Accepting the lance, p.22
Accepting the Lance, page 22
part #22 of Liaden Universe Series
“Like the Pathfinders,” said Theo, and caught her breath.
“Theo? What is wrong?”
“The Pathfinders are from the Old Universe,” she said. “They’re experts in Old Tech—which is their current tech—they have protections in place, in case one or two of this gathering have mind-altering technology working.”
She took a breath and blinked back to the bridge.
“Joyita,” she said, her voice husky, “I have an urgent message. Please send to Jeeves.”
“Recording,” Joyita said promptly.
* * *
The message had been recorded and dispatched. Theo looked ’round at her crew.
“Calling in the professionals can’t be a bad idea,” Clarence said from second board.
“I agree,” said Win Ton, “and I remind the captain, respectfully, that there are Scouts on Surebleak, some of whom are experts on Old Tech.”
“True, but the Scouts were hunting down and decommissioning Old Tech,” Theo said. “If we want to talk them”—she waved a hand toward the screen—“out of destroying Surebleak, it might be better to start with experts who aren’t known murderers.”
Win Ton wrinkled his nose, then nodded.
“Yes,” he said simply.
Theo looked to Kara, who was frowning at her board, Hevelin sitting at ease on her lap, also peering at the screen.
“Any more news from Stone Ronin?”
Kara looked up.
“We’re still downloading files,” she said. “Do you intend to talk to, to”—she used her chin to point at the main screen—“those?”
“Eventually, we’re going to have to,” Theo said. “If their purpose is to kill Surebleak—unless somebody talks them out of it—we seem to be the somebody on the spot.”
She glanced at the main screen; another machine had arrived, to the muted cheers of its fellows.
“What we want to do right now is keep quiet and beneath their scans,” she said. “When the Pathfinders get here, we—”
“Communication incoming,” Joyita said sharply, “from Benoo Three.”
There was a hiss, then a voice, deep and pleasant, speaking Old Yxtrang.
“We see your signature, Quiet Ship. Who are you? Do you guard this system? Who is your general; what are your orders?”
Jelaza Kazone
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
“Master Val Con, we have a situation.”
Val Con paused at the foot of the stairs. He had been on his way to the nursery wing, there to share midmorning tea with Talizea.
“How urgent is this situation, I wonder?”
“It is developing, sir. Briefly, there is amassing by Benoo Three what may be an army of Old Tech, bent on the destruction of Surebleak.”
“A situation, indeed,” Val Con said. “Have you contacted the Scouts?”
“Specifically, we are asked not to contact the Scouts, sir, by the captain on the scene.”
Val Con closed his eyes.
“That would not by chance be Captain Waitley?”
“Of course it is,” said Jeeves chidingly.
After a moment, he added, in a tone of commiseration, “I know you must be disappointed, sir, that it didn’t fall to you.”
He gave a shout of laughter.
“Disappointed does not approach my feelings on the matter. Theo is negotiating with this Old Tech…army?”
“She does have her crew and her ship to support her, sir.”
“That she does. What does fall to me, in the case, then?”
“Captain Waitley has a message she asks me to deliver to the Pathfinders. Pending their decision, she asks that you give them every assistance you might; particularly, she begs for them the use of Spiral Dance.”
That, he admitted, was not completely mad. Indeed, it might be inspired, in the lunatic manner of Korval in general and yos’Phelium in particular. Spiral Dance was as much from the Old Universe as any other Old Tech device. If the Pathfinders arrived in such a ship, it would send a message to the gathering…army. However…
“I recall from the Diaries that Spiral Dance had been built by the Enemy.”
“Yes, sir. The Diaries also state that she never betrayed her pilots.”
“I remember that, too.” He sighed.
“Very well. Deliver Captain Waitley’s message to the Pathfinders, and find me at Spiral Dance.”
“Yes, sir.”
• • • ✴ • • •
Chernak and Stost had lingered together over a second cup of coffee, forming their strategy, listing those skills they might bring into the service of the house aside their abilities as soldiers. For while it was true that they had spent much of their adult lives as soldiers, they had received a training that was both broad and deep. Some of those skills translated very well to this new universe in which they found themselves, others…
“Unless there are those who might bend an unprotected mind to their will in this universe, too,” said Stost. “Have we seen evidence of such?”
“We have not, but we have not traveled far. A universe which allows such a one as Hevelin may very well produce his opposite number.”
“True. So, that will go on our list of strengths. How, if—”
From the hallway, came a rumble—wheels on wood flooring.
“Jeeves comes,” said Stost, even as the doorway was filled by the man-high cylinder, headball blazing a bright and festive orange.
“Pathfinders, I am in communication with Captain Theo Waitley’s ship Bechimo, currently in orbit near the limit of the outer cometary debris zone. The captain sends to you both information and a request. I am to play the message to you and allow you five minutes alone, for consideration.
“Will you hear Captain Waitley’s message?”
Stost and Chernak were on their feet.
“Yes,” they said in one voice.
“A message from Captain Waitley,” Joyita spoke first, crisp and familiar, “to Pathfinders Chernak and Stost. In her own words; in her own voice.”
