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Station Day 19
Dock A


To Jen Sin’s eye, Bechimo was a clean-lined small trader. Her pod-mounts were empty, which seemed odd for a ship contracted by Tree-and-Dragon Family, that being the clan’s trade arm. But, there. The master trader would have known which ships were currently awaiting cargo, or off-route, and whose crew could thus be sent as dogsbodies to the clan’s newest holding.

Further, he learned from Tocohl that Bechimo was not so contemporary as she appeared to him, but was rather a ship of an older vintage. Which might have been another factor in the master trader’s choosing.

He watched her safely docked from the control room, then went down to greet captain and ship in person. Light keeper’s melant’i would have the captain come to him, but a kinsman—a kinsman would meet his cousin at her ship, greet her, and inquire after her necessities.

It were best for all, he thought, as Bechimo’s hatch opened, to place the kin-ties above others.

The figure that exited the ship was to his expectations, in the broad sense. Long, lean, wearing well-used leather somewhat too big for the frame, as if the wearer had taken it off of a larger pilot, likely in a bar brawl, if Cousin Theo’s yos’Phelium genes had come greatly to the fore.

The face was certainly familiar: pointed chin, decided nose, high cheeks and bold brows. Her hair was pale, unconfined, and unruly, and behind her came a brace of—

Yxtrang.

Jen Sin took a hard breath against the thrill of adrenaline, and recruited himself. Yxtrang, certainly. And why not? Korval these days kept an Yxtrang house guard. Why should Cousin Theo, sister to the delm, not have a matched pair, or an entire regiment, to guard her?

Ignoring for the moment the guardians of her honor, he bowed as between kin, straightening to look into stern black eyes.

“Cousin,” he said, in the Low Tongue. “I am Jen Sin.”

The eyes narrowed.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Or perhaps not?” he suggested.

The straight mouth twitched, then curved into a full grin, as charming on her as on any of them.

“I have no reason to doubt you,” she told him, her accent once more elusive, “and no excuse to stare, only—you bear a marked resemblance to my father.”

“Ah, one of the black yos’Pheliums.” He would have guessed otherwise, given her pale mop.

Fair brows pulled together.

“Black?”

He raised a hand to his hair. “As distinct, you see, from the white yos’Pheliums, such as yourself.”

“My hair is from my mother. Val Con, Pat Rin, and Quin have brown hair.”

That being the thickness of the Line right there—three names, though Val Con and his lady had recently produced an heir. Quin, he had learned from the files, was Pat Rin’s heir, and a pilot in his own right.

“Perhaps you will revive a fashion,” he said, and spread his arms slightly, showing her empty hands. “I am at your service, Cousin. Tell me how you would like to proceed.”

“I’d like a tour of the Light,” she said, and turned abruptly, indicating her towering guardians with a wave of her hand.

“This is Stost and Chernak Strongline, ship security and experts in Old Technology.” She was speaking Trade, now, possibly for the benefit of her security experts. “Stost and Chernak, here is my kinsman, Jen Sin yos’Phelium, first light keeper.”

“Sir,” said the leftmost guard—Stost, that was. He delivered himself of a perfectly unexceptionable bow between those with a common goal.

“Sir,” echoed Chernak, not bothering to bow. Perhaps she thought one counted for two, as they did, themselves. Certainly, Jen Sin was not about to dispute the point. “We hope to be useful to your work in clearing the station of…questionable influences.”

He inclined his head. “We have made a good deal of progress on that front, but there is much more to do. Also, we are in need of systems upgrades, and general maintenance.”

“We saw that the ring is incomplete,” Theo said, which was the gentlest description. In fact, the ring had been holed with considerable violence, which would certainly have caught the attention of an incoming crew, after they had passed the astonishment of beholding the Light itself.

“The seals are strong from our side, but we have no work boat, and an outside inspection—”

“We can handle that,” Theo interrupted, with another wave of her hand, “and any repairs that might be needed. Rebuilding, though—”

“We have received a business proposal which would include the repair and leasing of the damaged section.”

Theo’s eyebrows rose.

“Solve a lot of problems,” she said, in Terran.

“Indeed. Hopefully, the delm will close the contract.”

Theo laughed.

“If they want it, they’ll close it. Even I know that.”

Jen Sin smiled.

“That is well in hand, then. May I suggest, Cousin, that we start our tour? If any other of your crew wish to join us, they are welcome.”

“Shan suggested that we come quick, so we pushed, getting to you,” Theo said. “Crew’s on rest-time.”

“Ah,” said Jen Sin. This, too, was reasonable.

“Allow me to first show you the core workroom, which will give you some idea of what we are doing in terms of system upgrades.”

“Right.” She descended the ramp and turned with him up the dock, toward the station doors, her security looming and silent behind her. In fact, there was only one set of footsteps on the dock, and Jen Sin saw the moment she noted it.

“I’m going to have to up my game,” she said ruefully. “You’re a Scout?”

“Was a Scout,” he admitted. “More lately, a courier. The war…”

He paused because Theo was frowning.

“Val Con sent files. I’m going to have to study that war a bit more, before I get sense out of it.”

“Ah.” Almost, he laughed. Instead, he moved his shoulders.

“Do not fault your scholarship, Cousin. There was no sense to it.”

“Right.” Theo checked between one step and the next, and slipped a hand into an outer pocket. “Almost forgot,” she said, extending her hand to him.

Jen Sin stopped, staring.

“A seed-pod?” His voice was unsteady.

“Fresh,” she assured him, and added, slightly less assured, “It is yours?”

He took a breath, tasting the tang at the back of his throat, and held out his hand. The pod hit his palm; his fingers closed over it reflexively.

“Yes,” he said, forcing his voice into calmness, “it is mine, Cousin. I thank you.”


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