“Yalson," Horza said into the woman’s ear, her hair tickling his nose, “one: how does Kraiklyn have wet dreams if he doesn’t
sleep. And
two: what if he has these cabins bugged."
Her head turned toward him quickly. “So fucking what. I’m not afraid of him. He knows I’m one of the most reliable people
he’s got; I shoot
straight and I don’t fill my pants when it starts getting hot. I also think Kraiklyn’s the best excuse for
a leader we’ve got on the ship or are likely to
get, and he knows that. Don’t you worry about me. Anyway…" He felt her shoulders
and head move again, and knew she was looking at him.
“You’d settle it up if I got shot in the back, wouldn’t you."
The thought had never occurred to him.
“Wouldn’t you." she repeated.
“Well, of course I would," he said. She didn’t move. He could hear her breathing.
“You would, wouldn’t you." Yalson said. He brought his arms up and took her by the shoulders. She was warm, the down on her
skin was
soft, and the muscles and flesh underneath, over her slim frame, were strong and firm.
“Yes, I would," he said, and only then realized that he meant it.
It was during this time, between Marjoin and Vavatch, that the Changer found out what he wanted to know about the controls
and fidelities of the
Clear Air Turbulence.
Kraiklyn wore an identity ring on the small finger of his right hand, and some of the locks in the
CAT
would work only in the presence of that
ring’s electronic signature. The control of the ship depended on an audio-visual
identity link; Kraiklyn’s face was recognized by the craft’s
computer, as was his voice when he said, “This is Kraiklyn."
It was that simple. The ship had once had a retina recognition lock as well, but it
had malfunctioned long before and been
removed. Horza was pleased; copying somebody’s retina pattern was a delicate and tricky operation,
requiring, among a lot
of other things, the careful growth of lasing cells around the iris. It almost made more sense to go for a total genetic
transcription,
where the subject’s own DNA became the model for a virus which left only the Changer’s brain—and, optionally, gonads—
unaltered.
That wouldn’t be necessary to impersonate Captain Kraiklyn, however.
Horza found out about the ship’s fidelities when he asked the Man for a lesson on how to fly the vessel. Kraiklyn had been
reluctant at first,
but Horza had not pressed him, and had answered a few of Kraiklyn’s apparently casual questions about
computers, which followed this
request, with feigned ignorance. Seemingly convinced that teaching Horza how to fly the
CAT
would not carry the risk of him taking over the
ship, Kraiklyn relented, and allowed Horza to practice piloting the craft
on manual, using the rather crude controls in simulator mode under
Mipp’s instruction while the craft went on its way through
space toward Vavatch on autopilot.
“This is Kraiklyn," the ship PA announced to the mess, a few hours after they ran through the Culture transmission warning
of the Orbital’s
destruction. They were sitting around after a meal, drinking or inhaling, relaxing or, in Dorolow’s case,
making the Circle of Flame sign on her
forehead and saying the Prayer of Thanks. The big Orbital was still on the mess screen
and had grown much larger, almost filling it with its inner
surface daylight side, but everybody had grown a little blasé
about it and now gave it only the occasional glance. All the remaining Company
were there, save for Lenipobra and Kraiklyn
himself. They looked at each other or the PA speaker when Kraiklyn spoke. “I’ve got a job for us,
something I just had confirmed.
Wubslin, you get the shuttle ready. I’ll meet the rest of you in the hangar in three ship hours, suited up, team. And
don’t
worry; this time there’ll be no hostiles. This time it really is youknow-what in
and
out." The speaker crackled, then went silent. Horza and
Yalson exchanged looks.
“So," Jandraligeli said, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his neck. The scar marks on his face deepened
slightly as he
put on an expression of thoughtfulness. “Our esteemed leader has again found us something to employ our slight
talents."
“Better not be in another fuckin’ temple," Lamm growled, scratching the small horn grafts where they joined his head.
“How are you going to find a temple on Vavatch." Neisin said. He was slightly drunk, talking more than he normally did when
with the others.
Lamm turned his face toward the smaller man, a few seats away and on the other side of the table.
“You’d better just sober up, friend," he said.
“Seaships," Neisin told him, taking the nippled cylinder from the table in front of him. “Nothing but big goddamned seaships
on that place.
No temples." He closed his eyes, put his head back and drank.
“There might," Jandraligeli said, “be temples on the ships."
“There might be a fucking drunk on this spaceship," Lamm said, watching Neisin. Neisin looked at him. “You’d better sober
up fast, Neisin,"
Lamm continued, pointing with one finger at the smaller man.
“Think I’ll head for the hangar," Wubslin said, standing and walking out of the mess.
“I’m going to see if Kraiklyn wants a hand," Mipp said, leaving in the opposite direction, through another door.
“Think we could
see
any of those Megaships yet." Aviger was looking back at the screen. Dorolow looked up at it, too.
“Don’t be fucking stupid," Lamm told him. “They aren’t that big."
“They’re
big,
" Neisin said, nodding to himself and the small cylinder. Lamm looked at him, then at the others, and shook his head. “Yeah,"
Neisin said, “they’re pretty big."
“They’re actually no more than a few kilometers long," sighed Jandraligeli, sitting back in his chair and looking thoughtful,
emphasizing the
scar marks still further. “So you won’t see them from this far out. But they certainly are large."
“And they just go round and round the whole Orbital." Yalson said. She already knew, but she would rather have the Mondlidician
talking
than Lamm and Neisin arguing. Horza smiled to himself. Jandraligeli nodded.
“Forever and ever. It takes them about forty years to go right round in a circle."
“Don’t they ever stop." Yalson asked. Jandraligeli looked at her and raised an eyebrow.
“It
takes
them several years just to get to full
speed,
young lady. They weigh about a billion tons. They never stop; they just keep going round
in circles. Full-size liners go
on excursions and act as tenders, and they use aircraft, too."
“Did you know," Aviger said, looking round those still seated at the table and leaning forward with his elbows tightly folded,
“you actually
weigh less on a Megaship. It’s because they go round in the opposite direction from the way the Orbital spins."
Aviger paused and frowned.
“Or is it the other way round."
“Oh fuck," Lamm said, shaking his head violently, then getting up and leaving.
Jandraligeli frowned. “Fascinating," he said.
Dorolow smiled at Aviger, and the old man looked round the others nodding. “Well, whatever; it’s a fact," Aviger declared.
“Right." Kraiklyn placed one foot up on the shuttle’s rear ramp and put his hands on his hips. He wore a pair of shorts; his
suit stood ready to be
put on, opened down the chest front like a discarded insect skin, just behind him. “I told you we’ve
got a job. This is what it is." Kraiklyn paused,
looked at the Company, standing or sitting or leaning on guns and rifles
throughout the hangar. “We’re going to hit one of the Megaships." He
paused, apparently waiting for a reaction. Only Aviger
looked surprised and in any way excited; the rest, with only Mipp and the recently woken