The Ship Who Sang

by Anne McCaffrey

  Helva peeked at the dials and gauges and was a little puzzled by some of the readings. The heart strain was not at all excessive, although the pulse was rapid from exertion. The blood pressure was too low for someone under stress, and too high for a man apparently used to low grav conditions. The more perplexing reading was the eeg. Prane was trembling now with reaction to extreme muscular stress: supine, he looked old and tired.

  ‘What are you giving me now, Kurla?’ he demanded sharply, rousing as he saw her preparing an i.v. spray.

  ‘A relaxant and . . .’

  ‘No sedations, no blocks. I forbid it.’

  ‘I’m the medical attendant, Solar Prane,’ she said in a firm, impersonal voice.

  His hand trembled as he grabbed for her wrist, but Helva could see the fingers pressed deeply into her flesh. Kurla Ster looked him directly in the eye.

  ‘You cannot tolerate liftoff without some sedation, after exerting yourself for that party . . .’

  ‘Give me the relaxant, Kurla, but nothing more. I can cope with the discomfort . . . alone. Once in space, the pilot can adjust the gravity.’

  It was a contest of wills, with Davo an interested spectator. Curiously enough, Helva noticed that Davo had been on Prane’s side, judging by the sigh the man exhaled as the young m.a. replaced the other vials to her pouch and injected but one medication.

  ‘Where is that pilot?’ she demanded of Davo as she left the cabin, sliding the door firmly shut behind her.

  ‘Pilot?’ Ansra Colmer repeated, idly swinging the pilot’s chair on its gimbals. ‘You were too engrossed in adoring worship of the Solar’s classic profile to heed what journey briefing we received.’

  ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Ansra, sheathe your claws. You’re becoming a bore,’ Davo said, propelling Kurla to a seat with a warning smile. ‘This is a brain ship, Kurla. No other pilot is necessary. We need only settle ourselves down for the trip.’

  ‘Miss Colmer, if you don’t . . .’

  ‘And be quiet,’ Davo added firmly to Kurla, his hand on her forearm, cautioning obedience. ‘The sooner we take off, the better it is for Prane, right?’

  She subsided, still rebellious. To aggravate matters, Ansra Colmer smiled triumphantly at her capitulation.

  ‘Let’s go,’ Davo said, nodding over his shoulder toward Helva.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Fillanaser, and welcome aboard the XH-834,’ Helva said quietly, achieving an impersonal tone with some difficulty. ‘Fasten your harness for takeoff.’ Ansra Colmer interrupted her swinging only long enough to comply. ‘Miss Ster, may I inquire if Solar Prane’s disability will be affected by standard takeoff velocities?’

  ‘Not when he is cushioned by the shock-mattress.’

  ‘And by drugs,’ added Ansra snidely.

  ‘Solar Prane is not under sedation,’ the m.a. snapped, trying to rise, and restrained by her harness.

  ‘Ansra, leave her alone! Prane is not on drugs and never has been!’

  ‘I am receiving clearance for lift-off,’ Helva said, mendaciously forestalling another exchange. She even leaked a little engine noise into the main speakers.

  As she began to jockey into position, Helva kept an eye on Prane. He was cushioned by the shock-mattress all right, but if he could barely tolerate full grav, blast-off would rack him with pain. She decided a fast take-off would spare him more than a gradual acceleration. She piled on the power and watched him black out from pain in a brief minute.

  The instant she was free of Duhr’s attraction and on course for Regulus, she cut all thrust, even the little spin she usually maintained for the comfort of her passengers. He was unconscious, but the pulse in his throat beat regularly.

  ‘I’ve got to get to him,’ Kurla was saying in the main cabin.

  When Helva looked there, the medical attendant was ludicrously flattened against the far wall of the main cabin.

  ‘Then move slowly,’ Davo was advising her. ‘You’ve been in half-grav long enough to know violent action brings equally violent reaction.’

  ‘If you only knew how asinine you looked,’ Ansra said.

  ‘Solar Prane passed out before maximum thrust, Miss Ster,’ Helva reported, ‘but he appears in no distress.’

  ‘I must get to him.’ Kurla was insistent. ‘His bones are so soft.’

