Hellspark (7 page)

“—That must be some planet!” Tocohl finished.

Maggy pinged for attention. (Two passengers for Flashfever,) she said.

(Passengers?) said Tocohl in surprise. Only rare circumstances would take people to a world still under survey. Visiting was inadvisable, not illegal, and one stayed only as long as one’s transport stayed.

Transport stayed at the discretion of the survey captain.

(Let’s have a look at them,) Tocohl instructed. (Put them on the screen.) Maggy complied. A man and a woman, Sheveschkemen, appeared on the small screen. Both wore severely cut green jumpsuits, lacking any adornment. The expressions they wore were equally severe.

The woman spoke in GalLing’. “Captain Susumo? We wish to book passage to Flashfever for the duration of your stay.”

That should have been icing on the cake. Tocohl’s expenses were already covered by swift-Kalat.

Two passengers would double her profit—and yet Tocohl did not immediately reply.

Something about the two disturbed her. Then she suddenly had it: here were two Sheveschkemen prepared to leave their planet before the end of festival and neither wore a pin of any sort.

Neither had gone for Veschke’s Fire!

(Not worth the risk,) thought Tocohl and only realized she’d subvocalized when Maggy said, (What risk?)

(The Inheritors of God don’t participate in “pagan” rituals. In fact, I imagine they’d find Veschke particularly hateful. She burned for her refusal to give Sheveschke’s coordinates to exploitive second-wave colonizers,) Tocohl explained briefly. (I won’t risk having Inheritors
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aboard while Alfvaen is with us. She’s been attacked twice. The first time on Jannisett, when she was framed. The second we interrupted. And one could deduce that the attacks were escalating.) She said aloud, “You’ll have to find other transport. I’m taking no passengers this trip.”

“What about the Siveyn?” demanded the woman.

Tocohl glanced coolly around. Only Geremy was within range of the visual pickup.

Beside the stow-webbing, Alfvaen looked at the screen with surprise and started forward.

Nevelen Darragh stopped her with a swift hand on her shoulder.

Geremy, the best of accomplices, shrugged one hand at Tocohl and looked puzzled. Tocohl turned back to the Sheveschkemen. “What about what

Siveyn?” she asked, with an innocence of expression she’d been practicing since the age of two.

Unlike Geremy, the woman was no actor. Realizing her error, she inhaled sharply and turned from the screen in an effort to hide her self-reproach.

Her companion elbowed her aside and began, in a conciliatory fashion, “A friend of ours at traffic control said you’d registered for Flashfever, Captain, and he said something about a Siveyn, so we naturally thought he meant you were taking passengers…”

(Ping!)

(Yes, Maggy.)

(You said nothing to traffic control about Tinling Alfvaen.) (I know. Later, Maggy.)

The Sheveschkemen finished, “… Perhaps we were given the wrong ship, then.” The woman had disappeared from view, and the man glanced off-screen, paused, then said, “May I ask your destination, Captain?”

“My destination is Flashfever,” said Tocohl. There was no point in lying—the woman was probably double-checking now.

“Then it’s only a matter of the fee,” said the Sheveschkemen. “I’m sure we can arrange something that will satisfy you.”

“No passengers,” repeated Tocohl.

The Sheveschkem woman returned, angry. “I see no reason for you to deny us passage,” she said.

“We will ask for a judgment!”

Nevelen Darragh stepped into visual range. “Ask then,” she said, “I am Byworld Judge Nevelen

Darragh, and I will consider the problem. I must, however, point out that it will probably be a waste of your money: in all but the most exceptional circumstances, the captain has the ultimate say in what occurs on her vessel, whether it be fishing ketch or starship.”

Nothing had prepared Tocohl for the professional Darragh. The transformation reminded her of the first time she had seen a Bluesippan dress dagger drawn, the sudden startling realization that the dagger was fully practical. The judge was layered steel, glittering and razor-sharp.

Tocohl was impressed.

The two Sheveschkemen were equally impressed and more than a little unnerved. They made hasty

private consultation. When they turned the sound on once again, the man said, “It is, after all, the captain’s privilege. If she wishes to lose income…” He shrugged and went on,

“Will she agree to carry a letter for us?”

“Of course,” said Tocohl instantly. There she had no choice. Automated message capsules were expensive, so the only reasonably priced interstellar communication was through traders. Mail was always accepted.

