red. Rafe was an even hazelnut brown, with a light dusting of grey and brown body hair. Near-human blood in there somewhere, Rallya decided. All sorts of skeletons in his aristo family’s cupboard. And if Fadir was allowed in here, he would definitely faint. She swatted Lilimya out of her way and started to strip.
“Two teams,” she announced as she pulled her tunic over her head. “Lilimya, Rasmallya, Churi, Ajir: you’re in Rafe’s team. The rest of you, with me.” Joshim could not accuse her of being unfair; she had given him the pick of the bunch. “Rafe, we use extended tens. You do know them?” She flung her breeches in the direction of the hook behind him.
“If I don’t, I soon will.”
Rafe caught the breeches one handed and hung them up. His hair was tied in a short bunch of curls on top of his head. Rallya pinned up her own plaits and shook her head to be sure they were secure.
“Want a few minutes in the web alone with your team?” she offered.
“I wouldn’t get them in a real battle situation,” Rafe said easily. “But ask me again afterwards,” he said over his shoulder on his way out.
When Rallya emerged into the web-room, Joshim was checking Rafe’s contacts and muttering something that sounded suspiciously like advice. Rallya ignored it; she could afford to be generous.
Vidar had suspended work on the mass sensors to be present. “Anybody making a book on the outcome?” Rallya called across to him.
“Why? You want to bet next year’s pay?” he answered.
Joshim finished his inspection and nodded his consent for Rafe to web. There had been no real chance that he would refuse; he knew as well as Rallya that the encounter would not last long enough to do any real damage. Except to Rafe’s pride.
She gestured to the members of her team that she wanted a conference and quickly assigned them their roles. From the corner of her eye, she saw Rafe doing the same. That was probably what Joshim’s advice had been about: a summary of the strengths and weaknesses of webbers Rafe had only just met. The young scut should have taken her offer of time in the web with them. So, you wouldn’t get it in a real battle situation, Rallya scoffed. In a real battle situation, you take every advantage you can.
She stepped up to the nearest wet-web position and checked the level of the shub. High enough to support her.
“Webmaster’s permission?” she called as a courtesy to Joshim.
“Granted.” He stepped through the circle of wet-web places to take his position at the central monitor.
Rallya tucked her web-bands into the niche below the rim of her chosen position and dangled her feet in the shub while she positioned her links. It was colder than she liked, but she would not complain to Joshim; her fault, for not checking it earlier. A glance at the screen to check her links before climbing down the ladder into the shub and triggering her ready-light, then the wait for Joshim to activate her links.
She was wondering if he would dare to activate Rafe before her when her contacts warmed, catching her off balance. She recovered quickly and flared out through the web, easily identifying her team and Rafe’s, and locating the single unfamiliar presence. She kept a fraction of her attention on her team, enough to be sure they were following instructions and keeping the opposition too busy to help Rafe. The rest she focused on him, not attacking, just waiting pointedly for him to try something before she jumped on him and cut him out of the web.
Lilimya and the others were acting without coordination, just managing to retain their places and no threat to their opponents. Disappointing; even without a leader, Rallya would have expected better. Even as she thought that, Caruya was separated from the web without warning, leaving Rallya’s team without its strongest member and Lilimya free to help Ajir. The pair of them ejected Khisa before Rallya could help her and then turned to help Rasmallya and Churi.
Furious, Rallya lashed out at Rafe and found nothing except a resonance construct. Almost simultaneously, Shayoni and Magred lost their uneven struggles, leaving Rallya alone to face Rafe’s team and an invisible Rafe. Curse you, she told him silently, digging herself into the heart of the web. Come to me if you want to finish this, or we’ll be here until eternity.
Lilimya and the others were holding back. My usual advantage still holds against them, Joshim, she mocked herself, setting herself to locate Rafe in the web. Forty years against a few hours? There was no place he could hide from her, not now that she was looking for him. The construct had been good, and it had won him the first round, but not the battle. Never the battle.
Churi was getting nervous. Good. Good. Soon he would start signalling for reassurance, for instructions, and then she would know where Rafe was. She had only to dispose of him and the others would crumble. Come on, Churi. Commander Rallya is going to lose her temper and throw you out of the web soon. Do you remember how it feels to be thrown out of the web by Commander Rallya? Why not ask pretty boy what he wants you to do next? Churi, if you don’t do something soon, I’m going to jump on you so hard you’ll end up in tomorrow. Pretty boy won’t watch while it happens. If he’ll stand up for Fadir, he’ll stand up for you.
She pounced. She came up hard against a solidity that was not Churi. Lilimya and the others were piling into her before she could retreat, including a Churi who oozed out of the signal circuits with uncharacteristic determination. Emperors, two slick tricks in one workout was two too many! She might be going to lose, but she was going to take pretty boy out of the web with her. She grabbed for his core circuits and pushed as much power as she could through them, determined to break his grip on the web before Lilimya and the others forced her out. He resisted her for a moment, then crumpled frighteningly fast. Only then did she remember his web-cramp and try to cushion his way out of the web, but it was too late. Lilimya and the others drove her out as Rafe disappeared.
