Ferry glanced at the shipcloth bag on Panille's shoulder. "What else you bring?"
"Personal possessions, clothe.... a few keepsakes."
"Hrrrm." Ferry made another notation. "Let's see."
The distrust in this order shocked Panille. He put the bag on a flat counter beside the com-console, watched while Ferry pawed through the contents. Panille resented every stranger-touch on intimate possessions. It became obvious after a time that Ferry was searching for things which could be used as weapons. The rumors were true, then. The people around Oakes feared for their own flesh.
Ferry held up the flexible net of silver rolled into its tie bands. "Wha's 's?"
"I use that when I'm writing my poetry. Ship gave it to me."
Ferry put it onto the counter with care, went back to examining the rest of the bag's contents. Some items of clothing he passed beneath a lens behind him and studied details in a scanner whose shields prevented anyone else from seeing what he saw. Occasionally, he made notations in the com-console.
Panille looked at the silver net. What was Ferry going to do with it? He could not take it!
Ferry spoke over his shoulder while examining more of Panille's clothing under the scanner lens.
"You think the ship's God?"
The "ship"? The usage surprised Panille. ".... yes."
And he thought back to that one conversation he had had with Ship on the subject. That had been a test, too. Ship was God and God was Ship. Ship could do things mortal flesh could no.... at least while remaining mortal flesh. Normal dimensions of space dissolved before Ship. Time carried no linear restrictions for Ship.
I, too, am God, Doctor Winslow Ferry. But I am not Shi.... Or am I? And you, dear Doctor, what are you?
No doubting the origin of Ferry's question. Ship's godhead remained an open question with many. There had been a time when Ship was the ship, of course. Everyone knew that from the history which Ship taught. Ship had been a vehicle for mortal intelligence once. The ship had existed in the limited dimensions which any human could sense, and it had known a destination. It also had known a history of madness and violence. The.... the ship had encountered the Holy Void, that reservoir of chaos against which all beings were required to measure themselves.
Ship's history was cloudy with migrations and hints at a paradise planet somewhere awaiting humankind.
But Ferry was revealed as one of the doubters, one who questioned Ship's version of history. Such doubts thrived because Ship did not censure them. The only time Panille had referred to the doubts, Ship had responded clearly and with a creative style to inspire a poet.
"What is the purpose of doubts, Panille?"
"To test data."
"Can you test this historical data with your doubts?"
That required thought and Panille answered after a long pause. "You are my only source."
"Have I ever given you false data?"
"I've found no falsehoods."
"Does that silence these doubts?"
"No."
"Then what can you do with such doubts?"
That involved more careful thought and a longer pause before answering. "I put them aside until a moment arrives when they may be tested."
"Does that change your relationship with Me?"
"Relationships change constantly."
"Ahhh, I cherish the company of poets."
Panille was shaken out of this memory by the realization that Ferry had spoken to him several times.
"I said, 'Wha's 's?'"
Panille looked at the object in Ferry's hand.
"It was my mother's comb."
"The stuff! The material?"
"Tortoise shell. It came from Earth."
There was no mistaking the avaricious glint in Ferry's eyes. "Wel.... I dunno about this."
"It's a keepsake from my mother, one of the few things I have left. If you take it I'll lodge a formal complaint with Ship."
Ferry betrayed definite anger, his eyes squinted, his hand trembled with the comb. But his gaze strayed to the silver net. He knew the stories about this poet; this one talked to the ship in the quiet of the night and the ship answered.
Once more, Ferry made a notation within the shielded secrecy of his com-console, then delivered himself of his longest speech: "You're assigned groundside to Waela TaoLini and it serves you right. There's a freighter waiting in Fifty-B. Take it. She'll meet you groundside."
Panille stuffed his belongings back into the bag while Ferry watched with growing amusement. Did he take something while I was daydreaming? Panille wondered. He preferred the man's anger to his amusement but there was no way to take everything out of the bag once more to check it. No way. What had happened to the people around Oakes? Panille had never seen such slyness and greed in a Shipman. And the smell of that stuff on his breath! Dead flowers. Panille sealed the bag.
"Go on, they're waiting," Ferry said. "Don't waste our time."
Panille heard the hatch open once more behind him. He could feel Ferry's gaze on him all the way out of the reception room.
Waela TaoLini? He had never heard the name before. Then: Serve me right?
***
Beware, for I am fearless and therefore powerful. I will watch with the wiliness of a snake, that I may sting with its venom. You shall repent of the injuries you inflict.
- Frankenstein's Monster Speaks, Shiprecords
OAKES SAT in shadows watching the holographic replay. He was nervous and irritated. Where was Lewis?
Behind him and slightly to his left stood Legata Hamill. The dim glow of the projector underlighted their features. Both of them stared intently at the action in the holofocus.
