Tinsori Light
Station Day 8
Third Shift
16.00 Hours
A chime sounded, very softly, as they were in the last stages of repairing a faulty local stabilizer.
Lorith immediately stepped away from the repair, laid her tools neatly in the cart, and paused in the act of going to the door. She looked at him over her shoulder.
“Come, Jen Sin,” she said.
He, on his knees by the stabilizer, frowned up at her.
“We’re almost done here. Surely—”
“Surely,” she interrupted sharply, “it is time to put your tools down, and come away.”
“Why?” he asked, not rising, though he did sit back on his heels.
“The Light no longer requires us. It is time to lie down.”
“Lie down? But—”
He shivered then, recalling the unit from which he had first arisen on Tinsori Light.
“It is time, little man.” Tinsori Light’s voice was flat and unlovely.
Jen Sin took a deep breath, and addressed himself directly to that intelligence.
“I understand, I think, that you will be removing yourself to that other space which you sometimes inhabit. The custom is that the keeper sleeps during that transition. I only wonder if you have thought how—useful it would be to you, if we instead remained awake and active. This repair, for an instance—”
“Jen Sin!” Panic in Lorith’s voice, and under her words, he heard a single sharp click.
He threw himself to the side and rolled beneath the tool cabinet, but he had misunderstood the Light’s target. Even as he achieved cover, the beam leapt out—striking Lorith.
He screamed, and rolled out, coming to his feet. He scarcely knew his own intention, which was just as well.
He heard a sharp click—and bolted for the door.
The beam caught him before he could scream again.
It had become clear that station systems were deteriorating. Whole sections were dark. He needed to get into the core, run diagnostics, effect repairs. He and Lorith had discussed this. The Light was tender of its systems—and the core most of all—but she felt that an open attempt at assessment and repair was likely to be allowed.
He was therefore walking openly down the access corridor toward the core. Lights came on as he approached, pacing him. Ahead, he could see the door, the access panel glowing blue.
He sighed out a breath that he hadn’t known he was holding, and kept on walking, steady and unthreatening, hands loose at his sides.
Six steps short of the door, he heard a single sharp click.
Jen Sin yos’Phelium snapped awake, chest heaving, face wet with sweat and tears.
He was, he noted, lying alone in a bunk, in a stateroom. The night dims were on. He heard a fan increase its speed slightly, in an effort to cool him.
“Gods.”
He threw the blankets aside and swung out of the bunk. The floor was warm under his bare feet, which meant he was in the protected part of the station, with its own shielded systems, that he had carved out of the Light’s consciousness, meter by painful meter over—well. He’d lost count of his deaths and resurrections. According to his kind cousin Tocohl, he had proposed himself as Lorith’s backup and a guard for the universe against Tinsori Light some two hundred Standards ago.
A man could die many times in two hundred Standards.
He closed his eyes and reviewed the focusing exercise he had been taught as a hopeful Scoutling. His breath smoothed and his heartbeat steadied as the visualized prism did its work.
“Tinsori Light is dead,” he said, speaking aloud in order to hear the sound of a human voice. “The station is now held by Clan Korval.” There were allies on the station now, not the least the new Tinsori Light, Tocohl Lorlin.
Truth said, the New Light faced challenges. Happily, their allies on-station were well-versed in overcoming challenges.
“You are first light keeper—an administrator, forsooth!” Jen Sin continued. “Lorith is your second. You have not died, by bolt or by mischance since the new clock started, and some days before that.”
The sound of his own voice soothed him. Still, there would be no going back to sleep for him this rest-shift.
He glanced at the clock, surprised to find that he had slept better than half the shift before screaming himself awake. Perhaps he was becoming accustomed to improved conditions, after all.
In the meantime, he was an administrator and as such, he could depend upon it, that there would be matters awaiting him in his office.
He rose and crossed the room toward the cleaning facilities, frowning at the image of the lean man given back by the mirror. Two hundred Standards, he thought, and there were no more lines in his face than ever there had been. His hair was still dark, though—
Raising a hand, he ran his fingers through the crystal beads woven into his short hair. They were cool, as they always were, and curiously soothing.
He ought, he thought, to have them off.
But then he forgot about them, and stepped into the cleansing spray.
He dressed in the starry robe, made sure of the ring on his finger—and paused, thinking perhaps he ought to have it off, gaudy and improbable ornament that it was.
But, no. Why would he leave off his Jump-pilot’s cluster? He had earned it, many times over, and it had been a potent reminder of who he was, during his long residence on Tinsori Light.
