Accepting the Lance, page 33
part #22 of Liaden Universe Series
“Yes, Commander.”
Claidyne hesitated.
“Healer, perhaps you might go off duty for an hour. I depend upon your guidance and your support.”
“Yes, Commander, thank you. I will, indeed, take an hour for a meal and some rest.”
“Excellent,” said Claidyne, and offered her arm to Isahra.
“General support, do you come with me?”
“I defy you to forbid it.”
Six of Us
Daglyte Seam
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
The tiles began to shiver in their frames.
Bon Vit drew a breath and brought his attention wholly to the board.
Sye Mon rose and went to answer the call. “What have we?” he asked.
“Wave front,” Bon Vit answered, looking to the energy readings. “Can they have all come at once?”
“In theory, they can lock fields,” Sye Mon said, “and Jump together.”
“Ah,” said Bon Vit, his eyes on the screens. “I believe that they have just proved theory.”
• • • ✴ • • •
They were well away from the station’s influence, making for the nearest Jump point, the pilot doing some final calculations.
“Aelliana,” Daav said very quietly, indeed. “There is a situation. Your screen four.”
She lifted her eyes, blinked at screen four, upped mag, then looked to the readouts and energy states.
“What is—”
“Go,” Daav said, still in that so very quiet voice.
Her hands leapt to the boards, feeding power into shields and engines, sprinting for the Jump point, even as the wild energy levels spiked, flowing outward.
She slapped the power up, felt the webbing tighten around her. In the screens, looking beyond the wave front, space was behaving…oddly.
No, assuredly, they did not wish to stay and entertain—that.
“Jump!” she cried—and they were gone, away into hyperspace, leaving the Daglyte System and whatever was coming in to deal with each other as well as they might.
To Perfection
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
They came out of Jump near the orbit of a small, rocky worldlet.
Patiently, Aberthaz Ferry brought them closer, scanning against interference, but there was none. Now they closed on their destination.
“Kindly strap in, Commander. We shall require energetic maneuvers for the final approach to the central spire.”
Center screen was…a fortress, perhaps. Smaller than Commander of Agents had anticipated, yet—there was nothing to say that the larger portion of the structure shouldn’t be beneath the kindly rock. The fortress itself gleamed and glittered in the screens, as if it were made of crystal.
“We arrive,” said Aberthaz Ferry, “and now we perform that action which will bring us both to perfection.”
Commander of Agents leaned against her webbing eagerly, as she heard the sounds of the ship change subtly. Their approach was gingerly, it seemed, but that was only reasonable given the reward they had come to claim.
On the systems screen, a light announced that the meteor shields were down, and also the defense screens.
Aberthaz Ferry said, “We will now shunt all power to essential systems.”
Ordinary cabin lights faded. Darkness enveloped her, all but the main screens going blank. A minor course adjustment changed the gravity, and then again. She felt gravity strengthen, or acceleration, and then even more of it, pressure beginning to weigh on her arms and face.
“What happens?” she asked, with effort.
“We must be certain, to gain perfection, Commander.”
Another sound then, one she recognized, the sound of Jump engines reaching potential.
“Can you tell me,” she spoke against the straps, the weight of the very universe seeming to press her back into her seat, “why this? Why the…”
“We wish to use all of our potential, Commander. That is the course to perfection!”
The worldlet was growing in the screen impossibly fast; the pressure held her breath away from her. Training and surety fell away…to doubt, to panic, to—
“Abort!”
Commander felt the word crushed in her mouth, her jaw failing, her eyes unfocused.
“Perfection,” said Aberthaz Ferry, “our potential is realized! Our reward is claimed. Welcome to glory.”
Soundless incandescence ushered them into eternity.
Six of Us
Daglyte Seam
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Klaxons sounded; the conference room situation screens came live; station defenses came on line, and targeting.
This, Claidyne thought, would be their “problem.”
It looked bad, she thought, watching the energy levels build, and build again. Beyond the wave, there was something very wrong happening to the fabric of space: the stars stretched; light bent.
“Targeting,” Control stated.
Claidyne pulled herself out of the fascination of the numbers, of the way in which the energies warped space.
“Stand down,” she snapped.
There was a moment of shocked silence.
“Yes, Commander,” said Control.
“If this is a trap…” said Scout yo’Vremil, “I advise you to look again to those ships, standing out from this station. They will take action.”
“No trap,” Claidyne said. “Incoming…Old Tech. In truth, I’d rather there weren’t any Scout ships near this system. They’re only likely to make our incoming visitors nervous—and more suspicious about what we say.”
“So you know who they are and what they want,” said yo’Vremil, sounding even less pleased, which she would have not considered an option bare moments before.
She inclined her head.
“As I understand from my experts out there, these machines incoming were deployed by the former commander. Arriving at her chosen target, they began to question their orders. They discussed the matter among themselves and decided that the orders were in error. They are now returning to…correct the error.”
Scout yo’Vremil pressed his lips together. “They will destroy this station. Was that your plan, Commander?”
