Chapter 149 · The weather report

The HoloNet material on kivren was more useful than either of them had expected, but basically the same stuff they already knew. The species had apparently followed settlers across several warm agricultural worlds for centuries.

Small carnivores. Mostly nocturnal or crepuscular. Excellent climbers. Diet dominated by insects, small burrowing animals, eggs when available and whatever unfortunate creature could be caught without excessive effort. Adults remained relatively small. Generally social enough around familiar beings, though juveniles varied greatly depending on how much contact they had received early in life.

Eli scrolled farther. “Here.”

Stent leaned over his shoulder. “Populations established near agricultural settlements frequently become semi-domestic within several generations,” Eli read. “Individuals raised near sentient habitation may actively seek shelter, warmth and food from people.”

They both looked toward Ch'eth. He was asleep inside Stent's discarded jacket on the couch. Not the new enclosure. The jacket.

Eli pointed. “Evidence.”

Stent ignored him. The records also explained the bite. Juveniles tested unfamiliar objects with their mouths. They bit during fear responses. They also bit during play.

Eli glanced at the healed punctures near Stent's thumb. “Any idea which one you got?”

“Fear.”

“You sound very certain.”

“He was attempting to escape.”

“Good. I'd hate to think that was affection.”

Stent scrolled farther. A paragraph on social attachment appeared. Eli read it silently. Then smiled. Stent reached over and closed the page. “That section was not relevant.”

“Oh, it looked relevant.”

“It concerned domesticated populations.”

“We have a domesticated population of one.”

“We have one juvenile.”

“Who sleeps in your clothes.”

Stent opened a different document.

Eli decided to allow the retreat. For now.

The Rebel navigation package was less amusing. Eli spent most of the evening working through it.

It was excellent. That was the problem. For the first time in months, they had navigation intelligence that was not years behind reality.

Rebel cells were feeding updates into it constantly: traffic restrictions, destroyed beacons, military movements, temporary checkpoints, local authority changes, hyperspace disruptions and reports from civilian captains who had discovered conditions the official network had not yet acknowledged.

Eli compared it against the civilian charts aboard the Faded Glory. Then against the most recent Imperial navigation feed they had acquired.

Then he stopped smiling. Stent noticed from across the table. “What?”

Eli rotated the display toward him. “Look at the timestamps.”

Stent did. One corridor advisory had been updated four days earlier. A second, twenty-seven hours ago. A third, six hours ago. Eli opened the historical record. The first route had been clear eleven days earlier. Restricted eight days earlier. Closed four days earlier. Another sector had changed checkpoint authority twice within a week. A supposedly stable commercial passage was now absorbing traffic diverted from three neighboring systems.

“This is good data,” Eli said.

“Yes.”

“Very good.”

“Yes.”

“And it's going to be obsolete.”

Stent studied the map. “Eventually.”

“Not eventually. Soon. Given the speed things are changing.” Eli pulled up another cluster of reports. “This was accurate five days ago. Now half of it isn't. Look.”

A civilian relay had stopped transmitting. An Imperial customs station had been placed under naval authority. Two routes were reporting refugee traffic far above normal capacity. A third had acquired an emergency toll imposed by a local governor.

Stent's eyes moved across the information. “The rate of change is increasing.”

“Exactly.”

Eli leaned back. “We've been treating navigation data like maps. It's not a map anymore.”

“What is it?”

“A weather report.”

Stent considered that.

Eli tapped the newest updates. “You check it, you make a decision, and three days later the conditions may be completely different.”

“That complicates planning.”

“It destroys planning.”

“Not entirely.”

“No. Fine. It makes planning extremely annoying.”

“That is more accurate.”

Eli gave him a tired look. “We'll need to refresh whenever we have access.”

“Yes.”

“And stop assuming an open route will still be open when we reach it.”

“Yes.”

Eli looked again at the corridor leading toward Botajef. For now, it remained usable.

For now.

Their last evening on Sembla should have been quiet. The fuel tanks were full. Water reserves topped off. Filters inspected. Coolant replenished. The hull had passed Stent's increasingly obsessive exterior inspection.

