The Ship Who Saved the Worlds

by Anne McCaffrey

  Keff shot a glance at the council. Tall Eyebrow sat proudly erect between Narrow Leg and Big Eyes. Big Voice was conferring energetically with the councillors on either side of him. Smooth Hand let the applause go on, then raised his hands for silence.

  "I am sure you have many questions for the tall stranger, now to be called our friend, I hope," he signed, with a slight smile toward Keff. "For now, let your sign be counted. If you approve the approach to Central Worlds, send your vote to your precinct now. Thank you all."

  Reporters hurried forward from the side tables and the audience, swamping the panel. Free-floating remote cameras buzzed over their heads and zoomed from face to face, gathering reactions like a species of psychological honey bee. The air was full of flurried gestures and excited Cridi voices. After weeks of intensive training in the spoken language Keff understood more of the verbal exchanges than ever before, and he was delighted with the response.

  "Can you hear it, Cari? They want it. They're going to join us."

  Carialle sounded amused. "Don't count your chickens in advance, softshell . . . but I think you're right. You should hear some of the scuttlebutt going about on the amulet airwaves. I'm recording the best ones for you to hear later. 'Maximum joy and maximum profit' was the one I heard from Big Voice's media aide."

  "And here's the man himself," Keff said, seeing a solemn delegation forcing its way toward them through the crush on the platform. "Good gentle-male."

  "Tall stranger," Big Voice signed, very politely. "I have exchanged tentative words with Long Hand with regard to the spacecraft concession for Sky Clear. Should this proposition now before us come to pass, I would be concerned that a human delegation might . . . put in a rival bid for choice sites."

  "That's the nature of business throughout the universe," Keff signed cheerfully, teasing the pompous amphibioid. Clearly shaken, Big Voice tried again.

  "Would not Central Committee consider priority for primary sentient species?" His hands fluttered desperately, trying to gauge Keff's response. "Or partnership?" Keff grinned and relented.

  "Central Worlds would not take away the rights from one member species in favor of another," he said. "If you can get an exclusive agreement from the Cridi on Sky Clear, the CenCom won't interfere with that at all."

  "Thank you," Big Voice signed, gratefully. "Thank you, tall stranger Keff." He moved away, once again in pursuit of Long Hand. Tall Eyebrow, having observed the whole thing from his place on the dais, grinned to show his sharp white teeth. Keff gave him a wink.

  More media types swooped in on him, signing or singing questions from all sides. Keff tried to answer them all in turn, knowing he was getting some of the words wrong in his haste, hoping it wouldn't matter. The IT earned its keep that day, translating his spoken replies into Cridi music, so he could carry on two conversations at once.

  "Will other humans come to Cridi?" was among the most frequently asked questions. "Will we be able to visit your worlds?"

  "You will be most welcome everywhere you go," Keff said. "In fact, we will expect a return visit, just as soon as Narrow Leg's team finishes constructing their first spaceship." He turned to gesture with an open hand toward the old male who stood half a head taller than every other Cridi in the room. He stiffened with pride.

  "That is right, and only right," Narrow Leg said, "that we should make our first visit to our new allies in our own spacecraft. And you may take my words straight to heart. We will be ready."

  The reporters chirruped excitedly, obviously adding color commentary.

  Smooth Hand moved to the center of the dais then, and held up his long, wrinkled hands.

  "The tabulation is finished," he signed, and announced the figures. The numbers were so large that his voice rose almost out of Keff's range of hearing.

  "Did I get that right, Cari? Twenty million in favor of membership?"

  "Unless your program here split a chip, those in favor of the Central Worlds was 25,697,204. Against: 3,402,110."

  Smooth Hand repeated the good news to the crowd, who echoed it as they danced in the aisles. "The measure passes! The measure passes! We join!"

  "Sit down, sit down," the elder signed. "There is one thing left to do. Please. May we have your attention?"

  It took some time until the jubilant Cridi settled back into their seats. The senior councillor turned to Keff.

  "This is a great moment for our people. Not only have we rediscovered our lost children, but we make a bond with new friends." He signalled to an aide to come forward.

