The City and the Ship

by Anne McCaffrey

  Joseph clicked the knife into its wrist-sheath, his eyes thoughtful. Wiping his face on a kerchief, he returned to the two adolescents.

  "I don't think I like her," Joat said laconically.

  "I apologize," he said quietly. "Lady Rachel was gently reared. She is suffering from stress and adverse reactions to medication."

  "She's bughouse," Joat said bluntly. He's gone on her, she thought. Geh! What a fardlin' waste. People should reproduce the way bacteria did, splitting cells. That was cleaner. Even ungrudlies like Joe got strange when they had the hots.

  Joseph frowned at her. "Negative reaction, as I said."

  "Yeah, bughouse, like I said. . . . Okay, forget it. How did you do that thing with the knife?"

  "Spring-loaded sheath," Joseph said, obviously relieved to change the subject. He bent back his wrist and showed them.

  Joat glanced at Seld, caught his eye. He shook his head in silent agreement. Adults! They're nuts.

  * * *

  Channa stumbled into the lounge and fell facefirst into the cushions of the couch. "I hate commuting," she said with a theatrical groan.

  "Hah!" was Simeon's mocking comment. "Call that commuting? Why, in my grandfathers' day . . ."

  "In your grandfathers' day," she said pulling herself into a sitting position, "they probably commuted by ox-cart through subspace and drifts of snow fourteen feet high, and that was in high summer, being dive bombed by stinging insects the size of ore-freighters, just to borrow a cup of sugar from their next-door neighbor three light years away. I," she said, indicating herself with a delicate hand and a raised eyebrow, "am not as hardy. And I hate to commute."

  "Not a problem I'm likely to have," he commented.

  "No!" she agreed.

  "So I should just offer sympathy and understanding," he suggested.

  "Absolutely, and I, of course, will accept this with gratitude as the very balm my bruised and battered spirit craves."

  "Poor baby."

  "Ah," she sighed. "Well! I feel better. What's new on the home front?"

  "Apparently Joat's gotten Seld grounded until he turns twenty-one."

  "How'd she manage that?"

  "Chaundra disciplined him for staying behind and she talked him into exploring the station with her and Joseph."

  "Poor Seld. What's Joat's reaction?"

  "Oh, it's all her fault, she's got the kiss of death or something—"

  "Seld staying behind is her fault?"

  "No, no. It's all her fault. The minute we decided to adopt her, Bethel was attacked, so that Amos escaped, the pirates chased him and the station is now endangered. You see the logical sequence of events. One of her depressed moods."

  Those tended to be temporary but of unpredictable duration.

  "I can't deny," she said, fighting a laugh, "that the logic's inescapable when the data is structured in that fashion."

  They were still laughing when Amos came in.

  "What causes such merriment?" he asked, grinning.

  Channa looked at his handsome face, and it seemed to her that for a moment the station stood still.

  "Oh," Simeon told him, "the horrors of being twelve."

  Amos shuddered. "Indeed," he said, rolling his eyes. "Would that all horrors were both so transient and so amusing in retrospect. I fell in love with the cook. When that was over, I decided I was religiously inspired—and never recovered from that."

  Channa gave an involuntary snort of laughter, glanced over at him to be sure, then dissolved in whooping gales of laughter.

  "At least," she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, "you don't take yourself too seriously."

  "I cannot afford to," Amos said, bowing with hand on breast. "Far too many others do. If their prophet cannot laugh at himself now and then, they are lost as well."

  "My adolescence was worse," Simeon said. They turned and looked at the pillar. "Imagine my pure, unsullied, young self thrust among hardened asteroid miners."

  "It certainly left its mark," Channa said dryly.

  "No one escapes without being marked," Amos said wisely.

  "And no one gets out alive," they all said together.

  "Are you talking about the station?" Joat asked in horror, emerging from her room.

  "No, no," Channa said. "Life." Teenage life, actually, but let's not be specific right now.

  * * *

  Joat began to rearrange Channa's desk, banging down the implements.

  "It's so stupid!" she said, clattering a note organizer screen down.

  "What is?" Simeon said, soothingly. Sometimes that tone annoyed Joat so much she forgot what was troubling her. This time she was too focused.

