The Ship Who Saved the Worlds

by Anne McCaffrey

"They are afraid you will turn them into the See-Double-Yew," he said. "They fear for their lives."

  Mirina laughed bitterly. "Do you think I can go to the authorities?" she asked. "You know what we do, young one. Your eyes are open. They'd lock me up, too. I'd rather die, and they should all know that by now." She flung herself off the bed and paced. "If these idiots want to kill me, all right, let them try! After eight years, if they don't trust me, then I know I stayed too long."

  "Don't go," Sunset said, reaching out a claw in a simple gesture that broke her heart. "You are my friend."

  "Where's your homeworld?" she asked, her voice suddenly husky. He pointed in the direction of the bridge, his eyes glowing.

  "We are very close to the Center now," he said. "Soon, we will be home!"

  "You're a good child," she said, coming over to pat his wing joint. "You learn your lessons well. I'm proud of you. Remember that."

  "I will," he said. He put his claw hands together under his chin. Mirina repeated the salute. For this one being's sake she felt sorry she was going.

  Hungry as she was for personal contact, Mirina sent Sunset back to his post. It would not do for him to remain in her company. After the young Thelerie left, she cursed herself for a poor planner. Why hadn't she thought of his well-being when she decided to leave? The Melange might fall into chaos again after she was gone. This ship could be stranded or captured. That child trusted his sacred humans; that trust should not cost him his life.

  Mirina needed a moment alone with Thunderstorm. She would beg him to come up with any pretext at all to pull Sunset off the ship, and forbid any other young Thelerie from going out with the Melange. It was time they all faced the truth of what they were doing.

  "No news from Base Eight yet," Zonzalo said over his shoulder to Bisman. Mirina stood in her corner, invisible to the rest of the crew. Bisman, making sure she could see it, walked up and patted the young man on the back. "The last message Thaw heard was the same that we did. An attack, and then nothing." Zonzalo swallowed a couple of times. Bisman shook his head.

  "Too bad. What about Thelerie?"

  "Thaw reports all is okay planetside. Reports in from some of the other crews with profit statements, particulars when you come by in person. Thaw said they filled the tanks at the landing site. Thunderstorm's been up and back a couple of times."

  "Does he have any more apprentices for us?"

  Zonzalo shook his head. "Didn't say so."

  "Too bad," Bisman repeated in the same expressionless voice, with a glance at Sunset. "This one's doing so well, he might teach another Thelerie what he's learned."

  Sunset looked up at Bisman with joy. "I would be honored."

  "That's good," Bisman said, amused, and returned to Zonzalo. "Get on to Thunder, and tell him to meet us. We've got some good stuff for him."

  "Right," the younger Don said. His eyes turned partway toward his sister, then snapped back to his console. Mirina's cheeks burned. He was distancing himself from her, maybe hoping she'd leave him behind with the others. Well, he was wrong. If she had to knock him unconscious, she was getting him away from Bisman.

  "What do you mean, you want to compare values?" Bisman shouted at Thunderstorm over the communication line, waving his arms furiously. The Thelerie pulled back from his video pickup, his wings flat to his back, and his pupils narrowed in distress. "I don't believe what I'm hearing! Compare values? With what?"

  "With those brought by the new humans," Thunderstorm said, his upper lip twitching. "I have said that. It is only right, isn't it? To see whether the best deal can be made?"

  "We give you the best deal, you oversized fuzzy-toy!"

  "Who are these other humans with goods to sell?" Mirina asked, pushing in front of Bisman. Zonzalo sat crunched down beside her, staying out of the way. "Thunder, how could you let someone cut in on us? After we brought you spaceflight, taught you Standard, and all . . . ."

  Bisman rounded on her. "Thought you were out of here," he sneered.

  Mirina was not going to let him cow her. "I spent a hell of a lot of time bringing these people up to speed, Aldon. I would think," she turned to the screen again, "they would remember that they owe us something!"

  "We do, we do!" Thunderstorm protested, looking from one co-leader to the other in panic. "But you have said we are one with all humans. Keff is a human!"

  Bisman groaned and slapped his hand to his head. Mirina, in spite of her annoyance, was amused. "That's what you get for feeding them altruistic lines all these years," she said.

