The City and the Ship

by Anne McCaffrey

  "We cannot be ready in ten minutes. I repeat we can not be ready for departure in that time. No such request came from the Wyal."

  The controller stared at her for a moment.

  "The request came from Nomik Ciety, Captain. And your options are to lift-off in," he consulted the time, "nine minutes, thirty-nine seconds, or to stay and explain exactly why you didn't." He offered her a superior little smile. "I know which I'd choose." Then he was gone.

  "Damn the man!" Joat said and began to work frantically at prelaunch tasks that hadn't been attended to.

  Alvec stepped to his station and began working.

  Bros and Seg watched their concentrated activity for a few moments.

  "Is there anything I can do?" Bros asked.

  "No," Joat said shortly. "Joe, could you find these guys a berth, please?"

  "Yes, Captain."

  Damn, Joat thought. He usually doesn't call me that.

  Joseph was really angry.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Dana Sherman frowned at the message she'd just been sent by CenSec's contact on New Destinies.

  What the hell is Sal trying to pull? she'd thought at first. And had sent for confirmation. A quick check through some eyes-only files had revealed that the Clal va Riguez Sal was referring to was, in fact, one of the old cover names for Bros Sperin. And a return message from New Destinies confirmed that he really had ordered Sal to pay this exorbitant fine for a ship named Wyal.

  Bros Sperin is retired from field work, she thought, puzzled and annoyed. So what's he doing on New Destinies playing Lord Bountiful with his department's budget? This didn't seem right. In fact I think it stinks to high heaven.

  If Sperin was in the field, then he should have a controller, someone who was overseeing his endeavors. And who else would that be but Bros's superior? she asked herself cheerfully. With the click of a few keys she rid herself of a potentially loaded situation.

  * * *

  Joat groaned and began to beat her head against the edge of her console. Then she leaned back and covered her face. When she took her hands away she was smiling dazedly.

  "This is unbelievable," she said.

  "Are you all right, Joat?" Rand's voice tones indicated concern; its lights flickered yellow.

  "Yes," she said, shaking her head. "Get the spy master up here, would you, Rand. I've got some questions for him."

  Rand hesitated. "Do you mean Joseph, Bros, or Seg?" it asked.

  "Seg?" Her voice deepened with amazement.

  "He's very knowledgeable on the subject."

  "I meant Sperin," she said. "He's the one who got us into this."

  "To be fair, Joat, I'm sure that your commitment to Joseph and the Benisur Amos is what motivated our participation in Mr. Sperin's scheme."

  She shrugged. "Who wants to be fair?" She keyed up Ciety's instructions and read them again. Then sighed, again. She didn't want to be fair to Sperin; he made her uneasy. And that irritated her. It also irritated her that she was taking pains to avoid him, not an easy thing to do on a ship this size.

  She'd finally banned him from the bridge to give herself some space. Which I needed. There was a limit to the number of times you could watch a face with that "I know something you don't know" look. At least, without rearranging the face with a multitool set to "weld."

  "Captain?"

  Sperin was leaning both hands against the hatch, his head thrust through the hatchway.

  "Permission to enter the bridge?" he said.

  "Oh don't be an ass! I sent for you didn't I?"

  He smiled and came to where she sat.

  "Not that it isn't nice to be asked, for a change," she snapped.

  This man has the patent on smug, she decided, watching his cool half-bow.

  "What did you want?" he asked, leaning against the console.

  "Ciety's orders just became available, and surprise! You remember the marker buoy we were discussing just before liftoff? The one Ciety's mysterious contact kept passing?"

  He nodded.

  "Well, guess what? That's our destination. But wait! It gets better. Our assignment is to pick up a cargo and deliver it to a third party in a place to be named by the shipper." She cocked her head at him. "How does that sound to you?"

  He shrugged. "You're the captain. You tell me."

  She made an exasperated noise.

  "It sounds to me as though we're about to meet the Kolnari," she said.

  "Or possibly their minions," he agreed.

  "So? What do you want to do about it? Are you going to inform Central Worlds or what?"

