The City and the Ship

by Anne McCaffrey

  "Trouble," Bros said leaning over her shoulder. "That's what you're seeing." He pointed to one ship's image on the screen. "You recognize her?"

  "I do," Joseph said grimly. "By its outline, it is the Dreadful Bride. Belazir's ship."

  Joat nodded with a quirk of her lips.

  "Well, good," she said firmly.

  Both men straightened and looked at her.

  "That is what we wanted," she explained. "No sense in complaining that our plans worked out just the way we expected them to." Her hands danced over the panel before her, broadcasting her identity.

  "They're coming into visual range," Rand said. "Shall I put them on screen?"

  "By all means," Joat said. "Let's be thoroughly intimidated."

  "Ah, Boss." Alvec's voice came over the auditory system from the engineering spaces. "I can squeeze maybe three, four more lights out of this rustbucket, if you need 'em."

  The Dreadful Bride, Belazir's own ship, sprang into view, heading the vast armada of smaller warships. The ship boasted new weapons pods, and showed signs of having used them, often. Long star-shaped ripple patterns—damage from beamers firing at extreme range—slashed the hull, and irregular patches laid over the worst damage marred its sleek length from stem to stern.

  The marks only added to the Bride's menace, like battle scars on a human face.

  Several of the warships were slovenly-looking. Probably freelancers-cum-pirates. Behind them loomed the vast bulk of the freighter, its great round belly blocking from view any other ships in Belazir's fleet.

  "I can understand they'd need freighters," Seg muttered, "but that thing has to be a liability. It's completely vulnerable and look how slow it is." He shook his head. "I don't get it."

  "That's the mothership," Bros explained. "Where the Kolnar keep their children and their pregnant wives. They breed like rabbits. That's not a joke, they're incredibly fertile and they never stop reproducing—twins, triplets, and the gestation period is only four months. They start breeding at ten standard years. So if that thing isn't full of baby pirates yet, it soon will be."

  Seg looked mildly disappointed.

  "Well, if they've got their children with them, they obviously don't want to make trouble."

  The others stared at him.

  "I mean, they wouldn't put their children at risk . . ." Everyone turned away, gazing studiously at the boards before them, into the forward screen, anywhere but at Seg.

  "Well, we could be dangerous!" he snapped in exasperation.

  "And what are we going to use to hurt them?" Joat asked sweetly. "Cutting remarks?" She smiled at his mulish expression. "We're barely armed, kid, which is more than most freighters can boast. But if you look out there," she indicated the forward screen, "you'll see the latest and best weaponry available on the black market."

  "In other words," Bros said, "they don't have to make trouble, they are trouble."

  "They're hailing," Rand told them.

  "Forward screen," Joat said tensely, bracing herself in expectation of confronting a Kolnari.

  The face on the view-screen was human-standard. A woman's face, bony, sallow, with the eyes of a dead fish, but human, Joat realized. More or less human. Not only a pirate, but willing to work for the High Clan of Kolnar.

  "Captain Joat Simeon-Hap, cargo ship Wyal, we're here to pick up cargo for Nomik Ciety," she said as calmly as she could.

  "Stand by for cargo transfer," the woman said, her voice as expressionless as her eyes. "And traveling instructions."

  "Al," Joat asked, "will you and Rand take care of receiving those? I'm going down to supervise the loading."

  "Will do," Alvec said crisply.

  "Bros, Joe," she said, "will you come with me, please." Her heart was hammering in her chest, but her voice was flat calm. They were being treated like just another underworld courier. But they weren't "just another" anything and Joat was scared. Her name alone would be ringing up flags onboard the Dreadful Bride. Belazir t'Marid would be glad to see her, if not quite as glad as Channa or Simeon would make him.

  She was in the hatchway, Bros and Joseph bunched up behind her when an all too familiar voice filled the bridge.

  "One moment, Captain."

  Joat could feel the blood draining from her face, vision dimming, her tongue thick enough to choke her. She turned to the screen.

  "This is a most valuable cargo," Belazir said, with a gentle smile.