  "Don't gloat, damn you," Bisman said. "Help me." Mirina, giving Aldon a last, humorous glance, turned back to the screen.

  "Who are they, Thunder?" she asked.

  "I have spoken with a human named Keff, as I say," Thunderstorm said. "He has many interesting goods. I have seen some of them. He has hull-plates of supreme quality. Thruster pods. Engine conduits. Good equipment, almost new. Some things we have not seen before, a garden that travels in a ship!"

  "Who is this guy? What does he look like? Who does he represent?" Bisman demanded.

  "He is not as tall as you, Fisman, and broad in the chest, like Mirina. His eyes are the sky, and his hair is the color of good soil," and Thunderstorm described curls by circling a claw next to his head. "He says he represents the Circuit."

  "The Circuit?" Mirina echoed, puzzled. "Never heard of them."

  "This shouldn't change a thing, Thunder," Bisman said, finally. "We've got goods for you. We'll land 'em, have you look 'em over, and we expect a good exchange for them, as usual. We also need another apprentice or two. Shatz, out by Base 23, needs a navigator for one of his ships. Padwe and Hannah are ready to expand, too."

  "I . . . am not sure any are ready to accompany you, honored one," Thunderstorm said. Mirina frowned. Thunder was usually deferential, but he seemed downright scared this time. His wings were pressed hard enough to his sides, Mirina could see the tendons bulge under the fur. "All are too young, too unschooled . . . I hope Sunset is well?"

  Mirina signalled to the young Thelerie, who was happy to greet his old mentor. He scrambled over, put his hands under his chin and bowed to the screen.

  "I am very well, Thunder," he said. "I look forward to seeing you soon."

  "And I you, youngster," Thunderstorm said, with visible relief. The tendons in his wings relaxed.

  "There is something wrong down there," Mirina said, when Zonzalo had closed the circuit. "We've got to find out what's going on."

  "I'll tell you what's wrong," Bisman snarled, slamming a fist down on the back of Zonzalo's chair. "Somebody's trying to take over our territory. They're going to regret it, damn them."

  Thunderstorm turned away from the little console. His wingtips and claws trembled as he tottered back to his desk sling. He collapsed into it. The Cridi, who had stayed well out of range of the communication cabinet's video pickup, clustered around him with concern. Keff raised his eyebrows in a question.

  "It is done," the Thelerie said, nodding weakly. "They are coming."

  "Good," Keff said. "Tell Noonday. Then we start the ball rolling."

  "We are ready," Narrow Leg said, nodding to Tall Eyebrow and Long Hand. "I regret this, in many ways. I do not like being defenseless. I do not like having my ship all to pieces all over a field."

  "It won't be for long," Keff assured him. "And you aren't defenseless. You'll all be staying with Carialle in our ship."

  "Is not the Watcher nervous, too?" Big Eyes asked.

  Carialle answered via helmet speakers, audible to them all. "I certainly am," she said. "But we're on the way to unraveling a lot of mysteries. It'll be worth it, whatever comes."

  The crew of the raider ship united instantly against the notion of a stranger's impinging on their domain. Glashton was in favor of killing the intruder on the spot. When the idea began to gather approval from others, Mirina pushed into the midst of them and in spite of the possibility of danger to herself, shouted them down.

  "Quiet! What's t
he matter with you?" she asked, waving a forefinger under all their noses. "There may be a whole host of ships behind this one trader. He could be the vanguard for a traveling fleet! Did you think of that? Sooner or later someone was bound to stumble onto Thelerie. Well? Now someone has!"

  "I want to know all about this Circuit," Bisman said, forgetting for the moment that Mirina was persona non grata. "I've never so much as heard a rumor about them."

  "It's a big galaxy," Mirina said, her hands on her hips. "I learned that back in Exploration when we could find whole systems that had been hidden from scans by spatial anomalies. You'd be surprised how easy it is to hide an empire, let alone a rival . . . trading group."

  "Send a message to Varvon, Frost, Hannah, and anybody who might have access to a CW news computer station," Bisman ordered. "I want details. Is the scanner working?"

  "Intermittently," Glashton said, with a grimace.