  He grimaced. "What do you want me to say, Joat? I can hardly call out the Navy on this. I don't actually have any hard information. For all we know this is a minor drug deal or some smuggling job." He held his hands out helplessly. "It could be the Kolnar, it could be a loyalty test. Like you said at the beginning, we're flying blind here."

  "Then why would Ciety offer to wipe the debt?"

  "Obviously, it's either worth it to him, or he has no intention of paying . . . or both."

  "Isn't there something we should be doing? Don't you have someone waiting to hear from you?"

  "Yes, to both questions. To the first, we're doing it. We're heading for that rendezvous, and we'll have to wait till we get there to decide what to do next. To the second, yes, I have someone waiting to hear from me. But I'm not about to blow my cover and tell the universe where I am for no reason, I have nothing worth reporting, Joat. Until I do I'm just going to keep my mouth shut."

  She sighed. "So I guess I should too."

  "I didn't say that!"

  "I didn't say you did. Sheesh! All I meant was that I wouldn't pester you about it."

  "Very well." He stood up.

  "All right."

  "If that answers all your questions?" he asked, very politely.

  "Yes, thanks."

  "How long before we reach that buoy?"

  "Not long," she said, "a few hours. Tell the others for me, would you?"

  He nodded sharply and left. Joat turned her chair to watch him go.

  "Fardles, he's testy," she muttered.

  "So are you," Rand told her.

  "Maybe it's those shots Seg gave us," Joat suggested. She'd been uneasy about taking them. Experimental drugs have their place. That place is not in Joat Simeon-Hap's veins.

  "I don't believe so," Rand told her. "No one else has these particular symptoms. You and Mr. Sperin seem to strike sparks off each other." It paused thoughtfully. "Why is that?"

  Joat frowned. "It's cause he's a pushy osco and he doesn't like being called on it," she snarled. And he's too damned attractive and too damned cocky and on my mind too damn much. "I shouldn't have equipped you with a metaphor function."

  "The same could be said of Joseph, but you've never reacted to him this way."

  "Well, I trust Joe," she said unhappily. "I'd trust him with my life."

  Rand was silent for a moment. Then it said, "He doesn't trust you though, does he?"

  Joat blushed and her mouth twisted ruefully. She schooled herself to be patient with Rand who didn't understand how much the rift between herself and Joseph hurt her.

  "That's very perceptive," she said quietly. "It'll take a while to win back his confidence. If I ever do."

  "He is fair, Joat. Though harsh in his judgments. Eventually, I believe he must concede that if you were on good terms with Mr. Ciety you probably wouldn't have pulled this assignment."

  Joat smiled slowly. "You know, you're right. Ciety didn't exactly wave us off with a fond farewell, did he?"

  "That's very perceptive," Rand murmured, and Joat began to chuckle.

  "Although that doesn't mean that giving him the finger was the right thing to do," she said.

  "But it worked. And Joseph attaches high value to that quality."

  * * *

  Bros moved down the corridor quickly, his brow furrowed. "I just can't seem to find the right tone with her," he muttered to himself as
he swung into the tiny cubicle. On Wyal it was normally used for stores, but a little work had made it habitable—just. He automatically tested the sticktights and monitors; no, Rand and Joat hadn't managed to bug it, yet. That he was aware of; he had the best tools CenSec could produce, but she was a wild card as far as technics went.

  "As far as anything goes," he snarled.

  He'd worked hard to maintain an attitude of aloof friendliness; watching his words to avoid any hint of being judgmental, keeping his expression a polite half-smile intended to show confidence in her.

  I never know what she's going to say or do.

  It was too long since he'd been a field agent full-time, too much time as a controller. He was used to being in control, manipulating things from a distance.

  "Am I losing it?" There was a time when he wouldn't have bucked the Middle Command this hard over the Kolnari matter. Sure, he was right—but he also didn't have the strategic information the Command did. Central Worlds ran a big operation; maybe he was being a loose cannon and nothing more. Yet he couldn't stop himself . . .

