“I understand from reports sent back by Isthian Lyon on the Vadim that we’ll have no problem gestalting the Beijing’s engines. More power than we’d ever need.”
“You are Mr. Lyon’s father, then,” the captain said conversationally.
“Yes.”
“And you’re his brother, young Mister Lyon.”
“Yes sir,” and Rojer couldn’t suppress how proud he was of Thian. “We’re a long-tailed clan,” he added because the captain was telling himself not to babble: there was only one Talent family named Lyon, and they were kin to the Earth and Callisto Primes. “I’ve half a dozen cousins serving on Capella in various Towers.”
“Do you so?” the captain continued, feeling less gauche. Rojer couldn’t help read his public thoughts: the man’s apprehension left him wide open. Rojer did ignore Smelkoff’s fears that the kid didn’t look that young, with that white streak of hair, but he couldn’t be very old or he’d already be Towered somewhere, since FT&T could use a hundred Primes and still have vacancies. Couldn’t the senior Lyon have handled the ’portation by himself? He had a very competent, experienced look, the sort a man could trust, even if he was Talented. T-2? That wasn’t much under a Prime. Oh, well, FT&T knew what it was doing. He hoped.
“Misters Lyon,” and the captain gave his Engineering Officer a broad and genial grin as they entered the control room, “meet Commander Strai. He rigged the tow in jig time! Neatest job I’ve ever seen.”
Commander Strai, a keen-eyed man with rusty-red hair, gave the two Talents a crisp and respectful bow, and then swung round to the two comformable seats that looked out of place in the room. “Thought these might help.”
“Very kind of you, Commander,” Afra said and motioned for the ’Dinis to stand in one corner.
MAY DREAMS BE DEEP, the Commander said to them, again surprising the Lyons.
“Does everyone speak some ’Dini on the Beijing?” Afra asked, smiling his surprise.
“Seemed silly not to take advantage of the opportunity, Mr. Lyon,” Strai said as he keyed codes and the screens above the console lit up.
At the sight of the Hiver sphere, apparently just sitting in space, Rojer caught his breath but then so did his father so he didn’t feel he had betrayed too much surprise.
“Any idea what the hull is made of?” Afra asked after a moment’s pause.
“Still analyzing. It’s a highly sophisticated alloy but with an ingredient we can’t identify,” Smelkoff said.
“One of my lieutenants thinks it’s a coating of some kind, maybe even something the Hivers secrete from their bodies,” Strai said. “Doesn’t even pit, so it’s remarkable the other pod was destroyed.”
“I wonder they released the pods at all,” Afra said, “if they knew the nova was about to happen.” Then he added more briskly, “We’ll need your mass and volume figures, gentlemen. I think everyone will feel easier once this package is secured elsewhere.”
“Amen to that,” the captain said, trying to sound more jovial than relieved by the prospect.
“How can I assist you, Mr. Lyon?” And Strai looked from Afra to Rojer who were both reclining on the chairs and settling themselves.
“Please tell your helmsman not to deviate from the present speed. Our drain will not affect the ship’s speed or direction but you will hear a change in the generators.”
The captain gave the appropriate orders. Rojer had been listening to them with half his mind while the rest of his attention was on the pod. The upper hemisphere was bathed in the Beijing’s external lights and glowed, slickly metallic. It didn’t look all that big, Rojer thought until he glanced for verification at the mass and volume.
“About as big as the Trefoil carriers, wouldn’t you say, Dad?” Rojer said, flexing his mental muscles.
That’s not necessary, son, but his father’s tone was amused. “Yes, I do believe you’re right. Almost to the gram, I’d say.”
“We had a batch of them to go to Clarf only last week.”
“So we did.”
Rojer did not dare look at his father but the fact that Afra was keeping up the conversation indicated that his instinct to natter was valid. The tension in the control room abated a few degrees. They were two specialists, organizing their thoughts, making idle technical comparisons.
Seen enough? his father asked. His parents were always making sure that the visual had been properly scanned before a ’portation. You had to know what you were lobbing before you “lifted.” Casual thrusts could cause uncasual damage.
