A Matter of Oaths

by Helen S. Wright

  “There’s a lot you haven’t considered,” he said grudgingly. “How would you persuade the cargoships to agree to their share, for example?”

  “It would have to be explained to them by the right person,” Rafe told him. “Somebody they already trust with their safety.”

  “He means, not by an upstart First,” Rallya said helpfully. Her face was expressionless but Rafe suspected she was enjoying herself.

  “I should think not,” Noromi grunted. He stood up and studied the displays closely. “Your manners leave a lot to be desired, young man,” he pronounced, “but you’ve done quite well for a first attempt. The idea about jumping after the raiders is too risky, of course. The kind of crazy idea we all have when we’re young. But there are elements of this we may be able to use.”

  * * *

  Rallya glared at the list on her screen: texts from her library that Rafe had accessed since joining Bhattya, and not one of them dealt with convoy tactics. Wherever he had learnt the basis of today’s performance, it had not been there.

  It was not, she reflected irritably, that he had come up with anything of startling originality. The organisation of a convoy with a limited escort was standard enough, and the seeding of the binary system with recording drones was an obvious use of a spare patrolship or two. The interest lay in the way he had put it together, jumping from the fact that the raiders had never destroyed a cargoship to the conclusion that the convoy would be as safe with two escorts as it was with four, and using that to create the spare patrolships that Maisa perpetually lacked.

  And it had taken real skill, she credited him jealously, to trap Noromi into allowing him to speak. It was not a ploy that would work twice, but as she had remarked to Joshim in another context, once was usually enough. It was certainly more success than Rallya had had in years with Noromi, who spent more energy in avoiding her opinions than he did in forming his own.

  Inevitably, Rafe’s plan had survived Noromi’s review unscathed, and Noromi was disgustingly pleased with it. By the time the convoy returned to Aramas station, it would have become Noromi’s plan and Rafe’s name would not be mentioned in his report to Maisa. Rallya grinned wickedly, sorry that she would not be there when the rumour about Rafe’s Oath-breaking reached Noromi.

  It would be instructive to learn where that rumour had started. Rallya had had it from Erelna, Commander of Corir, just before the conference. Erelna had had it from a junior in her web-room, who had had it from an unknown junior from a cargoship during shared liberty time. There would be no tracing it back to its source, even if there was time to try before Bhattya left orbit.

  It would also be instructive to learn if Rafe knew about it yet. He had chosen an opportune time to display his talent. Had that been luck, or the knowledge that he needed to shine? When the rumour reached Bhattya’s web-room, if it had not done so already, he would need every scrap of good will that he could muster. Emperors knew, seeding an uninhabited system with drones was only marginally less boring than convoy escort duty, but to arrive at that viewpoint took forty years of experience. Most of Bhattya’s web-room would be delighted with the news, and impressed to learn that Rafe was responsible.

  Well timed or not, there was something that bothered her about Rafe’s performance at the conference, Rallya realized. Not the cynical asides to his audience, about the Court’s urgent need for blissdream or the overwhelming gratitude that they might earn from the diplomats if things went well; every patrolship Commander shared that cynicism about the results of their work. Nor the smoothness with which he had presented a plan which there had been no time, no reason, to think through beforehand; Rallya had had plenty of examples of him thinking on his feet.

  No, it was the sheer confidence with which he had led them through his ideas. Rallya could recognize fake confidence and she could recognize the real thing. This had been real, somebody sure of what they were saying, accustomed to being listened to and heeded. It was the understated confidence that only came with experience; as she had thought when he destroyed the raider, she was seeing more than raw talent in Rafe. It was an intriguing conundrum: how much could a junior with maybe a year’s experience have learned, even from the most expert of teachers? And, since the answer was less than Rafe knew, how much experience had he had when they identity-wiped him?

