A Matter of Oaths

by Helen S. Wright

  He stopped and laughed self-consciously. “And I ache,” he admitted. “I feel as if somebody knocked me down and walked all over me.” He put his head on one side and looked at the out-of-focus Webmaster. “You didn’t come here to listen to me whining, or to watch me drinking.”

  “No. I came to offer you a berth as Bhattya’s First.”

  Rafe swore incredulously, inadequately expressing the sickness in the pit of his stomach. “My luck could be used as a metric for consistency,” he muttered, stumbling to his feet to retrieve the glass. “You wouldn’t like to go away and pretend you haven’t seen me like this?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so.” Rafe froze as his web twinged warning of an imminent spasm. “You could at least look the other way while I throw up,” he said carefully.

  “If I do that, you’ll never reach the san.”

  Rafe found himself supported to the san, and after his stomach had rejected the alcohol with which he had flooded it, to the bed. He rolled onto his side, away from Joshim’s efforts to remove his boots.

  “Go away,” he urged. “Take the bottle with you if it makes you happy, just go.”

  Joshim finished removing his boots. “I’m going to fetch something to sober you up,” he said. “Your web is in no shape to cope with what you’re doing to it.”

  “Why bother? It isn’t your responsibility.” Rafe turned miserably onto his stomach.

  “We’ll talk about that when you’re sober.”

  “Hell, you are going to sober me up,” Rafe said in disbelief, seeing the drug-pack with which Joshim returned.

  “Yes.” Joshim set the pack down on the table and came to look at Rafe where he was curled up in the san. “Sick again?”

  “It seemed a good idea to stay here. Saves me having to clean up after myself later.”

  “That may be the first sensible thought you’ve had all evening. Think you can get to the bed? With help, of course. I’m not going to treat you in there.”

  Once Rafe was safely on the bed, Joshim opened the pack and took out a drug-mask and canister. “Deep breaths,” he said, sitting beside Rafe on the bed and slipping the mask over his face.

  Rafe obeyed, uncomfortably aware by now that the strictures about alcohol and web-cramp were fully justified. Joshim strapped a blood monitor to his arm; he flinched as the probe bit.

  “Finish the canister,” Joshim said, studying the readout. “There’s still enough alcohol in your system to knock out half a web-room. Emperors only know how you stayed on your feet so long.”

  “Near-human blood,” Rafe informed him through the mask. “Inconvenient when I’m trying to drink myself senseless.”

  “Shut up and breathe,” Joshim told him.

  Rafe closed his eyes and concentrated on pulling the drug into his lungs. As the alcohol was neutralized, it left behind an emotional numbness that he welcomed. Anything rather than think about the chance he had thrown away tonight.

  “Enough,” Joshim decided at last, lifting the mask off Rafe’s face.

  “Thank you, sir.” Rafe sat up and hugged his knees. “That was good of you.”

  “It was also the one and only time I will do that for you,” Joshim said grimly. “The next time you try to kill yourself with a bottle of jack, I’ll leave you to it.”

  “I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” Rafe said flatly. “I can’t. That’s part of the conditioning that goes with identity-wipe. There isn’t any way I can voluntarily deprive the Guild of my services. I have to wait to be thrown out.” He shivered and started to remove the blood monitor from his arm.

  “Leave that,” Joshim ordered. “I’m going to give you a pain-killer.”

  “You wouldn’t have a sleeper to spare?” Rafe asked hopefully.

  “You can’t take one tonight. Your system can’t handle it.”

  “It can. Another effect of my near-human blood.” Rafe grimaced. “Though I can’t prove it.”

  “Your medical record…”

  “Is incomplete, for obvious reasons. It notes that I’m a hybrid, without giving details.” Rafe shrugged. “Forget I asked. I’ll have to sleep without help sooner or later. Why not tonight?”

  “If you’re going to be Bhattya’s First, I shall want a full metabolic work up for you,” Joshim commented. “Until then, I’ll take your word about the sleeper.”

  “Is the offer still open?” Rafe asked disbelievingly.

