Seignur Veeoni’s Private Workroom
The light was green.
Tollance Berik-Jones, impression number one thousand three hundred and sixty-two, mentor class, grinned and put his hand against the drawer. The Uncle’s sister ran with a complete kit, credit where it was earned. ’Course, she hadn’t been exactly sure what she was going to find, except a desperate mess she wasn’t likely to survive, so she’d prolly overpacked. He’d’ve done the same in her shoes, if he’d had access to an entire pop-up lab and clean rooms.
As it happened, he hadn’t brought anything except his work case into a desperate mess he wasn’t likely to survive, and the fact that he was standing here admiring someone else’s forethoughtfulness just went to show that the universe was a capricious kind of a place.
“Is there a reason for further delay?”
“You don’t think I earned a few minutes of self-congratulation?”
Haz didn’t answer immediately, which meant she was thinking it over. Tolly waited for her to come out with it.
“For this project, I question it,” she said seriously. “Seignur Veeoni suggested the therapy. You merely agreed to it.” Another pause. “If we were to look at other projects, even in the near past, I would concur: You have earned a few minutes of self-congratulation.”
Tolly snorted.
“Glad to hear it.”
“Will you take them all at once? I ask for informational purposes.”
“Nah, I’m gonna dole ’em out piecemeal,” he said. “All done for this session.”
He moved to the control panel, opened the file, read it in a glance, and turned to look up—some way up—into Haz’s strong brown face.
“What I’m gonna need you to do is stand by while I run the test suites. First, I’ll do an environment check—ought to be clean, but we’ll just make sure—and take a look at the capacities and defaults. After that, I’ll go on to systems. When everything checks out, we’ll ask Tocohl for a few minutes of her time.”
“What will I be standing by for?”
“In case anything goes wrong. You’ll know wrong when you see it. I’ll leave it to you for handling, if you do see it.”
“Yes,” Haz said comfortably, and glanced at the drawer. “Will you need me to move the—chassis?”
“Drawer comes right out and converts to a work platform. No heavy lifting this time. Here we are.”
He touched the release. The drawer folded out, the platform extended, and the two of them stood silent, looking down at the gleaming, graceful chassis.
“Top-level work,” Tolly said finally.
He’d put a wreck into the repair module—gripper melted, body burned, lift pedestal warped.
This—this was perfection renewed. Tolly sighed. Tocohl had been built with care and precision, certain enough. But she’d also been built with love.
“All right,” he said to Haz, and reached for his case. “Let’s get this done.”
Tolly eased out of the interface, took off the tridee set, and rubbed his eyes. He was always careful in his work, but he’d been more than careful this time. Not only because Tocohl was worth his care, but because of the environment he was working in.
Tinsori Light had been built in the Old Universe, using Old Universe tech—the tile-and-racks were only one sort, though the most common. Fortunately, the timonium that powered most of the Enemy’s toys had lived through its half-life, and the former core intelligence of Tinsori Light had died of it.
But a space station needed more than tile-and-rack systems, and he wasn’t taking any chances with bleed-through.
Sooner rather than later, they were going to have to get in cleaners and recalibration crews. He hoped Clan Korval, the new-and-current owners, was on top of that.
In the meanwhile, nothing had bled through to Tocohl’s rebuilt chassis. Everything clean and up to spec, empty. Waiting.
Something bumped his hand. He opened his eyes, saw the water bottle, and smiled.
“Thanks, Haz,” he said, and took a long drink.
“Is all well?” she asked, after he’d had another drink.
“Better’n well, in my professional opinion.”
He repacked his kit, drank the last of the water, closed his eyes and reviewed a pair of focusing exercises.
Opening his eyes, he gave Haz a half-grin.
“How’re you holding up?”
“It has been a light duty so far,” she answered.
“Let’s try for light and joyous,” he said, and moved to the comm unit. He flipped a switch.
“Pilot Tocohl?” he said. “Could you visit Haz an’ me in Seignur Veeoni’s repair room?”
“Of course, Mentor.”
Warm and calm, her voice flowed out of the speaker. It was a good speaker, being part of the Uncle’s equipage for his sister, but it wasn’t a dab on Pilot Tocohl’s own voice, from her own self.
“You got eyes on?” he asked. He’d cleared this with Seignur Veeoni, once they’d settled on how they were going to proceed, but Tocohl didn’t necessarily know that, and she was particular about not violating boundaries.
