The Ship Who Saved the Worlds

by Anne McCaffrey

  "Thunderstorm can't control every centimeter of this planet," Mirina said, reasonably, glancing back over her shoulder at the Space Sayas. He looked very nervous, and she patted the air in a calming gesture toward him. "I can't believe this stranger's here all alone."

  "Fool evidently has no fear," Bisman said. "Can you believe it? He landed on a strange world and set up shop, never thinking anybody might take a shot at him!"

  "There's probably some sophisticated armaments in his ship," Mirina speculated, glancing around. She spotted it at last, and wondered how she had missed it. It stood tall and pure of shape in a niche formed by the natural rock wall at the edge of the plateau, like a classical statue in an alcove. "What a beauty!"

  Bisman glanced up in the direction she pointed, and whistled as he made a mental estimate.

  "There's money behind him," he said, at last. "We ought to be able to help ourselves to some of it."

  "You're Keff?" Bisman asked.

  "Who wants to know?" Keff said, stacking white enameled plates. The servo came over and took them away from him with a touch of impatience that was all Carialle's. He let go of the piece of hull and straightened up to greet his new "customer."

  His eyes were a vivid blue in the pink-cheeked face. Mirina realized with a shock how attractive he was, and unconsciously thrust out one hip and put a hand on it. Keff grinned at her. Abashed, she stood up straight, folding her arms across her chest.

  "Hot day, isn't it, friends?" Keff asked.

  "You don't seem surprised to see other human beings," she said.

  Keff laughed. "When I landed, these nice people addressed me in my own language," he said. "It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that they've known human people for a long, long time. They didn't get the language from tapes. There were chairs in that building over yonder, though none of the locals can sit on them. And your friend here," he pointed to Thunderstorm, "uses colloquialisms."

  "Colloq . . . ?" Bisman waved away the unfamiliar word. "So what if he does? If they're in good working order, who cares?" Though Mirina could tell it was costing him something of an effort, he put out a hand to the stranger. "This is Mirina Don. I'm Aldon Bisman."

  "Thought it was Fisman," Keff said exasperatingly. "That's what the locals called you. Just call me Keff." He was so damned cheerful, Mirina thought, she might like to strangle him herself. Then he turned the intense blue gaze on her, and she felt her cheeks flame with red. He was very, very attractive. He looked her up and down, with a quick, insouciant flick of those eyes. She should have been offended, but instead, she threw back her hair and raised her chin in defiance. He gave her a grin of approval.

  "Damned Thelerie can't say their damned b's," Bisman said. "When are you moving on?"

  "When I've finished doing business," Keff said. He straightened up and looked Bisman in the eye. He might have been several inches shorter than the raider, but Mirina, with the eye of long experience, thought he'd be a match for him. The way Keff stood so naturally on the balls of his feet instead of flat on the soles suggested he lived unarmed combat. Formidable, attractive . . . and smack in the middle of the Melange's patch. She had to remember that. He was an intruder. He represented the outside world. It spelled the end of the Thelerie's sheltered existence, and she couldn't have that.

  "What kind of goods do you have here?" Mirina asked.

  "Oh, see for yourself. I sell a lot of things. I do a rather good line on state-of-the-art spaceship parts, right out of the heart of the CW," Keff said. Mirina exchanged a glance with Bisman, and saw the light of greed in his eyes. And small wonder, too, with that array on the ground.

  "Looks like you have a whole spaceship spread out here," Bisman said, conversationally.

  Keff laughed again, but a little nervously. "When you pick things up here and there, they accumulate," he said.

  * * *

  "Good guess," Carialle said, auditing the conversation from four hundred meters away. "Good thing he hasn't got the Cridi's skill for abstract puzzle-solving, or he'd see for sure! I'm glad your new design doesn't look like the old ships, Narrow Leg, or these folks would have spotted the resemblance in an instant. Can't have that."

  Narrow Leg sat on the console in front of the biggest screentank. In Carialle's protective atmosphere, he and the others were able to move around, free of their travel globes. They watched the screens around the main cabin that were not obscured by the shipbuilder's person.

