Explorer

Four shifts, still. Two captains. It was all fine when they were careening through folded space, puttering half-wittedly about their duties. At the moment, he desperately wished there were relief for them. Sabin wasn’t about to turn anything about this over to Jase and Jase wasn’t going to leave her alone to deal with whatever came up. He had that pegged.

Distrust. The habit of lies. And now this Pilots’ Guild, that wove its own walls out of lies.

Not easy to sleep on that thought. But he did his best. He had the two bravest individuals he’d ever known not a few feet away. He had their wit, their steadiness whenever he faltered. They wouldn’t flinch. He couldn’t. When he lost sight of everything else—they were there.

He thought of home. Of his mother’s dining room. A cufflink, gone down the heating duct. Gone. Just gone. He’d pinned his cuff, rushing off to the plane, rushing to escape the island.

He wished he’d made a visit there before he left.

He’d get together with Toby when he got back. He’d drag Jase down planetside to take that fishing trip. They wouldn’t bait the hooks. Just bring a week’s worth of sandwiches and a case of beer.

Chapter 8

It wasn’t enough sleep before Gin came across the corridor. “I hate to wake you,” Gin said—the door opening had already roused Banichi and Jago, who had sorted themselves out and got up immediately. Bren found a harder time locating his wits, but he straightened the chair and set his feet on the floor.

“Sabin’s talking to the station,” Gin said. “They’re asking questions like what did we just do out there with the alien? What took us ten years getting here? Sabin’s stonewalling them. Says since they didn’t help out with the alien confrontation, she sees no reason to talk to them about what we said until she gets there.”

There might have been a better answer, but he couldn’t think of one yet. It certainly set the tone between ship and Guild. He was very much concerned about Sabin’s short fuse, and Jase’s, not inconsiderable, both of them running on no sleep whatsoever.

“I’m going,” he said, standing up, and, too incoherent to explain his wants, held out his hand for the earpiece. She gave it to him, and he stuck it in, immediately hearing the minor traffic of the consoles. “They haven’t changed shifts.”

“No. Overdue, but she’s keeping her own people on. I think she’s getting just a little punchy, if you want the brutal truth.”

“What’s our ETA?”

“Not sure. About an hour. We’re headed for the slope.”

A lot like skidding on ice. That was how he conceptualized maneuvering in space. Sometimes you were facing one way and going another, and if you got onto a gravity slope you slid very damned fast, accelerating without doing a thing. He could almost understand Sabin’s viewpoint: she hated planets, wasn’t fond of stars, didn’t at all mind the dark, empty deeps.

Reunion was situated high up on a gravity slope. Stations had to be. And a station was a scary place to navigate, so he gathered. High toehold above a deep plunge. Like wi’itikin coming in for a cliffside perch, a lot of tricky figuring best done by computer brains, humans not having the wi’itikin’s innate sense—or wings, if something went wrong.

He was fogged. He managed a thank you to Gin.

“ Ignore them ,” he heard Sabin say to someone. “ I’m busy. They can rant all they like .”

Sounded like high time he got to the bridge. “Go rest,” he said to Gin, and headed out the office door with Banichi and Jago in close attendance. His face prickled. He wished he’d thought to bring his shaving kit topside. He’d foolishly believed the dowager’s sack lunch was excessive.

The bridge looked no different than when he’d left. Those at work took no special note of his return.

Jase, however, walked over to him as he stopped to survey the scene.

“How’s it been?” Bren asked.

“Station’s not pleased with us,” Jase said. “Senior captain’s not cooperating with them. They want us to do a hard grapple at nadir of the mast. We won’t. Fueling port’s zenith. That’s where we’re going.”

“They want us away from it. That’s not encouraging.”

“The fuss is,” Jase said. And held a little silence with a glance across the bridge at Sabin, who wasn’t looking at them. He gave a hand-sign, the sort that Banichi’s and Jago’s Guild exchanged on mission. It was a warning. “Angry,” he said in Ragi. “Overdue for rest. I lack the skill to bring us in, and I lack the rank to argue with the Guild. Which she is doing.”

That was good news. “I need your advice in what’s coming. I need you sane and rested. Is there any reason you can’t go off-duty and take an hour?”

“She won’t. I won’t.”

“What are we? Kids in a schoolyard, egging each other on? Take a break, Jase. If she won’t use common sense, at least you’ll be sane.”

Jase shook his head. “She’s pushing herself. She won’t trust me to handle the smallest things. And if I want her to pay attention to my advice over the next handful of hours, I can’t fold, now, can I?” They were old friends, and there was adamancy, but not anger, in the argument. “And matters are too critical right now to worry about my state of mind or the fact my back’s killing me. We’re dealing with the Guild. You want non-reason in high places? We’re dealing with it.”

“What do you read in them?”

“I’m not the expert.”

“In ship-culture, in Guild mentality—you very much are.” He changed to Ragi. “Your professional opinion, ship-paidhi.”

Rapid blinks—total change of mental wiring. Moment of mental blackout. Then, in Ragi: “Understandable. They disapprove Sabin-aiji’s defiance of their authority. They refuse talk until we get into dock.”

“Then?”

“Then—they and we will be in closer contact.”

“They intend to board.”

“A question whether Sabin will permit that, nadi-ji. But perhaps.”

It was not good. He began to read the psychology of it through an atevi lens, and pulled his mind away from thoughts of association, aishi and man’chi , the social entity and the emotion—which, after all this voyage, began to seem logical even on human terms. Two metal motes with humans inside wanted to come together. Like magnetism. Like man’chi . But once they met—

Human politics were inside those shells. Not just two metal shells. Two grenades gravitating toward each other.

“Do they trust her at all?” he asked—meaning Sabin.

“One doubts,” Jase said, and added, in ship-speak: “She’s just ordered an outside operations team to suit up immediately after we dock.”

“Boarding the station?” They’d have to turn out the whole crew to take something as large as that—and still might be outnumbered.

“To have our hands at the refueling port.”

“That’s not standard operating procedure, is it?” Of fueling stations in the vast cosmos, there were only two he knew. And one, Alpha, ran operations from a stationside control center.

“It’s not. I know that much. The captain’s preparing to have us do it ourselves, from outside. I don’t know what she’s going to say to them. Being Sabin, she may not say a thing. She may just do it.”

Aliens waiting in the wings and the captain outright preparing to commandeer a fuel supply from the people they’d come to rescue, who at the moment weren’t cooperating—at least their officials weren’t. He’d thought his heart had had all the panic it could stand in the last few hours. He discovered a brand new source.

“And we haven’t gotten word from them yet that there is fuel.” That was the prime question at issue, and Jase slowly shook his head.

“They’re not talking about that and we’re not asking. If they can’t fuel us, we have a choice to make.”

“If we run,” he said, “there’s every chance that ship out there can track us out to Gamma and hit us there. Isn’t there?”

“So I understand. Starring down a gun barrel while we scrape what we need together out of space isn’t attractive.”

“We can get the alien remains out of the station and negotiate. I don’t recommend running. We have a reasonable chance so long as we seem to be cooperating with that ship out there.”

“That’s your advice.”

“To keep all sides talking while we spend the next few years gathering fuel. Running’s only going to make matters worse. We’ll have none of the passengers we came here to get, we won’t have destroyed the Archive, and we still won’t have any fuel.”

“I’d tend to agree with you.”

“Most of all—most of all we have to get some sort of calm.”

“Calm.” Jase’s laugh held stress, not humor.

“Whatever situation has existed here for six years has been destabilized by our arrival. And we don’t know what’s gone on here. We have to ratchet down the stress on this situation. And she—” Meaning Sabin. “—has to be reasonable, right along with the Guild. First and foremost, we have to show good faith with that ship out there. That’s a priority, even ahead of the fuel, toward getting us out of here and keeping the Archive to ourselves, with all that means. Hang the fuel situation. We can solve that with Gin’s robots.”

“Over years.”

“Over years and I’d rather not. But that ship out there represents a more critical situation. We get locked into a push-pull with the Guild and we can lose sight of what’s going on at our backs.”

“We have guns.”

“We have guns, they have guns—we also have a potential chance to settle this mess before it comes home with us, Jase.”

“ I agree with you,” Jase said, leaving hanging in the air the implication that the other captain was at issue. “And I’m asking you, Bren, stay up here. Be cooperative with her, whatever it takes. The situation needs you and the dowager with your wits about you, and it needs us all with as much manuevering room as we can maintain with Sabin, if we’re going to have to negotiate our way out of this. She’s not a diplomat. You’ve given her information. Don’t assume she’ll use it diplomatically.”

“I’d better talk with her,” he said, “before we go much closer.”

“She’s several hours less rested.” Jase gave him that look. A plea for extreme caution.

“We have the chance now,” he said. “It’s only going to be less sleep if this goes on.”

Jase said nothing to that, and he walked on down the aisle, quietly intercepting Sabin, delicately as if he were picking up a live bomb. “Captain. A moment, if you can spare it.”

“We don’t have many moments, Mr. Cameron.”

“In private, captain, if you will. I have something to communicate.”

She grudgingly yielded, as far as the end of the console, where the general noise of fans overcame the small noise of low voices. She hadn’t cut off her communications pickup. But if one talked to her, as to him, discreet security personnel were inevitably involved.

“I take it,” she said, “we’re about to receive a personal confidence from the dowager.”

“A message from me, captain. A further offer—with the Guild. I am a negotiator, if the Guild turns recalcitrant. I’m offering, in all good will—so you know your hands aren’t empty. For a start—in spite of my distaste for secrets—I don’t advise spilling everything the aliens out there said, if there’s any likelihood they didn’t overhear it.”

“They’re asking. Likely they didn’t get it.”

“That’s to the good. Second point: never mind Gamma. Get in control of whatever alien material the station’s holding. That’s critical. We can solve a fuel problem. But if they’re not put off our trail, we’re in deep trouble.”

“Oh, I am so gratified to have that advice, Mr. Cameron.”

“Fuel be damned, captain.”

“I don’t recall you got a confirmation from that ship out there that we can leave if we jump to their orders.”

“I can’t swear to their customs, their attitude, or their morality. But I know ours. If there’s a way not to lead them back to Alpha, that’s a priority. It’s common sense, captain.”

Sabin’s mouth tightened. “Priority is options , Mr. Cameron. Yours is one on a list. Fuel, passengers, then their little errand.”

“Station’s not cooperating with you.”

“Tell the second captain keep his advice. I’ve heard it. Trust me that I’ve heard it.”

“Captain, it’s cooperation I’m offering. To convey your viewpoint to station. To get what you want.”

Sabin gave a short, grim laugh. “You say. You know the dowager’s a bastard. So am I. And so, in your sweet, stubborn way, are you, Mr. Cameron. Tell the second captain I’m fine , and I can deal with the Guild. Now go shut the hell up and leave me to my job.”

He’d walked into this trying to get ahead of the situation. Numb as he was and remote from full-tilt feeling, his brain uneasily advised him the paidhi was not truly functioning at his utmost, either. And he didn’t know what he’d accomplished. Sabin took advice without telling the advisor she was taking it. And one never knew what she’d do.

“What did she say?” Jase asked, in Ragi, when he drew back into range of him and Banichi and Jago.

“She is at least maintaining our secrets from the station,” Bren said in Ragi. “She refuses to accept the alien mission ahead of our own. And hopes, one believes, that there might be fuel. If the station had any time at all to prepare itself before this second incident, they ought to have thought, if Phoenix comes back, fuel is essential to our own safety. Therefore it would be very highest priority. Would it not be, Jase-aiji?”

“One certainly hopes,” Jase said. Meanwhile the image forward was a rotating, damaged station.

Sabin paused by C1 and gave an order. And spoke on general address.

“ Sabin here. This is the situation: we have contact with the station and we’re on track for our high berth, contrary to their instructions. I’ve ordered a team to suit and connect the fuel probe from the outside. Communications with the station have been limited: considering we’re not alone here, that’s understandable. But due to numerous unanswered questions, these are my orders. We’ll refuel as a priority, and if station has other ideas, we’ll hear them afterward. You’ll have a ten minute break coming up as soon as I sign off. Do what you need to do and get back to a secure bunk. Second watch crew will maintain current assignment. Third watch will take station after docking. ”

Damn, Bren thought. She wasn’t letting Jase’s crew take station. She was driving her own past a due change. Had driven herself for hours.

“ We don’t know the situation on the station ,” Sabin said. “ And so long as we don’t know, we don’t let our guard down. Keep on alert. This isn’t a time for any celebration, and nobody will attempt to contact station communications. Evasive action remains a moment by moment possibility. I’m giving you a ten-minute break off strict precautions, but as you value your necks and the necks of those around you, don’t get sloppy .

“ Ten minutes. Starting now. No excuses. ”

“I need to translate that for my staff,” Bren said to Jase, and relayed the information in Ragi, above and below decks, that they might move about for a very few moments.

Banichi and Jago had stood by quietly the last while, translating occasionally on their own, always there. That was a relief to him, too, as if, while they were not by him, even by the width of the bridge while he was talking to Sabin, he had been somehow stretched thin. Now that they were close, all of him was there… curious notion for a Mospheiran lad to get into, but that was the way his nerves read it.

Bridge crew, half a dozen at a time, took the chance for a break, a mad rush for the available facilities. Those first absent returned, and gave immediate attention to business while partners made the same rush.

Sabin herself took a small break: “You’re in charge,” she told Jase in passing. “Don’t start a war. Evade if there’s a twitch out there. Nav knows.”

“Thank you, captain,” Jase said quietly. Jase changed none of her orders, did nothing but walk the aisles on Sabin’s routine. When Sabin got back, he simply made a small salute, continued his own patrol and said not a word.

She did approach, however, and talked with him somberly in low tones that failed to reach Bren’s ears. She’d trusted him, however briefly. Jase hadn’t failed her.

The dowager and Cajeiri, meanwhile, took advantage of the moment to come out, with Gin and the rest, and, unopposed, resumed their seats along the bulkhead. Cajeiri was wide-eyed and watching, the dowager grim, while Gin—Gin watched everything that moved. Neither captain seemed to note their arrival, but Bren waited, assured both captains had very well noted it, expecting that if Sabin had had any comment, Jase would soon wander by.

Jase did.

“When we go in,” Jase said with a little bow, “we’re going to maintain rotation. It’s a power drain, operating like that, and it means we don’t grapple—we tether. Senior captain’s ordering it to make life more comfortable here. The tether dock means more security for us. That’s a cold, uncomfortable passage that only takes two at a time. It’s a deliberate bottleneck. It doesn’t accommodate boarders.”

“She’s not letting crew off.”

“No. No way. Crew’s not going to get communication with the station.”

“Prudent.”

“Also significant—maintaining position on tether gives us the excuse to keep our systems hot.”

“So we can move at the drop of a hat.”

“If a hat should for some reason drop,” Jase said. “Yes.”

“But in that state—we can’t board passengers.”

“Not rapidly,” Jase said. “We can easily hard-dock from that position, for general boarding. But the thing that may be most important, soft-dock slows down the rush to the ship. She wants our fuel load. Her priorities. And it’s sensible. We don’t want to depopulate the station all in a panic.”

Any Mospheiran knew what had happened to the station at the atevi star, once the inhabitants had decided their futures lay elsewhere, on the planet. They’d deserted for the planet below, a trickle at first, then a cascading chain of desertions and station services going down, until the last few to leave the station had just mothballed it as far as they could and turned out the lights.

“God,” Jase said then, while input pinged and blipped at the consoles, “I hope this whole business goes fast.”

“Fishing trip’s still an offer,” Bren said, deliberate distraction—but that offer seemed to strike Jase as more unreadably alien than the communication out there in the dark. A different world, that of the atevi. A different mindset, that required a quick, deep breath. But it offered stability.

“If I survive this,” Jase said shakily, “I swear I’m going for Yolanda’s job. Frequent runs down to the planet. Court appearances. Estate on the coast. Right next to yours.”

“I’ll back you. Big yacht, while we’re at it. We’ll go take a close-up look at the Southern Sea.”

“I’ll settle for a rowboat,” Jase said in a low voice. “A sandy beach and a rowboat.”

While the numbers went on scrolling on the screens.

“Don’t let your guard down,” Jase said suddenly. “Keep ready for takehold.”

Chapter 9

No touch. A gentle shock a little after the takehold ran out: alarming, to people who’d just given up their handholds. “That was the tether line,” Jase said, and Bren translated for the dowager and party.

They sat and stood, atevi and humans, on that division between corridor and bridge, meticulously out of the way, and watching.

Jase stood next to the lot of them, buffer, translator, reassurance.

“We have fired a tether line toward the station mast, nandi,” Jase said to the dowager in Ragi. “This is to stabilize connections for essential lines. The ship’s computers will keep us positioned relative to the station by small adjustments, which we will feel occasionally while docked, none of which should require a handhold. That tether line will keep the fueling probe and communications lines in good order, as well as carrying information within itself, now that it has contacted the reciprocal port on the station.”

“So we should hear from these persons,” Ilisidi said.

“More often and more clearly, nandi, and in communications protected from bureaucrats,” Jase answered.

“Eavesdroppers,” Bren corrected. The words were akin. Jase’s Ragi occasionally faltered, even yet.

“Eavesdroppers,” Jase said with a little nod, a slight blush. “Pardon, nandiin. The tether also provides a person-sized soft tube which permits one to come and go, rather like an ordinary boarding passage, but very cold, very much smaller, easier to retract or even break free in case of emergency. Sabin-aiji is preserving our freedom of movement. We expect a clear understanding with the station before we establish any more solid connection, nandi.”

Sabin meanwhile, not far distant, gave rapid orders establishing that connection, Bren heard that with the other ear.

“ Tether line is established ,” C1 informed the crew below-decks, in that operations monotone. “ Links are functioning .”

Sabin appeared in a far better mood now than an hour ago. She looked to have aged ten years in the last few hours, but there was a spark in her eye now—more like a battle-glint, but a spark, all the same.

“Now we have a physical communications linkage,” Jase said, hands in jacket pockets.

Mechanical whine and thump. Airlock , Bren thought on the instant, with a jump of his heart. They hadn’t heard that in at least a year.

“Someone is going outside,” he muttered to Jase.

“Fuel access, belly port. We are not asking their permission, nandiin. We will see what our situation is. But this process of arranging the port connection may take hours.

“One might take the chance at this point to go back to greater comfort below,” Jase said.

“And when will the captains do so?” Ilisidi asked.