  Damn Sajan for getting herself killed before Rallya could ask her again about Buhklir. About how young he had looked when she knew him, and how young he might have looked ten years ago. Young enough to be taken for a junior just qualified? And was he so committed to the New Empire that he would make the choice that Rafe had made? If a Commander was identity-wiped, they would have to start again as a junior; in that situation, Rafe’s youthful appearance could make a mistake about his age inevitable.

  How old would Buhklir be now? Fifteen years ago, he had become the youngest Commander ever, so Sajan had claimed, or the youngest Commander in the New Empire. He might have been forty then, the same age as Rallya when she reached command level, but certainly no younger. That made him fifty-five now. Rallya scowled in disappointment. At fifty-five a web’s growth was invariably complete, but at thirty it would still be maturing. Joshim would not have missed a discrepancy like that between Rafe’s age and the state of his web. But everything fitted except the arithmetic, so damn Sajan again for getting herself killed; her timing could not have been worse.

  Or better, Rallya thought suspiciously. If Rafe were Buhklir, how would his conditioning react to a prolonged encounter with somebody he knew in his previous life? The brief meeting at Aramas had shaken him badly, and Sajan would have sought him out again, on Jalset’s World or at Aramas, to reminisce about the New Empire and to add him to her collection of aristos, or near-aristos. Even if Rafe were only Buhklir’s son, would identity-wipe survive such a direct counter-stimulus? And what would be the result if he did regain his memory? Who would have an interest in ensuring that he did not?

  Nobody, if the identity-wipe had been applied for Oath-breaking; if memory returned, it would be wiped again, with nobody a loser except Rafe. What if the identity-wipe had not been the result of Oath-breaking, but to hide something in Rafe’s past? In those circumstances there would certainly be people interested in preventing a return of memory, Rallya thought grimly, people at the highest level in the Guild. Identity-wipe was so serious a step that it had to be sanctioned at Council level; to impose it on a webber for any reason except Oath-breaking was a betrayal of every Oath the Council members had taken. Discovery would destroy those implicated.

  But, if it was vital to conceal something that Rafe knew, why run the risk of discovery by keeping him alive, even identity-wiped? Simpler and safer to kill him: no need to involve a psych-surgeon to perform the identity-wipe, no need to keep him under constant observation. The observer’s identity was clear: Elanis, first on Avannya and now on Bhattya. Clear too that his instructions included murder if necessary; Rallya herself had told him that Sajan recognized Rafe, and Sajan had died at the first opportunity. Which brought Rallya full circle: if they were prepared to kill to keep the secret, why was Rafe still alive?

  And, when Elanis had all the influence necessary to keep his berth on Avannya indefinitely, why had he left it so suddenly, just before an accident which should have led to the death of every webber aboard? Accident? Rallya snorted derisively. Nothing that happened around Rafe was an accident. Somebody had tried to kill him, somebody with more influence that Elanis’s controllers. Somebody willing to sacrifice an entire web-room to be sure that he died. Rallya swore bitterly. Avannya, then Sajan. Bhattya next? There was a good reason to keep Elanis aboard, in spite of Joshim’s protests. Whoever wanted Rafe dead did not consider Elanis expendable; his presence was protection of a kind, his departure a warning of imminent danger. Unless there was a reassessment of priorities and Elanis became expendable, but a patrolship—an alerted patrolship with Rallya aboard—was not the easy target that Avannya had been.

  New Empire Guild poli
tics, ten years ago? Rallya could not remember what had been going on, doubted that she had ever known. No reason to suppose it was any more attractive than Old Empire Guild politics, and she had a surfeit of that thirty-five years ago. Buhklir would have been a likely candidate for the Guild Council, Sajan had suggested. Was he in favour of partition, or against it? Whatever view he held, neither faction would have been forced to go to such extreme lengths to prevent his election. And if the reason lay only in the New Empire, how had help like Elanis been enlisted on this side of the Disputed Zone?

