Conflict Of Honors (24 page)

The door chimed, and he whirled about, snapping to his feet. "Come!"

Kayzin Ne'Zame entered the room, checked, and bowed profoundly. "Captain."

"If you've come to remind me that I'm to attend the crew meeting, Kayzin, you'd no need. My memory is quite sharp, though I daresay it will begin to deteriorate very soon."

Covering her shock, her face neutral, she bowed again.

Shan sighed sharply and strode past her to the bar. Glancing over his shoulder as he poured a cup of misravot, he strove for a happier tone. "Kayzin? Will you drink?"

"Thank you," she said formally, "but no." She waited until he turned his face to her fully before continuing. "If it does not offend, Captain, I ask to walk with you. There is a thing to be discussed. A matter of reassignment of duty, to accommodate the lack of a second mate."

"Very well." He moved to the door and bowed her through before him. That was highly improper; rank earned
him
that privilege. But what could she do when he waved at her so imperiously?

"The case is," Kayzin pursued through her prickling hurt, "that the third mate does not wish promotion to second. He feels he lacks the proper qualifications, that his reaction time is insufficient to demands such as those present upon the bridge this shift just passed." She paused. Shan said nothing.

"I agree with his assessment of his strengths—and his weaknesses. He is willing to extend his hand to those duties of administration for which the second mate is responsible." She looked up at him gravely. "It is the first mate's recommendation to the captain that this be done. For a short time. And conditionally."

"The captain hears," Shan said unencouragingly. "The conditions?"

Another nuance had developed in the symphony of emotion that was Kayzin. A chilly fogging . . . embarrassment, Shan identified, and was amazed.

"In view of the first mate's imminent retirement," she said levelly, "and the lack of a second mate, coupled with the third mate's inability to step into that position, it is in the best interest of the ship that another be trained in the line of command as soon as may be. I request that the captain assign Priscilla Mendoza to the first mate, that she may be strenuously schooled in the duties of the second."

"Reasoning, please."

"She has the ability. You yourself placed her in a training position. I admit that track is not as rigorous as this proposed will be. However, it has been my observation that Priscilla Mendoza possesses a strong character, quick understanding, and sure judgment. I believe she may do well for the ship, were she but offered the means. And if she does not," Kayzin shrugged, "the ship is no worse off than it is at this present."

"There is a phenomenon which Terrans call 'personality conflict.' The captain has seen indications of this phenomenon between the first mate and Priscilla Mendoza."

"The first mate has mastered herself."

Shan nodded. "Your recommendations have merit. They will be put into effect tomorrow First Hour, assuming Ms. Mendoza's acquiescence. The captain will require from the first mate a daily report of training and progress—or lack." He paused at the door of the meeting room and bowed. "Forgive my hapless tongue, old friend. I regret having caused you pain."

Her relief was like a puff of Arsdredi smoke. She smiled and returned his bow. "It is forgotten."

"By both," he answered properly, and preceded her into the room.

Shan leaned back in his chair and sipped. The room was full. Those of the crew whose duties prevented their physical presence watched by monitor from their stations. The general hubbub indicated good spirits and confidence.

He considered his inner Wall, then carefully allowed the merest slit to part its impenetrable fabric.

Hot, scintillating, brilliant iciness assaulted him. He took a breath, narrowed the slit, and began a Sort of the larger threads, flickering among webs of burning color, neither apart from nor completely of them.

Satisfied, he closed the slit, took some wine, and held it for a moment in a mouth dry with effort. The crew was outraged, of course, by the attack. But there was no trace of panic, of terror. They were certain of their ship—of their captain.

He wished he shared their certainty.

He moved a hand, and the room's lights dimmed as the central screen glowed to life. The crew's chatter died.

"You are all aware," Shan began conversationally, "of the day's
second
Jump alarm. I'd like you to watch a tape of what led up to the pilot's activation of the alarm." From the corner of his eye he saw Priscilla start. Lina reached out, and the taller woman settled back, her expression wary.

"We're at minus twenty seconds of the final transition from the scheduled Jump. Pilot Mendoza is at the board. Now—normal space."

