Grail - By Elizabeth Bear Page 0,18

was like unto an Angel herself in that she never minded more data.

But now she sat folded small in the Captain’s chair, hugging herself and scowling.

Perceval was no longer the heartbroken girl who had walled herself up on the Bridge after Rien died. At Nova’s voice, she lifted her chin from her knees and forced a brave smile. “You’re telling me. Did I seem to be brooding? I was only taking advice.”

“Your ancestors are not Captain,” Nova said. Once, she would have been hesitant, afraid of offending or alienating Perceval, but that was before fifty years of relativistic travel and working together had worn them into one another’s curves and ridges like a shoe worn into a foot. Now the Captain had adapted to her Angel, accepting Nova in her proper role as a prosthetic, an extension of Perceval’s own capabilities. The Angel could manipulate masses of detail at speeds and with accuracies that even an Exalt could not approach, thus providing Perceval with an ongoing synthesis of the most salient patterns of data.

Which—along with the combination of emotional detachment, ruthlessness, engagement, and compassion that the Captain herself embodied—was what Perceval needed to be good at her job.

Part of Nova’s job was caretaking the awkward, precarious, brittle organic element of her crew. Exalt humans were more robust than Mean ones, but they were still human. Humans were interesting to Nova, and perhaps the most interesting thing about them was their contradictions—so fragile, and so tenacious.

Because it was part of her job, Nova spent a great many of her cycles observing humans. Because Perceval was Nova’s Captain, and because Nova was designed to bond with one particular human, Nova found Perceval the most intriguing human of all. And now Nova’s human was grieving again, and Nova was at a loss for what to do about it besides endure, as they had endured other losses until time wore them numb.

Perceval stood, her tall, lean body enveloped in a casual shift, her brown hair gathered loosely at her nape. “Ariane and Gerald think they have a lot of useful advice. I really should get around to integrating the subordinate personalities one of these days, but I find I kind of like having them all in one place, where I can see them.”

Ariane hadn’t been too much trouble since Perceval had proved that she could master her and, if need be, destroy her utterly. But she was Ariane, and what wasn’t much trouble for her was armed rebellion from another.

“Understandable,” Nova said. “However, the time is due. You must decide how we’re approaching Grail, Captain. Or if we are, in fact, continuing to approach Grail, now that we know it is inhabited.”

Further examination had revealed satellites around the blue-and-violet world, and even a few orbiting the secondary—some xenosynchronous, and some moving at a fair clip relative to the surface. Every sign, in other words, of a thriving spacefaring culture—except for any place for them to live. There was no evidence of cities, of structures, of geoengineering projects—hydroelectrics, canals—or of roadways or air travel.

Perceval pressed her palms together, and the blade-edge of her hands against her chin and lower lip.

“They’ve exhibited no signs of hostility,” she said. “Which is good, because I am not sure how much of a fight we can make of it, if it becomes necessary. The Jacob’s Ladder is an unarmed vessel.”

“No vessel at the top of a gravity well is unarmed,” Nova said. “And there are the symbionts to consider.”

“And the ramjet.” Perceval crossed the Bridge, flowers poking between her toes, and leaned against the screens on the wall, her hands spread as if to embrace the sun and the solar system they descended into. “The whole world is a weapon.”

The humans found it strange to have a down again. Nova adapted more easily—but she found it strange to have a down at all. Parts of her recollected the waystars, but she’d never before experienced it with her whole self. She felt it tugging her in, the world sliding down the gravity well, and she had to make adjustments to her program in order to accept the acceleration.

Perceval said, “I’m not suggesting we can’t fight if we have to. I’m suggesting that they are unlikely to view us—limping in, held together with epoxy and string—as much of a threat, and I’d like to encourage that view.”

It was much the comment Nova had expected. Not that her Captain couldn’t still surprise her, but it was not so common an occurrence as