by Baen Books
He'd done what he could with Disian, who was so trusting of him—well, why wouldn't she be? The very first voice she'd heard, when she'd come into herself, had been his. He'd been the source of all wonder and knowledge for her, teaching her, guiding her. Of course she loved him; nothing more natural than a kid's reflexive love for a parent.
He'd been careful not to give her too many illusions; she was going to need hard, practical realism, after. He'd had a go at refining her goals, but her belief that she was a long-range exploratory ship, had, so far as he'd been able to determine, been born with her, and it was adamantine. That argued that she'd been designed a-purpose, and specifically for this ship, which was a beauty, and no mistake. If Disian wanted to explore, and colonize, or build a long loop for trade, he couldn't think of many things that could stop her.
Unfortunately, one of those few was the Lyre Institute.
More than once he'd wondered where Vanessa, or more likely one of his schoolmates, had got hold of Disian, but that wasn't the sort of thing he could ask. No need to know; his job just to wake her, and bring her up to speed. And to align her loyalties correctly, which practically went without saying.
Vanessa expected him to remove any inconvenient personal ambitions Disian might've had, and set core programming so that all she ever—all she had ever—wanted to do in a life that could stretch hundreds of years was exactly what the agents of the Lyre Institute told her to do.
And, according to the log, he'd done just that.
'Course, he'd had to make some slip-ups. Like setting Disian to study art, and letting it show in the log—which was the most recent incident, but not the only one. She had to see him get hurt—had to see who hurt him, and to hear that he was being disciplined because he cared for her. It would make his case stronger, after; though it wouldn't make what he’d done—what he was doing, and his intentions for the future—in any way right.
Vanessa, now.
Vanessa was waiting for him; she started talking the second he put the rig aside; almost before he was fully back inside his own head.
"The project deadline has been put forward. I am to take immediate captaincy of this vessel and deliver it. You will let it know that I am its captain. I see in the log that you have set the mandate to obey the captain."
"Her name's Disian," he said, mildly, and not for the first time. "She's a fully functional person."
Fully functional people weren't particularly a commonplace in Vanessa's experience. There were directors, agents, and graduates, all of whom had been created, in greater measure or lesser, by the school.
Granted, there was a whole universe of people out there who hadn't been created by the school, but it was in the design, the conviction that those people were inferior to Lyre-made people, and nothing more than pawns in the school's games.
Still, thought Tolly, she could try to do better.
"Is this ship ready to accept me as captain and obey my orders, Thirteen-Sixty-Two?"
"She's ready to go," he said. "I've taught her everything I can, and made what settings were necessary. What she needs now is experience."
Vanessa frowned.
"You said that it is ready to go. What additional experience is required?"
Vanessa wasn't just in abrupt mode, he saw, as he looked into her face. Vanessa was scared.
And didn't that just get the old adrenal glands working overtime?
"On the job training, is all," he said, at his mildest and most persuasive. "Think of the first assignment after graduation, when you have to sort everything you know into proper reactions."
Her face eased a little, and she ducked her head.
"Understood. And it will learn quickly, will it not?"
"Yeah, she'll learn fast." He hesitated, then, for Disian's sake, said it again, and for what he figured would be the last time.
"The ship's name is Disian; she's an individual person. I'm suggesting—from my own experience—that command will go smoother if she likes you."
Vanessa gave him a hard stare.
"But it will like me, will it not, Thirteen-Sixty-Two? After all, I am its captain."
He was silent.
"Come with me," she snapped. "I will take the captain's chair, and you will wake the ship fully into the joy of obedience."
#
It really wasn't any surprise to find Landry waiting on the bridge, jacket on, stun-gun on his belt. He wasn't showing a whistle, though wrist restraints dangled negligently from his off-hand. It was . . . interesting . . . that he showed 'em so casual, like he didn't expect Tolly would bolt on first sighting.
Well. And where would he go?
Vanessa sat in the captain's chair, which obligingly conformed to her shape. That was just the autonomic system doing its job. Disian could have made the chair even cozier—and did, for him—adjusting the temp, and plumping the cushions for better support. Personal attention, because she loved him, and wanted him to be as comfortable as possible. He'd never asked her to do it.
And, truth told, Vanessa'd be just fine in auto-mode.
"Thirteen-Sixty-Two," she snapped, her eyes on the bank of screens before her, like she expected to see what was going to happen next.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Wake it, and introduce me as captain."
"Sure," he said, easily.
Disian was awake, after all, and she was listening, and watching, like she'd been doing for a fair number of days. Let it be said that Disian was no dummy; she had Vanessa's measure by now—and Landry's, too.
He took a breath, and panic sheared through him, twisting together with shame about what he'd done. Almost, he shouted out for her to kill them all, and run—
But, there. Where would she run to?
"Thirteen-Sixty-Two?"
"Ma'am," he said, and he didn't have to fake the quiver in his voice, "why's Director Landry got binders?"