She dragged herself out of the shub and tore her links away without bothering to check that they were inactive. Joshim was already bending over Rafe’s position, pulling him out with the aid of Rallya’s dejected team. Just conscious and breathing, Rallya saw with relief.
“Jualla’s on her way with your drug-pack,” Vidar reported, leaving the central console to join Joshim.
&n
bsp; “What’s wrong?” Lilimya climbed out of the shub with a smile on her face that faded quickly as she saw the cluster around Rafe.
“Go get dressed,” Rallya said without ceremony. “All of you.” She swiped at the excess shub still clinging to her and pulled her web-bands out of the niche, strapping them on as she crossed the circle.
“You didn’t have to jump on him so hard,” Joshim accused, looking up for a moment when she halted beside Rafe.
“I’m sorry. I forgot your web-cramp.” Rallya addressed Rafe directly. The youngster had an unhealthy yellow tinge to his skin and was still twitching involuntarily, but he was in no danger.
“So did I.” He grinned wearily. “A pity. Now we’ll never know who would have won.”
Rallya crumpled up the last flimsy and flung it in the general direction of the others littering one corner of the Three’s small rest-room.
“He’s got no patrolship experience at all,” she complained to Vidar.
“Didn’t seem to worry him this afternoon,” he said maliciously. “Do you want this last mug of alcad or will you leave it for Joshim?”
“I’ll have it. If Joshim wants some, he can fetch it from the web-room.”
Rallya dragged herself out of her seat and emptied the pot. The first time in forty years that she had been thrown out of a web and every part of her seemed to know it. At least Rafe was feeling as bad, she comforted herself, and he deserved to. Nobody but a fool went into a tactics workout with web-cramp. Still, he had done well, considering that he had wasted the last ten years in a surveyship.
Joshim came through from the web-room. “Sorry I’ve been so long,” he said, lifting the empty pot and putting it down again with a shrug.
“Web check out all right?” Vidar asked him. “There was some unusually rough play in it this afternoon.”
“Which will not be repeated in future,” Joshim said firmly.
“No point in having a workout if it doesn’t hurt to lose,” Rallya muttered. “Keeps people sharp.” She sat carefully back in her seat.
“I noticed,” Joshim said drily. “Rafe looks like death warmed up. And so do some of the other participants.”
Rallya stared him down, defying him to name anybody else. Or to mention the careless promise she had made before the workout.
“Where is Rafe?” Vidar asked.
“He left nearly two hours ago.” Joshim looked unhappy about it. “His nervous system checked out within the normal limits for everything—just. I couldn’t justify ordering him to stay.”
“Since when have we had to justify orders to Seconds?” Rallya challenged.
“Since they started being able to think for themselves.”
“And there’s no doubt that Rafe can do that,” Vidar commented. “And he’s good in the web, Joshim. As good as they come. You could turn him into a Webmaster in a few years time.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Joshim agreed.
“You can’t be serious,” Rallya protested. “He’s a born Commander.”
“Two clever tricks don’t prove anything. He was lucky, that’s all. He’d never beat you like that twice.”
“Luck like that you earn. And in a real combat situation, once is enough,” Rallya insisted. “Anyway, he didn’t beat me. The outcome was inconclusive. If I hadn’t gone soft on him, I could still have won.” And the next time we tangle, I will, she promised herself.
“I still think I could make a Webmaster out of him,” Joshim said stubbornly.
“We can sort that out later,” Rallya decreed. “How soon can we get him promoted to First?”
“Amsur will brevet him immediately, if we ask,” Joshim predicted.
“Will his record cause any problems getting it made substantive?” Vidar asked.
“With Bhattya’s recommendation?” Rallya scoffed. “No problems at all. Joshim, how soon can you see Amsur?”
“Oughtn’t I ask Rafe first if he wants the berth?”
“Emperors, of course he wants the berth! What do you think he’s been doing here all day, if not working his bumps off trying to impress us?” Rallya said in exasperation. “Still, if it will make you happy to ask him first, ask him. And ask him which he wants to be: a Commander or a Webmaster,” she called after Joshim’s retreating back. “I’ll bet twenty days pay I know the answer.”
* * *
Rafe poured himself a third glass of jack and drank from it without tasting it. Sleepers would be a safer way of achieving the oblivion he sought—alcohol on top of web-cramp was a fool’s trick—but sleepers had to be obtained from the station surgeon at the cost of a question and answer session to which Rafe refused to submit. And with his web in its current overstretched state, he was more likely to be prescribed mild painkillers and a homily, neither of which would be of any help for his real problem.
