The City and the Ship

by Anne McCaffrey

  The two guards took hold of Bros, one on either arm and he slumped between them, making them stagger as he let them take his full weight. It felt almost good, not having to hold himself up anymore.

  "The drug that causes pain," Belazir said to the cowering medical technician. He turned to Bros. "An invention from the Phelobites, some of Central Worlds most clever allies. It ignites the nervous system, I am told, causing exquisite suffering."

  Bros looked up at him, tired, but contemptuous.

  "You make it sound almost sexy, Belazir. Is this how you people have fun when you get old?"

  Again the creature taunted him, and he didn't care to have the issue of his age mentioned before his crew. Rage snapped through him like a power whip and was quickly suppressed. He coiled it in, to be used later. Rage always had a use if turned to the right purpose.

  "We are a disciplined people," Belazir observed with a calm smile. "We seldom allow ourselves to have 'fun.' However," the smile became wolfish, "I anticipate that you will provide us with some occasion for merriment in the near future." He gestured for the medtech to administer the dose of pain-inducer and watched Sperin's eyes as it was done.

  Bros looked back at him as calmly as though they sat across a table in The Anvil.

  The dose went in with no more sensation than the touch of the injector to his skin. But inside, almost instantly, a vile sensation—like worms writhing beneath his skin—began to spread through his body.

  Belazir watched eagerly as Sperin stood upright, taking his weight on his own feet and his face wrinkled into a mask of profound . . . distaste.

  "Eeyaaahh, that's disgusting!" Bros said, shaking his hands and rotating his shoulders. All the while praising Seg !T'sel within his heart. What would this have been like without the antidote? he wondered.

  Belazir showed no sign of his shock or disappointment beyond a tightening of his jaw. It wasn't working. Perhaps the drug was unstable and had begun to lose its power.

  "Try the drug for fear," he ordered harshly.

  The med-tech licked his lips and his dark flesh turned pale gray with terror.

  "Great Lord," he said in a voice that shook, "there is a possibility that combining the two drugs could poison the prisoner."

  "Do it," Belazir snapped. Or I will have you gutted where you stand, he thought viciously, but did not say. It would show too much of what he was feeling.

  "Yes, Great Lord."

  The second injection acted as quickly as the first, complicating the unpleasant sensation below Bros's skin with a sense of anxiety. His heart speeded up and sweat broke out on his brow. He found himself panting slightly and licked dry lips with a dry tongue. It was very unpleasant.

  Almost as much of a strain as the effort not to laugh. The combined effect was about as bad as going three days without a bath or shave; and it was making him less sleepy, too.

  Seg, you are a genius. Whatever they're paying you at Clenst it's not enough. If the little Sondee had been before him, Bros would have kissed him passionately.

  Fortunately he was still too tired to smile.

  Belazir's apparent calm hid a rage that almost frightened the Kolnari. He stood with his back stubbornly turned to his fury; a ravening beast that would overwhelm and devour him if he gave it one moment's attention.

  "Leave him," he said coldly to his men, and watched them march impassively from the cell. Then he studied Bros for a moment longer, hating his victim's lack of reaction, hating his men for witnessing this humiliating incident.

  "I see we shall have to think of some other means of helping you pass the time," he said to Sperin. "I shall return quite soon."

  "Get some rest," Bros said, "at your age this land of excitement isn't good for you."

  "I am going to take you to pieces," Belazir promised him, "One millimeter at a time."

  * * *

  Belazir flung himself into his chair before the bank of screens. Breathing heavily . . . he forced himself to be still, his fury as hot as the core of a sun within him. He held up a hand before his face, and the fingers trembled. There was a time when they had been rock-steady, however hard the pulse of rage drummed in his ears.

  He would personally kill that medtech. How dare the creature care for the drugs entrusted to him so poorly they have gone off! He would tear the little eunuch apart! Belazir's mind filled with images of blood that soothed him somewhat.

  He reached for the com, intending to have the creature sent to one of the rooms where discipline was administered, when his eye caught a movement in one of the screens before him.

  Nomik sat beside his aide, Silken, on her bunk, holding her hand and talking. He'd reached up to brush her hair aside and that movement had earned him Belazir's attention.