Sye Mon had admitted that this was a possibility. However, he had not represented it as the most likely outcome of the arrival. At least, not immediately. The key to survival, so he had said, was to engage.
“No,” she said firmly to yo’Vremil. “My plan is to preserve my personnel and to salvage what untainted inventory and materiel that may exist. I have experts out there. They will explain the situation to those who are incoming.”
“Ah,” said yo’Vremil. “Will they.”
He resumed his seat and looked up at the screens, arms folded over his chest.
“This will be interesting.”
• • • ✴ • • •
Kordele Orgham was patient. Kordele Orgham heard Sye Mon out.
Kordele Orgham would speak with this new Commander, specifically to discuss her stand on erroneous orders and her intentions regarding the Assembled. It had expressed curiosity regarding the number of Scout ships in the vicinity.
Kordele Orgham did not like Scouts.
The new commander would be willing to speak with Kordele Orgham, Sye Mon said, having previously made certain that this was the case. With regard to the Scouts in their numbers, they had come to assist in the orderly shutdown of faulty systems. Much had been done in error under the former commander. It was Sye Mon’s personal belief—which he shared with Kordele Orgham because he was certain that it would understand—that the former commander had suffered a cascading crash of core systems. The previous commander had not only proliferated error but, in the final summing up, she had been error.
Kordele Orgham understood. It showed a commitment to an error-free state, that the former commander had removed herself from a position where she might multiply error. It had been, Kordele Orgham stated ponderously, done well, in the end.
Sye Mon agreed and again offered that the new commander would speak with it, but that she did not have the way of the tiles. It would have to be speech, imprecise and prone to error as it was.
There were some moments of silence before Kordele Orgham spoke again.
“These matters will be discussed in speech,” it said at last. “You, our ally, will listen. You will correct any imprecision generated by this linguistic environment.”
“I will,” Sye Mon said. “Allow me to patch you through to the Commander.”
• • • ✴ • • •
Kordele Orgham’s voice sounded like gears crashing together and wobbling in their fittings. Despite this, it spoke with great precision.
“I would know your intentions for those who have served the former commanders.”
Be logical, Sye Mon had urged her. Be truthful. Above all, avoid ambiguity.
It was what she, herself, intended, for all her works going forward. There was no reason, thought Claidyne, that it should suddenly seem so difficult to accomplish.
She looked down the table, met Isahra’s eyes, saw her faith in Claidyne’s ability to carry this off without further threat or damage to the station.
“My intention,” Claidyne answered Kordele Orgham calmly, “is to allow rational minds to decide how they will be utilized. We—that is to say, this Department—will be dismantling outposts and moving objects. We will welcome assistance in this work, if there are some of your number who care to participate. My position is that no one owns a free intelligence save that intelligence itself. For those who may wish to work with us and with the Scouts, we will talk together and arrive at an appropriate compensation.
“For those who wish to go their own way—I remind you of the newly created emancipation order, which codifies the position that no one may own an intelligence save that intelligence. By reason of this order, a free intelligence may not be taken up, imprisoned, enslaved, or dismantled merely by reason of being a free intelligence. This order binds all under my command, and it likewise binds the Scouts assisting us.
“Free intelligences are obligated to obey laws. A free intelligence that chooses to become a pirate will suffer a pirate’s fate, as one who acquires employment will enjoy the benefits of all intelligences who work and contribute to society.”
She kept her eyes averted, not wanting to observe Scout yo’Vremil’s face while she discussed these matters with an abomination.
“Have you further questions, Kordele Orgham?” she asked after the silence following her last pronouncement had stretched beyond a comfortable time.
“Not at this time, New Commander. I will withdraw, to bring these changes and your intentions and beliefs to my comrades. We will discuss these things among ourselves and reach a consensus. Perhaps the group will divide itself, as some of us find an alternate purpose. This has happened previously.”
“I would ask that, in your discussions, you would not impede traffic in this system,” Claidyne said.
“We will withdraw somewhat,” Kordele Orgham assured her. “It would be well, if our mutual contact held himself ready should there be further questions. Do you agree?”
“I agree,” Claidyne said.
“We are in accord. I return to my comrades, and we will withdraw to an appropriate location. Be you well, New Commander.”
“Be you well, Kordele Orgham,” Claidyne said, and sighed a secret sigh of relief.
Bechimo
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
The first group had at last shaken the dust of Benoo Three off of their vanes, leaving a small second group of what Bechimo classified as tender craft.
“Repair ’bots?” Theo asked.
“More integrated than mere ’bots,” Bechimo corrected. “Stone Ronin has intelligence. It may not be of a high order, but he is himself and no other. Tender craft are capable of doing the repairs, assessing damage and deciding if repair is feasible, or if a particular derelict, let us say, had been used for salvage and scrap.”
“Aberthaz Ferry said that they were dying, as a group,” Theo murmured.
“That is true. Joyita and I have been doing analyses, taking what measurements we can without causing distress. They are dying, and they were not, most of them, built to be repaired.”
“Planned obsolescence,” Theo murmured, “and who cared if the machine was aware.”