  The enemy appeared to control the game and he felt like one of the little, powerless pieces; the kind that are given up with a good-natured shrug. Meanwhile, virtually every player on his team was annoyed, to one degree or another, with everyone else. The only real asset he had was that Nomik Ciety didn't know he was involved.

  He smiled wryly. Even Seg had deserted him to follow Joseph around like an eager puppy. Much to the Bethelite's chagrin.

  Joseph's people were uneasy with aliens, to put it mildly. There was no place for nonhumans in the rather conservative religion that permeated every moment of life on Bethel. So finding one of them worshipping at his feet was making Joseph very queasy.

  Bros stepped through the hatchway into the galley to hear Seg asking: "But why would you rescue the Lady Rachel when she had just betrayed all of you?"

  This was too much for Joseph who burst from his chair and strode to the hatch. Bros leapt out of his way. Then Joseph spun 'round and snarled.

  "I am not at the end of my life, boy! I cannot look back and see a pattern. Because there is no pattern. Sometimes you react to life as it happens! Just as we are reacting to this situation we find ourselves in. Or are you perhaps planning everything you will be called upon to do in the next few days?" He glared at Seg for a moment. "No? I thought not. I will ask you to stop your annoying habit of questioning every decision I have made in my life, before I compel you to do so." He turned and stormed off.

  Seg sat at the table, looking crestfallen. His large, fine eyes were tragic, the smaller ones were closed. His little suckerlike mouth was sphinctered shut, but trembled querulously, and his ear whorls were quite pale.

  The young scientist might not be quite as upset as he looked—Sondee just weren't equipped by nature to show a poker face—but Bros felt moved to offer some comfort.

  "You've got to remember, Seg, that what one person perceives as a moment of glory, another might see as just a really bad day they'd like to forget. That question is probably a sore spot with Joseph because he married the Lady Rachel." Seg slumped down farther in his chair. "I don't know if you were aware of that."

  "No," Seg sighed, "I didn't know. The thwarting of the Kolnari raid on SSS-900-C is so famous, though. An adventure that will live forever!"

  "Adventure is somebody else in deep koka, far, far away and a long time ago," Bros said. "Wishing for adventure is like praying for bad luck."

  The Sondee looked shocked. "But . . . but this is adventure," he protested.

  "No, it'll be adventure if somebody makes a vid play about it after we survive," Bros said. "Joseph's been there and done that. So cut him some slack."

  Silence fell for a moment. "Still," Seg looked up at Bros, "you'd like to treat me like that. Wouldn't you?"

  Bros raised his brows.

  "What makes you say that?"

  Seg looked condescending.

  "I'm not stupid, Bros. Far from it, in fact. I'm a brilliant scientist. I know that because I know who my competition are and they're so smart it takes my breath away. I'm a better than average musician, and coming from a Sondee that's saying something. And I probably pull in more credits in a year than the whole bunch of you put together could in two. So where do you people get off looking down on me?" He was sitting up straight now, his eyes bright, his ear whorls flushed with color.

  "Hey," Bros said, holding up his hands, palms out, "calm down. Why are you yelling at me?"

  "Because you're here and you're guilty." He scowled, at least, Bros assumed he was scowling. "So I'm socially tone-deaf, so what? I'm young. And I'm not human—I'm not as bad as this with Sondee." He paused. "Not usually. If it's that important I'm sure I can learn what I need to know. In the meantime, I just thought I'd point out that you haven't got all that much to be smug about."

  Bros sat down beside him and studied his young charge, one finger stroking his upper lip.

  "I didn't realize I was being smug," he said quietly.

  Seg slumped in his chair again.

  "You don't want me here."

  Bros nodded. "You're right, I don't. But not because I look down on you. It's because I'm fully aware of what a valuable citizen you really are, Seg." His eyes narrowed "Even though I checked it myself, I still can't believe Clenst would put you in the line of fire like this."

  "I insisted," Seg said quickly. "I felt responsible for the loss of our work. I made them see that I should go."

  "I still don't like it," Bros said. "It divides my attention. You may be brilliant . . . no, I'll be honest, you are brilliant, but this isn't your line of work. How would you feel if somebody forced themselves on you as an assistant during a crucial experiment, without training?"

