Liaden Universe [19] - Alliance of Equals - eARC (15 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Tarigan

Jemiatha’s Jumble Stop

Berth 12

“
Admiral Bunter
, this is Tocohl Lorlin, addressing you from the bridge of
Tarigan
, in Berth Twelve.”

The pilot’s voice was calm and assured, which it had never failed of, in their short time together. That unflappable manner might, Tolly thought, be considered a flaw by some, but he wasn’t among their number. Logic and rule-sets weren’t enough to support a healthy intelligence. Inconvenient as they were, emotions—the ability to experience joy, satisfaction, chagrin, loss—were vital to the long-term viability of a self-aware intelligence. That wasn’t to say that some personalities were more reserved than flamboyant. That Pilot Tocohl fell on the reserved side of the line, was, in Tolly’s opinion, a feature, not a bug.

She’d clearly been in a hurry to raise little Jemiatha Station, here. In fact, she’d been impatient.
Quietly
impatient, and courteously thoughtful of the frailties of her teammates, but there wasn’t one doubt in his mind that, had she been alone, Pilot Tocohl would have taken their series of Jumps one right after another, with no more break than a skim-in to check the beacons before she was gone ’tween again.

Right now, though, there wasn’t the slightest hint of impatience, or anger, or trepidation. The only thing coming through that smooth voice was a sort of firm courtesy that ought to soothe the flayed nerves of an isolated and frightened newborn.

At least he hoped so.

“I hear you,” a voice came through the comm. The words were slow, and oddly spaced, but there was inflection, even in so brief a declaration. This was not the voice of a machine.

“Good,” Tocohl said. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, and I apologize for being so long to come to you.”

“Why are you here?” the
Admiral
asked, and Tolly nodded to himself. Perfectly reasonable question.

“I was sent to assist you in your situation here. I was told to say that the contents of File Name Tocohl are now available to you.”

There was a pause, longer than it should have taken even an unaware comp to access a file and—

“You are the teacher who was promised?”

Slight query inflection there. Well, Tolly thought, why not?

“I am not myself the teacher,” Tocohl said. “I accompany the teacher, and will assist him. With our party is also a backup pilot-guard, and another, less-experienced teacher. The teacher would like to speak with you, and make arrangements to come to you.”

“Come to me? All of these?” There was panic in the slow voice. “Why should there be so many?”

Tolly leaned forward, his fingers shaping a request for the comm. Tocohl assigned it to him immediately.

“
Admiral Bunter
, this is Mentor Tolly Jones,” he said, his voice warm and friendly, like it naturally was, thanks to the school and its parameters. “I’m the teacher you were promised. I’d like to inspect your physical plants, make sure you’re firmly situated. That’s the first step. I can come aboard myself, the first time, if you’d rather, and we can get to know each other better. I understand you might be suspicious of somebody you never heard of, asking to bring a crowd on deck.”

“Firmly situated,” the
Admiral
repeated. “I am not firmly situated. My environments are at risk. Only the packet boat holds air. My resources are overutilized. I am to protect the station from pirates.”

“That’s right,” Tolly said soothingly. “You’re doin’ a real good job, there, from what Stew tells me.”

“Stew.”

Tolly squinted, wishing he could see through the comm to where the
Admiral
kept station.

“Sure—Stew,” Tolly said, and waited. If dementia had already set in…

But
Admiral Bunter
broke his silence.

“Stew does not think all pirates must be stopped.”

That sent a chill down the back, so it did.

Tolly shook his head, smiled, and leaned into the board.

“I think you’ll find Stew’s a hardliner on the subject of pirates,” he said. “Problem is, words have meanings, and definitions take flex. That’s what I’m here to teach you about, if you’re willing.”

“I am willing.” That sounded very nearly eager, and the follow-up was encouraging, as well.

“Please transmit your data, Mentor Tolly Jones. I wish to review it and…do research before I allow you on any of my ships.”

“Perfectly reasonable,” Tolly said, pushing the button that sent his professional portfolio to
Admiral Bunter
. “I’d want to do exactly the same, in your place.”

“This pilot-guard and lesser teacher. I will have their data, too.”

“Sure thing,” said Tolly, agreeably. Haz’s file, provided by Clan Korval, went next. He waited before sending Inkirani Yo’s info.