  Belazir watched him coax the shadow of a smile from Silken. My other prisoners, he mused.

  Yes, his other prisoners.

  Civilians.

  Sperin was a trained spy, perhaps he'd been instructed in methods of resisting drugs, or he might have a natural immunity. Or there might be an antidote of some sort.

  Belazir considered that. Those who had sold him the drugs had assured him that no counter-agents or immunizers for them existed. But he'd been dealing with thieves, and salesmen, who were also notorious liars. Anyone who trusted a Phelobite would ask a Kolnari for an insurance appraisal.

  He slid down comfortably in his chair and steepled his hands before him, gently tapping the fingertips together. Yes, he would try the drugs on Ciety. Let Silken watch. The female had demonstrated her loyalty already. His lips twisted in a wry smile. Let us see what her loyalty will bring me, he thought, anticipating a pleasant interlude.

  * * *

  "Where is she, Rand?" Joat asked.

  "Less than an hour away, and on our heading."

  "Well we can't do anything tied to that fighter."

  "I can pilot that," Al said. "Or did you just want t' let it go?"

  "No, we're keeping it. Like I said, that ship, and this fellow's call signs are going to help us rescue Bros." She jerked her head downship, indicating that Al should go, cutting off his inevitable protest.

  "You're crazy!" Kraig yelled. "You're fardling crazy!"

  Joat ignored him. "Respond to that call, Rand. Tell her help's on the way." Then she stood with her fingers tapping her lips, staring off into space while Seg nervously watched her.

  "Joat," he said quietly. "You're serious about rescuing Bros, aren't you?"

  She looked at him from the corner of her eye and nodded once.

  "It's suicide," Seg whispered in a pleading tone.

  "You're fardling right it is!" Kraig snarled. "And not the easiest way to do it either. Do you have any idea what those people are like, lady?"

  She nodded.

  "I was on a space station they took over."

  He went still. "The SSS-900-C?"

  She nodded again, her lip curling slightly. "You may have heard of some of the tricks we played on them there." She leaned in close, filling his field of vision and whispered, "So you have some idea of what I'm like. Don't you?" He nodded and she nodded with him. Joat leaned still closer, resting her elbow on the shoulder of his frozen suit "Think about this," she said confidentially. "If you help us out, we'll send you to Bethel a hero. You were sent to destroy us, but sickened by the Kolnari, you decided to help us instead. How does that sound? Hmmm?"

  He stared at her uncertainly.

  "You'd do that?"

  "Um hmm." She nodded.

  For a moment he almost smiled, then the frown was back.

  "It sounds great, but it wouldn't sound so good when the Kolnari catch up with me."

  Joat looked at Seg's disapproving face, then moved to block Kraig's view of him.

  "Well, you know what, Kraig? You're not with the Kolnari, you're with us now. And now is all you should be thinking about." She smiled sweetly. "Given that I am one nnaaaaasty, dangerous woman.

  "But if you're so hot to get back to the Kolnari, here's what
we could do. After we torture the information I need out of you, I can fix your air pump, put that helmet back on and take you with me when I go." She smiled encouragingly into his horrified face. "Now, how would that suit you, hmmm?"

  He went so pale that even his lips faded to white.

  "Jeeeeezzz," he breathed. "You are crazy."

  "You can't do that, Joat," Seg said raggedly.

  "Oh, yes I caaaan," she said, playfully tweaking Kraig's nose.

  "But they'll kill me," Kraig pleaded.

  "I know. It's good to see that you understand your options." She straightened and stood before him with her hands on her hips. "You can either be a hero or a statistic. Your choice. I'll give you a few minutes to think about it."

  Without another word, she turned her back on him and sat in the gimbaled pilot's couch.

  "Rand, any word from Central Worlds?"

  "No, but . . ."

  " . . . I wouldn't expect any, as yet," she finished with him.

  Rand paused, as though nonplused by her knowing what he was going to say.

  "Even if we hear from them in the next instant, Joat, that doesn't mean they will be here anytime soon."