  "Seld," she said. "I mean, this could be the last week of our lives and Seld is locked in his room! What a great way to go! Y'know?"

  No one answered her. Channa and Amos wouldn't meet her eyes. A look of mild exasperation crossed her features and she tried another tack.

  "Look, I need him," she said earnestly. "He's really pretty good, in a junior-grudly way, hey? I want to help. Y'know? So, I thought we, Seld and me, could . . ." She stopped, tapped her fingertips together and stared upward, biting her lip. "I thought we could maybe make up some of those signal disrupters I use," she said in a rush.

  "You mean the ones that keep me from seeing or hearing you?"

  "Yeah," Joat appeared fascinated by her fingernails. "Those."

  "Joat, you could do that in the engineering lab. Anyone there will be happy to help you. If we get enough people assembling the elements, we could make quite a few in the time we have left."

  "No," Joat said and sat down, looking right at Simeon's column. "I mean, I like the idea of working in the engineering lab, don't get me wrong on that. But the signal disrupter is my idea, and I'm not going to just give it away. I know I'm just a kid, but I know you don't do that."

  "I'm not going to let anybody steal the credit for your invention, Joat. I fully intend to watch out for your interests. I give you my word on that."

  "Thank you," she said simply. A silence fell, oddly solemn. After a moment, Joat continued, "Y'know, it's probably not a good idea to have too many of them around. I mean, the more there are, the more likely some jerk will lose one and the pirates will find it and figure it out, then where'll we be?"

  "A valid point," Channa said judiciously.

  "So," Joat slapped her legs, then rubbed her palms up and down her thighs, "what I thought was, Seld and me could make up enough for you guys," she turned to point at Amos and then at Channa, "and as many of the council reps or team leaders as we can." She looked at the adults' faces, checking their expressions, then turned to Simeon's column. "Whaddaya say?"

  "I'd say you're a heartless hard-bargainer, a blackmailer, and a techno-witch. That said, I'll talk to Chaundra, and I think he'll allow Seld to assist on an authorized project. But use more sense next time, Joat. When I adopt you, you're going to have limits, too. Oh, and don't work him too hard. He's just not . . ." Simeon tried to finish the caution diplomatically " . . . the hardy type."

  "I know," she said softly, nodding solemnly. "I'll take care of him, I promise." Then she smiled a tight, professional-looking little smile, and rose. "Well, goodnight, everybody."

  "Goodnight," they wished her in return.

  When the door had closed behind her, Amos looked warmly at Channa, then dropped his eyes. "I, too, am weary, and there is still so much to learn."

  "Do what you can," Channa advised, "and play the rest by ear."

  "And don't forget," Simeon told him, "all you have to do is ask and I'll try to help. Channa, why don't you give him that contact button now?"

  "Yes." From a desk drawer, she took a small box, which she presented to Amos.

  "We should probably give one to both Joat and Seld," Simeon suggested.

  Channa nodded.

  Amos took out the small button curiously.

  "That gadget will let me see what you see, hear what you hear, and respond in relativ
e privacy," Simeon told him.

  "It is so small," Amos said, examining the tiny device.

  "But so effective," Simeon answered through the button.

  Startled, Amos dropped it.

  "I can see that it could be very useful," he said, laughing as he retrieved it. "Thank you, Simeon."

  Channa hesitated. "See you in the morning."

  "Yes, altogether too briefly," he replied, giving her a rueful bow.

  * * *

  Channa yawned hugely and looked up at the time display. Evening again already! Almost time for dinner. Hopefully it would be more cheerful than breakfast, which had been subdued in the extreme. "Gods, another day gone? Where is everyone?"

  "Amos is on his way back home and should be here any second," Simeon said. "Joat is committing illegalities in the engineering lab, chortling madly with Seld, when I can pick them up at all. She'll be back here to eat, or so I believe her plan to be."

  Channa stretched. "I need a break." She flopped into an easy chair and said, "Would you put on the 'Hebrides Suite,' please?"

  He listened to it for a moment and said, "This is nice."

  "One of my favorites. My great-grandmother once told me that this music held the soul of Earth's oceans in its phrases. I've loved it ever since."

