Forgotten Suns (31 page)

Aisha wasn’t sure she could believe that, but the
expressions on the other side of the barrier were fairly convincing. Those
people were afraid. The ones in the blue uniforms with the character for wisdom
on the collar were downright terrified.

That decided it. Aisha worked her away down the barrier till
she found the dimple in the surface that just fit her hand. Though it looked
like glass, it was warm and yielding, like skin. She pressed until it folded
and shrank away.

The first one out looked down the muzzle of Aisha’s pistol.
It was Dr. Ma; she stopped and took a sharp breath, but she didn’t shriek or
flinch.

She didn’t knock Aisha down and sit on her, either. Aisha
took a breath of her own and stepped aside.

The rest of them came out in more or less orderly fashion,
falling into gaggles once they were out. Scientists, passengers, a handful of
people who must be crew.

None of them made a break for it. They could all see the
screens and the battle still going on outside. They didn’t try to stop Rama,
either. Aisha wondered if they could understand what he was doing: if they had
any way to see or hear what went on underneath the long chant.

It was doing what he meant it to do. He kept his voice
steady, but Aisha could feel the strength draining out of him, note by note and
syllable by syllable.

Aisha eased Rama off the psi master and kicked one of the
hoverchairs over for him, then unwound the cord that tied her robes at the
waist and trussed the man up, ankles to wrists. In case he woke enough to find
a way out of that, she knelt on the floor, set her pistol to stun and aimed it
right between the man’s eyes.

She’d been right: he was awake. His eyes rolled, but he held
still. A bolt at that range, he knew probably better than she did, would fry
his brain.

Rama’s chant never paused. The light in the
room—compartment—bridge was changing. Growing brighter. A subtle hum rose out
of the walls and floor, like a ship powering up.

Aisha thought she might want to be afraid. But she was too
busy making sure Captain Bowen didn’t attack Rama.

The chant was winding down. The energies had shifted. All
the giving had been coming from Rama. Now it flowed the other way. The ship was
feeding him, healing him the way he’d been healing it.

That made Aisha happy in a deep and wordless way. It didn’t
keep her from trying to watch Rama and the captain and the Corps agents and the
ex-prisoners and the screens all at once.

The ship rocked underfoot. The screens went dark. Tubes and
wires and cables snapped out of the floor and ceiling, dropping like the dead
things they were.

Aisha sucked in a breath. Some of the ex-prisoners had
fallen down. One or two had started screaming.

Rama was on his feet. He didn’t do anything obvious, but the
screens came back on. They started off blurry, but they came into focus,
sharper than before.

The ship stopped rocking, but the screaming went on. They
were well above the fight now, and rising. Fighters buzzed and darted. One bolt
came close enough to white out the screen on that side.

When the screen cleared again, the fighter that had fired
the bolt was dropping. Spiraling down as if its engines had gone dead.

Rama spoke calmly, without raising his voice. “This
engagement is over. Stand down. Or we will do it for you.”

The screens’ audio erupted in a torrent of voices. No one
was firing, but they were closing in. Trying to surround the ship.

“Very well then,” Rama said.

They all went down at once. The voices escalated into a
frantic babble.

The ship sang. One long, sustained note that reduced
everything else to silence.

“It says,” said Rama in that silence, “that it will put you
down gently. But you will not ride the air again until you learn sense.”

“Stand down.”

That voice came from inside the ship. It sounded distinctly
strained, but the words were clear. “Stand down,” Captain Bowen said again. “That
is an order. Abort mission. Stand down!”

“Thank you,” Rama said dryly. “Aisha, let him up.”

Aisha didn’t want to, at all, but she untied him. She kept
her pistol up and aimed while he got stiffly to his feet. He towered over her.

Aisha refused to be intimidated. She set her pistol to kill,
letting him see her do it, and sighted along her forearm: first up, at the
throat, and then down at a much easier and more pointed angle.

He frowned at her. Not that she was threatening his hope of
future generations; that didn’t seem to bother him at all.

He was trying to read her. Almost too late, Aisha remembered
to take refuge in the sun.

“Captain,” Dr. Ma said.

