Acorna's Quest

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Can you?” ’Ziana looked around at the frail man, who nodded vigorously.

  “This is Blidkoff, Second Undersecretary of RUI Affairs, calling Rushima. Can you respond, Rushima? Are you under attack?”

  Calum moved to the com unit. “Blidkoff, this is Calum Baird of the Acadecki, a private vessel. I sent the message you received. The planet has been under attack, and the first thing to go were the satellite communications.”

  “Baird? Calum Baird? No such name exists on the planetary roster.” Blidkoff was plainly skeptical.

  “Because I’m not Rushimese,” Calum said. “I’ll repeat. I am Pilot Calum Baird of the Acadecki, a private vessel. We had a ’ponics problem and thought Rushima could help us with it. Instead, we had to help them by informing you of the attack. The whole planet’s in a bad way. They’re going to need a lot of help to get sorted out down there.”

  “View please,” Blidkoff answered, his skepticism coming through loud and clear.

  ’Ziana was wagging her arms in protest, but a grinning Rezar made a frame around Calum’s face, indicating that he’d broadcast just the face. Calum looked over his shoulder for ’Ziana’s permission, and, after a moment with her eyes closed, she nodded.

  “Oh, sorry, didn’t realize the view was off on my end,” Calum said. He beamed at the screen for Blidkoff’s benefit.

  “And what exactly did you perceive was a problem with Rushima? Apart from their failure to communicate through normal channels?”

  Pompous brainless regolithic idiot, Calum thought to himself, keeping his smile intact. “Storms, floods, and drought.”

  “They must be inventing disaster to get off paying their taxes. That planet was selected for its incredibly boring and stable climate.”

  “It’s a large planet, Blidkoff,” Calum said, no longer willing to be the victim of the man’s incredulity. “And as your first spurt informed you, these disasters were artificially created by their attackers…who have now been disposed of, but the settlers are in dire need of basic supplies to help them start over. You do what you want. I promised Joshua Flouse I’d send you a Mayday. I have. Good day to—”

  “Now, let’s not get in a huff, Pilot Baird. Joshua Flouse…eff—eel—o—”

  “U ess ee,” Calum finished.

  “Well, he’s a reliable community leader.”

  “I suspect he is. Decent chap, gave us seed and enough vegetation to keep us going, even though they’ll be in need themselves. So why don’t you go on and keep him going?”

  “I fear that’s beyond my area of command,” Blidkoff began. “Rushima’s return on investment is insufficient to justify the expense of further Federation assistance.”

  “That’s your problem, Blidkoff, and I’m sorry for the Rushimese, but at least I’ve kept my promise.” And Calum himself cut the connection.

  A buzz interrupted the silence on the bridge.

  “He wants to talk to you again,” Rezar said, looking hopefully up at Calum.

  Calum looked around at ’Ziana, who seemed in an equal quandary.

  “You kids got rid of the nasties, but now what?”

  He could see ’Ziana swallow.

  “Now we have to carry the can for those Palomellese bastards’ mistakes,” Rezar said.

  “That’s what being adult is,” Calum said gently, feeling sorry for so much shit dumping on these teenagers who, only a few weeks ago, probably had been nice normal kids, fussing because no one would take them seriously.

  “We should have a meeting about this,” Kerratz said.

  “Mother said that, too, that adults…” and, Ziana paused a moment before she rushed, “…are not afraid to accept responsibility. I took that one to heart when we gassed the tubes and spaced the murderers of our parents. I guess it applies here. We’ll stay, and we’ll make good as much as we can…with Dr. Hoa’s help.”

  “And then I am taking myself and my weather program out of reach of anyone else,” Dr. Hoa said.

  “I think I may be able to help you there, Dr. Hoa,” Calum said. “How much longer do you need?”

  “Oh, I’m just starting, Mr. Baird. What was done to Rushima cannot be undone as quickly, but we’re making progress. Yes, indeed, we are making progress. Now, would you check my equations again? I shouldn’t like a simple error on my part to undo what I’ve been able to accomplish so far.”