  An orthopedic problem? And he was permitted in space? Were they out of their minds? Then why such cerebral excitement?

  ‘Shall I return gravity? The shock-web will . . .’

  ‘No, no,’ Kurla protested.

  ‘If you think I’m going to travel free-fall all the way to Regulus, you’ve another think coming,’ Ansra said, the amusement wiped from her face.

  ‘The longer he has without any gravitic stress . . .’

  ‘Too bad,’ Ansra snapped back. ‘I know what happens to me in constant free-fall and I’m not having . . .’

  ‘Flabby muscles, dear?’ Davo grinned at her. ‘You can always join us in a thrilling workout of isometrics. And you’d better get used to free-fall. You certainly heard it mentioned in our briefing . . . since you’re so attentive to briefings . . . that the company will play entirely in free-fall. Get used to it.’

  ‘I also heard it mentioned that our minds were what would be transferred. It’s my body that’s involved at present.’

  ‘And it’s Solar Prane’s body that must rest now,’ Kurla flung back, managing to move forward toward the cabin. ‘He is only the director of the entire company.’

  ‘In the interests of compromise, ladies,’ Davo said, ‘let’s use half-grav while we’re awake, and free-fall when we’re all snugly meshed in at night and don’t know any better.’

  ‘Can that be arranged?’ Kurla looked hopeful. ‘The unit had to be kept at half full grav on Duhr because of the power required.’

  ‘Half grav suit your gracious supremacy?’ Davo asked Ansra mocking her with a bow.

  ‘He won’t last, half-grav or free fall,’ she said, grimacing as she heard the cabin door click shut behind Kurla.

  Ansra flipped off the harness, twisting in the chair for the most comfortable position from which to regard Davo unobstructedly.

  ‘I don’t know why you continue to defend a dying man, Davo. Don’t argue; his mind has been affected. I can see it. Don’t forget, I knew him rather well.’ Her smile suggested many intimacies. ‘And it’s his mind that must be transferred.’ Suddenly her whole attitude changed subtly. ‘Had you never considered being more than just a supporting actor, Davo?’

  Helva took a closer look at the man. She’d thought him a friend or assistant of Prane’s, not another actor. He had none of the obvious professional mannerisms the other two displayed.

  ‘You’ve an excellent reputation in the Guild as a fine classicist,’ Ansra was saying. ‘Why do you continue to let Prane dominate and dictate your life?’

  Davo regarded her imperturbably for a moment before he smiled carelessly. ‘I happen to respect Prane Liston professionally and personally . . .’

  Ansra made a rude noise. ‘You’ve fronted for him like an understudy on matinee day. Taken his lectures while he “experimented” in nullgrav movement! Ha! Covered for him so the rank and file would not know their hero’s frailties!’

  ‘My motives are not as suspect as yours, detouring two months away from your last engagement to “visit” your old friend, Prane Liston? Ha for you.’

  Helva detected the flush of anger under the woman’s cosmetized skin.

  ‘My visit, Davo Fillanaser, was most opportune,’ she replied with a saccharine smile. ‘And according to our briefing, once one is transferred to the . . . how was it phrased, empty envelope? . . . to the envelope awaiting each of us on Beta Corvi, external appearance will not matter. Ability will. I always thought you showed poor judgement to opt for the classics, Davo, for you have such a lean and hungry look that you must always be lago or Cassius. You could be . . . Romeo . . . on Beta Corvi.’ Her smile was dazzling.

  ‘Not, of course, while Pra
ne Liston remains director and Romeo, huh?’ Davo leaned toward her, his eyes sparkling, but his lean, dark face inscrutable. ‘You won’t believe the truth, even when you hear it, will you, Ansra? And you just can’t believe that Prane Liston is no longer besotted with Ansra Colmer.’

  ‘That is not at issue,’ she said, with lofty indifference.

  Davo merely smiled. He leaned back in the couch and matched her mood. ‘You’ve got your own director lined up, huh? One who’ll let Juliet dominate? Then, with a grateful but weak Romeo like me, you’ll look twice as good without having to work half as hard as Prane makes you. Oh, come off it, Ansra,’ he advised, impatient with her machinations. ‘Prane always could drag the very best performances out of your lazy hide.