The scene holding their attention revealed the main finger passage behind Shipbay Nineteen and leading out to one of the tree-domes. Kerro Panille accompanied by Hali Ekel walked toward the pickup which had caught the scene. The treedome could be glimpsed in the background framed by the end of the passage. Ekel carried her pribox over one shoulder, its harness held loosely by her right hand. Panille wore a recorder at his hip and a small bag from which protruded notepad and stylus. He was dressed in a white one-piece which set off his long hair and beard. The hair was bound in a golden ring, plaited and with the tip draped down his chest on the left. Issue boots covered his feet.
Oakes studied each detail carefully.
"This is the young man of Ferry's report?"
"The same."
The rich contralto of Legata's voice distracted Oakes and he was a few blinks replying. During that time, Panille and Ekel walked from the range of one sensor and into the range of another. The holographic point-of-view shifted.
"They seem a little nervous," he said. "I wish I knew what they wrote on that pad."
"Love notes."
"But why write them i...."
"He's a poet."
"And she is not a poet. What's more, he resists her sexual advances. I don't understand that. She appears quite pneumatic, eminently couchable."
"Do you want him picked up and the notepad examined?"
"No! We must move with discretion and subtlety. Damn! Where is Lewis?"
"Still incommunicado."
"Damn him!"
"His assistants now say Lewis is occupied with a special problem."
Oakes nodded. Special problem. That was their private code for something which could not be discussed in the clear. No telling who might eavesdrop. Were the neck pellets then no longer immune to spying?"
Panille and Ekel had stopped near the hatch to Ferry's office in Medical.
Oakes tried to remember all the times he had seen this young man shipside. Panille had not invited much interest until it had become clear that he really might be talking to the ship. Then that order from the ship for Panille to be sent groundside!
Why does the ship want him groundside?
A poet! What use could there be for a poet? Oakes decided that he really did not believe Panille talked to the ship.
But the sh
ip, and possibly that Raja Thomas, wanted Panille groundside.
Why?
He turned the question over and found no shadow.
"You're sure the request for Panille came from the ship?" he asked.
"It's been six diurns since the reques.... and it didn't read like a request to me; it read like an order."
"But from the ship, you're certain?"
"As certain as you can be of anything." The irritation in her voice bordered on insubordination. "I used your code and made the complete cross-check. Everything scans."
Oakes sighed. Why Panille?
Perhaps more attention should have been paid to the poet. He was one of the originals from Earthside. Have to dig deeper into his past. That was obvious.
The scene in the holofocus showed Panille and Ekel parting. Panille turned and they had a view of his bac...wide and muscular back, Legata noted. She called this to Oakes' attention.
"Do you find him attractive, Legata?"
"I merely point out that he's not some dainty flower-sniffer."
"Mmmmmm."
Oakes was intensely conscious of the musky odor coming from Legata. She had a magnificently proportioned body which she had kept from him so far. But Oakes knew himself to be a patient man. Patient and persistent.
Panille was entering the hatch to Ferry's office. Oakes slapped the switch to stop the replay, leaving the carrier light still glowing. He did not care to have another run through that scene with Ferry. Stupid, bumbling old fool!
Oakes glanced at Legata with only the barest turning of his head. Magnificent. She often presented a vapid mask but Oakes saw the consistent brilliance in her work. Few people knew that she was shockingly strong, a mutation. She concealed an extraordinary musculature under that smooth warm skin. He found this idea exciting. She was known shipwide as a history fanatic who frequently begged Records for style displays to copy in her clothing. Currently, she wore a short toga which exposed most of her right breast. The light fabric hung precariously from her nipple. Oakes felt the pulse of her strength, even there.
Taunting me?
"Tell me why the ship wants a poet groundside," he said.
"We'll have to wait and see."
"We can guess."
"It may be a very simple and open thing - communication with the 'lectr...."
"Nothing the ship does is open and simple! And do not use that high-sounding term with me. It's kelp, nothing but kelp. And it's a damned nuisance."
She cleared her throat, the first sign of nervousness that Oakes had detected in her. He found this pleasing. Ye.... she would be ready for the Scream Room soon.
"There's still Thomas," she said, "perhaps he ca...."
"You are not to question him about Panille."
She was startled. "You're satisfied with the answers he gave you?"
"I am satisfied that he's too much for you to handle."
"I think you're overly suspicious," she said.
"With this ship you cannot be too suspicious. You suspect everything and know you'll miss something."
"But they're just two...."
"The ship ordered this." There was a long pause while Oakes continued to stare up at her. "Your term: order. Is that not so?"
"As far as we can determine."
"Do you have any indication, even a faint hint, that Thomas and not the ship initiated this?"
"There's only one order from Ship adding thi.... this Panille to the Colony roster."
"You hesitated over his name."
"It slipped my mind!"
Now she was nervous and angry. Oakes found himself enjoying that very much. This Legata Hamill had potential. She would have to be broken of that habit, however, saying Ship rather than the ship.
"You don't find the poet attractive?"
"Not particularly."
The fingers of her left hand twisted a corner of her toga.
"And there's no record of communication between Thomas and the ship?"
"Nothing."
"You don't find that odd?"
"What do you mean?"
"Thomas had to come from hyb. Who ordered it? Who briefed him?"
