Dinger has produced a stethoscope. He applies it first to Zilla’s clothed chest to hear a normal Ziellan heart, and then brings it down to Malloreen’s.
“Oo-oof. Bad. If he were a Human, I’d say a goner without help. Heart’s ragged and fluttery; instead of a steady thrum I’m getting clusters, and some kind of crazy PTL beats.” He addresses Zilla and Krimheen. “You have good thing for heart?”
“N-no...” Krimheen chin-points negatively.
“Who is people for sick, here?”
Zilla points in the sleep-chest. “Malloreen.”
“It would be. Cap’n, I think Malloreen’s their medico... If he were a Human, I’d try digitalis. There’s no chance that drug is native to Zieltan, it’s originally from a Terran plant. But maybe anything’s better than watching him pass out.” He bends to the med-kit, extracts a vial.
“Captain Krimheen, here is Human thing, good for heart. But I think no good for Ziello. No is bad thing, see—” He cracks half a tab and swallows it. “You have no thing for Ziello. He very bad, no live. You want I try this?”
. Krimheen approaches the chest, looks down. Dinger hands him the stethoscope, with which he seems familiar, and motions to him to listen through it. His face changes to what even the Humans can read as a bleak expression.
“Shall I try this?” Dinger asks.
Krimheen’s eyelid droops. Slowly he nods his chin: affirmative. Then he stoops over and says something in Ziellan to Malloreen, brief and grave.
“Oh, gods,” whispers Shara. “I think he’s saying good-bye.”
“I don’t want him to die in there,” says Asch. “Shara, fix up that place in the well where Zilla was; that’ll give him the best air.”
Dinger has managed to get a tab of digitalis into the alien’s mouth, with Zilla persuading him to swallow. He gives one puzzled, despairing look about but is too weak to care why aliens he thinks of as evil Zhumanor are ministering to him.
His eye closes, nor does it open while they lift him gently out of the chest and carry him over to the well. He is half suited-up; they pull the stiff fabric off to ease him and put a thin pillow under his head, in the deeper part of the well. He is slight, slender, perhaps quite young. Dinger pulls one of the nose-pieces over and ties it on him, and Zilla tries to tell him to breathe through it about every ten breaths. But it’s doubtful he understands.
All they can do for him now is wait. And every minim brings that Ziellan ship, or ships, closer’ Captain Asch must parley with Krimheen now.
Krimheen has returned to his pilot’s chair, turned so he can keep an eye on Malloreen. Asch seats himself on the well’s step.
“Captain Krimheen. Number one, we no catch you. We come help you, no more. And we want talk. No fight. When you no sick, we go to our ship”—he points, gestures—“and we go. We give you all our CO two. We go. You go, where you want. You hear?” he asks, trying to convey cordiality.
But as he speaks, he realizes he cannot mean this. To turn Krimheen loose in his present frame of mind would be to risk the terrible danger that he might follow someone or something to FedBase—blow it up on sight—and go on a glory-trip through the Federation, blowing up colonies until his missiles ran out. Or, if he returned to Zieltan, he might well return with a hostile force... No; Asch must somehow soften him up, keep him in contact.
“We want you come Federation, look Federation, say hello. Federation no do bad things you. No catch you. Federation want peace. No fighting, no war—” And here Asch delivers a shortened version of his speech that was never heard.
Krimheen listens impassively. He seems abstracted, as though half his mind is on something else. On Malloreen, Asch hopes.
Shara has jumped up meanwhile and gone over to their ship. She returns with an armful of holographs. “Maybe he’d like to see Base,” she whispers to Asch. “And I brought a starfield of the Rift.”
This gives Asch an idea. He stands the big holo up before Krimheen and comes beside him, taking care with his breath. “Captain, see. Here we are. Here is Zieltan, and the—give me the word, Shar—the Allowateera.” He draws a big vague circle on the northern side of the Rift. “And here”—he makes a similar circle on the south—“is Federation. My. Base here, more Bases here, here, here.” His finger runs along the fringes, eastward. “And ”—he points to the far southeast—“here are the Black Worlds Zhumanor. Black Worlds no in Federation. Is bad people. Federation fight Black Worlds. And here”—he points to the Ziello side of them—“I think here is your fleet. Your ships fighting Zhumanor. Yes?” Krimheen only blinks once. “Anyway, I think so. Now look. Is good way for you to go home—” Oops, he has overrun the captain’s Galactic word-power. But Zilla has come beside them and translates.