  “But this is your program, isn’t it?” Calum said as he went to the doctor’s position.

  “Oh, it is, but I always had a mathematician assisting me. Meteorology is science, my boy, but mathematics is a black art.”

  “Did you want me to help with the damage reports, ’Ziana?” Johnny, returned from escort duty to Acorna, said so suavely that none of the people on the bridge could take offense. It was obvious none of them had thought of that.

  With great dignity, ’Ziana nodded in his direction. “Please, would you, Johnny? You’ve had a lot more experience in that area than we have.”

  “You’re learning,” he said with his engaging grin.

  Johnny concentrated on checking out the essential functions for the Haven. and apart form some damage by weapons fire–fortunately only stunners had been used rather than missile handguns–the hull had taken no integral damange. The conduits wuld need further flushing and venting to remove the traaces of the gases used…and any remaining bodies had to be found and removed. Not the most agreeable of duties, but it needed to be done. When Johnny looked around to see whom Markel could suggenst for the task, the lad was gone.

  Markel, in fact, had gone back to the quarters he had shared with his father to see if any of his things were still there. The rooms had been trashed. He took one look and pressed the lock. He’d find himself somewhere else to stay. He’d also find himself some clean clothes. He’d had enough of these.

  The main clothing storage was locked, of course, but his little strip of plastic did its trick, and he was in. The place still had a faint trace of the gases that had been used to trap Nueva and her gang, probably the stuff was still trickling from any vents that hadn’t been closed. Something would clearly have to be done about it soon. So he made a quick selection of clothing and new ship shoes—Acorna had healed all the cuts and bruises he’d acquired in his adventures, but ship shoes would add to his new dignity. He also picked up a tool belt and a notepad, since his was still on the Acadecki, with the few personal items he had managed to save when he decided he’d better not be found by Nueva or any of her conspirators.

  He did wonder that there were so few people in the corridors and halls. Maybe ’Ziana should make a ship-wide announcement that Second Gen had complete control of the Haven.

  Then he shafted over to ’ponics, which was looking very sad indeed, though Neggara and her group were already planting some vats.

  “I need some stuff for Acorna. She’ll be using up a lot of energy healing, you know,” he said.

  Neggara craned her neck around at him. Then she grinned. “Since it’s you, and for her, you’re welcome to anything that’s edible. Though that ain’t much.”

  “You’ve got the big leaves still.” Markel pointed to the basic pumpkin, rhubarb, and legume leaves that would indeed be essential to air refreshing. He said nothing at all about Acorna’s ability to clean air. But he was pretty sure that was what this ship was operating on right now.

  Neggara was shaking her head. “Don’t understand it. According to the manuals, they aren’t enough to do what they have to be doing in terms of restoring clean air to the entire ship.”

  “We got lucky, I guess,” Markel said, and picked what he thought would be a useful bouquet of greens and some early legume pods for Acorna.

  What Neggara didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her—or Acorna—but, as he left the ’ponics section, he did worry that the Lady would not have enough strength both to heal the wounded AND purify the ship’s air. However, he had managed not to smirk with his covert knowledge of who was really responsible for the fact that they weren’t all g
asping for breath on the Haven.

  Acorna was just bending over an unconscious Palomellese with serious stun bruising all down his left side when Markel arrived at the sick bay. As Markel approached, he heard her sigh, and knew he’d been right to rustle up some food for her. She seemed to be working her way into the infirmary, for there were already many empty bunks at the front of the room. Medics were buzzing in small groups, watching her surreptitiously.

  Markel waited just out of Acorna’s range until she had finished the current patient.

  “Gotcha something to help you,” Markel said, holding out his bouquet to her just as one of the senior medics started to protest his interference.

  Acorna held up one hand, then smiled with weary gratitude for his thoughtfulness. She couldn’t know it, nor did Markel realize the significance of his altruism, but seeing that Acorna was fed was probably one of the first unselfish things he had ever done. Even in rescuing her, he had been acting out of self interest.