"There's no record of any such communication."
"How could there be no record of something we know took place?"
Now fear edged her anger. "I don't know!"
"Haven't I warned you to suspect everything?"
"Yes! You tell me to suspect everyone!"
"Goo.... very good."
He turned back to face the light of the empty holofocus.
"Now, go and look some more. Perhaps there's something you've missed."
"Do you know of something I've missed?"
"That's for you to find out, my dear!"
He listened to the whisk-whisk of her clothing as she hurried from the room. There was a brief flare of light from the outer passage as she opened the hatch, then shadows once more and she was gone.
Oakes switched from replay to real-time and coded in the passage pickups to follow her progress as she took the turn to Records. He switched from pickup to pickup, watching until she sat down at a scandesk in the command level of Records and called for the information she wanted. Oakes checked the readouts. She was asking for any messages between the ship and Pandora, all references to Raja Thomas and Kerro Panille. She did not overlook Hali Ekel.
Good.
Her next step would be to use some of Lewis' people for actual surveillance. Oakes knew she already had scanned the Records data once, but now she would look even harder, seeking codes or other subterfuge. At least, he hoped that was her intent. If the secret were there, she could find it. She simply needed to be challenged, driven, goaded into it.
Suspect everything and everyone.
He shut down the holo and scowled at the darkness. Soon, very soon, he would have to go groundside for good. No returning to the dangerous confines of the ship. Pandora was dangerous enough, but the need for his own hole, a nest where he could not be watched by the ship increased with terrifying speed. This mechanical monster! He knew it followed every move he made ship-side. It's what I would do.
There were some who thought the ship's influence extended farther. But the Redoubt would solve all of that. Provided Lewis had not failed him. N.... no chance of that. This long silence from Lewis had to be some internal problem with the clones. There were too many fail-safe signals for real disasters. None of the signals had been activated. Something else was happening down at the Redoubt. Perhaps Lewis is preparing a pleasant surprise for me. Just like him.
Oakes smiled to himself, nursing the privacy of his innermost thoughts. You do not know what I plan, Mechanical Monster. I have plans for you.
He had plans for Pandora, too, big plans. And the ship was no part of them. Other plans for Legata. She would have to go to the Scream Room soon. Yes. She had to be made more trustworthy.
***
Nostalgia represents an interesting illusion. Through nostalgia, humans wish for things that never were. The positive memory is the one that sticks. Over several generations, the positive memory tends to weed out more and more of what really existed, refining down to a distillation of haunted desires.
- Shipquotes
FOR THE first time, Waela considered refusing an assignment. Not out of fear - she had survived in the research subs where no one else had, and still she accepted the fact that this project must continue at all costs. Beyond instinct, she knew that the 'lectrokelp was the most important factor in Colony life. Survival.
I've been down there and I survived. I should lead the new team.
This thought dominated her awareness as she and Thomas approached the bustle of early dayside activity around the new sub he was having rushed to completion.
Thomas worried her. One blink he seemed like a nice-enough fellow; the nex.... what? His mind appeared to wander.
He hasn't been out of hyb long enough to handle himself here.
They stopped a few meters from the work perimeter and she s
tared at what was taking shape under the brilliant lights. All this energy - all those workers. They were like insects intent on a giant egg. She tried to fathom the sense of this thing. It did make a certain sens.... but a transparent core of plaz? They had always used plasma glass in the subs, but this detachable core constructed entirely of plaz was a new concept. She could see that it was going to be crowded in there and didn't know if she would like that.
Why Thomas? Why did they put him in charge?
She recalled their walk across the compound and into the LTA hangar. He had been too busy giving orders to her for him to see the telltale shadow-flicker of a Hooded Dasher breaking past the sentries. She had cooked it in mid-leap with a hipshot from her lasgun - and immediately began to shiver when she realized that she had almost left the weapon in her cubby. This perimeter was supposed to be secure, the sentries the best.
Thomas had barely noticed.
"Quick little devils," he said, calmly. "By the way, there's a poet coming onto our team from Ship."
"A poet? But we need...."
"We will get a poet because Ship is sending us a poet."
"But we asked fo...."
"I know what we asked for!"
He sounded like a man suppressing his own misgivings.
She said: "Well, we still need a systems engineer fo...."
"I want you to seduce this poet."
She had trouble believing what she had heard.
Thomas said: "Your skin's a regular rainbow when you get upset. Just consider this a team assignment. I've seen a holo of the poet. He's not unattractive i...."
"My body is my own!" She glared at him. "And nobody - not you, not Oakes, not Ship, tells me who I will or will not let into my body."
They were stopped in the compound by then and she was surprised to see his hands up and a grin on his face. She realized that she had instinctively raised her lasgun to focus between his eyes. Without reducing her furious glare, she lowered the gun and holstered it.
"Sorry," he said. And they resumed their walk toward the hangar. Presently, he asked: "How important is the kelp team to you?"
He should know that! Everyone knew, and since Thomas had been groundside he had shown amazing ability to seek out critical information.
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