A Matter of Oaths (2 page)

“Then a glass of veyu will do no harm,” Rafe conceded.

“May I have a word, Joshim?” The interruption came from
Amsur, the Guildhall Webmaster.

“Can it wait?” Joshim asked.

“No. It will only take a few minutes. I’m sure Second
Officer Rafell will excuse you,” Amsur insisted.

“Of course.” Rafe tilted his head in polite permission for
Joshim to leave. “Webmaster Amsur would not interrupt without good reason.”

As Amsur led Joshim out of hearing, Rafe took the veyu that
Vidar passed to him and set it down untouched. Rallya studied his wrists and
neck. His web-bands were grey tarket hide, which was a good sign: any webber
worth the name bought the best bands they could afford. Tarket was expensive: a
set of bands like that cost fifty days’ pay for a Second; but it was
comfortable, long-lasting and the best protection there was.

“Whose work?” she asked, indicating the pattern tooled into
the bands.

“Mosir.” Rafe shrugged dismissively. “A conceit.”

“An expensive conceit,” Rallya commented sharply, doubling
her estimate of how much the bands had cost. “Aristo?” she guessed.

Rafe shrugged again. “Maybe,” he said carelessly, glancing
across to where Amsur and Joshim were parting. “Shall we wait for the
Webmaster?”

Nobody could accuse this one of boot-licking, Rallya thought
in slight amusement. He must be an aristo, she decided, or he would have denied
it. Very few of them became webbers; they had too many ties to family and
Empire, too much to lose by swearing the Guild Oath. If they were not content
with being decorative members of their Emperor’s court, they joined his
personal guard or bought a commission in his army. They might end up dead that
way, but for an aristo, anything was preferable to serving the wrong Emperor in
the wrong Empire. She remembered the second Oath marker on Rafe’s sleeve and
wondered which high-bred family in the New Empire had suffered the dishonour of
a son’s defection.

Joshim slipped back into his seat. “Sorry about that,” he
offered Rafe. Rallya heard the change of attitude in his voice and looked a
question at him which was ignored.

“No doubt Amsur had some useful information for you.” Rafe
was smiling slightly. “Shall I leave now?”

“It would be helpful,” Joshim said carefully. “We need to
discuss this between ourselves.”

“Discuss what?” Vidar asked, as baffled as Rallya.

“You’ll find it far more comfortable if you talk about it
behind my back.” Rafe stood up. “And so will I.” He bowed formally to them all.
“Webmaster Joshim, there’s no need to inform me of your decision. I can guess
it.”

“What did Amsur tell you about him?” Rallya demanded as Rafe
left the rec-room.

“He’s an Oath-breaker,” Joshim said baldly.

“Emperors!” Vidar exclaimed. “Is Amsur sure? You’d have to
be insane to break your Oath, knowing the penalty.”

“You’d have to be something special to get to Second
afterwards,” Joshim suggested. He drank from the beer in front of him. “Amsur
says his record is excellent.”

“Apart from the obvious blemish,” Rallya reminded him drily.
“And whoever promoted him did him no favours. As a junior, he’d have a chance
of getting a berth. Not a good berth, but he’d be webbing. As an officer, he’s
got no chance. There’ll always be somebody as good as him who isn’t an
Oath-breaker.”

“He’s here under the hundred day rule,” Joshim confirmed. “Came
in from Jeram today. If he doesn’t find a berth here he’ll never web again.”

“I wonder why he did it,” Vidar muttered.

“That’s something he doesn’t even know himself,” Rallya
pointed out. “Not if identity-wipe is everything it’s said to be. He can make
the same guesses as us, though.”

“You think he is an aristo?” Vidar asked.

“Was,” Rallya corrected. “It’s the only answer that fits.
Death before dishonour, and if death isn’t possible, identity-wipe.” She made a
noise of disgust. “They shouldn’t be allowed to take the Oath at all.”

“He abided by the letter of the Oath,” Joshim remarked. “It
allows the choice: to switch allegiance between the Emperors or to accept
identity-wipe. Strictly, he shouldn’t be called an Oath-breaker.”

“Logic chopping,” Rallya snapped. “He broke the spirit of
the Oath. That’s what matters.” She looked at Joshim suspiciously. “You can’t
want to continue courting him?” she asked in disbelief.

“I’d like to look at his record,” Joshim said mildly. “We’re
not so overrun with prospective Firsts that we can afford to ignore him, and
our orders will be arriving soon.”

“I am not courting an Oath-breaker,” Rallya said flatly. She
pushed her seat away from the table, knowing better than to argue with Joshim
when he was suffering from a surfeit of soft-heartedness; it was impossible to
win, and there were easier ways to get what she wanted. “I promised Yessim I’d
make a fifth at drag,” she lied. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

* * *

The out-side observation gallery was deserted; Rafe had
his choice of viewing panels. He halted at random in front of one, hardly
seeing the star-field it showed him. Out was currently sun-ward, a view without
interest, which was why he had chosen to come here rather than the popular
in-side gallery with its view of the gas giant above which the station hung.

A wise man would have been in his cabin, sleeping, without
any of the problems that made it impossible for Rafe to sleep. A wise man would
know when to give up, would not be wasting his time looking for a berth that
did not exist. A wise man would be planning a future out of the web. A wise
man… Rafe laughed at himself. A wise man would not have made the decision that
he had made ten years ago.

Tonight had been a mistake as well.
Bhattya
was a Name; there had never been any chance that they would
consider him once they knew. He should have declined their invitation, rather
than risk their anger and the harm it could do him if they broadcast his guilt.
He shrugged mentally. If not them, somebody else would do it. Amsur would always
be ready with his words of warning: an excellent record, but you ought to know…
Rafe had been through it all at Jeram and at Somir.