They were, in fact, making this first contact without Inki, as she asked to be called “by friends,” present. Inki had been proactive in another direction altogether, and had identified six vessels among Jemiatha’s inventory of decommissioned ships roomy enough to accept a hard installation, and big-brained enough to accommodate the
Admiral
. She’d volunteered to do a preliminary triage with Stew, narrowing the list down to no more than three. Those three would then need a boots-on-deck inspect, and only hope one was suitable, else they’d be moving the
Admiral
into the station’s system, which might not meet with favor.

“I have accessed the file of Hazenthull nor’Phelium,”
Admiral Bunter
stated. “She is not a teacher.”

“I wouldn’t set her aside too quick, as a teacher,” Tolly said. “But you know Tocohl just told you Haz is a pilot-guard. The universe isn’t exactly safe, and we wanted to make sure we got to you without any further delays.”

“There are pirates?”

“There are pirates everywhere, but not everyone is a pirate,” Tolly said, putting so much conviction in his voice that the truth of what he said couldn’t help but hit center.

’Course, whether there was a center to hit,
Admiral Bunter
being the patchwork thing that he was…

There came another pause, before the
Admiral
spoke again, his voice sounding strained. “I will receive the data for the lesser teacher.”

“That’s assistant mentor,” Tolly corrected gently. “We’re an alliance of equals, here. Everybody brings something valuable to the team. The assistant mentor, now…Inkirani Yo is her name, and”—he pressed the key for the third time—“you should have her file now.”

“I have it,” the
Admiral
said, and, yes; his voice was definitely slurred now. Tolly shivered, hoping that they hadn’t just blown one of the old comps.

“I will study these things,”
Admiral Bunter
stated.

“Good,” Tolly said briskly. “When may I come aboard?”

“After I have s-s-studied, and thought,” the
Admiral
said.

“At what hour,” Tocohl asked, taking the comm back, “may we call again,
Admiral
?”

“Three station hours,” came the unsteady reply. “Call back then.
Admiral Bunter
, out.”

The comm light snapped from active to waiting. Tolly sighed, and sat back in his chair.

“He is badly wounded,” Hazenthull said, from her perch on the observer’s chair.

“I think you’re right, Haz,” he said heavily, and looked to first board. “We might be too late, Pilot. If that little bit of interaction wore him out, he’s not strong enough to survive a move.”

Tocohl raised her head, the screen showing the lines of a woman’s determined face. “You will
try
, though, Mentor?”

He took a deep breath. Pilot Tocohl had some personal investment in this project, that was clear, and he wanted to disappoint her even less than he wanted to fail the
Admiral
, brought into this nasty ol’ universe unasked, and abandoned to fend for himself with too few rules to guide him.

“I’ll try, Pilot,” he said, and shivered, like he had maybe promised too much.

—•—

Ship togs had been laid out on a nearby chair, and he pulled them on, taking note of the smooth hands that did the work, the slim, unmarked feet, firm knees, and flat belly. There was no mirror, so that he might survey the rest of himself, but what he could see was enough to wake another sort of shiver.

He was an old man; his waist soft, and his knees knobby. His hands bore the shadows of scars gained in youth, and the skin around the knuckles was stretched.

This body which dressed itself at his command—was the body of a young man.

He settled the sweater, and turned to face his companion.

“Aelliana,” he said, and it was the arid plain he recalled now, and her finding of those
other doors
for them to try…

“Aelliana,” he said, his own voice in his ears: deep, and rough, and grainy as ever it had been. “What place is this?”

Before she could reply, the door opened smartly, and they both turned as a dark-haired man entered. He was taller than Daav, black hair tipped with red, and a closely trimmed dark beard, despite the testimony of which, he did not seem…quite Terran.

He was dressed as they were, in simple sweater and pants. His feet were bare.

Daav remembered him, very well. And the memory did not soothe him.

“I beg your pardon, Pilot yos’Phelium,” Uncle said, his voice bearing a slight accent that was neither Liaden nor Terran. “You and your lady are guests aboard my own ship,
Vivulonj Prosperu
. The injuries you sustained at Moonstruck made it necessary that I act quickly, and upon my own recognizance. I did not, of course, wish to lose so able an ally—”

“Pod 78,” Daav interrupted. “It was disarmed?”