  There were too many linkages missing to make sense of it yet, but too many elements of the picture present to doubt that there was a secret to be discovered. Rallya smiled contentedly. No mistakes this time, she promised herself. Handle it slowly and carefully, like the explosive it was, and detonate it where it would have the most impact: under the Guild Council. There would not be many with anything to hide who would survive the shock waves that would travel through the Guild. Especially not those who had accepted the offers that Rallya had turned down thirty-five years ago. The ones who had achieved power since then because Rallya had spoken out too soon, before she had the whole picture. The ones who would soon learn that thirty-five years was not too long to wait to win a war.

  From introductory material for apprentices

  to the Guild of Webbers

  …After induction, you will be assigned to the web-room of a ship for two years, where you will receive your initial training under the supervision of your ship’s Three…

  …Upon satisfactory completion of your apprenticeship, you will be granted a half-year’s leave, which should normally be spent in your home environment. The purpose of this period is to enable you to consider the gravity of the Oath that you intend to take … Twenty percent of apprentices leave the Guild at this time…

  …Once introduced, your web will take between one hundred and four hundred days to establish itself. The degree of discomfort experienced during establishment varies between individuals … You will already be aware that permanent sterility is a side-effect of establishment … Training starts again when establishment is complete…

  …Once qualified as a probationary junior, you will normally be assigned to the web-room of a ship or station, and achieve full junior qualification within two years. Junior assignment is the responsibility of the Personnel Directorate, although your preferences and those of the Webmasters concerned are always taken into account…

  …If you wish, you may go on to qualify as a senior, entitling you to accept the offer of a senior berth. Selection of a web-room’s seniors is the responsibility of the Three involved, but subject to approval by the Personnel Directorate…

  …You may also wish to train in one of the specializations open to you. These include: Captaincy (specializing in ship, station, and communications systems); Webmastery (specializing in personal, ship, and station webs); Cargomastery (specializing in the commercial aspects of the Guild’s work); Surveymastery (specializing in interstellar navigation and exploration); and Command (specializing in peace work)…

  …Any senior may accept the offer of a place in a Three, thus achieving command rank. Selection of a new member of a Three is the responsibility of the existing members, subject to ratification by the Guild Council (see later). Each Three consists of: one Captain, one Webmaster, and one other specialist appropriate to the ship or station to be commanded…

  …You may apply at any time for a berth in one of the Guild’s specialist Directorates (Personnel, Central Support, Systems, Webs, Survey, Commerce, Peace, and External Liaison). These berths are located at Guild Zone Stations, including Central, and at planet based establishments, including both Imperial Worlds. Appointments to a Directorate are the responsibility of that Directorate, subject to approval by the Personnel Directorate; command rank is a prerequisite for the higher positions … The head of each Directorate is appointed by the Guild Council (see later)…

  …Anybody who has reached command rank is eligible for election to the Guild Council. Members of the Council are responsible for formulating Guild policy, and for making and enforcing Guild legislation; they are the Guild’s supreme authority. The Central Support Directorate is the Council’s executive arm … All Guild members who have reached command rank are eligible to vote for Council members…

  …You will continue as a Guild member until your web performance drops below the acceptable level for ship and station control. This is the inevitable consequence of aging, and normally occurs at about sixty years old. At this time, your web will be deactivated, to avoid the slight risks associated with an active but unused web. You may then choose to apply for a specialist berth, or to retire with a Guild pension…

  …You may be worried about the relationship between the Guild and the Twin Empires, particularly in view of the current conflict between the Emperors. Time spent in a web-room is the best way to dispel this concern, but a few words on the situation are appropriate here. As you know, the Guild is pledged equally to the people of both Empires and the majority of the Guild’s work is unaffected by the division between Old and New … The Guild has an agreement with the Emperors over resource allocation in the Disputed Zone. Each Emperor may purchase as much Guild support as they wish for their combat forces, at prices determined by the Guild Council. Services that are provided by the Guild are limited to: interstellar transport of Empire forces (excluding intra-system transport in combat areas); strategic and tactical advice during operations involving Guild ships; and nonlethal combat between Guild ships assigned to opposing Empires … All Guild ships and personnel captured while supporting an Emperor’s combat forces are reassigned in the opposing Empire. The cost of replacing such ships and personnel in the Empire from which they have been lost is recovered from the Emperor responsible; an equivalent sum is credited to the combat account of the opposing Emperor … This agreement can only be changed by unanimous consent of the Guild Council and both Emperors. The Guild may terminate the agreement unilaterally if Guild casualties are incurred in the Disputed Zone, or if Empire combat forces take any action that might result in Guild casualties; sanctions would also be applied against the Emperor responsible for any Guild casualties…