  ‘But that’s not important, not in this production. There’s more at stake than your self-consequence. Or did you really listen to the briefing at all? Those Beta Corviki can regulate the half-life of any unstable isotope they choose. If Central Worlds gets such techniques, it’ll revolutionize pile-drives and get us across the galactic seas . . .’ He paused, gave a derisive laugh. ‘Why, if our pretty prancing pleases them, you might play in the Horsehead Nebula next season, Ansra Colmer. Or,’ and his eyes narrowed speculatively, ‘should I say, Solara Ansra?’

  ‘Then think carefully, Davo,’ she urged, her pose alert and tense, ‘of all that is involved. I don’t care for altruism: it signs no contracts and pays no salaries. I wouldn’t have considered this tour for a moment if it weren’t for that Corviki transfer device.’

  Davo stared at her with such sharp attention that she smiled slightly.

  ‘Really, Davo, what possible significance could things like those Corviki find in Romeo and Juliet, an outmoded love story of an improbable social structure.’

  ‘You’re more the hypocrite than even I’d thought you.’

  ‘Delusions are what we create, not what we believe. And, with a mind-blasted Romeo, the whole thing would be worthless but for those transfer things. Why, if that device can work in a methane-ammonia atmosphere, it can work anywhere. It could open a whole new audience dimension . . .’

  ‘And Solara Ansra as top-ranking performer in the new medium?’ Davo asked, his dark eyes intent on hers.

  Helva wondered if he had caught the fallacy in her argument.

  ‘Why not? I don’t need to be an m.a. to see Prane’s dying. He’s so weak he’ll dissolve under pressure. Why, his headbones are so soft with mindtrap . . .’

  ‘Bones, yes, but not his brain . . .’ Davo snapped. ‘And not mine. I remember what I owe the man, dead or dying, and I’m with him all the way. Remember that, Ansra Colmer. And if you don’t ease needling that nice child, if you don’t prove to me that you’re going to integrate into the company, I’ll cite a jeopardy clause on you. There is too much at stake in this farout dramatic mission to risk a dissident among us. The computers picked Prane, remember, on the basis of performance and ability. With all his medical handicap, he still came out the highest on the probability profile. You shape up, Ansra, or I’ll give the computers a few bits of psychodata on you to update your profile.’

  He swung himself from the chair far too energetically for the half-grav and bounded toward the ceiling. He corrected and slow-stepped toward the galley.

  ‘Auto-pilot, erase the previous conversation between myself and Davo Fillanaser,’ Ansra commanded in a hard, angry voice. ‘Is that order clear?’

  ‘Yes,’ Helva replied, careful to sound dry and mechanical.

  ‘Comply. Which cabin has been assigned to me?’

  ‘Number Two.’

  As Helva watched the erect figure of the actress undulate down the corridor, she felt an odd, atavistic satisfaction in having lingered for refurbishing at Nekkar and in knowing that her interior was, as always, in order: shipshape.

  It was not a pleasant evening, certainly not what Helva had anticipated when the orders were taped in. Davo was silent and hyper-alert, watching Kurla and Ansra, unobtrusively passing Prane’s open cabin frequently. Kurla was distressed though she tried to conceal it. Helva, however, had heard Prane reject medical assistance, and, by her sensors, knew he was feigning sleep to prevent argument. Ansra’s sullen cold looks followed the young medical attendant everywhere. Helva spoke only when spoken to, accepting the part of an automated ship, though Davo presumably knew what she was.

  His discussion with Ansra had done nothing to aid Prane, antagonizing her and adding to the tension within the ship. Helva wondered if he had deliberately led the woman on to expose her ambitions, with herself, Helva, the unsuspected witness to the actress’ intentions. Yet if he wanted Ansra to compromise herself before witnesses, why give her the second chance? Did Davo really trust the woman enough to think she’d reform?

  Well, this wasn’t Helva’s problem, although she would play back that interlude if necessary. Let another ship worry about the conniving actress, the lovelorn m.a., and the dying actor. Amon could have the whole bit. Romeo and Juliet, at free-fall in a gas atmosphere! Shakespeare for stabilizers? Helva concurred with Ansra; the whole idea was ridiculous!