And the refusal of mail could cause a judgment that would most certainly detain Tocohl and might well go against her.

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Perhaps that was what the Sheveschkemen had in mind. At any rate, he seemed disappointed at her agreement, but said, “We’ll send it up on shuttle.”

“Make it soon. We leave within the hour.”

The image vanished.

Nevelen Darragh said, “I wouldn’t wait, Tocohl.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” Tocohl said with a smile. “Thanks, though.”

Nevelen clapped Alfvaen on the shoulder, turned to Geremy and said, “Come on, we’re wasting valuable festival time!”

They walked to the hatch, where Geremy wrapped Tocohl in a farewell bear hug. “Say hello to Bayd and Si for me, will you?” Tocohl said into his shoulder. “Tell them I’m sorry I missed them and I’ll see them next year for sure.” She tucked a tape into his equipment pouch and patted it as she stepped back.

“Tape for them. See they get it.”

“I will.”

Nevelen Darragh looked on, then fixed her piercing blue eyes on Tocohl one last time and Tocohl again sensed the steel behind them. “One question, Tocohl.”

“Question, yes. Answer? Ask and we’ll see.”

Darragh laughed but her eyes did not change. “Why did you take farm equipment to Solomon’s

Seal?”

At that, Tocohl laughed. “Because that was what they needed.”

“That’s the answer I expected. It’s been a pleasure meeting you.” She gave a Hellspark two-finger salute and hustled Geremy through the port.

The inner hatch closed, and Tocohl led Tinling Alfvaen forward to ship’s control.

HE SHIP’S CONTROL was a spacious room bright with telltales and—because it also served as captain’s quarters—tapestries, a hammock, a jumble of paintings, and Tocohl’s small but treasured collection of hardbooks.

(Hop to, Maggy,) said Tocohl, (let’s program that jump—) (I have a message from Geremy.)

Settling herself at the control console, Tocohl said, (Tell me.) Maggy complied in Geremy’s own voice: (Tocohl, I’m not the one who told Darragh about

Solomon’s Seal. I swear it.)

(Interesting,) Tocohl commented.

When she said nothing more, Maggy said, (Geremy said good-bye to me, too.) (Shouldn’t he have?)

(The judge didn’t.)

(The judge was never introduced to you. I’m sorry, Maggy, I must be getting forgetful in my old age.)

(You are only 103. If you are forgetful, it has nothing to do with old age.) (That was just an expression, Maggy.)

Alfvaen took the seat Tocohl indicated, then glanced at Tocohl curiously and said, “I have no wish to intrude, nor to violate a Hellspark taboo, but you seem to be listening to something.

Judge Darragh and

Geremy often gave the same impression.”

(This time I won’t forget, and you can practice your Siveyn, Maggy.) Tocohl tapped the spot just
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before her ear and said aloud, “No mystery and no taboo: I have an implanted transceiver.” She made the formal Siveyn gesture and said, “Alfvaen, may I introduce Lord Lynn Margaret—

lord is a title, something like swift-

, but its use is not obligatory in this case. Maggy, Tinling Alfvaen.”

Maggy, as prim in Siveyn as she was in Hellspark, said, “I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Tinling Alfvaen.”

Her brow furrowed, Alfvaen half rose to survey the room. Puzzled, she said, “And I yours, Maggy—but where are you?”

Maggy chuckled. “All around you,” she said.

Tocohl sat down to the controls. Her fingers danced over the keyboard, then paused as she said,

“I

like that chuckle—where did you get that?”

“It’s yours; I changed the pitch to match my voice range. Did I use it correctly?”

“Perfectly,” said Tocohl. Her fingers danced a second time. “What made you decide to use it?”

“You smiled,” said Maggy, once again.

Alfvaen’s features went from total bewilderment to sudden comprehension. “You’re the ship’s computer?—But you sound human!”

“I’m not,” said Maggy, “I’m only a top-class extrapolative computer with a larger memory bank than most.”

“You needn’t say only

,” Tocohl commented, checking a bank of indicators. “It doesn’t seem applicable to you.”

“All right,” said Maggy. “I’m a top-class extrapolative computer with a larger memory bank than most.”