  "I do not like having my ship all to pieces on the ground," he said, wringing his big hands together as on the screen Mirina kicked some of the components. "Do not touch that, silly human!" he wailed shrilly. "That is a delicate power regulator!"

  "This stuff is junk," the woman said, turning over a brand-new engine accelerator valve still covered with protective lubricant. "I'll give you fifty credits for it, no more."

  "No, thank you," the unseen Keff said, blithely, his hand taking the component away from her and setting it delicately on the top of a servo, who spirited it away. "It's worth a lot more than that."

  "Oh, yes? How do you expect me to make a profit on it if I pay you more?" Mirina asked. The woman turned to watch the robot whisk the accelerator valve to the end of a row and set it down on a rickety folding table.

  "Aren't we greedy?" Carialle commented.

  "I don't expect you to make a profit on it; I expect me to make a profit on it," Keff's voice said. "I expect you to use it. I prefer to serve the end-user. If you don't want it, someone else will."

  She shrugged. "It's junk. Who else would?"

  Narrow Leg's black eyes bulged until Carialle thought they would pop.

  "How dare she denigrate the components of my ship! They are perfect! I rejected eight to the power of six of that valve before choosing that one! It was the product of ten to the power of sixteen calculations and designs!" His voice rose into almost inaudible registers.

  "It's a bargaining ploy," Big Eyes said, floating over from her perch on the round table to try to calm her father. She put a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he shook it off irately. "You exist in the rarefied waters of science too much. You should come to the bazaar, and dig through the mud with me some time. Then you would hear worse than this."

  "Bah." Narrow Leg was not appeased. He turned to Carialle's frog image on the near bulkhead. "What if they take some of our parts away?"

  "We have many spares," Gap Tooth called to him.

  "They are all out there, mains and spares," Narrow Leg gestured angrily.

  Big Voice was clearly amused to see his old adversary discomfitted for once. With a tiny flick of his fingers, he drew just enough power from Carialle's engines to glide up from the weight bench and over where the shipbuilder was sitting.

  "Keff will protect your ship parts," he said.

  "And if he cannot?" Narrow Leg demanded, glaring upward. "How do you expect to get home?"

  Big Voice snapped his fingers, making the gold fingerstalls click. "We do not need your ship. Carialle will bring us back to Cridi."

  "I will, if necessary," Carialle promised the anguished captain. "But your craft will be restored as soon as possible."

  "I am not happy," Narrow Leg said. He hunched up his kness and wrapped his skinny arms around them. The small bundle shot off the console and disappeared into the lap of the crash couch behind him.

  "Leave him alone," Big Eyes signed, flitting away from the chair like a tadpole swimming in a pond. "It is no use communicating with him when he is like this."

  "He should be adaptable, like me," Big Voice said aloud.

  From inside the huge chair came a disbelieving "Hah!"

  "My child looks nervous," Noonday said, speaking up timidly. "He has shown disrespect to humans, and it weighs upon his conscience." The Sayas and two of her Ro-sayo sat in the corner, out of the way of the Cridi. Noonday occupied Keff's weight bench; and the Ro-sayo, a spare mattress pad from the cargo hold. Carialle switched her monitor away from the conversation Keff was having with the r
aiders, and zoomed in on Thunderstorm. The Space Sayas went about his shopping as he'd been told to do, but he wasn't happy.

  "He's doing fine," Carialle assured his parent, enlarging the view on the screen nearest the weight bench for the sake of the Thelerie visitors. "He did exactly what he was supposed to, to make the Melange jealous. We don't want them thinking too clearly. People blurt things out when they are angry."

  "Flurt?" Noonday asked, her beautiful eyes puzzled.

  "Speak forcefully without thinking," Carialle said, slowly.

  "These learn," Small Spot said, proudly. He sat as close to the Thelerie as they would allow him. "I teach them more Standard, which I know."

  "You're doing fine, too," Carialle assured him, privately amused.

  "I cannot believe the beauty of this ship, Carialle," Noonday said. "I see, but my eyes must lie—such things as this and the Cridi ship, they are as dreams."

  Narrow Leg was somewhat soothed by the compliments. His wrinkled, green face appeared over the top of the crash couch.

