ONE
The math was beautiful, even if the Jump had been completed several days ago—they’d been in port for more than a whole day now!—but Squithy looked over the equations again, and sighed happily.
It was good to see the math, to feel the math, that had moved Dulcimer between star systems, the math that could show her what made the universe work, if she could just have enough of it at once. She didn’t often get a chance to see actual Jump equations, having no need, and the family of the opinion that she’d be wasting her time looking. Klay, though, would share with her, so long as there wasn’t a matter of pilot confidence, or ship safety, and he’d answer her questions when she had them, instead of only telling her not to bother herself. Sometimes, he’d even ask her questions, and that was best of all.
Right now, she couldn’t give all of her attention to the numbers, because she was waiting to be called into the meeting. Still, there’d been something in this equation that made her particularly happy and helped her forget that maybe she should be nervous. Numbers always helped calm her, and it wasn’t like she was counting by sixes, which was what had made Ma call her stupid, and a burden to the ship. Tranh said she worked as hard for the ship as anybody else, and Tranh was captain now. And so that’s why she was waiting for her turn to join the negotiations.
Squithen Patel wasn’t usually in on negotiations, or trade deals, and neither was Klay, but her and him together were responsible for the norbears as far as Dulcimer was concerned, insofar as anyone could be responsible for norbears except norbears. They hadn’t asked for the job, they’d been given it, because none of the rest of the crew was the same kind of comfortable with the creatures, and on account of that, they couldn’t give good information to their “contact” from Crystal Logistics.
There’d been a lot of talk between the seniors about that “contact” and about Crystal Logistics. Seems the company wasn’t quite as up-market as Tranh wanted them to go. Tranh was of an ambition to leave all of the former captain and trader’s “contacts” alone, those “contacts” being, as Rusko put it, only slightly blacker than space itself.
So, they’d argued about Crystal Logistics, some, forgetting she was there, like mostly everybody did. Crystal, said Tranh, was grey, and nobody’d argued that, only Rusko pointing out that they wanted to clear the holds of kajets, and also that they were short of cash to do needed upgrades.
“Better to sell ’em, if we got a taker,” he’d finished, and Tranh, after some hard thinking, and a frown, agreed that grey was better than black.
“Squith?”
She closed the tablet and looked up.
Klay was standing in the door to the galley, which was also the meeting room, where the seniors and pilots had been talking to their “contact” from Crystal Logistics this while, telling her to wait ’til she was called in. That was right, she wasn’t senior crew, but her and Klay, they had to talk for the norbears.
“We need you at the meeting, now,” Klay said, serious, because this was a serious business, she knew that. She nodded and stood up, leaving the tablet behind, and followed Klay into the meeting.
Everybody around the meeting table was serious, she thought—but, no, the “contact” from Crystal, who was named Dulsey Omron, and wearing a pilot’s jacket, she was trying to be serious. Squithy could tell, though, that she was amused by the norbears, and especially by Synbe and Rutaren, who had set up right in front of her on the table, and were patting her hands, and showing her faces and places inside her head, and asking questions. That was why so many of Dulcimer’s crew wanted them off-ship, and didn’t want to talk to them. Which was why there was so much excitement among the norbears, now, Squithy thought, trying to sit calm and not dance in her chair.
She real quick looked at Klay, sitting next to her. He was wearing a serious face, like he did when he was piloting, but she could tell he was feeling the excitement, too.
Oki strolled up the table and sat down in front of Dulsey Omron, bumping Synbe aside, and putting a hand on the pilot’s wrist. Oki was the oldest norbear, and didn’t usually put herself to the front. She’d sit way back in the corner-most parts of the room, so the seniors forgot she was there, like they forgot Squithy was there, and Oki would listen, serious, and have long private talks with the other norbears.
Pilot Dulsey, though, she bowed her head a little, like Oki was the equal of a pilot and said, very softly, “Ma’am. I’m honored.”
The traders were being very serious, and Tranh’s purpose was clear—he wanted all of the norbears off the ship, preferably a port or two ago, and the pilot, who was clearly the most interesting person anybody on Dulcimer had ever met, wanted to know the norbears, but had made it plain that she was unwilling to buy them or even consider them as purchasable. She wanted to have norbear company for a while, and was willing to host one or all of them, but she wanted guarantees that Dulcimer would take them back, and Squithy could see that Tranh wasn’t happy at all about that.
The conversation being in Tranh’s court, Klay leaned over and whispered in her ear.
“Squith, I’m getting face flashes like Pilot Dulsey’s been visiting every port there is and was these last hunnert years, and they keep dragging more faces out of her memory than she knows she knew!”
Squithy nodded, watching in her head as people’s faces flowed by in a steady stream, like Pilot Dulsey was having a good time sharing. Of a sudden there was a pause in that flow, like the pilot and Oki had both had an idea—maybe even the same idea—that they were considering close between themselves. Meanwhile, Squithy got the notion that Synbe was feeding Oki a side argument, and Rutaren had left the table, and was over near the counter with Mitsy and Ditsy.
Something was up, she thought. It felt something like a crew vote, or—
“Tranh.” That was Klay, interrupting the captain, which wasn’t done except in ’mergencies, and even then, at a risk. Not that Tranh was as strict about rank as Da—the old captain—had been, but—
“Tranh,” Klay said again, “you gotta hear this before you make an agreement you can’t keep.”
Tranh lifted his hand, and nodded to Pilot Dulsey.
“A minute, Pilot,” he said, and looked to Klay. “Talk.”
“You can’t agree without they agree,” Klay said, “the norbears, that is. You might have a preferred outcome, but they’re still negotiating, trading something among themselves. I’m hearing that they’re trying to decide who wants to go and who wants to stay, if any of them go. That’s not our decision.”
“Indeed.” Pilot Dulsey looked up from her conversation with Oki. “That is my opinion, as well. I learn from my friend here just now that the group has an—obligation, perhaps to the ship, perhaps to Squithy and Klay.” She frowned slightly, head tipped. “There is also a sense that some of the group have acquired a taste for adventure, and may wish to go…”
“Best would be to let them all go!” Tranh said sharply, and sighed, opening his hands to show Pilot Dulsey empty palms. “We’re not set up for animals. They’d be better some place other.”