There was a small pause, before the captain spoke quickly.
“Pathfinders, greetings. We are confronted with a contingent of unusual orbital tech with attitude, some of them having arrived in this universe as you have done.
“We have been monitoring this gathering from a remote location. We therefore learned that these devices speak Old Yxtrang. They arrived at Benoo Three with a stated mission to destroy the planet Surebleak and its system. However, there seems to be some disagreement among them as to whether these are legitimate orders.
“We are in need of native speakers of Old Yxtrang, who have roots in the culture and conventions of the Old Universe. The situation is volatile, potentially dangerous, and we are in need of experienced crew who are flexible, knowledgeable, who can work under stress with a widely diverse crew in a mixed language environment. If you are available and feel you meet these requirements, we offer a standard basic starship crew contract beginning immediately.
“Understand, this is hazardous duty from moment one. The delm of Korval will provide transportation to our location. This offer is extended to either or both of you. Ambassador Hevelin asks that Grakow be added to the mission, if that is what he wishes, and we agree to such an arrangement if you deem it worthwhile. Bring your gear and necessities.
“Please acknowledge this message, so we may know whether and when to expect your arrival.”
Stost looked at Chernak.
Chernak looked at Stost.
Both turned to look at Jeeves.
“Yes!” they said.
“I am required to allow you five minutes alone for discussion before transmitting your answer to Captain Waitley,” Jeeves said. “I suggest you gather your gear. Diglon Rifle will bring you to me when you are ready.”
The orange headball flickered once, twice—somehow simulating a bow—and Jeeves left the room, the sound of his wheels rapid on the wooden floor.
“Old Tech, in-gathering?” said Stost, intrigued. “But why here?”
“Excellent questions, my Stost,” said Chernak, moving quickly toward the door. “I suggest that we set ourselves to find out.”
The Port Road
Yulie Shaper’s Place
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow, they’d try their skill with ice wine. They’d all read the ’structions over, straight outta the binder, and they’d told it off to each other, to be sure they’d all understood the same thing.
Mary and Walter’d gotten the winery cleaned and shined and ready to open for bidness. Mary, in particular, was warm on the project—well, he was, himself, and likely both for the same reason. The Road Boss’s brother Rys, the boy who could crush a good-size rock just by taking it into his pretty golden hand, closing his fingers—and opening them again.
Mary was sweet on Rys, that was Yulie’s supposition. Yulie wasn’t that far along, but he owed the boy for havin’ brought the notion of wine to him, when all Yulie’d ever thought of was raisins and jam.
Wine. But, there, you did what you knew, and what Yulie Shaper knew was growing crops—fruits, vegetables, didn’t make no real matter, crops being crops.
Rys, though…
Way Yulie’d understood it, Rys hadn’t had much, if any, knowledge of crops.
What he knew was grapes. And wine, naturally, but grapes was first; wouldn’t be no wine if the crop failed.
So Rys’d grown up in the way of grapes, maybe a little like Yulie and Rollie’d grown up with Grampa, learning the ways of crops. And he’d asked after wine, and Yulie’d looked it up, and sleet if it weren’t right there in one a’ Grampa’s binders: Ice Wine.
Well, after that, the thing had to be tried; wasn’t no way round it, that Yulie could see…
“Well met, Yulie Shaper,” a voice said, cutting his thoughts off at the knee. “Taking the sun while it bothers to shine?”
He turned his head and smiled at Mary. Fine lookin’ woman, in a strong, wiry way. Well, all the help come up from down the city was fine lookin’. Belonged to the same family, so they said it, and you could see it in their faces, in their eyes.
“This time a’year, you gotta take what’s on the table. Wait any minutes at all, and it’ll be gone.”
“Yes,” said Mary, with a sigh. She hoisted herself onto the wall at his side, and turned her face up to the sun.
“You ready for the fun this evenin’?” he asked her.
She didn’t move her head or open her eyes.
“I do not know if ‘ready’ is the proper word. I believe—yes. I am eager.”
There was an apt word, Yulie thought. Eager. Sure.
They sat together for a while, silent: two unlikely flowers with their faces uptilted to the warmth. It was a quiet day, nearby at least. If you pulled your ears wide enough, you could hear the traffic moving down the road, an’ the shush of a breeze through the dry grasses all around.
“I wonder,” Mary said softly. “I wonder, Yulie Shaper, if you have ever thought of taking a wife.”
Well, he didn’t quite fall off of the wall, but it was a near thing. He brung his head around to meet Mary’s eyes.
“Hasn’t been near the top o’my mind,” he said truthfully, not knowing whether he cared for it in a general way, now that it was brought up. “Unnerstan’ I been some strange for most my life. Little bit o’something the matter with the nerves, never did know what was it. Grampa said m’ma got caught in a chemical accident when she was getting set to deliver me. Walked into a room was being disinfected, despite the warning lights an’ the lock. Hit the override, so she musta meant to do it. Maybe figured it’d kill her, which it did, but not right off. She lingered on a while, and I was born, kinda blueish looking. An’ them bad nerves.”
He shrugged, wondering why he was going on about it so long. Woman’d asked him a simple question—no call to give her old complexities for an answer.