He smiled sardonically. There was no help for his real problem, which was why he was running away from it inside a bottle of jack. After ten years, he thought angrily, there should be no more surprises. No drowning inrush of knowledge, no return of skills that he had no memory of possessing. All that should have been over in the first confusing year after he woke without any awareness of who he was, with only the knowledge of what he was—a webber—and of what he had chosen to have done to himself.
And yet there were still surprises, moments when he turned a corner inside himself and found: complete recall of the extended tens system of web signals, and the certainty that he had once used it regularly, but no memory of learning the system, nor of the circumstances in which he had used it. He emptied the glass in his hand and refilled it. There were no memories of anything that had once made him a person, only the things that made him a webber. And if he failed to find a berth in the next ninety-nine days, that too would be taken away from him.
The door alert sounded. He cursed. There was nobody in Achil zone to whom he wanted to speak. There was nobody in any zone in either Empire to whom he wanted to speak. Get gone, he wished the unknown visitor. Get gone and leave me to get drunk.
The alert sounded again. Rafe pushed himself to his feet and went to answer it. If he did not, his visitor would only come back later, when he would be even less able to deal with them.
“What?” he demanded as the door slid open at his touch. “What, sir?” he corrected himself belatedly as he recognized his visitor.
Joshim looked at him in silence. “You ought to be in bed,” he said at last.
Rafe shrugged. “Yes.” He leaned against the wall by the door, more drunk than he had realized. “Is that all, sir?”
Joshim was sniffing the air. “Jack? In your state?” he questioned.
“Jack. In my state.” Rafe stepped back into the room. “Want some? The bottle isn’t empty yet.”
“I should hope not.” Joshim followed Rafe in, closing the door behind him. “How much have you had?”
Rafe picked up the bottle and squinted at the level. “This was full,” he said, abandoning the effort. He sat down again and looked up at Joshim. A crick in the neck was preferable to collapsing in an untidy heap on the floor. “There’s another glass somewhere,” he said, picking up his own. “Help yourself.”
Joshim shook his head. “No, thanks. And you’ve had enough,” he said firmly,
“Doesn’t that depend on how much enough is?” Rafe queried.
“Enough is when you can’t stand up, or see straight.”
“Enough is when you’re unconscious,” Rafe contradicted him. “General anaesthetic,” he added, gesturing at the bottle. “That’s the theory anyway. As usual, the practice has a very loose correspondence with the theory, but I expect them to converge eventually.”
“When you’re unconscious.” Joshim plucked the glass out of Rafe’s hand and set it down. “Do you do this often?”
“No.” Rafe closed his eyes and watched the patterns of light spinning inside his eyelids. Better than watching Joshim watching him.
“So why tonight?”
“It hasn’t been a good day.” Rafe opened his eyes. “Sorry, sir. After the trouble you took over me today, I ought to be treating my web with more care than this, I know. But tonight, there isn’t any alternative. I don’t recommend that you stay and watch.”
Joshim seated himself on the edge of the low table, so that his eyes were on a level with Rafe’s. Green eyes, Rafe noted, a cap of sleek black hair, and uniformly pale brown skin, at least as much of the skin as Rafe had seen. A ring bearing the silver web of a Webmaster traced through a green stone on one hand, and a silver pendant with the linked circles of an Aruranist, visible earlier today but now hidden inside a black jacket.
“Do you take the pendant off in the web?” Rafe asked.
“Yes. And the ring.” Joshim was amused by the question. “I have a tattoo of the circles—most Aruranists do—but not of the web.” He continued to watch Rafe speculatively. “Apart from getting thrown so hard out of the web, I would have thought today was a very good day. I don’t know of anybody else who’s ever beaten Rallya in a workout.”
“I didn’t beat her. If she hadn’t gone soft on me, she could still have won.”
Joshim smiled. “That’s the second time I’ve been told that this evening. It was still a creditable performance.”
“Surprisingly so,” Rafe said bitterly. “Especially to me.”
“Because of your web-cramp?”
“Not because of my faffing web-cramp!” Rafe reached for his drink, evading Joshim’s attempt to prevent him. “Until today, sir, I had no idea I knew extended tens. Until today, I had no idea I could create a resonance construct. Or mimic somebody else in the web. Or hide somebody else in the signal circuits.” He gulped at the drink, emptying the glass before Joshim could take it off him again. “Now I know I can do all those things, but I don’t know what else I know, or how I learned, or who taught me. And if I go to sleep now, I shall spend the night chasing nonexistent memories around my dreams and beating myself against the walls inside my head.” He flung the glass against the wall beyond Joshim. It bounced off and rolled across the floor. “And there isn’t anybody to blame except myself, and I’m never going to know why I was stupid enough to break my Oath!”
A Matter of Oaths Page 4