“With all respect, Captain, that is for them to decide. They are able to decide. Or so it seems to me. Also, it appears that they wish to trade. I may not have that precisely. Perhaps they believe the ship has something of value to offer, if—ah.”
Squithy caught it, too, a sudden flow of faces, from Oki, maybe familiar, but being fed so fast, until—
“Hey!” Squithy gasped. “I know who that is!”
The flow stopped in mid-share, accompanied by a feeling like maybe Oki had patted her approvingly on the wrist. Then, slower, the same face, from several angles, matching her memories of a grim youth throwing a hammer at a wine keg, and blood on his face, and—and then another image, which must have been from Dulsey, the same face, the same man, but dressed up in party clothes, serious and smiling by turns, and then Squithy’s memory again, standing by the tool rack on Port Chavvy, and the hammer again, thrown this time at a person—one of the faces that had gone by too fast, Squithy realized, but she was caught up in the flow—and then pulled out of it, when warm fingers touched her hand.
“Who do you think that person is?” Dulsey asked.
Squithy took a hard breath, ordering her thoughts, feeling that the norbears were excited, but there wasn’t any danger, and no need to start counting, only to look and to remember, and answer the question.
“Arin Gobelyn’s boy, is what they said,” she answered, looking into Dulsey’s eyes. “The one they call Jethri ven’Deelin. He’s a trader, Old Name Looper on his ma’s side—the Gobelyns, that’s what the crew off Nubella Run said. A Liaden prince challenged him to a duel at Port Chavvy, right on our dock, practically. He came to us to borrow hammers, so they could fight even, and the prince got mad and shot at him. Everybody said it was an accident, a real bad accident, everybody did say, that being better than what really happened, and—”
Squithy took another breath, seeing the Liaden prince who’d pulled the gun, and how he’d been pretty in a way and then ugly and all wrong—and then huddled in his own blood.
More images of Jethri, from Dulsey it must be—holding a ring high, smiling at a pretty woman, sipping a glass of wine…
Some of the norbears were echoing the fight scenes Squithy had remembered while others were echoing Dulsey’s more peaceful images.
Another face came out from the cloud then, as if the trader’s image triggered it, a strong face, with quick eyes—
“Jethri’s Scout,” said Dulsey.
“That’s right,” Klay said, who must’ve been seeing it all in his head, too.
Two images slid side-by-side into Squithy’s head: the Scout as viewed from Dulcimer’s dockside cameras and in some big room crowded with people, where it must have been Dulsey had seen him.
“We got the whole thing—the fight—on the dockside cameras,” Klay said, and Squithy heard Tranh sigh.
“We do,” he agreed. “Nobody official asked for it—like Squith said, the story outta Nubella Run was it’d been an accident. No sense making an argument when everybody was all agreed.”
“I see,” said Dulsey, sitting back, and slipping her wrist out from under Oki’s paw. “I—which is to say, Crystal Logistics—will buy a copy of your Port Chavvy external vids. I will also buy the whole story of how you acquired these—norbears.” She paused, frowning slightly.
“Who named them? Or did they name themselves.”
“Squithy named them,” Klay said. “We didn’t know what they were, and there wasn’t anybody around to tell us, except them, and all they were to themselves was us.”
Dulsey nodded, and looked back to Tranh. “I will double my price if you give me the coords for the place where you found them. I guarantee absolute confidentiality—everyone knows Crystal is good for quiet.”
She paused, then nodded to herself.
“The topic that brought us together was kajets,” she said slowly. “I will be pleased to evaluate what you have. We offer competitive prices.”
Tranh’s eyes got wide—Squithy saw him change his posture, and knew why for once. It was the kajets that had to go, even more than the norbears. The kajets made the ship vulnerable. It was, Squithy had heard Tranh say to Rusko, the kajets that put Dulcimer and all her crew in danger.
Squithy felt eyes on her, and turned her head; Dulsey was watching her instead of Tranh or even Klay, and one of the norbears had noticed, and let it slip out into the wider thinkings.
Squithy felt that the norbears were interested in Dulsey. She was a challenge to them: Not Terran, not Liaden; not old, but somehow not young. Her connections were crowded, but neat—much neater than Tranh’s or even Klay’s. More, Squithy realized, like hers now, though her thinking hadn’t been any kind of neat before…before Klay had killed the monster and saved the norbear troop.
“Yes,” Tranh said. “We’ll walk with you that way; show you what we got, and you make an offer. Some of what we got was hard to come by, some of it’s been with us a port or two so’s to not—” He broke off and turned his head.
“Squith, can you set out a lunch here for us all—maybe you and Klay both? No reason to keep the whole ship on this, if you know what I mean.”
And she did know what he meant. Whatever they had, Tranh didn’t want either Klay or her knowing exactly what it was, didn’t want them able to tell somebody else, or even be able to recognize it.
That was good. These days she still felt like she was getting herself sorted out, and since she was afraid that the kajets might have been the reason for the firefight that had killed…
“Lunch!” she grabbed the word out of the sentence so she wouldn’t go into the loop of too many what-ifs and might haves, and so Tranh wouldn’t think she was falling back into counting or something.
“I can put out lunch, and Klay can help, ’cause he knows what the stations serve.”
She smiled at Klay, hoping he understood that it wasn’t just Tranh wanting them out of the meeting, but that she really did want him to help her. He nodded back and gave her a smile, which made her feel fine.
* * *
Squith and Klay oversaw a quiet lunch. Tranh had a port side appointment, and Falmer’d been put to going through the dockside vids from Port Chavvy, while Rusko and Susrim went back into the cargo section. Even the norbears were elsewhere, having retired to their made-over grain-bin.
Dulsey chatted about some of the goings-on of interest to indie traders and small Loopers, especially news of that Jethri, who’d been all of a sudden talking about his pa’s Envidaria and Rostov’s Dust. She talked to Klay specifically about the Dust, after he’d said as how it wasn’t any news to the Looper ships, like Dulcimer.
