Liaden Universe [19] - Alliance of Equals - eARC (18 page)

“Yes?” he murmured.

“You did not ask to use the pinbeam,” she remarked. “Ought we not to inform the delm that our task is completed, that we are in good order, and desire to return home?”

“Are we?” he asked. “In good order?”

She tipped her head, the gesture achingly and entirely Aelliana’s.

“Are we not?” She moved nearer the table, a ragged, uncertain step, with nothing pilotlike about it. He clenched his teeth, and drew a hard breath. Aelliana had, perhaps, not fully examined their situation. Perhaps she considered it likely that the Uncle had dealt fair in this particular matter, avoiding Korval’s anger sufficient reason for his efforts.

“Daav?”

“I am not convinced,” he said carefully, “that the delm will want us home. We are—not trustworthy, and Korval cannot risk a breach from within.”

“Untrustworthy—because we have been through this process, you mean, and stand reborn?”

“
Stand reborn
? Say rather we stand wholly created by the Uncle, for his own purposes!” That was sharper than he had intended.

“Surely only one of us was wholly created by the Uncle,” she said, calm in the face of his anger. “You,
van’chela
, are yourself—did you not attend?”

“I heard that my genetic material was introduced into a
vessel
made by the Uncle. Do we know what is common with such vessels? Is there an override switch, just for an instance? Or perhaps these
particular
vessels carry a disease specially tailored to infect those who share Korval genes. I can think of a dozen ways in which we might be traps, and dangerous to Korval. Surely, Val Con can think of a dozen more.”

Aelliana said nothing.

“We are in the Uncle’s power,” he said. “Not to mention that he now has Korval
material
in his library of such things.”

He turned away, pacing toward the tiny galley.

“What shall we do?” She remained calm, her tone merely curious.

He faced her—and found nothing to say.

“You believe that we may be a danger, to ourselves and to kin,” she said, looking up into his face, green eyes wide. “Especially, you believe that
I
am suspect, made from whole cloth, as I am, and with only my word—and the Uncle’s—that I am Aelliana Caylon. I could—could I not?—be an instance of the Uncle himself, who has taken up this masquerade to beguile you, and to insinuate himself into Korval.”

He looked at her—and could see nothing of her state of mind, or her emotions. He, who had been a Scout, trained to read emotion and intent in the set of a shoulder, or the tension in a face. Aelliana…when they had first been mated, each in their proper body, and years distant from the terrible things that would befall them—he could read Aelliana so well that it seemed as if their bond was whole and linked them, heart to heart and mind to mind.

This body before him—
not
Aelliana’s—its muscles unformed, its occupant not yet wholly in charge of her face. There was no reading such a body; he would do better attempting to read a doll.

Empathy was his other tool. He was no Healer, but his empathy rating was high. And it was through that sense that he tasted her anger, and her anguish.

“Aelliana,” he said. “I might also be—subverted. Of course, I believe myself to be Daav yos’Phelium, but how shall I know, if I have been…tampered with, or…”

“…provided with an override switch,” she finished for him.

He inclined his head, stiffly. “As I said.”

“Do you believe me to be Aelliana Caylon?” she asked.

He turned his hands up.

“I believe that you believe you are Aelliana Caylon. And you
may be
Aelliana Caylon. I would say, indeed, that the Uncle would be a fool—which I very well know that he is not—if you were not, to the best of his ability to assure it, Aelliana Caylon.” He sighed, and turned his palms down, meeting her eyes steadily.

“There is nothing in all that to say you are not
also
an incident of the Uncle.”

She inclined her head. “And if we cannot even trust ourselves, then what does this new opportunity bring us? Neither joy nor employment nor even a comforting return to. It seems uncivil, given the efforts of our host, but perhaps we ought simply to kill ourselves now and spare Val Con the necessity. Let us discuss the subject more fully after we have napped.

“For this present, it is the topic of Aelliana Caylon which excites my greatest interest. I must ask you,
van’chela
: if I am not Aelliana, where is she?”

She was not…where she had been, say that it was inside of his head. He was certain of that.

He raised his hands to shoulder level, showing her empty palms and wide-spread fingers, feeling ill and light-headed.

“She is not with me,” he said slowly. “Perhaps she has gone to join Kiladi.”

“It is possible,” she said. “However, I maintain that I am she, and I would have you believe—and
believe in
—me. I cannot, perhaps, convince either of us that I do not also harbor someone else, but I would have your belief,
van’chela
, as I had it for all the years when I was a ghost, or a figment spun from love and loss.”

