The City and the Ship

by Anne McCaffrey

  "Look, you wuss—"

  "I am not a wuss!" he wheezed.

  "—and I am not shitting you! Here." She let him up, marched over to his work table and slapped a chip on the receiver plate of his screen. It lit, showing the control lounge and Simeon's pillar, the shouting captains surging around it.

  Seld listened open-mouthed. "Pirates," he concurred weakly. "Hey! That's private, you stole that chip!"

  "Did not, just jacked the feed and copied it."

  "Unauthorized copying is stealing, Joat. And eavesdropping on official meetings is . . ." Seld trailed off, unable to identify the offense though he knew it must be one.

  Fardling wuss, she thought. He sounds just like his father when he says things like that. Yet his father was a lot nicer than hers had been. Her memories of paternal care were the kind you woke up at night sweating from. Hopefully he was dead from Jeleb nightmare-smoke by now. Her uncle had been worse, after he took her over, but at least she knew her uncle was dead. She pushed such thoughts aside as time wasters.

  "Okay, I'm a Sendee mud-puppy eavesdropper and data-bandit—so listen to what they're saying, will you?"

  Seld blinked and did so. "Holy shit," he whispered. "We are going to be attacked by pirates." His eyes lit. "Hey, Joat, this is like a holo."

  Joat kicked him.

  "What did you do that for?" he demanded, outraged.

  "Because I like you, fool," she said.

  "You do?" he said, straightening up and then wincing. "Hell of a way to show it, fardler."

  "Fardler yourself. This ain't no holo, Seld. Those pirates, those Kolnari, are for real. Half the outies on that ship that nearly clipped the station were dead, osco. That's d-e-a-d, dead, finished, off to the big tax-haven in the afterglow, dead. This is major criminal we're talking, Seld. Like, we could get seriously fardled up—you, me, Simeon, Channa, your dad."

  "Yeah," Seld said, in a small voice, looking totally scared. "But what can we do?" That word came wobbling out as Seld tried not to show Joat how frightened he really was.

  "Come close and listen to momma," she said. "Simeon has some ideas. I got more."

  * * *

  Rachel bint Damscus sat and shivered on the edge of the bed. There was nothing under it. Not even legs to hold it up, just some sort of field mechanism, yet it did not move. She shivered again, looking down at the pill in her hand. The strange dark man they called Doctor Chaundra had given it to her, saying that it would make her feel better. She didn't want to feel better. She wanted to feel pain, because pain told her she was still alive.

  Her eyes flicked around the little cubicle. There was a sink in the corner. She darted to it and threw the pill down the drain, scrabbling at the unfamiliar controls until a gush of water followed it. Then she scrambled back to the bed, humiliatingly conscious of how the thin hospital gown revealed her body. Conscious also of the emotions roiling beneath the surface of her mind, like great boulders grinding and moving in the dark. . . .

  I wish I was home, she thought desolately. But home was gone, further than all the light-years between this accursed place and the sun Saffron. Home had been in Keriss . . . Keriss was poisoned dust floating in Bethel's skies. Mother, she thought, father. Little sister Delilah.

  Most of the other Bethelites who escaped had been from the Sierra Nueva lands. Amos' family had been direct descendants of the Prophet, members of the Synod of Patriarchs for twenty generations. They had owned the city of Elkbre outright and tens of thousands of square kilometers around it. And they had always been an enlightened family, as much as any, more than most. Hence, the Second Revelation had spread widely there. Rachel had come to it late. After I heard Amos speak, she thought, burying her face in her hands. He was like the Prophet come again. A new voice, sweeping away the intolerable stuffy load of convention. And he is so beautiful. . . .

  The partition door opened. Joseph came through first, one hand tinder the flap of his jacket as was his custom. Amos followed, and Rachel flung herself forward into his arms, gripping him fiercely. It was a moment before she felt the awkwardness with which he patted her back. She withdrew, clutching at the gown. That only emphasized its skimpiness, and she flushed deeply, looking down at the floor.

  "Pardon, excellent sir," she said.

