Elizabeth Bear - Worldwired

“For how long?”

“Six weeks. Maybe as little as a month.”

She folded her arms. “I'll live with it.”

“You're thinking about the Huang Di .” The Chinese logic bomb had come uncomfortably close to destroying the Montreal , and they'd managed to purge the Huang Di 's core before Canada claimed her as salvage. A pity: Richard would have liked to get his hands on that data. The Chinese control of the nanonetworks — and their programming skill — was still superior to the Canadians'.

“I'm also thinking about arranging things so the Montreal 's pilots can fly the ship through the worldwire,” she said. “Rather than having to be physically wired into the chair on the bridge.”

“Captain.” He made a sound that would have been clearing his throat if he were human. “Weren't we just having a discussion about how you still harbor adversarial feelings for me?”

“ You may have.” Her mouth worked, approximating a smile.

“The original purpose of the hardline interface for the pilots was to prevent the AI from seizing control of the ship.”

“I know.” She turned her back on the room as if she could turn her back on Richard, as well. She took three slow breaths before she finished calmly, “But someday you may need to.”

A long pause. “Captain,” he said, when her pulse had dropped to something like its normal range. “I am honored by your trust.”

She laughed, a short harsh bark, and touched the frame on the nearest holodisplay, smudging it with her fingertips. “Trust? If you want to call it that.”

1030 hours

Saturday September 29, 2063

HMCSS Montreal

Earth orbit

I pause just inside the hatchway to the captain's tasteful blue and gray ready room. “Casey. I had a feeling I'd be seeing you before too long. How did it go with Castaign?”

“It went,” I say, and she leaves it alone.

Wainwright sits in a floor-mounted chair behind a desk bolted to the wall. Holomonitors framed to look like windows cover the bulkheads, showing all directions. The most arresting view is aft, the long silvery dragonfly length of the Montreal stretching from the habitation wheel back to the asymmetrical bulge of her reactor and drive assembly, her solar sails nearly furled against her hull, only a hint of gauzy webbing showing.

That image sits right where Wainwright's gaze would naturally fall, should she lift it from her desk, its spindly fragility a reminder of just how precarious our situation is. Miles and vertical miles away from home.

I've got to hand the captain that much. She never for a second forgets the safety of her crew. And I've never known a good CO who wasn't a hard-ass, too. It's just one of those things.

It's also just that it's a pain in the ass when the hard-ass gets in the way of something I want to do, instead of annoying the other guy.

Wainwright clears her throat, and I realize I've let a good three seconds go by in total silence. It isn't like me.

Doesn't matter. I know how to do this. I take a deep breath and let the words fall out of my mouth like they're somebody else's. “Xie Min-xue, Captain. The Chinese pilot who helped—”

“I know who he is, Casey. What's the brief version?”

“Ma'am, it occurs to me that he could be part of the solution to our pilot shortage.”

“I'd thought of that.”

“But.”

“But it could look like a payoff. His reward for betraying the PanChinese government. If he testifies.” Her fingers fret nervous circles on the interface plate on her desk. “You've heard the hearing date's been set.”

“After nine months of stalling and legal wrangling? I had not heard.” Richard. Don't trust me all of a sudden?

He's right there, of course. “I keep your secrets, too, Jen.”

The fact that he has a point doesn't make me like it any better. “Wait,” I say, catching on. “You said hearing.”

“Yes,” she answers. “We're not getting a trial. The UN is planning a discovery procedure, open questions from the floor, rather than a World Court proceeding.”

Change is good, right? Right. I thought so, too. “When's our big day?”

“Thanksgiving.”

“October? So soon—” I catch myself, settle my feet more firmly on the carpeted floor, and lace my hands behind my back, feeling hardness of steel between the fingers of my meat hand, softness of flesh between the fingers of metal. My shoulders roll back of their own accord, as if to ease a pain that hasn't troubled me in a year. Who ever would have guessed it would be so hard to let go of, even after it was gone?

“I think the Chinese expect their sudden capitulation, and demand for a speedy resolution, will catch us flat-footed.”

“That sounds like the prime minister's opinion, Captain.”

She lifts her chin, and the corner of her mouth flickers up: a brief, transformative smile. “You have a good ear.”

“And has it?”

“Caught us flat-footed? No.” She stands, compactly strong, exuding energy and confidence as she paces, the rug scuffing as it compresses and releases under her step. She stops and turns toward me, solid and four-square. “Your boy—”

“Not mine, ma'am.”

Her shrug says whatever . “Have you talked to him yourself?”

“No, ma'am. Richard has. Mr. Xie is still in protective custody at Lake Simcoe.” The fingers of my right hand twitch toward my chest. The beaded feather my sister Nell gave me when we were kids is in my breast pocket, where it lives a lot of the time now. I want to pull it out and look at it, stroke its creamy brown and ivory bars and jewel-bright glass beading, or at least press it against my body through the cloth so I can feel it. Like a little kid rubbing a rabbit's foot in his pocket. Marde, Jenny. If you need to fuss with something, get a rosary.

Now, there's an unlikely image.

“Richard thinks he can be trusted.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Richard's judgment has proved pretty good so far.” She turns to look at that holomonitor, at the long lacy sprawl of the Montreal gleaming slender and uncanny as a suspension bridge across the void. She didn't want to trust the AIs at first. She ran out of choices when the rest of us did. “Do you think Riel would let us spring him? Bring him Upside?”

“I think the prime minister could be convinced, ma'am. I think she or I could convince F — Brigadier General Valens.”

“Do it.” Just like that, snap decision and she turns back to me, hands hanging open. “As for the other thing—”

“The EVA, ma'am?” Breath tight in my throat. I don't let her see it, but from the way her eyes narrow, she knows.

“Patty stays inside. You take somebody EVA certified for every member of the contact team—”

“And?” I can hear it hanging.

“And you're not taking more than three of my crew. I won't risk more. It's your baby, Casey. Sort it out.”

“Beg pardon, ma'am…”

“Casey?” She's turned away, but I need clarification.

“Am I to participate in this mission?”

“I can't think of anybody more likely to bring them home alive, Master Warrant.”

“Ma'am.” One more question. Just one, trying the patience I see fraying in the slow rise of her shoulders toward her ears. “Am I contact team, or crew?”

“Are you EVA certified, Casey?”

She knows I am. It was one of the first things I saw to, once things settled a little. No way I'm going to be stuck inside a tin can in a universe full of very aggressive nothing without knowing I can survive if I have to go out . “Thank you, ma'am.”