“It’s been out there,” he said, “just we’ve been piloting around it. Not something the big ships can do, with all they got to move in and out of Jump. Might give us some advantage, is what I’m reading in the Envidaria, if the Dust thickens up, specially round the Seventeen Worlds.” He shrugged. “Might just be wishful thinking, but I’d like there to be something throws an advantage to us.”
There was a little more of that, with Squithy paying attention to what was being said, but not having much to add, not being a pilot, or having read the Envidaria, though it came to her that Klay might send a copy to her tablet, so she could read it. She was about to ask him, when Dulsey turned to her.
“I wonder, Squithy, how do you like the port? Does it seem very noisy to you?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I haven’t been out. I don’t go out on ports, just right on our dock, sometimes. I mean, port’s are dangerous, Tranh says, and I need to stay close. I’m not sure what there’d be to do.”
“I see.” Dulsey nodded, and turned her head again. “And you, Klay?”
“This one’s not too loud, I guess, and not really all that dangerous. I can see why Tranh might’ve said that to Squith, though. If you look at the old port lists, you see quick that the captains before favored some pretty rough dockings. That was before I came on board. We—well, really Tranh and Rusko—are looking to design a new route for us, a proper Loop, which the old captains didn’t favor being tied to a schedule, which made sorta sense, given their dockings, like I said. Anyhow, they took venture jobs, mostly, and one-offs.”
“Something to be said for security,” Dulsey agreed. “Have you been here at Chantor before?”
Klay shook his head. “When I was fresh born, the records say, but there’s no memory there. This is my first real crew visit. I had a quick walk-around yesterday evening.”
He nibbled on a cheese biscuit, realized the conversation was still his, and smiled at Squithy and Dulsey both.
“I like the bakeshops—found three of them—and I walked the view ring twice, ’cause they have a decent gravity track with star view, so there’s people-watching. I hit the veggie shops, to see what was there, and so I could talk to Squith about what the norbears might like to have. That’s for later, though. What with getting in, I’m behind on Stinks. Ought to catch up this shift.”
Dulsey finished her ’toot and looked at the table for a long minute, like she was counting, Squithy thought, but that wasn’t likely, Dulsey being a pilot and—
She looked up.
“Well, here’s an idea I have,” she said brightly, turning to Squithy. “If Klay needs to do Stinks, and the rest of the crew’s busy like they are—and unless you’ve got your own orders—would you like to walk out with me? I’d like some company, and you could find out how you like the port.”
Squithy felt a distant flutter of a familiar touch, that conveyed excitement, sleepiness, and a warning to be careful.
“Well…”
She opened her eyes.
“This is kind of my watch with the norbears—not ship schedule, just something we do after we eat. But Bebyear’s just told me that the young ones all asleep, and Oki, too. So I could—I mean, I’d have to ask permission. To leave the ship.”
Dulsey smiled.
“My question stands—would you like to walk out with me? Perhaps we can see if there’s a fashion-bag or two and see who’s walking on the tracks! If you’d like it, I’d like it, too.”
There was a flutter in her stomach that she knew was her and not a norbear listening in. To just walk out on port? Could she do that? Did she want to?
She felt something else—Klay’s concentration, she realized. That was something that had come with the norbears, that her and Klay could feel each other, like they were norbears, too. She’d asked Ebling about it, and had come away with the impression that her and Klay had been adopted.
Right now, though, Klay was feeling serious, concerned, and undecided.
She looked at him, and saw that he was watching her hands. Looking down, she saw them clenched, which she did to hold back a fit of counting, or worse, one of her Big Silences. The only thing was that she didn’t feel like counting, and instead of getting quiet, she wanted to talk! She had so many questions!
“Not to tell stories, Pilot,” Klay said carefully, “but sometimes Squith gets the worries on pretty hard—kind of loses her breath and concentration. Not sure when the last time was she went walking with someone not crew, I mean by herself.”
That was fair, Squithy thought, and Klay was right to give warning. He couldn’t know how she’d be, going out on the docks with Pilot Dulsey—how could he when she didn’t know herself?
“You could check the logbooks, Klay, but I can save you the trouble and count it out right now. Never. I never been out on dock or port by myself alone. Never, without family, and hardly ever, then.”
Dulsey nodded, and Squithy saw she was studying both of their faces.
“This might be a good time to try it out. The station’s not rough, and I’m known here. It’s healthy to get off ship; gives you a shot of new air to work on robusting your resistances, while seeing new things and getting used to what docks are like. If there’s an emergency, and you have to go out by yourself, you’ll need to know that. And, maybe you’d just want to go out and get treats or surprises for the ship.”
Dulsey smiled right at her.
“Please, walk with me. I’ll put it to the captain, if you like.”
“He’s not here,” Squithy began, but Klay interrupted.
“That all makes good sense, Squith. I’d take you myself if it wasn’t for Stinks being overdue. People do know the Crystal folks, and they might as well get used to seeing Dulcimer crew in their halls. Tranh’s due back soon, I think, but if you want to go now, Rusko can give permission. Just be sure to wear your crew jacket.”
“I don’t have a crew jacket, Klay. Never had one, remember?”
He blinked, then nodded.
“You hold right there, and I’ll get my ship scarf. You wear that, and nobody’ll mistake you for anything but Dulcimer crew. Won’t be a sec.”
He turned, and nearly collided with Tranh at the door. The captain was carrying a red and white striped box with a blue comet across the stripes. The box smelled of bread and sweets…
“Brought back some stuff to share,” he began, but Squithy blurted out.
“Tranh, I want to go on port with Pilot Dulsey. She asked me to!”
Dulsey nodded at him, “It’s true. It’s good for a young woman to get a port tour—a shopping tour—from another woman. She may have needs she doesn’t see in the catalogs.”
Tranh shook his head, a frown between his brows.
“That’s real obliging of you, Pilot, but see, Squith doesn’t really need shopping. She stays on the ship, and—”
Klay stepped up, and Tranh turned to look at him.
