Revolution's Shore (24 page)

Lily nodded. “Think about it. Say it's true, that long ago colonists from the old planets—what they call League space now—traveled out here and lost the way to get back. That later the highroad fleet, just a few ships, stumbled onto colonized Reft space, and that the government impounded most of them, but this one wanted to go back, and got lost—”

“Sure,” interposed Paisley. “It be ya punishment for trying to get back over ya way when it weren't meant yet.”

“Paisley.” Lily sighed. “Maybe it just happened. They lost their nav functions, or got vectored wrong by a miscalculation or—I don't know—there are gas clouds and solar flares and I don't know what else that can throw a system off. And somehow ended up lost and drifting, and abandoned ship.”

“Or all died, and ya corpses be still haunting on board,” muttered Paisley darkly. “Sure, and they be wanting ya companions on ya bleak way, waiting out ya belly down day till Jehane come tae lead them back.”

“But Jehane
has
come,” said Lily, abruptly giving up cold logic for the warmer climes of legend. “We're part of his forces. We're the ones who stumbled on this ship after so much time. Don't you think it's time we took it back, to help Jehane take ya people back over the way to Tirra-li?”

“Sure,” breathed Paisley, rapt in the sudden illumination of her great prophecy, “and glory. I never thought of that.” She stood up. “We mun go, then.”

“Hoy,” murmured Lily to herself, an exhalation of breath. “I want you to go help Blumoris. You've got to see what you can do with these engines.”

Paisley made an expressive face. “He smells,” she said succinctly.

Lily laughed. “I think he'd be surprised to hear you say that.”

“Sure. But it more likely he says that 'bout us tattoos.”

Lily rested a hand, briefly, on Paisley's shoulder. “Yes, I expect it is. Just remember that he comes from a very—ah—limited background.”

“Be it so,” murmured Paisley with a skeptical frown, “though at least he knows no better. It be ya cruel o' Finch to say ya low words about tattoos when he knows how sore sad it makes Pinto feel. A'course,” she finished, looking thoughtful, “that be certain sure why he says it.”

“You can't judge everyone by Finch,” said Lily hastily, feeling both protective and angry over Finch at the same time.

“Nay.” Paisley lifted a finger and traced, unconsciously perhaps, one of the curling figures that decorated her face. Like Pinto, all her gestures held an inherent grace that accentuated her beauty. It was, Lily thought idly, some trick of fate that had thrown two Ridanis of such particular and unusually striking looks together. “I reckon,” continued Paisley in a considering tone, “that your min Hawk be from over ya way, bain't he?”

“What makes you say that?”

“He be different. And ya blue hair. And anyway,” and now Paisley's voice took on the accents of a proven argument, “he be ya only one o' all o' you, even you, begging pardon, min Heredes—and excepting min Bach, being as he be ya 'bot—as treats us Ridanis absolute no different than ya others. Bain't no one
I
ever met done so, 'cept him.”

“Well, and say it's so, for the sake of argument. Then that means there is a way back, doesn't it?”

“Sure,” agreed Paisley cheerfully, “but he be
ya
strange, be min Hawk. So sometime I reckon we be better off here anyhow.”

Lily chuckled. “We'll leave it as a theory. Promise me not to mention it to anyone.”

“You don't reckon they guessed it for theyselves?”

“Well, then, just wait until they ask you.”

“Ah,” said Paisley wisely, and confined herself to that comment.

Lily left her in the huge, and confusing, engineering hall with an ecstatic Blumoris, and made her way to Medical.

Comrade Wei was awake, looking haggard but optimistic. Finch had managed to find her a mobile chair, so Lily sent her, with the Ridani soldier Diamond, off to gold deck to see what sense she could make of the computer and tac centers.

Rainbow stood at the foot of a stasis couch, looking solemn. Finch examined Kyosti with prim reluctance and pronounced his condition unchanged, and unchangeable.

