The City and the Ship

by Anne McCaffrey

  The last thing she saw as her vision darkened was Bros going down in a flurry of kicks from the two Kolnari guards. She heard something snap, and then there was nothing.

  * * *

  She woke to the sensation of something heavy resting on her lap, holding her against a wall. Her eyes flickered open and she snapped them shut, the light in the room was so bright it drew tears. Cautiously, she slitted her eyes open and looked down to see what was so heavy.

  Bros lay in her lap. He was perfectly still; blood trailed from his mouth. She snapped the locks on his helmet and tossed it aside, touched her bare hand to his pulse.

  Chief Family Enforcer Vand looked down at her impassively.

  "He is alive?" Vand asked.

  Joat nodded wearily, then glanced up at him. Vand was much taller than she'd expected and twice as intimidating as he was on a screen.

  "It would seem they questioned him very thoroughly," he observed. He looked away, his eyes never resting long on any place or thing.

  Just as well, Joat thought. When he looks at me I feel like I'm about to be dissected.

  "The Family would very much like to interrogate Mr. Sperin," Vand said, considering the notion.

  Joat made a small flinging gesture and a knife slipped into her hand, she pressed it up under Bros's jaw.

  "But you won't," she said with fierce determination.

  "No," he said, his face still impassive, but a look of something like respect touched his cold eyes. "Of course not. In addition to restoring the Family's honor, the object of this mission was to rescue Mr. Sperin. It would hardly do to compromise Yoered's honor immediately after saving it. Now would it?" He smiled, and she wished he hadn't. "Our honor is an extremely valuable commercial property."

  Joat had the impression she was being laughed at, though nothing visible backed it up.

  "You must excuse me. We're in the process of teaching the Kolnari a rather sharp lesson on maintaining a certain standard of professional etiquette when in a Family port. Remain here," Vand commanded. "I have some medtechs on the way."

  Then he was gone, moving lightly despite the bulky battle-armor.

  As if I was about to scamper off and get into trouble, Joat thought sourly. She leaned her head wearily against the wall and closed her eyes. When she opened them she found herself looking into Silken's.

  Silken sat on the floor across from her, with Nomik's head leaning against her breast, in a pose that mirrored her own.

  Tears ran down Silken's cheeks and her expression was tired beyond all bearing. Her hair was wild and there was blood around her mouth, bruises on the porcelain skin.

  Joat knew a moment's sympathy for her, realizing that Silken must be broken indeed if she was too weary to make threats.

  Eventually the promised medtechs came and suited them up in quarantine outfits like the ones they were wearing. They lifted Nomik and Bros onto pallets. Each of the women walked beside one, looking down.

  Joat wavered, wondering if she should try to find and destroy Belazir's store of stolen virus.

  Then Bros opened his eyes and looked up at her and she found herself taking his hand and walking beside the pallet.

  Ah well, she thought, if I did find it Vand would only take it away from me. Whereas if they don't know about it then they're very unlikely to find it. Joat was uncomfortably aware of how unlike her it was to hope for a miracle.

  * * *

  Then again, sometimes they happen, she thought dazedly.

  There were other pallets waiting at the lock, with medtechs working around them. One in particular seized her gaze. A thick-bodied blond man lay on it; the uniform had been cut away from most of his body, and devices hummed over it. She could see broken bone on one flank where the ribs had been hammered as if with a maul, and the tech's fingers were straightening the left arm above and below the elbow, so that the positioning sleeves could be fastened. Inflatable casts already covered the whole lower half of his body, and it was only just possible to tell the color of his hair, because something had ripped half the scalp off his head as if it were a wig.

  She walked to the side of the pallet. Incredibly, the blue eyes were open.

  "Joe," she whispered.

  He tried to smile. She bent closer.

  "No . . . pain," he whispered. "Drugs . . ."

  Joat closed her eyes. "Thank God you're alive."

  "Thank . . . the God indeed."

  "Who did this to you?"

  "Belazir . . . t'Marid."

