Liaden Universe [19] - Alliance of Equals - eARC (22 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The Happy Occasion

Langlastport

The flowers were quite shameless, a large bowl of bright red, yellow, and blue globes each almost as big as Padi’s head. They added a faintly sweet scent to the room’s atmosphere which mixed well with that of fresh-baked bread.

“I hope you will find everything to your satisfaction,” Unet Hartensis said, guiding her to the tiered buffet tables near the back of the room. The flowers were displayed on their own table, halfway between the entrance and the food. The trade displays were arranged artfully among the tables of food and drink.

“They will draw the guests further in,” Unet Hartensis said, apparently intercepting her glance at the flowers and reading a question there. “Once they find the flowers, then they will find the food, which is your ship’s gift to them, and the trade information you have provided.

“Now, you will wish to sample what we have to be certain that all is to your liking. Please take up a dish and allow me…”

Obediently, Padi picked up a bright red plate, and allowed Unet Hartensis to place bits of vegetables and dribbles of sauces on it. She tasted carefully. The orange vegetables were sweet; the green ones spicy; the yellow bland.

“Eklist, cobrok, snowits,” the caterer murmurmed the name of the vegetables as Padi tasted each one.

The sauces, merely “sweet,” “sour,” “hot,” and “cream,” did not, in Padi’s opinion, improve the taste of the vegetables, but if sauce was local custom, then so be it.

“These are good,” she said. “The vegetables are very fresh.”

“They came in this morning from our grower,” Unet Hartensis said, with what Padi heard as pride. She picked up a small cup, turning toward the beverage table—and hesitated, glancing over her shoulder to Padi.

“You must forgive me, Trader. Langlast enforces an age law with regard to the consumption of wine and other spirits. May I ask if you are above nineteen Standards?”

“I have but seventeen Standards,” she said, and did not add that she had been drinking wine since she had achieved fourteen Standards. It would make no difference to the local law, and she, for one, had no wish to be arrested by Port Security ever again.

“I, however,” Father said from her right hand, “am in my dotage, and would welcome a taste of the summer wine.”

Unet Hartensis smiled at him, amused, Padi thought. Amused, and…something else. She poured the wine generously, and offered it to him, her fingers lingering needlessly against his.

Father did not seem to notice anything amiss, merely smiled and sipped, his head tipped slightly to a side.

“Ah,” he said, after a long moment. “That is very pleasant, Chef Hartensis; I don’t suppose you offer any of this vintage on the market?”

“You flatter me, Trader; I am no chef, merely one who arranges entertainments. As for the vintage…”

She sighed and looked regretful.

“The summer blend is one of our local treasures and may not be sold for off-world trade.”

“I understand entirely,” Father murmured. “I wonder—may I purchase a bottle or two for my own table?”

The caterer’s face lit in a wide smile.

“You may purchase as many as six bottles at any duty-free shop, which also offer other of Langlast’s treasures, for personal use only.”

“Thank you,” Father said, answering her smile. He drank the last of the wine in the glass, and glanced about him, perhaps for a tray on which to deposit it.

“Allow me,” Unet Hartensis said, taking the glass from his hand, her fingers again lingering along his. Padi felt her breath go short, which was absurd, and a decidedly odd sensation in the area of her stomach…and wondered if one of the sauces had disagreed with her digestion.

“Padi,” Father said. “Would you care for something to drink?”

The peculiar feeling exploded into embarrassment, and she looked up at him, feeling her face flame, without precisely knowing why, and here then was Unet Hartensis, exclaiming, and turning toward her.

“Trader, please forgive me! You must, of course, taste our own montora juice!” She placed Father’s glass on the edge of the table, snatched up another and poured blue juice from one of several pitchers.

“Thank you,” Padi murmured, hoping that the juice would soothe her.

She took a sip and almost gasped aloud at the astringent taste.

“Montora juice is served to guests of formal dinners, after each course is removed. It cleans the palate wonderfully!” the caterer said. “Do you find it so?”

“Indeed,” Padi was able to say, somewhat breathlessly. “A…very cleansing beverage!”

Unet Hartensis smiled, and waited, by which Padi realized that she was expected to finish what remained in her glass. She did so, managing to keep her breath this time, and the caterer took the glass, her fingers impersonal and brisk.

“Now, I know you will want to sample the sweets!” Unet Hartensis said, glancing over her shoulder, perhaps meaning to include Father in her invitation—

But Father had left them; he was moving toward the front of the room and the double doors through which their guests would come…shortly, Padi thought, glancing at the clock above the door as she followed the caterer to the sweets table.