  “Yes. On the condition that this does not happen again.” Joshim handed him a small cup of liquid. “Drink that.” He took the cup away when Rafe had finished, rinsed it out and shut it in the drug-pack. “Lie flat.”

  Rafe obeyed, feeling the drug starting to work. “How in hell did you persuade Commander Rallya to accept me?” he asked sleepily.

  Joshim laughed. “One day I may answer that. Go to sleep.”

  From the Old Empire Guild Bulletin, 200/5043

  In Aramas zone, ship losses to the unidentified Outsiders continue. Convoys are being instituted on the routes of greatest risk, and extra patrolships assigned to the zone. At the request of the Guild Council, the Emperor Julur has dismissed Drevir Lord Rhamar as head of the team of diplomats and historians attempting to make contact with the Outsiders, and appointed Madjaya Lady Gremor, noted for her successful contact with the Lam-ti-ranog system (now Dasnar zone).

  Report by Palace Security Chief Braniya

  to the Emperor Julur

  In the matter of your particular interest, personnel changes in the Aramas zone will take effect shortly; a preliminary report on the new situation is attached. Investigations into recent events are continuing.

  205/5043

  ARAMAS ZONE, OLD EMPIRE

  “Glad to be back, Rallya?” As he spoke, Noromi, Commander of Meremir, looked around the conference room in disgust. “Emperors, we’ll never get this lot sorted out. I doubt one of them has run in a convoy before.”

  “They’ll learn,” Rallya told him. She did not envy Noromi his task as Convoy Commander, in spite of the apparent authority it gave him over the other patrolships. He was welcome to the tiresome business of keeping the cargoships in some semblance of order and mediating between cargoship Threes who all thought they deserved special treatment at each other’s expense. Far better to have Bhattya’s role, only loosely attached to the convoy and free to pursue Outsiders while Noromi chivvied the convoy to safety.

  “They won’t learn. Not until we’ve lost one of them,” Noromi predicted sourly. He glowered at the group of cargoship reps, congregated for mutual protection on the side of the room nearest the door. “Pity we can’t pick which one.”

  “I don’t see Jomisa here,” Rallya commented, changing the subject before Noromi could tell her which of the cargoships had the distinction of being the first to annoy him.

  “She got promoted into a Second’s berth on Sarasya. Just before they went for a refit. The blond is her replacement.” Noromi pointed carelessly towards the back of the room, where the patrolship seniors, brought along to gain experience of strategy conferences, had gathered. “Talking to the half-sized First.”

  “Rafe,” Rallya informed him.

  “Yours?” Noromi turned for a longer look. “Much experience?”

  “Enough,” Rallya said vaguely. Enough to force her to a draw in the web twice since their initial encounter, but she was not going to admit that to Noromi. Enough to cope with the heavy load of tactical case studies that she had set him and to come back with unexpectedly perceptive analyses of them. He had served in a patrolship before he was identity-wiped, that was certain, and a patrolship with a Commander who had singled him out for special training.

  “You must introduce me,” Noromi decided.

  “I’ll add you to the list.”

  Noromi grunted and turned to watch the door again. “Here’s Maisa at last,” he grumbled. “You’d think she’d be on time for her own conference.”

  Maisa looked understandably harried. She was the wrong person
to be Zone Commander in a zone where Outsider incursions were a serious threat to shipping; she should be sitting out the last few years of her career in a backwater. Rallya scowled. There were enough Commanders whose webs had failed for whom the Guild could not find any job. She wondered whose favours Maisa had called in. And whether she was regretting it now.

  It was a big convoy—four patrolships and eleven cargo—and it took a while for Maisa to get the silence she was waiting for. Rallya glanced back at Rafe, lounging against the back wall with his hands in his pockets and every appearance of having seen it all before. He acknowledged her glance with a tiny tilt of his head: still here, ma’am. It would be a waste of time to question him later, she decided sourly; he was not missing a thing that was going on around him.