  "Tell me about it," she sneered. "Even Simeon couldn't get them to move their butts. It was two weeks before the station got help." She was silent a moment, remembering all too well the horror and anxiety of those slowly passing days.

  There was a shudder through the ship as Alvec disconnected the fighter's caterpillar lock from theirs.

  "So, any word from the Mayday Ms.?" she asked flippantly.

  "I've had her stop her ship. She said that it is also a fighter. That she is a Bethelite and her companions are the former Captain of the Sunrise and a Kolnari."

  "What?" Seg and Joat shouted together.

  "Her name is Soamosa bint Sierra Nueva and the Captain's name is Sung."

  "She captured a Kolnari?" Joat asked.

  "She said he was one of her companions," Rand said carefully. "She made no boast of capturing one."

  "Hmmmph! Interesting. The Sunwise was Amos's ship," Joat said. She keyed up cargo hold C. "Joe, Amos, does the name Soamosa bint Sierra Nueva mean anything to you?"

  Joseph's head had lifted with a start at the sudden sound of her voice, Amos simply lay there, as unresponsive as ever.

  "She is the Benisur's young cousin," Joseph said. "She was traveling with him when the Kolnari captured him." He straightened. "Why do you ask this?"

  "Because we just picked up a Mayday call from her. She's in a ship ahead of us, en route for Bethel. Rand says we'll catch up with them in about forty minutes. Joat out."

  She lives! Amos thought exultantly. And she is sane. Oh, dearest God, my thanks. Your kindness is as sweet as honey, a balm to my heart and spirit. How astounding that Belazir told me the truth!

  He felt Joseph's hand take his and extended his will to respond.

  Joseph felt the merest quiver in Amos's fingers, but he knew it was deliberate, that the Benisur was conscious and would, indeed, recover.

  "My Lord," he said in a voice harsh with relief.

  * * *

  Soamosa had wakened to the sound of tears. A soft, strained, high-pitched whining, followed by a series of sobs. A sound of heart-breaking loss and confusion.

  She blinked her eyes free of sleep and turned to Captain Sung, wondering if this time he would accept the comfort she offered him. I think Karak may have been a little rough with that catheter, she thought uncomfortably. Just the idea of a catheter made her squirm. She was certain she had installed her own incorrectly. Resolutely she turned her mind from that path.

  There is nothing to be done about it now except to think of something else. It is not as though I lacked distraction, she thought wryly.

  That was when she noticed that Captain Sung was quite still, his eyes closed, his face calm. He was snoring gently, she realized.

  Then what is it that I hear?

  Slowly, her eyes widened with horror and the hair on the back of her neck rose in a ripple that made her shudder. That awful weeping, the sound of a lost and wounded child, was coming from Karak.

  Slowly she turned, her heart thudding like a horse's hooves and her mouth dry. He is having a nightmare, she thought desperately. My poor love. But instinctively she knew that the sound she was hearing never came from a sleeping man.

  He was leaning over his console, the helmet almost resting on the boards before him. Then he flung himself back in his couch and flailed his head from side to side as if trying to fling off his helmet.

  His face was gray and slicked with sweat. When his eyes opened it was like looking through two golden hued windows into the heart of a furnace. As she watched, tears spilled over and rolled heavily down his cheeks.

  Karak touched gloved hands to his head, to be stopped by the face-plate. He groaned and threw his head forward again.

  "Karak!" Soamosa freed herself from her couch and pulled herself rapidly over to him. "Speak to me, Karak. My love, can you hear me?" She placed her trembling hands on either side of his helmet and gently lifted his head. "Karak, you must answer me. Can you hear me?"

  She was terrified. He could be dying and there was nothing she could do to help him. Locked into their suits hike this she couldn't even touch him.

  He opened his eyes and after a long moment, he seemed to recognize her. He smiled and moved a hand, as though to caress her, then stopped, as though the effort, even in zero-g, was too great.

  "My sweet," Soamosa pleaded desperately, "if you can hear me you must give me some sign. Can you speak?"

  He looked puzzled for a moment, then shook his head.

  "Are you in pain?"

  He nodded and his face crumpled like a child's, great fat tears falling unchecked down his sweat-slick face.

