Bechimo
Dock A
“Welcome, Mentor,” Bechimo said, when he presented himself at the hatch. “Please follow the blue line.”
He did that, noting that there seemed to be a certain level of activity down the hall that led to the galley. Nothing to do with him, o’course, and he went on, ’til he reached the pot and the Tree, and the blue line winked out.
“Unnerstan’ you’ve got something for me,” he said, looking up, and noting that the leaves weren’t moving, not a one.
He took a breath and waited, and eventually it came to him that the Tree had done as best it might, but that results were not…guaranteed.
It was something of a surprise, how hard that hit him. Apparently, he’d been hoping for the full cure for Deels.
Nobody gets the full cure, Tolly Jones. Best you can hope for is to get a choice.
“I unnerstan’,” he said to the Tree. “We’re all just doin’ the best we can. ’Preciate you giving it a try.”
He half-turned away—and back again as he heard a sharp snap, and a riot of leaf-noise.
His hand moved before he had registered there was something falling—that smacked into his palm with authority.
His fingers closed around it, and he waited, remembering the sensation of the other pod against his skin, and the agreeable odor of mint.
The thing he had caught was so inert it might’ve been a stone—no reaction against his skin, no olfactory input. He opened his fingers to make sure he’d got hold of a pod—and it did look like the one that had been given to him.
The idea crept into his head that the reason the thing wasn’t reacting to him was because it had been made for Delia. He hoped that was the case. Carefully, he put the pod in his pocket.
“Thank you,” he said, and bowed, before turning and following the blue line back the way he’d come.
He hit congestion at the hatch: Cap’n Theo and a dark-haired woman were making a cluster, with the help of a norbear perched on a leather-clad shoulder, and two cats underfoot.
It was either a welcoming or a leave-taking. Tolly slowed, and then stopped, waiting for them to sort themselves out, or notice him and make room, whichever came first.
Theo noticed him first, though he had an idea that Bechimo had dropped a hint in her ear.
“That was quick,” she said.
“Immediately means immediately where I come from,” he said, and that got him a sharp look.
“I apologize,” Theo said. “I should’ve sent a more moderate message. My excuse is that it’s hard to think with a Tree jumping up and down inside your head. I don’t know how Val Con does it.”
“Val Con,” said the dark-haired lady, “informed the Tree that he must have quiet in order to best serve it.”
“I’m going to have to try that,” Theo said, while the other turned to look closely at Tolly.
He might’ve thought she was sizing him up for a playmate, except it was the wrong order of speculation in those silver eyes.
“Anthora, this is Tolly Jones,” Theo said. “Mentor, this is Anthora yos’Galan.” She hesitated, then added, “A cousin.”
“A newly arrived cousin,” Anthora yos’Galan added. Her voice was nappy and rich, like velvet would sound if it could talk.
“Always pleased to meet a cousin,” Tolly said, giving her a grin and a nod. “Cap’n Theo, I did get what I came for, so I’ll just be—”
“I can fix that for you,” Anthora yos’Galan said, and suddenly she had every bit of his attention.
“Fix what, zackly?”
“There is a trigger built into your pattern. Once activated, you are compelled to behave according to—” She paused, eyes narrowing. “Two patterns, is it?” she murmured. “And the trigger is actually a switch.”
She took a breath, closed her eyes and opened them. “Still. I believe I may deactivate that device, if you wish it. It appears to have caused you quite a bit of pain, and it continues to sap your resources. Thus, my offer. I am a Healer, and such things fall into my honor. If, for some reason, the device is useful to you, then of course we need say no more.”
He stared at her.
“You can disable it?”
“Yes, I believe so. What is the trigger?”
“Whistle. Special harmonics, just for me.” He took a hard breath as the sense of what she’d said hit him. Healer. She was a Healer, and he hadn’t, never once, thought of proposing himself at—
“Do it,” he said, his voice loud in his own ears. “Do it now.”
She frowned. “If I do it now,” she said sharply, “you risk an injury.”
“I don’t care,” he told her, his heart pounding with even the possibility of it being gone, and everyone he cared about absolutely and forever safe from what he might be forced to do.
“You may not,” the lady said tartly, “but I do. I have standards, and not harming my clients is among them.”
“There’s—I don’t know how long before somebody carrying a whistle gets here,” he told her, aware that he was shaking, and if he didn’t get himself under something like control, his knees were going to buckle. “Could be anybody, on any of those ships incoming. Might already be here.”
“Ah. In that case, I agree; it would be best to take care of the situation now.” She gave him a look that was half-sharp and half-humorous. “For my definitions of ‘now,’ Mentor Jones.”
“Right. Tell me when and where.”
“Here and soon, if Theo will be so kind as to lend us a space where we can be quite alone. Also, some tea and chernubia would not be out of order.”