He smoothed his hands down the robe, and turned toward the door.
There were messages in-queue, most notably a pinbeam from one Shan yos’Galan, who represented himself as the master trader attached to Clan Korval’s tradeship Dutiful Passage. There was a green check mark next to the line, which meant the sender’s address had been verified by Tocohl.
Jen Sin consulted the file provided by the delm, located Shan yos’Galan’s place and condition, and sighed. The clan had grown thin, indeed, and triple duty the norm for everyone, with this Shan a case in point—master trader, master pilot, and thodelm, when any one would have been burden enough. Perhaps things were done differently on the clan’s new seat of Surebleak, the present delm having removed them from the homeworld.
In Jen Sin’s opinion, that had been well done, though long overdue.
Still, it had been a shock the first time he had opened the file, to confront that scant list of names. When he had chosen Tinsori Light over duty to the clan, he had left behind a dozen cousins of the Line, and yos’Galan had matched, if not surpassed them.
Well. Best to see what the clan’s master trader had for him.
He extended a hand toward the keypad, and pulled it back as the door to his office buzzed.
“Who?” he asked, and the answer came back plain enough, “Seignur Veeoni, Light Keeper. I require your attention.” There was a small pause before she added, “if you have time for me.”
Seignur Veeoni was the sister of no less a rogue than the Uncle. In Jen Sin’s day, Korval had not done business with the Uncle. But that, like many other things, had changed.
“Please enter,” he said, blanking the screen as he stood up to greet his guest.
Seignur Veeoni was tall and thin. Her face was bony, the dark eyes seeming more so against the paleness of her skin. Her hair was shorter than even his spacer’s crop, and an indeterminate shade of brown. She was abrupt in her speech and awkward in her manner.
Altogether unprepossessing, Seignur Veeoni.
She was also a genius of no negligible magnitude, and the New Light owed her, no less than Mentor Jones, for the continuing improvement of conditions, and the preservation of her sanity.
“Researcher Veeoni,” Jen Sin said, using her preferred form of address. “May I offer refreshment?”
She jerked her hand to one side, as if casting away this gently civilized question, and brushed past him to sit in the chair at his desk-side.
“My business should take less time than required to warm the yeast,” she said, which was in equal parts alarming and promising.
Jen Sin took his own chair.
“You intrigue me. Please, what is your business?”
She paused, brows pulling together, and said abruptly, “Of course, Korval will keep this station.”
Jen Sin felt his own brows lift.
“The delm has not yet allowed me to know their intentions for Tinsori Light,” he said, which was true so far as it went. There was, after all, the requested inventory. Jen Sin rather thought he might be forgiven for supposing in the privacy of his own skull that, yes, the delm did mean to hold Tinsori Light.
Seignur Veeoni sighed sharply.
“Keeper yos’Phelium, unless Korval has changed beyond recognition, it is certain that your delm desires nothing more than to keep this station for the clan. Indeed, they must keep it, given the investments made to date.
“No one less than a daughter of the clan administers Tinsori Light. A yos’Phelium of the Line is first light keeper; Korval has established a military presence. You would say that this is but one individual thick at every point, and that is observably so. Korval is thin, but Korval is here. Tinsori Light has come into their orbit. In your day, did Korval surrender such prizes?”
You are well paid for coming coy, Jen Sin told himself wryly, and inclined his head in acknowledgment of this pouring forth of fact.
“Occasionally Korval opened her hand and allowed a piece to slide free,” he said. “Just before she picked up another piece of greater value.”
Seignur Veeoni brought her chin down sharply, possibly marking his point.
“Korval will want to keep this station,” she said again. “That is a certainty. The station requires upgrades. That is a fact. Now that we have reached a level of system stability, and have the leisure to contemplate the future, I wish to bring forward a proposal I have had in mind since my arrival.
“I propose to lease the damaged section at very attractive terms, and to repair it at my own expense. Korval’s funds are not limitless, and this project is unanticipated. An infusion of cash will be needed. I offer that.
“The station will need knowledgeable contractors, which I can also offer, at reasonable rates, or, indeed, at no cost at all, should Korval wish to enter into a partnership with Crystal Energy Systems.”
She raised a hand.
“Those are not matters for you or for me; they must be discussed and refined at a level to which neither of us aspires. But we can negotiate the business of the lease—prospective tenant and light keeper. Melant’i is clear.”
Jen Sin considered her.
