The City and the Ship

by Anne McCaffrey

  The Captain shook his head regretfully. "No, nothing. I haven't seen her since we were split up, and they don't talk to me." He raised a shaking hand to brush back his short hair. "I'm sorry."

  "I did not expect that you would know, I only hoped that they might have become careless and allowed you to see something. It is no matter."

  "How long have we been here?" Sung asked.

  "I do not know. I have slept four times, and I have been fed eight. But what relation that might have to real time I could not begin to guess. What is your estimation?"

  Sung shook his head, his face looking infinitely sad.

  "I don't know," he said, "I just don't know."

  "Rest," Amos said gently and placed his hand against the Captain's shoulder, urging him to lie down. He grinned ruefully. "We shall have a wealth of time to talk later. Put your head down for a while."

  Sung nodded tiredly and lay flat, his eyes closed before his head touched the pillow.

  Amos sat on the floor in a lotus position. Before resuming his meditations he offered a brief prayer of thanks for the gift of a companion to relieve the silence of his imprisonment.

  Several hours later Sung stirred and woke. He turned to Amos and stared at him in puzzlement.

  "Who the hell are you?" he asked.

  "What?"

  "Who the hell are you? What are you doing in here?"

  "Captain, what are you talking about?" Amos studied the Captain's irate face with astonishment. "I am Amos ben Sierra Nueva, a passenger of yours . . ."

  "Passengers aren't allowed in the captains quarters! What are you doing here?"

  Amos licked his dry lips, uncertain how one answered a man apparently losing his mind and growing more angry by the minute.

  "Captain Sung," he held out a placating hand, "we are not on your ship, we have been thrown into the brig of a Kolnari pirate. Don't you remember?"

  The Captain's eyes widened, a look of fear shuddered across his face to be replaced by confusion.

  "What did you say my name was?"

  "You are Captain Josiah Sung, of the merchanter ship Sunwise."

  "The Sunwise," Sung reached out and gripped Amos's hand desperately, "I remember her. She's my ship, the Sunwise. I know her. You see? I'm all right."

  "Yes, of course you are, Captain. It was only a moment's confusion. You woke from a deep sleep to find yourself in a new place, it is not uncommon to be disoriented under such conditions. All is well." Amos gave the Captain's hand a squeeze and smiled encouragingly at him.

  Sung raised his tear-slicked face to glare at Amos.

  "Let go of my hand you bastard! How the hell did you get in here?"

  Amos felt his heart pounding in the cage of his ribs, more strongly than it had when he pushed his body to its limits.

  "I'm the Captain dammit! I don't entertain the passengers. You got that? Get out of here!" Sung pointed to the hatch and then blinked. With a gasp he turned to look at Amos. "What's happening to me? What have they done?"

  Amos shook his head, equally horrified. The bruise on the Captain's face was proof of a head wound, but would such a wound have an effect like this? Had the Captain been poisoned? Was he being shown the effects before they did the same to him? It would be like Belazir to torture him so, the Kolnari idea of subtlety.

  Suddenly Belazir stood before them. The edges of his image bore a soft white fuzz for a moment, then the holo snapped into clear focus.

  A white silken robe emphasized the inhuman blackness of his still-magnificent body. A feathered clip held back his brittle white hair.

  "Good morning Simeon Amos, or good evening, whichever you have decided it must be. How are you getting on down here?"

  "Not well, Master and God. The Captain is not himself." Amos's eyes dared to demand answers, but he would not give Belazir the pleasure of hearing him ask for them.

  "Is he not?" Belazir said with amusement. "Then who is he? Captain Sung, who do you think you are?"

  "What . . . what do you mean?"

  "Who are you?" Belazir asked.

  A look of blank astonishment crossed Sung's face and he raised his hands helplessly.

  "I don't know," he said, his voice tight with horror. "I don't remember." Tears gathered in his eyes and he struggled visibly not to blink and send them rolling down his cheeks. "I don't remember."

  Amos glared at the Kolnari, letting his face show contempt. He spat at the feet of the image.

