“What’s in quadrant 3?”
“That’s a buoy.”
“What buoy?”
“That’s the insystemer code.”
“Quadrant 4?”
“That’s an ore freighter.”
“How do you know?”
“Its prefix is a mining designation. A lot of letters.”
Brilliant. A lot of letters. But the kid was, essentially, right. That was how the peripheral vision made the sort-out. That was what the system of IDs was set up to do.
“Captain, something’s just away from station. I think it’s mahendo’sat.”
Her thoughts left young fools and proceeded immediately down darker tracks. “Can I ask comp?” he asked. “Is this the toggle?”
“Below the screen, left bank? Punch it.”
“Ha’domaren.”
“Of course it is. On our heading?’‘
“I think so, captain. It looks like it.”
“Approximately. Anywhere headed out, Kita vector.”
“I think it is. Yes. I’m pretty sure.” So here sat the two of them, watching a mane up to no gods-be good. Alone, on a mostly darkened bridge. Witness to collusion, intrigue, things that smelled like Personages at war.
But Hallan had no least idea. HaIIan Meras gave her a puzzled, worried look and didn’t exactly ask what was up, but he must have caught something from her expression. His face grew troubled.
“This isn’t a mane I trust,” she said. “This one’s been on our tail since Meetpoint.”
“Why?” he asked faintly. “Do you know?”
“Meras, do you know what we have aboard?”
“No, captain. A stsho person.”
She had to smile. She, gods help her, had to smile. And so few living souls could make her laugh. She gazed at his sober, foolish face, and thought, How in the gods’ sweet name could he hope to make it out here? Could a naive boy learn the control boards from a book, and not learn where the power was that runs the Compact, or what betrayal was?
No. He already knew what betrayal was. Betrayal was a ship that left him stranded in a foreign jail. Betrayal was a ship that had signed him on without his best interests at heart, and used him for the menial work, the work somebody had lied about to get him licensed.
And he must not have made the captain happy. The captain had had to make the decision that had stranded him.
“You shouldn’t look away from the boards when you’re on duty,” she said. “You don’t do that on this ship.”
“Yes, captain. I’m sorry.” He turned around immediately, and watched what she had told him to watch.
And she watched him, thinking … she was not even certain what. Not thinking about him. Thinking about one Ana-kehnandian, and what he possibly had to gain. And about the stsho belowdecks who had said something about betrayals.
A white vase. A vase carved over all its surface with non-representational bas-relief, that made sense to stsho, one was certain. Maybe even ancient writing. There was a lot the stsho kept secret. And one was certain not to get any sense out of Tlisi-tlas-tin.
Meras kept at the scan image for the next hour or so—kept at the post so reasonably competently that she began to believe if anything did turn up he might beat the autoed alarm giving the warning, and do it with at least some sense that certain ships were reason for worry even if they weren’t on a collision course. She let her eyes drift shut, dangerous business, against all regulations, considering what she knew about Hallan Meras and his license. But they were autoed. And she did sleep—dropped right into a deep and resting oblivion, so that it was Tiar’s shadow that waked her, passing between her and the light.
“You all right?” Tiar asked.
“Fine,” she said, blinking at the screens, the five that automated ops delivered to her working station.
“He all right?” Tiar asked.
“Ship hasn’t blown up.” The rest of the crew was arriving on the bridge, for the last stint before jump. Hallan Meras was ceding his place to Chihin, with apologies that weren’t at all in order. Hilfy punched buttons to pass the active boards to Tiar; and, thinking about dismissing Hallan Meras back to the crew lounge, decided otherwise. “Meras can take the observer seat,” she said, before she quite thought that that seat change put him with Chihin, at scan.