Accepting the Lance, page 34
part #22 of Liaden Universe Series
The crew had also reviewed the report and other documents prepared for Portmaster Liu, and found them good. Theo had read them one more time, then gave Joyita the okay to send them on, as agreed.
She then stopped by the galley to make herself a cup of tea and retired to her quarters, theoretically to rest.
It occurred to her then that there was one more letter she ought to send before they left Daiellen System.
She therefore sat at her desk and wrote a private message to her brother Val Con, bringing him up to date in short form, recommending him to Jeeves for details and—after another moment’s thought—hoped to see him, Miri, and Lizzie again very soon.
On reading it over, she realized she had left out one very important detail, added a postscript—The Pathfinders have signed onto Bechimo as crew. Jeeves helped Joyita with the paperwork—put it under her private seal and sent it.
She sat for a few minutes then, nursing her tea, and thinking over the events of the last while. Eventually, she sighed and shook her head.
“Theo,” Bechimo asked in bond-space, “are you…dismayed by this new assignment? I think we are well suited to bring disparate minds and philosophies together, to the benefit of all. The recent event here with the Assembled has proven our worth.”
“That’s exactly what’s bothering me,” Theo said. “Does it seem to you like…almost like the situation with the Assembled was a tutorial for our next assignment?”
There was a pause.
“Certainly, it was a refresher in the sense that the circumstances recalled to us skills we had already mastered, though in different contexts.”
“All right,” said Theo. “I’ll accept that, if you’ll accept this: The entire invasion was only an opportunity to sharpen skills we already had and which would be needed at Tinsori Light.”
Another pause.
“You’re speaking of causality?”
“I’m speaking,” Theo said bitterly, “of Korval’s Luck! It…it gambled a world—a whole system!—on us. So we could have a lesson.”
“I disagree,” said Bechimo, “for the reason that Korval’s Luck, stipulated that it exists, does not rule the actions of everyone and everything in the universe. Somewhere, someone did issue incorrect orders to the Assembled. That we were in place to confront them and give them a protocol with which to review and reexamine those orders—was fortunate. Lucky. The outcome was good, for Surebleak, which certainly benefits Clan Korval. But Clan Korval would have been no worse off if the Assembled had not arrived at all.”
Theo fuffed her hair out of her eyes.
“I think you’re playing semantics.”
“Perhaps,” Bechimo said. “Would you care to play again later?”
Theo frowned.
“Why?”
“Because it’s time for you to go to the bridge.”
* * *
The coords were laid in. Crew sat their stations, the countdown had started.
Theo was sitting first board; Kara second. Hevelin was covering scans with Win Ton. The mood on the bridge was…light…even excited. An aroma of mint and bergamot wafted from the air circulators, by which Theo gathered their Tree was excited, too.
“Incoming message,” Joyita said suddenly. “Surebleak Portmaster’s wrap. To Captain Waitley and Ship Bechimo.”
“My screen four, please, Joyita,” Theo said.
Glancing down, she scanned the text—then read it again, more slowly.
“Bechimo,” she said in bond-space, “do you confirm the content of this message?”
“I do,” he said. “We are free to fly. We have no constraints upon us, nor shame recorded on our records.”
Theo cleared her throat. “Joyita, put me on all-ship, please.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Everyone, a message from Surebleak Portmaster just caught us. The grava citaĵo have been removed from ship and captain. Our honor is intact, and we are free to fly!”
Cheers on the bridge. Cheers over comm.
The board chimed, and Theo grinned.
They were still cheering when Bechimo took them into Jump.
Jelaza Kazone
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
“What occupies the Road Boss today?” Val Con asked, as he and Miri walked toward the front door and the car waiting to take her to port.
“Believe it or don’t, there’s an actual scheduled meeting between the Road Boss and a snow removal team. Cheever’s setting it up at FlourPower for us.”
“Why not the office?”
“They’ll be on their lunch break is what I’m guessing, and the port’s a thought too far, if they wanna say anything past ‘Hey, Boss’ before they gotta leave to be back on time.”
“Point conceded. What is their topic? That they have decided not to use the equipment we provided?”
“No, no. They’re giving the remove-alls, like they call them, a shot. Got three of ’em on the job is the last I heard from the crew boss, in three separate zones. They’re kinda testing, do they do as good a job or better—though they don’t like to talk about that—as the hand shovelers. We’re promised a full report at winter end.”
They paused in the foyer. Val Con took her heavy coat off of its hook and held it out for her. She slipped her arms into the sleeves, shrugged it on, and sealed it up.
“Thanks.”
“It is,” he told her sincerely, “my pleasure. You may want your hat.”
She glanced at the screen that displayed the weather outside the front door.
“Nice lookin’ little snowstorm,” she said, taking the hat off its peg and pulling it over her ears.
“Do you think your meeting will be canceled?”
“Less likely now,” Miri said, pulling on her gloves. “Problem seems to be they’re running outta room in the snow dumps. Got a couple proposed sites for one more, which they insist I gotta consider. All I’m gonna do is bump it out to the survey office, to be sure we won’t be creating any problems, but the shovelers’ team made the contract with the Road Boss and they’re determined to talk to the Road Boss about the glitch in the system.”
