Linesman (9 page)

Rebekah flushed an ugly brick red. “You are not a linesman,” she told her. “The confluence, it's . . . You have no idea.”

Abram coughed gently. She closed her mouth on an audible click of teeth.

Abram glanced at Ean and then at his comms. “It is time we talked about the ship,” he said.

Ean carefully folded the cloth he'd used to mop up the tea and didn't look at anyone.

He continued to look at the cloth while they watched videos of the various linesmen discussing their experience. The highest was a six, the lowest a three. They all said the same thing. They could tell that the ship had lines, but they couldn't recognize which lines or what levels. All of them agreed it felt like higher-level lines. All of them sounded a little awed and overwhelmed.

“Not much to go on,” Abram said, when they were done. “We're hoping you two will find out more.”

“And we don't know what triggered the pulse?” Rebekah asked.

“No. Could be proximity. Could be detection of weapons. Could be someone on the ship who thought the Haladeans got too close.”

“One hundred kilometers is too far out,” Rebekah said. “We need to get closer. You have to be close to the lines to read them.”

At least she was thinking, now that she had finished deconstructing Ean's character.

Abram raised an eyebrow at Ean, who nearly didn't see it except that Michelle nudged him with her knee. He hoped he understood the question. “I have always worked close to the lines, too.” Even ten kilometers was too far away. “I don't see how we can get close enough to talk to them”—he caught Rebekah's scowl at his unfortunate use of words—“without getting ourselves blown up.”

For the next fifteen minutes, they discussed the lines. Ean didn't contribute much. Compared to Rebekah's experience, he knew nothing, and if what Rebekah said was true, then anything he did say was likely suspect anyway. Was he really as bad as she claimed?

Michelle nudged his knee again. He looked up, and had absolutely no idea what the question had been. Abram and Michelle exchanged a quick glance. Michelle shrugged and lowered her eyelashes in what looked almost like a tiny nod.

Abram stood up abruptly. “We're all tired. Maybe we could think about this and reconvene later. After dinner. Back here at 21:00.” He looked at Ean. “You should get some rest.”

“Yes, sir.” It was effectively an order, in a tone that demanded a military response. Ean stood up, nodded to them all, and left the room. Michelle came out with him. From the corner of his eye, Ean saw Abram turn to Rebekah once they had gone. More discussion about him? Or a serious talk about what they could do with the ship?

Once outside, reaction set in, and he had to tuck his hands under his arms to stop them from shaking. He was almost glad Michelle walked with him because it meant he had to keep himself together as they passed through the foyer, now teeming with military and civilian predinner drinkers, nodding to people he'd met last night. At least six of them tried to waylay Michelle, but she said, “Business,” and kept walking alongside Ean.

The lift, mercifully, was empty, and Michelle used a code to take them straight to their floor.

Ean said, “You don't need to guard me all the time.” And the one doing the guarding shouldn't be the Emperor's oldest daughter. “I'm not likely to damage your lines.” Except that he already had if Rebekah was right. Line six. He leaned back against the wall and tried not to think about that.

Michelle's mouth twisted down in a half wince, half smile. “Is that what you think we're doing?” She followed Ean out of the lift, through the central room with the three couches at the end, and down to Ean's room. She even followed him inside.

Ean looked at her, then turned away. Michelle could do what she liked, but he was going to get clean. He felt soiled and dirty. He turned and walked through the bedroom toward the bathroom, pulling off his shirt as he did so.

“Not the fresher,” Michelle said, and beat him to the door. “It was hard enough to get you out of it last night, and there were two of us then.”

She blocked the whole door. The geneticists had built for height. Not too tall to be freakish but tall enough to give an imposing physical presence. Ean's eyes looked straight into hers. She smiled at him, showing dazzling white teeth. “Let's sit on the bed for a moment and talk.”

That was probably an order, too. Ean turned and walked back to the bed and sat on the end of it. It was a big bed—probably the third largest bed in the whole ship. He deliberately didn't think about anything, and most especially didn't think about last night. Or today's meeting.

Michelle sat down beside him. “Is that what you do, make for the fresher when you're upset?”

Ean fell back onto the bed and covered his face with the shirt he still carried. “Is there some point to all this?” He didn't want to look at Michelle, didn't want to hear her answer.

Michelle was silent for so long that Ean thought she was waiting for him to look at her, so he finally lowered the shirt. Michelle was staring at the opposite wall—which suited Ean fine.