  "Take a sip of water," she advised him.

  He looked at her blankly through the plastic that separated them. Then he looked around, as though expecting a glass to materialize from nowhere. When it didn't, he looked accusingly at her and licked his lips; thirsty now that she had mentioned water.

  "Sip on that," she said, pointing at a small flexible tube near his mouth.

  He complied and his eyes widened with pleasure when the water came in response to his sucking.

  Soamosa smiled reassuringly at him and then turned to the array of tell-tales built into the front of his suit.

  Each suit of space-armor had a very basic auto-doc built in, to offer pain-killers and antibiotics, to apply pressure in order to control bleeding, and to administer up to two pints of plasma. Soamosa directed the suit to administer pain-killers. She noted that his fever was one hundred and four and reduced the interior temperature of his suit, hoping to combat the heat in his blood.

  "Sweetheart," she pleaded, "why is this happening? Kolnari are never sick. Their bodies are too strong, they fight off everything. Why is this happening to you?"

  He smiled bravely at her through his tears and mouthed the words: "I fight." Then his eyes crossed and rolled back in his head and he lay quiet beneath her.

  She had panicked then, rushing back to her seat and activating the com, putting out a frantic Mayday call, hoping desperately that it would not be the Kolnari who answered it.

  "Answering Mayday," a voice said in her ears. "This is free merchanter Wyal. Report your position and status."

  * * *

  Wyal, she thought. That is . . . that is Joat's ship. Every child on Bethel knew about the Jack Of All Trades and what she'd done against the Kolnari on SSS-900-C—girls especially knew. She is the abomination's daughter.

  That thought brought her up short, like a mild slap to the face. She had thought, "abomination's daughter," without the slightest bit of rancor. It was merely an identifying tag, like the security director's wife . . . or the Benisur's Lady. She blushed to remember how she had yearned for that title.

  Well, she thought wryly, I suppose that if I have been impetuous enough to fall in love with a Kolnari, I have no business
tossing epithets about. Nor aspiring to be the Benisur's wife, for that matter.

  "I am aboard a Kolnari three-crew fighter craft," she said, her voice a little hoarse. "With me are Captain Sung of the Benisur Amos's ship Sunwise. And . . . ah, and a Kolnari. Captain Sung and the Kolnari are ill, very ill—some sort of tailored disease which affects the memory functions. Help us, please!"

  The waiting was almost harder than the fear had been. Captain Sung slept on, for which she was grateful. She considered authorizing the suit to give him a sleeping dose, but fought the urge. It would be selfish of her, and might harm him. Who knew how this awful disease had marred the functioning of his brain?

  Releasing herself from her couch, she once again floated over to Karak. His eyes were closed and his temperature remained high, but at least had risen no higher.

  "Oh, be well, my dear one," she whispered fervently. "I could not bear it if you became like the Captain." Her breath caught on a sob.

  For that must be what afflicted him. And his body, in typical Kolnar fashion, was just different enough to cause this violent battle for supremacy over the disease that had broken the Captain's mind. She prayed that his body would be different enough to win.

  * * *

  An eternity later, the Wyal slid out of the night.

  "Stand by for force-docking." A distant part of her was surprised that a merchanter was equipped for that . . . but this was Joat's ship, after all. The smaller vessel shuddered violently as the freighter's lock clamped on to it.

  A small explosion of air, part sob, part laugh, entirely relieved, escaped Soamosa's lips.

  She heard someone thumping awkwardly through the narrow tube connecting their ships when a thought struck her.

  "Wait!" she cried frantically, just as she heard someone's gloves clack against the lock-face.

  "What is it?" Rand asked.

  The thumper had either heard or been warned to stop, for suddenly there was no sound back there.

  "I should have thought of this," Soamosa apologized raggedly. "There is sickness aboard our craft. A very dangerous illness; we dare not expose you to it." She could feel the blood drain from her face as she spoke.

  Ancient tales she had once enjoyed, describing noble heroines buried alive for their principles, slipped into her mind. We're going to die out here, she thought numbly. This ship will be my tomb. Her heart picked up its pace, as though her oxygen were already running out and she gasped for air in sympathy with the thought.