“Perhaps soon, nandi.” Jase looked wrung out, at the limits of his strength. “But we shall go to shift change soon. One anticipates that Sabin-aiji may declare it her night, and when that happens, I shall likely sit watch up here claiming I know absolutely nothing, should the station have questions. We may well start fueling under that circumstance, granted there is fuel. It may cause a certain distress, but Sabin-aiji will not be disposed to listen.”

“A diplomatic situation, then,” Ilisidi said.

“But a human one, aiji-ma,” Bren said quietly. “I should stay up here within reach, but there is clearly no reason for the aiji-dowager to miss breakfast.”

Clearly it tempted. Ilisidi rarely admitted fatigue, except for show. The harsh lines of her face were not, at this point, showing. “One might consider it, if this ship has ceased its moving about.”

“One may trust that, aiji-ma.”

“This bloodthirsty child will go disappointed that we shan’t raise banners and storm the station, I’m sure, but if matters have reached such a lengthy wait, I shall appreciate a more comfortable chair. And this boy needs his breakfast.”

“One understands a young gentleman’s endurance is very sorely tested. I don’t know what other young lad might have stood and sat for so long.”

“One makes no excuses,” Ilisidi said sharply—though the young lad in question, eye level with a human adult, looked exhausted. “A gentleman offers no exceptions, does he, rascal?”

“No, mani-ma.” It was a very faint voice. “But one would very much favor a glass of—”

Click . Softly, Ilisidi set her cane down in front of her feet.

“At convenience, mani-ma.”

Ilisidi’s hand lifted. A disturbance had just rippled across the bridge, Sabin and C1 in consultation, nearby stations diverting attention to that conversation. Technicians’ heads actually turned, however briefly.

Something unusual was going on.

“A moment, nandiin.” Jase excused himself toward the epicenter of the trouble.

“Excuse me, aiji-ma.” Bren took Sabin’s tolerance of Jase in the situation as a similar permission and went, himself, to stand and listen.

The team from Phoenix had reached the fueling port. Video from a helmet-cam showed a yellow and black band and a hand-lettered label stuck across an edge. It said… God? Lock rigged to explode .

“They’ve locked the fuel port,” Jase said under his breath. “With a sign out there for us to read.”

“Evidently there’s something to protect,” Bren muttered, “from us.”

“Get me station administration,” Sabin said in clipped tones, and C1 acknowledged the order.

A sense of unease welled up. Banichi and Jago hadn’t followed him into the sacred territory of the operations area, but he felt a Banichi sort of thought nagging at him. “Jase. If we plug into their systems to talk, can they possibly get into our systems?”

“Two-way,” Jase said. “I don’t know the safeguards. I assume we both have them.”

There had to be safeguards—had to be, if the captains hadn’t trusted the Guild. If the Guild had doubts about the captains. Or had they? “Captain,” he began to say to Sabin, but Sabin leaned forward on C1’s console and said, “Get me the station-master. Now. Asleep or awake, rout him out.”

A loyal ship turned up after a decade-long voyage, there was a lock on the fuel and the stationmaster wasn’t saying glad to see you as it docked? Granted station wasn’t glad they’d approached the alien ship out there—it ought to be happy they’d gotten away alive.

“Anybody bothered by this silence from station?” Bren asked under his breath.

Sabin shot their small disturbance a burning look, intermittent with attention to the console. On the screen, some sort of official emblem appeared, links of a chain, the word Reunion .

“Stationmaster’s answered,” C1 said quietly. “Station-master, stand by for the senior captain.”

“Stationmaster,” Sabin said abruptly. “Sabin here, senior captain. We’re tethered in good order. Speaking on direct. What’s your situation?”

C1 had the audio low, but audible.

And below that circle of links, the screen now held the old Pilots’ Guild emblem, a white star and a ship, superimposed with Pilots’ Guild Headquarters, Louis Baynes Braddock, Chairman .

Nothing inherently terrible about that image. But seeing it actually in use, not pressed in the pages of a history book, sent cold chills down a Mospheiran spine.

That image dissolved to the heavy-jowled face of a middle-aged man, white-haired and balding, in an officer’s uniform. Louis Baynes Braddock, Chairman .

“ Stable at the moment, Captain Sabin ,” Braddock answered. “ Where is Captain Ramirez ?”

“Attrition of age, sir. Of the original captains, Jules Ogun is alive and well, directing affairs at Alpha Station.” There was the shade of a lie, by way of introduction. “And I am senior in this situation. Second captain aboard is Jason Graham. No fourth captain has yet been appointed. We require fuel. I’d like to get that moving. What’s the situation?”

“ We have a full load for you, Captain. ”

Confirmation went through the bridge, palpable relief. Full load. Ready. They could do their job and leave. They could go home . But not a single face, not a single eye, shifted from absolute duty.

“That’s very good news, Mr. Braddock, very good news.” No flicker of emotion touched Sabin’s face, either, no rejoicing beyond that utterance, muscles set like wire springs. “And the watcher out there?”

“ It never has interfered with us .” Not what the alien itself had indicated. “ We tried to advise you. Your interference in that situation is very dangerous, captain. I can’t stress how dangerous .”

Two lies and unanswered questions by the bucketful. The news about the fuel load was good—but Braddock lied, and Bren held his breath.

“ I can report in turn,” Sabin said, “that our Alpha base is secure, things there are in good order, and we’re fit for service once we’re fueled here—including dealing with any threat from that ship out there. Fueling should get underway immediately. I note your precautions with the fuel port. Can we get that open, priority one?”

“ As soon as we’ve officially verified your credentials and reviewed your log records, Captain Sabin, we’ll be delighted to deliver the fuel. ”

Not much fazed Sabin. There began, however, a sudden, steady twitch in her jaw. “Chairman Braddock, we’ve managed a peaceful contact with that observer out there. We seem to have a tacit approval for our approach, whether or not it’s collecting targets into one convenient package, or just watching to see what we do. We don’t know the extent of its comprehension. We’re not anxious to postpone refueling and setting this ship in operational order in favor of a round of by-the-book formalities, hell no, sir. Unlock that port.”

“ Essential that we ascertain your recent whereabouts and your authority, captain. ”

“You haven’t got damn else for a ship, sir, and I am the authority.”

“ We’re sure we’ll be satisfied with your report, captain. But you’ll appreciate that, even considering you’re clearly in possession of Phoenix, there is a question of legitimacy of command. More to the point, there’s the authority of this Guild to review, inspect, and post to rank. Those formalities we take to be important. The log records are requisite. We require you transmit them .”

Sabin took her hand off the console shelf and stood upright. There was still not a flicker of expression on her face. But she paused a moment to gather composure and reason before she leaned near the pick-up again. “Stationmaster, do I correctly gather that you’re asking me to come to your offices to fill out forms and deal with red tape with my ship unfueled and a ship you can’t account for already having constrained us on our way in? And that you’re trying to assert Guild Council authority over Phoenix ? I reject that, categorically. My second captain may be new, but I’m not, and I know what’s in order and what’s not. Hell if I’m putting our navigational records and the precise location of our remote base into your records when you can’t even guarantee the security of your own station.”

“ Captain Sabin, we’re asking specifically that you observe Guild law and procedures which our office, our entire reason for being, requires us to follow. You’ll appreciate our safeguarding that fuel, to release it to appropriately constituted authority, operating in our interests and at our orders —”

“The hell? We are the ship. That’s the plain fact.”

“ Our orders, I remind you, supercede yours, where it regards this station, and the fuel, captain, is on this station. For your convenience, and precisely to expedite this process, we have an inspection team and an escort ready to come up to the ship .”

“ Escort. ”

“ To Guild headquarters, captain, where you can present your request to the Guild. This transfer of personnel would be far easier in hard dock. We have questions to ask about the encounter out there. ”

“After refueling.”

“ We understand your worry. But we have legitimate worries. We feel you’ve exacerbated the situation with your adventurism out there — adventurism which brought this situation on us. We are not disposed to be patient, captain, and we strongly suggest you hard dock and come in for consultation .”

“Until you can present solid information about our watcher out there, I’ll keep us soft-docked. I may change my mind once we’re sure you’re in control of the station.”

“ I can assure you, captain, we’ve never ceased to be in control of this station. ”

Their advantage was leaking away, utterance by utterance. “Captain,” Bren said, and recklessly if gently interposed his hand between Sabin and the console.

Sabin reached past that intervention and pushed a button on the console. Held it down, preventing transmission to the station, one hoped.

“A sudden bright idea, Mr. Cameron?”

“ You’re senior entity. Demand the Guildmaster board and prove what’s to prove. And don’t let him off again once he’s here.”

“I’d enjoy that, but it doesn’t get that fuel lock released, Mr. Cameron, and I don’t want someone to panic and dump the load. Traditionally, captains have gone to station offices.”

“And if they hold you ?”

“Then we’ll know something, won’t we?” She released the button and spoke to Braddock, at the console. “I use my own escort, sir, under my own command.”

Bren’s heart sank. Ignored. Absolutely ignored.

“I’ll expect a full explanation of the situation from your side,” Sabin said to Braddock. “As for your officers boarding this ship, inspect as you like, under Captain Graham’s supervision, but I’ve no intention of transmitting ship’s log containing base location into your station records in the presence of an unexplained foreign presence, and that’s the law on this deck. Personnel link is adequate for current business. Beyond that, I assure you Phoenix remains the senior entity in this organization: we are your founders , sir, and we don’t take orders.”

“ We’re well aware of your unsuccessful maneuver to breach the fuel port .” Did one imagine a sudden, desolate chill in relations? “ When we see the documents that confirm your authority to command, we’ll have more to say, Captain Sabin. Our personnel are on their way and expect entry .”

“I’ll expect your escort momentarily, Mr. Braddock. Let’s get this business done. Sabin out.”

C1 cut the connection. Sabin wasn’t happy. That needed no translation. She straightened, glowered straight at Bren, looked at Jase, at the lot of them. The tic was still pulsing away in her jaw. It wasn’t a good time to argue—but, Bren thought, feeling the deck had just dropped away under his feet, it was a very unfortunate time for Sabin to shove advice aside.

“Captain Graham.”

“I’ll be honored to go in your place,” Jase said quietly. “In that capacity, I might be more useful.”

“Protocols, second captain, protocols say you aren’t the one to go, sensible as it might otherwise be. Main security will go with me. With weapons.”

“Yes, captain,” Jase said quietly and Bren stepped to the background with a glance at Banichi and Jago.

“Inform the dowager and fifth deck, nadiin-ji. The fuel port is locked with an explosive device and a sign in human language. The station demands Sabin-aiji come report in person to establish her legitimacy before the Guild chairman will release the fuel. We believe this is subterfuge. Captain Sabin is arming her primary guard to go outside the ship, but she has admitted Guild officers inside our security, expecting Jase to finesse this.”

“Shall we assist?” Banichi asked, surely with a certain anticipation he hated to hold back.

“Not yet, Nichi-ji. Not yet.” The troubling truth was that Phoenix had relatively few security personnel on each shift—they weren’t a warship: they were a small town; and their advantage was they knew each other, but their glaring disadvantage was—they only knew each other. Sabin thought she knew the Guild better than the rest of them, and that might be true, but the move she made scared him—scared him in the extreme.

Ilisidi had moved forward, into the aisle, with Cajeiri, with Cenedi, and her gold stare fairly sizzled.

“We have understood. This is dangerous insolence in the absence of power, in this wrecked station. Say so to Sabin-aiji. Say that we shall lend force to her actions.”

He foresaw refusal. But he went closer to Sabin and rendered that: “The dowager calls the station dangerously insolent, says people sitting in a wrecked station have no real authority; she offers atevi assistance.”

“Unfortunately,” Sabin said between her teeth, “and the governing fact, we have no real fuel .”

“If you board, ma’am, they have you and the fuel,” Jase pointed out. “And without you, this ship has no way home.”

“On the contrary, Mr. Akers seems quite undamaged and serviceable.” That was the senior pilot. “Failing Mr. Akers, Ms. Carem and Mr. Keplinger. And they surely have your canny advice, Captain Graham.” It was the sort of petty sniping that consistently flew at Jase and his appointment. “It also has you , Mr. Cameron, and the dowager and her security, and Ms. Kroger, and if the station does an explosive vent on the fuel, I’m hopeful we have machinery as adequate to recover it as it is to mine in the first place.”

“With extreme difficulty, captain. With that ship lurking out there, that—”

“We can’t do anything about that ship, now, can we, Mr. Cameron, without that fuel, except run to a point where we’ll be definitively out of fuel and stuck, probably a place, as you so eloquently maintain, that our alien observer can find us with no trouble at all. Meanwhile we don’t know the situation on station, which I mean to find out. And when I do, I intend to enforce common sense with information and observations I don’t intend to pass through station’s communication system. I’ll be in touch. Failing that, Mr. Collins or Mr. Jenrette will be in touch.”

Jase frowned. “I’d ask you not take Mr. Jenrette, ma’am. He’s a resource I could—”

“Mr. Jenrette, I say, who knows the station intimately and who’s a resource for me.”

“His loyalty is suspect,” Bren said sharply.

“By you, sir. Confine your speculations to the aliens. And I don’t expect innovation aboard this ship, second captain. Wait for my orders. If things go massively wrong and you have to go to aggressive measures on your own, ask C1. If you have to take this ship out of dock, call on Mr. Akers and follow his advice meticulously. If at any time we get another flash from the observer out there—advise me before you start freelancing any communications back to it; and if you can’t advise me, advise station to advise me. Above all, have a clear idea what you’re going to do if it all goes wrong. We don’t want surviving records, second captain. We do not want that .”

“I understand you,” Jase said faintly. And they all did understand. It was self-destruction she meant. Terrible alternatives. Even Phoenix had a major stake back at the atevi planet—all there was left of humanity in this end of the universe was at risk if things went wrong here.

Sabin sealed her jacket, implied preparation for cold. For passage out of the ship and into the station mast.

“So congratulations: you’re in charge, Captain Graham. Remember we’re very immaculately Guild and we follow the regulations until we know what our options are. And that means you , sir—” A glance at Bren. “Get your tall, dark friends below-decks right now and keep them there. Aliens never left the atevi planet. Our own crew isn’t putting their heads above two-deck to tell these inspectors differently. The inspection team will fill out their little check list, skip the log check, as per my orders, and go back to report they didn’t get any more here than I gave the Guild chief on his request. That’s the way it should work, Captain Graham. That’s the way it’s going to work. So get gran, there, the hell below, right now.”

One definitely hesitated to translate that small speech for the dowager’s consumption. But it was time to translate, inserting proper courtesies.

“Aiji-ma,” Bren said to her, “officials of this human Guild are very soon coming aboard to inspect the ship’s credentials. Sabin-aiji suggests we go below immediately. Officials are arriving at any moment. We must not be seen.”

“We are here to rescue these ingrates, whose station is in grievously unrepaired condition, who appear to exist in armed standoff with an offended enemy they have no power to talk to, let alone reach, and this incompetent Guild wishes to us to dread their displeasure?”

“They do seem to have one thing: the fuel we desperately need, aiji-ma, which they have rigged so we cannot get at it. Sabin-aiji being requested to board the station, she will do it with armed escort of her choosing, and she is not pleased. One hopes she can carry her point.”

“She will go. Not Jase.”

“Not Jase, aiji-ma.”

Complete change of expression. In such an undemonstrative species, humans might not see it. But the dowager gave him a now sweet, sidelong look—golden eyes, dark skin with its fine tracery of lines—long, long years of calculation and autocracy.

“Well, well, we shall go below,” the dowager announced as if it were all her idea, and stamped the deck with her cane. “Now.”

“Nandi,” Jase said, who had caught the nuances. And understood the threat of atevi taking matters in their own hands. “There will be no foreign intrusion onto five-deck. Your residence will remain sacrosanct. One swears this, nandi.”

“One certainly expects it.” A vigorous stamp of the cane. “Enough of this standing about? My bones ache. I want my own chair.”

“Well? Is she going?” Sabin asked.

“The dowager is going below,” Jase said.

“Very good,” Sabin said. “Mospheirans, too, the whole lot of you, off the bridge. Nothing left behind. And stay quiet down there, Mr. Cameron. We have enough troubles on our hands.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bren said, already determined he didn’t consider himself under that prohibition. He could change accents as easily as he changed clothes… and he had no intention of acquiescence in what the Guild and Sabin alone arranged.

Banichi and Jago were still with him. He overtook the dowager and Ginny and their company at the lift, got in just before the door shut and, between Banichi and Jago, set his back against the wall, heaving a deep sigh. His inner vision was all a kaleidoscope of crew on the bridge, locked fuel port, station corridors—those urgent problems and the marching dots of their communication with the alien craft. Which had to be finessed. Somehow.

The dowager was, at the moment, on remarkably compliant behavior. Cajeiri was, correctly sensing an armed grenade in his great-grandmother’s quiet demeanor. Ginny very wisely took her cues.

“Damn Guild,” was Jerry’s opinion, and at a sharp look from Ginny: “Well, damn them, chief. We come all this way…”

“Jerry,” Ginny said, and Ilisidi paid the matter a quiet look.

Gran ’Sidi, as the stationers called her… Gran ’Sidi, the atevi force that swept into station affairs at critical moments and fixed things. And to this hour when Gran ’Sidi gave a look like that—silence fell among Mospheirans and ship-folk alike.

“Sabin has something in mind,” Bren said ever so softly. “Just don’t rock the boat yet. So to speak. We’ll have our moment.”

“Anything you need,” Ginny said, and with a meaningful glance at the atevi contingent. “Aiji.” She managed an atevi-style bow, a graceful escape out of difficult communications, as the lift reached five-deck and let them out.

“Good,” Ilisidi said, acknowledging the communication—lordly acceptance. Ilisidi walked out, her staff with her, and Bren followed, not without a parting glance to Ginny and her team, a simple shift of the eyes toward the overhead, an advisement where he meant to go.

Ginny understood. Ginny—who could pass for crew, herself. She returned a firm, got-the-information kind of nod.

Ilisidi’s guards opened the door to the atevi section. Ilisidi’s guards, Ilisidi’s servants, had all turned out along the corridor, loyal support, baji-naji, come what might from the strangers proposing to enter the ship on decks above.

The section door shut. Sealed. Ilisidi, walking with taps of her cane, issued her orders, quietly, matter of factly, while she moved among the staff. “An hour to rest, if we are so fortunate. Security will deal with necessary issues. For the nonce, we shall not contact these intruders or become apparent to them unless they reach our territory. Bren-nandi?”

“Aiji-ma?”

“You, personally, can manage the accent and manner of ordinary crew.”

She didn’t miss a bet.

“Easily.”