Of the pod, yes. I just push you, right?
Rojer eyed the barren moonscape and the lighted dooms of their placement photos.
That’s right. Now, pick up the power. Good lad. Rojer was also aware of the generator gauge swinging up and over, almost to the overload position. Link!
As he had so often done, Rojer opened his mind and “placed” it at his father’s disposal. One day, others would pay him that courtesy. Right now he was subsumed by the deep and ruddy brown of his father’s mental touch, comfortable and comforted. He felt power, directed it to the brown: brown expanded and, as if he had put his shoulder to the mental brown, he heaved forward and was suddenly at the envelope that contained the pod. Wincing at the sudden sting-pzzt, he did not flinch from his thrusting.
For the first time in his life, he heard his father let out a string of spaceman’s curses. Forgot we’d get that with this effing great ball of spit! Afra said and Rojer knew his father was feeling, tasting the revolting smell/touch/flavor of Hive. In the next second they had reached their destination and inserted the pod neatly inside the second dome.
Relief made Rojer light-headed. He wondered if they should have tapped on the pod door and cried “ollay, ollay in free” or some other, more formal invitation to exit the vehicle.
I thought of that, too, Afra said, his mind equally lightened by success. You took no harm, he added, less as a question than a statement of what he knew to be fact. Rojer had felt him “brush” deeply to reassure himself.
A snap, Dad. I can understand now why we’ve all had to push big daddies.
“All safe and secure at the Heinlein installation,” Afra said, swinging his legs off the couch and rising. I knew you’d appreciate all those boring Tower exercises. You’ve an enviable shove in you, Rojer. Most commendable. “I think you can safely say that Operation Bounce went off very well. We thank you for your courtesies.”
“Then join us for dinner, won’t you? Surely you don’t have to go right back?”
Rojer didn’t dare breathe how much he wanted to not to have to go meekly back to Aurigae. Surely, they deserved a meal. He might have had dinner only three hours ago, but he was monstrously hungry suddenly.
“Thank you kindly, Captain, we’d be delighted but only,” and, to Rojer’s dismay, Afra held up his hand, “if we’re not depriving you of much needed stores?”
“No, indeed you’re not, Mr. Lyon. Wouldn’t matter anyway, considering the service you’ve done the Beijing, but not only do we have orders to return now but your son provisioned us for a much longer journey. As soon as we’re in ’portation range, six weeks at best, we’ll be back to our base. We insist on celebrating with you tonight!”
It was, Rojer thought, later that night as he slid down in a real navy bunk in a ship that had searched space and found live Hivers, the most glorious celebration he’d ever had. No one had treated him like a kid. He’d been Mister Lyon this and Mister Lyon that—though he’d asked some of the officers to call him Rojer. He would have to get his head down to size by the time they got home or his mother’d really discipline him! But tonight had been his!
Just as he drifted off to sleep, he thought he heard voices: He’s come of age, Damia. It’s all there to be tapped. To delay risks more than it could possibly gain.
Then he fell into one of the more marvelous ’Dini dreams he’d ever had: all bright colors, swirling masses, and intricate shapes and highflying swirls and loops—a totally posit
ive dream even if he hadn’t a clue what it signified!
CHAPTER
NINE
DAD! The name was broadcast on a wide enough band to bring Rojer wide awake. It took him only a nanosecond to recognize Thian’s voice. Rojer glanced at the digital’s illuminated face and saw he’d been asleep a bare hour.
Hey, Thi, let a guy sleep.
Sorry, Roj . . .
That was overlapped with Afra’s acknowledgment of the mental contact.
I didn’t wake you, did I, Dad? I checked times and it’s . . .
You didn’t wake me, Thian. I’ve been enjoying the ship’s hospitality. The captain and his officers are quite starved of news so long in this tour. Callisto and Earth are inundated with requests for transport of personnel and materiel. Mainly to Heinlein Base, and Rojer heard the amusement in his father’s calm tone. So we have been informed that we must wait in the queue.
I can just believe that! Hooooeee! Everyone who can’ll be flocking out there to gawk. Thian’s voice altered. Did you have any trouble with the sting-pzzt? I forgot to warn about that. Did Mother remember?