“You are persuasive,” he said, truthfully. “It would be presumptuous of me to decide for the delm. However, even if the decision is made to divest the clan of an unanticipated line of ongoing expense, a whole station is, as you say, more attractive to possible buyers than one which is damaged.”
He smiled, and inclined slightly in a seated bow which made them if not equal, then coconspirators.
“Let us show initiative, and see what happens.” He raised his voice somewhat, though it was not necessary. “Cousin Tocohl?”
“I am here, Jen Sin,” the calming voice seemed to come from the grid in the center of the ceiling.
“I wonder, does the delm value initiative?”
His first contact with the clan had of course been the delm, but he had soon been handed off to the current dea’Gauss, one Bechi, and it was with her that he corresponded most frequently, with the occasional communication from his cousin Nova.
“The delm values success,” Tocohl said, “though not above everything.”
“A refreshing change. Is this sort of paperwork likely also to fall upon Ms. dea’Gauss?”
“It is possible that we will eventually be assigned a qe’andra of our own. For the moment, any proposals or contracts ought certainly go to her.”
“A qe’andra of our own,” Jen Sin repeated, softly. “One scarcely knows how to think of it.”
Seignur Veeoni was watching him carefully, and he thought he saw the least softening at the corner of her straight mouth. He inclined his head.
“As the delm values success, and you make a compelling case, I will ask you to provide me with a document, outlining your reasoning and your first offer. Since I have been absent for so many years, the amounts will mean nothing to me, but the reasoning will. I invite you to be persuasive. I will of course review the document, and I may have questions for you. After I am satisfied, I will forward your document to—” He paused and glanced upward.
“Cousin? Will the document best go to the delm, to Cousin Nova, or to the dea’Gauss? I do not wish to give offense, or to be seen as anything less than perfectly open.”
“Send to all,” Tocohl said, sensibly. “Each will then have the information, and may discuss it at their leisure.”
“That is perfectly evenhanded, I thank you,” Jen Sin said, and met Seignur Veeoni’s eyes. “That is how we will proceed, ma’am, unless you find a flaw?”
“Not one,” she assured him. “I will strive to make it plain that I am seeking assurance of Korval’s interest before I bring the matter to those who are able to make binding decisions, and commit money and labor.”
“Excellent. We are in accord. I look forward to seeing your document.”
He stood, and bowed. Seignur Veeoni likewise stood and bowed. She stepped toward the door—and turned back.
“I hope I will not give offense when I say that I see you are wearing memory beads.” She lifted a hand to her own short-cropped hair. “I myself wear something similar. Given the length of time you have been on Tinsori Light, it is possible that your beads may require care. They do degrade, over time. I offer to examine, tune or clean them as may be required.”
She paused.
“If inspection proves the beads to have degraded to the point where they may be dangerous to you, I may be able to transfer the data to new medium.”
He raised his hand and ran the beads through his fingers, feeling them cool and soothing.
“These came from the Light—the former Light, you understand,” he said slowly, unwilling to speak of this aloud, though he no longer need fear being vaporized for his temerity.
“Ah,” Seignur Veeoni said softly. “What is their purpose?”
Truly, he did not wish to speak of this. He therefore took a hard breath and continued.
“The beads remember…me. The Light was in the habit of casual murder. It did not stint itself, but it also could not afford to lose the light keepers and their knowledge entirely. When we were recommissioned, the beads allowed us to return as…ourselves.”
Seignur Veeoni was standing rigid, her eyes on his face. Abruptly, awkwardly, she bowed.
“Again, I offer to diagnose and adjust them as needed. This is work in which I am proficient.”
What she said was only good sense. He ought, indeed, to have the beads off and examined by an—
Pain stabbed through his head. He tightened his fingers on the beads, and yanked.
Hair tore, and his eyes teared, but the beads were bunched in his fist. He thrust them at her. She received them calmly, and slipped them away into a pocket.
“With your permission, I will also inspect the machine that…recommissioned the light keepers.”
“Yes,” he said, breathless. The pain in his head had subsided, leaving him faintly surprised that he had survived. “I will show you, or Lorith will, but—later, I beg.”
Seignur Veeoni bowed.
“I understand,” she said, and left him.
First, allow me a moment to welcome a cousin long thought lost to us. I hope that you will send to me if there is any service, large or small, that I might see done on your behalf.
Well, that was a gracious beginning, Jen Sin thought. He glanced away from the screen, his eyes prickling. It was entirely absurd, yet he had experienced a similar reaction to the letter he had received from his cousin Val Con, professing himself gladdened by the news of Jen Sin’s survival, and daring to hope that they might soon embrace, cheek to cheek, which was surely not likely, but warming nonetheless.
