Nimisha's Ship

by Anne McCaffrey

  Jon and Nimisha exchanged glances, and Jon began to chuckle. “You didn’t have a hand in this, did you, Doc?”

  “Me, sir? No, sir,” Doc said with what sounded like a genuine indignation. “But it does give us a legitimate reason to send the Acclarke back to Vega as fast as Helm can take it. Karpla is, and Meterios will shortly be, dangerous to both humans and Sh’im. Their condition is unlikely to deteriorate once they are both in cold sleep . . .”

  “Especially since those were Meterios’s original orders,” Nimisha said drolly.

  “And they can be dealt with by medical authorities on their arrival. I strongly urge you to take my advice in this matter.”

  “Doc?” Nimisha began, her expression severe.

  “One grabs occasions as they arise, Lady Nimisha,” he said at his most courteous and cryptic.

  “What was it they used to say about gift horses?” Jon asked, raising an eyebrow as he gave her a charming lopsided grin. “And whatever they got in that four-month resupply should be appropriated as fast as possible.”

  “Jon, we shouldn’t,” Nimisha said, aghast.

  “Why not? Those two won’t need it, and if there’s some fresh homegrown produce—”

  “There is,” Doc interrupted. “I had Helm check with Four’s Helm. D’you want the manifest?”

  “We can make sure the crew it was designed for get it, love,” Jon said, touching her elbow. “Sure won’t last four years back to Vegan Headquarters. And we’ll be having visitors who’ll have run out of the supplies they came with.”

  “Yes, we will, won’t we?” Nimisha wavered.

  The next few days were fraught with nervous tension, begun when Captain Meterios informed Captain Svangel in a tone bordering on hysteria that she had awakened to find herself itching unmercifully.

  “Your Doc can handle it,” Jon said, “but if you have anyone else in the Acclarke, get them out!”

  “As you well know, Commander,” she said, her voice dripping venom, “my crew—” She paused to emphasize her displeasure. “—prefer the native accommodations.”

  “As mine do, for that matter, Captain. Get into the medical unit. We’ll be over—”

  “You shouldn’t risk it,” Nesta Meterios said, her voice frantic.

  “Once you’re in the medical unit, our Doc will tell yours the procedures to instigate, Captain Meterios,” Jon said firmly. “As I am senior serving officer, I hereby formally relieve you of your command, Captain Meterios, and it will be noted that your illness came about in succoring a member of your crew. Please proceed immediately to the medical unit.”

  When there was no outraged refusal, Jon and Nimisha exchanged surprised glances.

  “You heard Karpla,” Doc said. “She can’t be as bad off as he was when she brought him here, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t suffering a lot.”

  Jon strode down the passageway.

  “You will, of course, not go in there without full decontam gear,” Nimisha said.

  “Damn sure,” was his reply as he hauled open the storage units.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Doc said soothingly. “Helm’ll decontam the entire ship once Meterios is in the medical unit. And she’s wasted no time either.”

  Nimisha crossed her arms over her chest and, foot tapping, regarded the medical unit. Somewhere it should have eyes that she could pin with her glance when necessary, like right now. She could almost appreciate those who did not like dealing with AI units on the grounds that there were no eyes to contact or anything humanoid about them except their programmed voices.

  “How often do you AI’s talk to each other, Doc?”

  “Only in emergency situations, my dear Nimisha. And this is one, you’ll grant.”

  “Yes.”

  Jon came back into the main cabin, properly accoutered, masked, and wearing an oxygen tank.

  “I told you that it won’t be necessary,” Doc said, sounding peeved. “As if I would risk anyone else.”

  “You risked Meterios,” Jon reminded him.

  “I did not. Karpla did. The contagion had already passed between them when she assisted him here. I even give Meterios full credit for that act of mercy.”

  “She probably couldn’t stand Karpla’s complaints,” Nimisha said unkindly.

  “Lady Nimisha!” Doc said in a chiding tone. “Surely that good deed must redeem her in your estimation.”

  “I’ll try to let it,” she replied.