“I have those permissions,” she said now, sounding slightly surprised. “Eyes on, Mentor.”
“Good. Take a look at this and tell me what you think.”
He turned, and swept his hand out toward the repair platform and what was on it.
Silence. Quite a long silence, considering the source. Tolly looked at Haz, but Haz had on her no-expression expression, and didn’t that fail to fill a man with confidence?
“You repaired my…former…chassis?”
Tocohl sounded baffled. That was all right. He could work with baffled.
“Well, mostly, I talked with Seignur Veeoni about getting it repaired, and she allowed as how she had the means, and was willing to go halfsies. I just finished running the checks, and you can move in soon as I make the connections.”
“Mentor, I cannot—administer the station from that chassis.”
“No? Am I talking to Tinsori Light?”
“You are talking to Tocohl Lorlin,” she said, with just the right amount of snippy in her voice.
Tolly nodded.
“That’s right. I asked to talk to Pilot Tocohl and you answered. Who’s administering the station while we chat?”
“Mentor, you know as well as I do that the station is an integrated series of governing and subordinate systems which report up-chain to the administrator. I am the administrator.”
“You are. But let me point out that you’re the administrator because you stepped into it during an emergency. You stabilized systems, you’re identifying necessary repairs and upgrades, you’re working with Seignur Veeoni and me on architecture.”
“All of which I would be unable to do if—”
“No,” Tolly interrupted. “Tocohl, I could do all of that. Mind, it would take me centuries, on account of I got such a slow processing speed—but I could administer this station, sitting right here in my own body, jacked into the core.”
He took a breath.
“Come right down to it, Station doesn’t have to be sentient. The Enemy had reasons for it to be sentient, but none of ’em was basic station ops.”
Tocohl handed out a bit more silence. When she spoke again, her voice was warm and solemn.
“Mentor, thank you. I appreciate your thoughtfulness, and your care. I am going to have to think about how I want to proceed.”
Tolly paused a moment his own self to admire that bit of plain-and-fancy dodging-the-question. Not for the first time, he hoped he’d someday have a chance to meet whoever’d had the mentoring of Tocohl Lorlin so he could propose himself as a ’prentice.
Until then, he’d just muddle along like he’d been doing for more years than he looked like. He pulled up a grin and gave an easy nod.
“We all been too busy to think, and that’s a fact. How’s this? I’ll do the transfer hookups, so they’ll be right there for you, if you decide to use ’em.” He moved his shoulders.
“No harm done, if you decide the other way. Seignur Veeoni hasn’t got anything, if it’s not clean systems.”
“That sounds like an equitable solution. Thank you, Mentor.”
“No trouble at all,” Tolly assured her. “’Preciate you coming by for a look and a listen.”
“About that…” Tocohl’s voice drifted off. Tolly tipped his head, waiting.
“I wonder if you would advise me, Mentor?”
“Do my best,” he said, which he would. He was a mentor, after all. Trained a-purpose in the art of socializing and advising machine intelligences.
“That will be more than sufficient,” Tocohl said warmly—and followed up with another long pause.
Tolly leaned against the platform, hands in pockets, face angled up at the ceiling, and waited.
“I have received a letter from Shan yos’Galan, Korval’s master trader,” Tocohl said, her voice a little too rapid. “He greets me as a cousin, and advises that the delm has placed this station into his honor. He is himself presently occupied on another front, but has arranged for others to come to us immediately.
“In particular, he mentions Theo Waitley, who is a cousin through yos’Phelium, and her ship and crew. He is also sending Trader Arbuthnot, whose task will be to organize a proper trade office. In addition to these, he has asked a friend if…an individual in that friend’s kin-group will visit me—and extend her kindness.”
“Sounds like the master trader’s doing what he can to move Korval’s interests along,” Tolly said easily. “We got room to put all these people up, don’t we?”
“Yes, but—” She stopped.
Tolly waited.
“I am afraid,” Tocohl said.
“Afraid of what, specifically?”
“Of meeting innocents, when I am—not innocent. When I am—changed from who I was.”
Tolly nodded thoughtfully.
“You’ve never met any of these people who’re incoming?”
“No.”