“Abram likes you,” Michelle said, eventually.

And everyone sang to the lines, too. Ean covered his face again. He didn't want to hear lies.

“But his first job is to protect the people on this ship—me especially, but everyone else, too—and he's got a problem. How do you get someone close to that thing without getting them killed? And we need that ship.”

“It's only a ship,” Ean said. Yes it was new and unknown and exciting, but it was still just a piece of machinery.

“The Alliance is very fragile at the moment,” Michelle said. “Gate Union is delaying jumps for Alliance ships. It may not seem much, but it's limiting our access to the void, and it's going to get worse. Plus, with the line factory at Shaolin gone, Redmond owns all the lines, and we know who they're affiliated with. They can stop us buying line ships.”

“Would Redmond remain affiliated with Gate Union if they controlled supply of the lines?” Michelle might be being overly pessimistic. “After all, they'd drop half their potential market,” Ean said.

“They don't need to do it forever. Just a few years. No ships, no jumps. We can all see what will happen then. It doesn't matter how much military power we have, without the void, without the ability to travel faster-than-light, we can see that we will become second-class citizens compared to those who can.”

They could set up their own void gates, but even Ean could see the danger in that. It only took one ship to deliberately jump through to the wrong place, and you destroyed a planetary system.

“Plus, we've a dozen internal wars threatening to tear us apart. If we can't pull together, the Alliance won't exist in twenty years. You can imagine what will happen to a world like Lancia.”

Ean couldn't. Lancia had been a major power broker in galactic politics for the whole four hundred years the Alliance had been in place. If he'd thought about it at all—and he hadn't—he would have assumed that Lancia would go on to become the same in Gate Union.

“We
need
this ship. We need a rallying point.” Michelle's voice was bleak. “Not to mention that if Gate Union or Redmond get hold of it and work out what it does, then they have a weapon that can defeat us.”

Ean really should have studied more politics.

“You've taken good care to make sure they don't.” Three jumps in a row, and another one tonight if he was hearing the lines properly. He wasn't looking forward to that.

Michelle laughed a mirthless laugh. “They'll find us, and it will be much faster than we want them to. If the media can't do it, the linesmen will.”

“Linesmen?” Surely she didn't mean him. Ean felt sick. “You think I—?”

Michelle pulled the shirt away from his face. Blue eyes gazed into his. “No. We don't. As you said earlier, you're an accident. No one knew you were coming. But we pulled a lot of strings to get Rebekah Grimes on board. And everyone knows the cartels are pro–Gate Union.”

Even Rigel had been, and if Ean had thought about it, he would be, too.

“You think Rebekah is a spy?” She worked for a cartel. She would do the job she was paid to. “But she's a ten.”

Michelle laughed. A genuine laugh this time, one that showed her dimple. “She's politically savvy. She wouldn't be where she is if she weren't. But we're not talking about politics.”

They weren't?

“We're talking about you, and why Abram let Ms. Grimes pick you apart earlier.”

He didn't want to talk about that. “It's not—”

Michelle put up a hand to silence him. “None of us want to get killed. It's Abram's job to know all about the weapons we use.”

So he was a weapon now. A defective one.

Michelle could almost have read his mind. “Don't write yourself off yet. A wild talent like yours may be just what we need. We don't know. Right now, anything you say is just as valuable as anything Rebekah Grimes says.”

So that's what this little pep talk had been about. Contribute, or else. It made Ean feel better even as he felt embarrassed about his earlier behavior. “Thank you.”

“I don't think you're defective,” Michelle said.

It was honest, at least. He was still staring at her when Abram arrived in the doorway. “How did you go?”

“We had our chat.” Ean was glad to look away. “She pointed out that I needed to pull my weight.” Withdrawing into himself was probably the stupidest thing he could have done.

“I didn't quite put it that way.”

Abram smiled. “At least you got the message,” he said to Ean. He sat down on the padded seat near the dresser. “I spoke to Admiral Katida. She's known about you for four
years, at least. Although—in her words—that cartel master of yours kept you secreted away until the confluence.”

Four years. Ean had been certified two years ago. He'd been ready at least three years before that, but Rigel had made him wait.

“Most apprentices take ten years before they try for certification,” he'd said. “You should take your time, too.”