  "Take a look and see if this character's alone."

  "And what are we going to do in the meantime?" It was an automatic question, responsibility kicking in again. Mirina realized it as soon as the phrase left her mouth.

  "We?" Bisman glared down at her, also recognizing the incongruity. She saw his face change from annoyance to the old, worn groove of cooperation. It was stupid of her to get involved again when she had so nearly cut the traces, but she owed the Melange some measure of gratitude, too. She nodded. Bisman smiled grimly.

  "We're going to pay a visit to this Keff." He glanced up at Zonzalo and Glashton. "He'll be leaving pretty quickly. Prepare to track where he goes. If the scanner's not working, follow him. We've still got the Slime Ball. We can destroy him and his ship if he gets funny."

  "What a junker!" Carialle exclaimed. Keff had carefully turned his torso so she could see the huge, red ship land on the field near Thunderstorm's pavilion. It was immediately surrounded by Thelerie of all ages, some flying forward pushing wheeled ramps, others wrestling refueling hoses from the mighty tanks nestled in the crags at the edge of the plain.

  "No doubt about it now," Keff said, the consonants blunted because he was speaking sublingually. "The style is all of a piece with the ships we confronted circling Cridi. We have our culprits. The only question is, are these the leaders of the whole shebang, or will we have to go hunting further?"

  Carialle conveyed the question to Noonday, who was in her main cabin with two of her bodyguard and the Cridi. The Sayas glanced up from her perch on the weight bench as Carialle zoomed in as the hatch opened.

  "This is Aldon Fisman," Noonday said. "I recall him much younger. It is shameful that I and the Ro-sayo did not take closer notice of our involvement with the Melange. But all was so beneficial, and we never questioned their good intentions."

  "It is natural to think they would be as morally good as yourself," Long Hand said kindly. In the ammonia-free atmosphere of Carialle's cabin, the Cridi went without their travel globes. The visiting Thelerie were fascinated, and studied their neighbors openly. In particular, they seemed interested in the Cridi's hands, which were nearly the size of their own claws, which in turn were the same size as Keff's hands. It was a sign, Noonday had said, that they all ought to be friends.

  "Bisman is their sayas, in cooperation with the female who now descends," Noonday told Carialle.

  On the screen, a woman and a younger man who resembled one another followed Bisman down the ramp. Next out of the ship was a young Thelerie, his eyes and jaws wide, taking in gulping breaths as if he could not get enough of the air. He took the ramp at a bound, spread his wings, gathered his mighty haunches under him and sprang into the air for pure joy. All of Carialle's pulses seemed to halt for that one moment as he took flight.

  "Beautiful," she said. She checked her datatapes. Yes, that lovely moment was recorded forever in her memory banks.

  "Freihur!" the young Thelerie cried. "Fanasta, theleriyagliapalo!"

  Thunderstorm, a row or two down from Keff, looked up, and his eyes widened with relief.

  "Farantasioyera, shafur," he said, with the booming cough that was a Thelerie chuckle, as the apprentice came to a scrabbling landing beside him. The two embraced warmly, claw hands and wings wrapped around one another's bodies.

  "Did you get any of that, Keff?" Carialle asked. IT laboriously sorted through the syllables, and produced "greetings, (unintelligible) homeworld joy your coming." Thunderstorm had said, "Proud (unintelligible) return, young (unintelligible)." Carialle guessed that the missing words were names or endearments. Even days of intensive cramming wasn't enough to fill in the blanks in IT's lexicon and grammar.

  Keff turned away to answer her. Carialle was disappointed when her view was cut off, but one couldn't have everything.

  "I did," he said. "I'm going to have to rely on the Thelerie speaking Standard. The Cridi will be at a double disadvantage. Standard is new to them, too."

  "They're very adaptable," Carialle reminded him. "They're doing just fine. And besides, they are better at reading body language than you are."

  "Are you sure they won't jump in too soon this time?" Keff asked, a little more forcefully than he intended. "We need information, not statues. The second these people find out we're affiliated with the Cridi, they'll clam up."