He returned his attention to Shan yos’Galan’s letter.
You will by now have learned how we are fixed and how few we encompass. However, you must not fear that we will leave you any longer without the support of kin.
I believe that you will shortly be joined by our cousin Theo, her ship, and crew. Tinsori Light’s location suggests that it may well become a waystop for such ships as have kept themselves to the edges and away from the eyes of Scouts and bounty hunters. This becomes more likely, given Scout Commander yos’Phelium’s field judgment regarding the status of Free Logics and other Independent Intelligences. Theo and her ship are uniquely placed to interface with this population. Do not hesitate to solicit their assistance in any needful task. I should say—please do put them to work.
Somewhat behind Theo there will arrive my foster-son, Gordon Arbuthnot, an experienced and innovative trader. Gordy will begin the task of setting up a trade office, and will also be at your service in terms of needful work.
I have solicited from the Carresens-Denobli Family the kindness of their ship Disian for our cousin Tocohl. I have written more particularly to Tocohl regarding this, and merely wished to alert you to the possibility of yet another visitor—or, indeed visitors, as I am told that Disian rejoices in many friends. Indeed, it may be that she, or one of her friends, will come to you even ahead of Theo.
You will have noticed that I have not said when I will be coming to you. At the moment I am occupied with other necessary business. As soon as that has been retired, be assured that I will do myself the pleasure of coming to Tinsori Light and embracing you.
In the meanwhile, I urge you to be of good heart. You are no longer alone.
Shan
—sent via pinbeam, Dutiful Passage
Having read this letter twice, Jen Sin sat back in his chair.
The news of converging kin and associates of various orders was—slightly bewildering. For an instance, what could it mean that Theo and her ship were uniquely placed with regard to Independent Logics? Could it be that Theo was another such as Tocohl? And if that were the case—
“Jen Sin?” Tocohl murmured from the ceiling grid. “Forgive me, but you seem distressed.”
Distressed. Almost, he laughed.
Instead, he leaned further back in the chair and regarded that particular bit of the ceiling.
“Kin is promised,” he said, which was perhaps a non sequitur.
“Theo and Gordy are coming. I’ve had a letter.”
“Indeed, indeed. And while one is naturally…comforted by the imminent arrival of kin—”
He stopped, closing his lips before the next clause could escape.
“You do not know them,” Tocohl said, which was—almost—what he had not said. “I think I understand. I am in a similar case, though, like you, I have files. I have not met Shan or Theo or Gordy, nor they, me. They seem to me as children, though surely they are not. I feel as if I am not worthy of them—or that I might somehow do harm, because I have seen harm.”
She paused before continuing more softly.
“I wonder if these emotions are—correct.”
Jen Sin drew a careful breath.
“I wonder the same, Cousin,” he said.
Another pause, so long that he thought she had withdrawn, then—
“I will ask the mentor,” she said decisively. “Would you like to hear what he answers?”
The mentor—that being one Tolly Jones—was no less a rogue than the rest of them. A resourceful man, and doubtless full of secrets, as he must be, given his profession. He was trained in the strange art of socializing Independent Logics, never minding that until very, very recently, being an Independent Logic was a violation of dozens of laws, and a death sentence, if captured.
“If you ask on your own behalf, and wish to share what advice you receive,” Jen Sin said slowly, “I will be pleased to listen.”
A trill emerged from the speaker—quite delightful, even before he realized that his cousin Tocohl was laughing.
“You are very careful, Cousin Jen Sin!” she said.
He allowed himself the smile, rueful though it was.
“A strange start, given my Line,” he admitted, and she laughed again.
“I will ask the mentor on my behalf,” she said, “and perhaps I will share his advice.”
“Fair enough.”
“And now, I will leave you to your work,” she continued. “There’s a letter in-queue from Theo.”
Indeed, there had been a letter in-queue from Theo, who was neither as gentle nor as voluble as their cousin Shan. She was, in fact, quite refreshingly terse, merely desiring him to know that Bechimo was en route and that ship and crew stood ready and able to assist in any way he directed.
She did list out the ship’s company, that being herself—Theo Waitley—as pilot and captain; Clarence O’Berin, pilot and executive officer; Kara ven’Arith, engineer and pilot; Win Ton yo’Vala, pilot and general crew; Chernak Strongline, pilot and security, Stost Strongline, pilot and security; B. Joyita, comm officer and pilot.