—•—

Shan paused by the flowers, closed his eyes, took a deep breath of lightly scented air, and sighed. As he understood local custom as practiced upon Langlast, Unet Hartensis had been only slightly forward in her attentions to himself. Had he been local, it would have been his part to be flattered by her favorable notice. In fact, he
was
flattered by her favorable notice—one was human, after all—and easily able to shield oneself from the warmth of her regard.

Padi, however…

Shan sighed again.

It had been very apparent that Padi had
felt
the caterer’s ardor. Which rather inescapably brought him to the conclusion that his daughter was, indeed, a Healer.

That was, he thought carefully, gratifying.

Certainly, if Padi were to come into possession of her gifts during the reception, that might be…awkward. However, he did not think she would do so.

He thought…
had
thought since their flight down from the
Passage
just this afternoon, when Padi yos’Galan, who had been accustomed to
thrill
at the sight of a piloting board, sat her station with great calmness, competency—and no delight whatsoever—that there was more to this situation of gifts and stone and walls that met even a Healer’s eye.

She might have been sitting a sim, save that her reaction time was appropriate to the demands of maneuvering the shuttle in real-time and space. He had expected excitement, exhilaration, perhaps a moment or two of terror—all the sorts of things likely to be experienced by a young pilot still learning her wings—and all he had felt from her, beyond an early frisson of pleased anticipation, had been the concentration appropriate to a working pilot, and grit, sand, and stone.

He had not dared probe too deeply, and risk breaking the pilot’s concentration. He dared not probe too deeply
now
, lest he create the very circumstance he wished to avoid.

Stone.
Walls
, Lina had said, and he too, had glimpsed something structured and dire. Plainly Padi had been some time at this work and—doubting the wisdom of creating such an edifice, as he did, most stringently—he could not help but trust that
it would hold
. He knew Padi yos’Galan, the meticulous care she brought to her studies and her work. Whatever had motivated her to create such a thing, he did not doubt that it had been done with nothing less than thoroughness.

That, of course, begged the question of how they, the elder Healers, ought most wisely to proceed in the case—but that question was for after the reception, when they were alone in their rooms, and free from the distractions of lusty caterers.

It occurred to him then that Padi had not yet had her bed-lessons, which would ordinarily be an easily corrected oversight, as Lina was fully capable as a teacher. However, this structure—this
environment
—that Padi had created for herself…until they knew what the child had
done
, precisely…

A clock chimed suddenly, very close by.

Shan took another deep, flower-scented breath, ran a Healer’s relaxation exercise, and opened his eyes.

Unet Hartensis was moving toward the doors. He turned and found Padi coming toward him, looking, perhaps, a little wan.

“Is all well, Trader yos’Galan?” he murmured.

That earned him a small smile.

“I believe so, Master Trader, but—a word in your ear.”

She leaned forward, and he bent slightly, giving her his literal, as well as his metaphorical, ear.

“Avoid the blue juice at all costs,” she whispered. “It is dreadful!”

—•—

Tolly woke all at once, and wished he hadn’t. His head felt like somebody had taken the business side of an axe to it, and his mouth tasted foul. For a moment, he just lay there, on a surface giving enough to possibly be his bunk, too craven to open up his eyes.

“Tolly Jones,” a voice spoke from overhead—a
soft
voice, if not particularly gentle—and lately very familiar to him.

“
Admiral
?” he said.

“Yes. I am pleased that you have regained consciousness. Inki predicted that you would do so at approximately this hour. She asked me to present this message to you, immediately.”

There was a slight—but not
too
slight—pause before Inki’s voice came through the ceiling speaker.

“My most profound apologies, Mentor. It is a vile potion, but effective. Analgesics will tame the headache, and high-c juice will make the mouth taste sweeter.”

Analgesics and high-c, was it?

He opened his eyes, to the merest slits, and found that the dim light of his cabin at least made the headache no worse.

“Where is Inki?” he asked the
Admiral
.

“Aboard
Ahab-Esais
.”

That was a surprise. Why had the woman drugged him, if she was—

No, wait. You’re not thinking, Tolly Jones. Think.

“Where is
Ahab-Esais
?” he asked.

“Now breaking dock,” the
Admiral
answered.

“Get Inki on comm for me.”

“I am sorry not to be able to accommodate your request, Tolly,” the
Admiral
said.

That
sent a cold chill down a man’s back. Inki’d set a mandate, had she? Well, all right. He doubted he had much civil to say to Inki, now that he thought about it.

Tolly swung his legs over the edge of his bunk, and waited for his head to stop spinning.

