A Matter of Oaths (24 page)

“
Anash
sounds more
like Rallya’s game,” Vidar said provocatively.

Rafe shook his head. “
Kerisduan
maybe. That’s quick and nasty, won by going for the jugular. But it’s too late
for you to learn to play
anash
well,
ma’am. You have to learn when it’s the most important thing there is. And when
you’ve got a lot of time to spare.”

Rallya snorted; everybody with a new strategy game made the
same claims, and every game she had ever learned could be reduced to a new set
of rules and an old set of tactics. “How long did it take you to learn?” she
asked.

“Two years, and I had nothing else to do,” Rafe said with an
odd smile. “A single game can last a lifetime, if it’s played properly. The aim
is to postpone the end, or to force your opponent to make the last move.
Anash
players are judged by the number
of their unfinished games, and the length of time they’ve been running. I’ve
only got two in progress. One on Hurth, from thirty-five years ago, and another…”

‘…with your lover,” Rallya guessed. “It’s been at least ten
years since you made your last move in that one. Think he’s still waiting for
you?”

“Maybe.” Rafe yawned. “I’ll write you up a copy of the rules
after I’ve checked that jump. I’ve got to have something to do, if I’m not
allowed in the web.”

…In the light of the unsatisfactory interview with Carher’s
agent (transcript attached), I intend to question Carher herself. She is
currently attending a Guild Council meeting at Guild Central. With your
permission, I will leave for Central immediately…

Joshim sensed Rafe disengage cleanly from the shuttle’s
web, noting with personal and professional pleasure that there was little sign
in his web control of the injuries he had suffered. He still lacked stamina,
and his range and extension had not yet returned to normal, but in another ten
days he would be ready to web a full shift. Or to con the shuttle, instead of
riding the journey out on filtered standby, a decision he had protested as
strongly as Joshim’s decision to keep him out of the web during the jump from
Aramas.

“Ready?” Rafe asked, already waiting by the hatch as Joshim
removed his web-contacts.

“Half a minute.” Joshim fixed his infocorder to his belt,
checked that he had the wad of credits that they would need to pass the dock
supervisor. “Ready,” he confirmed.

The section of dock beyond the hatch was almost deserted,
only occupied by a pair of webbers passing supplies up through the hatch of the
neighbouring shuttle. They stiffened when they saw Joshim’s Webmaster’s badge,
then relaxed as Rafe gave them a high-sign. One of them signalled cheerfully
back, then jerked her head at the dock exit and waggled a warning hand.

“How much?” Rafe asked softly.

“Thirty creds,” she answered.

“Robbers. Who is it?”

“Shikur, still trying to make his fortune early,” the woman
said sourly. “Claims the price is higher today because there’s some aristo from
the Old Emperor’s Palace on station and Security is out in force. Not that you’d
notice it, anywhere except in Shikur’s greedy imagination.” She gave Joshim an
inquisitive look. “Never knew Webmasters had to come in through the back door
like the rest of us.”

“We do if we want a quiet sight of the vacancy lists before
Personnel hear we’re looking,” Joshim said easily. “Webmaster and Commander. Old
Empire. Heard of anything?”

“Sorry. I’m New Empire. Luck to you though.”

“You’ve done this before,” Joshim accused Rafe as they
walked on around the curve of the dock.

“Once or twice,” Rafe admitted. “I was assigned to the Zone
for half a year when I was a junior.” He grinned. “Twenty-eight years ago, but
the routine is the same. The only thing that’s changed is the price. And I’ve
never met Shikur.” He chewed his lip briefly. “Hope our friend was right about
Security.”

Joshim nodded silent agreement. The jump from Aramas to a
point in the Disputed Zone just outside Central’s border had gone without
problems, thanks to the skill of
Bhattya
’s
web-room, but the longer the ship waited out there, the higher the chances that
their presence would be noticed and questioned. Any increase in Security
activity on the station would make it harder for Rafe and Joshim to move around
quickly and, if they were asked for an account of themselves, their story would
only withstand cursory questioning.

The greatest risk was that Rafe would be recognized under
either of his names. There was not much that could be done to disguise his
diminutive stature or colouring, but they had to take the chance, since nobody
else could gain access to Yuellin’s records.

“I hear we’ve a VIP visitor,” Rafe remarked as Shikur made
out the docking certificate that they had bought for thirty credits.