They had reached the dowager’s study door. Ilisidi stopped there, hands on the head of her cane, poised. “Interesting. Apprise us of any news.”

“Yes, aiji-ma.”

A waggle of the topmost fingers. “Let Sabin-aiji make her attempt. Let her learn what she can of the situation and perhaps return to us. Let these officers of the Guild come aboard and lay hands where they wish on the other decks. But not on ours. All these things we may tolerate, briefly, for expediency’s sake. Otherwise—otherwise, Bren-nandi, see to it. Use whatever resources you need.”

“Yes, aiji-ma.”

And with that statement, and with a belated backward look from Cajeiri—a worried look, it was—Ilisidi turned aside and let Cenedi open the door to her quarters—into which she and all her company disappeared.

Her bones, Bren said to himself, did suffer with long standing. It was well past time she took a rest. But that mind didn’t rest. She was far too canny in human affairs to attempt to deal with what her human associates could far better manage. She deputed, and she sent. But she did not, one was sure, go off alert.

He walked on from that point into his own territory, with Banichi and Jago… who assurely would not approve his plans. Who had defensive skills he could never manage.

But no amount of skill and stealth could disguise what they were.

“Nadiin-ji,” he said to them, “Sabin-aiji, who has met these station aijiin before, believes she can maintain her authority, discover useful information and gain their cooperation to refuel the ship. She has refused them free access to the ship’s history. They persisted and she still refused. She surely knows there is some risk to her freedom to act as she goes onto the station. Her authority there on the station is yet to establish, and one hopes she succeeds. But one still fails to trust her entirely. There is that.”

“A strong possibility, Bren-ji?” Baniichi asked.

“She can’t compel their obedience.” It might be superfluous to remind his staff what drove Sabin and the Pilots’ Guild were different instincts, having nothing to do with the grouping-drive that motivated atevi, but it was still worth laying out. “We are not dealing with man’chi between her and this Guild, nadiin-ji. Each side has both merit and force to persuade the other to take their direction. But only Sabin has a ship, and I confess I wish she were staying on the ship and simply demanding they come aboard. She could compel that. She could announce her intent to the station population and create insurrection, but she refuses, and takes a security force to the heart of their establishment—perhaps for reasons of her own, perhaps that some sense like man’chi forbids she take the station apart in disorder. I fear they may ambush her—I fear Jenrette, for that matter. But she knows that from the beginning. I have speculations—even the speculation that she is Guild and means to spill everything she bids us conceal, laying plans to take the ship once she gets aboard.”

“Do we count this likely?”

“She has the ship already. She could easily invite the Guild in and turn the ship over to them without risking herself aboard the station. As likely that she means to walk in and simply shoot the Guild-aiji dead at his desk. I don’t know what she intends. She has taken Jenrette as one of her guards. I don’t know why. Perhaps because she is Guild, as I suspect he is—perhaps because she simply wishes to get him off the ship so he can’t sabotage anything. She does not trust Jase to run the ship.”

“Do you so trust him, Bren-ji?” Jago asked.

“In matters of security, yes. And he has staff that can move the ship at need. We have not linked the ship within safe access of general population. A rush of population into the mast would put us in a position where we would have to open our doors or see them die of cold; and the presence of so many would increase mass that we dare not leave dock without refueling. On the other hand, if the station administration itself refuses to vacate the station, this would be a great difficulty. Sabin did reiterate to Jase the mission to destroy all the information the station holds. The computers that hold that information, on the station, are deep, and defended by the Guild. The alternatives remain—very bad alternatives. One hardly wishes to think about the possibility of blowing up the station with all those people aboard. One refuses to contemplate it.”

“And what shall we first do to prevent this?” Jago asked. “Send you up undefended, Bren-ji, among officials of these strange aijiin? We protest. We very strongly protest this plan.”

“Let us assist, Bren-ji,” Banichi said. “We can move within the access tunnels. We can remove these troublesome individuals one by one.”

He had no doubt, even given the likelihood of advanced communications and weapons. “I don’t fear for my life or my freedom aboard, not with Jase in charge. I do fear the mood of the crew. We must not spread fear about—least of all any notion that five-deck intends to seize their ship and take over command. The good will of the crew is very important. And I, nadiin-ji, I am going back up there to protect Jase’s authority. I have indeed learned a few things in your company. Prudence, among other things. Use of the communications equipment.”

“Which they may detect, Bren-ji,” Jago said sharply. “There are very many finesses to these matters.”

“One will gratefully take whatever instruction you can give, nadiin-ji,” he said. “I think it remotely possible that after a conference, and after reaffirming her ties to the station, Sabin-aiji may aim at getting the truth out of the Guild leadership, about the alien situation, and that would be helpful. But she remains at risk. She has refused my services and declared she is taking over the situation with the Guild herself, with armed force. One dares not fold one’s hands and wait.”

“One protects against threats as they come, Bren-ji.” Banichi’s professional observation was low-key, consistently calm. And calming, too. Bren drew that sense into himself, belief that, against everything else unstable, he had a reasonable chance. He would not be utterly alone.

Not alone now. In their own territory in the corridor, Asicho still dutifully sat the security station, never taking her attention from the situation, while Narani and Bindanda and Jeladi had all turned out to welcome them, to open the door to his personal quarters.

“No time for rest, Rani-ji,” he said on the way through the door. “We have a situation, a successful docking on the one hand, but a very troublesome local authority. Sabin-aiji has gone ashore with ship security, ostensibly to try to deal with them, but rejecting advice. I shall need island clothes, Rani-ji, immediately without fuss, before some situation shuts down the lift system.”

“Nandi.” Narani asked no questions. The clothes would appear, with his staff’s fastest cooperation. Doubtless, too, the dowager and Cenedi were entering on much the same endeavor, down the hall, explaining to staff and laying plans of their own, which he hoped didn’t involve armed incursion into the maintenance passages.

But if the Pilots’ Guild should believe it could make a move on Jase and control the ship, he was very sure the dowager would move very quickly—benignly toward the crew, so be it, but all the same, no question but that Ilisidi would take all security, all decisions, all mission direction into her own hands. Ilisidi, absent Sabin, now saw no one to stop her, no one with whom to negotiate territories directly—and what came next was as basic as gravity, as fundamental as the history of the atevi associations: a power vacuum did not last, among atevi, not ten minutes. Atevi wars most often happened by accident, when signals were not quite clear and contenders for a vacancy jammed up in a figurative doorway.

Which meant signals were already flying, humans all oblivious to the fact. Unless Jase took a strong enough stand to stand Ilisidi off in Sabin’s name—it would happen. And that meant there was a very dangerous imbalance of powers developing, if he didn’t get himself up there and plant himself in a position to maintain that balance between Ilisidi, the Guild, and ship’s authority.

And what would the Guild do if the ship they relied on as their heritage, their only lifeline to the universe, their protection and refuge, suddenly turned out to be in alien hands?

And what would Phoenix crew do, if atevi, threatening all those traditions, moved suddenly against the Guild—which the crew increasingly didn’t like?

Those last two in particular were questions he hoped not to have to answer before the hour was out.

He was exhausted despite his few hours of sleep. He wanted nothing right now more than a bed to fall into.

But he did a quick change into a blue sweater and a pair of matching blue pants little distinguishable from the crew’s ordinary fatigues.

The hair—well, that was a problem. He thought even of cutting it off, though common crew had varying lengths—well, all shorter than his. But he had it in a simple pigtail, like Banichi’s or Jago’s, and made up his mind to brazen it out.

“A jacket, nandi?” Bindanda suggested. That had, he discovered, a pocket com. He shrugged it on over the pigtail and fended off Jeladi’s well-meaning attempt to extricate his hair.

Just as Narani offered him a small-for-atevi pistol, an assassin’s undercover weapon.

His own gun. After all these years—staff still had it oiled and ready.

“If necessary, nandi,” the old man said. “If one should in any wise need it on floors above.”

He hesitated. Thought no, of course not. Jase was in charge up there. He himself wasn’t a particularly good shot, nothing like his bodyguard. He was possibly more danger to their side with it than without it, relying on his wits.

And then he thought, dare I not? Dare I not go that far, if need be? If he had to take cover and got to the service accesses—what more argument, then? What far more drastic situation could develop up there, with Guild investigators coming aboard?

He took the pistol. Of course it was loaded—grandfatherly Narani, Assassins’ Guild himself, was certainly not shy of such things—and went out to the security station, where Banichi and Jago doublechecked a wire antenna imbedded in his collar.

“Be quite wary of transmission near these individuals that are coming aboard, Bren-ji,” Banichi said. “They may have means of noticing.”

“I have the gun,” he said, as if Banichi and Jago, in adjusting the connections, had possibly missed it. “I don’t at all think I shall at all need it, nadiin-ji, but one supposes better to have it and never need it.”

“Do use caution firing near conduits and pressure seals,” Jago said solemnly, and Banichi added:

“But do so if needful. Safety systems are generally adequate and quick. Look for a door you may shut if this fails.”

When had his security tested that theory?

“Keep the communications open,” Jago said from his left. “In the general activity all over the ship, a steady signal will be less notable than an intermittent one. Speak Mosphei’. That, too, will be less evident. We will take this ship, Bren-ji, at any moment your safety or liberty seems in question.”

“One will be very grateful at that point,” Bren said in a low voice. “But one fervently hopes no such event will happen, nadiin-ji.” Exhaustion had given way to a wobbly buzz of adventure. He was armed, wired, and on his own for the first time in—God, was it almost ten years?

He thought he could still manage on his own.

Chapter 10

A quick call on Ginny—that came first. And the simple act of getting into that section proved two reassuring points: that Jase had taken care of business and that their section doors were indeed not locked to their personal codes.

He surprised one of Gin’s men in the corridor. Tony, it was. Tony Calhoun, robotics.

“Mr. Cameron, sir.”

“Doors are set, autolock from the outside, protection against our station examiners prowling about, but codes still work on the pads. For God’s sake, don’t anyone walk out and forget your hand codes. Is Gin available?”

“Yes, sir. To you.” Tony thumped the door in question. Twice. Three times.

Gin answered the door in two towels. “Need help?”

“Just a heads-up. I’m up there to back Jase, if he needs it. You’re down here to back me, if you’ll do that—my staff’s monitoring. If they need a simple look-see topside, one of your people can go up, too, right?… Banichi may want to take action, but I’m sure he’ll appreciate an intermediate if he can get one. Meanwhile my staff may need a backup translator. Can you do it?”

“Best I can,” Gin said, holding fast to the primary towel. “Anything they need. Anything you need. Go. Get to it.”

The airlock started its cycle, distant thump. Someone was coming aboard or going out. They involuntarily looked up. Looked at each other.

“See you,” Bren said, and went back the half dozen steps down the hall and out to the lift, hoping that system still responded to his code, and hoping it picked up no other passengers.

It moved. He punched in, not the bridge, but up to crew level.

Deserted. Crew was still awaiting the next shift-change and nobody had gotten clearance to enter the corridors, not for food, not for any reason.

Secrets, they didn’t have on this voyage, not between captains and crew. But the lockdown had to chafe, and it couldn’t any longer be a question of crew safety, not with the ship linked to station.

Not a good situation. Not productive of good feelings aboard, granted there’d been one mutiny on this ship as was. And Jase hadn’t released them. Jase assuredly didn’t want common crew available for any Guild inspectors to interrogate. He could imagine the first question.

So where were you for the last nine years?

And the second.

What aliens?

Second cycling of the airlock. Bren found his heart beating faster, his footsteps a very lonely sound on two-deck.

Sabin was leaving with her guard, very, very likely, and not taking all the Guild intruders out with her. They couldn’t be so lucky as a quick formality and a release of prohibitions. The Guild inspectors were aboard now, he’d bet on it, as he’d bet that Sabin no longer was aboard and that the ship’s security had gone with her, leaving the techs, Jase, and that portion of the crew that routinely maintained, cleaned, serviced and did other things that didn’t involve armed resistence. They were, to all the Guild knew, stripped of defenses.

Sabin, however, wasn’t the only captain with a temper. Jase’s had been screwed down tight for the better part of a year—but it existed. Guild investigators, up there, were going to pounce on any excuse, question any anomaly; and if they found anything they were going to have their noses further and further into business.

While a captain who didn’t know the systems had to maintain his authority.

A decade ago, when Phoenix had come in here, had ordinary stationers rushed to board and take ship toward their best hope, the colony they’d left at Alpha? No. No more than common crew rushed into the corridors to do as they pleased. Spacers lived under tight discipline, and didn’t do as Mospheirans would do, didn’t go out on holiday when they’d had enough, didn’t quit their jobs or change their residence. They obeyed… except one notable time when the fourth captain, absent information, had raised a mutiny.

Guild leadership wanted Ramirez to take the ship out and reestablish contact with their long-abandoned colony. But fourth captain Pratap Tamun had taken a look at the situation of cooperation between Ramirez and the atevi world and raised a rebellion that, even in failure, had seeded uneasy questions throughout Phoenix crew.

Lonely sound of his own footsteps. Closed, obedient doors. Ask no questions, learn no lies.

And what else had Ramirez’s orders been when the Guild sent him on to Alpha?

And what did Sabin really understand about that last meeting between Ramirez and his Guild? And what did she intend to do, taking an armed force as her escort… some twenty men and women, her regular four, and Mr. Jenrette?

Among other points, Ramirez’s orders wouldn’t have Phoenix assume second place to the planet’s native governments, that was sure.

Not to take second place to the colonials supposedly running the station, also very sure.

To take over the colony that Reunion believed would be running the station, was his own suspicion of Ramirez’s intentions—the likely mission directive from Reunion: gain control of it, run it, report back.

Those orders hadn’t proven practical, when there’d turned out not to be a functional station or a capable human presence in Alpha system. Ramirez had had to improvise. Ramirez had rapidly discovered the only ones who could give him what he wanted were atevi, and Ramirez, one increasingly suspected, had been predisposed to think answers might come from non-humans: Ramirez had chased that assumption like a religious revelation once he found a negotiating partner in Tabini-aiji, and found his beliefs answering him. By one step and another, Ramirez had gone far, far astray from Guild intent: the mutiny had gone down to defeat, Ramirez had died in the last stages of his dream.

So what could Sabin do now but lie to the Guild one more time and swear that Ogun was back there running Alpha Station’s colony, everything just as the Guild here hoped?

She could of course immediately turncoat to Ogun and all of them and tell the Guild the truth, aiming the superior numbers and possibly superior firepower of the station at an invasion and retaking of the ship… from which she had stripped all trained resistence.

That was his own worst fear, the one that made these corridors seem very, very spooky and foreign to him. His colonist ancestors had taken their orders from these corridors. His colonist ancestors, when they were stationers, had obeyed, and obeyed, and obeyed. Everything had gone the Guild’s way for hundreds of years.

Now he was here, without escort, lonely, loud steps in this lower corridor; and he very surely wasn’t what Reunion envisioned Alpha to be. The ship’s common crew had mutated, too, learning to love fruit drinks and food that didn’t grow in a tank.

But now they confronted authorities so old in human affairs that even a colonist’s nerves still twitched when the Guild gave its orders and laid down its ultimatims. They scared him. He didn’t know why they should: he hadn’t planned they should when they left Alpha, but here at the other end of the telescope, Guild obduracy was real. Here it turned up from the very first contact with station authorities. That absolute habit of command.

And Sabin pent up all four shifts of her own crew rather than trust them to meet the Guild’s authority face to face. Jase himself hadn’t given the order to release the lockdown.

Get fueled. Get sufficient lies laid down to pave the gangway. Get them aboard and then tell the truth. It wasn’t the way he’d like to proceed.

It wasn’t the way Jase would like to proceed: he believed that the way he believed in sunrises back home.

But he had no answers, no brilliant way to handle the situation that might not end up triggering a crisis—and right now he feared Jase was very busy up there.

He needed to think, and the brain wasn’t providing answers. Blank walls and empty corridors drank in ideas and gave him nothing back but echoes. No resources, no cleverness.

Was the Guild going to give up their command even of a wrecked station in exchange for no power at all, and settle down there in the ’tween-decks as ordinary passengers? Not outstandingly likely. They’d want to run Alpha when they got there. They’d assume they ran the ship, while they were aboard.

A damn sight easier to believe in the Guild’s common sense in the home system, where common sense and common decision-making usually reached rational, public-serving decisions—and where the government didn’t mean a secretive lot of old men and women bent on hanging onto a centuries-old set of ship’s rules that didn’t even relate to a ship any longer.

Insanity was what they’d met.

The Guild might even have some delusion they could now take on that alien ship out there, because Phoenix had its few guns for limited defense. Take Phoenix over, tell the pilots, who’d never fired a shot in anger, to go out there and start shooting at aliens who’d already seen Guild decision-making?

Not likely.

If the Guild had any remains of alien crew locked up in cold storage, they might be able to finesse it into their hands—claiming what? Curiosity?

That wasn’t going to be easy. Not a bit of it.

But they had an unknown limit of alien patience involved. Whatever had blown the station ten years ago argued for alien weapons. He believed in them.

And while Phoenix had been nine years making one careful set of plans that involved pulling the Guild off this station—bet that the Guild had spent the last nine years thinking of something entirely contrary.

Steps and echoes. He was up here—down here—from relative points of view—trying to shed the atevi mindset, trying to think as a human unacquainted with planets had to think, up on the bridge—

Oh my God . The planet. Up on the bridge.

That picture on Jase’s office wall. The boat. The fish.

There were no atevi in the photo, just a sea and a hint of a headland beyond. But the evidence of that picture said Jase had been on a planet, which indicated a very great deal had changed from the situation Phoenix had expected when it came calling at the station. More, it led to questions directed at Jase, and questions led to questions, if Jase didn’t think to shove that picture in a desk drawer before he let the Guild’s inspectors into the most logical place on the ship for them to want to visit: the sitting captain’s office.

Clatter of light metal. A cart.

A door working.

Food service cart. He knew that sound.

Galley was operating.

“I’m walking down to the galley,” he muttered to his listening staff, and he turned down a side corridor and did that… first acid test of his anonymity. Try his crew-act on cook and his staff. Test the waters.

Maybe borrow that food cart—a viable excuse to move about the ship during a common-crew lockdown.

He’d walked considerably aft through the deserted corridors. And down a jog and beyond wide, plain doors… one had to know it was the galley, as one had to know various other unmarked areas of the ship… he heard ordinary human activity, comforting, common. Men and women were hard at work as he walked in on the galley, cooks and aides filling the local air with savory smells of herbs and cooking, rattling pans, creating the meal the crew, lockdown or not, was going to receive.

