He was used to the sea of faces looking up at him, wondering what was going on.
“Line one, the Gruen.” He sang hello to the line. “You sing now. Remember, exactly the same tune.”
“I’d rather be at my own choir practice,” Nadia Kentish whispered to Alex Joy.
“Everyone sing,” Ean said, for some of them hadn’t. “Don’t insult the lines by being rude to them.”
“He is seriously as crazy as he used to be,” Peters muttered to the linesman next to him.
Ean tuned him out. “Line one, Confluence Station.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: EAN LAMBERT
As expected, when Ean introduced the trainees to line eleven, the surge sent most of the multiple linesmen to the floor. Even Hernandez.
Especially Hernandez.
Unfortunately, there were more linesmen than they’d ever had before, and half the paramedics were trainees as well. They’d trained in the techniques, but experiencing it firsthand was something else again. They struggled, because there was little you could do to help a linesman whose heart was trying to change its rhythm—except give them oxygen and wait until things settled back to normal.
Ean grabbed an oxygen tank and moved over to the closest linesman having trouble. It was Lina Vang. He pushed the mask over her face. Mind over matter, where the linesman’s mind was trying to control the body. Luckily, human bodies were resilient.
“It’s important to ensure they get oxygen,” Ean told the two Xanto singles. He nodded at the other Xanto multilevel. “See how he’s having trouble breathing. If you’re not sure, oxygen never hurts.”
Kentish grabbed another canister.
There were still a lot of unattended multilevel linesmen with breathing difficulties.
Ean raised his voice, amplified it through the Gruen speaker system. “Those of you who are still standing. You all know the theory about what to do for line-related incidents like this. If you’re still standing and not administering oxygen, why aren’t you?”
For a while, attending trainees was all he had time to do.
Afterward, he sat on the dais, elbows on his knees, and watched the paramedics attend the final few who still needed attention. Four paramedics attended one linesman. Ean could hear the distress in her lines. She was a four.
“Fix,” the Eleven offered, and the other ships in fleet agreed. “Fix.” Ean could feel the ship lines tapping at the edges of the line four.
“No, no. You’re too strong.” He could taste the strength and the alienness in the lines, even those of the human ship, who were learning fast from their fleet parent. Ean could almost see the linesman turning gray. He jumped up, but even as he stood, the four lines disappeared.
No.
He hurried across.
Sale stepped in front of him. “You can’t do anything, Ean.”
He knew he couldn’t. The lines were gone. “But—”
“They sign a waiver. They know the danger.”
No one expected to die from a line-induced heart attack, even if it sometimes felt as if you were going to.
“I hear you’re killing off linesmen now,” Rossi said at dinner.
They were all there tonight. Orsaya, Rossi, and Orsaya’s people; Sale, and Craik and Bhaksir with their teams.
“Only the ones he doesn’t like, Rossi,” Ru Li said.
“I’ll be careful, then,” Rossi said.
Ru Li looked at Hana. “Did he just—?”
Orsaya took a sip of Yaolin whiskey and visibly savored it. Everyone had alcohol tonight. Nearly everyone, anyway. Hana and Ru Li weren’t drinking, and nor was one of Rossi’s minders. Ean wasn’t sure if everyone else was drinking because Orsaya was there, because they were off duty, or because it had been a truly bad day.
“We’ve had preliminary results from the autopsy,” Orsaya said. “Linesman Park showed evidence of narrowed arteries. Her medical records show no indication of it.”
“Those medical requirements aren’t there just so we have the healthiest crew in the fleet,” Sale said.
Orsaya knew that already, and Ean could hear through the lines that Sale was only saying it to vent some of her own frustration.
“The medic on her last ship but one—six months ago now—recommended surgery. She was booked to go in after her current tour.”
Until the alien ships had come along, and everyone wanted linesmen. Or maybe they had planned all along she would arrive after her surgery, only there’d been this mad scramble to supply linesmen since Emperor Yu had announced Michelle’s engagement.
Ean hated Yu more than he hated anything in his life.
Except, perhaps, Sattur Dow.
Rossi gripped the table. “A little strong, Linesman. We don’t all need to share.” He gritted his teeth, and Ean could hear the effort it took to loosen his hold.
“Sorry.” But Ean couldn’t stop it all, for little eddies of anxiety about Yu—and yes, some hatred, too—whirled around him and the ship.
Orsaya watched them.
Sale leaned across. “Are you okay, Ean?”
“Fine.” It was a lie. Ship was agitated, and he with it.
Except, he wasn’t on the ship. He was on Confluence Station, and the agitation was coming from the Lancastrian Princess. Coming from Ship himself.
Ean had never heard Captain Helmo express such strong negative emotion.
“If you—”
He held up a hand to silence Sale.
Whatever had caused Captain Helmo to momentarily lose his customary calmness was gone.
“Nothing,” Sale said, putting away the comms Ean hadn’t seen her take out.
“Nothing on my end either.” Orsaya had her comms out as well.
The Lancastrian Princess was a flurry of activity. Ean could hear it, but couldn’t tell what was happening. He asked the lines, and got literal answers.
“VIP module brought online.”
He could tell that for himself.
“Welcome. Unwelcome welcome.” The kitchens were busier than normal. Preparing for something.
Visitors. Unwelcome ones. Sattur Dow was the most unwelcome person Ean could think of.
“Sattur Dow is coming.” Surely he didn’t warrant that much activity. And not only from the Lancastrian Princess. The linesman on the Galactic News ship was getting excited.
“Coop, you have got to see this.”
“I’ve a news show to deliver.”
“No, no. You have to see this. A ship’s arrived.” He put it on Cooper’s screen.
It was a massive fleet carrier, bearing the colors of Lancia. Apart from the mother ships—which were too expensive and big to move around much—this was the largest ship in the Lancian fleet.
“So,” Cooper said. “Another warship. We’re surrounded by the line-blamed things, Christian, and I have a show to get out.”
Ean sang the image onto the main screen. If the other linesman were interested, so was he.
Everyone around the table stopped and watched, seemingly transfixed.
“But look, Coop.” Christian zoomed in to a close-up of the ship, where there was an enormous pattern of light displayed on the hull.
A familiar pattern. Ean saw it every day on the shoulders of his crewmates.
“That is the Lancian flagship. That’s—”
“Emperor Yu,” Orsaya said.
Judging from the grim look on Orsaya’s face as she rose and went into her apartment, closing the door behind her, Yu’s arrival wouldn’t be well received.