  He made a dismissive gesture. "No need to be formal, Rachel," he said. "You are well?"

  "Relieved," she said. "They would only say that you would return, but not where you had been taken or why. Where have you been?" She raised her eyes anxiously to his face.

  He hesitated for a moment. "Joseph and I have been meeting with the station managers. We have arranged a funeral service for those who died on our journey here."

  She turned aside to spare his embarrassment. "They are not to be trusted."

  "What do you mean, Rachel?" His tone was apprehensive but also stern.

  "Nothing, yet," she said sullenly, hanging her head. Then she grasped his wrist painfully tight, meeting his eyes earnestly. "But who knows? They are mezamerin." Strangers. In the ancient liturgical language, infidel.

  "Rachel, do not start parroting the Elders at this late date," Joseph said in exasperation. More gently, he put a hand on her shoulder. "Did you take the medication?"

  "Yes," she said brusquely, shrugging off his hand. Then she turned to Amos with a sigh. "I am sorry, Excell . . . Amos."

  The memory swept over her again: the crowded chamber and the sickly-sweet taste at the back of her mouth as the coldsleep injection took effect.

  "I . . . thought I had died, when I woke here," she said. "My father . . . did I tell you?"

  "No," Amos said, taking her hand. His large dark-blue eyes held a sudden compassion. "He cursed you?"

  "Yes. When I left home to follow you, he put the Patriarch's curse upon me: hell, and miserable rebirth, and damnation again, forever."

  Amos blanched slightly for, though his father had been disappointed in his son, even appalled by his son's apostasy, he had not uttered the curse. Perhaps that would have come about had his father not died during Amos' early teens. If I had been cursed? Perhaps that was why I, fatherless, could become the leader of the Second Revelation, he thought. What courage my followers had, to dare the curse for me!

  "I thought I was damned indeed," she whispered. "Since I awoke . . . I . . . I really do not feel myself, Amos."

  "It is to be expected," he said, patting her cheek. "You will feel better soon."

  "And did you tell them of what follows us?" she asked, blurting out the words since his touch had given her the courage to speak them. "Have they defenses?"

  Joseph had been brooding, facing slightly away. Now he laughed bitterly. "Defenses? These people are as open as a canal-side harlot."

  Rachel drew a shocked breath.

  "You forget yourself, Joseph," Amos said as Rachel drew closer to his side, an instinctive move toward his protection. "There is a lady present."

  The shorter man bowed. "Apologies, Excellent Sir," he replied stiffly. A deeper bow. "My lady."

  "I cast your own words back, my brother—do not imitate the Elders," Amos said. Unnoticed, Rachel stiffened.

  "Is it true?" she said. "They have no defenses?"

  Amos nodded, his mouth drawn into a line. "Yes. These are peaceful people, as we were. Fortunately, they are in communication with the Navy of the Central Worlds. Unfortunately, the Kolnari will be here before that help arrives."

  Rachel gasped. "How can we flee from here?"

  "We cannot," Amos replied, shrugging away the chance of flight. "There are ships, but they are small and have no facilities for passengers. Children, those with child, and the infirm are to be evacuated. The rest of us must remain here and seek to delay the enemy."

  "They will know us!" she said in a trembling voice.

  Joseph shook his head. "I think not, Lady bint Damscus," he said formally. "Not in this place, and among such as inhabit it. Already we have seen more races of men than I knew existed outside legend. Some very different c
ustoms," he pulled his mouth down in disapproval, "and non-men as well."

  Rachel's eyes went wide. The most cogent incentive for the Exodus to Bethel had been the Prophet's determination not to pollute the pure blood by congress with non-humans. Nonhuman intelligence was the creation of Shaithen, whether flesh or machine.

  Joseph made a soothing gesture. "They are not rulers here. Still, among so many and so various, our handful will disappear and not be remarked by the Kolnari for what we are. The fiends must believe that they strike without warning, that no help will be called to this station. So they will wait, thinking to feast at their ease. Then the warships will come, to rescue us—and return us to our poor Bethel."

  "Yes," she said, thoughtfully. "I had not thought of . . . returning."