He dodged a massive tray of unbaked rolls in the hands of a man who gave him only a busy, passing glance.

Then the man came to a dead stop and gave him a second glance, astonished.

A year aboard—and he knew the staff, knew the faces. They knew him by sight. Not at first glance, however. That was good.

And without an exact plan—he suddenly found at least a store of raw material. He waved cheerfully to the man with the tray and, spotting the chief cook over by the ovens, walked casually toward him.

“Hello, chief.”

“Mr. Cameron.” Natural surprise. Hint of deep concern. “What’s going on up there?”

“Well, we’ve got a little problem,” he said. People around him strained to hear, a little less clatter in their immediate vicinity, quickly diminishing to deathly hush. He didn’t altogether lower his voice, deciding that galley crew just slightly overhearing the truth was to the good—gossip never needed encouragement to walk about.

So he began the old downhill skid of intrigue. He wasn’t Bren Cameron, fresh off the island and blind to the world. He was, he reminded himself, paidhi-aiji—the aiji’s own interpreter, skilled at communication, skilled at diplomacy between two species—and used to the canniest finaglers and underhanded connivers in Shejidan. “Everything so far is fine, except station has locked the fuel down tight and wants Sabin in their offices and their inspectors on our deck, as if the senior captain had to account to them .” That wasn’t phrased to sit well with a proud and independent crew, not at all. “So do you think I could get a basket of sandwiches to take up to the bridge as an excuse to be up there, to find out what’s going on?”

The chief cook, Walker, his name was, listened, frowning. “What do you think’s going on, sir? What in hell do they want, excuse my french, sir?”

“They want us to say yessir and take their orders, and I don’t think the captains are on their program. I don’t officially speak for Captain Graham—but I’ll take it on my own head to go up there and find out if he has orders he doesn’t want to put out on general address. If you could kind of deliver a small snack around the decks and at the same time pass some critical information to crew in lockdown, it might be a good thing—tell the crew back the captain, tell them don’t mention atevi or the planet at all if these Guild people ask, no matter what. If they’ve got any pictures that might give that information, get them out of sight. And don’t do anything these people could use for an excuse for whatever else they want to do. Senior captain’s taken all our security with her, trying to make a point to the Guild on station. Captain Graham’s kind of empty-handed up there, worried about them taking over the ship.”

A low murmur among the onlookers.

“Taking over the ship,” he repeated. “Which is what we’re going to resist very strongly, ladies and gentlemen. Captain Graham is worried: Captain Sabin is risking her neck trying to finesse this, and Captain Graham’s attitude is, if they even try to claim her appointment as senior captain of this ship isn’t official without their stamp of approval, gentlemen, there’s going to be some serious argument from this ship. Captain Graham’s worried those investigators may make matters difficult up on the bridge. And I want some excuse to go up there and look around and make absolutely sure the bridge crew’s not being held at gunpoint right now.”

Quiet had spread all through the galley. Not a bowl rattled.

“So what’s to do, sir?” Walker asked.

“Back Captain Graham. Be ready, if there’s trouble; if there’s some kind of incursion down here, squash it. Spread the word. We’ve got that alien craft lurking way out there, watching everything that’s going on, expecting us to straighten out this mess and so far being civilized about our going in here to get the answers out of the station administration. I know the aliens are waiting. I talked to them, so far as talk went, and right now they’re being more cooperative than the station authority—who’s got an explosive lock rigged to keep us from the fuel we need, did that word get down here? And a sign on it telling us in our own language it’ll blow up in our faces. I don’t think the aliens could read that sign. Guild won’t say a thing about that ship, and now they’re making demands as if Sabin was to blame for their station having a hole in it. The Guild is holding the fuel against the senior captain’s agreement to walk into their offices and present her papers, as if they had the say over this ship, which she doesn’t agree they have.”

“No, sir,” one man said, and a dozen others echoed.

“But there we are,” Bren said. “We don’t know why the innocent people we came here to rescue aren’t rushing to get aboard and get out of here. Or why they didn’t just board, the last time this ship docked. We believe there’s people on that station that might like to board. But they’re not showing up, and the only communication we’ve got is a sign telling us hands off the fuel. That’s why the order hasn’t come to walk about. I want to get up there to lend Captain Graham some help, and I figure there’s less suspicion about galley bringing food in—so can you figure how to make me look like I’m on galley business?”

“Bridge wants more sandwiches,” Walker growled, with a look around, and personnel moved, fast.

Then Walker asked him outright: “What’s gran down there thinking about this situation? The atevi backing you?”

“Backing your captains, while Captain Graham’s taking every measure not to let any outside inspector near five-deck. We don’t want to explain the whole last nine years of our alliance to a Guild that’s in a standoff with an alien ship and not leveling with us. We don’t want them scared. Gran ’Sidi perfectly well understands the need to finesse this operation. Right now you’re likely the only group that’s free to move. You can carry messages, receive information, get it back here, carry signals, carry plans , if it goes that far. I can’t stress enough how important it is we keep the peace down here, keep your freedom to move, and just stay ready to back the captains.”

“Damn right,” Walker said, and, an assistant turning up in the aisle with the requisite basket atop a loaded drink-tray, Walker took the goods and handed the exceedingly heavy arrangement to him. “Anything you need, sir. And anything your people down on five-deck need, if you’re having to stay locked down. Same to the bridge.”

“I’ll pass that on,” Bren said earnestly, restraining the habitual bow. “Thank you, chief. Thank you all.”

He walked out, one more member of cook’s staff on a mission involving sandwiches, drinks, and now the bridge. He didn’t know a thing, didn’t have an ulterior motive, didn’t have a badge or an ID. No one on the ship ever had a badge, the same way they didn’t put up directional signs. They were all family. Outsiders, once the spotlight was on, stood out like the proverbial sore thumb.

But he didn’t look that foreign, by the galley worker’s initial reaction. And everything he’d just said in ship-speak, he was sure Jago followed well enough, at least the gist and intent of it, especially since he was sure Ginny had made it to the security station by now, to provide help with the nuances.

He carried his load down the main corridor back to the lift, not, at the moment, worrying about Guild agents inside the ship. He was just an ordinary fellow, that was all, a crewman whose greatest fear was getting his food orders mixed up.

He maneuvered his tray inside the lift, knuckled the requisite buttons, held his tray steady and kept his face serene.

One deep breath before the door opened. He walked out beyond that short partition that screened the lift area from the bridge.

A gray-armored man stepped out from the other side of that partition and leveled a rifle at him.

Well, well, that was different. He had no trouble at all looking discomfited, while his eye took in an immediate and tolerably complete snapshot of the situation—Jase angry and alarmed, the bridge crew sitting idle stations on a ship that wasn’t moving, while four gray-armored men, one gray-haired, gray uniform, likely a technician, leaned over the number one console, the beseiged tech leaning inconveniently far over, but not yielding his seat.

“Sandwiches, cap’n. The chief thought you’d need ’em.” Bren used his best and broadest ship-accent, simply ignored the armed threat and blundered on, presenting the tray to Jase, who waved him on—no exchange of glances, nothing but a set jaw and a situation in which an intruder from belowdecks was oh-very-welcome to walk around, the captain saying nothing about it at all.

Anxious eyes fixed on him at various places, techs recognizing him and doing a masterful job of not showing it. Hostile Guild stares assessed him as a nuisance, a fool on a job mostly below their radar, and passed him.

“Dunno what we got,” Bren said to the first bridge tech, looking at the sliced side of sandwiches, while Jase resumed his argument with the Guild agents. He let the woman take a pick of fillings, then wandered over to the Guild investigator. “You’re from the station.” Brilliant observation. “I’ll bet you’re glad to see us.”

“Cameron.” Harsh admonition from Jase. A clear warning. “Do your job.”

“Yessir.” He turned a charitable face to the Guild investigator. “Want a sandwich, sir? I got a few extras here.”

“No,” the intruder said.

“I’ll take one,” the beseiged chief tech said, the one with the Guild man leaning over his shoulder.

Bren let him take a pick while the argument went on, Jase with the Guild. “In absence of the senior captain’s direct order, no.”

Bren started down the row, handing out drinks and sandwiches, his back to the problem. Worried eyes met his, one after the other, warning, desperately asking.

“Cook’s compliments,” Bren said, hoping to God nobody recklessly tried a whispered message. He was used to acute atevi hearing—and the electronics that routinely amplified it. There was ample evidence of electronics on the intruders, doubtless amplification, and he strongly suspected some sort of link back to Guild headquarters, but maybe not as good a link as they might want, given two hulls and the technical facts of their connection. He didn’t need to pass specific messages. His very presence with a tray of sandwiches said cook knew, so crew below knew and atevi and Mospheirans knew. He was no threat—but atevi had a reputation for stealth and silent interventions. Don’t panic, his being here said. We’re aware. Gran ’Sidi is aware. The captain has armed, skilled support.

Jase’s ongoing debate with the Guild—he couldn’t hear it all, but it seemed the Guild inspectors demanded to see the log and Jase kept saying no, the senior captain had ordered to the contrary, the senior captain had to authorize that, and the senior captain wasn’t here, so hell would have icicles before any non-crew touched a board.

“Not until she’s on this deck and she changes the order,” Jase said. Perfect imitation of a subordinate with one bone to chew and absolutely no imagination of doing anything to the contrary. The Guildsmen, in their turn, wanted to call their headquarters and get that direct contact with Sabin.

“Won’t matter,” Jase said, obdurate. “Won’t matter. Until she’s on this deck, no matter what she says to the contrary, I have my orders. Nothing she says is going to mean a thing to me until she’s back here and she can say so on our deck.”

For the first time a certain method appeared in Sabin’s madness: you asked, I went, now you want it different. Sorry. You’ve blown your cover and I won’t do a thing until I’ve got answers.

One hoped to God nobody had tried to apply force to Sabin and her security team. One hoped she reached the Guild offices, took her stand and explained to the Guild why they had to turn over all alien remains and materials in their custody and pack their suitcases for a long trip.

Meanwhile there seemed to have been no word from her. Jase stood his ground, heard all the arguments, nodded sagely—and went repeatedly back to a simple shake of the head and a repetition that he wasn’t going beyond Sabin’s orders.

Bren coasted past, dumbly made a second attempt to hand the captain a sandwich and a drink in mid-argument.

“Cameron,” Jase said in warning. “Just stow it.”

“Yessir,” he said, as if he’d understood some silent, peeved order, and wandered off to the administrative corridor, the Guild agents’ suspicious eyes on his back. One of them was going to follow. Not good.

He took his tray and basket into Jase’s office, whisked the damning picture off the shelf and under the basket atop the tray, then set down Jase’s sandwich and drink just as the shadow appeared in the doorway.

And came inside.

“Can’t leave you in here, sir.” Bren made his voice perfectly polite, a little nervous as he tucked his empty tray close. With a free hand, he waved the agent toward the door. “I got to go, sir, if you please. Can’t leave anybody in the captain’s office. Regulations.”

The agent edged out, scowling, casting a look over his shoulder. Bren walked out and happened to lock the door in the process.

He had one drink container left. He blithely offered it to the agent—and let that cold answering stare go all the way to the back of his eyes. His only personal problem was getting back with the tray and reporting to cook. He didn’t know what the captain was doing. He didn’t know what the problem was up here. It wasn’t his job. The galley was. Captains and officers solved the big problems. It was all way over his head.

The agent collected the drink. Bren just wanted to get back to the galley. Didn’t want to lose the tray. No-damn-sir, didn’t want to look any angry officer in the eye.

The hand dropped. Bren went on his way. And reaching the bridge, interrupted the captain in mid-argument. Again. “Beg pardon, sir, cook’s asking when’s shift change?”

“Just set it up,” Jase said. That wasn’t chance wording. “These gentlemen will be touring belowdecks very briefly—tell ops down there they have their own key.”

Damn, Bren thought. Their own key . The captains notoriously had keys, builders’ keys, that let them into anything. If they had that, nothing was defended except the bridge, where human bodies sat obdurately between the Guild men and the boards.

He carefully kept the stupid look. “Yessir.” He hugged his tray to him and headed toward the exit. Past the last agent.

Whose rifle dropped to bar his way.

“What’s this with guns?” he asked, quick as thinking—let Banichi and Jago know he was in trouble. Indignantly: “What’s this with guns, captain?”

“You don’t interfere with my crew,” Jase said, strode over and shoved the rifle up, hard. “You may be almighty Guild enforcement, mister, but you don’t interfere with crew carrying out my orders.”

“This is the way it’s going to be,” the senior agent said from the heart of the bridge. “We stay aboard and we supervise. We supervise until your captain gives us access, and maybe we supervise some more. That’s our order from our deck, and that’s that, captain, so get used to it.”

The standoff continued. Bren edged toward the lift, remembered to cast a questioning look at Jase as the source of all law, and got his silent order. Go . Do something.

They were between the proverbial rock and a hard place. They couldn’t afford a shoot-up on the bridge, they still hadn’t had fueling questions answered—and Sabin was on the Guild’s deck and vulnerable, if not already under interrogation. Not good, not good, not good. He could call his staff in, but he wasn’t ready to blow the situation wide open.

“Cameron,” Jase said. “Get below. Advise gran.”

“Who’s this gran?” the Guild senior wanted to know.

“Senior officer,” Jase said. “In charge of logistics for the colony level. I take it your briefing included that detail.”

It didn’t. The Guild men looked perplexed, hadn’t a clue that the ship was here to take their residents off the station, and Jase didn’t explain what the ‘colony level logistics’ had to do with anything, either, whether it was full of colonials or not.

But a suspicious man could guess whatever the station had ordered or asked of Ramirez—strike evacuation of the station as part of the plan, at least as far as these lower-level officers knew.

“Well, that colony level’s the mission, gentlemen.” Best Sabin imitation he’d ever heard Jase launch. “It’s been the mission since our last call here, and I suggest you bear it in mind as you tour the facilities. Maybe your command hadn’t any inclination to tell your office what the exact arrangement was, but we’re expecting their help in operations, we’re expecting a certain contingent from your station to board in good order and with their equipment, and if general administration is trying at this point to wilt and change the mission, let me remind you that you’ve got an alien ship out there that’s curious what we’re doing. I’m well sure it has a limited patience, and if you want to prove obstructionist to our taking on a fuel load to deal with it, I have to ask whether your administration is on the up and up with you, with the station population, or with our captains.”

God. Jase had learned something in the court at Shejidan. It was the best impromptu flight of imagination and half truths since Ilisidi’s launch-day banquet.

It certainly seemed to catch the mission leader aback. At least a doubt or two flickered across that square face. Bren, on the other hand, reminded himself not to look remotely sharp, only being part of the furnishings, same as the cabinetry. He had his gun in his pocket, an open com they hadn’t detected, or didn’t think was out of the ordinary for crew, and a listening post down below which he had every confidence was processing all this and laying contingency plans to get control of the ship, if need be. He didn’t have a word to say. No, not a thought in his head but awe of authority and a certain confusion about the situation.

“Cameron,” Jase said.

“Sir.”

“Conduct this officer down to the lower decks. Let him inspect on crew and colony level. Let him satisfy himself of whatever questions he has.”

“Yes, sir.” Eager and very glad to escape—that part was no act. He asked the agent who’d stopped him: “You want to come with me, sir?”

There was a look passed among the Guild enforcers. The rifle was still a question, not quite put back to safety. A second look.

“Stay in touch,” the senior officer said, and the man moved a step and touched the lift button.

The lift car was waiting right on their level. The door opened immediately. Bren got in, hands occupied with his trays, and freed a finger for the button, heart crashing against his ribs. He had weapons: a straight-edged tray as well as the gun in his pocket, but the best two were his brain and the awareness of his own staff and Ginny’s. There were service accesses. His staff might move, and he wasn’t ready to have that happen. Jase wasn’t—or he’d surely have included five-deck in the proposed tour.

The door shut. The Guild agent bulked close to Banichi’s width, given the body armor, the weapons, the equipment.

Not quite as mentally quick, however. “Thought we were going down one,” the agent said.

“Cap’n said tour you around the colony deck, sir. Figured you’d want to see that, where we got all the special rigging.”

The agent wasn’t eager to admit he and his hadn’t a clue what rigging and what arrangements were, and it clearly wasn’t uncommon for Guild levels to keep truths from each other. If there was anything but a top level officer at the other end of the agent’s electronics, figure that that authority would still have to wonder if there were higher-up secrets to which their agents were inadvertently being exposed—he gave himself about thirty minutes of administrative confusion before someone conceivably asked far enough up the chain and got an order to take action.

But the desire to see all they could see might well keep this fellow tame and following—that left three on the bridge, not four, and just that quarter less force gave Jase more breathing room up there.

The lift door opened on a bone-cold, very dimly lit corridor.

“What is this?”

“Colony level, sir.” He was glad of the coat. Breath frosted. Rime formed on the edge of the door. “Just starting the warm-up.”

“For what?”

“Dunno, sir. Best I know, there’s guys you’re sending, and here’s space for ’em, and we’re going to save the day, I suppose, where we’re going. We got the stores—you want to tour the stores, sir?”

“I’ll take your word for it.” The agent, breath hissing between his teeth, reached for the lift controls.

Bren hit the order for two-deck. Fast and first. First number entered was the number, unless the user used an override, and the agent didn’t appear to have the key.

“What’s on three?” The car moved.

“More crew quarters, sir.” He still had the tray and the basket—and Jase’s picture—clutched against him.

“You’re not damn bright, are you?”

“No, sir,” Bren said cheerfully, as the lift doors opened on two.

The agent looked disgusted. But this level was lighted, it was warm. The agent walked out and Bren walked to his right, tray clutched tight against him.

“This nearest and straight ahead is medical, sir. Just this way is crew area.” Straight to the right, side corridor, a fair walk, two more corridors. Bangs and thumps came from the distance, cook’s operation. Bren felt his heart thumping while his brain sorted the corridors, the charts, the not-quite-perfect knowledge of what was where among all these unmarked doors.

There was, for one thing, warm-storage here, for items various departments needed often and didn’t want frozen. There were cleaning closets. He earnestly wished he dared shove the man into one and lock the door.

That firepower, however, might be adequate to blast right back through a door, and most of these doors were crew quarters. He wasn’t expert in firearms. He wasn’t sure. He wished he could contrive to ask Banichi and Jago that surreptious question, but he didn’t know how to describe the rifle.

So he walked, opened random section doors, a meandering tour of two-deck, while the agent held his rifle generally aimed at the walls and not at him.

Elsewhere the lift operated.

The man looked in that direction, as if things he saw just weren’t entirely adding up.

