Reclamation (11 page)

Basq concentrated on keeping his face smooth and devoid of emotion while he racked his brains trying to remember the etiquette for greeting the Witness one had been assigned. Before he had to resign himself to making his first remembered action a public display of ignorance, the Witness moved. With more grace than even a Contractor, she glided toward him. As she neared, Basq realized she was an Amputant, but a much more devout one than even Contractor Kelat. She raised a flexible, silicate hand toward him in greeting.

Why should I be surprised? Most Witnesses are fanatics. That would be especially true for any Witness Uary agreed to.
Basq tried not to frown.
I will have to find a way to remind Caril how careful we must be.

“Ambassador Basq, with your permission I will present you my name.” Her voice was deep and had an oddly musical quality about it. “I am Formal Witness Winema Avin-Dae Uratae. Do you accept that I am the Witness contracted to you by the Reclamation Advisory Committee or do you require verification?”

The words triggered the memory of a lesson from his graded schooling. To ask for proof was to impugn the Witness. Impugning the Witness might skew the observation. So, Basq said, “I accept that you are my contracted Witness.”

“Then accept that my memory carries you. On the memory of my own self I swear I will remember accurately.” Winema said the words with such fervor it might have been her first time uttering them. Basq doubted that was the case. Uary would not let a novice be assigned to him.

Now came the difficult part. He had acknowledged and accepted the Witness. With the formalities observed, he had to ignore her completely. Supposedly, that would become easier with time, but for now maintaining that attitude was going to be a fight. Basq pivoted and started for the docking corridor that connected the shuttle to the core. Winema fell into step behind him, as silent as his shadow. He climbed aboard the shuttle and took a seat near the front. He heard the slight creak as the Witness sat behind him. He imagined he could feel the point on the back of his head where her camera was directed. His scalp began to itch.

It won’t always be like this. I’ll be free during my off-shift time. She’s just contracted to watch me while I work.

Which means she’s contracted to watch the dataflow on my terminal. I will have to keep that always in mind.
The itch intensified.

Witnesses are necessary,
Basq reminded himself.
Especially now that we are dealing with artifacts again. The artifacts defeated the ancestors because they were able to rob them of the information needed to quell the rebellion. They will not be able to do that to us. They will not be able to win that way even if they retain any knowledge of their rebellion and the Flight.
In each of the three thousand cores there were sequestered twenty-four Witnesses with eidetic memory. They held all the vital knowledge of the Rhudolant Vitae. When her contract was completed, Winema would not only transfer her camera’s record into one of the datastores, she would recite her memory of Basq to one of the Witnesses in the Hundredth Core. If the artifacts wanted to wipe out all the history and learning of the Vitae again, they would have to murder all the Eidetic Witnesses.

But ruining the Ancestor’s datastores was not all they did to defeat the Ancestors, was it?
Under the gaze of the Witness, Basq felt the shackles of responsibility take hold.
They have obviously retained their abilities. If they have retained any portion of their memory, any portion of the Flight, how are we going to find a way to stop them from moving the Home Ground out of reach again?

With an effort of will, Basq shoved the doubts aside.
We will find the knowledge. I will find the knowledge.

Basq knew it was an arrogant idea, but he did not hesitate to admit to himself that it was also a pleasant one.

Planning his strategies made the trip back to the
Grand Errand
bearable. The itch on the back of his scalp never quite went away, but he was able to cover his awareness of it with lists of things he needed to accomplish in the next seventy-two hours.

Caril was waiting for him when he and Winema emerged from the shuttle into the
Grand Errand’s
gold-and-mauve receiving area.

“Welcome home, Husband,” she said as she made her obeisance, bending over the small stack of holosheets she carried.

“Wherever you stand to welcome me is home, Wife.” The cliché was a little informal, considering the circumstances, but well within the bounds of propriety.

“These are the contracts which arrived in your absence.” She handed him the sheets. “I have verified their origins and reviewed them for completeness.”