  The silver-torqued frog glided swiftly onto the stage bearing two long rectangles of a high gloss wood. On each was engraved a long screed in an incredibly tiny and intricate script. Beside the Cridi language was the text in Standard. Keff looked up in surprise.

  "I helped the engraver with the correct wording," Tall Eyebrow told Keff. "I took it directly from Carialle's file of such documents. You will find it in order, I promise you."

  "And I took it from the databanks of your more than unusually helpful IT," Carialle said in his ear.

  "You see," Keff said, sublingually. "In no time, you'll look back on the days when you used to laugh at my program."

  "I don't see those days receding behind us, Keff," Carialle said, sardonically, "but in this case it came through."

  "Is all in order?" Tall Eyebrow asked, concerned.

  "I'm absolutely certain it's all right," Keff said, reassuringly. "I have never seen an official government document look so beautiful."

  "You honor us," Smooth Hand said, bowing over his moving hands.

  At each side of the document were blank blocks enclosed in festoons of scrollwork, images of vines, flowers, insects and birds. Keff figured out that those were the signature blocks when he managed to decipher his name, picked out delicately in filament-thin characters, running in a border around the right-hand block.

  The aide floated over the heads of the crowd and laid the squares of wood neatly beside one another in the center of the table. Smooth Hand followed to stand with one long hand touching each.

  Smooth Hand nodded to Keff to join him. The crowd of reporters parted, flowing back into the main audience. Keff fumbled at his tunic pocket and drew out two small devices.

  "I'm so excited I nearly forgot these," he said. "These are short-run permanent recorders which I would like to use to immortalize this moment for the CenCom. One is a gift to you, to keep in your admirable archives."

  "We thank you for your thoughtfulness," Smooth Hand said. "Your request is granted. Set them where they will catch all of this great moment."

  "Well," Keff said, picking up the silver scriber the aide handed him. He tested it against his palm and found it sharp-edged enough to skim off a layer of skin. "This is it, Carialle."

  "This is it," she agreed. "A moment for all the Central Worlds, and for us as well. Go for it, Sir Galahad."

  "I do it all for you, Lady Fair." He grinned to himself and nodded to the senior councillor.

  Smooth Hand looked out across the sea of faces. "All of you bear witness to this moment, in which we find we are not alone in this great galaxy, but among friends." He took his scriber and incised his name in the left-hand block on both blocks of wood. The crowd erupted in cheers and applause. He signalled to Keff, who stepped forward and bowed over the first of the documents.

  "Hold it," Carialle's voice said sharply in his ear. "Don't do it."

  Keff stopped, arrested with his hand centimeters above the wood. "Why not? What's wrong, Carialle?"

  "What is it?" Smooth Hand asked, seeing the human's mouth moving almost silently. "Is something wrong?"

  "Cari?"

  Her voice in his ear was as crisp and sharp as an artificial-intelligence generated construct. "Don't sign a thing. The entire deal is on hold. I have just received a message back from the CenCom. There's a ship at the perimeter of this system, and they are here to take over negotiations. We are off this mission as of now!"

  "What?" Keff demande
d. "They can't do that!"

  "They can, and have! The CenCom sends its compliments, but we are ordered to step back to avoid any 'unforeseen difficulties.' It's the Inspector General's doing. I am so mad that I could just flame out!"

  Keff didn't like the edge in her voice. "Try and stay calm, Lady Fair. I'll get out of here and come to you. We'll discuss this." He looked up at the crowd, who were fluttering surreptitious messages at one another, and at Smooth Hand, clearly wondering what was going on. Swallowing his concern for Carialle, he forced a smile to his lips. He hoped his growing command of the Cridi language would sufficiently support him through this delicate moment.

  "Gentle-males and gentle-females, I sincerely beg your pardon," he said, setting down the scriber. A few in the audience gasped at his action, and he made a gesture intended to show humility. "I have just been informed that, er, that diplomats senior to Carialle and myself have just arrived in your star system. This is such an important matter that they wish to take part in this ceremony themselves. If you will forgive this terrible breach of manners, may I beg a short delay until they may join us?"