  "Not a dream. State-of-the-art for now," he peeped. "We move ahead, always ahead." Carialle transposed the voice to a baritone register and amplified it so Noonday and the others could listen without pain.

  "We are getting used to them," Noonday said, to the air. Carialle could tell that she still didn't really understand a human who lived in the walls, nor one who could look like a frog at will, but followed the Cridi's example of behaving as if Carialle was there in the room with them. Shellperson existence was a facet of human experience that had never yet come their way.

  She wondered what the CenCom would make of Thelerie, and if they would try to withdraw the technology humans had given them to date, on the grounds that they wouldn't have evolved it yet themselves. She hoped not, but bureaucrats could be so rulebound!

  Carialle herself had become completely comfortable with Thelerie. Having had Noonday, Thunderstorm, the Ro-Sayo, and a large number of former members of the Melange tour through her ship during the last several days, she was convinced that none of their gaits matched the footsteps she remembered transiting what was left of her hull after her accident, not even accounting for weightlessness and grav-boots. They were absolved. The question remained: who?

  "Well, we might have an offer for you ourselves," Bisman said, rocking back on his heels and staring up at the sun. "We'll take the whole line off your hands, on condition that you take it, and don't come back."

  "I can't do that," Keff said. "I have obligations to fulfill."

  "The Circuit," Bisman said. Keff nodded. "Where's it based?"

  "Oh, here and there," Keff said, too casually.

  "Well, it won't be here," Bisman said, not at all fooled. "You have two days, then I want to see your tail-rockets up there." He pointed toward the sky.

  "No can do," Keff said, looking pathetically at both leaders. Mirina wasn't moved. "The lady who runs the Circuit would make life miserable for me. You'll understand." And he flashed that insouciant grin once again.

  Mirina found that they were getting nowhere with the trader. It stood to reason that a traveler who went around in a fancy ship like that with top-shelf goods like these on the edge of nowhere wouldn't be easy to bluff, but was he too cocky? Bisman might get so frustrated that he would attack him right here. She could stop him, but couldn't prevent the rest of the crew piling in on a fight. At least Zonzalo and Sunset would stay out of it. She'd been very firm in her orders. For whatever reason, neither one argued.

  Bisman started some low-level threats on Keff, nothing overt or too nasty, and found his sallies thrown back in his face. Mirina stood by, turning over the odd component or two with her toe. He had some of the damnedest things for sale. Oil paintings? She bent to examine them. A small space-scape caught her eye. She thought she recognized the subject as Dimitri DMK-504-R. Piled anyhow underneath it were the study of a planet she couldn't identify, a lake at sunset, a beautifully detailed portrait of a cat stalking a leaf, and a color sketch of a couple in yellow and silver, holding a baby dressed in deep, burgundy red.

  "You've wandered into our patch," Bisman was saying over her head.

  "Did you paint these?" Mirina asked, suddenly, interrupting them. She nudged the pile with the side of her foot. "They're good!"

  She was rewarded with the warm grin. "No. A friend of mine does them."

  "He has talent," Mirina said.

  "She. Thank you. I'll pass the compliment along. Maybe you'd like to buy something?" Keff asked, with just the right air of hope.

  "Maybe not," Mirina said, crossing her arms again. Good God, he was pushy!

  "Oh, then on my next stop here," he said, cheerfully, not at all put off. "You folks get around here much?"

  "Now, listen, friend," Bisman said, poking Keff in the chest to get his attention. "There won't be another stop here for you."

  "Really?" Keff asked. "I won't ask, 'you and what army,' because I've been watching your toughs gather around me for the last ten minutes, and I promise you I'm just not as green as I am cabbage-looking."

  "What?" Mirina demanded, having followed his conversation up until then.

  "Save the ancient colloquialisms yourself," Carialle growled in his ear. Keff clicked his tongue in acknowledgement. He had his hand on the top of the red box marked "Medical Waste," where Tall Eyebrow was concealed. One rap, and these brutes would be frozen in place. He hated to show his trump card right away. He would never get what he needed if he was too cocky.