“You come to Nine hundred with me, say hello. Then you go east on Federation side, say hello at Bases here, here, here, get fuel, air, whatever you need, and come to your ships here. More good than go back long way—” He traces the route back to Zieltan and through Ziellan space around to far southeast. “See is more long? Go back by Federation more quick. More good. Yes?”
Krimheen seems to come out of his trance. “Is good plan,” he says carefully. But Asch detects some overtone, as though the alien were deciding a purely hypothetical question. Uneasily, Asch sits back.
“Show him the Base holos, Shara. I’m gibbered dry.”
With help from Zilla, Shara starts handing him the colorful holographs. “This topside landing... this number-one port... this meeting-hall, er, place... this big chief in office, name Exec... This Captain Asch’s mate—mate, Zilla? Yes. She in cold-sleep now... Place for eating... Place for people who come see, say hello. You like stay in this place?”
Zilla is exclaiming excitedly at the exotic scenes. But Krimheen glances at the guest rooms critically and points to a fountain. “This... wa-the?”
“Oh, yes, I forgot—you no want, we stop it quick.”
The show winds to an end. Asch gets up to confront Krimheen.
“Well, what you think, Captain Krimheen? You want come to FedBase with me, go back to your ships by Federation?”
To his surprise, Krimheen again inclines his head yes, saying judiciously, “Good plan.” But again, it is as if in abstract approval. Well, Asch has done all he can on the big issues. Base diplomatics will have to take it from here. Now for their practical problem—fuel.
Krimheen’s resupply of fuel will obviously arrive first; theirs may not come for... years—don’t think of it. So Asch will have to persuade Krimheen to let him hook on and, when he is refueled, tow Rift-Runner to FedBase. No problem with that in space, once acceleration has been achieved; and surely this huge craft can manage.
“Good. Now, how we get to Base?” he begins. “I no have fuel, you no have fuel. Federation come here, but your number-two ship come more quick.”
Krimheen is listening with sudden intensity. Asch makes the motion of joining two ships together with his hands. “You want use that big port for you fuel ship, I think?” and he goes on to the complex question of where and how to hook up, in which Dinger joins them.
“We have to move our ship now,” he says. “Bad for sun to come on ship. CO two go!”
With Zilla’s and Shara’s help, the concept is explained, and the question of where to dock their ship is put to the alien, who is keenly attentive. He takes up his dry-ice tumbler and goes to the port to examine their docking mechanism. Then he seems to consult some inner complexities and comes back to the well, where he points to the hull alongside and behind the pilot’s chair.
“Is port, for, ah, for trouble. You come here.”
“An emergency port. He thinks our lock will fit it. Good thing! And it’s on the shady side. Let’s move her right now, Captain.”
“Green. Right, Dinger, I think you and I can do it. Captain Krimheen, my ship come here now?”
“Yes.” With emphatic chin-nod.
And in a very few minim Torrane and Shara find themselves alone in the alien bridge
, watching through the big view-port as Rift-Runner, looking very small, pulls away.
After a lonely time, there comes a grating jar at the warship’s bow. They go behind the pilot’s chair and remove some equipment and padding, revealing an emergency lock. From beyond it sound grindings and clankings.
“Open up!” comes Asch’s muffled voice. They do, revealing a tunnel crawl-through onto which Rift-Runner is docked and locked.
Captain Asch crawls through to them, looking pleased. “All secure. I think that’ll hold her on through a gravity vortex. This ship is old, but her fittings are well made. Captain Krimheen, your ship good ship!”
But Krimheen has turned away and is suddenly intent on his sensor bank. When he turns back, he is a changed being, all abstractedness gone. He picks up his caller and barks a phrase in Ziellan. There is an answering faint voice from the receiver.