Excellent,
thought Basq, as he shuffled through the stack of sheets.
This will demonstrate her efficiency and my trust in her.
The heat from his hands and the patterns of his fingerprints activated the displays on each sheet as he touched it. The stack held the contract from Avir and Kelat, as well as the subcontract labeling him Beholden to Ivale. Basq felt warm breath upon his cheek and almost jumped out of his skin. Winema was reading over his shoulder.

I will get used to this, I will get used to this.
He waited until his hands stopped shaking to give the sheets back to Caril. “Thank you. You should record my acknowledgment of receipt as soon as we return to our quarters.”

“I will make this my work,” she said. Caril took her place beside him and they left the receiving hall for the corridor to the lifts. Winema followed without a sound.

The
Grand Errand
was of much newer construction than the Hundredth Core. The support girders and network fibers were hidden by sheaths of crystalline optical matter rather than panels of plastics or ceramics. Although the optical matter was much more flexible than the traditional solids and it had a certain dignity, being one of the private technologies, Basq thought that the solids had a special grandeur. Nothing could be changed aboard the older ships without planning and cooperation. Here, a single technician tapped a pattern to clear a spot in the wall. Under her hand, a square of grey-white wall turned orange and cleared to reveal a web of yellowish fibers. A few meters away from her, a man wearing the grey-and-tan armbands of the support services section pressed a holo-sheet and flat keypad in the wall and began tapping whatever information flowed through the fibers in that particular section. Doubtless they all had orders and contracts to fulfill, but it was all so … solitary and so easy. Almost improperly so. Even the Imperialists could make changes. The public parks had their treaties written across the walls. A swift gesture with his hand had wiped them clear, but the fact that they had been there at all left a bitter sensation in his mind. Basq wondered if he might apply to move himself and Caril to the Hundredth Core to be closer to the Advisory Committee. It was worth considering.

The lift to their residence section was nearly full. Like all the ships, the
Grand Errand
kept its living quarters in its heart, where they could best be sheltered from accidents and everyday occurrences, like the hard radiation that never stopped bombarding the ship. The crowd parted respectfully to make room for Basq and his entourage. Caril tapped the code for their home level on the wall. Her fingerprints were her authorization and the lift added their destination to the list displayed about the translucent doors as they closed.

“Ambassador Basq?”

Basq turned and looked up slightly. A thin man with a greying, braided beard and a red-and-gold badge that marked him as administrative support for communications stood beside him.

“The word of your new assignment has been spreading across the decks. May I congratulate you, sir? Your work brings a good memory for the
Grand Errand.”

Basq inclined his head. The man was obviously a status seeker, but there was no reason not to be polite, especially with Winema watching. “Thank you. I only hope my future work will do the same.” He glanced over at Caril, who stood a little in front of the man. She nodded. She would note the man’s badge code before they reached their home level. He might be willing to do them a favor or two if he thought it would add to his own status to be seen to help an Ambassador assigned to the Reclamation. Such people were worth collecting.

The lift let them out in their home level park. The park was not a crude recreation of a planetside grove. Outsiders might need such areas to overcome psychological difficulties caused by long periods in enclosed habitats, or simply to compensate for things they missed. Without the Home Ground to model from, the Vitae shunned such affectations. The park was a place where individual expression and creativity could be practiced publicly. They passed a trio of young women in purple-and-black student robes intently discussing the positioning of figures in the choreo-poem that filled the main display stage. Basq also noticed that two of the free-access terminals showed new titles on their displays. Maybe he and Caril would have time to attend a discussion. It might give them a chance to talk about their work out from under the gaze of the Witness. Then he winced. The wall behind the choreo-poem had been covered with a carefully printed text lecture. Above the tidy print, the linked circles of the Imperialists had been drawn with equal care.

Basq’s jaw tightened. When his promotions had granted him access to greater space for personal work, he had requested a residence adjoining a park. If one knew how to read the events recorded in the parks, one could make advantageous predictions about the ship or encampments. Which was, of course, the best reason of all for their existence. They were forums for legitimate arguments as well as pressure valves. In the parks, dissidents could vent their anger before it built up to truly dangerous levels.