And stopped. Wary. Listening to his electronics.

“What’s the matter?” Bren asked.

“Shut up,” the agent said. And aimed the gun at him while he went on listening.

Bren had his hand on a door switch. Storeroom. He was ready, heart in mouth, to make a desperate maneuver and hope the door was adequate, if that was his only choice.

“What’s that?” The agent motioned at that hand with the gun barrel.

“Service closet, sir.” He punched it open to demonstrate the fact, and dropped the offending hand.

“Don’t get smartass. Where’s life in this place?”

“All these cabins. They’re still waiting in quarters. Ship’s rules when we dock, sir.”

“What’s that?”

There’d been a sound, a clank, a clatter. A cart, somewhere in motion not far away. “Oh, I imagine that would be galley, sir. The staff’s delivering food around. People got to eat, no matter if shift’s held over.” The storeroom door shut. Doors always did, left unattended. But the agent was jumpy. Very. The gun twitched that direction. And something in the Cameron bloodstream, some ancestral fool, suddenly just had to push when pushed. “Door’s automatic, sir. Watch your fingers.”

“Where’s auxiliary ops?”

“That’s on a ways aft, sir. We can go there when you like. But there’s more.”

“Let’s go that way.”

He obliged the man. They walked. They saw exactly nothing. They might go to the galley, Bren decided, lacking a plan, not sure how far or how long his staff was holding off, but absolutely certain they were being tracked. He could arrange a diversion, maybe get cook’s help to shove the fellow into a storeroom, his best amateur imagination of a solo heroic finish to this foolery.

But the minute he made a move on this highly wired individual, conversely, and probably what Banichi and his staff was thinking, Jase would have to answer for that action upstairs, with all the others and all that delicate equipment up there—not to mention the communications links this team of enforcers presumably had to the station’s inner workings, where Sabin was also exposed to reprisals. Banichi and the rest might be maneuvering into position in the service accesses, for what he could guess—which was a cold, arduous business, getting between levels. But he wasn’t alone. He was sure he wasn’t alone, and that all the problems he could think of were being thought of: Banichi might have been deceived once about the sun and the stars, but the handling of an armed intrusion and a hostage situation was no mystery at all to him.

The question here was who was hostage. Bren rather thought he wasn’t, that he, in fact, had this part of the problem in hand.

So they walked. And walked. Bren rattled on about safety procedures, the most boring official tour information he could muster, a compendium of the orientation video tour the crew had put together for groundlings. He clutched the trays and the damning picture against him as they walked, and he toured the man up one hall and down the other for what felt like a gun-threatened eternity, telling himself he was gaining time for those who knew what they were doing to work matters out—possibly for Gin to communicate with Jase and coordinate actions.

Meanwhile small rackets led their tour steadily toward the galley’s open door, where cook’s mates came and went. The armed approach drew an anxious look, but no one, thank God, reacted in panic.

“Galley, sir,” Bren said brightly, the obvious, and led their tour inside, stopping just inside the door, where he set the tray and its load onto the nearest shelf and trusted no one to ask brightly what the picture was.

The agent gave everyone the cold eye. A food truck wanted out the door. The agent stood there just long enough to be inconvenient, saying nothing, asking nothing, just looking. The agent moved and the innocent cart trundled past.

“Want a soft drink?” Bren asked, pushing it way beyond bounds, at the same time cuing cook what part he was still playing. “Cup of tea, sir?” He asked himself in an afterthought whether the food menu and the planet-origin smells might give away to this man as much as Jase’s photo, but most anything could pass for synthetic, if the observer were predisposed to believe everything in the universe was synthetic. “Stuff’s real good.”

“Not here for that,” the agent said, and walked out, shoving him aside in the process.

“So what are you looking for?” Stupid question of the hour. Bren followed him. Got into the lead again. Without the damning tray.

“Checking things out,” the agent said, and pointed at random. “Looking for answers. Open that door.”

“It’s just a door, sir. It’s a cabin.”

“Open it?”

“Yes, sir,” Bren said, and politely pushed the entry-request, same as a groundling’s knock at the door.

The door took its time opening. A couple of uniformed crewmen stood there looking confused. Alarmed, to have a stranger with a rifle standing in their cabin doorway.

“This is Mr.—” Bren hesitated, trying to keep it social, ridiculous as it all felt, and he wasn’t sure what level of inanity might just be too much. “Didn’t catch the name, sir.”

“Esan,” the agent said, giving the two occupants his long, flat stare.

“Mr. Esan,” Bren amended the introduction, stupidly cheerful. “Mr. Esan, here, is giving the ship the once-over before we do the formalities. Captain Sabin’s on station doing whatever’s necessary. Captain Graham says I should just tour him around.”

The two crewmen weren’t stupid. And in this corridor of all corridors they’d likely gotten cook’s warning and knew they were the lucky people to deal with a ticking bomb.

“Glad to meet you,” one said, and moved forward to offer a hand.

Esan flinched, oddly enough. Didn’t take the offered hand. Then did, as if the crewman were holding something objectionable… or contagious.

Well, well, well.

“Benham,” the crewman said, doggedly cheerful. “Roger Benham.” He indicated the second, younger man. “My cousin Dale. Welcome aboard, Mr. Esan. It’s good to meet somebody from Reunion.”

“Hard voyage?” Esan asked.

“Oh, average,” Benham said. “Glad to meet you. Esan. Aren’t any Esans aboard.”

“We all took to station,” Esan said grimly, and walked out.

Bren stayed with him. Kept cheerful. And stupid.

“Much the same with the rest of this?” Esan asked—meaning the doors. Having found nothing subversive.

“All the same,” Bren said. “Well, except the storerooms. We can go back there if you like.”

“Bridge,” Esan said. He seemed to be listening to someone. Muttered a quiet, “Yeah,” to that someone at the other end.

“Yes, sir,” Bren muttered, wondering at what time something might go very wrong upstairs and Officer Esan might simply level that rifle and shoot him without warning. The policy decision on this one was more than the dowager and Banichi and Cenedi: Sabin might start something, if she sent word; and Jase might, if he decided he had to move. And something up on the bridge had clearly changed.

Suddenly.

“Back to the lift,” Esan said.

“Yes, sir,” Bren said, and led the way, beginning to think of the gun in his pocket, thinking if things had gone wrong up there he could prevent reinforcement—but getting his electronics up to that deck could give Banichi and Cenedi direct information about the situation. He sweated, trying to figure.

The lift was quick in coming. He boarded with Esan, punched in the bridge, and kept bland cheerfulness on his face, stupidest man alive, yes, sir.

Not a word. Esan was listening to something.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Meeting in the captain’s office,” Esan said.

“Yes, sir,” he said, deciding not to shoot Esan through his coat pocket. A meeting. His heart settled marginally and he was ever so glad he’d gotten that picture out.

The door opened, letting them back onto the bridge. “Captains’ offices are this way, sir.” He stuck like glue, his stupid, cheerful presence guiding the way.

The bridge crew was still pretending to work. They drew stares. The tension was palpable as they walked the short distance from the lift area, past the bridge operations area, into the administrative corridor. Jase’s men were there, Kaplan and Polano, armed, that was worth noting. Armed, but outside, looking anxious while Jase was, evidently, inside.

“Here’s where, sir,” Bren said, and Kaplan opened the door to let Esan in.

Jase was secure behind his desk. Two of the investigators were sitting in chairs in front of it, one standing in the corner. Esan made four.

“Mr. Esan, is it?” Jase rose and came around the corner of the desk, offering a hand. Esan confusedly reciprocated.

Then Jase turned a scowl, aimed at Bren. “Mr. Cameron.”

“Sir.”

“Out!”

No question. Bren ducked back for the door, fast as any offending fool.

Jase stalked to the door in pursuit. “Cameron, you stupid son of a bitch! What the hell are you doing?”

A bewildered investigator started to intervene. But Jase shoved Bren back hard, dived out after him, whirled and hit the door switch as the man tried to come out.

The door shut. The investigator had skipped back: security doors meant business. Kaplan immediately hit lock .

And that was, if not that , at least an significant improvement on the ship’s onboard situation.

Bren let go his breath. Jase straightened his jacket.

“Good job,” Bren said shakily, and in Ragi. “The intruders are now contained in Jase’s office, nadiin-ji.” He was astonished and relieved, quite astonished at himself, and Jase, and Jase’s team. He didn’t know what precisely what they were going to do about the morsel they’d just lodged in their collective gullet, but they’d defended the ship from capture. They’d won. Themselves. The human species had won one.

Jase gave an approving glance to Kaplan and Polano: “Well done. Well done, gentlemen.” Pressman, the third of Jase’s men, appeared from a little down the corridor, out of Ogun’s office, with a rifle.

“Any word coming from Sabin?” Bren asked.

“No,” Jase said sharply. “Her signal’s quit. And these bastards aren’t getting off this ship until there is word.”

Not good news. Not at all.

“Everything all right down on crew level?” Jase asked.

“Everything but third-shift crew stewing in their cabins.”

“We’ll fix that,” Jase said, and led the way back into the bridge area, into the middle of the bridge. “Cousins,” Jase said to all and sundry on the bridge, “the problem is now contained. C1, kindly continue jamming any output or input from station. Then give me contact with my office, intercom image in my office to monitor thirty-two, with audio.”

“Yessir.” C1 cheerfully punched buttons, and began the process.

Jase picked up a handset and thumbed in a code. “Gentlemen.”

Bren stood by, watching the monitor, on which one saw four armored station agents battering the office door with rifle butts—and asking himself how, if they had begun jamming, they were going to hear from Sabin at all.

They would not, he feared.

“Mr. Becker,” Jase said.

Battering stopped. The group looked at the desk.

“Our captain’s signal has ceased,” Jase said. “You are now jammed, gentlemen. Turn in all armament and electronics and cooperate with Phoenix authority, and we’ll negotiate for your return to your own command. The same authority that established Reunion in the first place is now in charge of this station, and will be in charge, and I advise you not to disarrange my office, gentlemen, since I may be judging your case.”

Bren earnestly wished he had a tap into what Jase received on his earpiece.

“That’s all very well, gentlemen,” Jase said, “but you’re on our deck, this ship maintains its own rules, and I don’t give a damn about your local regulations. Turn over your weapons and peel out of the armor. To the skin. You’ve far exceeded your authority and my patience, and unless I get a direct countermand from the senior captain, not likely under current circumstances, the lot of you are under close arrest.”

One man moved. Leveled a gun at the door and fired. The sound reached the corridor.

Jase punched one more button. “Kaplan? Fire suppression, B4.”

The view on screen clouded. Instantly.

The intruders had, Bren recalled, masks among their body-armor. They surely had internal oxygen. They surely were going to use that resource, fast.

“Gentlemen,” Jase said, “I’m going about other work. Advise me when you’re ready to comply with instructions. I know you’re on your own air. But we can keep the office in fire-suppression for the next century or so. And if you do succeed in breaching that door, gentlemen, be assured you’ll walk into worse. Would you like to negotiate at this point? Or do you want to be carried out after your air runs out? Because I’m prepared to hold out until the next century, but I don’t think you’ll last near that long.”

Bren didn’t hear what the men answered. But Jase seemed grimly pleased.

“C1,” he said, “take precautions, condition red.”

There was an answering murmur from exhausted crew, all the while crew locked down, pulled down covering panels for the consoles, all calmly.

Small under-console panels divulged weapons. The bridge crew armed itself, hand-weapons, a few heavier, to defend the ship’s heart and nerve center if it got to that. Jase might have read his captain’s training out of a rule book, but damn, Bren thought, he’d learned a few things on the planet, and he was ice calm.

Bren’s pocket comm vibrated. He said, without taking the device out publicly in Jase’s domain, “One hears, nadiin-ji. One believes the ship’s personnel are managing the situation very well indeed. Wait.”

The lift door opened. Security personnel arrived, the ship’s few remaining, in full kit, with breathing assist and antipersonnel armament.

“Four Guild enforcers are occupying my office,” Jase said with a hook of his thumb. “Fire suppression’s engaged. Captain’s signal’s gone dead and they’re for security confinement. My personal guard is sitting on the situation. Assist.”

Ship’s integrity was the ship’s highest law. Ship was country and family, even if they’d had their bloody fights. And station admin was only a cousin-relationship, when it came to that. Bren didn’t say a thing, only stood and watched the security team, clearly ready for some time, head down the short hall.

The executive offices security door shut across that view, protecting the bridge from whatever unpleasantness might break out of Jase’s office.

Jase stood still, pushing the earpiece firmly into his ear. The spy-eye was still running, but the white fog inside the office gave way to thermal image. Four armed men, each in a corner, clear as could be.

The door to that office opened. A barrage opened up, anti-personnels bouncing all over—astonishing in a small space. There seemed to be a deal of wreckage. The intruders flinched, went down under a continuing volley of pellets that richocheted off every surface in the small office and hit from every angle.

Two attempted a breakout. Bren stifled a useless warning.

The two dropped at the door, netted and shorted out, in every electrical contact exposed. A third went down, in split-screen, clawing at a suit control that didn’t seem to be functioning, and a fourth tried to bolt.

Security netted that one, too, right atop the other two, a struggling lump. It looked like Kaplan who hauled that one out and up.

It was over. Won. Bren let go a breath. His knees felt the weight of hours.

“Got the bastards,” Jase said quietly.

The bridge crew breathed, too, shoulders just that degree relaxing—but they were still armed, still waiting for orders.

“You can let them out, C1,” Jase said. “Get additional security to do a fire-check and a bug-check down there. Let’s not have any lingering problems.”

Definitely learned in his time in Shejidan, Bren thought. Banichi would declare it a fine job. Not finessed, but certainly well ended. They stood there, watching the search on the monitors, and he took a moment to report.

“Nadiin-ji, one believes the local matter is now aptly handled. Jase-aiji has done extremely well. One regrets to report Sabin-aiji’s signal has ceased for some undefined reason, but the internal threat is under arrest and destined for detention. Jase remains firmly in charge of the ship.”

Doors opened. Armored, masked security, Kaplan, Polano and Pressman among them, by the badges, dragged their prisoners out, four net-wrapped men, stripped of armor and weapons—men who looked far smaller and less threatening, in disarranged blue fatigues stained with sweat.

“Have medical look them over, inside and out,” Jase said. “Then tank the lot and have a look at their communications.”

“Yes, sir,” the head of the second team answered, and bundled the problem out of view of the bridge, lift-bound.

“C1,” Jase said quietly.

“Sir?” Crisp and proper.

“Once they’ve cleared the lift, I’ll go down and address the crew on two-deck. And for bridge crew,” he said, raising his voice, turning to make it carry. “Well done. Good job, cousins. Continue measures in force, pending further orders. We’ll go to shift change very soon now, with thanks.”

Relief went through the bridge crew on the gust of a sigh. Arms went to safety, a scattered, soft sound.

“Restore the boards for next shift and we’ll carry on, cousins. That’s all. I don’t know how this is going to affect the senior captain’s situation, but we’ve got the ship rather than losing it. And if they’ve got the fuel, we’ll figure a way to work this. It’s clear they’re not going anywhere. Resume operations.”

Crew began putting weapons away, clearing the safety covers from consoles. The bridge began to normalize operations.

Jase’s face had been flushed with anger. Now the sweat broke out and the flush gave way to pallor. Bren remarked that. But Jase didn’t offer to go to quarters, and Bren himself didn’t move. His legs felt like posts. The adrenalin charge was trying to flow out of him, fight-flight instincts having incomplete information from the brain, which said, with complete conviction, You can’t quit. It’s not done . They had an alien threat at their backs and station had slammed a stone wall down in front of them.

“Prisoners are secured in medical, captain.” That from C1.

“Assembly on two, C1, all shifts.”

“Yes, sir,” C1 said, and Jase said, from every speaker in the ship, and likely within hearing of the make-shift brig:

“ Captain Graham will address crew on two-deck, all attend, all attend. Three minute warning. ”

“Mr. Cameron,” Jase said.

“Captain?”

“You’ll do me the honor, Mr. Cameron. You can explain the atevi position. I know ours.”

Chapter 11

Two-deck’s corridors were crammed in every direction, a crowd from two-deck and likely from the crew section of three-deck converging on the lift from the moment they got off, crew standing, galley staff prominent in whites at the left, upcoming bridge crew in blues on the right, a scattering of security thrown in at random. Faces, Bren noted, were tense… every man and woman in the corridors having heard as much as Cook’s staff had had to give.

“C1,” Jase said. “Route my comm to two- and three-deck intercoms.” Intercom immediately came live. Jase’s next utterance went out over the speakers, making the voice omnipresent, distant as he was from the remoter rows of cousins and crew. “ You know by now the senior captain’s gone to station, and that station sent on some investigators. They pushed. They’re in medical. They’ll be in the tank until we get the captain back .”

A cheer. That curiously rattled Jase. A cheer hadn’t been in his plans. Or his self-concept.

“ Mr. Cameron’s here in support of ship command. ’Sidi-ji does support us. ”

Second cheer. Jase was further rattled. He never had been a great speaker. He didn’t have the killer instinct and he never knew when to quit. He slogged on, gathering force, if not eloquence.

“ So we’re going to get the captain back ,” Jase said. “ But we’re not helpless, meanwhile. We’ve got fuel to maneuver if we have to and remember we’ve got the only pilots who actually know how to handle this ship, never mind what anybody on station may have studied up in some simulator. They can’t give us orders .”

Third cheer. Which threw Jase completely off his pace.

“ I’m no great shakes at the boards ,” Jase said. “ And I’m not the senior captain by a long shot, which I know. I also know everybody aboard wants to be out there on deck doing something, and everybody wants to get onto the station, some of you with cousins to find; and everybody wishes station was what it used to be, but it isn’t, and we can’t, and I can’t. So I’ll tell you what my policy is, which is, first of all, no more secrets, so long as we’re in this mess .”

Maybe Jase drew breath. Maybe he wanted encouragement here, but he didn’t hear it. The crew just stood still and silent. “ So while I’m acting senior, I’m taking questions, and crew who wants to go onto the bridge and see for a fact what’s going on, come ahead, never mind that protocol, just walk softly around working crew. If you’ve got a question, I want to hear it, in my office, in an orderly fashion. If you’ve got a complaint, I want to hear that, too, and I’ll deal with it best I can in time-available. We’ve clearly got a situation working. The Guild leadership isn’t cooperating, we haven’t heard from the senior captain, and I’m not turning this ship over to them, I’m not giving them their people back, and I’m not handing over the log. Meanwhile we’ve got an alien ship out there that’s got its own agenda, possibly missing personnel of its own, and we’ve got to finesse that, too. We’ve got to stay alert, and we’re going to get out of this somehow, cousins. Hell if I know how at this exact moment, but we got to Alpha and back, and we’ve built an alliance there, and our station, with Captain Ogun, is going to back us, not them, when we go back. If we go back under any circumstances but us in charge of our ship, there’ll be serious trouble at the station where this ship left its kids and old folk, among others, and I’m not going to see that happen, or come dragging in, telling Captain Ogun we’ve brought him a problem. We settle it here, cousins. Any questions ?”