  Joat's hands clenched. That debt keeps building up and up!

  Joseph saw her expression, and tried to smile again. Blood ran down his chin and his eyes rolled sideways. Joat looked down on the floor.

  The head was quite recognizable, despite the cuts. She could never forget those eyes, and they were open and staring.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Buster Rauchfuss chewed his lip and considered this second request for clarification and/or credits from their contact on New Destinies.

  Mancini had never bothered to get back to him. Obviously he hadn't dealt with the situation either.

  Typical, Buster sniffed. Kick somebody up a notch and they think they're too good to answer their mail.

  Well, Paul would answer this one.

  Dear Mr. Mancini, Buster wrote. This matter is growing more urgent. Perhaps you should look into it yourself. Surely I shouldn't even know about this. After all, when Mr. Sperin was removed from my department you'll recall that I was told nothing for security reasons. I must say that it worries me, therefore, that I keep getting these messages.

  Let me know if I can be of any help on this.

  That oughta shake Mancini up.

  * * *

  Buster received a reply that same afternoon, lightning speed for interoffice communications at CenSec.

  Buster, it began.

  All I know about your man Sperin is that he was taken off a Kolnari battle-cruiser in the company of Nomik Ciety and that he's in security quarantine.

  You can tell your contact on New Destinies that we have no intention of giving that many credits to a station notorious for graft and bribery. Certainly not on the say-so of a man under that kind of a cloud. Word it however you like, but the answer is no.

  I would hate to see you pursue this. Buster noticed the "your man Sperin" and the lack of signature and he felt a little frisson of alarm tickle the back of his neck.

  I can't believe that Bros would have anything to do with the Kolnari, he thought dubiously. The guy hated them. But the bare facts were damning. He frowned. It sure looks bad. And it was rumored that Ciety could convert a saint to the devil's cause. He shook his head. Enough credits can get to anybody.

  Certainly with this to go on he couldn't be expected to stick his neck out. Buster chewed his lip, then sighed and began composing a note for Dana to send to Sal on New Destinies.

  Clal va Riguez was not authorized to make this kind of payment.

  Short, sweet and to the point. That oughta take care of that, Buster thought with satisfaction. It had the virtue of being the absolute truth, too.

  * * *

  Joat left the Wyal glumly; she ignored the cluster of newshounds and floating pickups—even on Rohan, you couldn't avoid the media, lies and distortions would be flying all over the human part of the galaxy, many times faster than light. At least on Rohan, they didn't try to grab her arm to force an interview.

  She smiled bleakly. Not with Enforcer Vand backing up The Rules; the bloody lesson taught the Kolnari had shown just how seriously the Family took them. She forced her legs onward.

  Not a word since we got back to Rohan. She wondered uneasily whether Silken intended to honor Ciety's stated intention of canceling the Wyal's debt; maybe she'd just been waiting to recover fully before putting in the knife.

  Joat had been relieved that Silken hadn't required her to do anything blatantly illegal. Several times, she'd been ordered to ferry some rather creepy passengers to equally creepy destinations. And who
knew what contraband they had in their personal luggage? But no outright smuggling.

  Joat sighed. She'd been so sure that Bros—her mind shied away from the fierce disappointment she felt in him—or someone representing him at least, would have released her from the debt that bound her to her uncle and his concubine. So much for being a hero. Not even a message. Beyond the pain was a sadness that frightened her.

  They'd been separated by the medtechs as soon as they were brought aboard the Family ship. Despite her protests she'd been taken into a cubicle to have her own wounds treated. Then a sedative had been pressed on her and she'd been escorted, dizzy and sleepy, to a berth and sealed in. She'd slept through most of the journey.

  When they reached the quarantine facility she woke up in a Spartan room wearing nothing but a pair of plastic slippers and a disposable shift. They kept her locked up for three weeks, until her wounds were well healed and they were certain she carried no trace of contagion. She was able to communicate with Al and Seg, Amos and Soamosa right away. Then Joe, when he'd recovered sufficiently. But never Bros.