Most linesmen were certified around the age Ean had
become
an apprentice. “I'm twenty-five,” he'd said back then. “Ten years older than that new apprentice you just took on. I've been training for
five
years.”

“And that new apprentice will probably train for ten,” Rigel had said. “Wait until you are ready, Ean.”

Ean had been certified in the same ceremony the new apprentice had failed certification. He'd wondered ever since if Rigel had deliberately pushed the apprentice through fast to fail.

Abram's voice was dry. “There was some debate, apparently, as to whether you really were a ten.”

“I wonder if Katida sleeps with the ones she thinks are going to be tens,” Michelle said. “Just in case, I mean.”

“No.” Ean thought of the twins. That he could answer with confidence. “She waits until they're certified.” He started to pull on his shirt, then stopped, thinking. If Katida really did sleep with all the tens, shouldn't he have met her by now? She'd had two years.

He sighed. Thinking was counterproductive. Rigel had told him that, lots of times. “Your job is not to think, Ean. It's to do. I give you the jobs, you do them.” To be honest, he hadn't thought much. He'd been happy. He'd been doing work he loved. Life really had centered around work, lessons—Rigel still made him learn—and the local hotel near the cartel house. Rigel had kept him too poor and too busy to afford the fancy restaurants and bars the other linesmen went to.

He finished pulling on his shirt and saw that the other two were watching him. They spent a lot of time watching him. As if he were some wild creature that might turn around and bite them at any moment. Ean shrugged.

After a moment, Abram resumed. “He did the lines for one of Katida's captains, who's quite impressed. Apparently,
they always had problems with the lines on that ship but haven't had any since.”

“And the rumors about how good he is?” Michelle asked.

“She's heard them. She thinks we deliberately chose him because of that.”

How did you subtly ask a question like that? Excuse me, what do you think of the ten we brought along?

Abram stood up and gave Michelle's shoulder a quick squeeze. “You did well, Misha,” and left them.

Ean stood up, too. “I really am going to use the fresher,” he said, and left Michelle sitting on the bed. This time he waited until he was in the bathroom before he removed his shirt.

EAN LAMBERT

DINNER THAT NIGHT
was a buffet.

Admiral Katida and Tarkan Heyington swamped him as soon as he arrived.

The Tarkan was dressed equally skimpily today. This time it was a lace-up vest and tights that showed every bulge. He pressed in warm and clammy against Ean's side.

Katida took his arm on the other side. “How's the planning going?”

He wondered if he should lie, and did, a little. “Intense.” There hadn't been much planning yet, not from where he was.

Rebekah Grimes swept by in a swarm of admirers. Her gaze glanced through and past him.

“She really doesn't like you,” Katida said. “Not used to having competition.” She pulled Ean toward the buffet. “The fish is exceptional.” The Tarkan came, too. Ean helped himself to a plate of fish as an excuse to give himself some room. The three of them found a seat at one end—so both Katida and the Tarkan could watch the room, Ean realized—and settled down to eat. Admiral Varrn joined them not long after.

Katida was right. The fish was excellent.

They spent the meal discussing the ship. This time, Ean listened more carefully to what they weren't saying rather than to what they were. He'd always had a good ear for emotions in voice. Varrn was optimistic and excited, the Tarkan pessimistic, and Katida was worried. Very worried. He could hear it loud and clear coming through on line eight.

Impossible.

Ean closed his eyes and tuned out the background noise. Then he tried, with varying success, to tune out the lines of the ship. Lines two to five were easy to block out. Line six not so. It seemed to recognize him and want to be around. Ean couldn't block that one out. Line one—on this ship line one was always strong—he didn't have a hope. Lines seven and eight were normally quiet. No one knew what they did. No one knew how to use them. Seven was still quiet, but eight was definitely strong, and he knew it was coming from Katida, not from the ship. Line nine was quiet. Ship line ten was quiet, but there was another line ten. Rebekah. Strong and confident and right now showing overtones of impatience.

He opened his eyes and looked over to see who she was talking to. Governor Jade.

People didn't have lines. His trainers had drummed that into him. Ships had lines. Machinery had lines. Even comms had lines.

But never people. Lines didn't have personality, either. He was imaging that line six wanted to be around and that line one sounded like the ship.

“You need a nap. I can show you my bed,” Katida said.

They were all silent, watching him.

Ean shrugged. “I was thinking.”