Their cargo consisted of the sealed Rebel case for Stygeon, their own supplies and several crates of food that could survive the collapse of civilization. Ch'eth had a proper enclosure. Tee had inspected the enclosure himself and issued a series of comments nobody had requested.

Eli had even begun to think they might get an early night. Then someone knocked on the outer hatch. Not the comm. Actually knocked.

Eli looked toward the sound. “Who does that?”

Stent glanced at the external camera. “Nemi.”

That explained almost nothing. Eli opened the ramp. Cold air rolled inside. Nemi stood outside bundled in a borrowed insulated coat, holding a dark glass bottle by the neck. “I brought diplomacy.”

Eli looked at the bottle. “Is that alcohol?”

“Of course! Local beer.” Stent appeared behind him. Nemi raised the bottle slightly. “I'm told it's traditional.”

“By whom?” Eli asked.

“Someone in maintenance.”

“That does not inspire confidence.”

“It was either this or fermented seaweed.”

Eli stepped aside immediately. “Come in.”

Nemi grinned and hurried up the ramp. The door closed behind her. She stomped snow from her boots and held the bottle up for inspection. There was a paper-thin label wrapped around it, printed in Basic and a local Vurk script.

Eli read the description. “Strong.”

“Yes.”

“Bitter.”

“Apparently.”

“High mineral content.”

Nemi shrugged. “It's free.”

“Now you're speaking my language.”

They opened it in the galley.

The beer poured dark amber, with a thin head that vanished almost immediately.

Eli smelled it. Then pulled the glass back. “That is aggressive.”

Nemi laughed. “Drink it.”

“You first.”

“I already had one.”

“That explains this visit.”

Stent accepted a small amount in his own cup. Eli watched him. “You don't have to.”

“I am aware.”

Nemi leaned against the counter. “It isn't poison.”

“That remains to be determined,” Eli said.

He tried it. The bitterness arrived first. Then alcohol. Then something smoky and mineral that lingered at the back of his tongue. Eli made a face.

Nemi looked delighted. “Well?”

He swallowed. “I think it resents me personally.”

“It's good.”

“Those are separate concepts.”

Stent tasted his. His expression changed almost imperceptibly. Eli noticed. “You hate it.”

“It is unusually bitter.”

“That means yes.”

“I did not say that.”

Nemi raised her cup. “To successful deliveries!”

Eli touched his glass against hers. Stent hesitated for half a beat, then did the same.

“To successful deliveries,” Eli said.

“And honest traders,” Nemi added.

Eli laughed. “Apparently.”

A scratching sound came from beneath the table.

Nemi immediately looked down. “Chet?” Stent did not correct her. Ch'eth emerged from beneath one of the chairs, nose twitching as he sampled the air.

“No,” Stent said.

The kivren ignored him and approached Nemi.

Her entire face brightened. “He remembers me.”

“He smells food.”

“I don't have food.”

Ch'eth sniffed her boots. Then her trouser leg. Before Nemi could react, he hooked his claws into the fabric and started climbing. “Oh—hey.” She held very still as he scrambled rapidly up her leg, crossed her hip and continued along the front of her coat. A moment later he reached her arm, used it as a bridge and hopped neatly onto the table.

Then he headed straight for her beer. “No, you don't.” Nemi slapped one hand over the top of the glass just before Ch'eth could get his nose into it. “That is absolutely not for you.” Ch'eth investigated her fingers instead, apparently convinced that access might still be negotiated.

Stent clicked his tongue. “Ch’eth. Tza’ven.”

The kivren's head came up immediately. For a second he looked between Nemi's covered glass and Stent. Then he abandoned the beer without apparent regret and trotted briskly across the table toward him, tailing the last few steps with an almost cheerful bounce.

Nemi stared after him. “You've trained him.”

“Barely.”

Ch'eth reached the edge of the table nearest Stent and rose onto his hind legs. Stent offered a hand. The kivren climbed onto it without hesitation.

Nemi looked down at her protected beer. “Fine. Betray me for the man with the insects.”

Stent settled Ch'eth against his forearm. “A rational choice.”

“You're completely keeping him.”

Stent took another sip of beer. “Yes.”

Nemi froze. Eli slowly lowered his glass. There was a brief silence. Then Nemi pointed at Stent. “You admitted it!”

