The Crystal Variation (150 page)

“True,” Raisy answered. She nodded to the Scout. “You got a good mind for detail.”

“I thank you. And you, if I may say so, are a great deal older than you look.”

“That’s because we got hold of some duplicating machines early,” Raisy said, “and kept on reproducing the pure stock. We breed, like Grig here gone and done, the very next generation goes back to default.”

“That’s what was driving Arin to find out how to manufacture good fractins,” Grig said. “The machines are going unstable, and he wanted his boy to be able to continue the line.”

The Scout inclined his head. “I understand. However, the Old Technology is forbidden.”

Jethri cleared his throat. Four pair of eyes turned to him, Tan Sim’s looking more bewildered than anything else.

“I’m a—clone?” he asked, very calmly. He used his chin to point at the machine Grig had recommended for study. “I was born from one of those?”

“Almost,” said Grig. “I’m sorry to tell you that Arin wasn’t entirely straight with Iza, Jeth. I’ll give you the details when we’re private.” He looked at the Scout. “Family business.”

The Scout bowed.

“Captain ter’Astin?” A voice inquired. They all turned.

Four Scouts stood in the cramped bay behind them, equipment packs on their backs. The lead Scout saluted. “Containment Unit reporting, sir.”

“Good.” The Scout waved his hand at the big piece Raisy had identified as unstable. “There is your target. We will remove ourselves until the containment is complete. After . . .” He considered Grig and Raisy thoughtfully.

“After, I believe I would like to pay the pair of you day-rate, and sit at your feet while you
clear
the Old Technology in this pod.”

Raisy shrugged. “All right by me.” She sent a look and a grin to Jethri, who couldn’t help but grin back. “We’re fast, cousin. Couple days from now, the only thing you’ll have to worry you is how to profitably place what’s left.”

Day 185

DAY 185

Standard Year 1118

Irikwae

AFTER THE BEFORES
were cleared and cleared out, and the broken stasis boxes sold for scrap, there’d been enough in the contents of the good boxes to return the initial investment, and one kais, three for profit.

“Not a large profit,” Trader sig’Lorta commented, appending the information to Jethri’s file.

“True,” he’d replied. “However, if the coin had stayed in my pocket, I would have realized no profit at all.”

His mentor glanced up, gray eyes amused. “The trade is in your bones, Jethri Gobelyn.”

In between his assignments for the hall, and their work with the Scout, he spent time with Grig, sometimes with Raisy, though most often not. Family business, family secrets—he was clear he wasn’t gettin’ it all. Not even close to it all. No need, really.

As Grig said, “You ain’t Arin. No need for an Arin now, if there ever was, with the machines going into unstable—but you’re worried about the other. And you
ain’t
Arin, Jeth, no more’n I’m Raisy. We’re each our own self, give or take a shared gene-set. Like identical twins, if you know any.

“I will say Arin’d be proud of the way you’re going about setting yourself up, building your credentials and associations. He
would
be proud if he was here for it—just like I’m proud. But—here’s another secret for you—he’d’ve never gone at it like you done. Arin was smart about lots of things, but human hearts wasn’t among ‘em. I’m thinkin’ it’ll prove that your way’s the better one.”

“What was he trying to do with the fractins?” Jethri’d asked. “Remember how we built the patterns, an’—”

“Right.” Grig nodded. “Remember what I told you? How all the fractins was dying at once? Duplicating units are powered by fractins, same as your weather maker, and that tutoring stick went bad on you in the exhibit hall. Arin, he had this theory, that if you put fractins together in certain ways—certain patterns—they’d know—and could do—some interesting things. So, he—”

“
WildeToad
,” Jethri whispered, and Grig shot him a Look.

“What do you think you know about
Toad
, Jeth?”

“Nothing more than what’s on the sheet of printout my father used to shim my nameplate,” he said. “
Breaking clay
, it said.
Arming
and
going down
. If the clay was fractins, arranged in a certain pattern . . .”

“Then you got most of it,” Grig interrupted. “Arin’d worked out what he figured to be an auxiliary piloting computer.
Toad’s
captain agreed to give it a test run. Looked good, at first, the fractin-brain merged in with ship’s comp. What they didn’t figure on was ship’s comp getting overridden by the fractins. Suddenly
Toad
was out of the control of her crew. Captain’s key was worse than useless. The fractin-brain, it locked in a set of coordinates nobody’d ever seen, and started the sequence to arm the cannons . . .”