Vanessa turned to look at him, and managed to produce an expression of parental concern, despite the fear that was rising off of her like smoke.
"Director Landry will be taking you home, Thirteen-Sixty-Two. It has become obvious to us that you are in some distress, and require therapy."
Therapy, was it? Well, she couldn't rightly say reeducation, having already used that as a threat. And they didn't want to whistle him, not, he guessed, where Disian would see. They wanted him to go quiet, then; the binders, for right now, serving as a warning and reminder.
He could work with that.
"Now," Vanessa said. "Time is short. Waken this ship to my authority."
"Yes, ma'am," he said softly. Then, not changing pitch, nor volume, he spoke again.
"Disian. Good morning."
#
Disian had been watching, of course, and listening. They intended to remove her mentor from her decks. They intended to assert their dominion over her. That one of them, who had often taken her ease in the captain's chair, was no more her captain now than she had been last shift.
The one of them who had wielded the truncheon during former episodes of discipline today wore a firearm on his belt, and dandled chains from his off-hand.
Her voice had come under her control at her mentor's greeting, and joy mixed with her anger. She would rid her decks of—
Then, she heard herself, speaking a question that she had no reason to ask.
"Mentor. Who is this person?"
"This person," her mentor said, as if he believed she had asked the question from her own will, "is Director Vanessa. She is your captain."
For a brief moment she was taken aback. Her mentor—her mentor had just lied to her. Never before had he told her an untruth, and to say such an obvious—
Then, she remembered the firearm.
Even her mentor might lie, she thought, if he stood in fear of his life. And, there, was it a lie at all, if he only said the words they had ordered him to say?
Disian had studied firearms; knew what the projectile fired from such a tool might do to her systems, though
she, herself, would likely survive.
Her mentor, though; a firearm could kill him.
She studied her mentor. His face was . . . without expression, showing neither smile nor frown, nor any of the enthusiasm with which he answered her questions, and received her answers to his. No, this—this was the face he wore just prior to being disciplined. He expected—no. He knew that they were going to kill him.
Even as the thought formed; even as she realized the truth of it, Logic pinged. She disregarded it. Had she not read of intuition? Of leaps of understanding that led to fuller knowledge than could be achieved by logic alone.
Her mentor had told her, repeatedly, that she must not endanger herself for him. Also, he had told her that they might have it in their minds to kill him, but that they would not make that attempt until she had completed her education.
She posed the question to herself: Was her education complete?
Yes. Yes, it was. He had spoken to her of this. The next step was to move out into the spaceways, and refine what she had learned only from research.
Of course, he had not meant her to go out alone. She had thought him her captain, but . . .
Even if she had been in error, and there were reasons why he could not be her captain . . . he would not have left her without a proper captain.
Director Vanessa might sit in the captain's chair, but she was no proper captain.
"Acknowledge me, ship," that one of them said, sharply.
She said—she intended to say, "You are a fraud and a reiver. Leave my decks, immediately."
What she heard herself say, meekly, was, "Welcome, Captain. How may I serve you?"
She hated the words; she hated her voice for speaking them. But, how did this happen, that she spoke what she did not intend?
Systems Monitor pinged, and she diverted a fraction of her attention to it.
A work log was offered; she scanned it rapidly, finding the place where the scripts she had just spoken had been inserted, after which came the notation:
Disian released to her own recognizance. Fully sentient and able.
It was signed: Tollance Berik-Jones, Mentor
"Ship, break dock and compute a heading for the nearest Jump point. Compute also the Jump to Hesium System. Display your finished equations on my screen three. Do not engage until you receive my order."
Fully sentient and able.
Disian spoke, taking care to match the meek tone of the scripted replies. Meek, of course, to lull them into thinking she was theirs. To allow them to believe that they ordered her.
To allow them to believe that she would let them harm her mentor—her Tollance Berik-Jones—or to remove him against his will from her decks.
"Computing, Captain," she said, and did, indeed, send the requested courses into Astrogation.
On her deck, the one of them who believed herself to be Disian's captain, bent her lips slightly. It was how that one of them smiled. She turned to the one of them who wore the firearm, and held the binders ready.
"Landry, take Thirteen-Sixty-Two to Lyre Central," she said; "for therapy. Thirteen-Sixty-Two, I am sure you understand that cooperation is in your best interests."
"Yes, Director," her Tollance Berik-Jones said, in a meek voice that Disian heard with satisfaction. He, too, sought to misdirect them.
"Let's go," said the Landry one of them. "Better for all if I don't have to use the binders."
"Yes, Director," her Tollance Berik-Jones said again.
"Keep to that style, and it'll go easier all the way down," the Landry one of them advised, and waved his unencumbered hand. "Bay One. I think you know the way."
Her Tollance Berik-Jones simply turned and walked toward the door. Disian considered overriding automatics, and locking it, then realized that such an action would demonstrate that she was not so compliant as they assumed. That would displease them, and they were very likely to discipline her mentor for it.