“We all get to shop, Tranh, even if it isn’t a long liberty. I’m on Stinks, or I’d take her. But crew gets to shop—part of the rules, I think. She don’t have to shop if she don’t want to—but if she wants to, Tranh…”
He left the sentence undone, and in the quiet Tranh sighed.
“I take your point, I do. I really do. But Squithy doesn’t know—”
Dulsey stood forward then.
“If Squithen doesn’t know, she should. Crew needs to be flexible, crew needs to be able to be autonomous at times. So, I have an eighth-shift I can share, and I’d be pleased to have Squithen’s company. She’s already agreed, but properly said that she needed to ask permission of the captain. If the captain is withholding his permission, that is of course his right.”
“I—dammit.” Tranh looked goaded. He turned and put his box on the table, then turned back to Dulsey. “Squithy’s a special case, see, Pilot? Sometimes she gets to counting, and don’t pay attention to anything else. We don’t know how she’ll react to going out on port. Suppose she just starts counting out there and won’t pay attention? That’s something that happened, and it’s not dangerous of itself, but she’s a handful to get back when she’s like that.”
“I want to go,” Squithy said then, looking straight into Tranh’s eyes. “If the captain will give permission. I won’t start counting. I haven’t been, Tranh, you know it. I want to shop for a crew jacket, so when I go out at another port, everybody will know I’m on Dulcimer.”
Tranh stared at her.
“Another port?” he said faintly, but Squithy was still talking.
“Can I borrow one of the ship’s figurators, so the logo’s right on my jacket?”
“A figurator,” Klay said, tapping her lightly on the shoulder. “That’s a great idea, Squith. Listen, I could use a new wallet. Will you get one for me?”
Klay was asking her to shop for him. She smiled, and touched his hand.
“I’ll do my best. What should it look like?”
“Something plain, ship colors, right?” He pulled his old wallet of his pocket. “Here, I like this style. Six windows would be good, ship-sign on it. This one’s frayed, and ’sides, it’s my old ship’s logo there, see? I want people to know I’m with Dulcimer. You’re taking the figurator, so you can have them put Dulcimer’s sign right on it. Plain colors, now—nothing bright and glittery, hear me?”
“All right,” she agreed, watching as Klay took a credit chip from his wallet. He held it out, and she hesitated before she realized what he was offering, and pressed her thumb against the nearest corner.
Klay nodded, pressing his thumb against another corner, and then putting the chip in her hand. “All right, you’re on this card for the next day cycle. Don’t spend it all in one place, but get yourself a good jacket. Dulcimer crew’s gotta be proud, right? The wallet—ought to be able to find something decent for under ten kais, down to crew zones. And, buy yourself a bisgot an’ tea or something, on me!”
“Thank you, Klay!” She put the chip carefully into her pocket, and sealed it before she turned to Tranh.
“Can I go, Captain? And can I borrow a figurator, so Klay’s got our logo right on his new wallet?”
Tranh threw up his hand, which he did when somebody had out-argued him. Squithy had never out-argued Tranh, nor nobody else. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but there was a little giggly feeling at the back of her head that told her Mitsy and Ditsy were happy with the outcome.
“All fine, all fine,” Tranh said, and looked at Klay. “Have we seen a figurator since…events?”
Klay frowned.
“Even if they both had one on them, there should still be the ’mergency figurator. I’ll check the inventory. If we’re down to one, it’d be good to get a couple more, while we’re on-port…”
He moved to the screen across the room, and touched it.
“It’s cooler on port than it is in-ship,” Dulsey said, and Squithy turned to look at her. “I’ll be comfortable in my jacket, but if you have a sweater, it might be good to have it.”
“I will!” Squithy said, her stomach a little unsettled as she realized that this was going to happen. “I’ll get it. Just a sec, please!” And she flew down the corridor, half-afraid that Dulsey would leave without her, and half-afraid that she wouldn’t.
* * *
Klay located two figurators, and one was signed out to the girl, who had bundled on a grey sweater that was too big for her. Dulsey sighed, wondering if anybody had ever put themselves out for Squithen Patel. Young Klay was inclined to look out for her, but Klay was new crew, himself, and Squithy needed to look out for herself, from herself.
Which was going to be hard, even with an ally, when the rest of the crew seemed to consider her as something between a child and a doll, without a shipshare—or at least without a credit chip. That she had a rapport with the norbears only made the rest of her family think she was odder, since none of the rest of them cared for the creatures—with the exception, again, of Klay.
Dulsey sighed again, telling herself that it wasn’t her problem to solve. She would do what she could while she could for Squithen, but it wasn’t her problem, and Yuri would deliver an observation on the sins of meddling when she made her report. As if he didn’t do the same.
“I’m ready,” Squithy said, having checked her pockets for the third time. Dulsey believed she had been memorizing the contents of each, and no one could say that was a foolish precaution, even on a relatively tame port. The less passersby knew of the state of one’s pockets, the more peace there was in the universe.
“Then, please, lead us to the appropriate hatch.”
Squithy turned right, and suddenly there were norbears, filling the hall with furry bodies, and the head with demands to be brought along, and well-wishes for Squithy, and warnings about something large and toothy and altogether unpleasant.
Squithy stopped, hands on hips, glaring at the mob surrounding them.
“No, you can’t go on port. I don’t know if there are any of those outside. Pilot Dulsey an’ me’re gonna go look and see is it safe. We’ll bring back lots of faces, but not if you don’t let us go!”
The mind-pictures that Squithy produced to accompany this were astonishingly robust. The uproar around them faded somewhat. Dulsey had the impression that the more boisterous were somewhat cowed. The grizzled norbear she had been sharing memories with prior to lunch seemed to be delivering herself of a stern lecture, which, Dulsey noted with interest, she could almost understand.
“C’mon, now, no crowding the hall, you know better!” That was Klay, coming down the hall with another grizzled norbear in his train. “Back here, now, clear the hatch! I’m just getting ready to put out some extra greens, but I can’t do that if I gotta carry all of you back to your room!”
Klay’s mental communication was also strong, sending pictures of norbears obediently turning back toward a cozy nest, and piles of greens so fresh Dulsey felt her own mouth water.