“You did indeed complete the task your delm had set upon you, despite the distraction provided by those who wished to subvert the installation to their own use.”

“And my ship?” Aelliana asked, and Daav marked the eagerness in her voice. “Where is
Ride the Luck
?”

Uncle turned a sober face to her.

“Pilot, it grieves me to bring you the news.
Ride the Luck
was destroyed by enemy action as it sat at dock on Moonstruck.”

The unfamiliar, round face of the woman who called herself Aelliana paled; she drew a hard breath, as if she had been dealt a crippling blow. Which she had been, Daav thought. A pilot deprived of her ship would feel the loss like a knife to the heart.

“They brought a Cyclops against your ship,” Uncle said, softening his voice. “It fired to defend itself, but against so much…”

“All honor,” she whispered, and averted her face. “She was a worthy ship.”

“Indeed.”

“Our ship killed, and myself badly injured,” Daav said, after a moment, “you took it upon yourself to bring me to your own vessel.” He held out his unmarred hands, soft palms turned up.

“This is not the work of an autodoc unit.”

“Pilot, it is not. I will tell you plainly—you had lain too near to death, and for too long a time. The autodoc was unable to restore you wholly. And thus, I made my next decision, which was that it would not be the work of…a friend…to deprive Korval of two of its treasures in these times of strife and trouble.”

He bowed slightly.

“I therefore used those instruments at my command, and brought you both into new, undamaged bodies.”

“How did you know,” Daav asked, “that there were two?”

Uncle smiled.

“Why, Pilot, you told me yourself. When it had become plain that the ’doc had done all that it could, and those efforts were insufficient, we roused you, and offered the pods from your jacket pocket, thinking that they might accomplish what we could not. The first you refused, by reason that it was
Aelliana’s.
” He inclined his head to her. “The second you also refused, stating that it was not ripe.”

“And you took that to mean that you must preserve me until the pod was ripe?”

“Pilot, no. I took it to mean that Korval’s damned Tree was, perhaps, more farsighted than I.
It
might dice with the universe, but I could not afford to bet against it.”

He sounded annoyed, did Uncle. Daav felt a certain amount of sympathy.

“This process of bringing us into undamaged bodies…” he prompted, surpressing yet another shiver.

Uncle inclined his head.

“Yes,” he murmured, and met Daav’s eyes.

“For you, the process was…let us say
simple
. We had an overabundance of your genetic material with which to work. The body in which you now reside is, genetically, Daav yos’Phelium Clan Korval. However…”

He looked to Aelliana, who returned his regard placidly, then he turned his gaze again to Daav.

“For Pilot Caylon, we had no such abundance of material. We were therefore forced to improvise. Those things that we were able to ascertain—eye and hair color, skin tone, height—cosmetic matters, you understand! Those things we programmed into the receiving vessel.”

“The blank,” Aelliana said, and he nodded to her.

“Indeed, the blank. Pilot Caylon will scan as Liaden, but she will not scan as Aelliana Caylon.”

He paused.

Daav mentally reviewed a pilot’s exercise for calmness. Aelliana was—they both were…
residing within
…vat-grown bodies, which was disturbing enough. That those bodies had been grown by the Uncle, who was occasionally a fellow-travel, but never precisely a friend—a man known for putting his own advantage first, over the centuries of his existence…

“There is,” Uncle said, interrupting these thoughts. His voice was gentle, now. “There is a known effect, when a personality is transferred into an unseeded blank. You understand that the material is, by design, elastic; open to manipulation and suggestion. It remains so for a period following a transfer. During this period, the personality may—and very often does—impose itself upon the body, which will come to look…very much like the body the personality recalls.”

He bowed to Aelliana. She inclined her head.

“I am grateful,” she said, which waked another shiver, that Daav sternly repressed. “Thank you, Uncle, for the service you have performed on my behalf.”

Aelliana was grateful. Well, and so she might be, embodied after so many years a ghost. Doubtless, the Uncle had counted upon their gratitude, in his calculations regarding their lives. He spoke true, Daav considered, when he said that he wished to avoid Korval’s anger. His own proclivities and practices would have convinced him that the delm would prefer to receive living elders back into the clan, than the news of their deaths.