“Look at those stats,” he said, pointing to the readout above the couch. “I got him transferred to this couch, figuring it was better than that makeshift business we had him in before. I even got most of the functions to work. This ship is remarkably well designed. All the systems follow along logically from your entry points, and—”

“What about the stats?” Lily asked sharply.

“Oh.” Finch shrugged. “They're all skewed. Somehow I just haven't got that functioning properly. It'll take some time, working with it.”

Lily frowned. “I think we're better off with you on com on the bridge, for now. Learn the system as well as you can in the next four hours, and then I'll send Lia up for a quick survey of it so that she can relieve you when necessary.”

“What about—
him
?”

On the couch, Kyosti looked not so much asleep as closed in, as if his essence had been pulled tight in around and into himself.

Lily said nothing for a moment, gazing at him, at the sheen of paleness underlying the bronze tone of his skin. “Our first priority has to be to get out of this system, to find Jehane's fleet and report this disaster. And anyway, what more can we do?” She looked at Finch as if daring him to say that he had deliberately not done as much as he could to bring Kyosti back, but he merely ducked his head and backed away from her.

“I'll get back to the bridge, then,” he said, and left.

“I can stay and watch him,” said Rainbow unexpectedly. “Be I've got ya bit o' medic training—not as makes ya real difference, mind you, but I can tell ya clean bandage and ya signs o' distress, or if he be coming round.” She paused, went on in a lower, more deferential voice. “Min Hawk; he be ya fair to us Ridanis.”

“Thank you,” said Lily. She motioned to the other Ridani soldier, Cursive. “I want you to find comrade Seria and send her to the bridge. Then continue with Gregori to familiarize yourself with the layout of the ship. We're going to need to know this boat backward and forward. Take a verbal log as you go.”

Cursive nodded. He followed Lily out, separating off from her outside Medical. Lily, on her way to gold deck, got lost once, but she forced herself to patiently retrace and reroute her path until she found one of the elevators. It brought her to gold deck, where she found Yehoshua loitering in the corridor. He looked up, hearing the quiet fall of her feet on the soft flooring.

“Comrade,” he said, formal. “I would like permission to bury my cousin. I think he would have wished this kind of—solitude.”

The words brought her up short. “Yehoshua. Comrade
Officer
Yehoshua.” It was not the nature of the request, but the request itself that stunned her. “You outrank me. You don't have to ask
me
.”

In the softening glow of the golden walls, she saw that he had aged in these few days. The stark white lines, the legacy of his years of hard work in deep-space asteroid mining, showed more sharply on his face than before. Streaks of gray sprayed a fine mist of silver across his black hair.

“I don't want charge of this expedition,” he said curtly. He paused, mulling over the words, and started again. “You were being trained by Callioux for ship's command. My rank is purely soldiering—and by that measure, on this ship, you outrank me. It's in your hands, comrade.”

“Hoy,” Lily muttered. “I need to go sit down.”

A brief smile curved Yehoshua's lips, perhaps sympathy, perhaps the merest distracted response. “And my request?”

She shook her head, wanting for the moment to be free of him, to consider what she had to do now. “Do you want any company?”

A slight, negative shake of his head. “I would prefer to be alone, with your permission.”

“Then granted.” He began to walk away. “Wait,” she added. “Who is monitoring life support?”

“The 'bot,” he said with another wisp of a smile. “He seems to have the system well in hand.”

Motionless, she waited until he vanished into the elevator before she took slow steps toward the bridge, as if by delaying her entrance she could somehow put off the moment when she had to face squarely that
she
was responsible for this tiny, fugitive crew, stranded on a ghost ship in enemy territory.

Well? she thought, lifting her hand, pausing before she set it on the panel that would trigger the door mechanism, and send her, all retreat impossible, into the bridge. What would Heredes have said?

She smiled. Heredes, at least, never let circumstances throw him off-balance. Always maintain your stance, and stay centered. Wasn't that the first thing she had learned? And yet one never stopped learning to deepen that center.

With the briefest of touches, she opened the door and entered the bridge.

Finch glanced up at her as she paused beside the captain's chair. “I think I can bring up the in-ship com now.”

“Let me see.”

