Ghost Ship (26 page)

Theo looked out the window. It was true that the leaves and grasses were green, but the temps at the port hadn’t exactly been temperate.

“What season
is
it?”

“I am assured by my lifemate, whose homeworld this is, that we are well into spring and shall in a matter of local weeks enter the
relumma
of summer.”

Theo stared at him, remembering Delgado’s long, mild summer, the flowers that overfilled Father’s garden and the two harvests of free-grown fruits and vegetables before the farming grid needed to raise its thermal houses again and grow hydroponically through the cool season.

“Does it snow here?” she asked Val Con.

“Rather a lot,” he answered, and used his chin to point, ahead and up.

Theo looked through the windscreen, at first seeing only the vegetation crowding the edges of the road, and then, soaring above them all,
the
Tree, impossibly tall, its leaves glowing in the last of Surebleak’s daylight.

The first time she’d seen the Tree had been like this—and not like this. She’d taken a taxi from Solcintra Port to Korval’s Valley. She’d been concentrating on what she was going to say to the Delm of Korval, staring out the window without really seeing the passing scenery until the sheer improbability of it, rising out of the landscape, had grabbed her attention.

Soon after, she’d seen the Tree again; spoken to the delm, a Clutch Turtle and her father under its branches.

She cleared her throat.

“It seems to have survived the move all right.”

“Indeed. I would go so far as to say that the move has proved to be a repairing lease,” Val Con said. “The Tree apparently likes travel, and is reminded of its days as a seedling, when moving about only required having someone on hand who was willing to carry a pot.”

It sounded as if Val Con were recounting a conversation he had had with an elder aunt or grandmother, Theo thought, and wondered if he was just having fun with her, or if this was another apparent . . . delusion, like thinking his mother was alive. Either way, it seemed safer just to nod and move on.

“How did the house make the trip?”

“In very good form. I don’t believe we broke so much as a teacup, which Anthora declared a pity, as she had formed a dislike for a certain tea service during her most recent stay.”

The car’s forward motion slowed shockingly, and in a moment the reason was revealed. The road—track, really—they had been following had degenerated still further, into a stone-studded washboard. Val Con’s piloting was exquisite and the car went as gently as it could, but still Theo felt the shaking in her bones—and then they were through with one last definitive bump, and rolling down a smooth driveway between browning lawns and a drooping formal garden, to the house called Jelaza Kazone.

The car slowed to a stop between what might have been garages and the house itself. Val Con turned off the engine and looked at her with a wry smile.

“That last bit is atrocious,” he said. “Miri tells me that it keeps us safe from our enemies, for
no one
would risk a car over such ground.”

“You did,” Theo pointed out.

“Happily, I am not invading,” Val Con answered, opening his door. He paused in the act of getting out and looked at her over his shoulder. “And I never cared very much for this car.”

* * *

The last time Theo’d seen this room, the shelves and the furniture had been strapped for transport, the floor had been bare, and the delm of Korval had heard her out while the three of them sat around a game table, and shared lemon water out of a travel jar.

Now, there was a carpet centered in the middle of the dark wooden floor, and a pair of chairs and a tile-topped table beneath a cluster of ceiling lights. The shelves were free of cargo film, allowing the books to flaunt their titles, and there was a narrow table going the length of the room, its surface entirely covered with what looked to be old paper maps, over which two people were bent in study.

Miri looked up when they entered the room.

“Hey, Theo,” she said, grinning, “good to see you again.” She turned to her study mate, who had straightened to an improbable height and was looking at her with grave interest.

“Beautiful, this is Theo Waitley, the Scout’s sister by blood. Theo, this is Nelirikk Explorer, my aide, sworn to serve Line yos’Phelium.” The grin showed again, briefly. “Speaking of complicated.”

“Theo Waitley,” the big man said, with a little bow, “I have flown your sim.”

Her
sim
? For a moment she just stared at him, then memory clicked in.

“The sailplane recording from school?” she asked, giving him a good, hard look. Master Pilot, she decided. “I hope you weren’t bored.”