Stent looked at her. “I am aware.”

“You actually said it.”

“The matter has been decided.”

Eli stared at him. “You realize she's going to treasure this moment for the rest of her life.”

“That is her choice. She has the memory, I have Ch’eth.”

Nemi looked unbearably pleased. “Can I hold him again before I go?”

Stent considered Ch'eth. Then Nemi. “Yes.”

She immediately put down her beer.

“Priorities,” Eli said.

“Absolutely.”

Stent transferred Ch'eth carefully into her hands. Nemi supported him exactly as she had been taught. For perhaps fifteen seconds, Ch'eth remained there, sniffing her sleeve and allowing her to stroke one finger gently along his back.

Then he noticed Stent. He gathered himself. “Oh, don't you—”

Ch'eth jumped. Nemi made a startled sound as the kivren launched from her arms and landed against Stent's chest. Stent caught him automatically.

“Chet! That was rude.”

Ch'eth climbed toward Stent's shoulder.

Nemi folded her arms. “I brought beer.”

“He does not know that.”

“He could show some gratitude.”

“He is not capable of understanding gift exchange. And you didn’t bring any gift for him.”

“You don't know that.”

Stent looked at her. Nemi sighed. “Fine.”

But she was smiling.

She stayed another half hour. Long enough to finish the beer. Long enough to complain that the base had assigned her a bunk beside a heating conduit that clicked every seventeen seconds. Long enough to ask whether Eli had actually examined the Rebel navigation package yet.

He had.

“It's good,” he told her.

“That sounded ominous.”

“It's very good.”

“Still ominous.”

“The problem isn't the data. The problem is how fast reality is outrunning it.”

Nemi's smile faded. “Yeah.” That answer came too quickly.

Eli looked at her. “You've noticed.”

“Everybody has.”

She rolled the empty bottle slowly between her palms. “Half the reports coming through are corrections to reports that were correct when somebody sent them.”

Stent, sitting opposite with Ch'eth now curled beside his thigh, said, “That reduces predictive value significantly.”

Nemi nodded. “Welcome to Rebel intelligence.”

Eli smiled faintly. “I thought you were supposed to know everything.”

“We know slightly more than everyone else.”

“That is less reassuring than you think.”

“It wasn't meant to be.”

Eli laughed. That sounded familiar.

Eventually Nemi stood. “I should go before somebody decides I'm missing.”

“You're on a Rebel base,” Eli said. “Where are you going to defect to?”

“The fish-processing plant.”

“Tempting.”

She pulled on her coat. At the hatch she stopped and looked back. First at Eli. Then Stent. Then Tee, who had appeared in the corridor at some point and was observing her departure with what Eli suspected was relief. “Try not to get killed.”

Eli leaned against the bulkhead. “We've been trying that for years.”

“I know. Keep doing it.”

Her gaze shifted to Stent. “And take care of Chet.”

Stent nodded, solemny. “Yes.” No correction.

Nemi grinned. “Good.”

Then she was gone.

The next morning, the Faded Glory was ready to leave.

Fuel tanks full.

Water reserves full.

Coolant topped off.

Enough preserved food aboard to outlive several governments. Eli discovered the last point when he got up to make caff. Still half asleep, he opened the galley cupboard where they normally kept it and found himself staring instead at two densely packed rows of military ration boxes.

He stopped. Brain still rebooting.

Right.

They had put those there. The Rebel quartermaster had been extremely generous with things that could apparently survive for eighteen months, three temperature extremes and possibly direct weapons fire.

Eli closed the cupboard and opened the one beside it. More rations. “Stars.”

From the table, Stent looked up briefly. Ch'eth was sitting between his forearms, attacking a thawed river grub with focused enthusiasm.

“The next one,” Stent said.

“I know where my own caff is.”

Eli opened the third cupboard.

There it was. Along with two unopened packets the base had given them, both from a brand he had never tried before. The packaging looked considerably more promising than the concentrate they had been working through for the last several weeks.

He picked one up. “Oh.” Stent glanced over again. “We may have acquired decent caff.”

“That remains unverified.”

“Let me have hope.”

Eli opened the packet and smelled it. Definitely better.

He started heating water.