  Joat sighed. Maybe he thought it was fair turnabout. She'd abandoned him on Belazir's ship, after all. No! I went back!

  She'd attempted to relay messages, both directly to CenSec and through her old contact at The Anvil on New Destinies. To be blandly told that they had or would be forwarded to Sperin.

  Not that she'd expected them to be eager to contribute that many credits to Nomik Ciety and Rohan's burgeoning economy. In fact, it would seem to go against their charter.

  But damn this was like being a slave! Joat hung on, hoping that Silken was at least crediting the work she was doing against the debt. At least that. If she won't return the Wyal to me outright, at least let me work it off. Though so far, Joat was paying her own expenses.

  She'd seriously considered enlisting Simeon's aid in getting through to Bros, but had been too ashamed to send her father anything from her Rohan address. Or from any of the other ports she'd been in lately.

  I will not whine.

  When she entered the bland waiting room at N. Ciety, Research and Development, there were two rather nondescript individuals seated in the lounge area, but no one was behind the reception desk.

  She huffed impatiently and put her hands on her hips, frowning.

  "Excuse me," one of the men in the lounge said, rising and coming over to her. "Are you Captain Joat Simeon-Hap?"

  A sort of icy foreboding swept over her in a numbing tide.

  "Who wants to know?"

  They looked like accountants, mild and innocuous, with smooth, chubby faces. They smiled little, amused smiles at her response. Joat was willing to bet they were carrying weapons and that they weren't amused at all.

  "Why don't we just cut the crap and get right to the point," the taller man said. "We represent New Destinies and we've come to repossess your ship in lieu of the debt you owe for a fine levied against the Wyal."

  Her mouth went dry and it felt as though all her blood had run down into her extremities.

  After what seemed a long time she croaked, "What?"

  "We're foreclosing on your debt," the smaller one said slowly.

  "But . . . Nomik Ciety bought the debt from New Destinies. I was working it off for him."

  "I'm sorry," the tall man said. "We have no record of any such purchase." He actually did look marginally sympathetic. "You can file a complaint, and if there's been an error, you're certainly entitled to recompense." He paused. "Now, we'll require you to vacate the Wyal immediately. Obviously you'll only be allowed to take personal possessions. Any items which might be considered integral parts of the ship will naturally have to remain."

  Rand! she thought for the first time. What's going to happen to Rand? This wasn't supposed to be happening. She'd never believed that CenSec would let her down like this, not once.

  "Let me talk to Silken," she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "She's running things here, perhaps she can explain this." And it had better be good or I'm going to rip her pretty, little face off.

  She sat behind the receptionist's desk and after a moment got the comp to release Silken's private number. A few moments later Silken's face, looking thinner, sharper and deeply annoyed filled the screen.

  "You!" she said in astonishment.

  "Me," Joat confirmed. "There are two men here claiming that there's no record of Ciety's purchase of my debt from New Destinies. Do you know what's going on?"

  "Ah, yes," Silken murmured, leaning back with a half-smile. "I've been so busy that I'd forgotten. When Mik told you that he'd bought your debt he had every intention of doing so. But," she made a little moue, "your extremely negative reaction changed his mind." She shrugged and said indifferently, "Too bad. But it's not like it makes any difference. You never could have paid it off in any case."

  "I notice you didn't forget to use me to ferry your friends around," Joat snapped.

  "I told you, I forgot." Silken's eyes were disdainful, as yielding as stone. "Even you have to admit I have a great deal on my mind."

  "Yeah, like how to keep my Uncle from drooling on the carpet."

  Silken went white.

  "You heartless, spiteful, cruel, vicious bitch," she said, each word a separate insult, sincerely meant.

  "You're right," Joat said, ashamed. Suddenly, she understood Silken's malice so completely that she was utterly disarmed. Enough so that she couldn't forgive her own. "That was uncalled for, I'm sorry."

  "There's nothing that could happen to you that would make you sorry enough to appease me," Silken told tightly. "That damn ship is the only thing you care about and I'm glad you're going to lose it. It's not enough, it's not nearly enough, but it will do for a start.