  Belazir quirked a smile at him. "You offer little sport, scumvermin; you tell me everything that I want to know without my even asking. Why should I tell you anything?"

  "You knew before you did this that I would despise you for it, Master and God. Why you even bothered to show up I cannot imagine."

  "Is this wise, scumvermin, to bait a man who holds your lives in his fist? I am sure that your friend Channahap would advise you otherwise." He folded his massive arms across his chest and regarded Amos with amusement. "It may be that I have information that you might wish to have. If you ask me very politely, I might unbend sufficiently to enlighten you."

  Amos's lips quivered with rage, but his need to know the fate of his young cousin won out over his pride and his hatred.

  "I beg your pardon," he said formally. "Master and God."

  Belazir raised an eyebrow. "I will assume that was a request for knowledge. I know that you wish for information about your young cousin. But I will instead unfold a larger plan before you. One that touches the fate of all your people." He paused, smiling, to observe the effect this pronouncement was having on Amos. "You can see that the Captain here is not behaving normally, can you not?"

  "Of course I can," Amos said through gritted teeth. "Master and God."

  "You are thinking that we have beaten him into this condition, or that we have poisoned him."

  Amos nodded.

  Belazir's face suddenly seemed weary. He shrugged and half-turned away.

  "In fact he has been overcome by a contagious, progressive disease that attacks the memory center of the brain. You are a carrier of this disease, Simeon Amos, but we have made sure that you are completely immune to it. You have seen how rapidly it works, how devastating it is."

  Belazir's golden eyes narrowed. "We Kolnari have gained great respect for such weapons. You and the rest of the scumvermin on that accursed station taught us a singular lesson about biological weaponry. Now we of Kolnar shall return the favor.

  "You will be given a drug that will prevent you from moving or speaking and then you will be returned to your people."

  Amos rose from the bunk, to confront Belazir on his feet.

  "We are not stupid, Belazir. My people will know that something is wrong. Why else would you return me?"

  "Oh, but they will have to fight to recover you. It will all be very convincing, I assure you. A raging chase through the skies of Bethel. But they will win, for yours is a valiant people. And their reward shall be to become like the Captain. We will leave him here with you so that you can fully appreciate what your return to the bosom of your people will mean to them."

  As Amos rushed forward the grinning image of Belazir blinked out and he crashed into the wall instead. He slid down until he was sitting on the floor, and then he looked up to meet Captain Sung's gaze.

  "Who are you?" the man asked. "Who . . ."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Joat stared moodily at the screen. It listed the latest Standard Commercial Report listing of cargoes in demand at Rohan Station, together with charter listings and container requests from New Destinies. Item: thruster units. Officially, Rohan didn't have shipyards. Item: power plant spares. From the specs, there were some awfully fast merchantmen operating out of Rohan—merchantmen who were profligate enough to burn out their overpowered drive units with some regularity. The sort of maneuver you needed to transit an atmosphere at high speed, or wrench another ship out of FTL transit.

  "There are some things I just won't do," she muttered.

  Running that sort of
cargo into a pesthole like Rohan was one of those things. Fuel, maybe. Foodstuffs, medical supplies, sure—if they went into a pirate's sickbay or galley, that wasn't her affair. But no fardling way was she going to run drive coils or fire-control electronics. Not to Rohan.

  "Joat, will you be advised by me?"

  Lessee. I could offer to take those fifteen containers of pharmaceuticals at, say, three percent, then—

  Joat glanced up from the cargo manifest she was studying to look at Joseph. His face was solemn and his manner formal. She raised her brows.

  "I'm always willing to listen to advice from people I respect, Joe. What's on your mind?"

  "I keep thinking of something you said to Bros Sperin. That going to Rohan was to a trader the equivalent of a virgin entering a whorehouse. It is a good analogy, Joat, and it troubles me."

  Joat leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

  "Go on," she said.