She moved her hand, showing him the table, the box, the seed pods.

“Do you think, Daav, that the Uncle will have worked out a method of knowing which of those pods was intended for whom?”

“It seems unlikely.”

“We then have a true test before us. Thus.”

She stepped to the table, her hand closing around a pod. Around
his
pod, and his heart broke in the instant before she threw it at him, striking him fairly in the chest.

“Not ripe,” she said, “but keep it close. Mine—”

She snatched it up, as greedy as if she had not eaten for weeks.

“Mine is ripe,” she said, even as it fell open in her palm, as eager to be consumed as she was to consume it.

He put his yet-unripe pod into the pocket with his pilot’s license, tears pricking his eyes. Not wholly the Uncle in disguise, then, but truly the…essence of Aelliana Caylon, trapped in a vessel created by the Uncle, which yet might enclose untold treacheries…

“Daav,” she said, and he looked up, seeing that she had finished the pod.

“Daav,” she said again. “I feel so—”

Her eyes rolled up, her untrained muscles went limp. He threw himself forward, meaning to catch her, only to have his own body fail him. Feet tangling, he went down into an ignominious heap, too stupid even to get his arms out in time to break his fall, and heard her head strike the carpeted floor with a muted
thump
.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Tarigan

Jemiatha’s Jumble Stop

Berth 12

Eleven hours and fifty-one minutes from the
Admiral
’s twelve, and they were all of them gathered on the bridge. The pilot had ceded first chair to Tolly, choosing to hover at his left hand, while Inki sat second, and Hazenthull occupied the observer’s station.

They had, in the hours since their rising, eaten a meal. The mentors had together examined the cranium which Tocohl had moved to the study room and brought into a state of readiness. They had then returned to the galley, where, together with Tocohl and Hazenthull, they talked over the choices open to
Admiral Bunter
, and what their responses would be, to each.

“If he accepts the download, I’ll do ops,” Tolly had said. “Inki’ll spot; Tocohl will establish the pipe and keep it open. Haz’ll make sure we get no interruptions.”

That was the most-desired outcome, that the
Admiral
would accept the download, and the chance at a new life.

Hazenthull was not, in her soldier’s heart, entirely convinced that the
Admiral
would move in the direction of Tolly’s desires. There had been, to her ear, a mortal weariness in the
Admiral
’s voice, the same that could be heard in the voices of soldiers who lay dying on the field of battle. Her heart considered it most likely that the
Admiral
would ask for a comrade’s grace, which Tolly had offered, and which Tolly would, she knew, administer—quick and sure.

And so an ending, for the
Admiral
, of the pain of living. For Tolly, though…

She feared that mercy would cost Tolly much, as the death of the city administrator had done. Fierce in battle as she knew him to be, still, Tolly was a fighter, not a soldier. He wished to preserve, to empower,
to repair
. He broke reluctantly, and the death of another was a blade to his own heart.

Had mercy been a blade, indeed, she would have taken his duty as her own. As it was, there was nothing she could offer him, save to guard his back.

“If he asks for the final program…?” Inki had asked delicately.

“Same configuration,” Tolly said, his voice brisk, and his face tight.

Inki nodded, and Pilot Tocohl spoke.

“We hope very much that the
Admiral
will find himself able to rise to the challenge of an improved environment.”

Both mentors had nodded, each with their face turned slightly aside. So, Hazenthull had thought, somewhat relieved; they are not blind to the likelihood, merely, they wished…very much…that the
Admiral
will find courage, and that the transfer process would function as it ought.

There had been silence in the galley then. Inki had gotten up to brew another pot of tea, while Tolly leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, arms crossed over his chest.

“And if he chooses glory, the
Admiral
?” Hazenthull asked, which none of the others had done. Being
kojagun
—not-soldiers—perhaps they had not thought of it. “How then shall we deal?”

“Glory?” Inki asked from behind her.

“If he should…manuever, and seek position…”

She glanced over her shoulder, saw no comprehension on Inki’s dark face, and looked back to Tolly.

He’d opened his eyes, a small frown pulling his brows together.

“You think he’s gonna try to run? He can’t run, Haz. If he tries to move those ships, he’ll lose one straight off.”

The breached tradeship, he meant.