“That’s better.” Tocohl glanced over her shoulder to address Alfvaen: “If you find talking to a disembodied voice bothers you, Maggy can always activate a small mobile.”

Alfvaen thought for a moment. “That’s not necessary; I’ll get used to it.”

“Will you please correct me?” Maggy asked.

Tocohl gave two final taps to the keyboard, straightened, and turned to face Alfvaen. “Her Siveyn consists of a basic grammar and an enormous vocabulary to plug into it. She’s had no practical experience in conversation and she wants you to correct her usage. She learns like a kid does, except that she only needs to be told once. Anything you tell her she stores for later use; her entire program undergoes constant revision.

“—I think it helps to tell her when she does something right, too,” Tocohl grinned, “like that chuckle.”

Alfvaen looked around her again. “I’ll be glad to help, Maggy.”

Tocohl said, “Treat her as if she were a friend looking over your shoulder. Believe me, unless you tell her not to, she always looking over your shoulder!”

is

“I will not violate Siveyn taboos,” Maggy said. There was a moment’s pause—obviously supplied for esthetic reasons—then she added, “Alfvaen, I have a large selection of Siveyn literature. I can read or display it to you anywhere in the ship. All you need do is ask.”

“How will I know if I’m interrupting your duties?”

“That’s no problem. I can do several things at once.” As if to demonstrate the truth of that, Maggy pinged and announced, “Jump programmed, Tocohl. Ready when you are.”

“Ready,” said Alfvaen. Tocohl turned back to her console and said, “Then let’s go, Maggy.”

Ordinarily, Tocohl would have done the programming herself, using Maggy only as a double-check, but that was merely a matter of keeping her hand in. Since they were in something of a hurry, she let

Maggy do it and set them on their way. Then she went through the programming herself for the practice.

Interstellar flight was mostly a matter of long days of waiting, punctuated by an occasional flurry
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of programming the next hop. Flashfever, by Tocohl’s estimate, was a hop, three steps, a hop and a skip away. First hop accomplished, Tocohl worked out the first of the three steps, then, satisfied to find that

Maggy had opted for the same route she would have, she swung her chair.

Alfvaen, she saw, had temporarily chosen to address Maggy as if she were hidden in the blank

screen on the far wall. Not a bad choice, that, since it contained one of the sensor banks that Maggy used to watch the control room.

She was saying, “I’m sure I wasn’t drunk enough that my ears were playing tricks on me. It sounded as if Tocohl said, first, ‘Hell Spark,’ and then, ‘Hell’s Park,’ when she talked about her people.”

“She did,” said Maggy.

“But which is it?”

“That’s a state secret,” said Tocohl.

“That’s a joke, Alfvaen,” Maggy said, her prim tone making it sound much like a child’s confidence, “Tocohl told me.”

Tocohl grinned. “So it is, but you’re entitled to use the joke too, Maggy.”

“All right, but Alfvaen wants to know. She wants to get it right.”

“I accept your reasoning,” Tocohl said. “Alfvaen, the correct pronunciation is to alternate the two pronunciations—to use first one, then the other, even in the same sentence.”

“How odd. Why?”

“For the same reason anybody does anything in any language: because.”

“That’s not enough reason,” Maggy said, sounding primly offended.

“I know, Maggy; but that’s all the reason there is in most cases. In the case of Hellspark, well, since that was originally an artificially created language, there’s a bit more reason. The alternation I think was intended to remind you of the need to be flexible in language. If so, it’s failed in a way. I can no more use two Hell’s-parks followed by a Hell-spark than some people can learn to alternate them every time. So I

don’t think it achieves the desired result, but it’s retained as a joke all by itself—even without the

‘state secret’ line.”

Alfvaen added thoughtfully, “Every Siveyn I ever met pronounces it hell-spark. I suppose that’s because

, too.”

“Hell-spark means something in Siveyn, while hell’s-park is only nonsense syllables. One tries to make any new word fit the parameters one is accustomed to. When I speak Siveyn, I pronounce it hell-spark, too.”

“You didn’t that time,” said Maggy.

Tocohl considered this. “Had I been speaking Hellspark to you, Maggy, while I was talking to

Alfvaen?”

“Yes.”

“That would account for it, then. A holdover from language to language. Tell me if you catch me doing that again. It’s bad practice.” This last was directed at Alfvaen as well.