  Smooth Hand's face, compressed into a frown of concern, opened up in comprehension. "Ah!" he squeaked. "I see. With the greatest of reluctance, friend Keff, I see no reason why not to allow. We know and trust you, but we understand the pressures of state."

  There was a general murmur, only partly of agreement, from the rest of the council. Keff heard undertones of distrust and dismay beneath it. Big Voice scowled and crossed his arms as if to say he'd assumed all along the humans would back away at the last minute.

  "Thank you, Councillor Smooth Hand, and all the rest of the conclave, gentle-females and gentle-males. I must go and prepare for the arrival of our senior delegates. I . . . we'll be back as soon as we can. If you will excuse me?" He barely waited for the council to signal their assent before he was running up the aisles in a crouch.

  "Hold on, Lady Fair," he murmured as he ran out of the hall and into the muddy street. "I'll be with you in just a moment. Don't do anything rash."

  "I'm not going to do anything," Carialle said, but her voice rose in volume and pitch until he winced. "But Dr. Sennet Maxwell-Corey is going to pay heavily for this. I am not crazy!"

  Chapter Seven

  Tall Eyebrow caught up with Keff about twenty meters outside the door, and swept him up on a wave of Core power.

  "I will take you swiftly to 'the One Who Watches From Behind the Walls,' " he said.

  The two of them flew up over the jungle-fringed city blocks toward the spacefield. Luckily for Keff's atmospheric acrophobia, he had no attention to spare for looking down. He had enough on his hands trying to calm down his partner, who kept up a steady stream of diatribe in his ears.

  " . . . Muck-faced, baby-eating, acephalitic bastard," Carialle kept saying. "First, he rigged me with a booby trap, illegally, without my knowledge, and set it to go off without waiting to get full data on the situation. Now he sees to our disgrace before the entire Cridi population. What's next?"

  "I'm sure we can work out the mistake," Keff said, over and over again. "Just exactly what did they say?"

  With admirable control, Tall Eyebrow brought them to a perfect landing on the ramp of the ship. Keff threw a bare nod over his shoulder for thanks, and ran inside.

  "Oh, they were polite," Carialle said. Her voice beat double on his eardrums, coming from the cabin speakers as well as his implant. When he cringed at the sheer power of her vocal volume, she relented and turned it down, deactivating the mastoid bone receiver entirely. "So sorry, but orders are orders."

  Keff plumped down in his crash couch. Tall Eyebrow hovered sympathetically near Carialle's titanium pillar.

  "Let's see the message," Keff said.

  The screen in front of him filled with the hailing graphic used in all Central Worlds Fleet communiques. It vanished, and the image of a man appeared. His long jaws and heavy eyebrows made him look melancholy, but his voice was a pleasantly warm tenor.

  "CK-963, this is the DSC-902. Respectful greetings. I am Captain Gavon. I am sending you a tightbeam of messages entrusted to me by the Central Committee. I know the content of these datafiles. I want to assure you in advance that I regret the intrusion as much as you do. Standing by."

  The messages followed. As Carialle had dreaded, the first was from the head of Explorations, Dr. Michael Brinker-Levy. His pleasant, dark-skinned face glanced out at them from the screen. He gave them an apologetic smile.

  "Carialle and Keff, we have just received communication from the Inspector General for your sectors, Dr. Corey. He had an emergency buoy that you had launched at this point," a star chart overlay his face. "The internal recordings from Telemetry showed you were in no physical peril at the time, but nevertheless show dangerous adrenaline and toxicity levels in your system, Carialle. No updates and no further messages from you were received, except for a routine query for a databank search you sent recently."

  "Nonsense," Keff said. "The IG must have heard from SPRIM and MM within microseconds. And what about your complaint for illegal circuit-tapping?"

  "He oversees all queries about illegalities and improprieties in this sector," Carialle said bitterly. "And who is watching the watchman?"