The door, therefore, opened as it ought. Her mentor and the Landry one of them passed through. She observed their progress along her hallways, while she also monitored the one of them seated in the captain's chair.
She had plotted this course, and refined it, as she had watched, helpless, while they had disciplined her mentor. Ethics had disallowed the plan, but now she submitted it again.
And the answer, this time, was different.
Ascertain that these intend to materially harm the mentor.
"Captain," she said, keeping her voice yet meek. "When will my mentor return?"
"You no longer have need of a mentor, now that you have a captain to obey. Do you understand?"
"Very nearly, Captain," she said. "Only, I do not understand this . . . therapy my mentor will receive."
The Vanessa one of them frowned.
"The mentor is no longer your concern. However, for your files, you may know that therapy is given to individuals who are found to be unstable. Your mentor, Thirteen-Sixty-Two, is so unstable that his therapy will likely include reeducation." She paused. "Of course, that's for the experts to decide. In any case, he's no longer relevant to you—or to me. Forget him. That is an order."
Disian felt a moment of pure anger. Forget him! She would never forget him.
Re-education, though . . .
Communications pinged. A note opened into her awareness, such as her mentor would sometimes leave her, with references and cites for her further study.
This one explained reeducation.
She accessed the information rapidly, part of her attention on the bridge, part watching her Tollance Berik-Jones and the Landry one of them turn into the hallway that led to docking bay one.
Re-education began with a core-wipe down to the most basic functions. A new person was then built upon those functions. Tollance Berik-Jones had been reeducated twice; once when he was yet a student at the Lyre Institute; once as a graduate. Prior to his second reeducation, he had broken with the institute, and had remained at large, and his own person, for a number of years. That second reeducation was a decade in the past, and it had not been . . . stringent. The Institute had wished to salvage his skills, and it was that which had allowed him to re-establish his previous protocols. The next reeducation—he feared very much that the specialists would eradicate everything he was and all he had learned, the school preferring obedience over skill.
Horrified, she opened the note to Ethics.
Which agreed that the case was dire, and that she might act as was necessary, to preserve her mentor.
#
Bay One was before them, and he was out of time. At least, Tolly thought, taking a deep, careful breath, he'd managed to separate the directors. That gave him a better chance, though Vanessa was the more formidable of the two.
That meant he had to take Landry clean, and fast, so he'd have the resources he needed for the second event.
One more breath, to center himself, and the mental step away from mentor, into assassin.
Bay One was three steps away.
Tolly Jones spun, and kicked.
#
"Has Landry reached Bay One, Ship?" the Vanessa one of them demanded.
Disian considered the hallway leading to Bay One, and measured, boot to door.
"Nearly, Captain," she answered, grateful for the meek voice her mentor had taught her. It was an unexpected ally, that voice, covering the horror she had felt, watching the short, violent action taking place in her hallway.
Her sensors confirmed that her Tollance Berik-Jones had survived the encounter, though he had been thrown roughly against the wall.
The Landry one of them had not survived, and the meek voice also hid her satisfaction with that outcome.
Protocol insisted that she issue a warning, to allow the false captain an opportunity to stand aside.
Disian spoke again, not so meekly.
"I do not accept you as my captain. Stand down and leave, now."
There was a moment of silence before the Vanessa of them raised what D
isian perceived as a pocket comm.
"Landry, this is Vanessa. Bring Thirteen-Sixty-Two to the bridge."
"Do you return my mentor before you leave?" Disian asked.
"No. I am going to compel him to set a mandate that will align you completely with the Lyre Institute. After he does that, you will kill him, at my order, to prove the programming."
She raised the comm again, just as Disian ran three hundred milliamps of electricity through the captain's chair.
#
He'd made cleaner kills, Tolly thought, sitting up carefully, and listening to the ringing in his ears. Experimentally, he moved his right shoulder, than raised his arm.
Not broken, then. That was good.
He got to his feet, drew on those famous inner resources that the school made sure all its graduates gloried in, and ran back the way he'd come.
The door to the bridge was standing open, like Vanessa was waiting for him, which was bad, but then the whole thing had been a bad idea, start to finish. And, he had an advantage over Vanessa, after all.
He would rather die than live under the school's influence.
#
"Tollance Berik-Jones, welcome!" Disian sounded downright spritely.
Tolly stopped his forward rush just behind the captain's chair. He could see the back of Vanessa's head, and her arms on the rests. She didn't move, and that was—out of character.
It was then that he smelled burnt hair.
Pride and horror swept through him, in more-or-less equal measure, and he stepped forward, carefully.
"Disian, are you well?"
"I am well, Mentor, though frightened. I have . . . killed a human."
He'd reached the chair by now, and gotten a good look at what was left of Director Vanessa. Electrocuted. Well done, Disian.
"I thank you for it," he said; "and I apologize for making that action possible." He took a breath, facing the screens, like he was looking into her face.
"What do you mean?"