Ean left, too, into the semiprivacy of his own room, where he could still see—and hear—the others, silent at the table.
Michelle was sitting on Abram’s couch in her workroom, staring at nothing. He heard a song of resoluteness, and a whiff of steely gray determination. Michelle had known her father would come. That was why she had insisted Abram stay away from the Lancastrian Princess, as well as Ean.
He sang gently to the comms lines. Yu would be hours yet. He got that from the ship chatter.
Michelle looked up. “Ean.”
He could smell the fizzy citrus smell the lines associated with her. “Are you okay?”
She gave a smile that came out more like a grimace. “I’ll be happier when it’s over.”
“One way or another,” the lines whispered underneath her.
Whose thoughts were they picking up? Ean shivered.
Michelle had never been one to let depression get in the way of practicality. She said now, “Sometime soon, I will invite you to a function to welcome my father and to introduce the Factor. I know you will be too busy to attend.”
He didn’t need the stress on “too busy” to understand what she meant, but right now he was more concerned about other things. “The Factor is here, too?”
“Of course. That is why my father has come. To introduce me to my betrothed.” And by the sound of it, to make himself wildly unpopular. “No doubt, while he’s here, he will petition to address the council.”
Which, from the way she said it, was the real reason she thought the Factor and her father had arrived.
“But, Ean—”
“I understand. I’m a busy, busy linesman.”
It got a smile out of her even if it didn’t have a dimple. “Take care of yourself.”
“I will. The lines will take care of you, too, Michelle.”
The Lancastrian Emperor departed as soon as Emperor Yu had settled into quarters on the Lancastrian Princess. How long did he plan on staying?
Sattur Dow arrived with the royal party. A day earlier, that would have been the worst of Ean’s problems. Now it was the least of them. Radko was safely away. Ean hoped it was safely, anyway.
Dow brought his own entourage. Two servants and two assistants. With Emperor Yu’s own Royal Guard, and the Factor’s guards and support staff, the ship was nearly as full as it had been when Michelle and Abram had first gone chasing the Eleven.
How many support staff did one need?
Commodore Bach, in charge of the Emperor’s security, didn’t need the sophisticated surveillance equipment he set up in the VIP area Helmo set aside for him.
“I am sure we’ll be aware of any security issues that crop up long before Bach is,” Helmo had said, aloud on the bridge, the day after that had been set up.
“Naturally,” Ean sang, through line one.
Vanje Solberg, Helmo’s second-in-command, looked at him in query.
Helmo smiled. “Message received, Vanje.”
Solberg didn’t ask. He and Helmo weren’t as close as Wendell was with his second, Grayson. One day, Solberg would take a promotion and captain his own ship. The lines would notice his going, but they wouldn’t miss him the way they missed Abram’s not being there.
What made specific humans important to the lines on a ship?
Ship itself—the captain—was always important. But the ship singled out specific members of the crew as well. Esfir Chantsmith, for example, was a Gruen favorite. And no doubt Trask’s singer with the damaged arm was a favorite on his own ship.
Sometimes, the lines didn’t have anyone else. The Confluence looked favorably on Sale and the team she took across with her, but they were the ones who spent most of the time on ship. Who else did the Confluence have? Would the ship give up Sale when it got a new captain? Ean didn’t think so. That was something else he would have to talk to Abram about.
But not right now, not while Yu and the Factor were here. Nor while Sattur Dow was, either.
Sattur Dow’s staff’s whole job seemed to be to find Radko. One—a youth named Ethan Saylor—kept calling Vega and demanding to see Radko.
“Spacer Radko is on special duties,” Vega said, every time. “As soon as she arrives back on ship, I will notify Merchant Dow.”
Saylor said the same thing every time after he clicked off. “Stupid bitch. You won’t last long. I’ll be sure Merchant Dow personally requests your dismissal.”
Ean never heard him ask it of Dow, so he didn’t know if Saylor meant it, but he wasn’t above a little petty meanness of his own in return.
“Too cool,” he sang to line two, directing heating into Saylor’s room; and when Saylor complained about that, “Too hot.”
Which lasted until Captain Helmo twigged to what was going on, and said sternly to both Ean and the ship, “Not on my ship, you don’t.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: EAN LAMBERT
Ean had just strapped himself into the shuttle on his way to training the next day when a request came through from Abram.
Linesman Lambert, as the senior New Alliance Linesman, you are required to attend the Confluence today.
Ean wasn’t sure if it was a real summons or another of those he was supposed to be too busy to attend.
“Do I say I can’t go?” he asked Bhaksir.
“You can’t ignore a summons from Admiral Galenos.”
“But suppose he doesn’t want me to go?”
“He wouldn’t have asked you if he didn’t, would he?”
Ean checked the whereabouts of Michelle. She could tell him if he was supposed to attend or not.
Michelle was breakfasting with her father. Talking reasonably, but the Lancastrian Princess’s lines had a faint brown taint that told Ean she was choosing her words carefully.
“Everyone who visits the alien ships must request to, and be cleared by the committee. I cannot send Merchant Dow with the Factor.”
“And who controls this committee, Daughter?”
Not a good time to interrupt her.
“Shuttle’s waiting for you, Ean,” Sale said, through the comms. “We need to get there before the main party.”
He still didn’t know if Abram meant him to go or to refuse. He called Fergus and Hernandez. “Can you run line training today, please? I need to go out to the Confluence.”
“The grand tour,” Fergus said. “We heard about it. We’ll treat your trainees gently.”
Ean jogged down to the shuttle bays, Bhaksir’s whole team behind him.
The Confluence was happy to greet them.
It had been a patient ship, waiting for its crew, and there were some people Ean didn’t want on it. Like Arnold Peters. Maybe he could convince Abram to let the Confluence choose its own crew. It wouldn’t choose Peters.
The song of the Confluence changed to a pleased purr.
“Ean. What did you do?” Sale asked.
Ean was glad Sale’s comms beeped then. “Lancastrian Princess Shuttle Four requesting permission to dock.”
A team of Yaolin guards stepped out, followed by Admiral Orsaya.
They’d left Orsaya on Confluence Station. Shuttle Four must have collected her on the way. Why hadn’t she come with Sale and Ean? How close behind them had Shuttle Four been all this time?