“You can use the meeting room,” Theo said promptly. “Nobody will disturb you there. Bechimo will know you’re present and your conditions, but he won’t watch or listen.”
“I agree to this,” Bechimo said.
“Excellent,” Anthora said, and looked to Tolly. “Well, Mentor?”
“Yes,” he said, there not being much else he might say.
“Right this way, to the meeting room,” Theo said waving them ahead of her—and pausing to glance at the creature on her shoulder.
“Hevelin wants to help.”
“Hevelin may not help,” Anthora said firmly. “I will need quiet. He may trade acquaintances with Mentor Jones after my business is done, and!” She pointed a forefinger at the norbear. “On Mentor Jones’s schedule.”
The norbear stared at her, then away.
“Right,” said Theo. “Let’s get you settled. I’ll bring tea and snacks.”
“What do you want me to do?” Tolly Jones asked when the door had shut behind Theo, and been locked.
“I want you to drink your tea, and eat a chernubia,” Anthora answered, pouring for both of them. “I want you to concentrate wholly on those things. Can you do that?”
An eyebrow twitched. He moved a shoulder.
“I can try to do that,” he said. “It’s a little outta my usual line.”
“I understand,” she assured him, and raised her cup to sip. Theo had provided a soothing rose blend, proving that there was nothing at all wrong with Theo’s instincts.
The man across from her sipped his tea, and she Saw the colors in his pattern shift as he brought his concentration to bear on the taste. He was rather formidable, with his two patterns—one fierce with all of life’s colors, the few threads that bound him to others vibrant and strong. The other pattern was grey moiré, bound with a mad spiderweb of rusty red strands.
“What shall I call you?” she asked.
“Tolly’s fine.”
“Very well, Tolly. As you have heard, my name is Anthora. I am a Healer. I have understood that you wish the implanted switch deactivated. Is this understanding correct, and if it is, do I have your permission to proceed? I warn that once the switch is deactivated, it will no longer be available to you. The process is not reversible.”
“Your understanding is perfect, I give you permission to deactivate, remove, or destroy that switch, and any other thing you need to do in order to be sure I’m not a danger to everybody I know.”
Anthora raised her eyebrows.
“Those are sweeping grants. Happily, I subscribe to ethics. Also, I advise that you are dangerous at core, and it is beyond my skill to alter your core. Please, have a chernubia.”
She Saw humor flicker as he chose a yellow-iced sweet; felt the weight of his concentration as he bit into it.
She put her teacup down and Looked, deep, and deeper still.
The device itself was simple; the web of compulsion and pain that secured it—was not. She brought them under close study, tracing the lines without at all touching them. She was just about to withdraw, when she saw something else.
“You,” she murmured, “have eaten from our Tree.”
“I’ve eaten from the Tree on this ship,” Tolly answered. “It decided I was cousins, which is a stretch, if you don’t mind my sayin’.”
“Our Tree at home is an opportunist, and acquisitive,” Anthora said, following the lines of green with her Inner Eye. “I make no doubt the ship-Tree is, as well.”
She closed her Inner Eyes, and reached for her teacup.
She drank, put the cup down, reached for a chernubia, and ate it thoughtfully. It was quite a good chernubia, she thought, the cake moist and a little tart, the icing firm and not oversweet.
“I meant what I said.” Tolly Jones lifted the teapot and refreshed her cup, then his. “If you gotta do damage to get that thing gone, I don’t mind.”
“And yet you are linked to others, who may mind,” Anthora said. “Besides, you know, I have my pride.” She opened her Inner Eyes to regard those links; extended her thought and touched the strongest.
“Nor would I wish to wound Hazenthull. Do you not care for that?”
It was anger that rippled through him this time; anger and a spike of love so desperate she felt the pain of it in her own breast.
“That thing you’re lookin’ at can force me to murder Haz and laugh while I do it,” he snarled. He closed his eyes, and she Saw him cool the flare of temper. “Whatever it takes, Anthora,” he said more moderately, and added, “please.”
It was interesting, that his emotions disturbed only the bright tapestry; the grey web merely sat, inert, gathering energy to itself and returning nothing.
As if, she thought, he had a dead zone in his soul.
Deliberately, she sought out the splashes of green that marked the Tree’s meddlings, seeing that they were concentrated on the links between the two patterns, overlaying the rusty red webbing with living green.
That the Tree intended to reseed the grey area was apparent.
Which left the compulsion to her.
She brought her attention back to the construction, examined the bindings, and knew that subtlety would be of no use here. A blade was wanted, and it would hurt him, if he was aware while she did what was necessary.
Fortunately, there was another option.
“Tolly,” she said, looking into his eyes with a smile.
“Yeah?” His face betrayed wariness.
She put power into her voice, and snapped.
“Go to sleep, Tolly.”