Aisha had been to busy to notice that the ex-prisoners had
come away from the wall. Dr. Ma stood in front of them, perfectly still,
radiating cold fury.

She turned her glare from Captain Bowen to Rama. “And you, Meser.
If you could possibly explain—”

“I probably can’t,” Rama said. “Nor am I especially inclined
to try. Did it occur to you that what you were doing was torture? Either of
you?”

Dr. Ma drew herself up. “We used only the most humane of
methods. Most of them were experimental, and therefore somewhat rough or
tentative, but we never intended—”

“The ship is alive,” Captain Bowen said, “but hardly
sentient. Its pain sensors are rudimentary. The controls were wired to areas
that were determined to be free of them. We did our utmost to—”

“You,” Rama said to Dr. Ma, cutting across the Captain’s
words, “may excuse your arrogance with ignorance, but
he
—” His teeth clicked together; he looked ready to spit. “
He
should have known. Every psi in the
system could hear the ship’s agony.”

“Every psi in the system could not,” Captain Bowen said, “because
there was none. There was a little static when we installed the regulators,
but—”

She didn’t think he was lying. The other psis, who were sitting
on the floor holding their heads and trying not to moan, didn’t look likely to
contradict him.

“Are you really that weak?” Aisha asked. Then bit her
tongue.

Luckily nobody was listening. Rama hissed through his teeth.
“You are all idiots. Fools and children. Get off this ship.”

“What?” Captain Bowen said. “You have no authority—”

“I have the ship,” Rama said with terrifying sweetness. “You
have shuttles. Take them.”

“I will not—”

“I have very little patience,” Rama said, “and a very big
ship.”

The floor rolled under them all. Rama’s smile was wide and
bright.

Aisha watched Captain Bowen decide to get out now and deal
with Rama later. He might have the ship—if he could actually control it, which
the Captain doubted—but Captain Bowen had fifty thousand trained psis to call
on.