She gave him a sincere look out of too-round eyes. “Last I heard, we wanna be encouraging people to honor the contracts.”
“Indeed we do,” Val Con said fervently. “We shall hold them up as exemplary citizens.”
“Don’t know as how they’ll be so happy about that,” Miri said thoughtfully. “Maybe just let ’em lead by doin’.”
She stretched on her toes; he embraced her as well as he was able through the coat—then he was opening the door, and she was ducking into the back seat of the car, Nelirikk saluting before he slid into the driver’s slot.
Despite the swirling snow, Val Con leaned in the doorway, watching the car until it was lost in a downburst of white.
Well. Obviously, it was time for the delm of Korval to forsake his laggard ways and go to work.
He walked down the hall toward his office. He supposed he should be gratified that the weather satellites put into orbit by Mr. Brunner were behaving so well. The present snowstorm had been predicted with truly commendable accuracy. It was interesting, too, the reaction of the various planetary subcultures to this feat of science.
The native Surebleakeans had been…kind. Surely, it was a great thing the Weatherman had done. Well, look at that, pinned the arrival of the first snowflake right on the nose. Yessir, sure something when a man could work out such a system.
They had then gone about their usual business, the saying on Surebleak being: Stop for snow, and you’ll never start up again.
The émigré populations reacted variously with appreciation…and complaint—the complaint, being reserved for the weather, often carrying a wish that the Weatherman would hurry along with getting the mirrors tuned, so that the damned planet might aspire to a decent springtime. Some attempted to emulate their native-born neighbors and carry on, despite the weather; others merely stayed in until the worst was done with.
The Road Boss, naturally enough, opened the office on a snowy day, it being one very clear way to demonstrate that the Port Road was open, and the contract with the people of Surebleak was being honored.
He entered the delm’s office, glancing downroom to the window. It was snowing…slightly less intensely in the garden, he noted, not really surprised.
“Good morning, Jeeves,” he said, moving toward the buffet. “Is there anything I should know?”
“Good morning, Master Val Con. The Assembled have departed Daiellen System in two groups. Group One had as its purpose a return to Daglyte Seam to engage with the Commander there.”
Val Con paused, mug in hand. “Who holds Daglyte Seam?”
“Claidyne holds as Transitional Commander. Bon Vit and Sye Mon are also in-system, as support.”
“Excellent.”
“I have reports of Scout ships in-system as well. Strategist yo’Vremil is meeting with Transitional Commander Claidyne.”
“Scout yo’Vremil has an excellent reputation as a reasonable and practical person. He and Claidyne ought to deal extremely well, once he gets over his pique at having lost the tempo.”
He filled his mug with tea and crossed to the desk, which was, amazingly, cat-free. Checking to be certain that the chair was likewise unburdened, he sat.
“What of the second group?”
“After lengthy consultation with Captain Waitley and Bechimo, the second group has accepted the suggestion that they depart to certain coordinates provided by Bechimo, in order to undertake a salvage operation on Orbital Aid 370, which I understand to be the ship on which the Pathfinders arrived in this universe.”
Val Con frowned slightly.
“Do those coordinates continue to exist, I wonder? Given the recent upheaval in universal states, that is.”
“Bechimo, Captain Waitley and I have done the calculations individually, each checking their work against the others. The probability is over ninety-nine percent that the space described by the coordinates does still exist. The probability that Orbital Aid still exists is somewhat lower, but there ought at least to be trace elements and shred. It will be in the best interests of all, to gather what remains.”
“Indeed. Forgive me—these departures…are they of recent occurrence? I wonder, for instance, when the first group might achieve its destination.”
“Group One will be acquiring Daglyte Seam very soon, if they have not arrived during the lag between Bon Vit’s last message and his next. Group Two departed Surebleak space only twelve hours ago.”
“I see. Doubtless you had a reason for withholding the happy news that Surebleak no longer stood under the threat of annihilation?”
“Yes, sir. I wished to be certain that the first group was true to its stated intention, and did not suffer…possibly a change of leadership which would once again place Surebleak in peril. Also, there was the second group still to resolve. They are of a laborious habit, sir, and much consultation between Joyita, representing Bechimo, and among themselves was required before they reached consensus.”
“I see. How fare Captain Waitley and Bechimo? Have they resumed their labors on behalf of the portmaster?”
Silence.
Val Con spun his chair around and directed his gaze to that part of the ceiling from which Jeeves’s voice emanated.
“Jeeves. How fare Captain Waitley and Bechimo?”
“Bechimo and all aboard enjoy both good spirits and good health,” Jeeves said briskly, with a certain air of having at last found the proper frame in which to place his reply.
“An assignment has arrived from Master Trader yos’Galan, and the crew has been in discussion regarding how they ought best to proceed. A decision has now been reached, and Bechimo is preparing to leave Surebleak orbit, thus honoring their contract with the master trader.”
“This assignment from the master trader is…?” Val Con prompted, reaching for his mug.
“The master trader requires Bechimo to remove to Tinsori Light, and there to be the face of Tree-and-Dragon Trade until such time as the master trader himself arrives. Bechimo and crew will be the resident specialists in Free Ship negotiation.”