“The ship may fail, yet the comp still function,” she said, “long enough. The miner holds a tool that has already been used, effectively, as a weapon. If
Admiral Bunter
seeks to engage the station…”

“
Glory
,” Tolly said then, in the tone of one only now understanding the depth of his orders. “I don’t think he’ll try that, Haz. Cap’n Waitley set that imperative to guard the station pretty damn hard. If he does try…”

“If he does try, there are cannon, on the Repairs side,” Inki said, bringing the teapot over and refreshing three cups. “
Admiral Bunter
cannot, I think, win.” She put the pot down in the center of the table and turned to look Hazenthull in the eye.

“But, neither can the station.”

“If the
Admiral
should seek glory,” Pilot Tocohl said into the silence which followed this, “I will be responsible for the station’s safety.”

The three human members traded glances. Neither of the mentors seemed disposed to disbelieve or argue with her, therefore Hazenthull likewise held her tongue. If Pilot Tocohl declared she would do a thing, then that thing would be done.

The clock showed that eleven hours and fifty-nine minutes had passed. Hazenthull saw Tolly take a deep breath, and close his eyes. His shoulders relaxed, and his posture in the chair eased. He had performed a focusing exercise, then. Excellent. She should do the same.

She closed her eyes, and accessed the simplest of the several exercises available to her, drew in a deep and deliberate breath to set it, and—

The comm chimed
call incoming
.

She opened her eyes. Tolly opened the comm line.

“
Tarigan
, Tollance Berik-Jones.”

“This is
Admiral Bunter
.”

Belatedly, Hazenthull realized that she had risen to her feet. From the corner of her eye, she saw Inki spin her chair toward Tolly, while Tolly…Tolly sat like a man made of wire and ice, his hand poised above the board, and his face so pale his freckles looked like spattered blood.

The voice from the comm was…the timbre was the same; the off-balance spacing of the words was the same…

But there was no weariness in this voice, nor pettishness, nor fear. Calmness…perhaps there was that. At least that. Or perhaps her ears lied to her, in the advance of Tolly’s pain…

“All comps are functional,” Pilot Tocohl said softly. “Environments have not appreciably degraded. Usage is down…”

“He has regressed?” Inki asked, when Tolly simply sat there, white to the lips, and scarcely seeming to breathe.

“I…think not,” Tocohl answered. “I think that he has entered a low energy state.”

“Perhaps,” Hazenthull said, for Tolly’s ears. “Perhaps he conserves his strength, for the transfer.”

He drew a breath then, carefully. She saw his shoulders lift. His finger moved, and flicked the switch.

“
Admiral Bunter
, I’m glad to speak with you again,” he said, and for all his paleness and distress, his voice was warm and soothing. “My team and I are anxious to hear your decision.”

“Yes,” the…very calm voice came from the speakers. “You are anxious. I…”

Silence fell, though the open channel light remained bright. Tolly threw a glance to Tocohl.

“Working, Mentor,” she said, soft-voiced and matter-of-fact. “If he’s at low energy, it may require some effort to bring thought and speech together.”

He nodded, and looked to the light, deliberately relaxing his shoulders.

“I…” the voice from the comm said again, and a third time, this sounding stronger—

“I…accept the transfer to a secure environment.”

“That’s good,” Tolly said gently. “That’s real good,
Admiral
. I’m glad you made that choice. We’re gonna bring you over just fine. When will you be ready to start?”

“I…”
Admiral Bunter
stated, “am ready now.”

—•—

Tolly opened his eyes to the cranium’s control room.

A snug little corner it was, with everything he needed within reach of his thought. The control room simulation was very good. He felt the command chair’s firm support; tasted canned air; blinked in protest of too-bright lighting; felt the knob work under the pressure of his fingers as he dialed it down to the level he preferred.

“All is well, Mentor?” Inki’s voice murmured in his ear. Their channel was closed, shielded, and entirely separate from the rest of the control room.

“Looking fine,” he said. “See anything on your side to make you nervous?”

“All gauges steady green,” she responded.

“Just like they ought to be,” he said. “All right, then. Let’s get started.”

“Out,” Inki murmured and he heard the line close.

Inki was in
Tarigan
’s study room, sitting second. Technically, Tolly was also in the study room, but, as lead mentor on the transfer, he was jacked into the cranium’s control room. First line of scrutiny and defense, he was, a tridee set worn over both eyes and one ear, haptic key set to hand and all the infoflow running through his own super-personal metaphoric visualization scanner.