  255/5043

  ARAMAS ZONE, OLD EMPIRE

  Rafe paused by the Arura in the niche by Joshim’s desk and touched it experimentally. It was smoother and a little warmer than he expected it to be, the curves fitting comfortably into his palm, but it gave him none of the comfort that Joshim drew from it. He smiled slightly, acknowledging that he had not expected that either, and sat cross-legged on the seat that Joshim’s visitors used. It was better to sit quietly in the dark than to lie sleepless.

  Had there been more than three hours before he was due on duty again, he would have taken a sleeper from the supply that Joshim kept by the bed for him. He did not want to be awake with nothing to do except listen to Joshim’s even breathing and wonder how many more nights he would have in this cabin. It was frightening how easily he had come to need somebody else, frightening how much the idea of losing Joshim hurt. If he had known how tangled in each other they would get, would he have responded to Joshim’s kiss, the first time? Probably yes. There was the pull of Joshim’s eyes and smile, the sensation of déjà vu that had touched him then and every time since when he woke to see Joshim’s face, the feeling of homecoming. A curious analogy for love for somebody to choose who had no home, he thought fleetingly, or no home that he could remember except the web-room of Avannya, long since broken up for scrap.

  “Are you all right?”

  Rafe had not heard Joshim leave the bed and come to stand behind him. He reached a hand back over his shoulder to squeeze Joshim’s hand.

  “Fine. It’s too late to take a sleeper, that’s all.”

  “Do you want company, or do you want to be alone?”

  “I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  Rafe leaned his head ag
ainst the back of the seat. “I don’t want to be alone with the night-devils,” he admitted.

  Joshim rested his hands on Rafe’s shoulders. “What sort of night-devils?” His fingers found the knot of muscles at the base of Rafe’s neck and moved to ease them. Rafe sighed with the pleasure of it. “Sit forward a little and I can do this properly,” Joshim suggested.

  Rafe obeyed wordlessly, centring the weight of his head down the line of his back and curling his hands in his lap, losing himself in Joshim’s massage. A shaman once told me that, if I sat like this long enough, I would rise up and float. It was a pity that he never told me how long was long enough and I could never spare the time to learn … As the voice in his head laughed, Rafe shuddered violently.

  “A memory?” Joshim guessed.

  “Yes.”

  “Want me to stop?”

  Rafe shook his head. Joshim sensed the movement and resumed his gentle probing for the tension.

  “They’re coming more often while I’m awake,” Rafe said softly. “Just a snatch of a voice, or a flash of a scene. No names. No links. Just broken pieces that will never fit together to make a whole.”

  “It frightens you.”

  “No, not frightens. That’s too strong. Disturbs. Unsettles. I can’t have what I want from my future, and I can’t have what I had in my past, and I’m left juggling fragments of them both.” Rafe sighed again. “Don’t listen to me, Joshim. It’s the night-devils talking.”

  Joshim’s fingers moved along the line of Rafe’s jaw and back again. “What do you want from your future?”

  Rafe shrugged. “I’ll have to settle for what I can get.”

  “Why not what you want?”

  Rafe shook his head, refusing to answer aloud. What I want is what I have now, only without the nightmares and the memories and the sickness and the doubts. Joshim’s fingers traced circles on his temples, drew lines out from the centre of his forehead. Rafe wanted to freeze the moment in time, live secure in it forever, but he could not have that either.