  Seg wilted with guilt.

  "You've been useful so far," Bros conceded. "But I don't believe in tempting the gods of luck. We've had too much good luck so far, and I'm afraid you may be the straw that broke the camel's back."

  Seg looked interested.

  "What camel?" he asked. "Like the ones with silver bells?"

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  "Clan-Lord?"

  "Speak," Belazir didn't raise his eyes from the screen he studied.

  "Your contact on Rohan has confirmed that he has found shipping for us and has given us an ETA for a vessel named Wyal."

  Belazir nodded thoughtfully. "How long?" he asked.

  "Two hours, Clan-Lord," the young Kolnari hesitated.

  Belazir noted it and said again, "Speak."

  "The . . . captains name . . . is Joat Simeon-Hap."

  Belazir's blazing eyes rose from the screen like some merciless sun. The crewman's pupils expanded in fear and he visibly shuddered, but held his place. Belazir bared his teeth in a parody of a grin. His body began to quiver slightly in arousal.

  No. It is a joke. That scumvermin dares! Ciety had been arrogant from the first, confident that he was irreplaceable. Even the Yoered Family would draw the line at the sort of dealings Ciety had agreed to, and he thought that made him the master. He dared to taunt Belazir with unsatisfiable desires.

  "Simeon?" he breathed. "Ciety dares to taunt me with that name?"

  "Get him," he said, glaring into the other's eyes. "Ciety and his doxy, and bring them to me."

  The young crewman stared at him like a bird fascinated by a snake.

  "Go!" Belazir roared, and the crewman fled with a clatter of boots.

  Belazir sat down slowly, his golden eyes wide, staring at scenes that never had taken place. Scenes that soothed and pleasured him. In his mind he saw Channa Hap kneeling, her spirit broken, offering up to him the male child she'd borne him. He sat in a thronelike chair looking coldly down upon her bent head and gently informed her that as a male it must be castrated and made a slave. Licking his lips, he imagined Channa flat on her belly, clasping his ankle and kissing his feet, her tears leaving streaks on the polished ebony of his skin as she begged for mercy for her child.

  Nex
t, he imagined Simeon's voice, begging to be allowed to serve the Kolnar, pleading with him not to be left in the dark. And then there was Amos.

  He grinned. Yes. There was Amos.

  "Zerach, take some troops and prepare our guest, the Benisur, for departure."

  Behind him a brawny scarred woman smiled and rose, beckoning to two troopers in powered armor to follow her. They genuflected to the ship's joss behind the command seat and left with a tread that shook the deck.

  Karak cleared his throat and his father's eyes fell on him like an accusation.

  "You wish to speak, my son?"

  "What of the Benisur's scumvermin companions?" Karak asked.

  Belazir made a little moue and shrugged, his eyes wandered back to his screen. He gestured idly with two fingers.

  "See to them," he said.

  Karak rose and bowed to his father, then forced himself to leave the bridge calmly.

  Belazir smiled like a man suppressing laughter. Then he too rose.

  "Kiriss."

  "Clan-Lord?"

  "You have the bridge. I will be in my quarters if I am needed."

  "Yes, Clan-Lord."

  * * *

  As soon as he was clear of the bridge Karak lengthened his stride. By the time he was near Soamosa's prison he was running. He stopped just before the turning to the brig to calm his breathing. Then he approached the guards outside her door at a measured walk.

  "I am to take the scumvermin girl to the Clan-Lord," he said coldly. "She will not be coming back, so you are to report to your unit commander for reassignment."

  "No one has informed us of this, Petite-Heir." The woman guard stared at him, obliquely contemptuous.

  He gritted his teeth at the title; officially he should be Magna-Heir, as his fathers only living son, although Belazir had never found the "time" for the ceremony. Enough, I renounce him.

  "I am informing you. Just as I shall inform your unit commander that you are desperately in need of a punishment drill." He paused long enough to watch her struggle through her resentment.

  "Does the Petite-Heir require an escort?" the other guard asked.

  Karak narrowed his eyes as he studied the man, not certain whether the trooper was sincere or joking.