  Joat leaned against the hatchway casually and raised an eyebrow. It was better than falling down, and she hadn't the strength to speak. When she'd known him before she'd had places to hide. Here there was nowhere to run.

  He looked much older than she would have expected. Dangerous still, but much changed. Yeah. They age quickly, too. The face had lost its fallen-angel beauty, but none of the strength. And the golden lion's eyes were utterly mad.

  "I've never damaged a cargo yet," she said at last.

  "Still," Belazir said, steepling his hands before him, "I must ask that you leave one of your crew here as hostage. To insure that you will effect delivery with all care and speed."

  Joat crossed her arms and walked forward, towards the smiling face in the screen.

  "No," she said, calmly. "That's unacceptable. I need all of my crew. If that's unsatisfactory, I'm sure Mr. Ciety can find you a shipper more to your liking." She took her seat and looked up at the screen with her arms crossed, face a mask. But I'm glad he can't smell me.

  His yellow eyes rested briefly on Joseph, then passed over him to linger on Bros.

  "That one," he said, as though she hadn't already refused. "The dark one. We'll take him on when the cargo is brought to you."

  "No," Joat said firmly.

  "Yes," Belazir said, equally firmly. His eyes widened slightly and his lips lifted from his teeth in a snarl. "Captain Simeon-Hap."

  He knows, Joat thought and her heart sped again and her mouth went dry.

  "You will do as you are told. Or you will not be leaving this place. Do you understand?"

  "Yes." Master and God, her mind supplied treacherously.

  She gripped the console, resolved to tell him that she understood, she just wasn't going to do it, when Bros's hand came down on her shoulder, making her jump.

  She glared up at him and he surprised her by the regretful tenderness of his smile.

  "I'd better go," he said softly.

  "But . . . !"

  He was out the hatch before she could continue.

  "Most wise," Belazir murmured approvingly, "very wise indeed."

  The screen went blank, and Joat was on her feet, rushing after Bros.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  This isn't right," Joat insisted. She'd caught up with him at the cargo bay hatch; he stood looking back at her, hand on the dogging wheel. "I don't want you to go."

  Bros smiled down at her.

  "Would it surprise you to know that I agree with you? I don't want me to go either."

  "Then don't!"

  He cocked his head and looked at her affectionately, reaching out to brush her cheek with the back of his hand. Joat started and flinched away from his touch, then scowled at him.

  "Is that a look to send a man out to battle with?"

  "You're not going to battle," she snapped, "you're going to commit suicide. I can talk him out of this, Bros, you don't have to go."

  "He'll kill us all, Joat. He knows who you are and he wants you dead." Bros leaned close, trying to catch her eyes. "Seg and Amos are too important to Central Worlds to risk. And I got you into this."

  There was the sound of the caterpillar lock grappling on and filling with air. Bros snapped forward and kissed her lightly before she could protest. He straightened and glanced at the lock, then back down at Joat.

  "And you're too important to me," he said as the lock opened with a hiss and a pair of black-clad mercenaries stepped out. "It's a far, far better thing I do . . ." he murmured as they led him away.

  Joat watched him go; he never looked
back as he was hustled along between his guards, and his step was firm and springy. She could still feel the soft warmth of his lips, and it was as though his kiss had sealed hers shut, for she couldn't speak. She could only watch with wide eyes as more mercenaries dragged an escape pod down the tunnel that linked their ships.

  Joseph's touch made her gasp and she spun 'round in shocked surprise.

  "Don't do that!" she snarled. "Why is everyone sneaking up on me today?"

  Joseph suppressed a smile.

  "Sometimes, Joat, you are more like my Rachel than you would care to admit."

  "How shall we stow this, Captain?" Alvec asked.

  Joat closed her eyes for a moment, grateful for Al's understanding. She led him into cargo hold C.

  "Here," she said and indicated a rack which would accommodate the rescue pod's awkward shape.

  They were busy for several minutes securing it to the mercenaries' satisfaction; the noncom in charge checked with finicky care.

  "See them out, would you Joe?" she asked. "I want a few words with their Captain."