“Pilot, I was not. I believe that I was instructed, each time I flew with you.”

Theo blinked. “You flew that sim
more than once
?”

“Why not?” Val Con asked from her right. “I have myself flown it more than once and, as Nelirikk says, achieved insight upon each repetition.” He smiled when she turned to look at him. “We are all pilots here, Theo.”

That’s right, they were—all pilots. Theo sighed. It was like at Anlingdin, where they’d ridden sims and stuffed themselves with as many different piloting experiences as possible, so that they could be prepared—for anything, so they said. But you aren’t ever, Theo thought,
really
ever prepared for everything.

“Shan called—him and Priscilla are eating at Melina’s place,” Miri said.

“Progress is being made, then. Excellent.”

“He sounded pretty happy—but, then, he usually does. You wanna show Theo to her room and let her get cleaned up for dinner? Beautiful needs to finish showing me his notion for fixing that mess just outside the gate in time for the housewarming party.”

“Certainly. Theo? Let us introduce you to the house and see you settled.”

* * *

“I don’t,” she confided as she followed him up a flight of stairs, recalling times when dressing for dinner was much more elaborate than washing her face and putting on a clean sweater, “have much with me besides ship clothes.”

“Dinner this evening is informal,” Val Con told her, swinging right into the hallway at the top of the stairs. “For the rest of your stay, we will provide clothing.”

She stared at him. “You have extra clothes?”

“House stores,” he said blandly. “Of course. Now, here is your room. Someone will come to guide you down to dinner in about half an hour. I apologize for the scramble, but my aunt is presently in residence and feels it her duty to keep us all on a proper schedule.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “For the good of the children. I fear that we are dreadfully lax when she is not with us.”

That was another in-joke. Or maybe, Theo thought, suddenly concerned, it was a warning.

“Is she going to be able to put up with me? I wouldn’t want to spoil her meal.”

“I believe she is making an honest effort to do as Miri suggested, and study local custom. After all, we are the visitors here; it is not our customs that should prevail.” He nodded at the door. “Please, try your hand.”

Right. She put her palm against the plate and the door obligingly came open.

“Excellent,” Val Con said. “Be welcome in our House. If there is anything at all that you require, only let me know and it will be provided.” He bowed, very slightly, which Father did when he thought tousling her hair might annoy her. “I will see you at Prime, Sister.”

- - - - -

“A bridge?” he asked, looking to the dressing table, where Miri was brushing out her hair.

“Bridge,” she confirmed. “And a board road laid. Beautiful says they can have it in before the party, so the Bosses don’t have to worry about breaking their cars.”

Considering the state of most of the vehicles held by the Bosses of Surebleak, that concern was realistic. As was the concern of what might come about if even a single car broke down, thus blocking the Road all the way back to the port itself.

“If the Explorer thinks it can be done, I say let him have at it.”

“Already gave him the go,” Miri said, “and an okay for an increased watch team. We got enough people to guard the Road ’til we get this settled.” She began to rebraid her hair.

“Leave it loose,” he said impulsively.

She caught his eyes in the mirror. “You sure?”

He stepped close to take the nascent braid out of her hands, and combed it loose, auburn strands silking between his fingers.

“I’m sure,” he said, and bent to kiss the top of her head.

“Not sure I care for that. Remind me to talk to you about it, later.”

“All right.” He stroked her hair again and forced himself to step away, back to the closet.

“How’s Theo?” Miri asked. “Looked a little spooked when she came in.”

“I believe that she thinks I am demented,” he said, pulling out a high-necked black sweater. “Yes, this.”

“You
are
demented,” Miri told him, eying the sweater. “Dressing down for dinner?”

“Theo confides that her kit contains ship clothes,” he said, pulling the sweater over his head. “One wishes to show solidarity. Besides, it is an informal dinner.”

“Which your aunt don’t define as
wear a work sweater to the table
.”

“Ah.” He picked up his brush. “Perhaps she will send us to the kitchen to eat.”

“Wouldn’t put it past her.” Miri got up, crossed the room, and stepped into the closet.