He dropped into a seat and put his feet up on the railing
between it and the viewing panel. An old cargoship was easing out of dock,
pregnant with fuel, pushing a string of pods in front of it. As its steering
vanes spread ready for the ponderous wallow out to the jump point, Rafe’s arms
twitched in sympathy. He stilled them with an effort. Five days, Webmaster
Joshim had said, and that was the average wait for web-time. How much longer
would it be for an Oath-breaker?

Footsteps on the spiral staircase warned him that somebody
was coming up to the gallery. He hoped that they were looking for solitude, as
he was. He slumped lower in his seat to make it clear he wanted no company.

The footsteps reached the top and paused, replaced by a soft
laugh. “I thought you’d run for the obvious bolt-hole.”

Commander Rallya. At least his luck was consistent, Rafe
thought bitterly. “I was about to leave, ma’am,” he said, getting to his feet.

“No, you weren’t.” She came round the curve of the gallery. “Sit
down.”

Rafe sat; any instruction from a Commander was an order,
unless they were courting you. If she wanted him seated, this was unlikely to
be the standard tongue-lashing, starting with his presumption in accepting
Bhattya
’s invitation and finishing with
his unworthiness for any berth on any ship. Either she planned to indulge her
curiosity about him, or she expected him to bed with her in the hope of being
rewarded with a berth. He grinned cynically; probably she intended to combine
the two.

“What’s amusing you?” she asked.

“You.” Rafe abandoned caution. Whatever he said or did now
would anger her; let it be deliberate. “To save you time and effort, ma’am: I
don’t know why I broke my Oath and I choose not to speculate; and I’m a webber,
not a whore.”

To his surprise, she laughed. “I couldn’t be courting you?”
she challenged.

“No, ma’am, you couldn’t. You’re playing with me.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m not. I will admit to being
curious.” She turned her back on him and watched the cargoship pulling away
from the station. “Not about why you broke your Oath. That’s obvious. About how
you got to Second, and why you’re shipless.” She swung around to face him
again. “You’re causing me a slight problem. You can help me solve it.”

Rafe shrugged. “I can’t solve my own problems, ma’am,” he
said frankly. “I doubt I can help with yours.”

“You won’t help yourself by being impudent,” she said
sharply.

“I won’t help myself by lying down to be walked over.”

“Have you ever tried it?” she asked with raised eyebrows. “No,
you haven’t.”

She leaned back on the rail, hands on either side of her.
Even relaxed, she seemed to have a rod of steel up her spine. The Emperors only
knew how old she was: her hair had probably been grey before Rafe was born; and
how long she had been in the web. Longer than anybody else alive, that was
certain, and with no plans to retire. Long enough to be sure of getting her own
way in everything. Rafe took pleasure in the thought that he had nothing to
lose by thwarting her. She was waiting for him to speak. Let her wait.

“If anything gets you a berth, it will be your nerve,” she
told him after a long silence. “But not with
Bhattya
.”

“You don’t have to convince me of that,” Rafe told her
calmly. He grinned suddenly. “Who do you have to convince?”

“Cocky little scut,” she accused him. “I don’t frighten you
one bit, do I? I ought to.”

“Any damage you can do me, you’ve already decided to do.”

“What about any good I can do you?”

Rafe laughed, gestured to the cargoship behind her. “If I’m
good, will you get me a berth aboard that?”

“Would you rather have no berth at all?” she challenged.

Rafe closed his eyes briefly, brought up hard against the
facts. “No, ma’am. I’d settle for a berth aboard anything.”

“I thought as much.” She looked him over, like a trader
examining a bad bargain. “What was your last ship?”

“Exploration.
Avannya
.
Somir Zone.”

“
Avannya
.” She
repeated it thoughtfully. “Didn’t you hit an EMP-mine last year? Lost your
Three and half the web-room?”

“Yes,” Rafe said unwillingly. “We were lucky to get home at
all.”

“Luck wasn’t enough, from what I heard.” She stared at him
speculatively. “Her Second got an honour for bringing her home.”

“Ludicrous, isn’t it? All I did was save my own neck, and
incidentally a few others, but they call me a hero and give me a badge to prove
it.”

“You don’t wear it.”

“Against all the regulations, no. Why embarrass people or
confuse their prejudices? I can hardly be an Oath-breaker and a hero, can I?”

“What do you want to be?”

“A webber.” Rafe snorted. “For as long as I’m allowed to be.”
He leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling. “Tell me what you want
from me, ma’am, and go away. I’m tired, I’m irritable, and the last thing I
want is to end up on a charge of insubordination. That would be the perfect end
to a perfect career, and I am reaching the end of my patience.” He could feel a
tic starting in his cheek. “I can’t imagine what I can do or say to make myself
more unacceptable than I already am, but if you tell me, I’ll do it. For the
peace and quiet,” he added. “Not for any meaningless promise of a berth on an
antiquated cargoship.”

“How long since you last had some web-time?” she asked
abruptly.

Rafe cursed the tic, embarrassed that she had noticed, angry
that she had mentioned it. “What does it matter? Soon enough they’ll be
deactivating my web.”

“How long?” she insisted.

“Forty days,” he admitted bitterly. “Nobody is going to
waste capacity on an Oath-breaker with no future.”

“They didn’t allow you in the web on the way from Jeram?”
She sounded genuinely surprised.

“They didn’t allow me in the web-room. Didn’t want me
corrupting the apprentices.” Rafe closed his eyes. “Go away,” he repeated
rudely.

“Come to
Bhattya
tomorrow. We’ve capacity to spare,” she offered unexpectedly.

“No, thank you, ma’am,” he said stiffly.

“No conditions,” she promised. She went without waiting for
a reply, to Rafe’s relief.

History: