A Matter of Oaths

by Helen S. Wright

  “In here,” Braniya ordered. “Wait outside,” she told the guards.

  “Impressive,” Rafe said honestly, looking around him. “All for me?”

  “Leisure accommodation, sleeping room, sanitary facilities. And a small gym. Please explore,” Braniya invited graciously.

  “Later. The wisest thing I can do now is lie down,” he told her frankly.

  Braniya followed him into the sleeping room. “How serious is web-cramp?” she asked.

  “In my current circumstances?” Rafe gave her one of his best smiles. “Probably fatal.”

  “That can be checked.”

  “Ask Julur. He knows everything I do.”

  When she had gone, he curled on his side on the bed. Web-cramp was a perpetual headache, creeping weariness, and unpredictable spasms like the one in the corridor. If he were back on Bhattya, Joshim would give him a tablet to ease the headache and then, when his concentration could be trusted, he would put him in the web to stretch the cramp away. If he were back on Bhattya, Joshim would … As well wish to be an apprentice back on New Imperial, with the choice that had led him here still unmade.

  Joshim would have problems of his own now, supporting Rallya when she made her bid to oust Carher. And afterwards, avoiding Julur’s attention without knowing that he needed to do it. For survival’s sake, he needed to know about his resemblance to Ayvar, but it hurt to know how much that knowledge would hurt him. Hurt to know what Joshim would think. Hurt to think that it was partially true, and that Joshim would talk himself out of being angry about it. Everybody had the right to be angry about a gods’ trick like that.

  Ayvar would be angry when he knew. Not about the gods’ trick. About the wasted mourning he had done ten years ago—I save it for the people who are worth it, Lin—and about the fresh mourning he would have to do, knowing there was nothing he could do to rescue Rafe, nothing that would not cost more than Rafe was worth. He would protect Joshim, as well as he could, and maybe Julur would be wary enough of the Guild to leave the Webmaster alone. But there was no power in either Empire that would make Julur hand Rafe back, not without letting chaos loose. The Old Emperor need not worry about an attack; Rallya would not do it, had too much sense to do it, however much she hated to back off. Some deal would be made to cover the cracks between Julur and the Guild, and everybody would hope fervently that Rafe was dead. Which he would be, if Julur was pressed for evidence; his body would be produced with apologies and Braniya would be handed the blame. Rafe hoped that Rallya and Ayvar would insist on proof; Ayvar at least would know the importance of that.

  The hiss of a sliding door told him that somebody had entered the suite. Braniya, or somebody bringing the clothes that had been provided for him. He curled up tightly, ignoring the footsteps coming towards the sleeping rom.

  “You are unwell.”

  Gods, that voice. Julur, come to see if he was to be deprived of his entertainment.

  “I have web-cramp.” Rafe uncurled slowly, balancing hatred for Julur against a desperate wish not to push him too far too soon. Braniya was there as well, a sleepbeam trained on him in case he indulged himself and tried for Julur’s throat.

  “You did not suffer this on a previous occasion.”

  “How would you know? How would I have known? I wasn’t identifying every piece of pain.”

  “You will not die of it.”

  “Is that a request or an order?”

  “It is not usually fatal.”

  “Not when there’s a chance of webbing, no. Or when there’s somebody around who knows how to deactivate a web. Going to ask the Guild how to do that?” Thank the gods that was a secret that not even the Threes knew.

  “That will be the long term solution,” Julur said evenly. “But the Guild is currently preoccupied with internal politics. Such a request would not be welcome.”

  “If you don’t come up with a short-term solution, you won’t need the long-term solution,” Rafe said spitefully. “You could give me access to Havedir’s web. If your yacht’s web-room swallowed my abduction from Central, they’ll swallow that.”

  “You will not leave the palace.”

  “Then I suggest you enjoy watching it while you can.”

  “This web is a complication that endangers your health,” Julur said, as if Rafe had not spoken. “Braniya, he is to be sedated for my investigation. And have the Webmaster of Havedir brought to me.”