  “And I think you’d better lie down when you’ve eaten…you look absolutely transparent,” Markel said, giving a level and accusing glance at the medic. “I don’t see anyone bleeding to death,” he added, having made a quick assessment of those still abed. “I’ll never hear the end of it from Calum and ’Ziana if you pass out on us, you know.”

  The way Acorna wobbled as she rose was sufficient evidence to the medical staff that this intruder’s assessment of her condition was undeniably accurate. The head medic almost leapt forward to assist her, but Markel was closer and took her arm as if by right.

  “You haven’t used up all the private compartments, have you?” Markel asked.

  “This way.” The medic ushered her into one of the cubicles. “We’re very grateful, lady, and didn’t realize that you…” Markel firmly closed the panel on the apologies.

  “There’s not much selection in ’ponics, right now,” he said, placing his gleanings on her lap.

  “Doesn’t matter,” she said, stuffing chard into her face and chewing with weary efficiency. “Anything green’ll do fine. There are so many more—”

  “Who can probably recover just fine in the usual way,” Markel cut in firmly. “We need you more to keep the air fresh in this ship with the ’ponics in the condition it’s in.”

  Acorna gave a weary sigh, munching on the legumes and the stalks, too.

  “You can’t do everything yourself, you know,” he said. “Isn’t there anything else you can eat that we’d have on board? Somehow just those…” His fingers dismissed the limp chard leaves as insignificant.

  “Any vegetable ration bars? I cannot live on them for any long stretch of time, but they will keep me from starving through the immediate future.”

  “Thousands,” Markel said, immensely relieved. “That’s what we’ve had to feed the Palomellese with. I’ll be back in a flash.”

  As soon as he exited the compartment, the head medic caught him.

  “Is she all right? We didn’t…”

  “Well, it takes a lot of energy to do what she does, you know,” Markel said, trying to make out Acorna was worse off than she was to be sure they wouldn’t interrupt her until she’d had some rest. “You don’t happen to have any vegetable ration bars up here, do you?”

  They did and loaded Markel down with as many as he could carry. He took them in to her. She had finished all the fresh greens—if that was what you could call the limp leaves—and gratefully shed the packaging film protecting the first bar. She ate nine before suddenly she seemed to collapse inward and sprawl across the bunk.

  “Acorna?” Markel reached for her delicate arm, even if he hadn’t a clue where he’d find a pulse on it.

  She clasped his arm, weakly, but turned her head and smiled at him.

  “I’ll be fine. You stand guard, will you, Markel? I’ll just need a bit of sleep while I digest that fine meal.”

  Markel could not agree with her notion of a “fine meal” as he spread the light thermal over her and tiptoed out of the compartment.

  “She’s sleeping,” he told the head medic, then snagged a four-legged stool, which he put against the door. He sat, crossed his arms over his chest, and assumed his role as guardian.

  He was also asleep, head drooping over one shoulder but supported by the door he guarded, when Calum and Johnny came down to find Acorna.

  “You know,” Johnny said thoughtfully, hands on his belt and elbows cocked to the side, as he looked down at his protégé, “Markel might turn out to be a fine man after all. Though”—he waggled a finger at Calum—“never tell him I said so.”

  “Last thing on my mind,” Calum said, making a cross over his heart.

  So they waited until Acorna emerged from the room, and just managed to catch her guard before he fell into the compartment. His reflexes had him on his feet and in a defensive position against the wall before he was awake enough to see who was there.

  “Well, you look a lot better,” he said to Acorna in the tone of a worried parent, straightening his tunic and brushing back his hair. “Sleep did you good, didn’t it?”

  If Calum had to turn away and Johnny had to cough to disguise his chuckle, Acorna affectionately smoothed Markel’s hair.

  “Yes, it did.” She looked past Johnny to see the head medic eagerly approach her. “There’s an urgency—”

  “Well, it will have to wait,” Johnny said firmly, taking Acorna by the arm. “The bridge has need of Acorna right now!”

  In point of fact, it was the ’ponics system which needed Acorna, and she did what she could to clean the air. “How much of that gas was used?” she asked, sneezing.