One by one, the norbears ceded to the force of Klay’s argument, and moved back down the hall. Squithy took a step, checked, and stared down at a small shadow, standing upright on two feet by the wall.
“Synbe,” she said, and a feeling of sadness flowed from her.
The norbear hesitated for bare heartbeat, then dropped to four feet and waddled hurriedly back up the hall.
“That’s all of them, now,” Squithy said, moving quickly toward the side hatch, and all the wonders of Chantor’s Way Station, Dulsey in train.
* * *
Squithy shivered as the hatch sealed, and Dulsey saw resolve build in her and the girl strode purposefully forward, toward station proper. They were one of two ships on the tube, so there was only one direction to go. Dulsey listened hard to the girl’s breathing, listened hard to her walk. She could measure to some extent how fast Squithy’s heart must be beating…so she took a gentle, conversational tone when she spoke.
“When we reach the pressure door ahead, we can turn right immediately. There’ll be a ’fresh station a little ahead, and a snack counter. We can stop and plan there. Best to check real-time with each other and make sure of comm codes and such.”
“Yes, good,” Squithy said, sounding more determined than breathless. “I don’t need to count the steps; I know the elphbets and numbers, and I know we’re at K7L. That means I can find us on the left side of the K Tube any time I want!”
Squithy looked back briefly when they exited the K7 Tube, as if memorizing the spot, then she was striding forward again, to Dulsey’s eye more eager than apprehensive.
“Exactly right about the tube address, and here we are the Level 7 mezzanine,” Dulsey said. “The mezzanines are the best place to find the verticals. Let’s look at the station guide around the corner—do you know how to read a map? If you touch here you can ask it for directions to a particular location—say ‘open med clinic’ or ‘closest bar.’ ”
She demonstrated those, watching Squithy’s face, and seeing something very familiar.
“Do you do that, too, Squithy? Sub-vocalize to remember?”
Squithy frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Do you tell yourself the directions again a few times, saying the words in your head or in your mouth without saying them out loud? A lot of people learn that way.”
The frown cleared, replaced by a pleased expression.
“Yeah, I do that! Sometimes, when I read, too. Ma told me that I needed to do better if I ever wanted to be—”
Squithy stopped herself with a gasp, closed her eyes, and opened them again.
“Ma and Da, they both said I was slow and stupid.” Another deep breath. “Not useful enough to draw a share.”
Dulsey nodded. She’d heard more than enough about Rorik Smith, Jenfer Patel, and their various failures. Desperate for a fortune, they had denigrated and dismissed the wealth they did have. The best thing they’d done for their children had been to die in one of Choody’s pointless arranged violences. But of course, she couldn’t say any of that to Squithen Patel, standing tight-faced before her.
“People learn differently,” Dulsey said. “When I was in my first learning, the teachers tried different ways to teach me and my cousins, and no one thing was good for everybody. I practiced reading and more reading, and got good at it, but nobody can know all the words in the universe. I still try unfamiliar words out, try to hear them in my head even if I don’t say them out loud. We all learn different, but none of us are born knowing everything. So practice is good, even in later learning.”
She stopped for a moment, reckoned she’d said enough and smiled, pointing at the station map.
“Since you’ve got an errand, let’s look for an outfitter. Some places they’re called outfitters, some places they’re shareshops—I’m assuming you want new, not recycled, for this?”
“New,” Squithy agreed. “Klay wants a new wallet, he said that. And I want a new jacket, so I can put my name on it, and Dulcimer’s, without having to patch them on. I like your jacket, but I think I should have one with a hood, so I can wear it on a planet—in weather, I mean.”
“Good; that’s think-ahead. My jacket has a hidden hood, it was made for me exactly—do you want a shop that can print exactly to measure?”
Squithy glanced over Dulsey’s shoulder, an absent expression on her face. Thinking, Dulsey thought, and waited, not turning around.
“Exact measure’s not so important,” Squithy said a moment later. “Important is that it fits. I might still get some growth, Falmer says, so it might be best if there was room for me to grow into it.”
“That’s sensible,” Dulsey said, and turned again to the map. “Let’s check the directory.”
* * *
There were five outfitters to choose from on-station, one each on levels F though J—
“What’s on A?” Squithy asked abruptly, pointing at the uninformative green blobs on the map.
“Admin, and residences for station crew and staffers.”
“Can we go there? To A? So I know what’s there?”
The girl had sense of adventure, Dulsey thought with approval. She nodded, and tapped the map for more information.
“There are tours,” she said, standing back so that Squithy could read the screen, too. “The timing doesn’t favor us today, but we might be able to take one during our next port-time together.”
While she waited for Squithy’s reaction, she thought about this offered second outing. It made sense, since it appeared she had decided to broaden Squithy’s experiences, and, Dulsey thought, she’d like to see the girl’s reactions to the admin level.
“I’d like that,” Squithy said, slowly. “Do you really mean you want to come out with me again?”
“I do really mean that,” said Dulsey. “So we’re settled. Now, how should we look for an outfitter?”
* * *
Squithy opted for starting at F Level and moving up, so she could see what each shop offered before she made a decision. Dulsey nodded, and stepped back to let her lead the way, so it was a good thing, Squithy thought, that she’d memorized the map.
The outfitter at F Level shop carried new things, and Squithy walked among the displays quietly. They looked good, but they didn’t feel like proper shipside clothes.
She felt one pair of supposed work trousers, wrinkled her nose—and wasn’t quite sure what Dulsey’s silence meant. That lady touched some items, too, and turned toward the door, which gave Squithy the idea that she hadn’t been wrong about the clothes. That heartened her, and she gave the clerk a smile and a “thank you,” as they left.
On G Level, the items were more practical, though the prices were higher—Squithy could imagine working in the clothes on offer. The port jackets, though, were flimsy to her way of thinking. The catalog promised better in the fab-to-order line, but Squithy wanted to touch the jacket before she bought one. Dulsey nodded over her reservations, her expression serious—and Squithy suddenly realized that she was watching for Dulsey’s expressions, and trying to read them. The norbears did that; their faces would change when they considered things, or when they were having a discussion with her or Klay. The norbears thought she was interesting and reasonable, and not unfit to be crew, and here was Dulsey listening to her, and her decisions as if she was reasonable, and—competent.