COLLISION COURSE the screen shouted as Priscilla's hands flickered, hitting the screens up. "First defense barriers active." HOSTILE ACTION "Second screens up, coords fed, alarm on. We're waiting for the coils to come back up. Coils up and we're ready to go." On the screen his own hand stopped completion of the exercise. The action froze and faded as the room lights came on.

"Reaction time," Shan said for the benefit of the pilots watching. "From time of first warning to full defense: one and one-half seconds. From full defense to Jump-ready, two seconds. We were ready to depart twenty-four seconds after the initial alarm. Most of that time was spent waiting for the coils to renew themselves."

The silence in the meeting room was broken by the soft flutter of pilot hands over imaginary boards as pilot brains counted seconds.

Over to the right, Seth stood. Shan nodded to him.

"Yes?"

"I move that Priscilla Mendoza be given an up-share bonus. She got us out of a tough one. That bomb was right on the drive sections. Would've done real damage if it'd hit."

Rusty was on his feet before Seth was off his. "Second."

"Third," Ken Rik said. "And a call for ship-points, Captain. The debt lies there."

Gil Don Balatrin seconded that diffidently.

Shan nodded. "Any comments? Disapprovals? Discussions? No? Show of hands, in favor?

"First Mate?"

"Unanimous, Captain."

"So I counted, also. Thank you." He initialed a paper on his pad. "Recorded and done." He smiled slightly over the room. "Also recorded and done—two points hazard pay for all crew, payable at Solcintra. More business?"

There was none.

"Thank you. Dismissed."

There was tension in the air, prickling the short hairs on her arm. She focused her attention on the tapestry over the bar.

"Brandy, Priscilla?"

She started, then managed a smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He handed her the glass and went by, heading for the desk.

She followed and settled into the right-hand chair, with the tension still singing around her.

The captain took a sip of his drink. "Gordy tells me you've taught him to be a tree," he commented. "I don't say it's a
bad
idea, Priscilla. I only wonder how his mother will react if I deliver him into her arms all green and leafy."

Laughter escaped her, softly. "No, an inner tree. Pallin keeps telling Gordy to think of his strength as a river. But Gordy believes that strong is strong, without variation."

"I see." The light eyes were speculative. He inclined his head. "It was kind of you, Priscilla. Thank you for your care of my kinsman."

She moved a hand in a gesture learned from the tapes Lina had provided. "It's not a
kindness.
I like him. He reminds me of Brand—my younger brother—the last time I saw him."

"My sympathy to you. But perhaps you'll find he's grown into a young gentleman when you go home next. I remember when that particular metamorphosis overtook Val Con." He laughed, and the tension shimmered.
"Truly
terrifying."

She laughed also, softly and unconvincingly. Sipping, she noticed an undercurrent of warm admiration such as she had not felt since her days as a Sister at Temple.

"The reason I asked you to come to me," the captain was saying, "is to discuss the new administrative structure of the ship."

She waited.

He sighed. "Janice Weatherbee has left us, leaving the post of second mate vacant. A problem, you will admit. The third mate has been approached and has graciously—one might say with comic haste—declined the promotion. The first mate has thus applied to the captain for another trainee." He leveled a blunt forefinger. "You."

"Me?" She stared at him. "I'm not qualified to be second mate."

"Did I say you were? I do beg your pardon, Priscilla. What I meant to say was that Kayzin had asked me to assign you to her so she could teach you to be second mate. What
is
the phrase? My dreadful, dreadful memory—aha!" He snapped his fingers. "On-the-job training."

To tension and admiration was added confusion. Priscilla drank. "I don't—why me?"

"Why not you? You were in the track already, after all. I do admit that the training Kayzin proposes will be more demanding, but it's the same training. Merely a difference in intensity." He stopped. "Kayzin is a very good teacher, Priscilla. She's been on the
Passage
for over fifty years, first mate for thirty. And she handled much of my own training, thankless task that it was."

Priscilla took a breath. "She dislikes me."