I should have, and Afra’s tone was unexpectedly rueful, but your brother was superb. Not so much as a twitch, despite the force and the unexpectedness of it. You can be very proud of Rojer.
Of course, I am. He’s my brother, isn’t he. That sting-pzzt, and Rojer didn’t know if Thian was explaining or apologizing, it’s much heavier around live ones, though, isn’t it? That’s how I tumbled to the larvae. Any news on their development?
None, and that’s officially honest. Having a live queen may speed things up . . . if it doesn’t ’Dini out on us. How is your quest going?
We’re still several months away from a pick-up point . . . and probably have to wait our turn in the queue, too, but I’ve turned into a real hotdog artifact finder. Better’n a metal detector in a mine field.
But that’s what you are, Rojer said, awake now and delighting in this midnight conference with his brother and father. Hey, you haven’t found any more shards like this . . . and Rojer envisioned the group that he and Xexo had been so sure would fit: heavy bands of some ten centimeters thick, finely tooled. They look like they should fit together, all of the same pattern.
Yes, we did in fact. I’ll copy through to you. Going for the reward, too? And the amusement in Thian’s voice took the sting away. There isn’t a ’Dini on board that isn’t trying to fit the puzzle pieces together. Blank your mind now and I’ll send the specs through.
They’d done this often enough with mass, weights, and capsule sizes during Tower practice so Rojer thought of nothing and Thian sent him the particulars. Rojer thanked his brother as he swung out of the bunk and to the terminal where he copied the specs. Then a yawn overcame him and he crawled back into the bunk, fitting his legs between the sleeping ’Dinis.
Say, Thian, are Mur and Dip back with you?
Have been for weeks. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss them. They’re larger, too. Had a good Hiber . . . Dad, send me a visualization of this Heinlein Base, please? It’s not part of the KLTL’s files and Captain Plr wants to see where the queen’s being kept. They sure are nervy about her being anywhere near Earth.
Reassure them. Heinlein Base’s built in solid rock. Nothing could burrow through that. And there’s nowhere to go. Certainly nowhere with oxygen.
I’ll tell them.
Rojer couldn’t keep awake any longer, falling asleep during the next part of the rapid mental exchanges.
* * *
A full week went by before Damia had to agitate for the return of her husband and her son. There were big daddies to transport and there was no way she could handle them without the mental muscle Afra and Rojer supplied.
Rojer hadn’t minded. Ensign Bhuto was assigned to show him around the ship.
“Don’t you mean nursemaid me!” Rojer asked when the exec officer had completed the introduction and moved away.
Bhuto, with the darkest skin, the whitest teeth, and the biggest brown eyes Rojer had ever seen, grinned broadly.
“Mr. Lyon, sir, you don’t need a nursemaid, not after what you did yesterday!” And he rolled his eyes. “Eat up, Mr. Lyon, sir, breakfast’s the best meal of the day! Say, you couldn’t haul in some fresh stuff for us, while you and your daddy are here, could you? I haven’t had any fruit in yonks. I didn’t get any last time your brother brought stuff in, but I figure, if I’m with you as your companion on board this ship, if supplies come in, I’ve a better chance now of getting a share. Wouldn’t you say so?”
Just a little push at Bhuto’s wide open mind and Rojer knew he was genuine. He soon learned that Bhuto talked all the time, a sort of verbal diarrhoea. But he knew the Beijing from turret to shuttle bay, and every single one of the access alleys. Literally he gave Rojer and the ’Dinis a tour of the ship! He also practiced his ’Dini, translating what he told Rojer into their language.
“Look, why don’t you just speak ’Dini?” Rojer said when they were midships and descending. “Save your throat.”
“’Dini saves no one’s throat. How do they manage in long speeches? That’s why I speak Basic to you, give my vocal cords a rest now and then. Sure, I could just use the one language ’cos they certainly understand Basic, too, the way their eyes shine. Not stupid, ’Dinis, not like some of the A.B.’s think just because they look like weasels wearing fezzes. I’ve never seen a weasel—live, that is—but there’s only a general look of a weasel about them, what with the smooth pelt and all. But ’Dinis are not the least bit weaselly, if you take the distinction.” Then he turned to help Mur through a narrow aperture into yet another access alley, KEEP HEAD DOWN SO AS NOT TO POKE OUT POLL EYE.