“They broke the fractins, but they still didn’t get the ship back,” Jethri said, guessing. “So, they crashed it, rather than risk whatever had their comp getting loose.”

Grig sighed. “Near enough.” He paused, then said, real quiet.

“It was a bad business. So bad Arin stopped trying to figure out the thinking patterns—for awhile. But he had to go back to it, Jeth. See, he was trying to find the pattern that would produce the fractin-brain that would tell him how to make more fractins.”

He leaned forward to put his hand on Jethri’s arm.

“You listen to me, Jethri, if you forget everything else I ever told you. Befores, Old Tech, whatever you want to call it—
you can’t trust it
. Nobody knows what they’ll do—and sometimes it’s worth your life to find out.” He sat back with a tired grin. “And that was
before
they started to go unstable.”

Jethri glanced down at his palm, the burn nothing more now than a broad red scar.

“I’ll remember,” he promised.

Eventually, they come around to the reason Grig and Raisy were on Irikwae at all.

“He said
what
?” Jethri demanded. “The trader who bought the pod—my partner?”

They nodded.

“That trader,” Jethri said, “is the brother chel’Gaibin claims to be
deprived
of.
He’s pushing a false claim against people who aren’t tied by the, the Code.” He took a hard breath, and inclined his head. “Thank you,” he said, dropping into Liaden for the proper phrasing. “Please be assured that this matter will be brought into proper Balance.”

“All right. Now, I gotta ask you, for Seeli: You sure you’re OK? ‘Cause if you need a ship, Seeli says you got the
Market
to call on—and she’ll deal with Iza.”

Jethri felt tears rise up and blinked them away. “Tell her—the offer means a lot to me, but I’ve got a ship, and a crew, and a—course that I’m wanting to see the end of.”

Grig smiled, and sent a glance to his sister. “Boy’s got it under control, Raisy. We can lift on that news.”

And by the next morning, they had.

“WHAT ARE THOSE?”
Miandra asked, as he placed the wire frame and the boxes of fractins, true and false, before Scout Captain ter’Astin. They were once again in the common room of the Scout hall, sharing a pre-dinner glass of wine to celebrate Miandra’s completion of her evaluation.

“Fractins,” Jethri said, and, when she gave him a perfectly blank stare. “Old Technology. Put enough fractins together in the right order and you have—a computer. Only different.”

“And dangerous,” she added.

“Sometimes,” he said, thinking of the healing unit. He met Captain ter’Astin’s eyes, and moved his shoulders. “Usually.” He reached into one of his inner pockets, his fingers touched the familiar, comforting shape. His lucky fractin. With a sigh, he brought it out and placed it on the table.

“Ah,” the Scout said. “I do thank you for these, young Jethri, and appreciate your display of goodwill. I wonder, however, about the journal.”

Jethri bowed, slightly. “The journal is not Old Technology, sir. The contents of the journal are of no use to the Scouts and of much sentimental value to me.”

“I see.” The Scout glanced down at the table and its burden. “I suggest a compromise. You will place the book in my custody. I will cause it to be copied, whereupon the original will be returned to you. I give you my word that all will be accomplished within the space of one day.” He looked up, black eyes bright. “Is this acceptable?”

“Sir, it is.”

“Spoken like a true son of a High House! Come now, let us put business and duty both behind us and drink to Lady Miandra’s very good health!”

The wine being poured, they did that, and Jethri turned to Miandra.

“What was the outcome?” he asked. “Are you dramliza, or Healer?”

She sipped her wine. “Dramliza, though untrained in the extreme. I am offered a teacher upon Liad itself. If Aunt Stafeli agrees, the thing is done.”

“Oh.” Jethri lowered his glass.

“What’s amiss?”

He moved his shoulders. “Truly—it is all that you hoped for—and I share your joy. It is just that—I will miss you.”

Miandra stared—and then her laugh pealed.

“I have missed the joke, I fear,” he said, a little hurt. She leaned forward to put her hand on his sleeve.

“Jethri—cousin. You are to leave very soon, yourself. Do you recall it? Norn ven’Deelin?
Elthoria
? The wide star trade?”