He explained the basics to her. She watched him engage the system and begin calling through the ship. As surprised responses filtered back, she went over to Bach. The robot was singing happily, deep into the life support systems, which he proclaimed in glorious counterpoint to be working perfectly as he brought each one out of manual call-up and into auto-function. Lily shook her head and walked across to weapons.

She spent some time with Nguyen, puzzling through the array of screens, and finally recommended he bring Bach over once the robot had finished engaging all full-support systems.

Last, and most apprehensively, she crossed to stand between pilot and nav stations. Seeing her, Pinto peeled back the stillstrap and stretched his arms and legs. He looked tired.

“Well?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Just like any other boat. If this really is the last of the old highroad fleet, this harness is the model on which every Reft spacer is built. If I had to make a comparison, I'd say that the vectoring alignments are a little more fluid here—not a problem for me, but a less accurate pilot might slide too far and miss their angle.” In the chair, and despite the profusion of tattoos covering every millimeter of exposed skin that under any other circumstances of birth would have proscribed him from entering such a prestigious profession, he looked relaxed and completely at home.

“Pinto,” she asked abruptly, but quietly, “why did you decide to become a pilot?”

He considered her, his expression turning suddenly caustic. “Why do you think? A deep-seated hunger for freedom from that part of my heritage that has marked me for life.” He lifted a slender hand to touch the geometric patterns that defined and accentuated the lines of his face.

“Pinto,” said Lily drily, “your martyrdom has long since ceased to make me feel uncomfortable. Most people go into piloting because they score very high on those particular aptitude tests.”

“Do you suppose that anyone bothered to give
me
aptitude tests?”

“I don't know. I always thought that was the one profession that didn't allow exceptions.”

Pinto levered himself out of the chair and stood with one hand resting on the blank panel that separated pilot's nest from the nav bank.

He smiled, still caustic. “That's right, and I got the highest scores they'd seen in a generation. Now, if I may, I'd like to go off-shift.”

Lily nodded slowly. “Take four hours. We'll do a complete status check then.”

He left, and she turned to the nav banks. The Mule was busy, keying in numbers, testing screens and logistics, all with a studied air of ignoring what took place just beyond its shoulders. Lily watched it for a while.

“You seem comfortable here,” she said finally. “And you certainly seem to be taking well to the system.”

The Mule stopped and carefully turned to give Lily the benefit of its full attention. It wrinkled up its muzzle in what she recognized as a sta-ish grimace of approval: not a smile as humans might know it, being both more comprehensive of approval and less specific of humor.

“I thank you,” said the Mule, surprising her. “For giving me this opportunity. I have long wished to invest my talents where they are best utilized. Before now, I have only had intermittent opportunities to be allowed at nav. And this system!” Its crest lifted and subsided at some emotion she could not name. “A pleasure. Simply a pleasure. Clearly made for the less agile human abilities and yet curiously without the rigid framework necessary to sta calculation and implementation. For instance, the preliminary
ought
calc function—”

Lily stood stunned by this uncharacteristic effusion. Fortunately the Mule seemed oblivious to her speechlessness and continued with great vigor of expression and tone to illustrate the details of the system to her. She was further amazed by how much it had dissected of the nav bank in so short a time, but she thought it prudent not to interrupt, even for praise.

Eventually, the Mule paused, fingers splayed across a monitor, half-hiding the scroll of numbers that coursed along underneath. That is the basic system. I fear that to one untrained in navigation the rest of the bank might seem inexplicable.”

“I think it might.” Lily allowed herself a brief smile. Some instinct for the Mule's uncertain temper made her keep her voice neutral. “You seem well in control here. We'll do a status check interlinking all systems in four hours.”

The Mule nodded, a little absently, already engrossed in a new set of functions coming up on the monitor.

Lily turned away and saw Finch regarding her. He followed her as she walked to the door of the bridge, where she paused, looking at him expectantly.

He glanced at the Mule across the long width of the bridge. “How did he get to be a pilot?” he asked in a low voice. “That tattoo?”