  “The kids wanted to be sure,” Johnny said at his driest.

  “We could rig blowers,” Calum said, remembering how they had managed to clear air in the early days of Maganos Moon Base. “What sort of equipment is available, Markel?”

  “Well, we can find out easy enough,” Markel said, and turned toward the nearest shaft. “But it’ll have to be from the bridge computer.”

  “I’ll go back to the infirmary then,” Acorna said, starting in that direction, but it was Calum this time who grabbed her.

  “No. You are going back to sleep,” he said firmly. “Your horn is practically transparent, and the rest of you doesn’t look much better.”

  “There are still people in need—”

  “Nothing our own medics can’t handle,” said Andreziana, who had been calling up reports from the infirmary while they talked. She backed Calum up. “You have done too much, Acorna…and we have other problems to solve now that you cannot help with.”

  “What?”

  “First, we must repair the damage to the Haven. Then, Dr. Hoa has promised to work on his weather program, to see if there is some way he can control it so as to correct the damage done by our ship and his science to Rushima…if they will accept the offer.” Andreziana’s emotional and physical exhaustion made her look, briefly, much older than her chronological age. “Whether by use of Dr. Hoa’s technical expertise, or by the work of our own hands, we must make what reparations we can to the settlers of Rushima. That is our problem, not yours.”

  “The Shenjemi Federation…”

  “Have realized that the situation is critical, yes,” Johnny Greene said, “and help is on its way. But ’Ziana is right. The First-Gen Starfarers were men and women of honor who would have done everything possible to repair the damage caused by use of their ship. I’m proud to see these kids following in the tradition.”

  With this assurance, Acorna felt justified in taking a few extra hours for rest. Hours turned into several days, as she fell into a deep healing sleep from which she awakened at intervals only long enough to consume immense quantities of the most mineral-rich greens the Haven could provide. “I wish I could get her dirtside,” Calum fretted. “Rushima’s a mess, but she needs to run, and breathe air that hasn’t been recycled, and eat something that didn’t grow in a vat.”

  “I think that can be arranged,” Markel
told him. Calum had been watching over Acorna too obsessively to pay much attention to the repair work on the Haven or the ongoing discussions with the Rushimese. “Hoa’s ready to work his weather magic now, but we’re going to need to temporarily resettle the Rushimese from the worst flooded area while he arranges a few minor cataclysms to fix things up.”

  “Good idea,” Calum approved absently. “Now, Acorna—”

  “Is going to have to be with our resettlement party,” Markel said. “Otherwise, they won’t go anywhere with us. Acorna’s the only one they trust. In fact, we were hoping that you and she would be willing to use the Acadecki to ferry settlers—because they have a pronounced, if justifiable, aversion to any of our landing craft.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Calum said. “Soon as she’s really awake, we’ll get started.”

  Acorna was clearly healing herself in these periods of deep sleep, restoring the energies depleted by her efforts on behalf of the Starfarers and their wounded ship, and he had no intention of interrupting that process. He returned to watching over her obsessively, feeling more relieved than anything else that their friends on Maganos did not know to transmit queries to the Haven. After sending a “Disregard previous message, everything’s all right,” from the Acadecki immediately after they were sure the countercoup had succeeded, he’d shut down the Acadecki and joined in the work of rebuilding the Haven. He did not particularly want to communicate with Maganos again until he could assure them Acorna was perfectly well. Call him a coward, but there were some things he’d rather not tell Gill and Rafik, much less Delszaki Li and Uncle Hafiz. This—an Acorna too worn-out to stay awake—was definitely one of those things.

  Eleven

  Laboue, Unified Federation Date 334.05.22

  Hafiz had never been so long out of communication with his various colleagues and interstellar financiers. No amount of pacing up and down his underground refuge would ease his churning mind.

  “There is really NO point at all in such ferretlike isolation. There hasn’t been a single explosion registered on the equipment. There haven’t been any landings anywhere. Am I a slave, to live in prison, or a woman, to dwell in purdah?”