  "It is not simply your reputation with Central Worlds that concerns me. You are known as a captain who keeps her hands clean. Will they not wonder why you have come to them? As well, your association with the SSS-900-C is widely known. As the adopted daughter of a shell-person you became quite famous for a while. To those guilty of aiding the Kolnari your name will surely set off a train of associations which could result in considerable danger for you."

  She folded her hands on her stomach and nodded slowly.

  "You're right. I will need a reason for going there that's completely dissociated from Amos or the Kolnari. You know, I have this sneaking suspicion that Mr. Sperin wanted me to be under suspicion. So that it would be easier for someone else—say, Bros Sperin—to slip in himself while everyone worried about me. Hmmm."

  "Perhaps if you were to take on smuggled goods," Joseph suggested tentatively. "New Destinies has a reputation for looking the other way in such matters, so having this as your last port of call would lend credibility."

  "I'd need to justify that," Joat said thoughtfully. "I'm the first to admit that I bend the rules till they scream for mercy, but seriously criminal behavior is something I've managed to avoid so far."

  She tapped her fingertips together and stared into space for a moment. Then she smiled.

  "Rand," she asked, "do we have a recording of that little walk I took earlier?"

  "Yes Joat. I saw no reason not to make one."

  "Can you adjust it to make it look as though it had been recorded by someone else?"

  "I can."

  "Do it. Then transmit it anonymously to Station Security." She winked at Joseph. "I took an unauthorized space walk and entered the station illegally. They'll hit us with a wonking great fine and I can use that as an excuse for needing fast and dirty credits." She grimaced. "It may take us there round about, but I think the added safety margin should be worth a small delay."

  "But Joat, the fine will be real," Joseph objected. Frowning he asked, "What if you cannot pay it?"

  "No problem." Joat grinned at him. "CenSec will pay—at least, I think I can thumbscrew any reasonable amount out of them. We'll just put it under expenses. Might come to four, five thousand credits; even ten thousand. Enough to make the treasurer wince. Can't be much more than that."

  Joseph laughed. Bethelites tended to be straightlaced, but Joseph ben Said had the wholehearted love of a well-thought-out swindle natural to a Keriss wharf rat. This would not only make CenSec cough up the money, but a certain Bros Sperin would have to justify the expense.

  "You are wicked! You have always been wicked. Why did I think you had outgrown it?"

  "Wishful thinking?" Joat asked, blinking innocent blue eyes.

  * * *

  A good notion, Sperin thought as he watched the clip of Joat breaking into the station. Getting herself into trouble with station security should give her greater credibility.

  He'd wondered how she managed to avoid the man they'd had waiting for her. He's not the best that ever was, but he's not blind either. Bros shook his head and smiled slightly.

  Now how can I benefit from this situation? Sperin rubbed his upper lip thoughtfully. The little captain had been talking about ditching her career as a courier, not something CenSec would like to happen. She's smart and she's reliable. It was amazing how rare those qualities were.

  Joat hadn't been invited to join CenSec because she was too independent, too unpredictable. But it had turned out that in every way that it counted she was a gem. Be nice to have her beholden to us, Sperin mused. She's the type that pays her debts.

  He'd been given a name in the Bureau of Fines and Levies to contact if need arose. Bros rubbed his palms together. I believe I feel a need.

  "Roses sweet and tender she has twined in her hair,

  and the scent of spring and roses is with her everywhere."

  Joat yawned and half-groaned as the baritone voice boomed through the sound system.

  "I take it Alvec is back," she said.

  "Yes, Joat," Rand said.

  She dumped a packet of sweetener into the coffee—she could afford real sugar now, but preferred the more familiar taste—and said: "On display."

  The viewscreen over the galleys preserver unit came live, showing a holo of the deck outside the Wyal's berth. Alvec Dia was there, engaged in an enthusiastic good-bye kiss with a woman of about his own age and poundage; she had a spectacular head of red hair, and was clutching a dozen long-stemmed roses in her free hand. Or grinding them into Alvec's back, at times.

  "Alvec?" Joseph asked from the other side of the galley.