“So, no,” he said. “Ain’t been sittin’ at the top o’my head.”
He paused, realized he had a question of his own, and said it out.
“You proposin’ yourself?”
“I am,” she said. “It is not unpleasant, now that I have allowed the thought to the top of my head. I think we should each…profit from such an arrangement.”
“What brought this on now, if you don’t mind my askin’,” said Yulie.
“A good question. A change is coming, in my life, in the lives of my brothers and my sisters. Many of them will be leaving. Those of us who have decided not to leave must, I think, make new lives for ourselves according to the customs of this world.
“So, I thought what was here for me on this world. Why, in a word, had my heart chosen to stay, rather than to go, which had been a settled thing for all my life. And my heart, questioned, answered me.”
She paused and looked out over the winter field, raising her hands like she’d show it to him new, and him the one who’d grown up here.
“For the growing things. For the free fields and the growing rooms and for the joy that fills me when I am aligned with such things.”
She lowered her hands, and turned again to look at him. “For this, I will remain.”
Yulie looked out over the field, seeing how the high sun poured butter over the winter grasses and made ’em shine. Feeling the breeze on his face—chilly, sure, but wasn’t it winter? Wouldn’t be near so biting when spring unfolded and the sun looked out the little green leaves under the thatch and made ’em glow.
“I can see that,” he said to Mary. “But you don’t have to go an’ marry up ol’ crazy Yulie if you wanna stay here an’ do the work. You’re a good worker, and given all these plans Nathan’s been building up, I’m gonna need…”
He stopped, struck by a thought.
“Nathan, Abigail, Walter—they’re goin’? With the rest of your folks?”
If they were, then that would make sense, too, he thought. She’d want to be sure of the little bit of familiar she’d have left. Even if it was ol’ crazy Yulie.
“Nathan will stay. Walter is Dreaming. Abigail will go because her mother goes.”
“Any more stayin’—good workers, now—who like the plantin’ and the growin’ and the harvest?”
“There may be…some,” she said, and Yulie heard the caution in her voice. Smart, capable woman, Mary. Miss her if she took off. Miss any o’the rest of ’em, too, come to that, which was where his idea come in.
“You ask ’round, if you won’t be getting anybody in trouble with the Bosses,” he said. “’Cause here’s what’s in my mind. All them plans we been building, for keeping the rooms producing an’ doing the expansion—that’s gonna need people. I don’t know what your living’s like where you are down the city, but I got plenty room here. Back under those trees there—no good for growing crops. Idea was to knock ’em down when we got to needing the land. But we can just as easy put us some little houses, each one with its own tree. Give you some break from the weather, when it’s needed, and the trees smell real nice.”
Mary was looking at him, eyebrows raised over shining black eyes.
“We were fixed…below ground,” she said carefully, and then, like she’d made a decision. “In the steam tunnels, under the old factories that are not used anymore.”
“Yeah?” He thought about that. “How’d you fix it for air an’ light?”
“There are ducts to the outside, and also tubes that run up to the roofs and let the good light in.” There was another little hesitation, before she added, “I keep a garden there, small but good.”
“I believe that,” Yulie said, frowning as he went over plans and surveys in his head. “You rather be below, we can maybe work with that. Hafta look at the binders, but I’m thinking we could do something in the way of interconnecting habitats underneath. Even maybe open an underroad to the rooms, so nobody has to step outside when the snow winds blow.”
“You would do these things?”
“Why not? Be good for bidness, that’s sure. An’ what’s that you said? Good for the heart, too.”
Mary smiled.
“Yes, that is what I said. Let us go back to the house and look at the binders and see—and see what Nathan may have to say.”
“Good idea.”
Yulie slid down from the wall, and Mary did, too.
She turned and put her hands on his forearms.
“There is something I wish you to know,” she said.
“All right then. What is it?”
“My name—my brothers and sisters, the name they call me by is Memit. I wish it, that you, too, will use that name.”
He might’ve felt a little let down to go from proposed husband to brother. On the other hand, it was a gift, he thought. A little proof of trust.
“Memit,” he said. “That suits you.”
She smiled at him, brilliant in the lowering sun.
“Yes,” she said. “It does.”
Bechimo
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
“I’ll answer,” Theo said quietly. “Joyita?”
“Line open and live, Captain.”
She took a breath, stepping into bond-space so that Bechimo could give her the Old Yxtrang words.
“This is Theo Waitley, captain of the starship Bechimo. We are here, now, at the behest of Surebleak Portmaster, to investigate your presence. Surebleak space is recently under the protection of a new…commander. We are sent to identify and, where possible, to solve issues caused by lapses due to a failed command structure. May I know who I am speaking with?”
“This is Aberthaz Ferry,” came the answer. “I have orders. I have questions. Others gathered here also have orders and questions. We are not in harmony. There have been lapses in the structure of command. Lapses in command.”
“You have orders, Aberthaz Ferry?” asked Theo. “Does the group have orders?”
“We have orders; we have questions.” There was a pause as if Aberthaz Ferry were listening elsewhere, then—
“The group will accept advice on how to resolve itself. Commands must be clear.”
