A Matter of Oaths Page 2

  Joshim slipped back into his seat. “Sorry about that,” he offered Rafe. Rallya heard the change of attitude in his voice and looked a question at him which was ignored.

  “No doubt Amsur had some useful information for you.” Rafe was smiling slightly. “Shall I leave now?”

  “It would be helpful,” Joshim said carefully. “We need to discuss this between ourselves.”

  “Discuss what?” Vidar asked, as baffled as Rallya.

  “You’ll find it far more comfortable if you talk about it behind my back.” Rafe stood up. “And so will I.” He bowed formally to them all. “Webmaster Joshim, there’s no need to inform me of your decision. I can guess it.”

  “What did Amsur tell you about him?” Rallya demanded as Rafe left the rec-room.

  “He’s an Oath-breaker,” Joshim said baldly.

  “Emperors!” Vidar exclaimed. “Is Amsur sure? You’d have to be insane to break your Oath, knowing the penalty.”

  “You’d have to be something special to get to Second afterwards,” Joshim suggested. He drank from the beer in front of him. “Amsur says his record is excellent.”

  “Apart from the obvious blemish,” Rallya reminded him drily. “And whoever promoted him did him no favours. As a junior, he’d have a chance of getting a berth. Not a good berth, but he’d be webbing. As an officer, he’s got no chance. There’ll always be somebody as good as him who isn’t an Oath-breaker.”

  “He’s here under the hundred day rule,” Joshim confirmed. “Came in from Jeram today. If he doesn’t find a berth here he’ll never web again.”

  “I wonder why he did it,” Vidar muttered.

  “That’s something he doesn’t even know himself,” Rallya pointed out. “Not if identity-wipe is everything it’s said to be. He can make the same guesses as us, though.”

  “You think he is an aristo?” Vidar asked.

  “Was,” Rallya corrected. “It’s the only answer that fits. Death before dishonour, and if death isn’t possible, identity-wipe.” She made a noise of disgust. “They shouldn’t be allowed to take the Oath at all.”

  “He abided by the letter of the Oath,” Joshim remarked. “It allows the choice: to switch allegiance between the Emperors or to accept identity-wipe. Strictly, he shouldn’t be called an Oath-breaker.”

  “Logic chopping,” Rallya snapped. “He broke the spirit of the Oath. That’s what matters.” She looked at Joshim suspiciously. “You can’t want to continue courting him?” she asked in disbelief.

  “I’d like to look at his record,” Joshim said mildly. “We’re not so overrun with prospective Firsts that we can afford to ignore him, and our orders will be arriving soon.”

  “I am not courting an Oath-breaker,” Rallya said flatly. She pushed her seat away from the table, knowing better than to argue with Joshim when he was suffering from a surfeit of soft-heartedness; it was impossible to win, and there were easier ways to get what she wanted. “I promised Yessim I’d make a fifth at drag,” she lied. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

  * * *

  The out-side observation gallery was deserted; Rafe had his choice of viewing panels. He halted at random in front of one, hardly seeing the star-field it showed him. Out was currently sun-ward, a view without interest, which was why he had chosen to come here rather than the popular in-side gallery with its view of the gas giant above which the station hung.

  A wise man would have been in his cabin, sleeping, without any of the problems that made it impossible for Rafe to sleep. A wise man would know when to give up, would not be wasting his time looking for a berth that did not exist. A wise man would be planning a future out of the web. A wise man … Rafe laughed at himself. A wise man would not have made the decision that he had made ten years ago.

  Tonight had been a mistake as well. Bhattya was a Name; there had never been any chance that they would consider him once they knew. He should have declined their invitation, rather than risk their anger and the harm it could do him if they broadcast his guilt. He shrugged mentally. If not them, somebody else would do it. Amsur would always be ready with his words of warning: an excellent record, but you ought to know … Rafe had been through it all at Jeram and at Somir.