The base had done well by them, all things considered. Rations, dry goods, preserved vegetables, salted fish, enough emergency supplies that they could probably avoid buying anything substantial for quite some time.

He had even asked at the commissary, on the remote chance that somebody on an arctic Rebel base on Sembla might have quince paste tucked away somewhere. They had not. Not Lysatran. Not otherwise. The quartermaster had looked at him as though he had requested fresh tropical fruit on Tattooine. Worth asking.

Behind him came a soft crunch as Ch'eth finished the grub. Stent gave him another small piece. “We will need to stop for food.”

Eli turned, caff packet still in one hand. “For what?”

“Food.”

“Excuse me?” Eli looked pointedly toward the cupboards. “We have enough food to survive a minor siege.”

“We have rations.”

“And fish.”

“Salted fish.”

“Still fish.”

Stent watched Ch'eth take the next piece from his fingers. “That will not be the basis of your diet.”

Eli paused. “My diet?”

“Yes.”

“I thought we were talking about provisions.”

“We are.”

Eli leaned one hip against the counter. “You would happily eat those rations and salted fish until Botajef.”

“Yes.”

“Probably farther.”

“Yes.”

“And that's fine for you.”

“It is sufficient.”

“But not for me.”

“No.”

There was no hesitation in it.

Stent wiped his fingers on a cloth before continuing. “The fish contains too much salt for regular consumption. The ration packs are adequate for temporary use, but they are not an appropriate primary diet for you. We have very little fresh produce and almost no fresh protein.”

Eli stared at him for a moment. “You've been thinking about this.”

“It is obvious.”

“Of course it is.”

The water reached temperature. Eli turned back to the counter and measured out the new caff.

“So we need another provisioning stop.”

“Yes. Fresh vegetables, fruit, some protein that has not been preserved for long-term storage. Bread as well, if we find somewhere decent.”

Eli lifted his mug. “You’ve already made the shopping list.”

“I identified what is lacking.”

“Of course you did.” Behind him, Ch'eth made a small impatient sound. “You've got fresh food covered for him, though.”

“We have sufficient insects for several weeks.”

Eli carried his mug to the table and sat opposite him. The caff was strong. Dark. Slightly smoky. He took another sip. “Oh, this is much better.”

Stent ignored the evaluation and offered Ch'eth the last piece of grub. Eli watched the kivren seize it. “So. Fresh food for me. Fishing bait for him.”

“Yes.”

“And salted fish for you.”

“If necessary.”

Eli took another drink. “You're becoming very domestic.” Stent looked at him. Eli hid his smile behind the mug. “I'll find somewhere to provision.”

“Do that.”

Ch'eth finished eating and immediately climbed onto Stent's wrist in search of more. Stent intercepted him gently.

Eli took another sip of caff. Definitely a good brand.

They lifted from Sembla under a grey sky.

The base disappeared beneath them quickly: snow, black rock, steam, then cloud. Above the atmosphere, the planet became blue-white again, deceptively quiet.

Eli loaded the newest Rebel route package into the navigation system. Stygeon first. Then onward along the corridor toward Botajef. Somewhere along the way, one sensible provisioning stop.

No unnecessary detours. No additional missions.

At least that was the plan.

Tee chirped from behind them.

Ch'eth answered from inside his new enclosure with a scratching sound. At some point during the preparations on Sembla, the box had migrated out of the cargo bay and into the hallway. Stent had cited easier access for feeding and monitoring.

Eli had not commented on the direction of travel. He glanced at Stent. “We've accumulated a lot of rules lately.”

Stent checked their departure vector. “They are necessary.”

“And responsibilities.”

“Yes.”

“And passengers.”

“Eth'var'en.”

Eli went still for a moment. He knew that word. Not passengers. Not crew, exactly. The chiss word for family, for the chosen family. The family assembled rather than inherited; the people who remained because they had chosen one another, but weren’t partners.

His eyes shifted toward Tee, waiting behind their seats, then toward the corridor where Ch'eth was making another determined attempt to rearrange the inside of his enclosure. Then back to Stent.

Stent was still studying the navigation display, apparently unaware that he had just said anything remarkable.

Or perhaps perfectly aware.

Eli smiled.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I suppose we have.”