So often, she’d seen complaint, concern—and worse, contempt—on the faces of people waiting for her to make a decision, or struggling to understand what things meant. She’d heard them talking, like she wasn’t there sometimes, impatient with her counting or weighing what was best: “No, don’t ask her; tell her what to do if you think she can handle it without making a mess. If you ask, she’ll be three weeks figuring it out, and I ain’t got the time!”
Klay’d been different when he came on-board. He had, Squithy realized now, the same thing Dulsey had—watchful eyes, that saw how things were, but not like she was wrong, not like he expected her to just stand there—like a dummy, Ma said—not like he was looking for faults, just like he was looking.
They left the G Level store, too, without buying anything, and found a bench to sit and rest, in front of a window where two people were spinning flat breads in their hands, and tossing them high in the air, catching, spinning, and throwing again. Squithy caught her breath, being afraid that the bread would be tossed too high, but the bakers had a keen sense of just where their ceiling was. At least, they did now.
Squithy pointed up.
“Those marks—are they real?” she asked.
Dulsey grinned. “The apprentices must make a mistake now and then when they start, what do you think?”
Squithy nodded, concerned for the bakers learning the craft—which these two were not. Their arms were corded with muscle, their concentration cool and confident.
“Will you share a snack with me?” Dulsey asked. “They sell sweet, spicy, and savory. Do you have a choice?”
“Sweet!” Squithy said before she even thought what it meant—sharing a snack, and then Dulsey was gone, crossing to the little window to the left of the big one where the dough was being thrown, and was back just that quick, with a box in one hand.
Dulsey sat, putting the box on the bench between them before she reached inside and broke the dough into pieces, offering one to Squithy bare-fingered.
She hesitated, thinking about all the rules she’d been given, don’t dos, the must dos, and the never tries.
“They told me,” she said finally, “that I need to be careful of food from the stations.”
Dulsey nodded.
“Indeed, I can understand why you might be taught that. Yet we watched these bakers at work, and I—and you, I warrant—have seen nothing amiss in the way they work, in their process, or demeanor. Also, there is something else you might consider in your decision—look here!”
The bread nestled in a striped box with a blue comet—
Squithy thought back, made connections—
“This must be the bakery Tranh came to!”
Dulsey spread her hands wide.
“Yes, it would appear this is the same location. I, for one, am prepared to have my snack. I hope you will decide to have some, too. It smells delicious!”
Hesitantly, Squithy reached out and accepted the piece of bread Dulsey offered. She admired the color and shine of the sugars and nearly started to count the colors. She looked up and watched Dulsey casually lift a piece of bread to her mouth with no hesitation or concern.
And there, she thought; if she needed to, she could look at the colors in her head, but she didn’t need to count them—not now. Now she wanted to taste the delightful smells that were already loading her senses.
She closed her eyes, not to be distracted, took a bite, and chewed, letting flavors cover her tongue and fill her mouth. She swallowed, felt the aftertastes had a sense still of breads, began to note where each flavor settled on her palate…
“Squithen?”
Startled, Squithy opened her eyes then, saw Dulsey’s concern flash away into a smile.
“Savoring?” she asked, and Squithy nodded.
“It’s very good. Tell me what kind it is and I’ll take some to Dulcimer myself!”
— ✻ —
Klay was feeling put upon—that’s how his old shipmates would have rated this problem—right there at put upon, which was a step down from overwhelmed. Overwhelmed was what happened when he’d been out-voted by everyone else on Bon’s Bodega, and that had happened enough, even with him being a pilot, because he was the youngest by a few years and pretty tired of taking jokes as the kid, when he wasn’t one.
Worse, he’d been showing signs of being the best pilot in some situations, and that hadn’t made the old guard happy at all—well, no, they were happy for him, but not happy for them, which was what counted, the ship going pretty well by time-in-grade when it came around to making assignments and getting paid.
So, when Dulcimer’d come up in big trouble and the call went out to family, he’d been kind of voted off one ship and on to another by acclaim. That is, everybody’d known it was the best solution, even him, though he knew nothing in his life would be the same again, for all that he’d been chaffed on Bodega.
The funerals were over by the time Bon got the ship to Lorimer, and after a couple days of papers and book balancing and contract jawing he’d been cashed out of Bodega and invested in Dulcimer, with guarantees that his training and testing would be check-pointed with the Pilot’s Guild, as possible.
Benin Rusko and Tranh Smith—his uncles, officially—were senior pilot and captain, and they were trader and senior trader. Given the youth of everyone else on the ship they were senior and standard everything else on the ship, from ’ponocists and medicos to tech and cooks and the cousins—Cousin Susrim and Cousin Falmer and Cousin Squithy—they were all general crew, which happened sometimes on family ships.
And since Klay was a pilot ready to test from First Class to First Class Plus, and since Uncle Rusko was First Class Plus, but not a Master Pilot, he couldn’t do anything more in that regard but name Klay an equal. The chance of Klay getting time on a big ship to go for actual Master rating, that was going to be hard, all things considered. And at the moment he was back-up everything despite being a hardly known outside cousin to the general crew who were ship-born and lived on Dulcimer all their lives.
Everybody but Tranh was too young to be what they were, the ship having come to them after a really stupid firefight on Trask-Romo took out Tranh’s Da and Ma, who were Squithy, Susrim, and Falmer’s parents too.
Susrim was studied to be cook and arms, and was up to a local class three back-up pilot rating any day now according to the sims, but he didn’t have the credits from a recognized school or committee yet. Susrim wasn’t all that pleased with the norbears, finding them too nosy, as he put it.
Falmer was one cycle behind Susrim in age and ought to have been head cook a while back, but Susrim was studied and she wasn’t. Falmer had some medico stuff; when Klay had come on board Falmer’d been in charge of Squithy when Tranh wasn’t, which it turned out had been most of the time, and Squithy being treated like a no-wit or a minor on account of being an uncertain kind of person. Now? Now Falmer’d been trying to put Squithy on Klay’s schedule, but he wasn’t seeing that she needed to be on anybody’s schedule but hers. True, she wasn’t like everybody, and she sometimes took frights or started in to counting, but there’d been less of that since the norbears, and even before the norbears, in his opinion, she’d been bright and thoughtful whenever anybody gave her the time she needed to get everything lined up in her head.