"No. She distrusted you, I believe. But I also believe that it's passed. Even if it hasn't, Kayzin is not one to let mere personal prejudice stand in the way of doing the best she can for the ship." He sipped, eyes quizzical. "Well, Priscilla? Do you want the job?"

Want the job? Like she wanted breath. Shocked, she looked within and found the same surety that had allowed Gordy to find the Tree. "Yes," she said.

"Good. Now, then, there are a few things to be explained." He paused, then nodded. "First, it is imperative that you acquire your first class license. You will come to the bridge every day immediately following your duty shift. I'll teach you. There's no reason why you shouldn't be a first class pilot by the time we reach Solcintra."

She considered it. "Shan?"

The tension altered in some indefinable way, though the warmth was constant. "Yes, Priscilla?"

"Won't it work out. . ." She sighed and began again. "The captain."

"What of the captain, my friend?"

"If I'm to report for piloting lessons on my first off-shift, won't the captain be pulling a triple shift?"

"Occasionally." He grinned. "The captain's made of stern stuff. When I was learning the ship, I often ran double shifts, between tutoring from Kayzin and tutoring from my father—and then stayed up half the sleep shift studying for the next day." He tipped his head. "Do you object to the captain's instruction, Priscilla?"

"No, of course not . . . ." She felt an echo of tension and an echo of warmth. The echo would overwhelm her if she did not take care.

"Fine, then that's settled. Other points: Second mate signs a standard ship contract. That means you'll no longer be under my protection, but under the protection of the
Dutiful Passage . . . ."

Not under his protection? Panic added a sheen of ice to the echoes. No longer to be under Korval's wing, where there was comfort and friendship and aid? To be cast out? To be—

"Priscilla." His voice was a flame of common sense, licking at the ice. "The
Passage
is owned and operated by Clan Korval. A ship's contract guarantees you assistance that a personal contract with Shan yos'Galan cannot. You will, of course, read it before you sign it."

"Yes, of course . . . ." Feeling foolish, she drank.

"You'll want to know the rate of pay." He tapped on the keypad as he turned the screen to face her. "Second mate draws three cantra flat for the short run, plus one-half ship-share. Bonuses and increments—not applicable at present. You will, of course, be starting at the low end. We've got four months to go, so that's prorated . . . plus the amount owed under previous contract . . . crew's hazard pay . . . ship's points, can't forget them . . . oh, and the up-share . . . subtract ship-debt. Well, some of this can't be finalized until we hit Liad, but I think that's everything, Priscilla: the minimum. Is the sum agreeable to you?"

It was staggering. The glowing amber letters named more money than she had ever seen at once. Enough to repurchase her bartered bracelets three times over. She could buy a hundred hours for Lina and herself, and still there would be money for clothing, for books, for tapes, for lodging, for food. It might be more money than she had made in her life . . . for one trip!

"That can't—
can't
—be right."

"Can't it?" Shan frowned and turned the screen around. "Well, then, let's do it again. Base pay for second, prorated . . . ."

She felt wave after wave of emotion: admiration, nervousness, exhilaration, exhaustion. Priscilla felt herself expanding under the assault, taking it in, sending it out, over and over. The exhilaration built, as it had not built since she and Moonhawk. . .

Moonhawk was dead.

And the echoes came faster, where there should never have been sound. Where there could be no motion. Dear Goddess . . . she pictured the Tree. She took a breath, hearing Shan's voice as he muttered the figures over and leaned into the familiarity—the comfort—of it. The Tree had worked. The Gyre might work, as well.

She began the opening sequence and felt the image click into place and take on its own momentum. Thank you, Goddess. She would need to be in her quarters within the hour. Sleep was the room beyond Serenity: the end of the Gyre's dance.

"No, Priscilla, I'm afraid the figure is correct. You do have to realize that this is the short run, and that we're less than four months out of Solcintra. If you renew your contract at the end of the trip, you'll net more. Simple matter of mathematics. You'll be on from beginning to end, and the next trip's the long one. Takes a year to finish the circuit. Priscilla?"

She had passed through the First and Second Doors. The next was the Door to Serenity, where she would abide awhile before she came to Sleep.