  He dropped into a seat and put his feet up on the railing between it and the viewing panel. An old cargoship was easing out of dock, pregnant with fuel, pushing a string of pods in front of it. As its steering vanes spread ready for the ponderous wallow out to the jump point, Rafe’s arms twitched in sympathy. He stilled them with an effort. Five days, Webmaster Joshim had said, and that was the average wait for web-time. How much longer would it be for an Oath-breaker?

  Footsteps on the spiral staircase warned him that somebody was coming up to the gallery. He hoped that they were looking for solitude, as he was. He slumped lower in his seat to make it clear he wanted no company.

  The footsteps reached the top and paused, replaced by a soft laugh. “I thought you’d run for the obvious bolt-hole.”

  Commander Rallya. At least his luck was consistent, Rafe thought bitterly. “I was about to leave, ma’am,” he said, getting to his feet.

  “No, you weren’t.” She came round the curve of the gallery. “Sit down.”

  Rafe sat; any instruction from a Commander was an order, unless they were courting you. If she wanted him seated, this was unlikely to be the standard tongue-lashing, starting with his presumption in accepting Bhattya’s invitation and finishing with his unworthiness for any berth on any ship. Either she planned to indulge her curiosity about him, or she expected him to bed with her in the hope of being rewarded with a berth. He grinned cynically; probably she intended to combine the two.

  “What’s amusing you?” she asked.

  “You.” Rafe abandoned caution. Whatever he said or did now would anger her; let it be deliberate. “To save you time and effort, ma’am: I don’t know why I broke my Oath and I choose not to speculate; and I’m a webber, not a whore.”

  To his surprise, she laughed. “I couldn’t be courting you?” she challenged.

  “No, ma’am, you couldn’t. You’re playing with me.”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m not. I will admit to being curious.” She turned her back on him and watched the cargoship pulling away from the station. “Not about why you broke your Oath. That’s obvious. About how you got to Second, and why you’re shipless.” She swung around to face him again. “You’re causing me a slight problem. You can help me solve it.”

  Rafe shrugged. “I can’t solve my own problems, ma’am,” he said frankly. “I doubt I can help with yours.”

  “You won’t help yourself by being impudent,” she said sharply.

  “I won’t help myself by lying down to be walked over.”

  “Have you ever tried it?” she asked with raised eyebrows. “No, you haven’t.”

  She leaned back on the rail, hands on either side of her. Even relaxed, she seemed to have a rod of steel up her spine. The Emperors only knew how old she was: her hair had probably been grey before Rafe was born; and how long she had been in the web. Longer than anybody else alive, that was certain, and with no plans to retire. Long enough to be sure of getting her own way in everything. Rafe took pleasure in the thought that he had nothing to lose by thwarting her. She was waiting for him to speak. Let her wait.

  “If anything gets you a berth, it will be your nerve,” she told him after a long silence. “But not with Bhattya.”

  “You don’t have to convince me of that,” Rafe told her calmly. He grinned suddenly. “Who do you have to convince?”

  “Cocky little scut,” she accused him. “I don’t frighten you one bit, do I? I ought to.”

  “Any damage you can do me, you’ve already decided to do.”

  “What about any good I can do you?”

  Rafe laughed, gestured to the cargoship behind her. “If I’m good, will you get me a berth aboard that?”

  “Would you rather have no berth at all?” she challenged.

/>   Rafe closed his eyes briefly, brought up hard against the facts. “No, ma’am. I’d settle for a berth aboard anything.”

  “I thought as much.” She looked him over, like a trader examining a bad bargain. “What was your last ship?”

  “Exploration. Avannya. Somir Zone.”

  “Avannya.” She repeated it thoughtfully. “Didn’t you hit an EMP-mine last year? Lost your Three and half the web-room?”

  “Yes,” Rafe said unwillingly. “We were lucky to get home at all.”

  “Luck wasn’t enough, from what I heard.” She stared at him speculatively. “Her Second got an honour for bringing her home.”

  “Ludicrous, isn’t it? All I did was save my own neck, and incidentally a few others, but they call me a hero and give me a badge to prove it.”