  "In a sense," Amos began, and her eyes snapped back to him with a fixed attention, "we have won the war. Now we must try to survive it. Please, Rachel my sister, would you go among the other women and children? They are awakening, and will be lost and frightened. Prepare those who are eligible to leave here."

  "I obey, Amos." She looked around, realizing that she could not go even among women and children of her own people in what she wore.

  Joseph opened one of the closets and handed her a large, shapeless robe. Rachel nodded a distant thanks before she donned it and left, the full folds sweeping behind her.

  "We have something we share, she and I," Joseph said bitterly, throwing himself down in his float chair. Even his solid bulk did not make it bob on its supporting field. Amos noted the fact and filed it.

  I must make a quick review, he thought. Find what technologies have arisen during our isolation on Bethel. Whatever supports the chair could be altered to support other heavy weights.

  "What do you share?" he asked the other man.

  "We both aspire above our stations, she and I," Joseph replied.

  Amos blinked in surprise. "Oh," he said after a moment. "Sits the wind so? I had thought her merely devoted to the cause."

  "So she is, but that is not the whole story."

  "Even if we followed the old customs, I would not take her even as a second wife," he said with a dismissive shrug. "Since I have not even a first, speculation is useless." Then he raised one eyebrow. "You have not pressed your suit?"

  "Was there time?" Joseph asked rhetorically. Then he sighed. "Amos, could you see me going to her father for permission? Bastard son of a whore and a dockside pimp he would have called me, whether he had disowned her or no—and it would be no more than the truth."

  Amos laughed grimly and thumped his follower on the shoulder. "Joseph, my brother, you are a bold man who has saved my life more than once. But there are times when you allow your birth to blind you as much as any hidebound Elder."

  At Joseph's puzzled look, he continued. "Joseph, where did Rachel's father live?"

  "Keriss—ah! I see."

  "Where did the Elders live, for the most part?"

  "Keriss—and those that did not, they were in the city for the council meeting," Joseph said. "You have had time to think, eh?"

  "It is necessary that someone do so," Amos said. "We of the Second Revelation were planning to leave, to escape the bonds of customs gone sterile in their changelessness, Joseph. When—if—we return to Bethel with the Space Navy at our backs, very little will remain unchanged after what the Kolnari have done. God has given us a sharp lesson. If we ignore the universe, the universe will not necessarily ignore us. And on Bethel . . . the last shall be first, and the first, last; that at the very least.

  "Furthermore," he went on, with a man-to-man grin, "I now stand in her father's place, in law. I hereby formally give you leave to press your suit, and for the marriage portion, I will dower her with the Gazelle Rancho at Twin Springs."

  Joseph's laughter matched his leader's. "I may press, but I doubt she notices my existence," he said. "Consent may be as far away as the Rancho." A pause. "Although that is where I would take her to live, if we were wed and our cause victorious. She is stronger than she suspects, I think—but her liking for the new ways you preach is of the head, not here." He touched his heart. "As lady of an estate, there would she be happy. She would not thrive among strangers."

  CHAPTER TEN

  "Detection. Ship track."

  Belazir t'Marid looked up from his crash couch where he had been rerunning a tactical manual on the screen.

  "What signature?" he said.

  "Ion track, very faint," Baila said. "Could have been weeks ago."

  Belazir ran his hand through the long blond mane of his hair and cursed inwardly. The second in two days, he thought. They were getting into well-traveled space, despite the fact that their data showed little or no settlement in this area. The centuries-old Grand Survey reports listed no inhabitable planets, although there was a nebula with potentially valuable minerals. There must be a regular traffic now, perhaps habitats or small space colonies. Dangerous, very dangerous.

  A time would come when the Kolnari would not have to skulk around the fringes of known space, biding like scavengers. But that time was not yet.

  "Reduce speed," he said. "Pulse message to the consort ships. Keep formation on new vector." That form of communication was so short-range that it was undetectable. "Anything more on the subspace monitors?"

  "Plenty of nearby traffic, but mostly encrypted," the intelligence officer said. Belazir nodded. Perfect codes were an old phenomenon, available to anyone with decent computers.

