On the plain near the pavilion, Keff spotted Noonday's white pelt, surrounded by a host of golden backs. Long-eyed like all those of her kind, she saw him long before he'd seen her, and was waving a wing-hand for him to join her. He squinted to bring the artificial lens in his eye to full magnification, and signalled that he was heading toward the newly landed ship. He saw her nod, and go back to talking severely to the others. Keff thought he recognized some of the Thelerie from the remote base in the crowd. The ship behind them was unmistakably Ship Three.
"Hurry!" Narrow Leg cried, flying on ahead as fast as Core power could propel him. "The Core goes critical!"
Tall Eyebrow and the others swept after him. The pirate's ramp lowered, and crew began to pour out of it. Keff and the Cridi flew in over their heads, making for the control room. The pilot stood up. Keff grabbed his wrist and signalled to Wide Foot, who drew him into the air and flew aft toward the exit with him. Zonzalo Don stared up at his sister, hovering in the air with no visible means of support. Keff took him by the shoulders and flung him, with Narrow Leg's help, up into Mirina's arms. Three of the Cridi surrounded Bisman, who cowered down into his chair with his hands above his head. The leader was airborne before he even had a chance to unfold.
"Everybody out!" Keff boomed, pitching his voice over the frightened cries of the crew fleeing for the exit. "Condition red!" He could feel hot gusts of air coming from the aft section. The Core must be back there. No time to remove it. The ship was doomed. "Hurry!"
They emerged into the open air. Waves of heat followed them. The pirates flung themselves out into the mud, gasping for breath.
"It ends," Narrow Leg said. He opened his hands to envelop the group. Keff felt something like a light curtain drop onto his back just before a deafening explosion and a kick of invisible force sent him somersaulting away from the pirates' ship. Plastic globes of Cridi and human bodies hurtled sideways past him. Keff landed with a squashy thud in the yellow mud. He picked himself up on hands and knees, spitting, to watch a plume of fire and smoke rise up from the two halves of the ship, now a hundred meters apart.
"Spacedust," Bisman spat, speaking for the first time. He had landed face first in the mud a dozen meters from Keff. "The hell was that?"
"Something you stole, and never understood," Keff said. "Tad Pole!" he exclaimed, looking up just in time.
"I see," Narrow Leg said. The old Cridi spread his hands again as the debris from the broken ship began to rain down on them. Sections of circuitry, piping, flaming rags, pieces of hull and deck plate, crates of parts, and thousands of little flat pieces of metal pattered down, and bounded off the invisible forcefield ten meters above them like hailstones pinging against a plexiglass dome. The debris splatted down into the mud around them, peppering the landscape. Hundreds of square fragments of metal hammered down on the invisible shield, bouncing off in all directions. Keff realized with a feeling of shock, that he recognized what they were. As soon as Narrow Leg signalled the all-clear, Keff crawled out over the mud, picking through them, searching for one in particular. Suddenly, he spotted the one he was looking for. He pounced on it and put it in his pocket. He turned to his allies and their cowering captives.
"Now, let's go back and see Carialle."
Thunderstorm had been settled in Keff's chair like an eagle on its nest, and Noonday occupied the other, so Keff had to stand in the midst of the huge crowd that filled the main cabin. A dozen Thelerie guardians, sitting up on their haunches with their bronze pole-arms ready, surrounded all ten pirates from the hidden base and most of the crew of the now-destroyed raider. The rest were outside, with more of the Sayas's guard. Carialle gazed from a dozen camera eyes at Aldon Bisman, whom Keff had made to stand in front of her pillar. She felt as if she was hammering on a prison door, almost out into the sunshine, if only he would talk! The key was in this obstinate man's mind. He stood with his hands behind him as if on parade rest, staring straight ahead of him, looking at nothing.
"You were in this vicinity twenty years ago, weren't you?" Carialle asked, zooming in on his face with her closest camera eye. Such an ordinary face: human, male, Earth-Indo-European descent, about sixty, confident, choleric. Apart from empirical data, his face gave away no details. "P-sector, not too far from this system."
The man kept his expression blank, though his respiration went up slightly. Keff reached forward and poked him in the shoulder.
"Tell the lady," Keff said, as Bisman turned his head to glare. "She went to a lot of trouble to have you taken alive. The Cridi would cheerfully have split your ship apart in space and left you to die in vacuum. Talk."
"Yeah," Bisman said, at last. His narrow face was coming out in spectacular bruises, whether from the rough landing or Keff's fists, Carialle could not be sure. "I was there. My father's ship. He found this system fifty years ago. It was close to a new CW trading corridor. Easy meat."
"You were stripping wrecks for parts?" Carialle asked. He nodded silently, suspiciously. She almost trembled to ask the next question. "Do you remember one in P-sector that had been destroyed by an explosion in its fuel tanks? It was a Central Worlds Exploration scout. Twenty years ago. Think. You spent about two hours at it. You walked up and back on the hull, four times, two hundred and thirty steps in all." She saw him start, as if she had read his mind.
"I don't have to think," Bisman said, tightlipped. "Yes, I remember one like that. It was hard to tell if anything good was left, it was in such bad shape. Half the tail was missing, all of the control section was slag."
"Would you swear to that?" Carialle asked at once.
"If I had to." His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why?"
"Did you know," Carialle asked, feeling her nerves prickle and ordered them under control, "that you were stripping a brainship? A live brainship? My ship?"
Bisman's cheeks paled and hollowed as his mouth dropped open. His eyes went wide. "I'd never," he choked on the last word and tried again. He looked up straight into her camera eye. "Madam, I would never hurt one of you. Never! What kind of character do you think I am?"