  “You don’t wear it.”

  “Against all the regulations, no. Why embarrass people or confuse their prejudices? I can hardly be an Oath-breaker and a hero, can I?”

  “What do you want to be?”

  “A webber.” Rafe snorted. “For as long as I’m allowed to be.” He leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling. “Tell me what you want from me, ma’am, and go away. I’m tired, I’m irritable, and the last thing I want is to end up on a charge of insubordination. That would be the perfect end to a perfect career, and I am reaching the end of my patience.” He could feel a tic starting in his cheek. “I can’t imagine what I can do or say to make myself more unacceptable than I already am, but if you tell me, I’ll do it. For the peace and quiet,” he added. “Not for any meaningless promise of a berth on an antiquated cargoship.”

  “How long since you last had some web-time?” she asked abruptly.

  Rafe cursed the tic, embarrassed that she had noticed, angry that she had mentioned it. “What does it matter? Soon enough they’ll be deactivating my web.”

  “How long?” she insisted.

  “Forty days,” he admitted bitterly. “Nobody is going to waste capacity on an Oath-breaker with no future.”

  “They didn’t allow you in the web on the way from Jeram?” She sounded genuinely surprised.

  “They didn’t allow me in the web-room. Didn’t want me corrupting the apprentices.” Rafe closed his eyes. “Go away,” he repeated rudely.

  “Come to Bhattya tomorrow. We’ve capacity to spare,” she offered unexpectedly.

  “No, thank you, ma’am,” he said stiffly.

  “No conditions,” she promised. She went without waiting for a reply, to Rafe’s relief.

  Member Identification

  NE-P9000-42775

  Rafell

  Date and Place of Origin

  Not recorded;

  date estimated 5013

  Date of Oath

  Not recorded;

  date estimated 5032

  History:

  082/5033 Central zone

  Identity wiped to enforce the Member’s Oath

  265/5033 Somir zone

  Web qualification: Junior

  280/5033 Somir zone

  Assignment: Junior

  OE-S83491725-2

  Surveyship Avannya

  292/5037 Somir zone

  Web qualification: Senior (distinction)

  297/5037 Somir zone

  Promotion: Third

  OE-S83491725-2

  Surveyship Avannya

  325/5040 Somir zone

  Promotion: Second

  107/5042 Somir zone

  Promotion: (Brevet) First

  OE-S83491725-2

  Surveyship Avannya

  173/5043

  ACHIL ZONE, OLD EMPIRE

  Rallya cursed automatically as she shifted from her right side to her left. The ache crept up on her every night, but if she asked the station surgeon for something to ease it, there would be the inevitable conversation about retiring. She only ached where she had been injured before they perfected regen; anybody would, eight or eighty, but the surgeons refused to believe it. Faffing fools had none of them been born back before they perfected regen. Probably thought nobody could survive a broken bone without it.

  She squinted at the time. Second hour. Fadir would have started preparing breakfast in the web-room. She rolled off her bed and went to shower, setting the water to warm. As she soaped herself, she wondered whether the Oath-breaker would turn up for the web-time she had offered him. He would be a fool not to, after forty days without and with the prospect of a five day wait for station time. As big a fool as she had been to make the offer. The sensible thing would have been to get him moved to the head of Amsur’s waiting list.

  She would tell Joshim about it over breakfast, in front of witnesses so that he could not immediately reopen the argument. Dressing, she ran through a mental list of ships in dock that had vacancies for a Second. Joshim would know better than she did but she could not ask his advice, and she had to find a berth for Rafe before Chennya came in or they would lose Lina to Vasir through Joshim’s stubbornness. Masma owed her a favour, but not a large enough favour to take Rafe because of it. Maybe somebody would take him in return for a favour in the future?

