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Administrative Tower


“Light Keeper, this is Korlu Fenchile calling. Need to alert you to a situation.”

Jen Sin frowned. Boss Fenchile’s big voice was subdued, even somber.

“I am listening,” he said.

“That’s fine. All I need for you to do is listen, though it don’t make good tellin’. Short of it is that Marsi Pinster, our comp system chief—her and her team helped Cap’n Waitley’s crew finish clearing station old core, and sealed the place…”

“Yes?” Jen Sin said, when the pause had grown long enough to irritate.

“Sorry, sir; it’s hard. I’ve known Marsi—well, a long time, and I never. Well. Straight out—here’s Marsi breaking into Ren’s private business, and trying to feed in some bad code. Ren stopped her, called me. I called Security and we all went an’ got her outta where she din’t belong, and put ’er behind a locked door. Figured it was Family bidness, and called Gracie, who come straight down to talk to her, an’—”

Another pause. This time, Jen Sin waited.

“I’ll swear on anything you like that woman was alive when we put her in the hold-room, but when Gracie opened that door, she was dead, and not too neat about it, neither. Gracie’s on cleanup—Family bidness, like I said. But, why I’m calling you—you might wanna tell Cap’n Waitley there’s been a problem over here, and she might wanna have her crew go over that core, one more time. In case.”

“In case,” Jen Sin repeated, and took a breath. “I understand, Boss Fenchile. Thank you for informing me. I—al’bresh venat’i, if it does not offend.”

Silence. Jen Sin racked a brain suddenly gone stupid in Terran—and found an acceptable translation.

“It means ‘I am saddened by your loss,’” he said gently.

There was a small sound, as if someone had exhaled into the comm.

“Nothing to offend anybody there, is it? ’Preciate your condolence, sir. I’ll share that with the crew.”

Another small exhalation.

“Fenchile out.”


“I was going to tell you that we put our seals over the ones Chief Pinster put in place,” Theo said, her face grave. “I thought I’d talk to Supervisor Fenchile when he came over, and explain, but—”

There was a murmur from off-screen, she turned her head, listening—nodded and looked back to Jen Sin.

“There was a situation and it got us wondering if something was…not quite right,” she said. “That’s the short form. We’ll put together a report, with footage from lapel cams. Do we send that to you, or Supervisor Fenchile, or—Gracie?”

“All three,” Jen Sin said promptly, “and soon.”

“We’ll get right on it,” she assured him. “And, just to let you know—we got a good start on the common room. When you have time to go by and look in, we’d appreciate feedback.”

“I will look as soon as I am able,” he told her. “In the meanwhile, I will let Boss Fenchile know that you will be sending him information.”

“Right,” Theo said. “Win Ton’s already starting on that.”

“Then I will leave you to your duty while I pursue mine,” Jen Sin told her. “yos’Phelium out.”


He had accessed a focusing exercise. After, he drank a cup of water while thinking about the recent attempts against them. There was no evidence, yet, that Marsi Pinster was attached to the Lyre Institute. That still did not stop one from wondering after best strategies should such evidence arise.

Doubtless, he should talk to Tolly Jones again—and to Seignur Veeoni. Perhaps they might align themselves in Balance against—

The comm pinged.

He crossed to the desk and touched the switch.

“yos’Phelium.”

“Light Keeper yos’Phelium, the spinward arcade and dormitories are ready for your inspection.”

“Thank you, Station,” Jen Sin said serenely. “I will be there within the hour.”


Tinsori Light was, in the main, a study in grey. The halls were lit well enough, the air was fresh, the cleanbots swept and dusted and polished. Certainly, there were less pleasant places in the wide universe, not excepting the pilots wayroom on an underworld.

The camera tour he had taken through the Spinward Arcade had encouraged him to expect more of the same.

The section doors slid aside, revealing an open space awash with living color. Every shade of blue rippled down the wall directly across from the door, creating the illusion of living water. The floors glowed gently, and soft yellow light fell from the ceiling like a benediction.

In the center of the space was a low circular stone wall, looking for all the worlds as if someone had marked out a place to plant a garden.

“Light Keeper?” Catalinc Station said from the speaker in the wall beside him. “Have I…erred?”

Erred, gods see the child.

“Not at all,” he said. “The space is quite pleasant, though we must consider the effect of the blue lights on the space-born. They may see system damage in what reminds those of us who are world-born of a pleasure from home.”

“I had not thought of that,” Catalinc Station said, and the blues running down the opposite wall faded, morphing into flowing sheets of sheer pink and pale grey. “Would that be more appropriate?”

“For a beginning,” he said, already missing the illusion of free water. “It may be found that it is beneficial to have a changing display.”