He blinked, and blushed, and laughed a little himself. “I had forgotten,” he admitted. “But I will still miss you.”

Miandra had recourse to her wine, eyes dancing.

“Never fear! I will certainly remain long enough to dance at your age-coming ball!”

“When does Norn come to port?” the Scout asked, sipping his own wine.

It took a moment to remember the date. “Day three-three-one.”

“Ah,” the Scout moved his shoulders. “A pity. I will have gone by then.”

“Back to Kailipso, sir?”

“No, thank the gods. I have been given a new assignment, which may prove . . . interesting.” He put his glass next to Jethri’s lucky fractin.

“I have reserved our table for the top of the hour. We will stop at the desk to ask that someone from the proper unit come to collect those. Then, if you will accompany me, we may proceed to the restaurant. I believe it is a lovely evening for a stroll.”

Day 189

DAY 189

Standard Year 1118

Irikwae

THE ALARM RANG
‘way too early. Jethri pitched out of bed and headed for the shower before his eyes were properly open, emerging some few minutes later, eyes open, hair damp. He pulled on trousers, boots and shirt and, still sealing that last garment, walked over to the computer to discover the instructions that would shape his day.

He was to meet Tam Sin for luncheon—a last agreeable meal before aged
Genchi
, now embracing a third pod, lifted. Besides that, there was a certain odd lot he wanted to have a look at, over—

Red letters blinked urgently on his screen, alerting him to a serious scheduling change. He touched a key and the day-sheet snapped into being, the new item limned in red.

Jethri swallowed a curse. He was to meet with the master trader in charge of evaluating his file in the hall master’s office in—he threw a glance at the clock—now.

“Blast!”

He snatched his best trading coat off the hook and ran.

* * *

OUTSIDE THE HALL
master’s office, he did take a moment to catch his breath, pull his jacket straight, and run quick, combing fingers through his hair. One more deep breath, and he leaned to the annunciator.

“Jethri Gobelyn,” he said, clearly.

The door chimed. He put his hand on the latch and let himself in.

The office had the too-tidy look of a place that had been out of use for a time. The desk top was bare, and slightly dusty; the books lined up, all orderly, in their shelves. Two chairs and a low table made a pleasant grouping by the window. A portable comp and a tray holding two glasses and a bottle of wine bearing the Maarilex Reserve label sat at the center of the table.

But for himself, the room was empty, though the wine and the comp indicated that he could expect the master trader soon.

Taking a deep breath to center himself, Jethri moved to the bookshelves, and brought his attention to the titles.

He had just discovered that Hall Master yos’Arimyst had an interesting half-a-dozen novels shelved among his volumes of Guild rule and trade regs, when the door chimed and opened.

Turning, he began his bow—and checked.

“Master ven’Deelin?”

She raised her eyebrows, black eyes amused. “Such astonishment. Do I not wear the amethyst?”

“Indeed you do, ma’am,” he said, bowing the bow of affectionate esteem. “It is only that one’s mentor has been at pains to let me know that my file will be evaluated by an impartial master.”

“As if there were ever such a thing—or could be.” She paused and looked him up and down, her hands tucked into her belt.

“You look well, my son. Irikwae suits you, I think.”

“I have learned much here, mother.”

“Hah.” Her eyes gleamed. “So it seems.” She moved a hand, inviting him to walk with her to the pleasant grouping of chairs and table. “Come, let us sit and be comfortable. Open and pour for us, if you will, while I consult the notes left by the evaluating master.”

He opened and poured, and settled into the chair across from her. She sat for a moment or two longer, perusing her screen, then sat back with a sigh.

“Yes, precisely did he say, when I met him just now in the Trade Bar,” she murmured, and reached for her glass, lifting it in a toast, Jethri following.

“To Jethri Gobelyn, junior trader.”

He sipped—a small sip, since his stomach suddenly felt like it didn’t know how to behave.

“Truly, ma’am?”

“What question is this?” She slipped a card out of her sleeve. “Honor me with your opinion of this.”

He received it, fingers tracing the Guild sigil on the obverse. On the front, there was his name, and
junior trader
, right enough, and the silver gleam of the datastrip that held the records of his transactions thus far.

“I find it a handsome card, ma’am.”