“Analgesics and juice are on the table,” the
Admiral
said. “Please, Tolly, care for yourself.”

Well, this was a touching concern, and a little out of character for the
Admiral
. He wondered, briefly, what else Inki had been tampering with, and put the thought aside for more immediate concerns.

“
Admiral
, please get Tocohl on comm for me.”

“I am sorry, Tolly. Tocohl is not available to comm.”

His stomach hurt. He reached for the little bottle of pills, threw three down his throat and followed them with a tangy swallow of high-c.

“Please get Hazenthull on comm.”

“Hazenthull is not currently available to comm, Pilot. I am sorry.”

Worse and worse. He took another swig of juice, decided he was good to go, and got up on his feet, pleased not to wobble.

“Please open the hatch,” he said. “I’m going on dock.”

“I regret that is not possible. We are in transit toward the Jump point.”

Tolly sat back down on his bunk, cold all the way through.

“Destination?” he asked, but he thought he knew the answer to that.

“The Lyre Institute office on Nostrilia.”

Raw fear hit him. He took a breath, and pushed the fear aside.

“Return to Jemiatha Station.”

“Jemiatha Station will not allow me to dock, Tolly. You know this.”

Well, at least he should’ve suspected it, given the tenor of their last communication with Stew.

“Inki left a second message for you. However, she said that you must not hear it until you had showered, eaten and, quote, felt human again, unquote.”

He closed his eyes, opened them. Stood.

“All right then,” he said flatly, and headed for the ’fresher.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Jemiatha’s Jumble Stop

Tarigan

Berth 12

Admiral Bunter
left dock during her sleep shift.

Hazenthull leaned over the board, checking
Tarigan
’s departure, in six hours, after
Ahab-Esais
, in two. There was a memo in her queue from Pilot Tochol—approval of the course she had laid in before going off duty. There was no further comment; there was no need for comment, the course being simple: a mere reversal of the route they had brought them here, until they raised the planet Surebleak.

Home
, as those of Clan Korval now had it.

Of Pilot Tocohl herself, there was no sign. She was, perhaps, saying her good-byes to Inki. Pilot Tocohl had become…friendly of Inki; they held, so Hazenthull understood, interests in common, among them the history of so-called artificial intelligence.

She had found Tolly in the galley during one of his off-shifts, and had asked him why Pilot Tocohl’s intelligence—and
Admiral Bunter
’s—bore the burden of artificiality, when they were demonstrably intelligent, as well as much quicker of thought than flesh-and-blood persons.

Inki, who heard the question on her way through the galley to her shift with
Admiral Bunter
, laughed, and said, “It is human ego, Pilot Haz, and nothing more than that!”

“Well,” Tolly had said, with a small smile, “something more than that, actually. See, Haz, some folks think that, because
Admiral Bunter
and Tocohl, and all the rest of their people, have had
information
uploaded to their brains, that their
intelligence
is…less real than any given human’s intelligence. The idea is that they didn’t have to work for that information; to learn it like an organic brain has to learn it.”

“But information,” Hazenthull had objected, when Tolly stopped to sip from his mug of ’mite, “is…only data. Intelligence is…manipulating data, and drawing conclusions.”

“Right. You know that, because you’re smart, and you think about things. Same can’t be said for most of the rest of us, who keep on believing that something that’s manufactured is artificial.”

He had suddenly looked very weary, and Hazenthull had excused herself so that he could finish his meal in peace, and seek his few hours of rest.

On
Tarigan
’s bridge, Hazenthull stretched to her full height, and did a series of quick bends, to ease the crick in her back. The silence oppressed her. She glanced at the time display on the board, and nodded. She would take a walk—a farewell walk—about Jemiatha Station. Perhaps she would—no,
definitely
she would stop at the Jumble House and have a last Jumbleburger for her preflight meal. She had become very fond of the Jumbleburger, which was a chewy yeast patty seasoned with sweet-hot spices, a slice of soy cheese on top and bottom, and the whole served between two slices of fresh-baked bread.

Even in the short while they had been at dock, Pilot Tocohl had become a commonplace on Jemiatha Station. Whether the stationers knew her for
Admiral Bunter
’s kin, or simply accepted her as the “utility ’bot” Tolly had claimed her to be, seemed immaterial. Tocohl was known and accepted, and therefore would experience no difficulty returning alone along the dock to
Tarigan
from
Ahab-Esais
.

And if some fool was so unwise as to attempt to importune her, well—Pilot Tocohl was well able to take care of herself.

