Ghost Ship (21 page)

“
Bechimo
, please advise
Arin’s Toss
that Pilot Theo Waitley requires access immediately. She has my fingerprints and retinal pattern on file, and I will submit to either or both of those scans for the purposes of identification and ship security.”

The blues flickered and flowed, concealing and revealing what might be the edge of an ear.

“Done, Captain.”

“Thank you,
Bechimo
. Please guide me to the
Toss
.”

“This way, please, Captain.” A strip of orange light struck the decking, leading the way out of the piloting chamber. The hatch opened with a small sigh, showing the hallway continuing beyond the orange guide strip.

Theo took a breath, and went forward, trusting her ship to guide her.

TWENTY-ONE

Bechimo

It was a teapot, all right.

At first glance, even an ordinary teapot, high-glaze white, with a round belly and a snubbed spout; an everyday item that would have been perfectly at home on the kitchen counter at Leafydale Place.

The glaze said ceramic, but when Theo lifted it, it was as light as blown plastic. When she struck it with her fingernail, it sang like crystal.

“What’s it made out of?” she asked, replacing it carefully on its shelf.

“Analysis suggests spun ceramic thread hardened with quartz,”
Bechimo
answered.

“And from another universe.”

“So I believe, Captain.”

Theo nodded and closed the cabinet door, making sure the lock was engaged. “Have you kept any of the other . . . objects that Jumped in?”

“I have several specimens in a small locker in the workroom. Some of them are very interesting, indeed. Would you care to inspect?”

“Not just now,” Theo said. “Just now, I’d like to finish the tour, get something to eat and talk some more about our short-term planning.”

“Certainly, Captain. This way, if you please. The recreation room is at the end of this hallway. Since there has been no . . . need, I have not been keeping the pool filled. Of course, now that it is again required . . .”

The door to the rec room opened ahead of her and she stepped inside, pausing to survey the exercise stations and the game units. The swimming pool was behind glass at the bottom of the room—a lap pool, nothing particularly fancy, and swimming was, as she knew, good exercise.

Still, it was bothering her, as she toured. Well, no. It had started to bother her, when
Bechimo
had shown her to her improbably spacious quarters, after she’d left the
Toss
, belongings and an extra ship key in hand.

“
Bechimo
,” she said, turning away from the glass wall and moving toward the hall. “How many did the . . . the Builders intend you to carry?”

“The family—from three to twelve—and other crew, or passengers, to another twelve. The Builders had intended the ship as a long-looper, Captain.”

She stepped into the hall, trying to remember her Theory of Trade class. Profit routes came in a couple of different sizes—small loops, with established customers, pickups and deliveries for each; longer loops, which presented some opportunity to diversify—to pick up something that wasn’t on the manifest and hope to trade up somewhere down the loop.

Long loops were the most costly to maintain, and potentially the most profitable. A long loop was built on a base of regular stops and customers, because the base paid the bills. But the route had flex in it, time in the schedule to go wide, and opportunity to trade on the fly. The most profitable long loops were designed—and pretty often run—by a Master Trader, which meant that the “family”
Bechimo
had been meant to house would have been the Trader, her daughters,
onagrata
, kin, and apprentices.

“I went for courier,” Theo said, following the guide lights back toward the crew section, “because I didn’t want to be tied to a route.”

Bechimo
didn’t answer.

Back in the crew section, Theo stepped into the galley. The pot she’d left warming was hot, so she made herself a cup of tea in a ceramic mug painted with what might have been bluebells, and opened the cupboard to frown at a prosaic assortment of high protein energy bars, sibs of the two she carried in her jacket.

Energy bars, in Theo’s opinion, were no substitute for real food; but they did give a good fast burn when it was needed—and she’d noticed she was starting to wilt. If she’d been smart, she would’ve tucked herself in for a solid couple hours of sleep after she’d gotten out of the ’doc, to finish healing and to replenish her systems. She hadn’t been smart, though she was going to have to be, soon. It probably wouldn’t impress her new ship if she fell on her nose in the middle of giving an order.