  Braniya coughed. “Havedir are still refusing to accept our orders, sir. Until the situation within the Guild is clarified.”

  Julur muttered something that sounded very like a curse. “Are you capable of commissioning a web?” he demanded of Rafe.

  “How large a web?” Rafe asked, intrigued. Julur had a web within the palace?

  “It was used for amusement only.” Julur scowled. “The one whom it amused is long departed, and the Guild’s damned monopoly on the necessary knowledge has caused it to fall into disrepair. My friends the F’sair are working on that wider problem, but this could still be the solution to the immediate difficulty, if you can make any necessary adjustments.”

  The F’sair. He should have realized before. Their physiology allowed them to tolerate trans-space—too bad for them it didn’t allow them to compete militarily or economically with the Guild. And they’d been known to work for hire before, on the very edge of compliance with the treaty they had signed. How much further would they be willing to go in exchange for the secrets of webbing? And how little did Julur care about what Rafe learned, when he would never have a chance to warn the Guild.

  “Engineering isn’t my speciality, but I should get by,” Rafe said cautiously. “Providing it isn’t too far from what I’m used to.” Gods knew how old it would be; if Julur was anything like Ayvar in his memories, that amusement could have been fifty years ago or five hundred. “Where is it?”

  “If medical examination proves the necessity, you will be taken to it. Braniya, you will arrange for the supply of the necessary tools and technicians.”

  “Expendable technicians?” Braniya queried.

  “The prisoner’s existence is to remain a secret,” Julur agreed. “You,” he added to Rafe, “will commission the web for your own use. You will be interrogated before you are permitted to use it, to verify that what you have done is acceptable.”

  Rafe nodded, not understanding why he was being given this lifeline when his life was measured in tens of days anyway, but finding that he could not turn it down. Julur was mad. There was no understanding him except on his own terms, and he was the only one who knew what those were. But if he could not be understood, perhaps he could be manipulated a little. If he did not want Rafe to die of web-cramp, Rafe would not die of web-cramp. But it would take time to commission a web, time in which—perhaps—Julur would put off any other action.

  Broadcast from Commander Rallya

  To all ships in Khirtin Fleet:

  The fleet will depart at 03:00/353/5043…

  353/5043

  KHIRTIN ZONE, NEW EMPIRE and CENTRAL

  [Fleet Group Three in position for jump,] Vidar reported, relaying the message from the Group Commander. [Fleet Group Six undocking complete.]

  [Acknowledged.]

  Rallya checked the information against the timetable for the jump. Still on schedule and if the gods were kind—or at least looking the other way—still with the advantage of surprise. The charges against Carher had been broadcast from the other side of the Disputed Zone; no message had been sent from Khirtin without her approval; no ship that had approached the station had been allowed to leave. There was no way that Carher could know the scale or timing of what she faced. Unless the pickets around Khirtin had missed the jump flare of a spy’s arrival, and Rallya would have somebody’s ears for web-bands if they had. If they were going to jump into a shooting gallery around Central, she wanted to know about it in advance.

  Whatever they were going to jump into, she would have liked to know about it in advance. But there
had been no response from Central to the charges she had made, neither from Carher nor from the rest of the Council. There would have been a denial if the Council was backing Carher; the silence meant that Carher was in control, but without their support. Which meant that she would only be able to rely on her co-conspirators to defend her, and there was no knowing how many of those there were, or how quickly she could gather them at Central. Which meant there was no knowing what was waiting for Rallya’s fleet when it came out of jump.

  [Damage control Team One in place,] Vidar signalled. [All nonessential power drains being shut down.]

  [Acknowledged.] That too was on schedule, Bhattya’s own preparations for the jump and afterwards. It was a familiar routine, familiar to her but to very few of the other members of the fleet’s web-rooms. To them, real fleet battles were history, in the Homir wars and before that. All they were used to were the push-and-shove imitations in the Disputed Zone, or kiss-and-run encounters with Outsider raiders, not full-scale shooting wars where both sides had everything to lose. It had made Rallya feel damned old to realize it and damned worried about how they would stand up to what was coming.

