Administrative Tower
His pinbeam sent, Jen Sin made a cup of yeast and drew one of the protein bars that had been provided by the ships at dock: Tarigan and Ahab-Esais. The shipboard cafeterias might also provide other food, and now that they were not scrambling to survive, perhaps a system ought to be put into place.
Tinsori Light had provided yeast as sustenance for his playthings, which was not enough in the way of needed nutrients, Jen Sin thought, stirring his mug. He and Lorith ought to have sickened, but—there. The templates from which they were both remade were of healthy organics. No matter how ill they might have been upon lying down, they would rise again perfectly healthy.
He ate the protein bar with deliberation, chewing each bite carefully, drained the mug, and washed it, leaving it on the edge of the sink.
Then and only then did he allow himself to look at the clock.
More than two of their orderly new hours had passed. Surely, Lorith ought to be recovered by now? On the very few occasions when one of them had died by mischance while the Light still required their service, it had been quite a short while—a matter of one, or at the most two Intervals…
Had something gone wrong? Had Tolly Jones broken faith? Had Seignur Veeoni—with whom he was scarcely in charity at the moment—decided somehow to use the fortunate falling into her hand of a light keeper in need of repair?
Had the unit failed, and Lorith died in truth, and in spite of the protection of her beads?
If Lorith was dead—finally dead, then—
His heart was pounding; his breath coming short.
“Everything that is unseemly,” he muttered, and closed his eyes, accessing one of several mental calming exercises taught to pilots and Scouts.
In good time, he opened his eyes again, and took stock.
“Much better,” he approved, and stood. He would go himself to—
“Cousin Jen Sin, Light Keeper Lorith is approaching,” Tocohl said, gently.
He took a hard breath against the sudden sharpness in his chest, and stepped away from the chair and the boards, giving himself room…
The door swept away and Lorith entered the command center at a brisk stride, the sleeves of her robe fluttering, eyes intent, the beads casting sparks from among her pale curls.
He stepped forward, hand out to catch hers, feeling long, cool fingers, gripping his strongly.
“Are you well?” they both cried, and she laughed somewhat while he gasped.
“I am well,” he said. “And you?”
“Perfectly restored,” she said, and stood looking down at him for a moment longer before seeming to shake herself.
“I had heard there was a ship,” she said, looking past him to the screens. “Are your cousins arriving?”
“Not just yet. The ship was a drone sent from the research station at Seignur Veeoni’s word. Supplies for her work, so her assistant tells me.”
“That sounds very orderly and tame,” Lorith said, and he laughed.
“Oh, completely! I am offered apologies for being made to uncap the weapons, gratitude for having held from firing, and awarded a promise that, the next time a supply drone is due in, the light keepers will be told.”
Lorith was silent, for a moment.
“She is not…very thoughtful, is she? The researcher.”
“I think that the rest of us are not…quite real to the researcher,” Jen Sin said, and moved a hand toward a chair.
“We need to talk,” he said.
“Yes, we do,” she said, and sat on the chair beside the desk, leaving the control chair to him.
He sat down, and considered her, his sole companion in this mad place. Of course, he trusted her; there had been no other option but to trust her.
Now, with the death of the Old Light, the settling into sane space, and the promised arrival of kin, options multiplied, and duty still mattered.
“Why did you draw on me?” he asked, as gently as one might ask such a thing.
Large black eyes flickered. She folded her hands on her knees.
“I was…angry,” she said slowly. “Not only have you willfully exposed yourself to danger, but you were intent on removing life-support systems.”
Life-support systems. He thought of the units on the recovery deck; recalled Seignur Veeoni’s lecture of the proper way of producing and educating batch-made humans.
“The Old Light is dead,” he said, still gentle. “We have prevailed, you and I, and arrived at clean, stable space. The beads are no longer needed.”
“Do people not die, in clean, stable space?”
“They die,” Jen Sin said, “but there is no imperative that they rise again, and again, and even again.”
Lorith bowed her head, and was silent. This was familiar. Lorith was accustomed to taking time to order her thoughts. Jen Sin waited.
At last she raised her head, and met his eyes.
“Tinsori Light is dead, you say.”
“That is correct.”
“And yet, there are still systems that require cleaning, others that must be entirely replaced. The Old Light was cunning, and I am not at peace with this easy assurance that he is wholly dead.”
“And yet, we have seen no sign, since Mentor Jones destroyed the core.”
Lorith leaned forward.
“Do you, who stood between the Light and the universe; who saw the kind and degree of malice he was capable of—do you think, Jen Sin, that Tinsori Light is incapable of hiding—and biding his time?”
Lorith had lived with the Old Light longer than he had; she had made such adjustments to her mind and behavior as best assured her continued survival. It was perhaps not wonderful that she did not believe that the terrible god she had defied for so long was, at last, and justly, dead.
“How do you suggest we proceed?” he asked her.
“Very much as we are. Only, let us be prudent. Do not destroy the repair units until the last of the new systems has been tested.”
He might, he thought, do so little, if it eased her.
“I will speak with Seignur Veeoni, and rescind my order to destroy the units.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Not that I believe she was going to do so, in any case.”
“Good.” Lorith stood, and paused, gazing down into his face. “And you will put your beads back, Jen Sin?”
He moved his shoulders.
“Perhaps I shall,” he said, rising in his turn. “After Seignur Veeoni has cleaned them for me.”