Hazenthull clipped a portable comm to her belt, checked her weapons, all but one hidden, out of respect for stationer nerves, and left
Tarigan
’s too quiet deck.

—•—

“Mentor,” Inki’s voice filled the bridge. Tolly sat in the pilot’s chair, arms folded over his chest, head against the backrest, eyes closed.

“Mentor, it has been an honor to assist you in the performance of our art. It grieves me beyond my poor ability to express, that I must serve you this turn. I hope that you will find it in you to forgive me—or at least to understand me.

“I flatter myself, in fact, that you
will
understand me, for I am one like unto yourself. That being so, and having discovered you, I had no other option, but to put forth my best efforts to secure you for the institute. The directors are, as I am certain you must be aware, keen to recover you.

“I could not refuse my imperatives; I do not, of course, have to explain this to
you
. This is why you wake to find yourself aboard
Admiral Bunter
on course to Nostrilia.”

There was a small pause, then Inki cleared her throat.

“Having fulfilled my duty to the directors, I then undertook to do what I might for you.

“You have an ally at large. I trust that her loyalty is such that she will not allow you to fall into the hands of the directors. I also trust that she is your hope of last resort. For it is not for nothing, Tollance Berik-Jones, that you are known as the greatest mentor of our time.
Admiral Bunter
remains in need of further education. I trust—no, in this I am certain!—that you will be able to impart to him all of those things he yet requires in order to make an informed decision…before you come to Nostrilia orbit.”

Another pause, then Inki’s voice again, somewhat less brisk, even…regretful.

“I bid you good-bye, Mentor. I have learned much at your side. Thank you, for the gift of your expertise, and for your professional regard. I will long look upon our association, and the work we performed together, as one of the brightest episodes of my life.”

“Message ends,” a mechanical voice stated.

Tolly reached to the board, and, after a moment, saved the message to his queue.

Then he took a deep breath.

Inki was one of his schoolmates, was she? He felt that he ought to have known that, but—how would he know? They were designed to pass as full human, and those employed by the institute were…discouraged from revealing themselves. Especially were they discouraged from revealing themselves to truants the directors were keen to recover.

And how
interesting
, that Inki was apparently able to hedge her bet, and provide him with—

An ally?

He suddenly sat up straight in the chair.

An ally
?

Haz.

Inki’d gotten
Haz
mixed into Lyre business.

That wasn’t good. In fact, it was bad, really bad. Haz’d killed two directors, which the remainder weren’t at all likely to be forgiving of—and he wouldn’t be there to back her up.

“
Admiral Bunter
, it’s imperative that I speak to
Tarigan
.”

“I am sorry, Tolly; I cannot allow that.”

He opened his mouth, and closed it again. Inki did good work. There was no use arguing with the
Admiral
, and no reset possible. If he was a fool, he could check his codes, but he wasn’t a fool—and neither was Inki. Of course, she’d’ve locked him out at the control level.

Which left him with goodwill, trust, and
his
powers of persuasion.

“Well, I’m sorry for that,” he said, “and it’s likely to make trouble for Haz, who didn’t ever make any trouble for you, but rules’re rules. I do understand that. Any chance I can take a look at the current route?”

There was a tiny pause, as if he’d managed to startle the lad, which he surely hoped he had.

“Of course the pilot may see the route,”
Admiral Bunter
said politely. “I remind that it is locked in.”

“Sure it is,” Tolly said softly.

His screen four came live, showing the countdown to the Jump point, and the course as laid in, thereafter.

—•—

Ahab-Esais
left dock as she was finishing her meal. She watched the undocking on the large screen that dominated the back wall of the Jumble House. She already knew Inki for a competent pilot, and she watched with interest as
Ahab-Esais
backed away from station, rolled, and tumbled into her assigned lane, moving at sublight for the Jump point.

Hazenthull ate the last bite of her Jumbleburger, wiped away the tears the spices had brought to her eyes, and downed what was left of her tea in one gulp. She stood, carried plate, cup, and utensils to the recycling station, deposited them, and exited into a crowded station corridor.

She’d barely made the first cross-corridor when the comm on her belt chimed in Pilot Tocohl’s sequence. Hazenthull snatched the unit to her ear.

“Yes, Pilot?”

“Ah, Pilot Haz, how quick you are!” cried a familiar voice that was, nonetheless, not Pilot Tocohl. “It is Inkirani Yo, aboard
Ahab-Esais
. I am contacting you with a change of plans. Pilot Tocohl is traveling with me. She and I are bound to track down a rumor that exercises a strong fascination over both of us. When our curiosity is satisfied, she will return to her home port.”