  * * *

  "Get me Belazir," Joat said to the dead-faced woman on the screen.

  "Who?" the woman asked.

  "Belazir, you bitch! Do it or I'll open fire on the mother ship."

  Belazir's face appeared on the screen, his golden eyes laughing, though his face was stem.

  "You wished to speak to me, Captain?"

  "I'll be back for my crewman," Joat said tersely.

  "Will you?" Belazir asked with a raised brow. "How very nice. You may be sure I shall look forward to seeing you again, Captain Simeon-Hap." He paused, considering. "So much do I wish for such a meeting that I will caution you most strongly, do not open the rescue pod. On pain of death," he said, his voice firm with sincere warning.

  Then he was gone and by default the screen returned to the view of Belazir's fleet.

  "Only a Kolnari could or would say on pain of death," Joseph said with disgust. "Even then, only Belazir could say it and not sound ridiculous. Come with me, Seg. Let us see what the Kolnar have entrusted to us."

  "Wait," Joat said. "Let's get a little distance between us. They might have some kind of tell-tale attached to it."

  Joseph sighed impatiently, but nodded and took his seat, while Joat checked out the flight plan the Kolnari had given them.

  "It's what we expected," she said, her throat dry and tight. "Our course is set for Bethel."

  "I am sorry, Joat," Joseph murmured. "I would rather he had chosen me."

  "Don't be sorry and don't be stupid," she snapped. "This isn't finished."

  But it was, she told herself. Finished before it was begun. A freighter with a single laser cannon and a few illegal sidearms was no match for the Kolnari-mercenary fleet they were leaving behind. And while they ran like cowards Belazir was taking apart the first and only man she'd ever felt something for.

  * * *

  The fighter was designed to do one thing, fight, and it offered few amenities and little comfort. Karak was at the apex of a three-seat triangle, overseeing the other two. None of the seats were moveable; they were designed to put the occupants within touching range of everything essential, and Kolnari ship designers made even fewer concessions to comfort than the Central Worlds Fleet.

  It had been part nightmare and part comedy getting everyone suited and out. He'd handily connected the unconscious Sung to the various catheters and waste tubes built into the space armor. But Soamosa had refused to let him help her, even though she obviously had no idea how to proceed.

  Karak eyed her worriedly. From time to time she shifted in a way that spoke of discomfort. But she didn't complain and he felt a little glow of pride towards her for that.

  "I have laid in a course for Bethel," he told her. "We can expect to arrive in four days."

  Soamosa started.

  "So close!" she said. And she asked herself what the Kolnari were going to do that required their fleet to lie so close to her home. Fool! she told herself. The disease of course! They will want to come and gloat. She wondered if they would be content with what they saw, or would they amuse themselves by bombing the helpless people of Bethel. The way they had before.

  "At the end of four days, my love, it will not seem close, I promise you." His voice was tinged with amusement.

  Captain Sung began to stir and in moments a thin, heart-broken wailing filled the small cabin they shared. Soamosa leaned towards him and began to murmur soothingly, reaching out for his shoulder.

  The Captain batted ill-temperedly at her and increased the volume of his weeping.

  Four days! Karak thought in despair. It will be an eternity.

  * * *

  "Seg," Joat said, "put on an EVA suit, grab your bag of tricks and report to cargo hold C. We're going to lock you in and put the air in there on a sealed cycle."

  !T'sel looked surprised. "How is it you can do that?"

  "That hold's designed to ship live cargo. Why else d'you think it's got a double lock?"

  "For sterilization procedures, of course," Seg murmured approvingly.

  "And Seg, take everything you can think of. Once you're sealed in I don't want to keep opening that outer hatch any more than necessary."

  !T'sel nodded solemnly.

  "I understand and approve, Captain."

  "I will accompany you," Joseph said.

  Didn't ask my permission, this time. He'd always been careful of such courtesies before.

  "You will also wear a suit, Joe."

  He glanced at her in mild surprise and then nodded once. Meaning, it's still my ship.

  "Yes, Captain," he said and followed Seg.