  Maisa shuffled her notes for the last time and plunged into her prepared speech. Rallya leaned back in her seat. There was nothing new to her in what Maisa was saying, only a rehash of the current situation. Outsiders of unknown origin … historians making every effort at identification … diplomats attempting peaceful contact … convoy system for your protection … Rallya yawned ostentatiously. If there was one thing Maisa could do, it was take a blatant hint. She skipped hurriedly to the end of her notes, introduced Noromi and excused herself, duty done.

  Noromi took the cargoship reps through a rapid review of the convoy rules and running order before allowing them the pretense of debating the decisions already taken. No cargoship carried a trained Commander; whichever member of a Three came closest to the necessary skills was deputized to fill the role when needed. Rallya could see equal numbers of Webmasters, Cargomasters and Captains, and every one of them convinced that they had something useful to say. At least it was an opportunity to identify the troublemakers and the steady few who would not panic in an Outsider attack.

  There was one Captain to whom it would be worth talking; she had survived Outsider attacks on her last two runs along the convoy’s route. When the conference had straggled to an end, Rallya rose with the intention of intercepting her but was delayed by a Webmaster hoping for an apprentice’s berth with Bhattya for a protégé of hers. By the time Rallya had extricated herself, she expected to find her quarry gone and was surprised to see the woman lingering near Rafe, waiting for an opportunity to talk to him when Noromi moved on.

  “Captain Sajan, I’m Commander Rallya. Can we talk? I’d like more details about the Outsider ships that attacked you.”

  “Gladly, if you’ll wait for me…” She gestured at Rafe, who had disposed of Noromi and was waiting for Rallya.

  “Rafe is with me. Is it a private matter, or will you join both of us for a drink?”

  “A drink will be welcome, after this waste of time.” Sajan waved a hand around the emptying room.

  “Not a complete waste, surely, ma’am,” Rafe commented. “Commander Maisa’s summary of the situation here was very informative.”

  Rallya looked at him suspiciously. Sajan gave a short laugh.

  “With your looks, and a sense of humour like that, you must be related to Yuellin,” she snorted.

  “I’m afraid the name isn’t familiar, ma’am.” Rafe did not change expression. Never play cards with him for money, Rallya cautioned herself, watching with interest to see how he dealt with this.

  “You were born in the New Empire?” Sajan pointed to the twin Oath markers on Rafe’s sleeve and to a similar pair on her own tunic breast.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Rafe smiled apologetically. “But I’m a chance-child. I don’t know my parentage.”

  “You could be his brother, the resemblance is so close. Or his son. You’re young enough, and he could have fathered you before he got his web.” Sajan snorted again. “Although he isn’t a man for women. I should know. I tried hard enough when we were serving together, before he made Commander on Janasayan. That was fifteen years ago, of course. Surprised he isn’t on the Guild Council by now. One of the youngest Commanders ever. Didn’t look old enough to have a web, let alone a Commander’s berth.”

  “Sounds like you have a lot in common with him, Rafe,” Rallya suggested slyly. “Is it impossible that you’re his son?”

  “Not impossible, ma’am, merely improbable.” There was a hard edge of anger on his voice, unmissable evidence of a temper; Rallya wondered what it would take to make him lose it.

  “If you ever cross the Zone again, ask him,” Sajan suggested. “Yuellin Lord Buhklir. Tell him I sent you.” She squeezed Rafe’s shoulder and Rallya found herself holding her breath. “Who knows? You might turn out to be the Buhklir heir. Wouldn’t that be something for a chance-child?”

  “Yes, ma’am, it would.” Rafe removed himself from Sajan’s grip as if by accident and turned to Rallya. “Will you excuse me? I promised the Webmaster I’d take the afternoon training session with the apprentices today.”

  A lie, and he knew that Rallya knew it. Rallya nodded permission and Rafe bowed his farewell. Captain Sajan looked disappointed; she had obviously hoped to reminisce with him at length about her aristo acquaintance in the New Empire. Rafe would have to be careful to avoid her in future, Rallya thought. There would be few webbers as intolerant of an Oath-breaker—aristo’s son or not—as one who had themselves crossed the Disputed Zone.