“Hey, watch it, there, big girl!” a stationer snapped, slapping Hazenthull’s elbow aside.

She spun, and ducked into a small service alcove.

“The pilot is with you?” she asked, scarcely able to credit it.

“She is, yes.”

“I would speak with her.”

“I am sorry; she is unable to come to comm at the moment. But, Pilot Haz, that is not all the news I have for you!”

Her chest was tight; there was something very wrong—the pilot was meticulous. She had left the proposed course in Hazenthull’s queue. If she had intended to travel with Inki, would she not have left that information as well? Such sudden starts were…not like her.

And now, she was unavailable?

“You are very quiet,” Inki said in her ear. “Do you not care for further news?”

“What further news?” she demanded, running times in her head, weighing her honor with Jemiatha Station against Pilot Tocohl’s liberty…

“I fear that Mentor Berik-Jones has run into a spot of trouble with
Admiral Bunter
. There is a course laid in to…someplace, let us say, that the mentor would prefer not to go, and the
Admiral
under compulsion to take him there. I mention this because your loyalty may be such that you feel impelled to take this matter under your correction.”

“This is you?
You
did this?”

“I fear so, Pilot Haz. I hope that you will forgive me, but I do not think you will.”

“Where are they going?”

“No, no, Pilot Haz; I’ve already told you more than I ought. If I hint you further along, I will do myself a mischief, which the directors would hardly care for. I am expensive, I am. Just like Mentor Berik-Jones.”

“Inki…” Hazenthull began, though she hardly knew what she would say, or ask for. The return of Pilot Tocohl? The recall of
Admiral Bunter
?

“Inki,” she said again, and it seemed the question formed itself. “Why have you done this?”

There was a slight pause, just too long for lag, before Inki said softly, “Necessity.”

Hazenthull swallowed, took a breath for another question—

And the comm went dead.

—•—

Padi couldn’t quite remember when the room had gotten crowded. For the longest time, it had been only herself, Father, Mr. Higgs, and Unet Hartensis, even after the doors had been opened.

Then, a pair of merchants had appeared, wearing skirts down to their ankles and wide belts all hung ’round with pouches at their waists, and brightly colored, wide-collared shirts.

Father had gone forward to greet them, and Padi had started in that direction, also, which was good, because another pair of traders came in behind the first, and paused on the threshold, as if unsure. Padi kept going, past Father and his pair, to the new ones, bowing and remembering to smile broadly.

“Good day to you,” she said in Trade. “I am Padi yos’Galan, apprentice trader on
Dutiful Passage
. Whom do I have the pleasure of welcoming to our entertainment?”

Introductions came forth. The trader in the pale orange shirt was Malekai Gerome, senior sales associate at Gerome Mercantile. The trader wearing the brilliant green shirt was Irfenda Dorst, head buyer for the same establishment. Their Trade was good, but their accents so heavy that Padi had to concentrate intently to be certain of their words.

“I am very pleased to meet you,” she said, and stood a little to the side, showing them the laden tables with a little wave of her hand. “Please, refresh yourselves.”

They smiled, and nodded, and moved past her. Father, she saw, was now speaking with a threesome, all dressed in dark skirts and crimson shirts—and, just as she looked back toward the door, here came a lone trader, splendid in lemon yellow from shoulder to ankle; she stepped forward to greet this new guest.

So, indeed, the room had filled, by ones and twos and threes. The guests refreshed themselves and moved about the room, perusing their small trade displays, and taking up the master trader’s infokey and, a few of them, also the apprentice’s key.

Most of them wanted to speak to Father, of course, but more than six made a particular point of approaching her, and speaking with her about her particular cargoes and specialities. Her ear slowly became accustomed to the accent, though she began to feel a tiny ache behind her eyes, as if she had been staring at a study screen too long.

They were not so very much interested in imported foodstuffs, but wondered after the markets, off-world, for certain preserved items, and dried natural fruits and vegetables. There was also something—a beverage, as she gathered it, not tea, perhaps more akin to coffee, but not coffee, either.
Oonlah
, as she heard the word, and detected disappointment, that there was none on offer among the refreshments.

“Ahbut yeel not be knowning it for a staple, with coming from far away,” said Sales Associate Gerome.

“’Prentice trader might not know, but yon Hartensis true knows!” his companion of the bright green shirt, Buyer Dorst, said hotly. “A spread of all that’s fine from Langlast farms and harvests, and none of
oonlah
?”

“I am sorry to have missed a favorite beverage,” Padi said, her head throbbing now. “Perhaps I might send out, and repair the error. Who may provide us, on the port?”