  "Sorry," he said, smiling at the woman. "I mean, I was not born yesterday. You don't think for a minute that I don't know how defenseless I look." She paused. Keff noticed Bisman's hand sweep down in a gesture that looked casual, but all the other spacers stopped moving toward them.

  "So you have some kind of defense in that fancy airplane of yours," Bisman said casually.

  "Airplane, hah," Carialle said. "Look at the flying refuse heap he came in."

  "Shh!..sssure," Keff said. "My . . . employer wouldn't let me out without adequate protection."

  "The Circuit," Bisman said flatly.

  "You've heard of us?"

  "No, I haven't. You could be a fly-by-night operation with one ship and an attitude. I've seen your kind before."

  "Started that way yourself, did you?" Keff asked, and had the satisfaction of seeing the pirate start violently.

  "The Melange comes from an old family tradition," Bisman corrected him with a sharp look.

  "Ah! Your father," Keff translated.

  The present-day Bisman breasted up to Keff and glared down at him. "Listen, character, you gather up all your debris, and you lift off of this world within thirty Standard hours."

  "My boss will get tetchy if I don't come back with a deal," Keff said, plaintively, his hands spread in appeal. Bisman crossed his arms. Out of the corner of his eye, Keff could see the crew on the move again. "No, eh?"

  "Too bad," Bisman was saying. "You tell him he's accidentally impinged on hazardous territory."

  "She," Keff corrected him. "You wouldn't believe how tough the broad is at the center of the Circuit. Your threats would make her laugh out loud."

  "Oh, Keff, I love it!" Carialle's chuckle sounded in his ear. "Tell him it's a neural-synaptic network, which means we're never far away from the active arm of our organization."

  Keff passed on Carialle's words, and enjoyed the puzzled look on the pirates' faces as the two did mental translations. Bisman, at least, came up empty.

  "What's this tough broad's name?" the older man asked.

  "Carialle."

  "Carialle what?"

  "None of your business," Keff said, nonchalantly, raising his eyebrows.

  "It is if we're going to do business with you," Bisman said.

  "And who says you are?" Keff asked. "You want me off what you call your patch. Who in the frosty void do you think you are?"

  "Look," Bisman said, suddenly looking bored with him. "I don't talk to underlings. I want to talk to this Carialle." />
  "Hmmm . . . Might be arranged," Keff said.

  "I want a meeting. You can arrange it."

  "Well, I'll see what I can do," Keff said, bending down to accept a bag of circuit boards from one of the loader robots. He glanced up at Thunderstorm and the young apprentice from the pirate ship. The older Thelerie had an anxious look on his face.

  "Fine, fine," Keff called, waving to the Sayas. "I'll put the value down on a slate for you. Keep looking! You never know if you'll find something else you like." He smiled at Bisman. "It may take some time to get a message through to Carialle, but I'll send one right away and tell her you want to talk with her."

  "Face-to-face," Bisman said, tapping Keff painfully in the middle of the chest once for every syllable.

  * * *

  While Keff stood there thoughtfully rubbing his chest, Bisman hustled Mirina away . He grabbed Thunderstorm by a claw on the way by.

  "Your pavilion," he hissed. "Now!"

  Thunderstorm loped unhappily behind them over the stony ground. Mirina could feel the storm of fury growing, but Bisman didn't let fly until they were safely under the roof.

  "You're avoiding me," Bisman snapped, rounding at once on the Thelerie. Waving a finger under Thunderstorm's nose, he backed the Sayas up until he bumped into his own desk sling. "Don't try to deny it. I've known you too long. I told you we had stuff for you. You should be buying from us, and only us."

  "Tell us about this man," Mirina said, more kindly. The Thelerie looked from one human to the other, clattering his claws together nervously. He settled over the sling and continued tapping his fingertips on the desktop until Bisman glared at him to stop.

  "This Keff landed here one day. He said he had goods we might like. And so we do!" Thunderstorm said, miserably. "Things that the Melange has been unable to get for many years, are here! You see the temptation is great. And others saw him before I did, so I could not hide him. They like these goods."

  "I understand that," Bisman said. "He's got a few things I might take myself. What I'm talking about is no apprentices. You must have some about ready to ship out. Where are they?"