  He slid several eggs off the frictionless surface of the heater and onto a plate.

  "Ahhh, Brunoki sausage. Almost as good at the morning meal as toasted sand rats. Alvec is the crewman of whom you spoke?"

  Joat broke a yoke with a strip of toast. "Yup. And this happens at every dock. Well, nearly every dock. You don't really like sand rats, do you?"

  "They are a traditional delicacy."

  "Screen off. This is depressing."

  "Only because you are lonely," Joseph said slyly. "As my second wife, you—"

  "Do you really want to die, Joe?"

  Alvec checked for a moment as he came through the galley door.

  "You remember Joe?"

  "Sure," he said easily, nodding at the Bethelite. They had met once before, briefly.

  His expression showed that he also remembered Joseph's allergy to questions. The craggy-faced spacers expression went carefully bland as he pulled a container of coffee out of the cupboard, broke the seal and settled across the tiny table from Joat.

  "Ah, she's beautiful, boss," he told them. "Sweetest gal you'd ever want to meet."

  Joat and Joseph exchanged a look.

  "He's always like this after he's been on leave," Joat explained.

  Joseph nodded, "Of course, quite understandable."

  Joat cocked her head at her crew, her brows raised.

  "Um, Al. Would you like to pursue your acquaintance with this lady while Joe and I take a brief jaunt elsewhere?"

  Alvec looked from Joat to Joseph suspiciously.

  "Not especially. I mean, yeah, I want to pursue her acquaintance, she's beautiful, but not at the expense of my job."

  "Your job is safe, Al. Joe's just visiting, he's got a wife and kids dirtside on Bethel. We've just got this thing we've got to do. And you deserve a vacation, you haven't had one in ages."

  Alvec studied his employer, her little half smile, the raised brows, the wide innocent eyes.

  "Now you've got me worried, Captain," he complained. "When you look this reasonable, you're usually up to something. I'll think about it." Alvec allowed his manner to convey his deep suspicion.

  The com chimed. "Merchant Ship Wyal, Captain Joat Simeon speaking," Joat answered.

  "Good morning, Captain Simeon. My name is Graf Dyson." The man smiled grimly. "Although I understand you know my name."

  Oh-oh. Graf Dyson. I claimed to be a very good friend of Graf Dyson. Influential people tended to disap
prove when you took their names in vain. She'd intended to be far away by the time Mr. Dyson got wind of how she'd used his influence without his permission. Oh, well, I never expected to want to get fined.

  The man on the screen was dark haired, middle-aged and heavy featured. Looks honest, Joat thought. That was a bad sign. Conmen and sharps usually did.

  "I am employed by the Bureau of Fines and Levies, as I believe you already know." He paused to let that sink in before continuing: "And I'm contacting you in regard to a matter that has been brought to the attention of Station Security and through them to my bureau."

  "Mmmm?" Joat murmured cautiously, setting her coffee aside.

  "A recording was anonymously sent to Security of an unauthorized space walk and illegal entry into the station through an emergency repair hatch by someone from the Wyal. We have reason to believe that the person shown on the recording might be you."

  There was something about the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes that unnerved her. Me and my bright ideas. Using Dyson's name had been a good idea. Making the illegal entry had been a good idea. Tricking the New Destinies into giving her a cover story by fining her had been a good idea.

  But when you added them all up, they didn't come to a good idea. This is what Channa used to mean by keeping the big picture in mind, Joat thought. For a moment she wished poignantly that Channa was there with her, someone older and wiser to lean on. . . .

  Fardling void with that, she thought stubbornly. I'm twenty-three. And even when I was twelve, I could look after myself.

  "That's completely ridiculous!" she said briskly. "What possible reason could I have for doing such a thing?"

  Joat stared back at Dyson with an expression of injured disbelief that had baffled even experienced child-welfare workers in its time.

  "Your ship was under observation yesterday by Station Security. It's assumed that you became aware of being under surveillance and chose to avoid it by taking this round-about method of entering the station."