  A long, shuddering sigh broke into her reveries. A restless sleeper? No, Prane was not asleep though everyone else was secure under the mesh blanket. And Prane needed rest the most.

  ‘“Amen, amen! But come what sorrow can

  It cannot countervail the exchange of joy

  That one short minute gives me in her sight.

  Do thou but close our hands with holy words,

  Then love-devouring death do what he dare,

  It is enough I may but call her mine!”’

  His voice rose to the challenge of the lines, rich, tender, unsullied by whatever debilitated his physical self. The laugh that followed, however, was hollow and bitter.

  ‘“I am no pilot, yet, wert thou as far

  As that far shore walked by the farthest sea

  I would adventure for such merchandise.”’

  Another long pause, then:

  ‘“Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on

  The dashing rocks, thy sea-sick weary bark!

  Here’s to my love!”’

  Another pause, so long that Helva wondered if he slept.

  ‘“Ah death, where is thy sting?

  O Grave, thy victory?”’

  Helva felt herself wince at the scorching regret, the yearning in that emotion-laden voice. He wants to die! He expects this venture to kill him and he wants to die.

  Helva comforted herself with a string of Kira’s most colorful oaths, wishing she knew more about the mechanics of this Beta Corvi psyche transfer. Well, if they were, as reputed, able to stabilize isotopes, they obviously were energy-engineers of a remarkable genius. Now, considering that the brain generated electricity, a very primitive form of energy, so presumably the electrical charge could be transferred from one receptacle to another. In theory, easy; in practice? There could be a power loss, a faulty imprint in the receiver. Someone could return half-witted? Helva abandoned that thought on the grounds of insufficient data. Besides, this was not her problem.

  And she doubted Prane would be able to effect his demise: not with Kurla Ster determined to keep the mortal spark in his own husk. She knew nothing of these Beta Corviki, but it encountered that sentience was not permitted to waste itself. Kira Falernova had found it excessively difficult to commit suicide.

  And, if Kurla was not stupid, which she didn’t appear to be despite this terrible infatuation for Prane, she must be as aware of his death wish as of his physical pain.

  Helva’s thoughts chased around, directionless. She had few facts, including how Prane Liston could have reached such a state of decay in today’s diagnostic-preventive and corrective medical climate. He was patently in his second 50 years – but soft bones? Bone marrow can be calcium-shot, phosphorus supplemented to the diet. Yet Ansra had made sly digs about drug addiction. Said his brains were soft . . . no, his head bones, Helva corrected herself . . . ‘his headbones are softened by
mindtrap.’ Yet mindtrap was a harmless drug; mind-expanding, yes, but long and widely used by anyone who wished to retain information without loss. The adult mind loses 100,000 neurons a day. An actor couldn’t afford memory loss. Was it possible that mindtrap, overused for a long period, could build up a harmful residue injurious to the bones?

  Helva tapped the ship’s memory banks, but there was no recorded incidence of any side-effect for mindtrap. An actor, however, playing on hundreds of planets, exposed constantly to some cosmic radiations, suffering a minor breakdown of cell-coding? A protein lock? Surely some medical engineer would have noted it, could isolate the faulty enzyme and correct?

  Helva looked in on the sleepless man. He was murmuring speeches now, changing his voice as the lines went from character to character. Entranced, Helva listened through the ship’s night as scene after scene poured from the Solar’s lips, word perfect. Shortly before dawn, the litany ceased as sleep finally bestowed her accolade of peace.

  Dawn came and went. Helva performed the routine check of all systems, ran a scan on detectors and established that there were no ships within hailing range. She was irritated . . . and relieved.

  The first one to stir was Kurla. She drifted immediately to Prane’s bedside. Her concern dissolved as she found him sleeping quietly, the fatigue lines smoothed from his face. Her own expression infinitely tender with love, the girl withdrew, pulled the door across, and floated over to the galley.

  Davo joined her shortly. ‘How is he this morning?’

  Defensively, Kurla started to go into medical detail.

  ‘I’m not at all interested in your lover’s internal economy . . .’

  ‘Prane Liston is not my lover.’

  ‘Oh, hath desire outstripped performance then?’