  "I'll be watching you," she continued, fire beginning to kindle in her cold green eyes. "And whenever it goes sour for you, whenever you lose or miss out or get passed over," she tapped her chest with one slender finger, "—that's me. My work. I promise you. You don't know what sorry is, you slime-hag. But you will."

  The screen went blank and Joat just sat there, staring at it.

  One of the repo-men cleared his throat awkwardly and she looked up.

  "We . . . might as well get this over with," he said.

  She nodded, feeling freeze-dried inside, hard and brittle and shredded. Joat rose carefully, weirdly numbed, and began to ask pertinent questions as the three of them left the office, headed for the Wyal.

  * * *

  They gave her permission to download her logs and personal correspondence and to tell her crew herself.

  Joat sat in her pilots couch for the last time, listening to Alvec curse.

  "I never would've believed it," he said for the twelfth time at least. "Jeez, he seemed like an all-right guy. Y'know? This isn't right!"

  "Excuse me," the taller repo-man said. "We'd like to get our own crew on as soon as possible. Could you speed this up a little, please?"

  Joat started to speak and merely squawked, she cleared her throat. "I'd, ah, like to leave the Wyal as ship-shape as possible. You know, tidy her up."

  He smiled knowingly.

  "Yes, we get a lot of that kind of thoughtfulness. One of our debtors was so 'tidy' that his ship didn't blow up for three weeks. Killed a family of five. So I'm afraid you'll just have to pack and go, leaving things just as they are."

  She nodded coolly.

  "Just a few more minutes," she said.

  "Five," he said, holding up his spread hand for emphasis.

  Alvec rose and walked directly towards him, as though he didn't exist, leaving the hapless debt collector to leap aside or get walked over.

  "I'll meet you on the dock, Boss," Alvec called over his shoulder.

  Joat turned her chair and looked at Rand's blinking "face."

  "What about you, Rand?"

  After a moments silence, it said, "Obviously I can't leave, can I?"

  "No," Joat said, her voice soft with shame. Even if they would allow her to down
load Rand's personality she had no access to a computer powerful enough to receive it. Through all of their troubles and misadventures, she'd somehow managed to overlook this. She'd failed to protect a friend, one who had done far more than his share to help her.

  Yes, his share. Rand was most certainly not an "it" any longer. What a fardling stupid time to realize that!

  "I'm so sorry," she whispered, ashamed of her powerlessness and fighting to keep her tears from falling.

  "Like you, Joat, I find I don't like the idea of a life of servitude."

  "Oh," her voice creaked. "Might not be that bad. They'll probably declare you an AI ship and send you out on your own. You'd be making your own decisions and not getting yourself in the land of trouble I've lead you into."

  "AI assignments tend to be the most tedious kind," Rand said. "No crew, no stimulation, not even an allowance for virtual reality in port—computers don't get paid. And I would scarcely be making my own decisions Joat, other than: "Should I allow myself to be hit by this rock or should I avoid it?" I'd scarcely call that autonomy," Rand said with scorn.

  One side of her mouth crooked.

  "You sound like me," she said.

  "And why wouldn't I? You've put a great deal of yourself into me."

  And children often resemble their parents, she thought morbidly.

  "Excuse me," the tall one said, "are you through yet?'

  "Just a minute!" she snapped. The repo-man glared, but withdrew. Joat thought she heard him say, " . . . think they've got an AI on board." Turning back to Rand, she said: "It's not over yet, buddy. Maybe there's still something we can do. At least now I'm free to move around."

  "Correct me if I'm wrong. You have no credits."

  "You're wrong. Little Silky owes us a considerable amount, and she will pay us."

  "Why should she," Rand asked reasonably enough. "You can't make her."

  "I may not love him, but I'm Nomik Ciety's niece. A quick genetic scan will prove our relationship, and the Family is very fond of backing family rights. Probably, all I have to do is make the claim and I could put his whole empire, such as it is, on hold."