She carried the mug and the bar to the bridge and curled into the pilot’s chair. After a cautious sip of tea, she slotted the mug in the holder, broke the seal on the energy bar and nodded in the direction of Screen Six.

The screen began to glow, showing the now-familiar swirls of blues, as Theo broke off and chewed her first bite.

“We need to talk about this idea of yours that we’re just going to sit out here and
hide
for nine months, Standard,” she said. “That won’t do. In fact, we should be returning to regular space in twelve Standard Hours, after I’ve had some sleep and a proper breakfast.”

The blues grew darker, and swirled faster.

“Such a course will endanger the Captain and the ship.”

Theo nodded. “It will, but there’s no choice.
Arin’s Toss
doesn’t belong to me. If I just hold onto her for nine months, I’m going to return to normal space to find out I’ve got ‘pirate’ stamped across my record.”

“The mere-ship may be loosed on autopilot, bearing a recording from yourself explaining the circumstances that dictate this action.”

“The
Toss
is a wanted ship, with
real
pirates after her. We discussed that. I’m her pilot of record and I’m not sending her out without protection. She might be only a
mere-ship
to you, but she’s my responsibility.”

She heard the anger in her voice and took another bite of energy bar.
Not a good idea to get mad at the AI who can decide you’re too much trouble right now, Theo,
she told herself.

“Also,” she said, after she’d had a sip of tea to wash down the gritty mouthful, “I have to go to Surebleak. Those
people
who were after me on Tokeoport—if they’re working for Clan Korval, then I’ve got something to say to—to my brother. If they’re hunting Korval pilots, then I have to warn him—warn Father. They have the pin Miri gave me”—
unless,
she added silently,
it was in the ship I killed
—“and they can use it to trick real Korval pilots. I have to deliver that message.”

“Korval can take care of itself,”
Bechimo
said flatly.

Theo blinked at the screen, which was grey and indigo now.

“What did you say?” she asked mildly.

“Korval can take care of itself. I care nothing for Korval, or the pilots of Korval.”

Definitely corked off, was
Bechimo
. Theo took a careful breath.

“Well,” she said slowly, “that’s kind of cold, when my brother went out of his way to make sure there was an up-to-date drawing fund in place for you, and a solid registration out of Waymart, too.”

The colors in Number Six froze into a displeased knot of grey and purple.

Good going, Theo,
she congratulated herself. As casually as she could, she broke off another piece of protein bar, following it with a sip of tea.

“What,”
Bechimo
said finally, “is your brother’s name?”

Captain
was no longer in play, Theo noted. Bad for discipline. On the other hand, this might not be the time to insist. She ought to at least get a range on
Bechimo
’s temper.

With that in mind, she answered as calmly as she could, “My brother’s name is Val Con yos’Phelium.”

“The Builders recommend against any buy-in from yos’Phelium.”

She sipped her tea, remembering the conversation with Val Con.

“It wasn’t his intention to buy in,” she said. “He wanted to help, if you happened to need it. He said that a ship needed funds—which we both know isn’t anything other than true—and that a ship with enemies might need to . . . become less predictable.” She shook the last piece of energy bar out of the wrapping and looked to Number Six, where the greys had begun to take on a little tinge of blue.

“Val Con said that the draw account would be available to you, if and when you accepted the new registration. If you didn’t use it—the draw—then in six Standards it would be reabsorbed into whatever account he’d pulled it from, no debt and no insult.” She nodded. “If it happened that you did access the account, he said the debt was between you and him, and the two of you would work out payment details.”

She popped the last bit in her mouth,
crunched
it, and washed it down with tea.

“The Builders were probably wise to recommend against a yos’Phelium buy-in,” she said, thinking that it might be a good idea to try to make peace. “They say—now-times—that Korval is ships.”

“They have said exactly that for hundreds of Standards,”
Bechimo
answered. “They have also said that one who wishes to befriend a Dragon had best be armed and armored.”