  Fadir had breakfast ready when she entered the web-room. Half a year more and his apprenticeship would be over. She would miss him, mostly for his habit of rising before her. Bhattya would acquire a new apprentice, a scared sixteen year old to take Rasil’s place as the youngest and most ignorant, and Fadir would take the Oath and be given his web. He would make a useful junior but he would never reach senior rank; only one in ten did and it was obvious early on which ones they would be.

  She was still scowling at that thought when Joshim came in, yawning. Eight years and she had never seen him truly awake until after breakfast, except in a crisis. She passed him a mug of alcad without a word and waited until he had drunk half of it.

  “I offered somebody some web-time last night,” she said casually. “He hasn’t had any for forty days. I didn’t think he should wait any longer.”

  “Anybody I know?”

  “We bought him a drink last night.”

  “Rafe?”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions,” Rallya warned. “He’s entitled to web-time like anybody else, that’s all.”

  Joshim looked unconvinced but could not pursue it in front of Fadir. “What time is he coming?”

  “He didn’t say he was.”

  “I’ll need to have a look at his record,” Joshim said hopefully.

  “I doubt there’s a queue for it.”

  Joshim gave her a sharp look. Rallya made a small gesture of apology. As a last resort, letting it slip in Bhattya’s web-room that Rafe was an Oath-breaker would force Joshim to give up; it would be impossible for Rafe to control juniors who knew. However, Rallya would rather succeed without antagonizing Joshim. He could hardly object if she found the child a berth, but he would be furious if she spread the truth about him around the zone and mentioning it in front of Fadir would do just that.

  She would have to be careful to whom she did mention it, she realized. There were seniors of command rank who would broadcast it as far as any junior. Masma’s Captain, for example. She struck them off her mental list. Emperors, she was getting old! One accursed Second should not be causing her so much trouble.

  “Still want the web for a workout this afternoon?” Joshim checked, putting his empty mug aside and stretching lazily.

  “Yes.” Rallya crossed to the notice board and examined the web schedule displayed there, then altered it to bring forward the time of her tactics workout. Anybody who neglected to check the schedule this morning deserved the standing penalty for missing a workout: three days confined to ship.

  Stepping back, she almost fell over Fadir, craning to see what she had done.

  “Make sure they pay the going rate for the warning,” she told him, enjoying the blush that he could never quite control.

  “Yes, ma’am. I mean, no, ma’am, I don’t charge. I mean, no, ma’am, I won’t warn them.”

  “Fadir, not on
ly are you distinctly unenterprising, you are also a lousy liar. After two years with Bhattya, you should have been cured of at least one of those problems.”

  “Yes, ma’am. May I be excused, ma’am?”

  “Yes, Fadir. I would like nothing better than to see the back of you. And there’ll be three days confined to ship for you for every person you do warn.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He contrived to bow and slink out at the same time.

  “How does he expect you to find out if he disobeys?” Vidar wondered, coming in as Fadir left.

  “She’s telepathic,” Joshim said crisply. “Fadir and Rasil reached that conclusion long ago.”

  Rallya chuckled. “Useful if I were.” She poured herself another alcad. “Vidar, are you waving that flimsy around for effect, or did you intend to show it to us?”

  Vidar handed her the output from the messager. “Orders,” he said happily. “With an ‘expedite’ flash.”

  Rallya read through them quickly. “Back to Aramas,” she said thoughtfully, handing the flimsy on to Joshim. “The Outsider incursions must be getting worse.”

  Joshim nodded agreement. “How long before you have the new mass sensors in, Vidar?” he asked.

  “They’ll be in by this time tomorrow,” Vidar promised. “If I have to steal them from the Stores, they’ll be in.”

  Almost more than anybody else, Vidar was eager to return to an active zone. There, his task of maintaining the ship in peak condition was made easier by the cooperation of a Storekeeper with the same priorities: get the patrolships back on duty with the minimum delay; complete the formalities later, if ever, when things were quieter. Here in Achil, Vidar and Second Officer Jualla had been forced to battle with the Storekeeper for every item of equipment, in spite of the fact that Bhattya had been assigned to the zone specifically for refitting.