  "Absolutely," Carialle said. "Tall Eyebrow swore to me he will not act unless your very life is in danger, and he has one of my second-best monitors in that box with him. The others are here with me, watching the scopes. They are all hooked up temporarily with the Core inside my bulkhead. Myths and Legends has found a useful purpose at last outside pure pleasure, my dear. While you've been setting up your trading post over the last few days, they've been role-playing with holos of human beings until they know the difference between simple physical-psychological aggression and actual assault. They're as ready as they can be."

  "Hmm," Keff said. "Keep your records of the training sessions; I'd like Dr. Chaudri in Psych on SSS-900-C to take a look at them."

  "Already saved and stored," Carialle assured him blithely. "I think you have a customer."

  Chapter Seventeen

  The first thing anyone would notice was the poster. Mirina saw it on short-range screens before they had quite landed on the plain. Once she could examine it in detail, she was impressed.

  Painted or printed at the top of the huge, white signboard was a pair of silhouetted beings, species indeterminate, exchanging shapeless bundles. Beneath the image of the traders was depicted pictures of certain commodities in various recognizable forms that the trader would accept in exchange for his wares. The first line was an irregular lump of gold, half in and out of quartz matrix; the gold was shown next pressed into an ingot, then as the molecular diagram of the element, and weight at certain gravity, then as various artifacts into which gold could be shaped, such as cups, wire, circuit boards, statues, jewelry. He wishes, Mirina thought. Other lines showed crystals, from simple quartzite sand up through diamond and radioactive crystalline forms; precious metals; radioactives; iron and steel; marble, alabaster, and other decorative heavy stone. Handcrafts were welcome, too. A depiction of weaving and various finished products showed a real familiarity with textile manufacture. Jewelry, pottery, furniture, and practically any type of merchandise approved by the Central Exchange Commission had been pictured in minute detail, but still leaving room for the individual to offer variations. So tidy a mind that could design a sign like this appealed to her. This Keff had a completist's attitude: that everything can be set out so no one misunderstands, and everyone goes away happy. If she'd been staying on with Bisman, she might have suggested such a sign for them.

  There were three more lines at the bottom of the signboard, showing various kinds of weapons: guns, lasers, bows, whips, garottes, with a big red X through each. This trader didn't want just anything, Mirina noted. Even if an alien didn't understand what the X or the color red meant at once, it would understand that there was something different about the acceptability of certain things. That showed a kind of morality that sh
e had tried without success to impose on the Melange. No matter. That part of her life would soon be behind her. The signboard was worn and battered, as if it had been in and out of a cargo hold a thousand times. She glanced at the trader in the midst of his wares. Perhaps it had. He certainly looked as if he'd seen a few days himself.

  Keff, if it was he, was not a youth. He looked to be about her own age, around forty. A man of middle height with very broad shoulders, trim and fit, he was dressed for comfort in a gaudy tunic and a pair of exercise pants going saggy around the ankle underneath a clear environment suit, the only part of his attire that looked new. The top of the helmet had been opaqued against the hot Thelerie sun. The dark halo threw into prominence his brown, curly hair, and fair skin, made pink by the heat. He was at work straightening piles of goods. Two, little, boxy servo robots rumbled up and down the rows between the stacks, putting things back in order or holding up goods for the Thelerie to see. When the raider crew spread out, the boxies accepted them as customers, and held up on display any item by which anyone stopped for more than a few seconds. And what merchandise!

  "He's got half a spaceship scattered on the ground," Mirina whispered to Bisman as they pushed their way along the dusty aisle toward the stranger. "Look at that: hull plates, exhaust locks, life-support circuitry—I don't know what that is." She pointed at a green, pressed-plastic tub about three meters across and two deep that had several protuberances sticking inward over the lip. A couple of locals were looking it over with the aim of making a planter out of it.

  Thunderstorm and some of his staff were counting small circuit boards through the plastic of a storage pouch. They stopped to give the respectful greeting to the humans, but went back to their examination. Bisman's face crimsoned with suppressed fury over the whole situation. Mirina thought he might go into an apoplectic fit. She was annoyed, too, at the nonchalance this character showed.

  "There must be thirty Thelerie here," Bisman said furiously, shouldering past them. More natives were winging in at every moment, landing at a remove from the scatter of merchandise and loping forward curiously. "What happened to security?"