  “Helm, muster the Acclarke’s crew at the skiff hatch,” Jon said. “We can get those supplies off now that the captain’s . . . being taken care of.”

  Nimisha was almost shocked at the malicious twinkle in his eyes as he waved her a farewell.

  As soon as Jon left, Nimisha went to the bridge of the Fiver and watched him trudge across the sun-baked dusty landing field to the other vessel. Fortunately, decontam suits used air-conditioning, so he wouldn’t be too uncomfortable in today’s heat. On the way, she saw first Globan, then Drayus and the other crew members, fall in beside him. Whatever explanation he gave them stopped them in their tracks. Then Globan started giving orders, and Ace Parappan and Fez Amin, with Tezza Ashke right behind them, found an empty four-wheeled cart, which they pushed to the stern hatch of the Acclarke. Some of the Sh’im came along to either investigate or help.

  “Now hear this, Nimisha Boynton-Rondymense speaking,” she said, using the traditional hail. “Captain Meterios has become infected by whatever allergen Brad Karpla brought back from his latest hunt. The Acclarke is officially in the strictest quarantine. If anyone is experiencing a body-wide itching, please report here immediately. You there of the Acclarke crew, do exactly, and only, what Commander Svangel orders.”

  “That includes the Sh’im, Nimisha,” Doc said sternly.

  “Including Sh’im. We’d like to speak to those who accompanied Brad on his most recent hunt, to determine which plant caused his condition. Karpla and Captain Meterios are resting comfortably while an antidote or a treatment can be found.”

  “Which I can’t find without the full resources of a naval medical facility,” Doc added sourly.

  Jon had barely returned from his several duties on the Acclarke, telling Nimisha that Captain Meterios had been put into cold sleep, when Helm announced a contact.

  “Fiver, this is Fiver B calling.” Nimisha gulped at the sound of Caleb Rustin’s unmistakable baritone.

  “Fiver B, this is Nimisha receiving you loud and clear. Where are you?”

  There was a brief pause that told both Nimisha and Jon that the Fiver B was still a long way off.

  “We have just translated to Insystem Drive at heliopause and are reducing our speed preparatory to landing at the coordinates on record.”

  “Is Cuiva with you? May I speak to her?” Nimisha said, knowing she didn’t need to shout but doing so in her excitement. Tears ran unheeded down her cheeks, and she felt Jon’s hand gripping her shoulder in comfort.

  She thought she’d expire during the time it took for her message to reach the incoming ship and the answer to get back to her.

  “She’s in cold sleep. I promised Cuiva not to wake her until her birthday morning, Nimisha,” Caleb replied. “She’s also a junior officer now. She put her travel time to good use.”

  “Then she has her Necklace with her?”

  “Yes, and yours, too.”

  Nimisha could not restrain her sobs then. “Oh, the dear, dear girl. Oh, my darling Cuiva!”

  Jon edged into the second seat and took over. “Lieutenant Commander Jonagren Svangel speaking. Lady Nimisha is temporarily overcome with joy at your message.”

  Pause.

  “Svangel? Delighted to know that Nimisha has not been alone on that planet.”

  “Not half as glad as we were, Captain, to see a fresh face, and have the advantages of such a well-equipped ship.”

  Pause.

  “Best ship ever built for this type of duty. Has Meterios departed for Vega III?”

  “Capta
in Meterios and a crew member, gunnery officer Brad Karpla, have been stricken with an unknown, virulent allergic reaction to local vegetation. Medical advice has put them in cold sleep until they can receive treatment.”

  Pause.

  “How long has Meterios been in sleep?”

  “Since this morning, Captain Rustin.”

  Pause.

  “She had orders to return immediately to Vega as soon as she had found Lady Nimisha and established her well-being, Captain.”

  “Lady Nimisha pointed this out, but Meterios felt obliged to remain until you had arrived.”

  Pause.

  “Too bad. What of the rest of her crew and the surviving space station personnel?”

  “They have all been accommodated in other quarters since their landing here and were not in contact with the affected personnel.”

  Pause.

