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The whirr of the Ma Derra spaceport surrounded Laurence as he strode down the boarding ramp into the hangar. A gentleman in plainclothes stood near the foot of the ramp, waiting to greet him; they shook hands, and Laurence gestured to the ship from which he had just descended.
"Mr. Howe. Welcome aboard."
"Thank you, Captain. I'm glad I was at liberty to come."
Laurence knew little of the Admiralty's man, save that Howe's security credentials and knowledge of foreign craft far exceeded his own. As they boarded Laurence saw him gazing about avidly, admiring the seamless paneling and sinuous lines that comprised the ship's interior. Suppressing a twinge of pride that seemed in equal measures premature and foolish, he raised his voice and spoke.
"Temeraire, this is Mr. Howe, a consultant with the Interstellar Corps."
Hello, came the prompt reply, from everywhere at once. I am very pleased to meet you. Can you tell me what sort of ship I am?
Howe made a little bow as they entered the bridge. "I hope to be of service, though I wonder whether you might not tell us yourself."
I am sorry, said Temeraire, and it seemed to Laurence there was a hint of sheepishness in the disembodied voice. I feel as if I ought to know, or as if I once knew, but when I try to access the place where the memory should be, it's gone.
"Deleted, possibly," murmured Howe, "by the Gallians when their vessel was taken. Or encrypted--" Pulling back his sleeve, he revealed a small com unit attached to his wrist, and with it undertook an initial scan. "Hmm. I'm not having much luck--"
Laurence glanced toward the main display at the fore of the bridge, which presently showed a noncommittal whorl of silver-gray. "Temeraire, I trust you will assist Mr. Howe in any way you can."
Oh, shall I grant him further access? It is a bit ticklish, what he's doing. But if you think it best.
"Ah," said Howe, "now we're getting somewh--good Lord."
Laurence leaned, as if by peering at Howe's com he could make heads or tails of the data being transferred. "Yes?"
Howe's hands were quivering; his fingers flew. "My God, Captain, this OS! I can hardly believe it, but with these specs...." He gestured wildly, and seemed on the verge of cantering about the bridge. "This is a dragonship, Imperial class. The Zhong have kept them under wraps for years. Even our best intelligence is dated. Oh, what a prize!"
Then I am a good sort of ship? asked Temeraire.
"Good? You are nearly the most sophisticated ever made. Only the Celestial class is more advanced, in terms of its operating system, and if you were one of those I suppose the Zhong armada would be on our doorstep this very minute."
At this Temeraire only seemed to grow more eager. Will I be able to shoot ion cannons? I don't feel as if I have turrets, but perhaps they only need to be deployed. Perhaps I might produce them if you asked me, Laurence.
With a pat for the back of the captain's chair, Laurence chuckled. "If what Mr. Howe says is true, you are well beyond turrets. Any cruiser can fire a cannon."
"I'm sending these data for analysis," said Howe, "but at this point I have no doubts as to his make." He gave a tap to the com at his wrist, then glanced at Laurence. "Tell me, did you customize the interface?"
"Customize?" Laurence furrowed his brow. "In what way?"
"The vocal stylings, mannerisms and so forth. A female version is typically the default."
The question nearly put him to the blush. Could one call oneself a starship captain, and fail to note the convention that every ship in which he'd ever set foot had been called--and sounded like--a she? Not a sweet-natured if somewhat bookish adolescent boy. He cleared his throat. "No, Temeraire is as I found him. Except for the name, which I was prompted to select."
"And a charming one it is." Locking his com, Howe took a step nearer to Laurence and added in an undertone, "I hope you appreciate what has come into your possession."
There was no real hope of going unheard by Temeraire, but out of respect for the gravity in Howe's manner, Laurence likewise lowered his voice, and spoke a little sternly. "I hope I do, sir. I never beheld a finer ship."
"It's more than that." Howe took his elbow and drew him aside, whispering now. "The Admiralty could have my head for telling you this, but you ought to be told. A dragonship is keyed to its captain. Fully, irrevocably as far as we know. Voice recognition, palm recognition, full-body scan, DNA--the damned thing can recognize your nose-hairs, and it'll answer to no one else. Nor can it be hijacked or suborned, though you can be sure sooner or later some lunatic will try. Likely one with stars on his collar."
Startled, but reluctant to display it, Laurence said only that he was glad to find himself in so secure a position. Howe shook his head, and gave a final warning glance.
"You are not irremovable, Captain. But there is only one method of removal. I wish you all the best."
With that Howe took his data and departed, leaving Laurence to his disquiet on the bridge. Despite his plans, he felt loath to disembark for the station; instead he sank into the sleek black captain's chair that already seemed molded to fit him, laying his hand upon the armrest with its array of sensors and indicators in gleaming blue. The ship's ambient hum increased to a low thrum, nearly a purr, only to recede again as his palm covered the controls.
Laurence, are you well? Did that gentleman distress you?
"Quite well, Temeraire." He mustered a smile.
I am glad to hear it, only--your heart rate is elevated, as well as your levels of cortisol and epinephrine.
Again the voice did a creditable impression of diffidence. Laurence tapped the chair's armrest, mouth twisting with more good humor than rue. "I am transparent before you, it seems. Very well. I hope you will conceal as little from me, as I am able to from you."
Of course, said Temeraire, sounding anxious. I am sorry I could not say what sort of ship I was--if I had known, I would have said so--
"Pray do not trouble yourself; the matter is resolved. But I must know: if something were to happen to me, something untoward--that is, if I could no longer be with you, would you accept another commander in my stead?"
You are my captain, answered Temeraire, with a resounding thrum from every corner of the bridge.
"Yes, but in the event..." Laurence paused. The absurdity of it struck him: that he was mincing words so as not to injure the sensibilities of a multi-ton spacecraft's AI system. Nonetheless, he spoke gently. "If I were no longer living, Temeraire."
You are my captain, the ship fired back. I will not fly for anyone else. If you should stop running, I shall see to it that you are repaired. That is how it is with ships, and I do not see why it should be any different with lifeforms.
"It is different with lifeforms, I am afraid, in the end." Laurence stifled a sigh. He should have felt the new understanding of his charge and its danger as a weight, perhaps, a burden to be borne--and perhaps it was foolish to hear heartfelt loyalty in the pledge of a machine, but he could not help it; he was touched. He stroked the gleaming armrest once more. "But let us not quarrel. For now, we shall await our orders; I expect they will come directly once Mr. Howe delivers his report. Have you quite finished refueling?"
I have. I am no longer hungry in the least.
"Very good." Settling back into the captain's chair, Laurence felt he would exchange it for no other, not out of all the chairs in all the ships in interstellar space. "Open the viewscreen, if you would, my dear, and let us have a look out."
With a hum Temeraire resolved the display into an image of the stars above the spaceport, and together they gazed upward at the glittering sight.