“You always think with your eyes closed?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted.

“Bizarre,” Tarkan Heyington said.

•   •   •

AT
21:00, Ean was the last back to the small meeting room.

Michelle had showered. Her hair was still damp. It curled around her face. Ean breathed in deep. The fizzy smell was stronger, still pleasant and clean. If he'd thought about what
Lancastrian royalty smelled like at all, he'd have thought of heavy, overpowering scents, as oppressive as their owners.

They talked for an hour and got nowhere. If they didn't know what the lines were, they couldn't do much to prepare.

Finally, Ean asked, “Can we listen to the linesmen again?” It was an idea that had started to form after listening to Katida on line eight. Maybe he could pick the line level from their voices.

He could see that Rebekah thought it a bad idea, but she didn't argue. She'd been polite for the whole hour so far. Maybe while Michelle had been having her talk to Ean, Abram had had one of his own with Rebekah.

This time he closed his eyes while he listened.

The clean smell of Michelle, beside him, mingled in with the sound of the linesman's voice. He breathed deep and forced himself to concentrate on the sounds, but he still missed the first two totally. He'd have to listen to them again.

The level six was totally awed. “I can't describe it. It was—” And for a moment, Ean was back in the cart going up to Rigel's house, listening to Kaelea trying to describe the confluence.

“Replay the first two,” he said, when the six was done. Yes, they had some of that awe, too. “Rebekah, tell us about the confluence.” He didn't open his eyes.

“It is not—”

“Tell us,” said Abram. “I don't think we have many other ideas at present.”

They obviously didn't because Rebekah started telling them about the confluence. Or maybe Abram's talk had been harsher than Michelle's.

“It's . . . you have to be a linesman to truly appreciate it. It—” Her voice took on the same awe the others had, although her awe came across strong and loud and, in this room at least, totally swamped the other lines. It even swamped the clean smell of Michelle.

It was so strong, he gripped hard at the edge of the table, worried for a moment that they had jumped again without his knowing. Going through the void was changing the way he perceived the lines. Did it change all linesmen? It wasn't a question he could ask Rebekah.

When she had finished, Ean opened his eyes, just in time to catch the puzzled glance Abram and Michelle exchanged. Rebekah didn't notice. She was still lost in the glory of the confluence.

Michelle half shrugged. “I still don't know any more about the confluence than I did before.”

“No one does,” Ean said. “I've never heard a linesman even explain what it is, but they're all lost in the glory of it. Those who've been there, that is.” He hesitated. Should he say this? But Michelle had implied any theories were welcome. “They talk about the ship the way linesmen talk about the confluence.”

“That's ridiculous,” Rebekah said.

Abram replayed the vids; this time, he closed his eyes. Afterward, he replayed the meeting-room security tape from where Rebekah had started talking about the confluence.

Even Rebekah agreed there were similarities in the way they sounded when they spoke about the ship and the way she sounded when she spoke about the confluence. “But I am a ten,” she said, “talking about something unknown but incredibly powerful. These are sixes and threes. The things they respond to are unlikely to be as powerful as the confluence.”

“Why not?” asked Ean. “I heard a seven talking about the confluence the other day, and she sounded like you only not as strong. Just because they can't control the lines doesn't mean they can't hear them.”

“No one
hears
lines except you.”

It didn't matter whether they heard them, felt them, or saw them. They responded to them.

“What makes the confluence different?” Abram asked, and Michelle said at the same time. “The Haladeans kept this quiet until Redmond attacked. We could probably find out when someone last saw those two warships. It might be earlier than we think.”

Abram raised an eyebrow. “Six months, do you think?”

“Maybe.” The confluence had appeared six months ago.

Even Rebekah looked intrigued. “So the ship came because the confluence was here?”

Or the ship came first and caused the confluence, but Ean didn't say that.

Radko tapped on the door and came in.

“Ma'am, sir.” She nodded to Michelle and Abram. “The captain wants to jump in fifteen minutes. I'm to ensure nothing interrupts his schedule.”

From the way her eyes sparkled as she said it, and the way the dimple half showed, Ean thought the captain's words might have been stronger than that.

“He needs permission to jump,” Radko added.

Ean tried to stop the color rising in his face. He'd bet this was the first time the captain had ever had to ask permission to jump. He stood up, then hesitated. It was Abram's call.