Fools and children, Rama would call those. He kept his smile
while the Corps agents picked each other up and made as dignified an exit as
they could manage.

~~~

That left the ex-prisoners, clumping together and eyeing
possible exits. All but Dr. Ma. “I may be an idiot,” she said, “but I am not
leaving this ship. My life’s work is here.”

“Your work is done,” Rama said. “Your slave is freed. You
have nothing left to do here.”

“But I do,” she said. “If you are telling the truth, this
ship is far more than we ever imagined. If you can control it by other than
mechanical means—if you have insights into it that we lacked the skills or
knowledge to imagine—”

“Or else he’s lying.” Aisha recognized the tourist who had
spoken earlier. He was modified and dressed and accessorized to look like an
Old Earth adventurer from a particularly dire era, but his eyes didn’t look as
if they missed much.

“I don’t think he is,” one of the others said. He was a
scientist, according to his uniform: a middle-sized man, round-faced and
innocuous to look at, but the glance he darted at Rama was wickedly
intelligent. “Meser Rama. You’re all over the worldweb today. Grand theft transport,
wanton destruction of historical relics, grand theft again—that’s impressive.”

“I suppose I should be impressed by your access to the feeds
restricted to government and law enforcement,” Rama said. “Tell me why I should
let any of you stay. The ship is leaving as soon as it may. I doubt it will be
amenable to serving as your personal transport.”

“This is my work,” Dr. Ma repeated. “Wherever it goes.”

Most of her colleagues nodded—stiffly, and their eyes looked
frankly scared, but they seemed to have made up their minds. The crew mostly
did the same, and that surprised Aisha.

The man named Ulrich took off his antique helmet and wiped
his forehead with an enormous handkerchief. “Really, we’re just passing
through. If you’ll put us in the way of a transport to Beijing Nine, we’ll be
most obliged.”

“Or anywhere else civilized and not at war,” said the woman
with him. Her costume was less elaborate than his, but equally ancient. Aisha
especially admired the furled lace parasol with the sharp and gleaming point. “You
can make it a ransom demand if you like, when PlanSec comes down on you, which
I estimate it will any moment now. Get us transport, get rid of us, then go
wherever you’re minded to go.”

“Isabel,” Ulrich said, “I really don’t think it’s wise to—”

“It’s extremely wise,” said Rama. “There’s a shuttle in the
bay that, I’m assured, will hold all of you. Take it and go.”

“We’ll need a pilot,” Isabel said, “and clearance. Not to
mention—”

“The shuttle will take you to the port,” Rama said. “You,
Professor—Robrecht, is it? You know the way. Direct them, please.”

The round-faced man in blue smiled. He was having a grand
time, and he wasn’t trying to hide it. “This way, sers and seras.”

Some of them actually ran behind him as he strode across the
bay. One didn’t: Isabel, eyeing Rama narrowly. “You know where we want to go.
What about you? Or don’t you know?”

“I come from the far side of time,” he answered, “and I go
to the far ends of the worlds. The ship knows.”

She didn’t tell him he was insane. Oddly, Aisha didn’t think
she thought it, either. “Good luck to you, then,” she said.

He bowed his head like the king he’d been, a very long time
ago. “And to you,” he said.

“She’ll put you in a book,” Aisha said when the tourists
and the odd few of the crew were gone. “The web’s in and out—mostly out—but she’s
famous enough to come through. She writes books about adventures. Vids, too.”

“Pirate vids?” Rama asked.

“Probably.” Aisha started to say more, but Rama was starting
to sway on his feet.

If he passed out now, he might not lose his connection with
the ship, but the people still on it might decide to take him hostage.

That was a problem. Pirate kings had mobs of henchmen for a
reason. If they needed to sleep, or pass out, there was always someone to man
the tiller.

Someone who knew how to sail the ship. Aisha could feel the
connection in her bones, but the ship wasn’t talking to her the way it did to
Rama. She didn’t want it to, either. Those same bones knew they’d shake apart
if it did.

She had to try to talk to it. Not aloud, where people could
hear. She shaped the thoughts as clearly as she could.

Ship. He needs to rest, but we can’t trust the humans here.
Or the ones outside, either. There’s no telling when he’ll be able to stop. Can
you help?

The ship didn’t answer that she could tell, but Rama stopped
swaying. He took a deep breath and stood a little straighter.

“You have quarters,” he said to Dr. Ma and the others. “I
suggest you rest in them.”

“Not until we know what we’ll find when we wake,” Dr. Ma
said.

“Sir,” one of the crew said before Rama could erupt. He was
a big man who looked as if he’d spent a good part of his life outside on rough
planets, but his expression was calm and his tone was mild. “It’s not just
curiosity. You need a crew. If not to fly the ship, then to monitor the screens
and, if it comes to that, repel boarders.”

“And I should trust you why?” Rama inquired.

“Because if we can’t be trusted,” the man answered, “we all
die.”

Rama’s brows went up. “Your name, sir?”

“Kirkov,” the man said. “Supply officer. Second in
Communications. Ship’s cook.” He paused. “You do eat, sir?”

“Occasionally,” Rama said. “May I encourage you to perform
that office?”

“Of course,” Kirkov said. “So you’ll trust me. That’s good.
Now the rest of them, they’re not going to turn on you, either, as long as you’re
fair and as honest as you can stand to be. Robrecht who’s off getting rid of
tourists served a term in Military Intelligence before he went sane and became
a professor instead. Rinzen over there was our security officer, and pulled
duty with Engineering when there was anything to engineer. Abikanile doesn’t
say where she came from originally, but she can fix anything that’s fixable and
most things that aren’t. As for Soonmi—”

“Soonmi can speak for herself,” said that individual, “and
she wants you to know that she is insulted by your lack of trust. We may be
trapped here by a war and a hijacking, but we are devoted to the cause of
staying alive. We will do whatever it takes to get you, and us, and this ship,
away from this planet and safe into space where we belong.”

Rama scanned all their faces, the ones that now had names
attached and the ones that, Aisha was perfectly sure, he would have names for
before the day was over. He was doing it for effect, mostly. She could tell. He’d
made his mind up while Kirkov was still speaking.

“Very well,” he said finally. “I am going where I have to
go. The ship agrees to go with me, because I ended its long pain, and because
it believes it knows the way. It’s very far and may be very long. I ask none of
you to follow me; I will ask you more than once to be wise and leave. But until
we escape this world and this system, I accept your service.”