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Jen Sin’s Private Quarters


“Jen Sin, are you there?”

It was, he thought, an interesting question. Was he there? And where exactly was there, if not here?

And if he was here, why should there be any need to ask after his whereabouts?

He opened his eyes, and considered the ceiling, which was a bland affair, and lacking a window into the sky, so there was not his apartment in Jelaza Kazone. Equally, there was not Lantis, nor his bunk on Scout Survey Ship Aazella. He supposed he might be in a wayroom, but if so, the question of there again raised its head, not to mention why?

“Who asks?” he said.

“Lorith,” came the answer, her voice having taken that particular edge that meant he was, in her estimation, about to be an idiot. And Lorith’s presence resolved all.

Here was Tinsori Light. Of course it was.

“I am here,” he answered. “Is all well?”

“Well enough, save that you are late for your shift,” she said.

Oh.

Recent events rushed in on him—the arrival of Bechimo, bearing his cousin Theo—who had given him Tree-fruit. Which he had eaten the moment it came ripe, like a man starved.

He had, he realized, slept the shift through, and he felt—rested. More—he felt solid. It had not occurred to him before, that he had been feeling—pulled thin, in addition to being short of sleep and hagged with nightmare.

“Please forgive me,” he said now to Lorith, as he rolled off the bunk to his feet. “Yesterday’s events tired me more than I knew. Can you hold another half hour?”

“I can hold as long as necessary,” Lorith told him. She hesitated, and added, “I was worried.”

“I will set a timer from now on,” he promised her, bending to pick up his jacket and toss it onto the bunk. “I will be with you soon.”

He pulled his sweater over his head, and shoved it hastily into the cleaning unit on his way to the fresher.


It was not quite half an hour later that he arrived in the control room bearing two covered mugs of ’mite and two ration bars.

He placed a mug and a bar by Lorith’s hand, and sat in a side chair.

Lorith glanced down.

“What is that?”

“Breakfast?” he offered. “Prime?” He sipped from his mug, and gave her a sidelong glance, one eyebrow up. “Balance?”

“If you are tired, you must rest,” Lorith said seriously, picking up the ration bar and stripping off its wrapper. “Only tell me.”

“Yes, I will,” he said soothingly. “My only excuse is that I was myself caught unaware. I did not expect to sleep so soundly—nor so long.”

Lorith bit into her bar, and for a few moments, they merely sat together, sharing the meal, as they had many times in the past.

“So,” Jen Sin said, when each had set their mug aside for the last time. “Have we business in hand?”

“Ren Stryker professes himself to be perfectly content and will await the arrival of materiel,” she said promptly. “Also, we had a request from Bechimo to dock their secondary vessel. I gave permission, and assigned an adjacent dock on A Level.”

“Secondary vessel?”

Lorith showed him her empty palms, that being a gesture she had learned from him. “I am told it was carried here in Bechimo’s hold.”

Well, thought Jen Sin, and why not?

“You have had an eventful shift. I hesitate to ask if there is more.”

She smiled.

“Somewhat more. Captain Waitley requisitioned the use of power sleds for her team who will be removing the debris from the old core. I granted that, and they came at mid-shift to sign them out.”

“Ah. And who are they?”

“Chernak, from the security team, and two others, designating themselves as Win Ton and Kara. They had with them a bot, which they neither introduced nor named.”

“Thus we are informed that the bot is merely a tool. Very good. Is there more?”

Lorith stretched, hands over her head, and got to her feet.

“Nothing else. Does the shift change?”

“At long last, it does,” he said, rising with her. “Rest well.”

“Yes. If you have need, call me.”

“Of course, but I scarcely think that my shift will be anything like so active as yours.”


There was a letter in-queue from Trader Gordon Arbuthnot.

In the first section of the letter, Trader Arbuthnot represented himself as incoming on Master Trader yos’Galan’s instruction. In accordance with those instructions, he would arrive prepared to establish a proper Tree-and-Dragon Family business and trade hub. However, as the commercial situation at Tinsori Light was yet to be determined, he would be bringing only the basic trade kit with him, which meant that he had pods available. Would Light Keeper yos’Phelium be so good as to send him a list of those items the station would find useful? These items were not to be limited to tools and materials, but ought also to include foodstuffs, comfort, and even luxury items. There was, Trader Arbuthnot insisted, ample room available.

Jen Sin stopped, closed his eyes, opened them, and reread that section. A list of desired items? And he was not to stint himself. He scarcely knew—

His eye fell on the wrapper from Lorith’s ration bar, and the covered mug, awaiting cleanup. With the flick of a finger he had opened a notetaker in the corner of the screen and typed hydroponics, followed by a list of such foods as might be gotten out of the caf unit on a Scout ship. He would need to ask the others, find what things might ease their shifts, favored foodstuffs, teas—wine?

He closed his eyes. Gods, for a glass of wine.

Well.

He opened his eyes with a sigh and put his attention on the second section of Trader Arbuthnot’s letter.

Here, the tone changed. He was begged to believe his Cousin Gordy entirely at his service, and very eager to make his acquaintance. He was asked if, perhaps, he played counterchance, or possibly piket, and in the next sentence was told that Cousin Gordy would bring a short pallet of amusements, including books, music, and the furnishings of a small gym.

“It appears we are well in hand,” he murmured, finishing the letter with some bemusement.

“Light Keeper,” Tocohl said, “I have information regarding the ongoing security of the station.”

He raised his eyebrows, spun his chair, and leaned back so that he might look at the ceiling speaker.

“Almost, you relieve me,” he said. “Speak.”

“Yes,” Tocohl said. “This concerns the Lyre Institute.”

“It occurs to me that the Lyre Institute is occupying a great deal of our time,” he commented. “Surely, they are out of proportion.”

“Possibly so,” Tocohl said, sounding wry. “I have discussed the situation with Mentor Jones, who advises me to put it before you.”

“Then by all means,” Jen Sin said cordially, “place the matter before me.”


Spiral Dance, Clarence O’Berin, pilot in charge, coming in to A Level Bay Five. Clear me, Station?”

Jen Sin looked up from his list-making, to the station screens.

Spiral Dance?” he said aloud to no one, and reached for the magnification controls.

Spiral Dance cleared for docking, per light keeper’s assignment, Bay Five A Level.” That voice was neither Tocohl nor the former Tinsori Light—uninflected, but not unpleasant. Perhaps Seignur Veeoni had made adjustments.

Given the state of her hull, the approaching ship had seen hard, unprofitable work. The essentials were covered, and the stats screen reported her entirely able, but the “smart work,” as Melia had been wont to call it, had been left too long to fend for itself.

Jen Sin increased the magnification again, and there was the name plate rendered in Old Universal, the same language in which the earliest entries in Korval’s Diaries were written: SPIRAL DANCE, no home port designated.

It was the very ship out of old stories told ’round the clan: the hero left behind, to taunt the Enemy and draw their eye so that the Migration might succeed.

And it had arrived at Tinsori Light in Bechimo’s hold.

Questions—he had many questions.

“You are the light keeper, you know,” he said aloud. “Questions are once again your business.”

Was it not said truly that, Once a Scout, always a Scout? A Scout who had no questions was dead.

He turned to his work screen, saved the list and Trader Arbuthnot’s letter for later, rose, and headed down to the docks.


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Framed