Uneasy quiet. Maybe certain ones wanted to ask questions. Maybe others wanted to make observations. But no one moved.

Then somebody called out, “Taylor! Taylor’s son !”

Taylor. Senior captain. Dead for centuries. But the genetic bank of those days produced the ship’s special children. The special ones, born to be outside the Guild, outside politics, outside precedent.

“Taylor!” someone else shouted, and others took it up. “ Taylor !”

Jase didn’t want that. He stood there a moment, not moving, then lifted the com unit again. “ So get to work ,” he said. “ Shift change, cousins .”

Jase clicked the com off at that point, pale around the edges, sweating, maybe feeling all the hours he hadn’t slept. And there was a cheer from the crew.

“Good job,” Bren said under his breath, in the same moment a handful in bridge blues came through to the front, third shift pilot and backup in the lead.

“Captain.” Third shift pilot and second senior navigator, Jase’s own shift. “We’ll back you. You want a team to go out there on station after the old lady, there’s those on third that’ll go, no question. We’re asked to say that.”

“Thanks,” Jase said. Just thanks. A hand on the pilot’s shoulder. “We’ll see what we learn in the next hour.” Jase’s most urgent wish seemed to be to escape this expectation, this adoration he’d not asked for. Bren knew. He’d been likewise seized upon, made into a symbol. From that moment, however, one couldn’t back down. Crew flung their support at Jase. They gathered around him, they surrounded him, they cheered him and laid hands on him in outright relief for what they thought he was.

Then Bren found hands on his own shoulders, the same officers with, “Good job, sir, damn good job.”

He honestly didn’t know what good job, in his own case. Jase had played the cards. His own action hadn’t been a particularly good plan, only desperate, moment to moment babysitting a problem, but not at any point solving it. The situation they had left in their hands owned too many loose ends, still, leaving far too much still at risk.

Yet the crew believed in them, expected a solution.

He was ever so relieved when Jase extricated them both, back safely inside the lift.

Jase punched five-deck. “I’ll get you safely home. Get some rest.”

“And you.”

“Got to get Sabin back,” Jase said. “Not optimum, not an optimum situation. She’s our authoritative voice, the only one the Guild’s going to listen to in negotiations. Especially if she’s told them her opinion of me.”

“Is the Guild going to believe anything she does isn’t a subterfuge? Don’t flinch. Lull them into thinking we’re stuck without her, if they’ll believe that—let them think their card is higher than it is, so they don’t make any further move against the ship.”

“Bren, she may be on their side. She may always have been. I’ve grown up with the woman, I’ve taken my orders from her, and I don’t know where she stands. But I’m scared to death something’s happened to her, her and nine-tenths of our security team. And I don’t think she’d betray them .”

Jenrette, was Bren’s thought. But in that instant the lift, having hit five-deck, opened its doors, and Bren stared, shocked, at the sight of leveled guns in the hands of two of Gin Kroger’s engineers—they weren’t marksmen, they weren’t apt to shoot, but there they were, in case.

“We’re all right,” Bren said, and walked out.

“Banichi said so,” their leader said. Jerry. “But he also said meet you. Captain.” Belated courtesy to Jase.

“It’s all right,” Jase said. The ship’s captain stood at the edge of foreign territory, the dowager’s domain, and Gin’s, and the rules and precedences down here were different. “Good job. Good job, the lot of you.—Get some rest, Bren.”

“You too. Urgently.”

“Intend to.”

He was outside, Jase was inside. The lift door shut between them and the lift climbed, Jase’s errand of courtesy was done, enabling Jase’s escape to his own responsibilities. Even bed, if Jase was lucky, but Sabin’s silence and Guild prisoners on two-deck didn’t augur well for that chance. He wished he could relieve Jase. But protocols were in the way.

“Thanks,” he muttered to Jerry, and went for the atevi section door—which opened before he could touch the switch. Staff was monitoring him that closely.

His staff met him on the other side, Banichi and Jago, who swept him safely, warmly into their own corridor and within their protection.

He couldn’t say, after his brief foray up topside, We have solved the problem . He couldn’t say, The ship is safe .

But he hadn’t gone up there into a perfect situation, either, and both statements might be a little closer to truth than they had been an hour ago.

Cenedi turned up, too, not a few steps past the dowager’s door. Things began to pass in an exhausted blur, but Bren was relatively sure Cenedi had not been in the corridor a second ago. “Bren-aiji,” Cenedi said formally, “the dowager wishes to see you before you rest.”

Then, God save him, young Cajeiri, trying his best to be discreet and adult, turned up right at his heels. “Great-grandmother is very pleased, nandi.”

“One is honored.” Courtesy was automatic, even if the body wanted nothing more than to collapse into his own chair. The dowager reasonably wished to have the latest information, though he hadn’t yet had time or coherency to talk to his own staff. So he addressed himself to Cenedi, marshalling his wits. “The parties are at standoff, nadiin-ji. One expects political postures. Communications and surveillance instruments they carried will have been cut off. That will surely bring repercussions. Jase is adamantly maintaining the ship’s integrity, however, and supported by the crew.” He was in the atevi world now, the solid depths of the ship, where supported by the crew meant that man’chi was in good order and the ship was whole and healthy—it was the simple truth, but he grew dizzy from such shifts of world-view and reality, from reckoning what humans thought, and how atevi saw it, and what the real and objective truth was, a more fragile thing—

And reckoning, too, where the pitfalls of interspecies assumption lay, which was the paidhi’s unique job.

“Has this rebel Guild changed its mind, then?” Cajeiri asked.

“No, young sir, and one doubts their sanity.” Bren answered, and saw Cenedi seize the inquisitive heir by the shoulder, diverting him firmly to the background.

“But, Cenedi-ji,” the heir said.

“Hush!” Cenedi said, and the heir hushed, as they collectively approached Ilisidi’s outside study door, the direct way in.

Cenedi opened that door, signal honor to an exhausted, chill-prone human. He was deeply grateful not to have to brave the burning cold of the back corridor.

Inside he met, still, a comparative chill, dimly lit. It had that comforting faint petroleum scent of old atevi residences, and overlain on the ship’s geometries, all the curved lines and ornate textures of very old power.

And the dowager, sitting in her chair, reading by that dim light, quietly, slowly laid her book in her lap as the returning diplomat made his wobble-kneed small bow. She met him with a smile. “You play the servant very well, I’m told. Clever, clever fellow.”

Alarms rang. One had to be on alert with her. Always. “My mother insisted on manners, aiji-ma.”

Eyes half-lidded. “And what will the station say now that we are less mannerly?”

She was asking—without asking—shall we attack?

“Oh, likely the station will threaten the fuel, which, if it exists, we doubt they will destroy, this being their greatest asset, aiji-ma. It will have taken years of effort to gain, would take more to replace, and even in the affairs of the Guild, common folk do have an opinion—not a very important one, rarely unified. But it counts, and the Guild leadership occasionally has to fear it. The Guild should fear popular opinion on this ship, for a beginning. Crew is not pleased with the Guild-master, and has not been, all through this voyage. Now Sabin-aiji’s signal has gone silent and we hear nothing from her or her security. Therefore Jase arrested the Guild agents.”

“And what has Jase-aiji told this Guild?”

“That Sabin-aiji can certainly counter his orders and release these agents once she stands on this deck and reclaims her authority from the aiji-junior. That until she does, the ship will not cooperate.”

Ilisidi smiled and nodded benignly as any comfortably set grandmother. “And what will the foreigner-ship do, in the meanwhile, while we remain mired in controversy?”

“That still remains a worry, aiji-ma. No greater and no less a worry than before we restrained these intemperate agents. But their patience must grow less by the hour.”

“And now Sabin-aiji has imprudently gotten herself in a difficulty, does one conclude?” Again, implied, a power vacuum.

“Likely, however, she is alive.”

“Would this Guild use forceful interrogation?”

“They might use drugs on her subordinates. That might be, but one believes they would make her very angry.”

Ilisidi’s amber eyes caught the light, shimmered palest gold, twin moons. “She has lived on the borders of our association. She has dealt with the aishidi’tat . She well understands how any admission of our presence would lead to more questions and far greater suspicion. I have already sent word to Jase-aiji, suggesting that the next attempt to board will not likely be a paltry effort of inept spies. We have seen their subtlety.” A waggle of fingers, suggesting that subtlety was not great. “One expects some stronger effort, and one counts armed assault a possibility, since subtlety failed. With this ship, the Guild, which has languished here for years under threat, has mobility. It might attack that ship out there. When will that ship attack us, do you think?”

He was too tired to think. The brain was attempting configurations of thought just too complex to chase right now. “Instinct, aiji-ma, says it’s not likely. They wait. They have waited for six years, it seems, and one thinks they will go on waiting so long as we keep from alarming them.”

“The station taking the ship would surely alarm them.”

“It would. I’m sure it would—if they detected that.”

“And this Guild. They might have made us feel welcome and easy in this meeting and then attacked. On the contrary, they have offended Sabin-aiji and now Jase-aiji. They have offended this crew. So you say.”

“So it seems, aiji-ma.”

A wave of an arthritic hand. “They are fools.”

“They have been fools for centuries, aiji-ma. But armed and powerful fools.”

“This authority is fearful of us? Or have they some distaste for subterfuge?”

“One believes they are fearful for their authority, aiji-ma, and know that man’chi will divert from them toward us once truths begin to come out.”

“Ought we then to provide these truths?”

“ We would frighten the population, aiji-ma, until we can provide ourselves as an avenue of escape.” He was so tired he was falling on his face, yearning for nothing more than his own mattress, and the dowager, characteristically, gave him nightmares. “And we still hesitate to encumber the ship by taking a great number aboard. We have to let Jase attempt to deal with this.”

“So we spend all effort on this Guild squabble. And this Guild had rather squabble than deal with this foreign ship—after offending it by firing at it, as seems the case. This is hardly reasonable behavior. Have they a reason for confidence we as yet fail to know?”

The world swung around him. The walls did. He found no solid ground.

Dots… marched on a screen. An alien craft. An incursion. An expedition. His mind was trying to form a conclusion.

“Aiji-ma, I don’t know. I have no answers.”

“But will find out. Will find out very soon.”

“I must, aiji-ma.” he said, “but now, aiji-ma, I plead exhaustion, and trust myself and my staff to your resourcefulness, aiji-ma, confident in that, always.”

Dots and light and dark. Flow of events.

The dowager said: “Sabin appointed Tamun.”

Sometimes Ilisidi turned corners and forgot to inform those engaged in arguments with her. But this leap of logic jerked him sideways. Tamun occurred to her.

Tamun, a junior captain, had mutinied against Ramirez, senior captain, when Phoenix had come to the atevi world.

Why, an ateva would ask? What had changed in Tamun’s mind? What was the agenda on which he operated?

That was the cliff on which Ilisidi set him to perch for whatever sleep he could get.

Sabin, not within Ilisidi’s man’chi, remained a question—in Ilisidi’s mind, surely. In his, too. In Jase’s. In no few reasoning individuals’ minds, the more since her communications had gone silent—hers and the majority of the ship’s trained security personnel. But there was more than that. Sabin’s relation to Tamun had always troubled them. And now Sabin, who had appointed Tamun to office, had fallen into Guild hands. And taken twenty-odd ship’s personnel into silence with her.

Had Tamun mutinied over the station mission tape? Over information Ramirez withheld from crew? Had Tamun been outraged crew? Or a Guild agent in the path of command?

“I haven’t forgotten,” he murmured. “I never have forgotten.”

Ilisidi lifted that thin, age-wrought hand. “One would never suppose that what was true when Ramirez left this place is still true here. All things change. Persons fall from power. Persons rise. Agendas change.” A second time Ilisidi waggled her fingers. “An old woman has little to do but think in her isolation, understand. These may be idle fancies. One amuses oneself. But weary as you are, you surely pay little attention to us. Go. Sleep. Rest.”

“Aiji-ma.” He bowed. His wits had taken one final battering. But he thought. Crazed as he was, he found his brain working.

Dicey. Very dicey, he said to himself, tired enough and bemused enough to walk into walls. He took his leave, found the door switch and exited back to the cruel, cold glare of the corridor lights, to alienly human corridors where Cenedi waited, along with Banichi and Jago.

“One is grateful for the dowager’s concern,” Bren said, Cenedi having every right to have some kind of summary. His voice was going. “As always, the dowager offers good advice. Utmost vigilance. She reminds us that whatever exists here was not planned for our arrival. We are interlopers in a situation. We may not be its most active component. And she asked about Tamun, in connection with Sabin’s silence. But I have to rest. Forgive me, Cenedi-ji, I have to rest now.” He was crazily sleepier and sleepier, a cascade of bodily resources all deserting him.

“Nandi.” Cenedi evidenced that he understood his fatigue, and posed no challenge. Bren gave a small bow, about all he had in him, and walked, trying to make it a straight line. He had Banichi and Jago alone, now, and at the end of the hall, saw his own quarters, his own staff waiting, with Narani.

Wise, good Narani, who would do everything possible to put him to bed for a decent few hours.

“Supper and bath and bed, Bren-ji?” Banichi asked.

“Bed,” he said.“The dowager has some few misgivings that Sabin-aiji may be—or become—unreliable. I confess I have similar misgivings, though tempered by a feeling I haven’t—at the moment—the wit to explain.“ He thought it was a straggling, struggling human feeling trying to work its way through his brain, but he couldn’t, in his fogged state, be sure of its nature. “And we should remain concerned we have only the word of this Guild that fuel is ready for us. That they would lie—yes, not even for much advantage. Their instinct is to lie, to protect all information, useful and not. There may be fuel. There may not. Things are stable, but not as I would wish, nadiin-ji. We have this offended alien out there. We have a question, nadiin, why Tamun once turned against Ramirez, and what Sabin knows that she never told Jase or us. She is no fool. Yet she deliberately took an untrustworthy guard and went aboard the station, leaving Jase with the ship, armed and warned, and told to heed no word from her until she returns.”

“With increasing certainty,” Banichi said, “we must take this station, Bren-nadi.”

Mild shock. At least mild shock. Trust Banichi’s absolute clear view of a situation, when his own stuck at leaping over human barriers. He had thought of taking over the ship—with Jase’s consent. Banichi was far more ambitious.

Reasonable? Not reasonable? His heart gave two wilder beats, no longer quite panicked. He wasn’t inhibited by his humanity. Or by being atevi. He had occasionally to apply it as a logic-check, as a brake on atevi actions that might be a shade excessive when dealing with humans not quite as hair-triggered as his escort.

But plan big? Banichi certainly did that.

Taking the station would solve a certain number of problems here.

Relations with humans might suffer… not alone of the Guild, but of the ship—

And of persons capable and willing to serve as agents, they had no more than the dowager’s security, and his.

Yet for what had Tabini-aiji appointed him lord of the heavens and sent him out here? Not to sit on his hands, that was sure.

“One must rest a few hours, nadiin-ji. My reasoning grows exceedingly suspect.”

“Shall we,” Jago asked, “consider possibilities in this direction?”

“I believe we should. We may take Jase into our confidence. I shall have to finesse that. But I believe we may ultimately rely on Jase. On his man’chi. On the man’chi of the crew to him. On the association of our mission to all his associations.” His brain veered momentarily sidelong, into human thinking. Or hybrid thinking, such as his and Jase’s had gotten to be. “I don’t think he expected man’chi from the crew, such as he has. They will follow him. And that is a rare and extraordinary asset among humans, nadiin-ji.” He didn’t know whether he was thinking straight or not, but it seemed to him he had suddenly drawn a fair bead on the situation. “That is an asset we should greatly value—this crew, and Jase.”

“One perceives so, Bren-ji,” Jago said, and Banichi said something of the like.

He didn’t even remember reaching his room. He had the impression he’d spoken with staff. He thought he’d turned down a pot of tea. He undressed, handing the gun as well as the clothing to Bindanda and finished his muddled thought about Jase—something about the meeting with crew—while lying on his face, naked on cool sheets, with the scent and the feel of his own mattress to tell him where he was.

Only a crazed recollection of his hours above five-deck persisted to tell him, indeed, he and Jase had actually—well, if not won the round, at least had the problem locked away. Here and there were not congruent. These decks didn’t match the others. The reasons down here didn’t match those on upper decks, but they fit well enough. They got along.

He didn’t know when he’d been as tired, as absolutely out of resources. He crashed again, beyond coherency, telling himself he had to get up and check on essentials, if he could remember what they were—involving Guild enforcers locked away, involving Sabin, involving that great hole in the station…

He waked a third time and crawled toward the edge of his bed in that total darkness that, with atevi, passed for moderate. “Rani-ji?”

Staff kept the intercom live, to hear such calls. It was not, however, Narani who answered the summons, but Bindanda: bulky shadow in the doorway, a merciless spear of light from the outer corridor, a glare that afflicted his eyes and comforted him at once. If there were any sort of trouble from upper decks he was sure domestic staff would wake him to report.

They hadn’t. He could sleep if he wished, and oh, he wished. Resolution trembled. So did the arm that supported his weight.

But Jago wasn’t here. Jago wasn’t here.

“Is there any word down from Jase, Danda-ji?”

“No, nandi.”

“Jase surely would tell me if there were developments.” He believed it, but Jase, too, had to rest. And he daren’t pin the future of two species on his faith in anyone’s waking him. “Kindly see to it this happens, Danda-ji. And maintain our watch. Jase must sleep, too.”

“One will surely make that effort, nandi. Do go back to sleep. I have that firm instruction, to say so.”

“Where is Jago?”

“Resting, one believes.”

Then it was all right. Bindanda wouldn’t lie to him. “I have every confidence in staff,” he murmured—and dropped onto his face.

The door closed. The light went.

If, however, Banichi weren’t up to something, Jago would be safe in his bed, asleep, would she not? And she wasn’t. And resting didn’t mean sleeping. So Banichi was up to something.

The whole staff might be up to it along with them—whatever it was. Cenedi might likewise be aiding and abetting.

And any action involving foreign humans—or worse, not humans—triggered every warning bell the long-time paidhi-aiji owned.