“Where did you get so fluent in ’Dini?” Rojer shoved the question in quickly.
“Oh, my older brother had ’Dini pairs. We were one of the first families, though I expect that you Lyonses were the first,” and he grinned, white-toothed, to show no ill-feeling, “so to speak, what with being children of the Raven-Lyon family and each of you had pairs?” Rojer only had time to nod before Bhuto was off again. “All of you? Eight? Well, I suppose it’s working out what with your brother first Priming the Vadim and now the KLTL. That was a really fine gesture of his, to accompany the KLTL to be sure they had sufficient supplies so that no ’Dini had to lay on the line.” Bhuto rolled his eyes again. Rojer thought he must be one of the very few people who understand what that meant. He shuddered, glad that there was absolutely no chance that either Gil or Kat would have to volunteer. “One really has to hand it to that species for persevering against incredible odds, and suiciding to prevent a Hiver from overcoming the worlds they were pledged to protect.”
“Bhuto? Do you stop talking in your sleep?”
“Oh, sorry, Mr. Lyon, sir. I do tend to talk a bit.”
He was silent for all of two minutes—Rojer’s time sense kept track. They were in the shuttle deck by then and Rojer was quite willing to listen to the ensign’s vivid description of how the Hiver pod was netted and hauled inboard.
“Tried to run from us and used up the last whiff of fuel, whatever it is they use. So the pod was just drifting. Captain thinks towards the yellow sun in 757-283. No other suitable system nearer than ten light years in this quadrant. D’you suppose the queen knew that and had a pre-planned destination? I mean, that’s awful close to their homeworld, spatially speaking. Could be there’s a colony already there. Isn’t one of the ’Dini explored worlds: we had to check that. But it’s not one that’s tagged. Rather far out from our Hub. Even with several million planets in this arm of the Milky Way that are suitable to habitation by our three species, it’s remarkable there was one near enough for the pod to reach. Of course, some think the queen’d just go into hibernation, or suspended animation or something until such time as the instrumentation located a suitable planet. Or maybe this was always a destination. Off the wreck’s trajectory but then it might not have had a chance to correct when the nova shock wave hit it
.
“At that, our shuttle bay was only just large enough to haul the pod in. Biiiiiig! Six meters if a centimeter. If it were a human vehicle, could fit a whole watch on board it. Just hope there’s more in there than just one queen body. She’d be one mighty huge mother, she would. But they’re saying that she’d have to bring attendants and workers and drones and such like because she couldn’t survive without their ministrations. ’Dinis told us—when we were kids—that the queens decide what sort of offspring the Hive needs to function and then parcel out the types among ’em to breed. That’s a handy habit. Not enough deck scrubbers—make two dozen more eggs of that kind. Not enough ensigns—produce six more.” Bhuto grinned as Rojer inadvertently made eye contact. “I do talk too much, don’t I?”
“You talk all right,” Rojer said, projecting reassurance, “but mostly you’re interesting. Say, any of your crew interested in the puzzle?”
Bhuto drew in a delighted breath, lifted both hands in surprise and then, grinning even more broadly than usual, he beckoned Rojer to follow him toward the stern of the Beijing.
“We’re allowed to work in Cargo Hold 3 on account of it’s empty. Chief Firr programmed the engineering computer to replicate, to scale, every single one of the pieces found and he keeps up to date when new ones are brought in. I’ll bet we got as good a set-up as Naval Intelligence or the High Councils of either Ally.”
For a reason Rojer suspected was due to peer pressure, Bhuto did not talk non-stop in Cargo 3. In fact, he whispered only twice: once to suggest that they eat down here with the other diligent puzzle piece workers and the second time to ask if perhaps the ’Dinis wouldn’t like tripods. He knew there were some available for when Captain Smelkoff had had ’Dini experts on board.
Damia's Children Page 19