Sharon Lee - - Prologue

"But you see, your records are just updated, and trustworthy Jump pilots being at a premium, there are ways to achieve as much assurance ahead of time as possible. As an employer willing to trust into your care a vessel of both monetary and sentimental value, I feel that such records ought to be available. It helped, of course, that the Scouts were willing to assist."

"Scouts? What Scouts?"

Uncle smiled, precisely as if he saw through her, but was willing to give her points for trying to play the game.

"Your Win Ton, for one. He sleeps just beyond your view at the end of the hall, guarded by the chief of his medical team."

Theo's glance was unsubtle.

"I'd not be so cruel as to say so, and not prove it, Pilot Waitley." He motioned, giving her permission to investigate, just as Dulsey appeared at the end of the way.

Theo nodded to Uncle, rose not as steadily as she might like, saw Dulsey's face go bland as they passed each other in the lushly carpeted hall.

Around that corner the hall turned utilitarian, with beige walls and floor; bulkheads and pressure doors obvious. Sitting neatly cross-legged athwart the first double-wide door Theo came to was the same Scout who'd disturbed her and Win Ton with the news of a message.

The Scout rose languidly and bowed in recognition to Theo.

"Pilot, I see you. Alas, Scout yo'Vala is not receiving visitors."

Dulsey spoke from behind Theo's shoulder.

"The Uncle decides, Scout. You may permit entry."

Theo glanced aside. In fact both Dulsey and Uncle were behind her, bare feet on the plain decking, the Uncle gesturing a clipped open .

* * *

Theo read rapidly, finding the usages no stranger than contracts she'd read in class, and certainly better paid than Hugglelans' newest offer. The confidentiality agreement carried with it an extra payment, but—

"And so," Uncle went on, "we both have more information than we did before. The Scouts have entrusted me with some news, of course, but they cannot hide from me, as much as they might wish to do so, the identity of the pilot to whom your Win Ton has given the second key—actually, the first key—because the keys speak to this ship, which was built at the same yard as Bechimo ."

Theo glanced up, seeing no joy of surprise in the man's face, but rather serious intent.

"They speak?" Win Ton had said that, hadn't he? That his key had talked to and manipulated the Old Tech devices on his prison ship?

"Yes. I understand, from the man himself, that he entrusted you with one of the phrases, and I find it compelling."

His hands motioned a repeat please.

There was no reason she knew of not to. Theo shrugged. " 'There are secrets in all families.' "

"Wonderful. A phrase so old it is new again. So, we soon come to the truths we share and the truths you need to know. First though, is the contract reasonable?"

"A cantra for going to Liad?"

"Liad is a war zone, Pilot. I cannot say it will be without risk."

He sipped his tea.

"The rest meets with your approval? In short: I provide a ship, a destination for the ship, and a list of items or documents to be delivered or picked up. At each port you will have a public pickup or delivery; which permits you to claim time, ports, from the Guild; as well as a reason to be in system. From time to time I may provide a 'wait for' order as items must reach your location, at times I may issue a 'skip run' and you will then not follow the previous route but move beyond, or rendezvous as is pertinent. You provide piloting, care of my ship, and act as delivery or receiving agent. You will be issued three pinbeam codes for use as required in emergencies or other exigencies, which you will use with care."

"What will I be carrying, Uncle?"

He smiled, and raised his hand like a lecturer looking for attention from a class.

"To the best of your knowledge you will be carrying rare books, special or unique reference items, and the occasional replacement part. Some of these are antiques, some are reproductions, some are both. You will not be carrying drugs, jewels, or other material generally considered illicit."

"This is good pay."

"A good pilot is worth good pay."

"What about Win Ton?"

He raised both hands as if weighing an invisible cat.

"Yes, you see, these things are all run together. Win Ton has saved the Scouts, and myself, some difficulty by acting with haste. His actions have brought to him the problems he discussed with you—but see, I tell you that he is not giving away confidences, but rather was subject to an interview after he was given a drug to relax him into the device in which he now sleeps. It is not a mere med unit like the best ships and hospitals have, it is a med unit of the type the Scouts have long abjured and fought against, in that it uses forbidden, even secret, technology."

He paused, seeing her concentrate, spun the comment query off of his fingers in that clipped accent of his.

"How can you forbid technology?" Theo asked. "How can you keep it secret? If someone can make something, so can someone else, eventually."

Uncle nodded slightly.

"That would be my understanding, as well, Theo Waitley. The med unit operating on your Win Ton is something more than a standard autodoc unit in that, if required, it can replace tissue to the point of . . . let us say near to the point of creating a clone. Our med unit onboard, as it stands, is Win Ton's best chance to survive the next two Standards or so."

Theo eyes widen, hope quickening. "It will cure him?"

"It will not cure him!"

At this Uncle rose, and began to pace, hands making rhythmic motions as if he posted to a keyboard, or struck a small drum set.

"If I had been permitted to work with and collect this technology several hundred years ago when I wished to, we might again be at that point. But I was not and in any case—at hand what we have is a machine which is far more powerful than the Scout catastrophe units; if you have a brain to hand, almost any other injury you might name can be healed over time; if you have time, even aging can be reduced considerably. But to do that, we need a very complete sample, a very secure sample."

He paced, and Theo's hands won the race with her mouth, confirm data several hundred years outpacing her spoken, "Sample?"

He pause, and smiled slowly.

"In fact, a secure sample: what we have now of your Win Ton is contaminated; his blood and his cells carry within them the very things of which we need to cure him. The Win Ton you saw in the viewport of the machine, that Win Ton, the biologic system, has been altered to hide what is new among what is old, to make all of him somewhat other than the Win Ton you knew previously."

Theo shuddered, wondering, saw data confirmed go past as she considered—

"Clones, people clones, aren't legal, are they?"

He waved his hand with no meaning other than frustration, walking a few steps away and back as he thought.

"Fashion," he said finally. "It is a matter of fashion to make these rules. Cloning has been legal, it has been illegal. Good people have died a final death because they might not be cloned, my relatives among them—and for that matter, yours. Progress has been held back until the point that these Liaden fools Win Ton has been tangled with can threaten everything out of ignorance!"

"The Scouts?"

He sat suddenly, anger leached into an earnest and almost beseeching tone.

"The dissidents, the Department of the Interior. The fools who have collected good and bad Old Tech without discrimination and use it without understanding. The Scouts, the old Scouts, made it easy for them by putting these devices in safe places where they thought no one would find them, not knowing that technology cannot be suppressed over time. Banned, perhaps, outlawed certainly, but that's a passing thing waiting for the right person or group to write new rules.