He urgently needed, despite Bindanda’s wishes, to get up off his face and get dressed and advise his staff where the limits were.

Don’t assume. Don’t do any of those things that had been downright fatal in interspecies relations. The Pilots’ Guild on Reunion Station wasn’t the President’s office on Mospheira. There was no equivalency.

And most of all, none of them knew the nature of that ship out there. There were answers they had to get. A mission for that craft that might or might not let them leave this place: there was no guarantee of reciprocal favors—that logic didn’t reach to the back end of the human spectrum and it didn’t hold up as far as atevi councils, either. Expectation of like result was a box that hemmed in his thinking, that guided him toward what might be a false conclusion, when he ought to be using his head and thinking of multiple ways out.

He needed to be consulting with his staff—knowing—at least being reasonably confident—that Banichi wouldn’t actually put anything into operation without telling him. He’d told Banichi that. Hadn’t he given that instruction?

He couldn’t quite remember. But he had confidence in Banichi, more even than in Jase.

His eyes were shut. Sleep wasn’t a very long hike.

But along that short journey, he began to think critically—a sign of returning faculties.

The Guild had always been difficult. The Guild had been difficult back when the path to a unified humanity had been well-paved and lined with flowers.

The Guild, seeing the attraction of a green planet luring its crew, had doggedly held to their notion of space-based development, and attempted, instead, to force the human colony safely in orbit at the atevi planet to leave and go live in orbit about barren Maudit, instead—where temptations would be fewer.

Where the colony would be utterly dependent on Guild orders and alternatives would be fewer.

That hadn’t worked. Colonists had left in droves. Flung themselves at the atevi planet and escaped by parachute.

Point: whatever the Guild had in its records about that situation, the Guild did still remember, surely, that the green world had had inhabitants. They did know that the colony they’d run off and left—and ultimately sent Ramirez back to find—was going to be to some degree in contact with the steam-age locals.

And the ship, returning to that place, had stayed gone nine years.

That things had radically changed, given a few hundred years and the remembered direction of the colony’s ambition—it didn’t take geniuses on the Guild board to figure that could happen. It didn’t take a genius on their side to figure that the Guild was nervous about what influences had worked on the ship during a ten-year absence… nervous, too, one might think, about Ramirez’s prior actions and what his influence might have wrought.

The Guild had wanted to talk to Sabin, alone, while their investigators prowled over the ship.

Note too, they’d wanted the ship to move into close dock—from which position the ship’s airlock was accessible to them at their whim.

Sabin had cannily said no to that. She’d taken enough security to keep Jenrette in line, if she had the inclination to keep Jenrette in line—or she’d deliberately stripped security away from the ship, for whatever reasons Sabin had. She didn’t say why.

The Guild tried to pretend they didn’t have a hole in their station and didn’t have a huge alien ship sitting out there with its own agenda. Phoenix tried to pretend planetary locals had never entered its equation. Nobody was saying anything to anybody.

There was a dark space in his reasoning. He realized he’d been asleep.

The door had opened. Someone was standing in the light.

Had he been here before? Had he drifted off while Bindanda was talking to him?.

“Bren-ji.” Jago’s voice. “One regrets to wake you, but Jase wishes to speak to you.”

He moved for the edge of the bed. Fast. Too fast, for his reeling sense of balance. “Is he here?”

“On the intercom,” Jago said.

He set a foot on the floor, fumbled after his robe, missed it, and went straight to the intercom without it—punched in, shivering in the cold. “Jase? This is Bren.”

“ Bren. Good morning .” Space-based irony. Or memory of old times. “ I hope you got some sleep .”

“Did.” God, he thought, teeth chattering. Get to the point, Jase. “Heard from Sabin?”

“ No, unhappily. Not a word. I need answers. So I’m giving our several guests to you .”

Gratefully, he felt the robe settle about his shoulders, Jago’s doing. He grabbed it close. “What do you want me to do with them?”

“ Finesse it, nadi-ji. I’m for half an hour of rest .”

“Not slept?”

“ Off and on the bridge all shift, with Guild messages that don’t say a thing. I’m getting stupid without sleep. Which I understand you did have, lucky bastard. So go to it. I’ll meet you down there. I want the truth, Bren. Or I’m going to lose my self-restraint and pound it out of them myself. ”

“I’m going.” He had not the least idea what he was going to do. Jase was, in very fact, hoarse and on the edge, and he got the picture: the Guild was getting hotter and hotter, demanding restoration of contact with their people, Sabin was still missing—under what conditions Jase didn’t know. And somebody had to move off dead center soon.

Jase clicked out. He did.

He raked a hand through his hair, exposing an arm to icy air.

“Jago-ji. I’m needed. I’ll bathe.” The mind was a blank. But he had to deal with humans. “Island dress.”

“One hears,” Jago said from the doorway. “And for us, nadi?”

He heard, too. “ Please get a little sleep, nadi-ji. I shall have Jase’s guards, and I shall take no chances, none whatsoever, Jago-ji. They should not see you yet. But I assure you. I set no conditions on your assistance if you should hear any threat to me.”

“One accepts, nandi,” Jago said. Not wholly satisfied, it was clear, but much mollified by the emergency clause.

“Asicho can sit duty, nadi. I shall need you soon. I’ll need your wits sharp when I do. But one thing I shall wish immediately: have Bindanda pack a modest picnic basket for five humans. And tuck in a bag of sugar candies.”

A slight hesitation. Jago could speculate quite easily that the picnic wasn’t for Gin and company.

“Yes,” Jago said.

Accepted.

Reassured, he dumped the robe and ducked into his shower, chilled half to the bone.

He toggled on the water and scrubbed with a vengeance, trying to adjust his thinking not only to human, but beyond ship-human and ship-speak, all the way over to Reunion Guild—trying to scrub away all the disposition of his Mospheiran heritage, all his accumulated distaste for the behavior of the Guild’s officers on their deck. He had to get down to mental bedrock. Had to look at what was. Not what had been, centuries ago.

He was relatively clear-headed when he emerged, relatively calm and with his head full of tentative, Guild-focused notions.

Narani helped him dress, island-style being far, far quicker than court dress. He omitted the ribbon, tucked the braid down his collar, as he had when he visited home, in the days when things had been easier than he had ever realized.

He clicked on the pocket comm.

“One rejects the gun, this time, Rani-ji, in close contact.”

The requested picnic basket turned up, a generous container, in Jeladi’s hands. A very generous container. The requested bag of candies, he tucked directly into his pocket.

The breakfast would have served a soccer team, by the weight of it. He walked down the corridor, seeing Banichi and Jago, doubtless waiting to bid him be careful—

“One will be extraordinarily careful,” he said, tilted slightly with the weight of the basket. “I know their mannerisms and their threats, and I shall not be surprised. Sleep, nadiin-ji. Favor me with the effort, at least.”

He walked on. By the dowager’s door, Cenedi’s men stood simply watching, doubtless communicating with persons inside. Definitely so. Cajeiri popped out to watch him pass, as if he were an expedition.

With the weight of the baggage, he might well have been.

He exited to the lift area. He supposed Gin knew about the proceedings, too, or would know in short order.

He got in and punched two-deck.

Armed guards met him on that level. He was a little taken aback; but it was Kaplan and Polano—Jase’s bodyguard, in full kit, two men he was sure hadn’t had any more rest than he had, turned out to welcome him.

“Here to help, sir. Cap’n’s down there.”

Jase was here. He murmured a response and walked ahead, Kaplan and Polano attending. Jase was here to meet him, maybe for a conference without a great number of witnesses.

Chapter 12

Jase waited, beyond the immediate area, short of sleep and running very short of temper. Bren, having shared an apartment with Jase for no few years, saw the folded arms and the set of the shoulders and immediately recognized a man who’d as soon throttle his problems as negotiate.

Jase, however, had settled a strong veneer of civilization clamped atop his temper these days—most times.

“What is this?” In ship-speak, and referring, by the glance, to the picnic basket.

“Breakfast,” Bren said. “A good breakfast, nadi, to put anyone in a better mood. Want to join me?”

Jase stared at him bleakly. Then the expression slowly changed, as thought penetrated past the anger.

“Not one of the dowager’s dishes, one hopes, nadi. We need these people able to talk.”

“No, no, perfectly acceptable and human-compatible. Word of honor. What’s going on?”

“Oh, besides the hourly calls from Guild Headquarters informing us they’re not happy, medical says we have a bug.”

“A bug.” Bren set the basket down a moment, dug in his pocket and produced the hard fruit candies, remembering that Kaplan and Polano were very fond of them. He gave them each one, under Jase’s burning gaze. And offered one to Jase. Calm down, he was saying. Have a candy. Communicate.

It got him another of Jase’s stares. A decade ago, when they’d shared quarters, a cavalier confrontation with Jase’s temper would have gotten a three-day silence. But in stony silence Jase took one. Studiously considered the wrapper. “An internal bug. I said not to go after it yet.” He changed to Ragi. “One is annoyed, nadi. One is outraged.”

“An internal bug. A location device?”

“Communications.” Jase tapped his head, behind the ear. “Clever piece of work. Chemo charging. Never goes dead, well, not until the body quits. Medical does thinks it can’t transmit far without the electronics in the armor. Possibly it’s recording. Maybe saving stuff to transmit at opportunity.”

“Lovely. All of them?”

“Team leader,” Jase said. “Becker.” Jase had partially unwrapped the candy. Then, changing his mind, he replaced the wrapper and pocketed the sweet. “They’ll be nervous about eating anything. Manmade bugs. All sorts of nastiness is possible. No telling what they’ve dug out of the Archive.”

It hadn’t been a technology the ship had used… among family. One could perceive, at least, the emotional outrage, the absolute outrage of a ship that was family. That had set family aboard this station at its founding.

“Bad.”

“That’s not the whole issue, Bren. If we get Sabin back—if we get any of that team back—”

Definitely bad.

“We can find them,” Jase said, “the way we found this one. It’s not a worry, per se, with Becker, but just so you know.”

“I’ve got the picture,” Bren said, and picked up his basket. “Has anyone informed Becker?”

“No. Oh, and the other news? We’ve spotted what we think are gun emplacements, down by the fuel port.”

“It’s not unreasonable they’d defend the fuel supply.”

“From us?”

“Banichi’s saying… we could take this station.”

Startled laughter. “He’s serious.”

“He’s always serious. I haven’t said yes.”

Jase drew a deep breath.

“If we don’t move soon,” Bren said, “the likelihood mounts that something will go wrong involving that outlying ship. I want to know how stationers will react to foreigners. These people. Becker, Esan and the rest. Have we got to give them back?”

“As far as I’m concerned, they’re boarded for the voyage. Tell them anything you like. Do anything you like. They’re in your hands. Oh, and the key they threatened us with? Bluffing. It wasn’t a builder’s key. Potent, but ours still outranks what they’d give to a mid-level agent.”

“Interesting.” It was. And the little bow, when they switched to Ragi, was automatic as breathing. “One urges you rest, Jasi-ji. You entrust this to me— trust it to me.”

“One will most earnestly try,” Jase said wearily, shoulders sagging. “Baji-naji.”

Given the random flex in the universe. And Jase gave a little wave of the hand and left him in charge, Kaplan attempting to follow his captain out toward the lift.

Jase sent Kaplan back, however. So there they were. He had Jase’s guards at the moment. Jase, if things stayed stable an hour, might have a little time to draw breath.

“Where are they?”

“This way, sir,” Kaplan said, and led the way.

On a ship hundreds of years inbred and all to some degree related, there wasn’t a proper security confinement. The ship had improvised. They had their four outsider problems confined in a med-tech’s cabin with an oversized plastic grid bolted on for a door and the inside door to the bath locked open—no privacy, no amenities, no sliding door. A few plain plastic chairs provided ease for the crewmen sitting in charge, and the section doors at either end of this stretch of corridor were shut.

Bren walked to the plastic-grid doorway. There was a bunk, seating for two glum men, two others on the floor—chairs not being provided either. The men looked at him, not happy, but not outright belligerent.

“Brought up breakfast,” Bren said cheerfully, and then recalled Esan knew him as one of the cook’s aides. “Cook’s compliments.”

“We’re not touching it.” That from the gray-haired senior, Becker, that would be. The one with the bug.

“Oh, that’d be too bad,” Bren said, and set the basket down and took the lid off one of the fragrant sauces. Which reminded his own stomach he’d been on long hours and little food. “But if you won’t eat it, guess we can. Kaplan. Polano. Join me?”

Kaplan and Polano took him up on it without a word. They leaned near, took small plastic plates out of the picnic basket, and started unpacking food and passing shares to the crewman guards as well.

“Offer still stands,” Bren said, past a first sip of fruit drink. “There’s quite a bit here.”

“Hell,” Becker said, sounding less certain. Bet that Guild enforcers ate as well as any tech on the station. But none of these station-bound folk would have met the smells that wafted up from the packets.

“Want some?” Bren shoved the box over against the grid. “You can pick which.”

Becker moved. The others bought the offer and they all came over and scrounged, hands through the largish grid squares, for likely packets. Plates, however, didn’t fit through the grid, and some of Bindanda’s neat packets took a beating. Their detainees were hungry. They tasted the sauces on fingertips, licked it off, tried small spoonfuls of it, clearly finding the flavors strong and provocative.

“Captain says don’t worry about bugs,” Bren said after they’d had a few bites. “The ship is family. It doesn’t use such things. I suppose it’s different on the station.”

No answer. The finger-tasting had paused, dead still in the cell for a moment, then resumed, with baleful looks.

“Medical said one of you has an imbedded bug,” Bren volunteered. “They wondered if you knew.”

No answer.

“Somebody named Becker,” Bren said, in his best effort at ship-accent. “What I heard.”

The senior stopped eating and looked as if the food suddenly didn’t agree as well. The others stopped in growing uncertainty.

“Just what I heard,” Bren reiterated with a shrug. “Don’t know for a fact, but they said it’s up here.” He touched behind his ear. “I can assure you with transmission jammed, it’s not going to do anything. Medics were thinking about taking it out, but that’s sort of like brain surgery, so I guess they thought not.”

Becker looked green.

“None of the rest of you, though.” Bren said “Which I wouldn’t like, if they were doing it to me, especially if I didn’t know, as I gather you didn’t. Privacy. I can’t figure how you’d do without that. But I suppose it’s your job. I guess they think they need to keep an eye on you that way.”

“Why don’t you shut up?” Esan said. They’d stopped eating. Polano and Kaplan had suspended breakfast, too, wary and on guard, and the crewmen sat still, awaiting trouble.

“No,” Becker said easily, “if he wants to talk, he can talk.” Becker dug in with a spoon, bravely savored a bite. “Not bad stuff.”

“Smart man,” Bren said, with a level look at Becker.

Esan stood up, hand on the bars. “Who are you? Who are you?”

“Not galley staff,” Bren said mildly. Level approach deserved level approach. “You want the plain truth? You sent Phoenix out to see how things were at Alpha. Well, I’m from there.”

That got attention.

“So you come back to see things here?” Becker asked.

“I’ve seen. And things there are a whole lot better than here. This crew knew. This crew, after it got the ship refueled, after it made its agreements with Alpha—” That covered an immense tract of secrets. “—decided you people back at Reunion deserve rescue. So here we are. Some welcome we get.”

“You come in messing with a dangerous situation, mister.”

“That ship out there? We’ve had more cooperation out of it than we have from Guild admin.”

“The hell you say.”

“Your station, whatever Guild management says, is in somewhat serious trouble with it, don’t you think?”

“Not our business.”

“What—to think?”

“What has Alpha to do with it? Who gave a bunch of jumped-up colonials the say?”

“Jumped-up colonials. You’re not a colony?”

“We’re not a colony. We’re admin.”

“Sure looks like a colony to me. This is the ship , Mr. Becker. This is the only ship there is, the only ship there ever was, and without it, you look pretty much like a colony, to another colonist.”

Clearly Becker wasn’t interested in circular argument. He had his mouth full. “Not our business to say.”

“It ought to be your business, don’t you think? The ship’s crew thinks you deserve a say. They think the innocent deserve to get out of this place alive.”

That got interest. “What are you talking about?” Becker asked.

“That ship out there,” Bren said. “Don’t you think you need rescue? Certainly looks like it to me.”

A shrug. The ship was, apparently, an old threat. A pattern on the wallpaper of the world, not even in consciousness. “We don’t make decisions. We take orders.”

“Do your families? Take orders, that is? You’re content they should die to support Mr. Braddock’s notions?”

These men didn’t come out of a vacuum. They surely had relatives. At least mothers. And all four paid slight and hostile attention.

“Your parents,” Bren said, “your cousins, your wives and children don’t deserve the result of Braddock’s decisions. But trust us. We’ll get them aboard.”

“Not likely,” Becker said.

“I assure you, you’ll like Alpha. Better food. Nice apartments. Much better neighbors.” He hit somewhere close to the right buttons. He saw troubled looks, and for the last several moments, a decided lack of interest in the food containers.

“Not our business to make policy,” Becker said, and took a cracker. “We just report. And the last our people heard from us is its officers being attacked. Is that smart policy, mister spy?”

“The ship is being stood off. Told she can’t refuel. If that’s the way the local Guild wants to do business…”

“This interview is over.”

“Are you somehow under control of that ship out there?”

When the quarry retreats, throw out a lure.

“It’s a robot.”

“Afraid not. We talked to it. It says it put a probe out and got attacked. It’s not happy about that. It’s got you under observation. This may be the only ship humanity owns, but I’d say that’s not likely the only ship the aliens have. Point blank, gentlemen, you’re under someone’s gun, and since we showed up, the reply clock is running, so far as that ship is concerned. Sorry about that. Refueling’s become critical. And we don’t think Braddock is likely to tell the station population that they’re in danger.”

He’d hit a nerve.

“Maybe,” Becker said. “Maybe not.”

“They say you killed one of their people. They want the body back. What’s the story from your side?”

“I said this interview was over.”

“Well,” Bren said with a dismissive shrug. “Well, it’s a curious point, isn’t it? A hole gets put into your station and what, nobody mentions it? You do all this mining since the attack, and nobody cares there’s a ship out there, even a robot, which it isn’t? We came out here to rescue you. But maybe there’s no fuel for us, and we can’t do a thing about your situation: we’ll just go off to the alternate base and refuel out there, and leave you to your problem.”

“There’s fuel.”

“You think.”

“We have our mining operations.”

“Current?”

“Intermittent.”

“Intermittent,” Bren echoed him.

“They’re not operating at the moment.”

“Like since the last six years?”

A shrug from Becker. A little shift among the others.