There came a brief pause.
Val Con drank tea and waited.
“It is, as I think you will agree, a reasonable assignment and answers the delm’s latest orders to the clan’s master trader in a timely manner.”
“Master Trader yos’Galan is, as always, inventive, and his instincts are, of course, excellent. Captain Waitley’s desertion of the agreement with the port however…Captain Waitley and Bechimo will each be traveling under the grava citaĵos, I think? Or have they spoken with the portmaster regarding their necessities?”
Jeeves…sighed gently.
“I have been in communication with Bechimo. We have, in collaboration with Joyita, built a report, which is now in the hands of Captain Waitley, who is reviewing it with her crew.
“The report not only details Bechimo’s activities on behalf of the planet during the late, aborted invasion, it includes an accounting of the work that was done in Surebleak’s lanes before the arrival of the invasion force, and a map, with coordinates, of other likely areas of accretion of debris. Covering is a letter begging the portmaster’s pardon, attaching Master Trader yos’Galan’s orders and a copy of Bechimo’s contract with Tree-and-Dragon Trade.”
“The letter also asks the portmaster to make what disposition she finds good in the matter of the citations?”
“That,” said Jeeves, “was a difficult point. Captain Waitley felt mentioning the matter at all was…tacky, and in this she was backed by Engineer ven’Arith, Scout yo’Vala, and Comm Officer Joyita.”
“Pilot O’Berin counseled otherwise?”
“Pilot O’Berin recused himself, as did Ambassador Hevelin. The Pathfinders pled an insufficient understanding of local custom.”
“I see.”
“Once the reports have found a final form, and an acceptance from captain and crew, I will forward them to Surebleak Portmaster. Captain Waitley suggests that it might also be beneficial to Bechimo’s case—and to the reception of your field judgment, sir—to forward them also to the Liaden Scouts and the Surebleak Scouts. She does say that she will defer to your judgment on that point, your judgment having proven to be excellent.”
Val Con gave a shout of laughter.
“The child is growing up,” he commented, and rose to go to the buffet and warm his mug.
“Certainly,” he said, “send the documents to the Scouts. Is there else?”
“On another subject, the results of the vote between Boss Conrad and Boss Surebleak are to be announced in three days.”
“So they are,” Val Con said, sitting down once more at his desk. “I wonder who will prevail.”
FlourPower Bakery
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Cheever McFarland winked at Miri when she arrived, hood pulled over hat to cheat the wind-driven snow, at the BrickOff FlourPower Bakery. He was a semiregular, which had made it easy for him to add short-term security stake-out as a side for his lunch of stew and fresh-make biscuits.
Gathering up his bowl and cup, he rose from a table at the back near the big fireplace. Miri moved to claim it for her own, getting that wink as they passed, and sat down with her back against the wall.
Cheever collected nods from this one and that on his way to leave his dishes in the bin to be washed, and a cordial “see ya” from Granita, owner and chief cook, as he headed for the door.
Miri unsealed her coat and flipped the hood back, opting to leave her hat on, mostly covering her giveaway red hair. It wasn’t a secret meeting necessarily. On the other hand, she didn’t particularly want to be recognized. It was nice to get out of the office, she thought, and just sit down for a quiet lunch among those who wanted nothing more than the same.
The door opened, a bell jingling quietly under the noise of people talking. Cheever went out, and Nelirikk came in. He found a place to belly up to the coffee bar, which kept him from having to fold himself double into one of the low tables, and also gave him a fine clear view of the entire room. He got a couple nods himself as he pushed back his hood and unsealed the jacket—poker buddies, Miri thought—and the bartender saying “how-do” in a relaxed sort of way that gave the impression Nelirikk wasn’t an unknown.
Miri glanced around her. FlourPower’d managed to survive a long time under the Old Bosses, and even to thrive. In the main, it was a local place, with just a couple Scout jackets over in the front corner opposite the door. Back in the backest corner, at a single table set square before the small fireplace, was the Hooper himself, concentrating on his lunch and maybe trying out a new tune in his head, judging by the half-focused eyes.
Cheever’d spoken for Miri’s coffee and her lunch on his way out, and here it came, pushed on a skinny cart by Granita herself.
“There y’go now, something warm to keep the snow away,” she said, putting the bowl and the cup on the table, and producing a nod. Granita knew who she was, Miri knew, even if Cheever hadn’t told her. Still, a quiet lunch was a quiet lunch; even the Road Boss deserved that much, so there wasn’t any fuss, nor anything to draw the eye toward the back table, though Granita left the dish cart half blocking the aisle, discouragement to anybody looking to chat up a lone lady.
The stew was worth eating—just like her mother used to make, when they could afford it. Miri had just finished up, and was nursing what was left of her coffee, when the front door opened with that little jingle-bell sound, and three workers in bright green snow capes came on in.
All three of them sighed, pushing back their hoods, just happy for the first couple seconds to be in outta the wind, with the bonus of a temperature above the freeze mark.
They saw Nelirikk first thing and gave him a nod, receiving in return a nod and a lifted chin, directing them to her table in the back.