  "Your great-grandmother was from Earth, Channa?"

  "No, but she'd been there. Oh, this is my favorite part—a little louder, Sim."

  She raised her hand, palm up to show that he should raise the volume again, and again. The door opened on Amos, who stepped backward as though the magnificent swell of sound had washed him out on a wave of music.

  Channa laughed at his startled expression and signaled Simeon to lower the sound. "Sorry," she called.

  Amos poked his head in cautiously, "Whew!" he said. "Channa, it is dangerous to play music at such volume. Your hearing will be impaired."

  She made a face at him. "Don't be a priss, Simeon-Amos. No one ever lost their hearing on classical music."

  "Beethoven?" Simeon suggested.

  "Hah!" she said. "You men all stick together," and stumbled to the galley for coffee. When she had doctored it with cream liqueur and whipped Jersey floating on the surface, she took an appreciative sip. "Ah! That's good!" Although when I learned where Jersey originally came from, I nearly lost my lunch, she added to herself. Simeon had picked up on her tastes quickly.

  "Now, that is something I feel I've missed out on," Simeon said.

  "Mmmh?"

  "Coffee, food, everyone who sits down to dinner at the Perimeter says, 'Wow! That smells good!' closely followed by 'Mmm! This is delicious!' and I haven't got an analogue for either of those sensations. Smell and taste—you'd think they could have given me one of 'em. Oh, I can taste when something's off in the chemo-synthesis plants, and I can smell an ion-trail, but it's not the same thing. Sometimes the people at Medic Central are downright inhumanly utilitarian."

  "Why don't you put Joat on it?" Channa suggested.

  "Put me on what?" Joat asked, arriving at that point.

  "I was just saying that I've missed out on tasting coffee, or smelling it even, everyone says it smells so good. I don't even know what that means. I just can't get my mind around the concept. I don't like the feeling that I'm being denied one of life's greatest pleasures. However, the thought of anyone poking about with my neural interfaces is enough to keep the thought merely wistful."

  Channa and Amos locked eyes a moment, then flicked away. Not before Simeon had caught the look.

  "That's terrible," Joat said sympathetically, "'though, maybe if you gave me your specs . . ."

  "Now, sex . . . sex provides a lot of mental pleasure." Simeon continued with relish. "I'd be willing to bet that I get almost as much sexual pleasure out of my own imagination as anyone does actually having it."

  Joat made a derisive grimace.

  "I'd say in your dreams, Simeon, but that would be redundant," Channa said archly, making her way back to her desk. "What have you got there?" she asked, pointing to the box in Joat's hand.

  "Oh, this is something for you guys." Joat opened it to display the two short, gleaming metal rods, perhaps three centimeters long, with crystals at either end. Joat looked at Channa expectantly.

  Channa took one out of the box, turning it over. In the center of the rod was a small gap, bridged by a narrow tube which joined its two halves. She touched the crystals experimentally, then looked queryingly at Joat. "It's pretty?" she asked, puzzled at its use.

  Joat laughed. "Seld said we should make 'em into jewelry, but I figured we didn't have time to experiment with the effect that might have. I wear mine in a sheath in my boot." She tugged up her pant-leg and pulled down the cuff of her boot to show the top of an identical wand.

  "How does this artifact of yours work?" Amos asked her, picking up the other.

  "You push the two halves together to make a contact."

  Amos did so. There was a click as the two halves came together to form a smooth even surface. He looked at Channa and Joat, then at himself. "Is . . . is it working?"

  "Ask him," Joat said, jerking her thumb at Simeon's column.

  "Simeon?"

  Simeon didn't answer because he hadn't heard the question. He had, however, seen Amos wink out of existence, and he was experiencing some very uncomfortable feelings about that disappearance. Suddenly, he was unsure that he wanted anyone besides Joat to have this ability. Such disappearances definitely gave him the willies.

  "Apparently not," Channa said, pleased. She clicked her own rod together and vanished from Simeon's sight and hearing.

  Amos leaned close to her. "I can already see much potential for his device." His smiling eyes were warm and full of meaning.