“Go,” Abram said. “We'll talk some more about the confluence, then finish up here.” He followed them out into the passage. “Radko.” It was quiet enough so that no one inside the room could hear him.

“Sir?”

“Tell the medic to be sure he doesn't touch him while we're jumping. That's important.”

“Yes, sir.”

“When the medic gives the okay, tell Captain Helmo he can jump.”

“Yes, sir.”

They left at Radko's usual long-legged stride. Ean was definitely going to be fitter by the end of the trip if he walked around with her much.

“Captain's not too happy with me I guess,” Ean said.

“Spitting,” Radko said cheerfully. “You touched his ship. Without his permission.”

He didn't think Abram had heard about that yet, didn't know what he would do when he did. “But line six is okay.” He could hear it clear and straight in his head.

“Tai—the chief engineer—says it's never been better.” Radko stopped outside the hospital and looked serious. “Captain Helmo lives for the ship. It's like a violation.”

He felt guilty about what he'd done but not sorry. “It's such a beautiful ship,” he said. “We couldn't have line six out even by a little bit.”

He was glad to see the medic, to change the conversation.

“Commodore Galenos said that you are not to touch him
while we jump,” Radko said. “And you're to let me know when you're ready.”

“Do you want to be knocked out?” the medic asked.

Ean shuddered. What if he was unconscious and couldn't get out of the forever in the void. “No. Please.”

The medic nodded. “On the bed then, and I'll just keep an eye on you. There's not much else I can do.”

“I don't need this,” Ean said. “I can go to my own room.”

“The commodore is law on this ship. If he says you come to the hospital for jumps, you come. And after what you did to those two, I definitely want you here. I want them here, too,” he added. “But I'm not sure about the close proximity. Radko. Let the captain know he can jump.”

“Yes, sir.” Radko strode off rapidly.

Knowing the jump was coming made it worse. They had seven minutes. The minutes stretched. After what seemed hours, Ean suggested, “Maybe you should be with Abram and Michelle. They might have problems after last night.” He didn't want to be near anyone when he made the jump, didn't want anyone—even the medic—to see him when line ten came in.

“Believe me, I will watch them,” the medic said grimly.

One minute to go.

The medic pushed the comms. “Galenos. I need security where you are.”

There was no answer, but one wall lit up as a screen and Ean could see into the meeting room, where the other three were still discussing the confluence. Rebekah still couldn't find words to describe it. He wondered if it was because it was something so far outside human perception that linesmen couldn't think of anything to compare it to, or whether it was just so awe-inspiring they didn't want to desecrate it by describing it with ordinary words.

The alert chimed, and line nine came in strong. Ean put his hands over his ears in an instinctive move to block out what was coming. Which was stupid, he knew, because it wasn't the sound that was the problem but the forever that came with it.

The high notes of line ten sounded, and Ean was lost in
the void again. The lines were so clear in here. It was almost as if they were talking to him.

A very, very long time later—seconds in real time—he came back to the present, to find he was curled up, whimpering. The sound of the lines vibrated deep in his bones.

He must have gone to sleep. He woke to an argument.

“Seen those symptoms before,” the medic was saying. “
Strathcona
.
Davida
. Probably the
Balao
, too, if they hadn't all died. I want him off this ship before the next jump.”

“But he hasn't done anything wrong,” Michelle said.

“Can't you
see
him? Comatose. That's exactly how the crew of the
Davida
came out of their last jump. The man is a walking bomb. Jump with him again, and he's likely to send the ship crazy.”

They were talking about him. Ean could feel the lines—straight, happy, and melodic. “The ship's fine,” he said.

They didn't hear him.

“I read the report on the
Davida
,” Abram said. “Didn't those symptoms happen after the jump?”

What symptoms?

“How do we know that?” the medic asked. “Someone had to trigger it. How do you know it wasn't someone already on the ship? Someone like him. He's already interfered with the ship once.”

“Already interfered?” Abram asked sharply.

Fixing line six would haunt him forever. Ean sat up, surprised at how shaky he was. The room twirled in a mad kaleidoscope of color and sound. He didn't know which was up and which was down. He fell back onto the bed, only he fell farther than he expected and hit the floor hard. Fine, so now he'd just fallen out of bed in front of three people who thought he was crazy. “If the captain's worried about line six, why doesn't he get Rebekah to look at it?” He knew it was fine, and Rebekah would be lying if she found anything wrong.