  Still, she had answered the obvious questions about Rafe’s past. Chance-child, hell; he was the beloved son and heir of Yuellin Lord Buhklir, and the recipient of all the care and attention that an aristo could arrange. Buhklir had probably supervised the lad’s apprenticeship himself, then made sure that he was assigned to a ship with a Commander who could be relied upon to continue his special treatment. Rallya grinned nastily. Relied upon to continue his special treatment, but not to keep him safe in the right Empire.

  Or was Rafe’s crossing of the Disputed Zone not the result of a mistake by his Commander but arranged as a deliberate curb on his father? It had happened before: an aristo who put loyalty to Empire before loyalty to Guild, rising to a high position and needing to be reminded of the full meaning of the Oath. The only thing that an aristo put before Empire was family; what better reminder than a son in the other Empire? No aristo would argue so eagerly for lethal combat in the Zone if their own son was facing them across it.

  Rallya pressed her lips together, irritated by the sour taste in her mouth. A pity if the son felt compelled to be identity-wiped, but the welfare of the Guild came before the welfare of any individual member; Rafe had acknowledged as much when he took his Oath. If he wanted to complain that he had been badly treated—and he would have to work out for himself what had happened; Rallya would not help him—let him complain to his father.

  Or to the Emperors, Rallya corrected herself savagely. The Immortal Emperors, who would only be content when they had drawn the Guild fully into the endless and aimless war between them. When they measured their losses in the Zone in maimed and dead bodies, not transferred Oaths. When the Guild’s autonomy was shattered and the fleet permanently divided between the Empires. When they were released from the Oaths that bound them to the Guild as tightly as the Guild was bound to them, the only constraint that had ever been placed upon them and held. One webber subjected to identity-wipe would not trouble their consciences; the Guild could not afford to be less ruthless in its fight to survive. If Rafe had a complaint to make, let him make it to the Emperors.

  “Let’s find that drink,” Rallya told Sajan abruptly. “I want to know everything you noticed about those Outsider ships.”

  * * *

  “Commander back?” Joshim asked, finding Rafe grabbing a very late lunch alone in the web-room.

  “No, sir. I left her talking with one of the cargoship Captains. Gathering information on Outsider capabilities.”

  “Conference go well?”

  “Yes, sir. Or, I assume so,” Rafe said lightly. “There was no violence done during the debate, and everybody seemed to leave it with their expectations met.” He stood up and slid his empty plate into the cleanser. “Do you want me to take th
e training session with the apprentices this afternoon?”

  “Vidar is taking it.” Joshim looked at Rafe narrowly. It was odd that Rallya had not kept him with her. “You can supervise Churi and Magred in the web, if you would. Signalling practice. Wet-web with them, if you like.” He glanced at the web schedule. “They’re down for three hours, but cut it to two. We’ve a new junior arriving this afternoon and I want him in the web as soon as possible.”

  “I thought we had our full complement,” Rafe commented.

  “So did I, but I’ve just received notification that it’s been increased by one and he’s arriving this afternoon.”

  Joshim tried to keep the irritation out of his voice and failed. It was not that he objected to the increase, only to the timing of it, the day before they were due to leave with the convoy. A newcomer always disturbed the established patterns in a web; it had taken several days to assimilate even somebody as skilled as Rafe, and that had been on the milk-run from Achil to Aramas.

  “Stay in the web when you’ve finished with Churi and Magred,” he decided. “You can help me evaluate him. If he isn’t good enough, we aren’t taking him.” He checked the time. “Go and have a look at his record. It’s on the table in the rest-room. Shall I bring you some alcad through? I’m making some for myself anyway.”

  “Thanks, yes.”

  Rafe had finished reading when Joshim set his alcad down in front of him.

  “You haven’t read this yourself yet, sir?” he queried.

  “No. Why?”

  “I know him. He was with Avannya.”

  “And?” Joshim prompted.

  Rafe leaned back in his seat and crossed his ankles. “Elanis is competent, but lazy. He never gives one hundred percent when he thinks fifty will be enough.” He wrinkled his nose. “It wouldn’t matter except that his judgement is poor. He always thinks fifty will be enough.”