“Is everyone on this vessel a pilot?” Jen Sin muttered, tapping the screen—and there was his answer. It would seem that neither Norbear Ambassador Hevelin, nor ship’s cat Grakow, nor ship’s cat Paizel were in the least degree pilots.
One did wonder somewhat after Hevelin, who could equally be an ambassador who was also a norbear, or something altogether other, sent as a representative to norbears. In either case, one questioned the utility of such a personage, norbears being a lately noticed oddity—furry empaths that held together in what the Scout naturalists theorized to be kin-groups.
Of course, his information was two hundred Standards out of date. For all he knew, norbears had been found to govern a galaxy-spanning civilization. Doubtless, he would soon be enlightened.
As for the cats—well, perhaps Bechimo had a mouse infestation.
He scrolled back up through the list of names. Pilot credentials aside, it was a diverse crew sitting under Captain Waitley. Sorting by name gave him a probable two Liadens, and four Terrans, with the norbear ambassador yet to be resolved.
The delm’s information stated that Theo Waitley was the issue of a yos’Phelium pilot and a Terran scholar, a native of the planet Delgado. Theo counted herself Terran, and was kin, not clan, the delm having withheld their kiss. Or possibly it had been rejected, which would mark Cousin Theo as a woman of good sense.
The file also stated that Theo had been expected to follow her mother into a placid life of the mind.
Clearly, yos’Phelium genes had triumphed over expectation, for here was Theo, at a startlingly young age, holding both her Jump-ticket, and the captaincy of a starship, the official transport, lest it be forgot, of the norbear ambassador.
The door pinged, and opened to admit Lorith, tall and comely in her starry robe, the beads nestled shyly among her pale curls.
“Well met,” he greeted her. “How fares the station?”
She settled on the chair recently occupied by Seignur Veeoni, frowning slightly as she folded her hands together on her knee.
“Mentor Jones and Seignur Veeoni continue to work with the rack-and-tiles. Lady Tocohl is cleaning, upgrading, and compiling systems data. The mentor would tell me that it is slow work by its nature. Lady Tocohl assures me that she is in control of all systems, and that there is no possibility of a failure.”
He turned his chair so that he faced her fully.
“Do Lady Tocohl’s assurances not comfort you?”
Lorith’s lips pressed tight as she met his eyes.
“I have been on Tinsori Light longer than you have, Jen Sin.”
That was certainly so, and he had only recently been wailing over his wounds. Lorith had been part of a team of holy warriors given the task to hold the Light from mischief, in the Old Universe. She alone remained, and if she had not completely held the Light from mischief, she had, so he believed, softened some of its intended outcomes.
“I believe that we now deal with a different order,” he said, which was true. Certainly Korval, with all its faults and necessities, was not the Great Enemy, nor aspired to be.
“What keeps you at the desk?” Lorith asked, and he waved a hand toward the screen.
“Letters—one from the master trader my cousin, who promises that he has sent another cousin to aid us in the task set by the delm. That cousin has herself written, admitting that she is on her way, and places herself and her crew at our disposal.”
Lorith’s frown was more pronounced.
“More people?”
“It must happen, you know. The intention is to open the station to trade. On that topic, you will wish to know that yet another cousin is on his way to us—a certified trader, who will be setting up a proper hub and office.”
The frown was a crease between pale brows.
“Jen Sin, how many cousins do you have?” she asked plaintively.
He laughed.
“Not so many as I had used to, believe it or don’t! Only these are remarkably busy, so that they seem dozens.”
“Will they all be coming here?”
“I doubt it, though the master trader promises a visit, once his current business is done.” He paused, and moved his hand again. “We are also promised ships—Free Ships, including one Disian, who is said to have many friends. She has been asked to show kindness to Lady Tocohl, who must be lonely for her own kind.”
“These ships—how will we know which have been touched by the Enemy?”
“The Enemy is long defeated,” Jen Sin said gently.
Lorith gave him a bleak stare, and leaned forward abruptly.
“You’ve taken off the beads!” she said, her voice sharp.
“I have, yes. Seignur Veeoni has undertaken to calibrate them for me.”
“But—if, something should happen, and you are not wearing the beads, you will—you will not—”
He leaned forward and took her hands in his.
“We have left that behind us,” he said, soft in the face of her distress. “The old Tinsori Light has died. The new Tinsori Light is not touched by the Enemy.”
Silence. He pressed her hands.
“Lorith?”
She blinked, and took a breath.
“Yes, of course. Only, you must be very careful, Jen Sin, until—until you have your beads back.”
“Yes,” he promised. “I will be careful.”