But that reasoning had its drawbacks. It meant the most determined and intelligent dissidents kept their activities far away from the parks. Jahidh’s thoughts had never appeared there. Basq had watched for them.

He didn’t let the Imperialist text or his thoughts break his stride. At this moment, he could not be seen to care about anything but setting to work.

Caril let Basq open their door, as etiquette dictated. The portal slid aside to reveal a hive of activity. All four of Basq’s contracted Intership Ambassadors were seated at their stations. The stations themselves were cubical areas marked by pillars of communication fibers sheathed in optical matter. Holosheets or prerecorded requests could be hung from the pillars so that the machines could tap the datastores on other ships for routine retrieval and sort operations. The ISAs themselves handled the calls where complexity or courtesy required personal contact. Their voices filled the air as they advised, coordinated, recalled, or referenced contacts regarding Basq’s new status and potential requirements. His three apprentices, all of them shaved and robed in red, bustled between the stations, carrying drinks or extra holosheets or relaying questions between the ISAs.

Basq felt his chest swell with pride. He had dismissed his Beholden before he donned his white robe to go meet with his Contractors. Caril must have recalled them all the second the contracts for his new assignment arrived. She had meant more than he had expected when she said, “I will have our quarters ready.”

“Jene,” Basq called above the voices. The supervisor of the team put his station into stasis with two keystrokes and presented himself in front of Basq, a little too quickly. Jene was a student Contractor and the purple bands on his robe were cut with black diamonds. One of the honors conferred on Basq with his promotion was Jene. Under Basq’s guidance, Jene was learning to coordinate and supervise a team of Beholden. “Have the team suspend their activities and stand ready for new assignments. Compile a report of the status of our current resources and contracts.”

“Yes, Ambassador.” Jene’s gaze slid over Basq’s shoulder to Winema.

“Do you see something I don’t, Supervisor?” Basq inquired.

“No, Ambassador,” Jene brought his attention back where it belonged. “The report will be prepared and logged in fifteen minutes.”

“That will be sufficient.” When Jene completed his schooling, he would automatically become Basq’s superior, but if he was unable to handle the tasks his station required both in terms of complexity and etiquette, he’d have nothing to thank Basq for.

Basq fixed his gaze on his work alcove and headed straight for it. His apprentices stepped around him without a word. Praise and greetings to his Beholden would be handed out once Jene’s report had shown him what they had earned.

Let it be seen I run my team properly. No one in this atmosphere will be led to inappropriate ideas or manners. Let it be seen that if Jahidh had not been removed from our care, he would have never even thought of defecting.

Pointless fear,
Basq scolded himself.
Why can I not let it go? If anyone had any thought that his actions reflected on me, on us, I would not have been assigned to the committee.

Without needing to be asked, Caril retrieved two extra chairs from the main room. Winema did not sit down immediately. While Basq pressed the contract holosheets into the fiber-filled walls, Winema opened her bag. She took out two cubical system taps and typed in their activation codes. Caril stepped around her to raise the privacy walls. Grey-white optical matter spread out from the walls, building on itself until it fenced in the entire work area.

Winema affixed the first tap to the arm of Basq’s terminal chair. When her hand released it, the red warning light blinked on. If the tap were moved or if its dataflow was disturbed without the proper signals being given, Winema would see a warning on her camera set. So would all the other active Witnesses. She hung the second tap between the contracts.

Visible taps on his terminal, of course, were no guarantee that Winema had not ordered invisible ones to be placed on his Beholden’s terminals. It was well within the bounds of her contract to order the entire area to be placed under a continuous data scan.

Winema took her seat next to Caril, and Basq settled himself in the terminal chair. He swung the keypads into place. Although he had meant what he had said to Caril when he greeted her, part of him knew that home for him was really in front of his terminal. This was where he had made the discoveries about Eric Born that led directly to the location of the Home Ground.