“It’s a good thing the house has all these extra clothes on hold, or I’d be wearing yours.”

“You may wear mine if you’d rather,” he said, brushing his hair.

“Nah, this’ll do fine.” She came out of the closet, pulling a deep blue sweater abundantly embroidered with cherry red blossoms on over her head.

“Showing solidarity?” he asked, putting the brush down and stepping to her side.

“I hope you don’t think I’m gonna stay at the table with Kareen if you and Theo get sent to the kitchen. Besides,” she continued, as he helped her straighten the garment properly, “it’s warmer.” She sighed and looked down at herself. “I wish this would get over with.”

“Soon,” he said, finger-combing her newly disordered hair.

“Hmmm.” She closed her eyes; he heard her pleasure inside his head as a deep purr, and continued to slip his fingers through her hair.

“So,” she murmured, “why’re you demented
particularly
?”

If this continued, Val Con thought, feeling her pleasure wake his, they would miss dinner altogether—which was scarcely kind to Theo.

Reluctantly, he stepped away, allowing his hands to fall to his sides, hearing a wry agreement from her.

“Theo has need of an interspatial mathematician of the first water,” he said slowly, “with regard to her new ship. I recommended that she apply to Mother.”

“And she told you that your mother was dead.”

“In fact, she did.”

“Can’t really blame her,” Miri pointed out. “Even Daav don’t dispute that.”

“True.” He touched her cheek.

“What about that ship?”

“I was taken aboard and introduced.
Bechimo
was at first disinclined to allow Theo to visit a location so far from port and her protection. In order to assuage her legitimate concerns about her pilot’s safety, I put her in touch with Jeeves.”

Miri shouted a laugh.

“You are a bad, evil man.”

He felt his lips twitch; straightened them. “I put one person of intelligence, but who is, perhaps, a little naïve, in touch with another person, of like intelligence, who can offer the wisdom born of experience. How is that bad or evil?”

“Because talking to another free AI prolly took so much of
Bechimo
’s attention that she let you have your way, whatever it was.”

“She did not,” Val Con admitted, allowing the smile through, “protest our departure, and assured Theo that she had been given the coordinates for the house and for the field nearby.”

Miri shook her head. “Remind me not to play poker with Jeeves,” she said, and glanced beyond him to the clock.

“We’d better go down, before Kareen has Theo for a snack.”

- - - - -

Theo slid her comb back into her kit and looked around her, wondering what it was that Val Con could have thought the room might be lacking—a full research line to the local university?

In fact, she hadn’t been loaned a
room
at all—it was an apartment, with its own galley, parlor and sleeping room. The closet was almost as big as her spacious quarters on
Bechimo
, and contained a robe. She’d hung her jacket inside, to keep the robe company, and unrolled her kit on the bench at the foot of the bed before going into the ’fresher to wash her face.

She put on the most formal of her sweaters—pale blue with a modest collar and vines embroidered around the cuffs, and considered herself in the mirror. She looked like a kid, she thought, and took a breath.

I’m a pilot in a houseful of pilots,
she told herself. Her accomplishments were what counted here, not her appearance.

She hoped.

Before she had time to worry herself into a stomachache, a chime echoed throughout the apartment.

Theo took a deep breath and went to answer the door.

“Jeeves!” she exclaimed, upon seeing the orange head globe. “I’m glad to see you!”

“I am glad to see you, too, Pilot Waitley. Lady Kareen asks if you intend to join the family for Prime meal.”

“I think so,” she said, but her mind wasn’t really on her social problems. “Jeeves—how is
Bechimo
?”

“
Bechimo
bids me tell you that he is confident of the ability of the House to defend and protect you.”

Theo blinked. “Him?”

“So I have been informed.”

“Wonder when
that
was going to get passed on,” Theo muttered.

“
Bechimo
also asks that you contact him via comm later this evening.”

“Of course I will,” she said. “It’s very good of you to pass the message.”

“It is no trouble at all, Pilot. If you are ready, I will escort you to the parlor. The family is gathering.”

Theo took a deep breath.

“I’m ready,” she said, and hoped it was true.