Well, that wasn’t neither Jump nor local. The problem wasn’t Squithy, or any individual, the problem was what the past had left them to sort out, and what future they was going to pilot to.
Captain Tranh was where he was because he took the warguilt payoff the bar came up with on account of the bloodshed and boom, he brought in pretty Uncle Rusko, who’d not been a fit on his home ship despite his top grade piloting, on account of that ship, Proud Plenty, was looking for blood-heirs, and that meant Groton needed a Patel or a Smith, and when it all filtered down through a Standard of people-trades from ship to ship—Klay’d ended up here, on a ship where neither the captain nor the senior pilot had ever run a crew meeting from the top, and where the crew, aside from Klay and Rusko, had never been in a real crew meeting on account of the Dulcimer’s previous, now departed, owners hadn’t run a genuine crew-share ship.
Just at this present, Susrim was the one pushing to make Klay feel put upon—and he said it again, same phrase, which was as good way to get on Klay’s nerves as there was.
“The animals gotta go. They got us in trouble before, and here it’s lucky somebody wants ’em. So the animals gotta go. You can send them off with Crystal Dulsey for a few bits—heck, she might have a cantra for us with everything Tranh’s trying to do. But them animals have all gotta go.”
Right then, Tranh limped into the mess room, still not quite over the bad news from their landing before Port Chavvy and shook his head at Susrim.
“Heard that, and you ought to know better. That’s badgering, and you know it. You might be able to dock this ship but you’re not taking her into Jump in the next three Standards, is my guess, so don’t badger the pilot that got us through to Port Chavvy and has been taking lead since Rusko’s been dealing with the tech stuff. Don’t want to get all rankish here, but if we have to, you’re a couple steps down, got that?”
“But you want the things gone, too!”
“I do. Seems like there’s a couple considerations going on, and one of them is that Crystal might be paying for us take some of them somewhere to be studied, and Crystal’s got an in at some yards that can do us some reconfigure to get us all up true. Crystal’s already in for taking every bit of what was left over from the old runs—and the reconfigure’ll find out if there’s anything else hidden that Ma and Da didn’t bother to tell us about. Don’t push ’til we see what’s left on deck when we Jump out of here.”
“They make me shiver,” Susrim said with heat—“reaching inside and wanting to know who I know. They gotta go! Then Squithy can go back to permanent on Stinks and clean-up, and the rest of us could…”
“Susrim,” came a clear voice from the piloting chamber—“Susrim, I do believe I wish not to hear whatever else it was you were going to say. We’ve already agreed in crew-meeting that we’ll explore Crystal’s offers, and most of us think that having Squithy a step up is good for the ship.”
With that Rusko appeared, a warm smile for Tranh, a pleasant nod and smile for Klay, and a thin-lipped glance at Susrim’s clenched hands and grim face.
“I think me and Falmer have enough cause to ask for another meeting soon.”
Susrim’s threat was quieter than his complaint had been. Klay frowned, thinking he might—his timer went off right then, buzzing and vibrating on his belt.
“Back to Stinks for me,” he muttered, heading toward ’ponics to clear the green vents, but Rusko held up his hand.
“Just another minute, if you can, Klay. We gotta make sure all four of us are clear on some details.” He glanced at Tranh, who nodded.
“Best to get it out now, while we’re all in one place,” he said.
“Right, then. Here’s what we got.”
He turned. “Klay, I’d like it if you’d step up to second seat, now. No reason to hold off; we all seen what you can do with a ship.” Rusko glanced at Susrim, thought better of something, and put his gaze back on Klay. “If you’re agreeable, I’ll do up the paperwork, and file it with the office here, so it’s done and finished.”
He paused, and Klay realized he was being asked, not told.
“I’m agreeable,” he said, and tried not to see Susrim’s glare.
Rusko nodded. “Soon’s you’re finished with Stinks, come see me. There’ll be papers for you to sign, and I’ll be wanting you to have a look at those Dust maps I been collecting. We’re gonna have to run some sims, is my thought, so be thinking about how you want to get that set that. Priority is setting up good routes, now we won’t be using the whimsy engine.”
That was cutting real close to a complaint about how Tranh’s Ma and Da had done what they called bidness. Klay cut a glance sideways, but Tranh wasn’t showing anything near a frown, but nodded with clear approval.
“That’s all got my approval,” he said. “Good approach to planning, and going forward with getting us regularized and clean on duty-lines. Like, you say, no need for Klay to prove anything more in the pilot’s room. Second chair’ll look good on him. You need me for anything, on that, or otherwise?”
Rusko shook his head.
“Then I’ll leave you to it, Pilots. I got the trade feed to study on, so you know where to find me if the local office needs captain’s assurances or whatever. After dinner, let’s the three of us sit look at what we got—routes, Dust, and trade—and see what matches up.” He looked at Rusko, at Klay, and pointedly did not look at Susrim.
“All good on approach?” he asked.
“All good,” Rusko said, with a nod.
“All good,” Klay affirmed, thinking, the three of us. He dared a glance at Susrim, and saw his face close when he realized he was four.
— ✻ —
H Level was different from the Levels above; it was newer, brighter, and much less crowded. There was a display in the center of the hall that explained how there’d been a collision decades before, and H Level had been rebuilt according to an “open plan.”
That meant that, instead of being a shop, with a few real items on display, and most things available through catalog order, Level H Outfitters and Supply occupied a space that was a former hangar deck, and it had real goods on display, in different colors, sizes, styles, and prices. Squithy heard another shopper say that she was sure the other shops were getting their catalog orders and next-day goods from this one, enormous shop.
Squithy stopped just inside the big doors, staring around at all the things, all the people, all the…
“Well,” Dulsey said next to her, “isn’t this an eye-opener?”
Squithy half-laughed, and looked at her.