A flash from
Ride the Luck
’s actions at Nev’Lorn—and her own, so very recently. Theo closed her eyes.

“That might be true, too,” she said, and drained the last of her tea.

When she opened her eyes again, the colors flowing across Screen Six were as light and agreeable as they had ever been.

“I tried to contact Uncle when I was aboard the
Toss
just now,” she said, “and found the pinbeam blocked.”

“Yes, Captain. It was necessary, in order to maintain ship’s security, to block several of the mere-ship’s systems.”

Mere-ship
was beginning to get annoying. Theo sighed, and said, as evenly as she was able, “The vessel’s proper name is
Arin’s Toss
.”

Bechimo
said nothing.

“Are you equipped with a pinbeam?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Good. Please bring it online so that I can assure my employer that his ship is at liberty, and to set up a time and a location for her safe return to him.”

“No, Captain.”

Theo felt a jolt of anger, and took a hard breath.

“Why not?”

“Because this location is not conducive to the reliable transmission of pinbeams.”

“Is that a fact?” Theo asked, actually wanting to know. There were known dead zones, after all, where even navcomp function was suspect. Such places were carefully mapped—and as carefully avoided.

Which made
Bechimo
’s choice of hiding place even more reasonable, for a ship that wanted to escape any attention.

“Does the Captain wish to review the readings?”

“My Screen Two,” she said, and there the readings were, looking very familiar.

“Do all the dead zones collect junk from other—universes?” she wondered.

“Captain, I do not know. We might set probes, if you wish it.”

“We might,” she said, thinking of the teapot sitting snug in the family’s kitchen cabinet. Uncle, she thought, would be interested in that teapot, though she felt a reluctance to call his attention to it. For one thing, it wasn’t
her
teapot—
Bechimo
had found it. And for another, she only wanted to know
what it was
and, maybe, where it had come from. For that, she figured she needed a Scout . . .

. . .or a Clutch Turtle.

She filed that interesting idea away, as she filed away the readings of surrounding space that
Bechimo
had provided.

“So,” she said, yawning despite the energy bar, “in twelve Standard Hours, we will . . . transition to normal space, pinbeam Uncle to set up a rendezvous—”

“Captain, respectfully, we will not. It is too dangerous. And the Uncle is on the Disallowed List.”

Theo blinked. “The
Disallowed List
?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Who made up this list?”

“The Builders, Captain.”

Theo was beginning to form the opinion that the Builders had been a little too busy making lists and issuing edicts. Also—

“Are the Builders the captain of this—of you?”

There was a pause, long enough that she looked to Screen Six in trepidation.

The colors had gone still again, but had not faded to grey.

“With all respect, the bonding has not occurred. This vessel—
I
—have taken aboard a First Pilot. And,”
Bechimo
added, perhaps thinking that the foregoing was a trifle harsh, “an Intended Captain.”

“I see.” Theo stood. “You’ve sent the information about the bonding ceremony to my private screen?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“I will study it before I sleep. We’ll talk again when I wake.”

“Yes, Captain,” sounding worried now. “Sleep well, Captain.”

“Thank you,” Theo said, as the door opened. She walked down the hall to her quarters, put her hand against the plate—and paused, angling her gaze upward.

“
Bechimo
.”

“Captain?”

“Please remove your attention from my quarters.”

“Yes, Captain. Of course.”

TWENTY-TWO

Bechimo

It was possible that an error had been made.

Bechimo
formed that thought with care, and then, with even greater care, the next . . .

It is possible that I have erred, and that my error has compromised the integrity of the ship.

The Builders had given
ship integrity
a multileveled definition and rule set.

At its most basic level, the integrity of the ship was intact so long as the hull was unbreached and life support operational.

The integrity of the ship was also satisfied by the functioning of the core computational systems.

At the highest level, however, the integrity of the ship was defined by the Builders as
Bechimo
’s adherence to the rules, codes, and definitions put into place by the Builders.