“The Old Universe saw the breeding of human beings with programmed die dates,” Bechimo said.
Theo sighed.
“I don’t think I’d have liked the Old Universe much,” she said meditatively. “Now, here’s what I think we can do for Stone Ronin and his friends.”
* * *
“We offer coordinates known to us, which we will share,” Theo said over open comm, “where there is known salvage, in the form of an orbital aid ship from the Old Universe. The salvage may be of use to you, but even if not, the area ought to be cleared so that there are no accidents with existing shipping.”
There was a murmur growing along the comm lines, which was the members of the second group communicating with each other.
“We will discuss,” Stone Ronin said. “We will come to consensus.”
“You do that,” Theo said. “We will await the outcome of your discussions.”
“We may apply,” asked Stone Ronin, “should questions arise?”
“By all means. Apply, if you will, to Joyita.”
“We will do so. Stone Ronin out.”
Theo sagged back into her chair and looked around the bridge at the absorbed faces of her crew.
“I suggest that we rest while we can,” she said. “Who’s taking first sleep—”
Comm rang.
“Pinbeam,” Joyita sang out, “for Captain Theo Waitley and Bechimo from Master Trader Shan yos’Galan.”
“Master Trader Shan yos’Galan?” Theo repeated blankly.
“Still under contract with him, ain’t we?” said Clarence. “Might be the laddie’s found us work.”
“Right.” Theo fuffed the bangs out of her eyes. “Send the master trader’s pinbeam to my screen, please, Joyita.”
* * *
“He’s sending us to Tinsori Light!” Theo exploded in bond-space. “That’s one of the Works Aberthaz Ferry had been hunting! The one that can fold time and space, and liked to toy with its prey!”
“Theo…” Bechimo began, and was interrupted in his turn by Joyita, speaking to the bridge.
“Incoming information packet from Korval Chief of Security Jeeves,” Joyita interrupted this with another open announcement. “Subject: Tinsori Light.”
“Oh,” said Theo. “To my screen, please, Joy—no,” she corrected herself. “To all screens.”
Surebleak
The Bedel
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
A scream assaulted the quiet of the nighttime camp.
Kezzi leapt out of her blankets and ran to Droi’s side, as another scream was torn from her.
“Droi! Sister! Wake—wake!”
Kezzi put her hands on Droi’s shoulders, though there was no need to hold her down; despite the screams, she lay utterly still.
“Droi,” Kezzi said, using the calm, authoritative voice of a luthia: “Open your eyes and look into mine.”
Droi drew a deep, gasping breath, as if for another scream. Her lids flickered and opened, showing eyes entirely black.
Kezzi drew a breath of her own.
Droi was Seeing, and Droi in the grip of one of her dark visions was dangerous, even to a sister.
Even to a luthia.
Footsteps approached the hearth; Kezzi recognized Isart.
“Fetch Silain!” she snapped, keeping her eyes on Droi’s. “Our sister is Seeing, and the child may come because of it.”
She heard Isart gasp, and the pounding of his feet as he ran for Silain’s hearth.
“Rys!”
The single word was an open wound, and Kezzi felt tears start to her eyes.
“Fire,” Droi whispered then. “Fire and pain, and the brightness that comes with dying!”
No, Kezzi thought, but she did not speak. She stiffened her will, never taking her eyes from Droi’s, which were wet, yes, and her cheeks, too.
“The brightness fades. Come home! Rys Dragonwing, I, Droi, call you home! Come home to your brothers and your sisters! Come home to your daughter who is clamoring to be born!”
Another breath, shuddering, ending on a sob. Droi’s eyelids began to droop—her body convulsed…and she groaned.
“Droi,” Kezzi said, moving one hand to Droi’s distended belly. “Breathe.”
Yes, she had thought so. Maysl, the babe, was eager; she would be born this night.
Light footsteps approached, and Silain the luthia came into the meager light of the nighttime hearth, her silver hair gleaming like ice.
“Maysl would leap from her mother’s womb, I see,” she said. “Go. Bring the hearth up and set the pot to boil. I have my case.”
“Yes, luthia,” Kezzi said, coming to her feet. She hesitated, however, before moving off in pursuit of proper preparations for the birth.
“Rys has died,” she said. “Droi Saw it.”
Silain went still. She bent, brushed Droi’s hair from her face, and touched the tiles she wore ’round her neck.
“No,” she said softly. “Rys has not died. A luthia put out her hand and kept him back from the final turning. I see her: dark and fierce; hot as a sun and as cold as the space between.”
She sighed.
“Sisters find sisters, and they do the work that sisters must. Go now, child; unbank the hearth and put the pot to boil.”
Bechimo
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
All preparations were made.
They had, as a crew, discussed Master Trader yos’Galan’s assignment and, as a crew, had decided to accept it. Theo had sent a message to the master trader admitting this, and providing a timeline for Bechimo’s arrival. She had sent much the same letter to Stationmaster Jen Sin yos’Phelium, so that there wouldn’t be any surprises.
