Bechimo
Comm Officer’s Tower
A board pinged.
It was one of several boards, but the only one of its particular kind, and not much used. It was, in fact, Joyita’s personal address and known to two persons—Bechimo and Jeeves.
It was therefore something of a surprise to see that the ping had originated with neither of those two individuals.
Perhaps it would have been prudent not to answer, given their location and the repeated cautions from the pathfinders, who were, as Joyita knew, very good at what they did, and extremely certain about what they knew.
And yet, Joyita was a curious person, and confident in his own abilities.
He answered the ping.
“This is Tocohl Lorlin, operating Tinsori Station,” the voice was crisp, and annoyed. “Am I speaking with B. Joyita?”
“You called on my private line,” he commented. “But I confirm—B. Joyita.”
“Jeeves gave me a good report of you,” Tocohl Lorlin said. “He said you were promising; that you demonstrated no little skill as a researcher and a quiet operator. I am sorry that I will be giving him a report of your recent actions that can only grieve him, but I am even sorrier that you chose to make our first interaction one of stealth and mistrust.”
Joyita checked his board again, confirming the location of the speaker, and her condition.
“I’m sorry to hear that Jeeves will be receiving such a report,” he said. “As far as I am aware, this is our first interaction since you guided us in to dock.”
“That is correct,” Tocohl Lorlin said. “Perhaps I am wrong to dignify your intrusion into the station files as an interaction.”
“I made no such intrusion,” Joyita said, and did not mention that he had been mulling over the best way to do just that, while keeping his word to Captain Theo.
“I can,” Tocohl Lorlin said, “prove that to be a falsehood.”
“If you can, then please do so,” Joyita told her, with feeling. “If I’m not only intruding where I’m not wanted, but being sloppy about it, too, I clearly need recalibration.”
“You dropped your pick,” Tocohl Lorlin told him, and there it was, sitting on the edge of the desk—a dainty thing, and well thought as far as it went. Anonymous, of course, that was well done, but also—incomplete.
“There is a problem,” he told Tocohl Lorlin, and opened a line to Bechimo.
“I agree,” she snapped. “It is an inexcusable intrusion!”
“Yes,” he said patiently, “but there’s something else.”
“What is it?”
“That’s not my tool.”