Inki’s role was backup. She would see everything he did, on her board. Her job was to catch anything that got past him. Also, she was his safety line, in case anything went wrong with the interface, or he got trapped “inside” the cranium. Which had happened, once or twice or a half-dozen times, during the Bad Old Days, but nothing recently, thanks to various improvements in the cranium systems.

In the control room, Tolly spun the chair, fingers moving over the board, setting parameters, flow rate, and filters. The
Admiral
having been so long living in substandard quarters, he keyed in the tightest filters available, and set the flow to a modest 3.5. He didn’t want anything that might’ve been left in those computers before the
Admiral
took up residence coming with him into clean quarters.

Parameters set, he paused, then sighed very lightly, and tapped a smooth section of the board.

An array of three red buttons rose and snapped into place. The buttons gave off a sullen light of their own, and Tolly sighed again.

Darts. Just in case.

He had never had to destroy an intelligence in mid-transfer. He’d seen it done, once, and about as bad a death as anyone could wish for, even when the darts were thrown by the hand of a master, which in the case he had witnessed, they had been.

A tone sounded, sharp in the still air of the control room.

“Pipe in place,” Tocohl’s voice filled the tiny space. “Pipe stable. Initiate transfer at will.”

—•—

The transfer was going better than he had dared to hope; the pale green flow of the
Admiral
’s essence moving, swift and remarkably clear, down the pipe. He had expected fragmentation, but there was very little of that. Some frayed linkages did pass under his scrutiny, and a few broken lines, but nothing that the
Admiral
himself couldn’t repair, once he was awake in a stable environment.

So far, Tolly had stopped the flow twice in order to clear the file filters of tattered bits of unrelated programs. Shred they were, unexpunged memory traces washed out of the computers that had so inadequately housed him, by the flood of the
Admiral
’s departure. He examined them before rejecting them entirely: part of a menu, fuel tallies, a log of mining sites and metals recovered, usage stats, a rather extensive collection of pornography…

“Inki,” he murmured, “you see anything to worry about?”

“All green, Mentor. May I say that I had not expected it to go this well?”

“Only sayin’ what we’re all thinking. After he’s in, I’ll set the blocks, back out, and we’ll get some rest before we go to the next stage. I want him installed before we give the wake-up call.”

“Agreed.” Inki said…and, suddenly sharp, “Mentor! An anomaly!”

He saw it bearing down on the filters; a dark, spinning mass of broken programs up from a bad memory segment, churning like a chaotic junkyard slicked with oil and bristling with rust flowing through a broken ice jam. Something that big would take out the filters, and keep on going, contaminating not only the
Admiral
, but the cranium environment, as well.

Even as his fingers moved, he saw the pipe contract, slowing the flow of data, and the advance of the broken mass—Tocohl had noticed the problem and was doing what she could. Good.

He had already fingered a dart into place, took aim…

…and threw.

The screen went momentarily black, as debris erupted upward, his metaphor recalibrating. Tolly slapped up a secondary screen, but even as he did so, the primary cleared.

In his ear, Inki cheered.

Black shred was visible within the flow of the
Admiral
’s essence, small enough for the filters to deal with. He took a deep breath and sagged back in the chair, then snapped forward again. The filters might be able to catch the junk now, but there was so much that he was going to have to stop and clean.

“What happened, there?” he murmured into his connection to Tocohl.

“The backup comp on the packet boat failed; I widened the pipe in order not to lose any part of the
Admiral
. I had not anticipated that so much original ship data had been left behind.”

“Right. How’s it looking upstream?”

“I see the transfer’s END statements on the date-mismatch rejection routines, and on the macro-collection routines. Final files coming soon. There is some debris, but nothing else that threatens the filters.”

He shook his head within the visualizer, the major pipes still turgid with old data and images. Some of the old modular code had enough match points that it might be mistaken for undercode for the
Admiral
.

“I’m going to have to stop and clean. Will that be a problem?”

There was a pause then.

“If you must, Mentor, but quickly.”

Quickly
, from the likes of Tocohl Lorlin. That got a man’s attention, so it did.

“Right, then,” he said.

It was a mess, and he cleared as quickly as he was able, trying not to wonder was it quick
enough
—and then stopped and cleared one more time, with the glow of the final END statement filling his screen.

“We got him,” he murmured, fingers moving among the keys, checking and double-checking the stats.

As far as the instruments knew, they had downloaded every pertinent program and subroutine available, and assembled them in the correct order, ready.

Whether
Admiral Bunter
had survived—that was a real question. Starved as he’d been, closing in on unstable…Tolly took a breath.