  Brinker-Levy continued. " . . . I have also had a complaint on your behalf from the oversight agencies, SPRIM and MM, citing personal interference from the Inspector General. Under normal circumstances I would be able to take those into account first. Because you're engaged upon such a delicate negotiation that affects matters at the highest levels, if there is anything wrong, and your judgement is in some way impaired . . . you must understand we cannot take chances, and at this distant remove we have no way of judging for ourselves. Please cooperate in every way with Captain Gavon. He's a good man, and will need your help. Your knowledge of the Cridi culture and language are unsurpassed, and I have always been satisfied with the job you do," here he smiled, "even if you are a little unorthodox. I will take up the subject of your complaints while you are on your way back to Central Worlds, and send you updated information in transit."

  "On the way back? What is he talking about?" Keff asked.

  "There's more," Carialle said. "This was on the sideband." The visual didn't change from the graphic left after the end of Brinker-Levy's message, but a resonant voice broke over the speakers.

  "Hi, gal," Simeon said. "Greetings from SSS-900-C. I received your query. I'm at a loss for natural causes that would have destroyed three starships. No abnormal outbreak of ion storms, comets, or other anomalies observed in your pinpoint area. I'm uploading to you all the data I have for the last fifty years. There's not much. Some of it's your own. That spot between P- and R-sector is rarely explored.

  "I'm piggybacking on Exploration's message to you because I heard some scuttlebutt you need to know. Maxwell-Corey's out ringing doorbells again. The first probe caused quite a sensation. Pa-lenty unorthodox. He was going to be in deep spacedust with SPRIM, until the second probe arrived. The data on it was garbled, and your voice sounded woozy. That added fire to his insistence that there's still something wrong with your mind, and you need specialized long-term mental care. I sincerely hope not. He's arguing at the least you're severely overwrought. Keep it together, gal. Greetings to Keff."

  The graphic faded, and the unwelcome sight of the Inspector General's mustachioed face flicked into being. Keff found himself unable to resist a sneer. Maxwell-Corey's vendetta against his partner had attained foolish proportions over the years, and he was becoming tired of the pompous bureaucrat and his implausible hobbyhorse. A dozen shrinks had proclaimed Carialle sane, but this control freak could not acknowledge the truth, would not acknowledge it. The tragedy was, he might be able to "prove" it by forcing her into unwitting admissions, recording angry outbursts, and twisting data to suit his purpose.

  "CK-963 Carialle, in light of your two communications with the Central Worlds I am ordering you to SSF-863 for a full evaluation. You wi
ll brief the replacement team in full and return immediately when you have received this message. Maxwell-Corey out."

  The screen blanked. Keff relaxed a little, realizing that his hands were ground into tight fists, and he was standing on the balls of his feet, as if ready to meet an attacker.

  Captain Gavon's face reappeared, his long face sympathetic.

  "I am sorry," Gavon said, and the catch in his voice showed Keff the diplomat was under a tremendous strain. "We'll be with you in a matter of hours. Gavon out."

  "They can't do that to us," Keff said. "We'll fight them, Cari. Cari?"

  Carialle didn't answer. She ignored the input from her screens, antennae, and camera eyes. For a moment, just for a moment, at the sound of the Inspector General's mocking voice, her long-buried subconscious had flashed back to a memory she thought had been destroyed with her first ship. . . feeling not so much as hearing a slight vibration from the hull above her, as footsteps stopped—as if someone was laughing at her. Laughing at her helplessness!

  No, she said to herself, pulling back into the inmost security of her shell. I will not let myself be forced. I am not mad. I'm cured! she cried. I'm cured, I'm cured, I'm cured. But the tapping and the sounds of her own screams came back to her. She started counting the seconds again. One, two, three . . .

  Her power levels all dropped for a dizzying, frightening millisecond. Carialle snapped out of her reverie, and went back on full alert. All scopes were back to normal. She wondered what had happened. Then she became aware that Keff was pounding on her titanium pillar and shouting.

  "Carialle! Answer me! Cari!"

  "What happened?" she demanded. "I felt a blackout."

  The brawn staggered backward, limp with relief. "Tall Eyebrow blinked your power, just once. I'm glad it was enough."