  "Seld and me knocked seven of these off today," Joat explained to Simeon. "We'll contrapt more tomorrow, now that we've found the parts we need. What's the matter?" she asked in response to Simeon's groan.

  "Sorry, Joat, seven is pretty good really, and there's nothing to say that we can't share these around. Right, Channa? Channa? Ollie-ollie in-free!"

  Channa grinned smugly at Amos. "He really can't see us, can he?" Then she pulled gently at the rod.

  "How nice of you to drop in," Simeon said in a sour tone. Damned if I'll let you know how much that bothers me.

  "Sorry," Channa said. "I know it bothers you," she subvocalized. Somehow Sim connected it with being cut off from his sensory input. Me, now I'm a sensory input? She turned to Joat. "Um, do you actually have to have it on your person for it to work? Or would it work if, say I had it on the desk beside me?"

  "It should keep you disappeared if you stay very close to it. You're not really blanked out. It's more like a local override command to the sensor not to record you, you know? I didn't really measure it very close." Joat gave a self-deprecating twitch of her hands. "I need more theory and stuff, I know."

  "Well, I'm impressed, Joat." She clapped her hands together. "Let's celebrate, and send out for dinner." She took the rod out of Amos's hands and unsnapped it.

  "You know," Simeon commented as Amos reappeared, "this invention of Joat's could be the biggest boon to burglars since hacking."

  Channa froze, then looked over at Joat. The girl managed to look sweet, innocent and furtive at the same moment. It was true. AI-driven surveillance was universal in public places. So were attempts to counteract it. Joat's seemed to work better than most. Of course, once the device was publicized, counter-measures would be initiated. No wonder Joat wanted to keep her ace-in-the-hole secret.

  Well, of course she steals! Simeon whispered in her ear. How did you think she survived before you took a hand?

  "Like many swords," Amos agreed, "it is two edged. But, they will be of help, and I shall enjoy testing mine." He smiled at Channa.

  Channa looked at Simeon's column. "Just think, we'll be able to keep secrets from you, Sim. How will you stand it?"

  * * *

  Amos tiptoed carefully out of Joat's room. "She never woke,
" he said in a half-whisper. "I put a blanket over her."

  Channa shook her head. Joat's subconscious seemed to know who to trust. This evening was the first time she had noticed the girl sleeping with the limp, irresistible finality of the trusting child. She'd also had a long, hard, if triumphant, day.

  "I thought she'd never get enough of your stories about Bethel," she said. And neither would I. It didn't have the urban sophistication of Senalgal, but Amos could make his world and his way of life sound . . . beautiful, she decided. Of course, he was an eloquent man, and he was describing what he truly loved. He had described what she had always yearned for in a planet-side posting: the hugeness, the variousness, the aliveness of a breathing world.

  "It was as much for me as for her," Amos said, leaning back on the sofa and raising his face to the ceiling, eyes closed. "I speak, and I see what can never be again."

  She put a hand on his. "Bethel will be freed and made beautiful again. The Kolnar only stripped the surface, not the nature of the planet."

  "Yes. Yes, I believe—must believe that." His fingers curled around hers; fine long-fingered hands, a little calloused.

  From riding horses, she thought. A sport she had only read of before. Simeon had provided holos, and riding looked more dangerous and exciting than piloting mini-shuttles.

  "Yet when the enemy are driven off, the wounds . . . and beyond that. We need to change, we must change. More than I thought or wished, and I was a rebellious youngster, a radical, a breaker of images, or so they called me." He turned his head to her. "The enormity of the task ahead frightens me, overwhelms me. Yet with help . . ."

  Oh, great, she thought. To herself: "Lost prince of beautiful, exotic planet, seeks helpmate/companion/lover to assist in rescue/reconstruction. Requires intelligent, forceful manager with strong sense of duty. Will furnish lifelong love and affection, plus palaces, estates, interesting experiences. Apply Amos ben Sierra Nueva." What was that quotation? Get thee behind me, Satan?

  Amos sat quietly beside her and placed Joat's box in her lap. His glance was filled with meaning. Channa opened the box and they each took out a crystal-tipped rod. Then they glanced at Simeon's column with identical scheming smiles and clicked the two parts together.