“My fuel ship come,” he announces. There is an odd gleam in his eye.
“Well, good!” says Shara. “Now we all go to FedBase. When we start?”
Captain Asch says nothing but watches Krimheen..
Krimheen gets ponderously to his feet.
“You plan good,” he says heavily. “You plan... very... good—for you. You Zhumanor catch me, catch two ships. Very good for you. But I think, no!”
With a sudden uncoiling movement he has grabbed Shara around the neck and next instant is holding a small weapon to her head.
“You... now... go... in... sleep-boxes. Yes! You think you catch me. I catch you. You go to Zieltan!”
In the astounded silence, Zillanoy cries, “No! What for, this?” Then she switches to Ziellan and fires protests at Krimheen.
“Oh, by the All!” exclaims Dinger disgustedly.
A stunner has leapt into Captain Asch’s fist. But Krimheen has Shara over his front, covering him. No attempt at a shootout will work, with that thing at Shara’s head. Even if they could take over the warship from him, it’s out of fuel. And his relief ship is near. They can’t get away.
Sick at heart, blazingly angry with himself for having been fooled, Asch tries to think coolly. Their whole effort has failed—the big alien captain hasn’t changed his mind-set. He still believes they may be some kind of Black Worlds operation. Even if he has some doubts, they only strengthen his intention to get the Humans back to Zieltan, where all can be straightened out—under Ziello control.
And that would mean years of imprisonment, of interrogation; chances are they’d never see home again. Neither he nor the others will endure that. Well, they have the means, the means of desperation, to avoid it. He tongues the lethal little fake tooth. Has it really come to this?
Once they consent to go in the sleep-chests, they’re helpless. They’ll wake up in Zieltan, under guard. And Rift-Runner has no fuel; there’s no hope of escape in her. Which means, no hope.
And worse—when the Federation gets here and finds everyone gone, they’ll assume he was destroyed or taken. Which is true—they are taken. The Fed will assume that the Ziellor are at war with them up here, in addition to the shootings out east. So the Fed will arm, and think about retaliation... Has Rift-Runner started Galactic war? It looks like it.
What can he do? What can he do, but talk as long as he can?—to this obtusely suspicious military alien. Talk that’s already failed once.
If it fails again, there’s nothing to do but bite down on the deadly little thing in their jaws.
As these thoughts race through Asch’s head, Krimheen is saying: “I want guns. Zillanoy!”
Zilla is staring at the scene, eye wide with astonishment and dismay. Now she starts to protest in Ziellan, but the big alien tightens his grip so that Shara involuntarily yelps, gasping for air against his powerful lower arm.
“No! No!” Zilla cries. Krimheen hisses something at her in Ziellan and tightens his grip still more. Reluctantly, Zilla goes to Asch, holding out her hand. He gives her the weapon.
“Two more,” says Krimheen. Dinganar and Torrane surrender their stunners.
“Now! You go in sleep-boxes! Go, na 1 kill this one. Finish with Zhuman thing!”
“Don’t... let him... blackmail you,” Shara gasps. “I’ll die... first.”
“No talk!” snaps Krimheen. “Go!”
But Asch says gently, “No heroics yet, Lieutenant Sharana. Krimheen! I no go. You want kill me? What good this?”
“I won’t go, either,” says Dinger, and Torrane says, “No.”
“Go!” Krimheen tightens his grip until Shara cries out again.
“Captain Krimheen,” says Asch desperately, “you no know Yoomans. We want die, we die. If you do bad things, we die. You have four dead Yoomans, one small ship—Federation give you ship same that—what good? If you do bad thing Shara, she die. Why you do bad thing? We saved your cursed lives—we help you no die, we give you all our CO two. Why you make war?”
Krimheen only blinks a couple of times, as if a fly were bothering him. Zilla chatters at him. Incongruously, he has to take a sniff of breath from the Human tumbler he holds in his upper hand.
“So die,” he says. But not, Asch thinks, with full conviction.
Just then Dinger gives an exclamation.
“Look at Malloreen, hey!” and runs to the well beside Krimheen and Shara.