  [Damage control Team Two in place. With passenger.] There was a flavour of amusement in Vidar’s message.

  [Query passenger,] Rallya sent sharply.

  [Fadir. Found in his cabin.]

  Rallya swore inwardly. Of all the times for Fadir to find out that he had some initiative … Only he would be stupid enough to give up a safe berth running errands for Ayvar in favour of being underfoot on a patrolship in battle. Or maybe not, she conceded; in his position, she might—just might—have pulled the same stunt. And he had done well to remain undiscovered for so long, until there was no time left to put him off. There might be some hope for him yet.

  [Query Rasil,] she sent.

  [Negative.]

  At least they had one apprentice who knew how to obey orders. [Message to web-room for Fadir,] she told Vidar. [Sit down, shut up and consider a future without ears. Copy to web and damage control teams.]

  Since he was aboard, he might as well be useful. Tension was building up in the web; she could feel the undercurrents of fear. It would be worse where Jualla’s team and Lilimya’s waited in the maintenance spaces with nothing to do until—gods forbid—the ship took damage. It would do them all good to know that Fadir had sneaked aboard, give them something to laugh about. Battles were not only won by conserving every erg of energy for fighting with, they were won by knowing your web-room’s strength, by knowing how to blunt the razor-edge of waiting that cut away at concentration.

  [Fleet Group Four in position for jump,] Vidar reported.

  Two more groups still manoeuvring into formation. Ten more minutes until jump. Ten minutes in which to consider all the mistakes she might have made, the possibility that Carher did have the support of the Council, that she was waiting at Central with the capability to destroy all of them as they came out of jump. If she had enough warning, if she had enough ships, if somebody miscalculated the jump from Khirtin and emerged in somebody else’s shadow…

  [!] The signal from Joshim was just a flicker, a warning that her jitters were leaking out into the web. Disgusted with herself, Rallya returned an equally brief acknowledgement. Pre-battle nerves were another familiar part of the routine, but she had never forgotten herself so far as to let them show. Only Joshim would have noticed, but that was no excuse. Nor was being tired from five days of drumming sense into a collection of Commander’s skulls. If a junior had made the same mistake, she would have expected Joshim to dump them from the web.

  [Fleet Group Five in position for jump.]

  No trace of nerves in Vidar’s web-presence, not even concern that his beloved ship systems were out of his control. Comms control was a senior’s job in battle, but Bhattya was short of seniors and Rallya would not trust her link with the fleet to anybody else. She wanted somebody she could rely on to feed her the information she needed when the data inflows were too great for a single person to handle. Somebody who would know which messages to pass to her, which messages to handle themselves. Somebody who would not crumble if things went wrong.

  Joshim’s presence in the web was so light that it was possible to forget he was there. Until he flicked you a warning that your web control was slipping. Or decided that you were fading and swapped you out to filtered standby to snatch some sleep in the shub. He had better think carefully before he tried that with her. She had designated him as her backup because he had insisted she choose one. He was the best Webmaster she had worked with in years, and an adequate tactician for Outsider encounters. He was not a Commander. Especially not a Fleet Commander.

  [Fleet Group Six in position for jump. All Commanders report ready and counting.]

  [Acknowledged. Five minute warning.]

  The alert confirmed what everybody knew, that jump and combat were imminent. Rallya felt the telltale shift in concentration throughout the web as minds and bodies tensed in anticipation. She sent a test signal down her direct channels, to the sensors team, the drive team, the weapons team, the shields team. Ritual more than routine, a final reassurance for her and for them that they were in contact, that she was in control of the ship, that Bhattya was part of her body as the fleet would never be, although they took her orders too.

  [One minute warning.]