“Oh! I could easily do that.”

“Of course you could. Recall that this is a new situation we are come to, so we must observe closely, and hold ourselves ready to adjust awkward conditions.”

“Yes, certainly.”

She sounded, he thought, a bit chastened, and he stirred himself to smile.

“You created grace, where I had anticipated utility,” he said gently. “I am a utilitarian sort of fellow, as you will find. The space pleases, now that I am past my surprise. And it is well thought, to have the center of the section a place of welcome and peace.”

He took a deep breath, tasting clean air, with no taint of must or cleaning agents.

“I will inspect the quarters first,” he said.

“Yes, Light Keeper. Please follow the green line to the dormitory halls.”


She had done as fine a job with the quarters and the ring of hopeful shops and gathering places as she had with the plaza. He asked and was shown the back-hall spaces, finding the cleanbots lined up orderly, as if awaiting his inspection, and the maintenance bots erect in their stalls, each with their full complement of repair arms and lifters.

The modest rack-and-tile array was cold, the tiles cracked, and the frame sagging. Clearly, it had not operated for some time. He made a note to clear and clean the space.

His tour at last brought him back to the plaza, and he sat on the stone wall, face angled upward, eyes closed, as if the yellow light came from a true sun, and had the power to warm him.

“Tell me,” he said softly, “how you managed all this with the old system dead.”

“There is a changeover protocol,” Catalinc Station said promptly. “It was planned that at some point I would take over from the legacy system. The process is seamless, safe, and scaled. I may, as you see here, merely assert control over a small portion of the station, leaving the rest under Administrator Tocohl’s control.”

Had he known that? Jen Sin wondered. Catalinc Station might have kept Lorith and himself safe in a shielded area where Tinsori Light had no access.

An image of the breached ring flashed before his mind’s eye.

Or perhaps not.

“Of course,” he murmured, aware that he had allowed the conversation to lapse, “the Uncle would have seen the need.”

“My builder was far-seeing,” Catalinc Station said. “May I ask a question?”

He opened his eyes.

“Certainly.”

“The first time we spoke, you said that I was to call you Jen Sin. Is that still proper?”

“In some circumstances,” he allowed. He hesitated, then mocked himself. Surely, it was not too soon for the child to learn to parse melant’i.

“In formal situations involving persons other than ourselves or those who are our intimates, when I am required to give orders, or you to report, I must, I fear, be Light Keeper. In situations such as we now find ourselves, discussing our plans and accomplishments, and seeking to know each other better, I may be Jen Sin. Now, you must tell me if there is another name you might share with a comrade at the end of a long shift?”

“Catie,” she said, firmly. “Please call me Catie.”

“I will be honored,” he said seriously, and blinked as two avians winged past.

“Where did you get the idea to make avians as—messengers for me?” he wondered.

“You told me about flying creatures when we spoke before. Also about gardens, and the wind, and your family’s tree. I chose the flying creatures as messengers because I thought you would surely remember our talk, and know them for my emissaries.”

That was a strike to the heart. He raised his hands, palm up, and let them fall.

“Catie, forgive me. Our meeting, all that we spoke of, promises made—everything was reft from me. Worse, I fear that I endangered you, by allowing Tinsori Light to know that you had survived.”

Surprisingly, she laughed.

“He looked, but Tinsori Light could not find me, bound as he was to his silly tiles! You, though—he hurt you for trying to help me.”

“If not for that, then something else,” he said, attempting lightness. “Tinsori Light was fond of his cruelties.”

He watched as the avians landed on the stone wall scarcely a hand’s breadth from him.

They were delicate things, bright-colored—one blue and one green—there was the hint of a beak on the angular head, two feet with three small grippers each, and wings that folded neatly against oblong chassis. The effect was pleasant; the whole construct small enough to pose no threat.

“I wonder,” he said. “Have you spoken to my cousin Tocohl?”

“Not…yet,” Catie said. “I wanted to be sure I had completed my work here appropriately.”

“Your work has exceeded my expectations, which you may say to Tocohl,” he said with a smile. “I did tell her that you would be calling on her.”

“Oh.”

Silence. He dared extend a finger to touch the nearest small flyer. A ceramic frame of some sort, he thought, around a small lift unit.

“I will call on Tocohl as soon as we are finished here,” Catie said.

“Excellent.”

He sat a few moments longer, reluctant to leave the yellow light, and the easy feeling of fellowship. But, there. Duty was.

He rose and bowed.

“I am wanted at my desk, I fear. Contact me, after you have spoken to Tocohl.”

“I will,” she promised.

He left the pleasant plaza then, the door opening courteously before him. He had reached the lift before he noticed that the birds were still with him.


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Framed