“It is!” she said. “I’m—there’s a lot of things here, aren’t there?”
“There are,” Dulsey agreed, looking out over the space all hung with racks and displays, and the people moving around, talking to each other, handling the goods…
“It’s a good thing,” Dulsey said, “that you know what you’re shopping for. You can start with those first.”
Squithy took a deep breath. That was right. She did have things to shop for. Klay wanted a new wallet, and she needed a crew jacket.
She turned back, looking with a purpose, now, and right there—there was a rack of port jackets, right there!
* * *
These jackets felt much better in her hands than the ones in the first and second shops! And there was one that was just about a perfect match for Dulcimer’s colors.
“Want to try it on?” Dulsey asked from beside her. “I can help, if you need.”
“Yes,” said Squithy and between them both, she got the jacket on. It was a little too big, but not so big that people would think she was wearing a lend-me, or a hand-down from a bigger crew member. It felt good on her shoulders, too, not too heavy, and there was a hood zipped into the collar.
“Help you gentles?” asked a new voice.
Squithy turned to see a woman in station clothes, wearing a bright green vest with H Level Supply Associate stitched on the left shoulder.
“I want to buy this,” Squithy said, and touched the pre-sized spots on the breast and sleeve, where ship name and logo would go on a proper crew jacket. “Can you use my figurator for these?”
The Supply Associate nodded. “Oh, no problem with any of that,” she said. “I’m afraid we’re a little backed up, though…”
Squithy sighed, ready for disappointment, when the associate noticed Dulsey, standing quietly by the rack, and gave her a nod. “Is she with you, Lady Dulsey?”
“I’m with her, actually; she’s buying for herself and other members of her ship, not mine.”
“I understand.”
The salesperson pulled a tablet out of a vest pocket, ran her eye down, and turned back to Squithy.
“We’ll be able to get to you in half-an-hour. If you’re sure you want this jacket, I can start a pile for you. You can shop for other items, and add them to your pile, so you won’t lose your place in line. Will that be acceptable?”
“Yes!” Squithy said, giving the jacket into her waiting arms. “Thank you!”
* * *
The wallets were—fascinating. Squithy decided on Klay’s first, hand-worked from recycled space leather, made by a retired engineer who had his own booth in a corner of the outfitters. After inspecting it closely—and noting how nice it felt in her fingers—Squithy decided that she would have one, too.
“I don’t have anything to keep in a wallet right now,” she told Dulsey. “But maybe I will, later.”
“Your crew card?” Dulsey asked, and Squithy blinked.
“I didn’t think of that! I’ll put it in first. And Klay’s chip, too, though I’ll have to give that back.”
“Do you draw a line?” Dulsey asked, which Susrim would say was none of her business, but Susrim didn’t like anybody but him knowing things, and Dulsey had already helped her understand so much…
“I don’t have a share, or a line. Ma and Da thought I’d spend all my time counting my credits, if they gave me a chip, and really I only did Stinks and kitchen scut, nothing worth the ship paying for. I been upgraded since, though, so maybe Tranh will think about giving me a line.”
“Maybe he will,” Dulsey said, dryly.
They took the wallets to the booth, and watched the engineer take his own readings from the figurator and cut an overlay, all the while explaining what he was doing.
“See, this press here will take the wallets and give us about a ocean-bottom’s worth of pressure on a touch of genyouwine Clutch glue…won’t come apart for nothin’, guaranteed, and it’s the same sealing glue and substrate they use on the jackets. Not quite Jump jackets, but pretty darn tough. See if this wallet don’t get handed down to your great-grand-kids when you turn over your log books, Captain Squithen…I can just see it now!”
Squithy blushed, because it sounded like being made fun of—but Dulsey gave the man a sharp look.
“Can you, Engineer?” Dulsey asked. “Can you see it?”
The engineer looked startled, then turned his attention to watching the press work its wonders. When the plate lifted, he used long tongs to pick the wallet up and sprayed it.
“This here will cool the leather right down, so you can put it in your pocket,” he said. “We’ll let this one rest while we do the next…”
Once again, he took readings, cut the overlay, and aligned the wallet.
It was while the press was working that he looked back to Dulsey.
“Your question doesn’t have a hard answer, Pilot,” he said, talking quiet, like he didn’t want anybody but Dulsey to hear. “When it comes blurting out like it did, then it seems like I’m right a lot more than I’m wrong. You can look at me and see I’m not propping up a Banbury story here.” He smiled slightly. “I’m an engineer, you know; it’s kind of embarrassing.”
Dulsey was silent for a long moment, and Squithy wondered if she could see for sure if someone was having a Sight. She knew some people did—Liadens mostly, Ma’d said, which was another reason not to trust Liadens.
Dulsey bowed a small, gentle bow.
“Perhaps I will be able to provide empirical data in the case, to ease your embarrassment. In the meanwhile, it is good to know you’re on port.”
The press released, then, and he turned back to his work, removing the wallet, dousing it, and setting it aside to cool while he picked up the first and buffed it with a soft rag.
“Here you go,” he said, handing it to Squithy. “Touch that imprint, now—not going anywhere!”
Squithy took the wallet, admiring how smooth it was, how fine, looking at her name pressed there, and Dulcimer’s own sigil.
She sighed. It was the finest thing she’d ever owned. She opened it, and looked up quickly.
“But, there are funds in here!” she said, feeling panic. What if it was a trick, and he said she’d stolen from him? Da had said those kind of things happened on stations, and—
“Them’s yours,” said the engineer. “It’s bad luck to buy an empty wallet, that’s what they say here on Chantor Station. So we figure it into the cost that each wallet has dated scrip included. Those are only good for the station month, so spend ’em before you leave. They won’t be money the next time you’re on Chantor.”
Dulsey shifted slightly, and the engineer cleared his throat, reaching for Klay’s wallet to give it the final buff before handing it up to Squithy to inspect. There was station scrip in it, too, which soothed her.
“Thank you,” she said to the engineer. “They’re both beautiful.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. “You come back and see me, the next time your ship’s in. Luck to you, now—and luck to the good ship Dulcimer!”