  "And the prey?" he asked.

  Baila shrugged. As she was almost as well-born as Belazir, he decided to let the informality pass unreprimanded. Also, she was daughter to a staff officer of Chalku's.

  "The track is firm and hot," the woman said. "We gain, at an increasing rate. Signs of deterioration, as one would expect from old engines heavily stressed—sublimated particles from exterior drive-coils and cooling vanes. She cannot survive much longer."

  "Much longer, much longer! You've been saying that for days!" Belazir snarled, starting half-erect. The junior officer's eyes dropped before the captain's lion stare. Belazir sank back, satisfied that deference had been restored.

  "Transmit to all vessels," he went on. "Maximum alertness. We strike hard and then we run. Plasma tells no tales."

  * * *

  "Dad, I'm not going," Seld Chaundra flatly told his father.

  The head of SSS-900-C's medical department looked up in surprise. For a moment, he tried to fit the words into a context that made sense as his hands continued automatically packing a carry-all for his son's trip. Then he shook his head. He was very tired. Since the announcement was made two days ago, there had been absolute chaos in the station. Literal chaos in some instances, and sickbay was full of injuries, everything from carelessness through flare-ups to attempted suicide.

  "Do not make troubles now, son," he said. "There is too much to be doing."

  "I'm not going, Dad," Seld said again.

  Gods, but he looks like his mother, the doctor thought with despair. She had had exactly that set to her jaw when she decided to stand on an issue of principle. And I could never convince her of her error when she looked like that, either. Fortunately, he did not need to convince his son, who was still a minor.

  "Yes," Chaundra said, "you are going. I need for you to go."

  "Well, I need for me to stay!"

  Chaundra grabbed his son by his upper arms and shook him gently. "You're all I've got, Seld. You're the most important thing in my life and I've got to keep you safe." He pulled out his ace. "It's what your mother would have wanted."

  Seld's red-headed temper flared and, for the first time in his twelve years, he contradicted his father. "No, she wouldn't! She'd say what I'm gonna say. You're all I've got, and if you can't be safe then I've got to be with you!"

  He pulled his son to him in a fierce hug to hide the sudden glisten of tears in his eyes. Then he sank into his armchair, covering his eyes with his hand.

  "Yes," he said thickly, "that's just wha
t she'd say. But," he pointed a finger at Seld, "she'd be talking about herself, not about you."

  "Dad . . ."

  "I have packed one change of clothes, two changes of underwear and one," he held up one finger for emphasis, "thing you can't bear to part with. I'll be back in half an hour to walk you to the ship."

  "Dad!"

  "Half an hour." He stood and left. There are times when a man must weep alone.

  * * *

  "Joat!" Simeon said in exasperation, "Answer me! I'd hate to have to send someone in there to flush you out."

  He heard laughter echo softly then, from somewhere in the ductwork. Damned tunnel rat, he thought in exasperation. She had rigged the sensor in her room to show her present and he was still trying to figure out how it had been done.

  "You know they wouldn't find me."

  "C'mon Joat, you've got to go. Channa has packed some of your things. She'll meet you at the lock. You're one of the lucky ones. You don't have to wear a suit and travel in the hold for the whole trip."

  "Hunh. Done it before."

  "Well, you don't have to do it now. Come on! They're leaving in fifteen minutes."

  "I'm not going."

  "Perhaps I left something out here? Pirates, heavily armed, almost certain death and destruction? Did I mention any of those?"

  "You need me," she said simply.

  "Yeah," he said slowly after a moment's pause, "but I think I should do without you for a while."

  Joat came into view, grinning. "You are so soft," she said and shook her head. "You need me because no adult except you knows this station the way I do." She crossed her arms smugly. "This is my home, too, and I want a crack at defending it. Besides, I'm not about to deliver myself to Dorgan the Gorgon." If she's still alive. Those demonstrators looked mean. "So here I stay!"

  "Joat, is avoiding Ms. Dorgan and the orphanage worth risking your life for?"

  "You better believe it!" That forced an unwilling chuckle out of Simeon.