  The drive team signalled readiness; the parameters for the jump were locked into the system ready to be activated. Rallya put the shields on triggered standby; they would be raised as soon as they came out of jump. She switched her primary input to the wide scanner, for an instant overview of Central when they emerged.

  [Activating jump.]

  She rode it with her inputs open, shedding the chaotic data that flowed in for the no-time they were in jump space. As the shields came up and the vanes moved out to restore the drive field, she drew the wide scan matrix into herself, looking for threats, immediate and deferred.

  The fleet had come through in perfect formation, a slowly contracting sphere focused on Central. There were several ships in dock, others forming a ragged shell between the station and the fleet. Ten … eleven of them. Patrolships by their sleek lines and the heat patterns on their hulls. Patrolships with their shields up and their weapons primed but still taken by surprise by the fleet’s arrival, their weapons targeted on the station, outnumbered two to one by the incoming ships.

  [Fleet broadcast,] Rallya flashed to Vidar. [Status one.] Which was fire only when fired upon, by the code she had agreed with the other Commanders. [General broadcast: Invitation to surrender. To Central: Query situation.] To the sensor team, she sent [Identify all hostile ships.]

  Some of Carher’s ships were moving away from the station, sacrificing its shelter to give themselves more room in which to fight. Or run, if they could escape the station’s mass-shadow. No Commander who deserved their berth would like such uneven odds. Their web-rooms would probably prefer to surrender if they were given the choice. Most of them would be cut off from the comm circuits, deaf to everything that their Threes did not want them to hear, but their sensors would show them what was going on. It would not take them long to work out what their chances were and nothing crippled a ship more effectively than discord in the web.

  [Message from Central,] Vidar notified her. [Station secure. Long range comms damaged. Unable to assist.]

  Not with four armed patrolships looking down their throats, Rallya agreed grimly. Stations were never armed, could not be shielded, were too complex and fragile to invite being fired upon. And the ships in dock could not move without jeopardizing the station. Unless some of them were hostile, but there was no sign of activity among them. It looked as if she had interrupted an attempt to capture the station. As if none of Carher’s ships had reached dock or they had been forced out by the station’s resistance. Where was Carher? On one of the ships preparing for action, or still clinging to the shelter of the station? At least she did not have control of the station; that was th
e bloodiest of the scenarios that Rallya had planned for.

  [General broadcast,] she told Vidar. [All ships to hold current position or be fired upon. Fleet broadcast: status two.] Select targets and prepare to fire on signal.

  The sensors team were feeding her names for Carher’s ships and for their Threes; the station must be broadcasting the data, doing as much as they could to help. Carher’s name was tagged to Keldir, hugging the station within Bhattya’s field of fire. Rallya marked her down as the prime target for the weapons team. There were other names that she recognized, names that held no surprises. Most of the Old Empire aristos in the Guild had swarmed to Carher, like flies to a dung heap. She saw Meresya’s name on one of the outbound ships, and Dhanar’s. Thirty-five years ago they had both slipped through the Council’s ineffective net. But not this time.

  [Message from Keldir,] Vidar sent. [Withdraw, or we will fire on station. Also coded broadcast, same source.]

  Instructions to her other ships, as Rallya was instructing hers. [Fleet broadcast: code five,] Rallya responded. Fire on any ship that tries to jump. [No reply to Keldir.]

  Carher was bluffing. Outnumbered and caught in Central’s mass-shadow, she was hoping to negotiate a way out of the trap, trying for time to regroup and try again. As long as she believed she had a chance of winning, she would try to preserve Central and the secrets it held: the formula for R-K-D and the drugs that deactivated a web, the navigation libraries, all of the other keys to the power that she needed to survive. And she was gambling that Rallya would not risk crippling the Guild by endangering Central’s records. Hellishly stupid to have kept them in one place, Rallya thought fleetingly; that would have to change. After she had seen Carher’s bet.

  [Lock on target,] she ordered the weapons team.