  “That’s fortuitous.” Even the distortion of their relative distances did not quite rob the remark of its drollness. “Captain Svangel, I am sending you the necessary data for the Acclarke Helm to return immediately at the fastest possible interstellar speed to Vegan Fleet headquarters. Under the circumstances, it’s reassuring to know we have that capability in the Fours. They are much in demand.”

  “I shall so enter that order in the log and dispatch the Acclarke within the hour.”

  Pause.

  “We shall send a pulse message, announcing the ship is in a quarantine status and must so be regarded. Have Helm answer any hail with that warning.”

  “Yes, sir. Complying.”

  Pause.

  “Is Lady Nimisha still there, Captain?”

  “She is.” With that, Jon tactfully removed himself from the cabin to allow them privacy. Nimisha had got over her initial reaction to the long-awaited news, although the brilliance of her eyes told him how excited she was.

  “I’m told she has the Necklace with her, is that right, Caleb?”

  Pause.

  “Yes, it is. Lady Rezalla was determined that Cuiva’s own mother would do the honors, and Cuiva voluntarily went into sleep to be sure you were able to follow that tradition.”

  “Has she changed much since I last saw her?”

  Pause.

  “You’ll notice it,” Caleb replied, and Jon—though he tried not to listen—heard a chuckle. “She’s not a little girl anymore. But I need to know more about the aliens, Nimisha. There’s some consternation about that situation, to judge by the messages at the beacon.”

  “They must be relatively new,” she said, “but then, I have to admit we’ve been pretty busy and don’t strip the beacon as often as we should. Then the Acclarke XO told us the beacon had suffered damage so we actually didn’t receive earlier messages.” She felt a little miffed at Caleb for changing the subject. “The Poolbeg’s an exploratory ship, with appropriate crew, and the three survivors had enough training so that we could make a proper contact, according to FSP protocols, when we encountered the Sh’im. That’s what they call themselves. Their ship was also caught by the wormhole while they were on an exploratory voyage, hoping to find a new colonial world. So they fall into the same classification humans do. We’ve managed to adapt speakers to catch their language; some of their sounds are out of our auditory range, but we have established very good working relationships.”

  Pause.

  “We have a semantics expert on board who will be most disappointed,” Caleb said, and chuckled.

  “I doubt it. We haven’t got more than basic words, action verbs, and general ethical ideas. No abstract philosophy or much history yet. We’re beginning to need better communication on the mechanical level, so they can learn how to manage some of our equipment.”

  Pause.

  “They’re that intelligent?”

  “They probably have had space travel a lot longer than we humans have,” Nimisha said.

  Pause.

  “Accepted, Lady Nimisha. Now get that quarantined ship off your planet.”

  Jon slipped back in. “Helm has programmed the Acclarke, Captain. You will be able to see her in the night sky in approximately two hours from my mark.” He watched the bridge chronometer. “Mark.”

  Pause.

  “Over and out for now. Check with you later.” The speaker went dead.

  “How’d you program the Acclarke Helm from here?” Nimisha asked Jon, surprised.

  He pointed to his wrist unit. “Actually, I did most of it when I went to check on Meterios. She was out of it already, so what she didn’t know wouldn’t give her a chance to complain.”

  “I could almost feel sorry for— There she goes.” The Acclarke was making a stately vertical liftoff, her thrusters stirring up dust from the landing area. Nimisha flicked off a salute. “Bye, bye, Nesta. Oh, fraggit, Jon, did the crew have time to get their gear off?”

  “Crew have already had their gear off a long time, luv,” he said with a chuckle. “Longer than Meterios knew.”

  They went to the hatch to watch and saw that many were observing its departure, its crew saluting until the main engines kicked in with the telltale flare from the rear tubes.

  As Jon pulled Nimisha back into the Fiver and into his arms, they both heard the muted wakening cries from the open comunit in the babies’ cabin.

  “You’re not anxious, are you, luv?”

  “Of Cuiva’s coming? No, no. I’ve longed for the sight of her.” She jerked her thumb at the babies’ cabin. “She’ll be surprised, but I think she’ll be glad to have brothers and sisters.”

  “I hope so, because she’s got a passel of them.”