All turn to see. Malloreen is moving, is propping himself up on an elbow. Dinger puts his stethoscope to the young alien’s chest and whistles. “By the gods—his heart’s compensated! It’s almost steady.”
He looks up at Krimheen and Shara. She has taken advantage of the distraction to get a hand behind Krimheen’s arm and is trying to look down at Malloreen.
Dinger holds out the stethoscope. “Here, Captain Krimheen, take a listen. His heart is good... I think I give one more heart-thing. What you think?”
Krimheen takes the instrument and bends low over Malloreen, ignoring that he has crumpled Shara. Dinger holds the pick-up to the patient’s chest; Krimheen listens intently. Then he straightens up—Shara scrambling with him—and says as if to himself, “Is good.” He looks down at Malloreen and says something more in Ziellan; an unmistakable softening of his features, almost a smile, is seen by all. Either this alien captain is deeply involved with his crew, or Malloreen means something special to him, Asch thinks.
As Krimheen turns to go back to his command post, he nearly trips over a small figure on the floor by his feet. It’s Tomlo.
“No fight!” it pleads. “No fight. Is good peopre. No kill.”
Krimheen addresses it sharply in Ziellan, but the little creature persists. “Tomlo unne’stan’ fight!” it sobs. “Fight bad.”
Zilla draws it away gently and returns to help Dinger administer another tab of digitalis to Malloreen. Malloreen gasps out what seems to be a question. They catch the word “Zhumanor.”
Shara, from Krimheen’s grip, suddenly speaks up. “No Zhumanor! We Yoomans.”
Krimheen grunts angrily, feeling control of the confrontation, slipping away. “Yoomanor—Zhumanor,” he says. “You look same Zhuman, you talk same Zhuman, you smell same Zhuman, you have wa-the same Zhuman—”
“No!” Shara interrupts him, twisting around. “Maybe we look Zhuman, talk Zhuman, maybe we have water in us—but we no smell same Zhuman! Zhumanor smell bad!” She looks up at her big captor with the hint of a mischievous smile.
“Talk finish!” Exasperated, Krimheen regains his arm-hold on her neck with a jolt that sends her lower jaw upward. There’s an audible click of teeth.
“Now—” begins Krimheen, but breaks off as he sees the intensity with which the others are staring at the woman in his arm. He looks down, too, as a great shudder racks her from feet to shoulders. Her head droops sideways. “Uh-h-h,” she sighs—a strange, mournful sound. Krimheen loosens his arm-grip. Unsupported, Shara crumples to the floor at his feet.
One last shudder convulses her, so that she lies supine. A trace of vomit bubbles from her mouth.
“Oh, my gods—you’ve killed her!” Dinger cr
ies, and dives down on the floor by her, his head on her chest.
Torrane has drawn closer to Zilla, who is staring horrified. “Sh-she dead0.” Torrane nods and opens his mouth to say more, when Captain Asch’s voice cuts him off.
Under his shock and grief, Asch has been thinking hard. “There will be no explications,” he says sharply, choosing the word with care. “This is a terrible happening. But Shara would want it to count for something, she knew the stakes are peace or an unspeakable war... Captain Krimheen: I told you—I talk you—you no know Yoomans. I talk you, no do bad thing Shara, she die. Now you see Yoomans no Zhumanor? We help you sick friend”—Asch points to Malloreen, who is gazing at the scene with his large, uncomprehending eye. “Why you kill our friend?”
As he says this, the sight of the figure on the floor, and his own past tense for one who a moment before had been a living, irrepressibly merry girl, chokes him up. Through blurred eyes he sees that Krimheen looks a shade uncertain. Good. “Zilla,” he asks, “you have word for accident? Thing that come when no want?”
Confusedly, sniffling, she checks her Human talkie-book. “Mis-stake? I think is mis-stake?”
“I no want kill... this Yooman,” Krimheen says reluctantly.
“Right. And you no want kill us, I think?... Zilla, tell him this is what will come to us all if he do same he do. And then come war with Federation. Bad war. What he do now very big. He must think big. Tell him he must come to Federation with us, talk what mistake he do. Then will be no war—will come peace!”
The Starry Rift Page 22