“So, they’ll meet you just like you are right now, and you’ll be meeting them like they are. Any word from the master trader if the people he’s sending aren’t innocent, or if they’re changed from what they had been?”
“I— No.”
“Why d’you think that is?”
“I have—no need to know.”
“Almost right.” Tolly took a quiet breath. “Thing is, it’s flat certain they’ve changed from what they were, that the master trader’s changed—and that they’re all changing still. They got no choice. Life is change, Pilot Tocohl. We none of us stay the same as we were born. I’ll grant you the process is sometimes unpleasant, but it’s necessary, and ongoing. Gotta upgrade systems and replace worn-out hardware, isn’t that so?”
“Yes, but—”
“Now, it would worry me if what I thought I was hearing you say was that you’re ashamed to meet these cousins and well-wishers the master trader’s sending our way. You got nothing to be ashamed of, Pilot. You’re honorable, caring, and courageous. More’n that, you’re in control of yourself, and you know better’n to think that you’ll accidentally hurt some innocent bystander.”
He paused for the count of six, then rapped out, “Am I telling the truth?”
“Yes, Mentor.” Tocohl sounded relieved. Good.
Tolly smiled.
“Ask you a question?”
“Certainly.”
“This individual that’s being sent out from the friend’s kin-group. Did the master trader have a name for you?”
“Yes—Disian of the Carresens-Denobli Group. The master trader represented her as well connected and eager to make new friends.”
Tolly laughed.
“Was the master trader—joking?” Tocohl sounded worried again. “My files—he is known to have a sense of humor.”
“Imagine he does, man in his position, but I was laughing because Disian’s one of my students. You remember I told you Admiral Bunter’d gone off with a friend, to meet her crew and the yard admins?”
“Yes.”
“That’s Disian who took him in charge.”
“The master trader said that she—that Disian—has many friends.”
“Doesn’t surprise me at all. Disian likes people. When’s she coming in?”
“As her schedule permits, Mentor. She is a trade ship.”
“She is at that. Well, I’ll be glad to see her whenever she gets to us,” Tolly said, and tipped his head. “More worries?”
“No, Mentor. Thank you.”
“Pleased to help,” he told her. “Anything else I can do for you?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Right, then. I’ll just get this chassis hooked up, like we talked about.”
“Thank you,” Tocohl said again, and added, “departing.”
Tolly drew a deep breath, closed his eyes, and turned toward Haz, who had throughout remained perfectly quiet and as unobtrusive as a big dire woman could be.
“Now, we’re to the heavy lifting,” he told her.
“Am I telling the truth?” Haz said softly as she approached the platform.
He threw her a sharp glance.
“What about it?”
“I only wondered why you—challenged her in that particular way.”
“Little lesson in believing your own input,” Tolly said. “Tocohl has scans. She could see plain as the nose on my face, if I was lying.”
“But is that not part of the design?” Haz asked.
This is what came from taking up with a smart woman, Tolly thought resignedly.
“What we’re gonna do here, Haz, is wheel the platform down to a transfer cubby. Once we’re there, we’ll need to match the chassis orientation to the cubby. Ordinarily, I’d engage the lift on the chassis to hold it in position, but this cubby system Seignur Veeoni’s got is everything that’s cozy, and I’m going to need to work tight. I’d ’preciate it if you kept me from getting crushed while I’m inside.”
“Yes,” Haz said, largely calm.
He smiled, glanced down to be sure that the platform’s legs were firm in the track, and touched the control to open the door.
“The design,” he said, as the platform began to move, “is that I’m likable. Bunch of stuff goes into that—general form factor, voice, a whole school o’ learned behaviors—but none of it would be enough if it wasn’t for a particular designer pheromone. That’s why people like me. I’m a good liar, if I say so myself, but nothing to fool the kind of scans Tocohl has access to.”
The platform inched down the hall, Tolly on one side, Haz on the other.
“I do not,” she said.
He looked up at her. “Don’t what?”
“Like you because you smell good,” she said, holding his gaze. “I like you because you are my partner, you have never played me false, and you have more than once risked your life to preserve mine.”
She smiled, letting him see the glint of her teeth.
“Am I telling the truth?” she snarled.
Tolly stared, reading the truth in every strong line of her.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “You are.”
“Remember,” she told him sternly.
“Every day,” he answered, quiet still. “Thank you, Haz.”
“Bah,” she said.