“Not talking,” Becker said.

“Well,” Bren said, “dishes, gentlemen.” He held out his hand for the few containers that had gone behind the grid, and the detainees reluctantly got up and surrendered them one at a time—there not being a real opportunity, through the grid, for them to make a grab at his hand, and no real chance of their success with Kaplan and Polano and the other guards there, either.

“One thing I think has puzzled everyone,” Bren said, then, pausing in his packing. “Why did the aliens blow up the station ten years ago?”

“Ask Ramirez,” Becker said harshly.

“Ramirez, unfortunately, can’t answer that, being dead. And the answer doesn’t appear in the ship’s log, not that I hear. So maybe it’s not the ship’s fault shooting started. Or do your leaders tell you it was?”

“Not our business.”

“So you think. But I wonder what truth is deep in station records, and whether the whole history of humanity out here is going to end, all because your leadership took a shot at an inquiring ship.”

“No.”

“It approached too close and you got nervous.”

“Go to hell,” Becker said.

“You know, you’ve had a stable situation, that watcher out there, and you, all alone. Now that we’ve come in, the situation’s changed, and they’re demanding to have the body from their second attempt to contact you. You haven’t done that well, you stationers. You know that?”

“Not ours to say.”

“Mr. Becker, with that great hole in your station, I’d think you’d suspect they could blow a second one if they were ready to. They’ve sat out there trying to come up with another solution, by what I see. Maybe just waiting for us to come back, so they could figure where we come from. We’re not happy about that, let me say. And you’re going to go on telling me your station’s just getting along splendidly. It’s a damned wreck, Mr. Becker, and the neighbors are annoyed with you. We’re annoyed with you. We’re telling you the only thing you can reasonably do is get out of here, which is why we’ve come back to save your necks, and all you can do is say there isn’t any concern about the ship, it’s just a robot, and the station just had a little accident. Wake up, Mr. Becker. The lot of you wake up. You’re in trouble.”

Becker stood fast. The rest weren’t so sure, and darted little glances toward Becker. He could order Becker separated out to solitary confinement, which would only harden the resolve of the rest, if they were worth their salt—which they probably were: he’d had no indication to the contrary. And being worth their salt, they might, given a chance, apply moral suasion to their own leader.

“Mr. Becker,” he said, “your loyalty I’m sure isn’t to a metal and plastics station. Your duty is to flesh and blood occupants of that station, and your highest duty is to assure their survival. You want the truth, gentlemen. I’m not exactly from Alpha. I’m Mospheiran. Former colonist— resident of a thriving human settlement on the world below Alpha, where we maintain good relations with our neighbors. We number in the hundreds of thousands. We’re building our own ship in partnership with our neighbors. We live peaceably together on the planet and on the space station, and we’re extremely upset about your interfering in the stellar neighborhood and sending your problems on to us. The Guild’s authority may work here. Fine. It doesn’t reach us. We have governments. Thanks to Reunion, we’re having to build defenses. You’re sitting out here in an exposed position, having fought a patently unsuccessful action with an enemy you can’t even identify, let alone communicate with. We’re pulling you back to a safe perimeter. Join the far more numerous side of the human species and live in relative peace and comfort. That’s the only reasonable solution.”

“So give us contact with our superiors,” Becker said, grim-faced. “If you want me to relay that offer to the Guildmaster, give me communication with my superiors.”

Bren shook his head. “Not a chance. The captain would have liked you to settle in as passengers. Unfortunately you came here to fight, and we take it that’s what you’ll do if we let you loose in comfortable quarters. So you’re here, and here you’ll stay. Sorry about your personal baggage. We’ll see if we can get someone to pack it aboard for you once we’re fueled and boarding.”

“The hell!”

Becker was the roadblock. As long as Becker held out, the rest wouldn’t talk. Bren heaved a long, slow sigh.

And got up, picked up the picnic basket and walked away, Kaplan in attendance, out of the section and on toward the lift.

Chapter 13

It was a change of clothing, at very least. Not full court dress: the modest country coat and trousers would do, a little lace, a brocade vest, but a plain cloth coat, boots that would do for a walk in the fields—God, how he wished it were a walk in the fields. The meadow just above his seaside estate, a cliff-top view of incoming waves… that would do, for the health of his soul.

As it was, he had a cold steel corridor and Banichi and Jago in their own country kit, which was to say, moderately armed, the lot of them proceeding down the corridor toward a rendezvous with Ginny and a consultation on the Becker problem. He had the much-abused computer that was, on ordinary days, his third arm and leg—a little extra persuasion.

He thought that was the plan. But as they passed the dowager’s door, where two of her young men stood their habitual watch, the door opened and Cenedi intercepted them.

Then Ilisidi herself intercepted them, an Ilisidi resplendent in a black brocade with gold trim and black lace.

“And where are we going, nandi?” Ilisidi asked.

“Aiji-ma,” he began, dismayed.

Whack ! went the cane. “We have not heard from Sabin-aiji. The aiji of the heavens has in his custody representatives of an arrogant official who has delayed us in our essential mission. Are these the facts, nandi?”

Perfect expression of the atevi perspective.

“Yes,” he said, “aiji-ma.” With complete understanding, yes , aiji-ma. The atevi perspective was direct and essentially true, in this circumstance. “But, aiji-ma, Jase-aiji is still negotiating with this authority. He has not despaired of Sabin-aiji.”

“Well, well,” Ilisidi said, and by now Cajeiri had come out of the apartment and edged close to his great-grandmother. “And this authority,” Ilisidi said, “intends to hold Sabin-aiji silent and threatened pending our cooperation. What of these persons that entered the ship? Have they been empowered to negotiate?”

“No, aiji-ma, they are merely to observe and report to their Guild. One fears they will never gain that much power.”

“Ha. Then why have we admitted these useless persons in the first place?”

“Doubtless it seemed good to Sabin-aiji, aiji-ma, in the belief it would delay other, more aggressive moves from the Guild until she could reach the Guild-aiji. Then the Guild prevented her further communication with us, which is an extreme move. And we moved to seize these persons.”

“Who are worthless, nandi. Jase-aiji definitively asserts command?”

Critical question. If Jase didn’t, then someone did. They certainly didn’t want anyone on Reunion taking command of the situation. Tabini sent him to act. And act when?

When Phoenix got into difficulty. Having the senior captain missing and an alien ship sitting at their shoulder was certainly a difficulty. Ilisidi, this backup agent of Tabini’s, had survived no few attempts on her power and authority—but not by sitting still and reading the news reports.

Damned right she called their resolution into question.

“Aiji-ma.” Two heartbeats for a decision: take the initiative with atevi or lose it. “One is extravagantly honored by your presence.” With all it meant—including the real possibility of a dozen atevi attempting to seize the center of a space station full of humans, if he didn’t come up with a better idea fast. “If I dare propose—the reaction of these four detainees to meeting atevi may well advise us how the station at large will view our partnership. This was my mission to two-deck. Dare I ask your assistance in that? We should gain something of interest.”

“We rust in this viewless containment,” Ilisidi said. He had the irrational vision of cliffs above Malguri, of a breeze rising, of wi’itikin stretching their leathery wings to find it.

He felt that breeze himself. He’d been up there on two-deck functioning in human mode, by human rules, within his obligations to Jase… but that wasn’t the limit of the world they’d come from, that wasn’t why he had come here to do this job. Sabin had left the ship to try her own best shot, whatever side she was playing. But it wasn’t all the recourse they had.

“Aiji-ma.” He cast a slightly apprehensive glance at Cajeiri, who showed no disposition to leave the dowager’s side.

“He will understand, nandi. He is here to understand. And he has his own protection.”

An assigned member of her guard, that was to say, who in any fracas would devote himself solely to Cajeiri’s safety. A question of man’chi.

“So, well, nand’ dowager, by all means. Let us go.”

With which he set out in the dowager’s company. Their operation was no longer quite what he’d advised Jase he would do, perhaps, but it was still within the parameters of what Jase knew existed down here… what Jase, maybe with a clearer vision than he had, had known might stir to action once he loosed five-deck on a problem.

He used the pocket com as he followed the dowager into the lift, punched in Ginny Kroger’s channel, her messages. “Gin. The dowager’s going to be discussing matters with the detainees in person. I suggest we start considering how you get that fuel back. Start considering how we get aboard the station without their being able to stop us. Things may move fast.”

He was mildly surprised to get Gin’s voice, live. “ Well ahead of you on both counts, Mr. Cameron .”

Deep breath. Was he surprised? Not in the least. “Good for you, then. Any result?”

“ A few promising. We’re up close on the images. Enhancing what’s in shadow. Got one useful bit for you. ”

“What’s that?”

“ The station didn’t blow. Didn’t blow at all. It was slagged . We can’t do this .”

“Can’t?”

“ Our weapons can not do this kind of damage. Bren. Our weapons can’t do this. We’re not sure what did .”

Very deep breath. And a cold that went to his heart. “That’s useful. Any other advice?”

“ We should do something real soon. ”

“Prep to do whatever we can do,” he said. “I think sooner rather than later. We’ll try to get facts for you.” The lift arrived. Doors opened onto two-deck. “Got to go, Gin.”

Cenedi and his men exited first. They always did, question of precedence. The crewman guard standing watch in the area met their intrusion with startled looks and twitches toward defense, which, fortunately, they didn’t complete.

The dowager walked out with Cajeiri, Bren followed, and Banichi and Jago. He led the way back into the medical section, back to their makeshift prison, tailed by two of the ship’s makeshift security into a section of corridor where Kaplan, Polano, and a handful of common crew were holding a loud and notably profane argument through the grid. “Damned fools!” was one side of it. The other side’s answer was not something he’d care to translate for his companions. So much for authorized responses and crew on short sleep and frayed nerves.

“Gran ’Sidi.” Kaplan’s argument immediately gave way to astonishment, an uneasy deference to her and her armed entourage. Kaplan clearly asked himself whether his captain knew, and what his captain would say.

But Ilisidi waited for nothing. “Where are these individuals?” Ilsidi asked with a wave of her cane at the obvious plastic grid—no prisoners visible, due to the angle of the grid, but the fat was very nearly in the fire, as was.

“The dowager wishes to speak with the detainees,” Bren said. “She wishes to explain matters to them herself. It is cleared, Mr. Kaplan.”

“But, sir.” Kaplan said, half whispering, as if that could insulate Ilisidi from understanding. “Sir, I’m afraid they’re not going to be polite.”

“She won’t be greatly surprised at temper, Mr. Kaplan. Captain’s orders. Will you and the rest of these people stand backup?”

“Yes, sir.” Worried compliance. The company was hardly official, and likely shouldn’t be here. “Yes, sir , yes, ma’am .”

The several detainees, as atevi eclipsed the light outside their plastic grid doorway, backed off and stared in utter dismay.

“You damn bastards!” Esan blurted out.

“Kindly mind your language,” Bren said moderately. “The Guild sent Ramirez to deal with Alpha, assuming it would give all the orders. This hasn’t happened. It’s not going to happen. You’re dealing with Alpha and its alliance. I trust you recall that Alpha has an indigenous population. This lady is the aiji-dowager, grandmother of the ruler of their side of the civilized world. The boy, aged seven, is her great-grandson. The rest are our personal security. We have a close working relationship. We’re here to rescue you.”

Human eyes looked up—farther up than adult men were accustomed to look up at faces, then looked on the level at an aged woman and at a small child. And went on looking.

“This is Gran ’Sidi,” one of the crewmen in the background yelled out. “And she doesn’t take any nonsense from fools and she doesn’t give a damn for your Guild rules.”

Becker didn’t like it. The Guild agents didn’t like it. But Ilisidi had a certain well-savored notoriety among the crew, and if Ilisidi couldn’t understand two words of what was shouted, she stood in perfect comprehension of the unruly crewman’s intent and the jeering support behind her.

“Well,” Ilisidi said, leaning on her cane. Then waved it at the four as if they were tourist attractions. “Are these, nandi, of that pernicious Pilots’ Guild?”

“Yes, nand’ dowager, one understands so.”

“The Guild that opposes our generous gesture.”

“The dowager remarks,” Bren said, “that you have opposed the generosity of this ship and crew and of herself. Possibly motivated by unsavory Guild interest.” It was true. It was implicit in the infelicitous numbers of the dowager’s suggestion.

“Tell her go to hell,” Becker muttered.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that, Mr. Becker. I wouldn’t. If that’s your notion of dealing with foreign nationals, I can see why you have a hole in your station.”

“We’re not going to be threatened.”

“She won’t threaten, Mr. Becker. I do assure you that. She’s very, very old, she’s made the extraordinarily polite gesture of leaving her comfortable residence aboard, and done you an honor leaders of several nations would be extravagantly pleased to receive. More, she’s brought her great-grandson to let him observe first-hand how civilized people solve problems.”

“Then get the strong-arms out.”

“Her guards are with her, as mine are with me. We don’t haul you into separate rooms for processing, which is our favor to you, and I suggest you take a much nicer tone, sir.”

“Do we hear demands?” Ilisidi asked sweetly.

“She asks if you’re being rude,” Bren said. “Express your pleasure at the visit, gentlemen. Bow. I do recommend it.”

Becker averted his stare, just minutely, a capitulation, at least that he wasn’t quite willing to start a riot. A bow—not quite.

“Mr. Becker?”

“We demand our immediate release.”

“Of course we demand contact with Captain Sabin.”

“Not in my power.”

“Did your leaders indicate to you they were going to silence her communications, while you were vulnerable on our deck? If they didn’t, they certainly left you in a position. Understand, we’re being remarkably restrained—but the captain’s getting some needed sleep at the moment. When he wakes up, I’m sure he’s going to hope we’ve had a reasonable exchange of views.”

Becker drew a deep breath and looked at his fellows. Then he asked, in a much quieter tone, “So what’s she want?”

“A polite answer to her question.”

“Look, we don’t make policy.”

“They claim, aiji-ma, to be lower-level agents of their Guild, incapable of initiating policy changes.”

“And what is this policy, nandi?”

“The dowager asks you very politely what the policy of your Guild is, that has put you here.”

There was no answer at first. Then Becker: “We came here to do a routine inspection of the log.”

He translated that.

“Why has the senior captain not reported to us?” Ilisidi asked, and Bren rendered it: “She wants to know why the senior captain hasn’t called in, and believe me, gentlemen, the ship’s captain also wants that answer.”

“We haven’t any idea,” Becker said—anxious, now. “That’s the God’s truth.”

“What were you looking for aboard?”

“I think we found it,” Becker said under his breath. He slid a worried gaze toward Ilisidi.

“Oh, nothing like you surmise. What you see, sir, is equal partners in an alliance of three governments, in which your Guild, gentlemen, can also look for partnership, but which I assure you it will never order or run. This ship came here at great effort of our entire alliance to rescue you from the situation Captain Ramirez reported to exist here, a situation which we find in evidence, and which you seem either not to know—or to want to maintain, so far as your answers make any sense.”

Ilisidi was patient through that exchange. Becker set his jaw and said nothing at all. The others looked, at best, worried.

“Well?” Bren said.

“Take it up with Guild offices,” Becker muttered through his teeth, doubtless the mantra of his service. “We don’t make policy.”

Bren translated: “He maintains his Guild has sole discretion to negotiate and he is ignorant.”

“Then we should release these persons,” Ilisidi said with an airy wave of her hand. And of course, Bren thought, if they were low-level atevi, persons claiming to be incapable of further harm, it was, in atevi terms, civilized to release the minor players… after the fracas was settled.

“One fears, aiji-ma, that they would make extravagant accusations if they were released to their own deck now. They might make the inhabitants fear the ship. And fear you, aiji-ma.”

Ilisidi, the reprobate, was never displeased at being feared. “Ridiculous,” she said, with evident satisfaction. “But you think they would do harm to the situation, nandi, if we released them.”

“Harm of some sort,” he said to her. “She wishes to release you back to your own side,” he said in Mosphei’, and watched disbelief and anxiety have its way with the detainees. “It’s the custom. Among her people, lower-level agents are never prosecuted for the sins of their superiors. We humans, of course, advise her that you’d spread panic on the station—and that would mean people would hide instead of boarding—while others left in great enough numbers to destabilize lifesupport on Reunion. A nightmare, gentlemen. One we’re trying to avoid. We want everybody off the station— after we’ve refueled. But for some reason, your government put a sign we could read on the fuel port, advising us there was an explosive lock down there. Now why would your government booby-trap our fuel?”

“To keep the ship out there from getting it,” Becker said.

“They’d do what they like. We’re the only entity that would read that sign. And we’re the only ones that sign would stop, aren’t we? Sounds like a bid for a negotiating position, to me.”

“In case we were gone and you came back.”

Listeners in the corridor hooted.

He translated that exchange into Ragi.

“Ha,” Ilisidi said, and leaned both hands on her cane. “A posthumous thought to our safety. Not likely.”

“The dowager says, Not likely. And I don’t need to translate the crew’s opinion.”

Becker was red-faced and thin-lipped.

“Beck,” another said, “if she’s from the planet at Alpha, she’s not the one that hit us. Neither’s the Alpha colonists.—My name’s Coroia, sir. And I’ve got two kids. And we’re in trouble, Beck.”

“Shut it down!” Becker shouted, and atevi security reacted—simply and quickly, a drawn wall of weapons. Cajeiri had ducked against his great-grandmother for shelter. And now tried to pretend he hadn’t done that.

Ilisidi lifted her hand. Weapons lifted.

“Sorry,” Bren said. “My personal apologies, Mr. Becker. They don’t raise their voices in the presence of authority. An intercultural misstep.”

Becker was shaken, the more so as apology undermined the adrenaline supply.

“You can advise them keep their damn guns safed.”

“We each have our customs, Mr. Becker. Back at their world, they’re taking precautions necessitated by your making enemies out here. They came to welcome you to a safe refuge. You haven’t got any allies, as seems to me, except us, except them. As seems to me, you’re stuck out here in a station with a hole in it—while we have a ship that works. So believe me: we’re the only game worth playing, the only one that’s going to give you any chances. I’m extremely sorry for your family, Mr. Coroia, if your Guild stands us off. You’ve got no defense, no agreement with your neighbors, no trade, no future, so far as we see, and we offer you all of that. But you persistently say no—not because it’s sensible, but because you’re blindly loyal to a Guild leadership that sent you here. The position you’re taking isn’t even good for your Guild, gentlemen. They’ve got an angry ship waiting out there. What do they plan to do about it? We’re not going to go out and attack it for you. We’ve got a world behind us that’s at risk if you go making wars, and we won’t shoot at it.”