“Uh-huh. Came in on the Old Emperor’s Number One yacht,”
Shikur told them. “To deliver a message for the Council, or something.” He
added an identity-code to the certificate which would certainly not tally with
his own. “How long do you want this for?”

“Half a day,” Rafe suggested. “Although, if we managed to
buy some web-time while we’re here..?” His wink made it clear he was talking
about web-time for two, without monitoring.

Shikur sniggered. “Call Jimsan, in Station Control. He might
be able to arrange something.”

“Mention your name?”

“Uh-huh.”

“That’s your reputation ruined,” Rafe said playfully as they
walked up the radial outside the dock. “Did you know you blushed when Shikur
gave you that certificate?”

Joshim laughed and tucked his hand comfortably in the back
of Rafe’s belt. “I plead extreme provocation.” The clowning helped to relieve
his nerves, and Security were likely to be less suspicious of a couple
obviously enjoying themselves than they were of two solemn faces. He hoped.

The radial disgorged them onto a hub walkway and they looked
around for signs directing them to the library. Joshim had not been here
before, and Central was built on a larger scale and to an older pattern than
the stations near the borders of the Old Empire that he was used to. It took
him a moment to adjust to the layout.

“Thirty degrees left.” Rafe spotted the sign first and led
the way around the curved walkway. It was midmorning, station time, and the
walkways were busy with a mixture of station crew, webbers from the ships and
shuttles in the docks, and occasional dirtsiders come to negotiate for one of
the Guild’s services. And, no doubt, to make a few private arrangements with
their counterparts from the opposing Empire, if the opportunity arose; Central
being the only place in the Twin Empires where such peaceful contacts were
possible.

The library was two-thirds of the way along a radial, and
three levels up. Joshim fixed in his mind its position relative to the dock
where they had left the shuttle. Out to the ring, thirty degrees right and
down: that was the fastest route back.

Inside the library, an uninterested clerk gestured them
towards the rows of soundproof privacy booths. Rafe chose the nearest one to
the entrance that was not already in use, locked the door behind them and then
visibly relaxed.

“I feel like I’ve got my name — both of them — printed on my
forehead out there,” he complained softly. “How in hell do you look so calm?”

“Webmaster’s secret,” Joshim said. “We practice in front of
mirrors.” He spun the booth’s seat around. “Sit.”

Rafe sat, activated the console. “Before we go after my
record, I want to check something else,” he explained as he requested the
station news.

“The Old Emperor’s yacht?” Joshim asked, seeing what Rafe
was scanning.

“Just curious.”

Joshim read over Rafe’s shoulder. The yacht
Havedir
, assigned for the Emperor Julur’s
use. One passenger, Braniya Lady Rujur, personal aide to the Emperor, and her
entourage. Arrived two days ago, duration and purpose of visit unspecified.

“Personal aide?” he queried.

“Means she’s somebody important,” Rafe explained. “The ones
without explicit titles are the dangerous ones…” He froze; another memory had
returned, or almost returned. Joshim waited but Rafe finally shook his head in
frustration. “Don’t say it,” he said ruefully. “I’m getting a lot of practice at
patience.”

He cleared the news off the screen and keyed in the access
sequence for Active Records, New Empire, followed by an identity-code. The
screen spat Unknown Record at them and Rafe swore mildly.

“You’ll have to try the Historical Records,” he told Joshim,
vacating the seat. “I’m obviously dead, for the third time in my life.”

Historical Records required a Webmaster’s general access
rights. Joshim entered his identity-code and inserted his hand in the bio-probe
for confirmation. When his name was displayed on the screen as a signal that
his access rights had been noted, he entered the sequence for Historical
Records, New Empire.

“Identity-code?” he asked.

“NE-P8271-31586.”

Joshim keyed it in as Rafe supplied it. The screen said
Specify Access Privileges. Joshim answered None and the screen said Access
Denied.

“Bio-locked, as we guessed,” Rafe said thoughtfully. “Be
interesting to find out who has access besides me, if we can crack those locks.”

“And if they haven’t removed your access,” Joshim said
pessimistically, re-entering the enquiry sequence. To the question about access
privileges, he replied Bio. Rafe submitted to the bio-probe and they were
looking at the record of Yuellin Lord Buhklir.