  "Rand? Give me a multiple close-up on the pod."

  "Yes, Joat."

  Rand flashed four different views of the Kolnari escape pod. Then he brought each view to maximum magnification. The surface was some pebbled synthetic.

  "Good," Joat said. "Polarized?"

  "Most probably, from the composition—single-molecule silicon and carbon composite," Rand said.

  "So far, we're in the clear," Alvec said, watching the Kolnari fleet on his screen. "No one's following, no weapons firing. Looks like we're safe." His voice had a flat, low-affect deadness to it.

  "We're not leaving him there," Joat said. "We got Amos out, we'll get Sperin out."

  He turned his chair around, his face like a lugubrious hound's.

  "Boss, they wanted us to take Amos," he said gently.

  "I know that." It was moments like this that you realized Alvec was a very dangerous man.

  Joat turned to watch the pod. Behind her, Alvec smiled slowly as he studied the set of her face and the way she held her shoulders. He could almost feel sorry for the Kolnari fleet.

  * * *

  Bros was escorted down long, narrow corridors smelling of dry, recycled air and the metallic-spicy Kolnari body scent. The light was harsh enough to make him squint and the gravity was tangibly heavier than Earth standard. The temperature varied wildly, from chilly to a more common dry baking heat. He was uneasily aware that things he couldn't sense might well be killing him slowly; heavy-metal salts, strong UV, radiation . . . the Kolnari's ancestors had adapted to them, on their hell-planet. But that had taken generations, and they were still a short-lived race.

  By the time they locked him into a spartan cell he was panting slightly and a fine sheen of sweat slicked his brow. He turned to take in his surroundings. Two bunks that folded down from the wall, a sink, and a toilet. The light was recessed into the ceiling, well out of his reach, even if he tried for it from the upper bunk. Clever. He assumed it would never go out.

  Bros examined the bare walls, looking for the surveillance equipment. It was there, he knew, but it certainly wasn't obvious.

  "Clever," he murmured to himself, running his fingers over the slick metal-fiber composite. Not quite state-of-the-art, but they're good engineers in their way. Probably spy-eyes and holo-projectors combined. He went to the tap and drank
deeply, ignoring the unpleasant chemical smell and taste of the water, and the high salt content. The latter at least would be beneficial; he could feel the dry heat wicking moisture out of his skin.

  Hands on his hips, he turned and looked at the closed hatch. Then, with a wry twist of his lips, he went over and tried it. Locked. Ah, well, it was too much to hope for, he thought. The Kolnari are big, but they're not dumb.

  Not that he could easily escape anyway. They'd made him strip down to his underwear, even taking his socks. Weirdly enough, though, they'd let him keep his boots.

  He went over and pulled down the lower bunk, sat and leaned his bare back against the cool white wall.

  With a harsh sssnnnaaapp!, a jolt of electricity sent him leaping from the bunk.

  As he reached for the burn on his back a woman's voice said calmly: "Sitting or lying on the bunk is forbidden until lights out."

  "Yyyouu bitch!" Bros muttered, gently touching a rising blister.

  There would be no lights out. Of that he was absolutely certain. Clearly Belazir had long-term plans for him.

  He wondered if he dared to sit on the floor. Then he sighed. No, I'll wait until I'm tired. No sense in getting a burnt butt before I have to. He glanced at the commode. Oh no, not unless I'm desperate. There was no reason to start that phase of his torment before he absolutely had to.

  Bros stood in the center of his cell, breathing deeply, his eyes closed, attempting to put himself into a trance state to make the time pass more quickly.

  A little corner of himself wondered how long it would take for him to want to die.

  * * *

  Seg leaned closer to the life pod and read the bio-display on the capsule's external screen. It showed that the being within was alive, conscious and in good health. Naturally the computer couldn't show if Amos, assuming it was Amos, was infected with an unknown disease. But, encouragingly, the brain scan showed no anomalies.

  Joseph swore softly, unused to reading through the restricted view of an EVA helmet and not certain he fully understood what he was reading anyway.

  "It looks good," Seg told him. "His brain scan appears normal."