  “Passel? Where do you get such language, Captain?”

  “I was raised wrong.” He kissed her to prove it before they went to see to the needs of their offspring.

  As the Five B neared its destination, conversations became easier, pauses shorter. Syrona conferred with Kendra Oscony on how she had constructed the comsat she had sent up, and Kendra approved. It would certainly suffice until the pulse message load increased. Oscony informed Syrona that there had been advances in pulse messaging: The current pulse time to this area of space had had two months shaved off the original year and four months. Jon and Casper spoke at length to Chief Engineer Ian Hadley, who was able to offer advice on the mining operations. Much botanical data was uploaded to bring Mareena Kawamura up to speed on those parts of Erehwon that had been investigated in any depth. There was plenty left to be explored and documented.

  Nimisha had conversations with Perdimia Ejallos about her daughter and was much reassured that Cuiva had coped well when the voyage had been extended past the initial three months. Perdimia told her how hard Cuiva had worked to get her Junior Practical Officer’s rank and had “signed off” in all she had studied. She spoke also with Gaitama and with Nazim, who was disappointed that the Acclarke had already left. It was one of the ships that he had personally test-flown and he was sorry to miss her. Nimisha did not remark that he was the only one who did. Hadley had long discussions with Dr. Qualta and Valina Kelly concerning their progress in charting the new stars. He didn’t wish to duplicate their efforts, since there was so much to be analyzed and documented.

  Fiver’s Cater was informed of the need for special dishes for Cuiva’s Necklacing ceremony, slightly complicated because it would have to be held outdoors so that the Sh’im might witness the event. Tim explained to his friends that it was a sort of coming of age for a dark-coat’s eldest child.

  “I am not a dark coat,” Nimisha said, pretending to take umbrage and tossing over her shoulder the thick braids in which she kept her luxuriant dark hair. “Not by a century or so, but the analogy is basically correct,” she added, relenting when she saw that her teasing remark had startled Tim.

  “The Sh’im are cooking up a storm and I’ve got to go hunting, Nimi,” Tim said, settling around his waist the heavy belt to which he attached his various weapons. He was tanned, well muscled, and looked more like an ancient primitive hunter than a modern space-age twelve-yea
r-old. “Oh!” He turned back at the hatch. “Can I go on calling you Nimi? Will I have to start with the lady bit?”

  “We’re all in this together, Tim, but it might be proper for you to be formal during the Necklacing ceremony, when we’ll all observe strict protocol as tradition decrees.” She’d said the last in a very haughty tone.

  “Oh, of course, Lady Nimisha,” he replied in a plummy voice, having a keen ear for mimicry. He leaped from the hatch to the ground, giving the liquid-tongued call to assemble his fellow hunters. He was the best Sh’im speaker of all the youngsters: but then, as they grew older, they’d acquire a more useful vocabulary, too.

  The hunters would be after a-alli today, the small treehoppers of Karpla’s last hunt. They used their wings only to glide from one branch to another in the forested slopes east of Clifftown. Their dark flesh was very tender and succulent, so the creatures were much prized as a protein source, but they were not easy to catch. Hunting them was reserved for special occasions and could occupy several days before sufficient numbers were acquired. Their feathers were of various hues, helping them blend into the blossoms or leaves of their roosts, and were used as adornments in the crowns, or wreaths, the Sh’im wore on special occasions. The down could be stuffed into winter robes for extra warmth, the offal used as bait in fishing, the tendons dried for thong ties, and bones crushed for fertilizer.

  With so much to do, even with everyone organized to help, Nimisha did not have much time to worry about the long-awaited meeting with Cuiva, or the problem of explaining so many siblings.

  In planning the actual landing, Caleb decreed that it should be dawn, to keep his promise to Cuiva that she’d be awakened on her birthday. Every human was awake well before sunrise that day, making last-minute preparations. Caleb had suggested a private breakfast for mother and daughter on board the Five B.

  “The crew will want to be out and about and as far away from the B as possible the moment we land,” he said, chuckling. “And I need to have some time to speak to the other naval personnel before the ceremony begins.”