“012/5032. Gharan, Yerjin Zone. Accidental death,” Joshim
read the last chronological entry aloud.

“Some way that didn’t leave any identifiable tissue,” Rafe
predicted. “Go on to the personal details. Next of kin.”

Joshim obeyed. “Just a comm destination code,” he said in
disbelief. “You were expecting your lover’s name?”

“My previous lover,” Rafe said deliberately. “Though that
would have been too easy.” He reached around Joshim to scan rapidly through the
rest of the record. “Nothing else we should follow up here. Let’s copy it and go.”

As they left the library, Joshim glanced back along the
radial towards the hub.

“Damn. Provosts,” he alerted Rafe quietly. “Identity
spot-checks, by the look of it.”

Rafe looked back. “Act normally. Maybe they’ll pick somebody
else to hassle. Especially since you’re wearing a Webmaster’s badge.”

They walked on towards the outer ring, hyperconscious of the
team of provosts behind them. There was no reason for them to warrant special
attention, Joshim told himself repeatedly, wishing there were more people in
the corridor to give the provosts a choice.

“Damn it,” Rafe said vehemently. “You’d think they could
keep the faffing risers working, wouldn’t you?” He gestured angrily at the
Out-of-use sign on the riser gate. “We’ll have to go the long way round, via
the hub.”

“Identities?”

The challenge came as soon as they drew level with the
provosts. Predictable, Joshim thought savagely, trying to remember which gods
he had neglected recently and offering a blanket prayer as an insurance policy.

“OE-P5971-17529 Joshim,” he answered. “Webmaster,
Bhattya
.” They would have the extra
information on their portable console soon enough, and it might help to remind
them of his rank.

“Verify, sir.” The provost-sergeant squinted at the readout
of the bio-probe. “I hadn’t heard
Bhattya
was in the Zone.”

“Just arrived,” Joshim explained. “We’re on station to pick
up the latest gossip. And to check the vacancy lists.” He was talking too much,
he realized; he should just let the woman get on with her job.

“NE-P9000-42775 Rafell,” Rafe said when he was asked. “First,
Bhattya
.”

“Yes?” The sergeant looked at Rafe suspiciously; Joshim’s
heart sank as he realized what was wrong. “Verify,” the woman continued. Rafe
obeyed and she looked bemused. “Chadir, will you take a look at this. Ever seen
anything like it?”

The second provost looked at the data on the console. “Says
he’s dead.”

“Dead?” Rafe protested. “Do I look dead? What kind of joke
is this?”

“No joke.” The woman showed him the screen. “Deceased on
309/5043.” She grinned. “It’s going to make the top-sergeant’s day, having to
sort this one out. Chadir, call in and tell them we’re on our way home.”

“Emperors,” Joshim protested. “You’re not going to haul us
in over a stupid mistake?”

“We’re not hauling you in,” the sergeant said, offended. “We’re
just going to help you sort out the problem in your First’s records.”

“I can do that from
Bhattya
,”
Joshim growled. “And we’re due on patrol too damned soon for this nonsense.”

“Can’t have dead people wandering about Central unescorted,”
the woman said gleefully. “Even if you don’t look very dead, short-stuff,” she
told Rafe, “appearances can be deceptive.”

Did they teach you that in provost-school, Joshim wondered
sourly. It was probably all they taught, that and the art of finding any excuse
to cut short a patrol.

He sought Rafe’s eyes, found agreement there. The corridor
was not the place to jump the provosts, not with their escape route blocked off
at one end. They would have a better chance in the hub, with the crowd to lose
themselves in and a choice of exits.

“Let’s get on with it,” he told the sergeant resignedly.

“This is a waste of time,” Rafe remarked as the provosts
escorted them along the radial. “Once the Commander finds out why we’re late
back, she’ll kill me anyway.”

Joshim grunted an acknowledgement, thinking ahead. The
provost’s office would not be far from the hub; he and Rafe would have to act
almost as soon as they reached the walkways. They might get some covert support
from the webbers in the crowd; evading the provosts was a time-honoured sport
for liberty parties. Since the provosts were not expecting trouble, they would
have the advantage of surprise, and there was nothing to link them quickly with
their shuttle, whose arrival had gone undocumented on anything except the
flimsy in Joshim’s pocket. They could get away with it yet…