Chapter 2: A Duck-tape Solution
I awake in a nest of sodden bedding, shivering under the clammy sheets. At first, I wonder how it is that I am still alive after so much fluid has escaped my body. Then I see the glistening flecks scattered over my chest and realize someone has dumped a bucket of ice water over me.
"Talyn? I did not authorize you to allow anyone to board. Please explain."
I sent a distress signal when we arrived at the commerce station. A man came with a bucket of cold water. He left a chip on the table.
"You took an unnecessary risk!" I get up and change into dry clothing, which improves my morale more than I care to admit. The concrete provocation of being drenched in cold water is more rousing than the technical fact that Talyn disobeyed a standing order. Still, he risked his own life as well as mine, so I feign outrage. "I told you three arns of elevated temperature would not cause permanent damage. I would have recovered on my own, which means you put yourself in jeopardy without cause. Unacceptable!"
Sorry.
He isn't, but I don't bother arguing. Like the irrational, sulking child he is, he blames himself for the failure of the temperature controls, and in his mind, that blame justifies his rash course of action. In truth, he may have saved my life. The last thing I remember is sitting at the table, staring at the twinkling pinpoint that represents the sun of my former world. The star chart is gone now, but as Talyn mentioned, someone has left a holochip. I pick it up off the table and press it between my thumb and finger. The holographic head of a smiling Sebaccean man pops into existence.
He looks like someone who could have come from my world, olive-skinned and dark haired, with a narrow, hooked nose and thick black beard. His grin reveals a golden tooth, which must be an affectation. A business man with any respectable level of success would able to afford a convincing prosthesis. Every few microts, his hologram offers a conspiratorial wink, as if he has just confided a secret of great import.
The chip has no sound, but a banner of written words encircles the man's head. The letters are made to look like sparkling gold, suggesting a crown. I read aloud, "Visit Phendrick's Domain for whatever treasures you desire. Goods from under every sun and the best of the void, too!"
Will he have replacement coils?
I shrug. "He may be able to obtain them for a price."
Obtain how?
I should have expected him to ask. Like Crichton, Talyn cares for all sentient beings until he is given a reason not to, and for his own race especially. He will not like the answer, but I don't bother trying to lie to him. Better to have the matter settled before the new coils are installed. If Talyn were to reject a part of himself because of some foolish moral objection, the result could be disastrous.
"Most likely by scavenging from dead or dying Leviathans. The probability that a scavenger would butcher a healthy Leviathan for parts is almost negligible. An in tact Leviathan has too much value as a transport to make such a harvest profitable."
When the cost of repair is greater than the profit a Leviathan can earn, he's killed and scrapped?
"Not always. Many are allowed to return to the sacred space where they die in peace." Others are scrapped alive, like the ones under Peacekeeper control. Parts are taken as needed, wrenched from the biomechanoid flesh by techs who don't ask if that flesh is alive or dead. They are ordered not to ask.
Rage boils through Talyn's circuits. He wants to fire his cannon at those who harm Leviathans without knowing who it is he wants to kill. Unless he agrees to take something from a fellow Leviathan, he will be unable to continue carrying and protecting me. The prospect of two unbearable alternatives has his mind running in pointless, agonized loops.
I move to stand against the wall, laying one hand on it, fingers spread. "Talyn..." I allow my hand to move down the wall in a soothing gesture, but neither my voice nor my touch has any effect. He wants a promise from me, one I should not make. His distress has a stronger effect upon me than any order from high command ever could.
I sigh, irritated to be giving in so easily. "I will demand that the replacement coils are not salvaged from a living Leviathan. Phendrick answered your distress call, so surely you would trust his word?"
No. Trusting strangers is an unnecessary risk. Besides, you don't trust him. Maybe he can tell us where to find some ourselves. Or where to find someone who can repair mine. Until we do, the DRD's need a spool of solder to make a temporary repair.
"A spool of solder." I snort, recalling Crichton's reminiscence about a substance called "duck-tape". Perhaps Phendrick's promise of having goods from under every sun will hold, and I will find some of Crichton's miraculous material. If Talyn makes a habit of refusing proper repairs, he will need a hold full of it, and I will find myself traveling the uncharted territories in a sentient vessel comprised mostly of the shiny, sticky stuff.
"Kat?" I scan the floor for the DRD, knowing its brown, oval hull won't be far. The machine is the only functional remnant of a Leviathan called Kateri, and though it works well with Talyn's sleek, red DRDs, it prefers to follow me. Despite it's adherence to this rather odd tracking algorithm, it has remarkably good sense, and I would trust Kat's judgment over Talyn's in any matter.
The DRD emerges from underneath the bed.
"Can you and the others perform a temporary solder to repair the congealation coils?" I ask, bending over slightly.
Kat wiggles it's antenni slowly, the way a Sebaccean might turn his head when considering a difficult dilemma. After a few microts, it moves forward and delivers a single sharp tap to the toe of my boot. This is Kat's way of answering in the affirmative, so I nod my agreement with Talyn.
"Very well. For now, a spool of solder, and information. We may be asked for something in return. Are you prepared to ferry passengers or carry cargo?"
I'd rather fight. You were offered ten thousand credits to destroy that Luxan pirate vessel.
"And I refused the offer. We cannot afford to leave a trail of wreckage behind us, not when we are attempting to evade the Peacekeepers. I will not continue this discussion."
Those people probably hired the Peacekeepers to protect them. Because you refused to let me protect them. Because you don't want me to be what I was born to be.
"One day when you are strong enough, you may be whatever it is you wish."
Kat swings its antenni from side to side in a vigorous gesture of disagreement.
"And until then, you must trust my judgment," I continue.
Kat delivers a single tap to the floor, hard enough that the vibration reverberates through my boot.
Kat always sides with you. That's why my DRDs don't associate with it any more than they have to. They think it has faulty programming.
"I am sure that sentiment is mutual. Now, can I trust you with the responsibility of carrying passengers or cargo?"
I'll be a frelling transport. For now.
"That would make me very proud, Talyn." Those simple, sincere words embarrass him into awkward silence. I squat down and touch Kat's shell. "Keep watch. Send a comm signal if anything is amiss."
Kat's response is another vehement, perhaps impatient, tap.
Even Kat knows you're paranoid.
"Patterns transfer through the link."
I meant the words as a joke, but as I exit the ship I wonder-- is Talyn's instability exacerbated by my own fears, or have his defective algorithms been impressed upon me? Would that Aeryn Sun were linked with us. Like all good soldiers, she has a quality I was never able to attain, or even feign convincingly: the ability to trust, to live in this moment without worrying over the next. She would complete Talyn, her consciousness a true and genuine repair rather than a duck-tape solution.
For now, he has me, and Kat. With a spool of solder, it will have to be enough.