"Did you know?" Carialle asked.
"You've killed a lot of people," Mirina asked, shocked, staring at the man. "Why stop at that?"
"You dumb brawn," Bisman said, whirling to point a finger at her through the crowd of upright Thelerie. "You fool! Think of how many people you've bilked out of their savings, Madam Don! You're going to prison, too! You don't get any points for virtue."
Mirina was pale, too, but she confronted him bravely. "You can say a lot of things, Aldon, but you can never accuse me of murder. Did you do it?"
"No! I didn't know," he said, turning back to Carialle's pillar. "It wasn't intentional, madam. I'd never have left a living being in space like that. You don't. Spacer's law. If I'd had any idea . . . if there'd been a sign of life. We monitored for transmissions. There was a beacon going, but what about it? You must have been nearly dead, ma'am. I didn't bomb you."
"I know," Carialle said. "It was sabotage."
"They did the job thoroughly," Bisman said, fervently. "You . . . it was a fused lump. I can't believe you were alive in that."
"Oh, I was. I could hear you. You laughed. I've been hating you for twenty years," Carialle said, "wondering why you didn't help me get out of there."
"I didn't know," Bisman said, his cool poise shattered. "I swear, none of us did. We saw the hulk, and spotted some components I knew we could boost. We were just trying to make a few credits. But I know the law of space, and I'd hope it would protect me too," he said earnestly. "If I'd had the least iota you were alive inside it, I'd have towed you somewhere."
"Somewhere?" Keff asked, shoving his face into the man's and making him back up a pace. "Like that illegal base at the edge of the Cridi system, for example? So you could finish your salvage?"
Bisman faced Keff down with a snarl. "We heard nothing, brawn. That ship was dead, dead, dead so far as I was concerned. If you'd seen how it looked, ma'am, compacted downlike,
you would think so, too. There were damaged capacitors firing off now and again nearly blinding us or burning through our gloves, backup batteries imploding up and down the hulk. I'd have put any residual warmth down to those. We didn't have the best equipment, ma'am. That's why we were salvaging. There could've been a heartbeat deep in there, but I swear we checked."
"Not enough," Keff growled.
"Keff, let him alone," Carialle said. "I believe you." The prison door opened, and she saw sunlight beyond it. She felt immeasurably better. "Thank you for the truth." She sighed. "I only wish I had some solid proof to add to your statement."
"I have some," Keff said, pulling the scrap of metal out of his tunic pocket. "I found it in the field when it was raining ship parts." He held it up to the nearest camera eye. Carialle zoomed in on it, but she didn't need magnification. The small titanium square said "963." It was her original number plate.
"I never noticed that one," Mirina said. "He had a whole collection of those from the ships we gutted among the junk he collected. They were his trophies. I'd have recognized it if I'd seen it. They gave me Charles's." She took a square of metal out of her pocket and showed it to Carialle's camera eye over the food synthesizer. On the fragment was etched "702." "I suppose you heard the whole story."
"Yes," Carialle said. "I'm sorry."
"Now we have physical proof and a confession," Keff said, rubbing his hands together. "We can take this back to the CenCom and shove it up a certain person's nose."
"We have also heard confessions," Noonday said from her nest, looking around for some manifestation of Carialle's to address. Carialle produced the Lady Fair image on the nearest screen over the console, and had it meet the Sayas's golden gaze. "We have those who have shamed us before you now. What will you have us do with them?"
"You'd better ask the Cridi," Carialle said. "I think they have the first claim on reparation."
Big Voice and a few of the others popped up above the crowd. All of the Melange Thelerie protested. The one called Autumn raised her voice.
"Spare us the Slime!" she said desperately, pushing forward to address the image. The guardians crossed their back-scratchers to bar her way. "Only the sacred humans can dictate our fate. I will otherwise kill all my crew."
"Be silent," Noonday said severely.
"We're not sacred," Keff said, shaking his head. "and by the way, I don't think we're your beings of legend. Do you know, Cari, a little idea occured to me. Noonday, let me suggest something to you. Your legend concerns four-limbed, wingless creatures from the stars who were supposed to help you winged ones to fly in the void. Is that right?"
"It is our most beloved story," Noonday said, nodding her great head.
"How old is it?" Keff asked.
"How old? Told for, mmm, one thousand six hundred of our years."
"Narrow Leg," Keff asked, turning to the Cridi captain, "when did the Cridi explore this system and reject it as a possibility for settlement?"
Narrow Leg's eyes twinkled, and he bobbed up and down near the ceiling. The rest of the Cridi looked curious, but he made a few quick hand signals, and they laughed merrily.
"It is possible," he said. "One thousand six hundred revolutions times .88768 equals 1,420 revolutions—yes. It could have been Cridi explorers."
"No!" Autumn said, aghast, gaping at the Cridi. "You assume that all these many years we have revered the wrong species?"
"I think that's exactly what you have done," Keff said, rocking back on his heels in satisfaction. "The legend doesn't say how big the beings were, does it?"
"No," Noonday said, peering at him. "It does not."
"Then, it could have been, couldn't it?" Carialle asked, projecting an image of a bipedal being on the wall beside the silhouette of a Thelerie. She made the biped in human proportions, than shrank it to half its original height. "It's more likely they landed here than a stray human ship. They're virtually next door."
"I am disgraced," Autumn said, dropping her gaze to the floor.
The rest of the Thelerie turned to stare at Bisman and the human crew.
"It's not our fault nobody measured your visitors," Bisman said, testily. "Look, we've done a lot for you. "Telephone, gas lights, spaceships . . ."
"You have done much ill, too," Noonday said firmly. "If my child had not admitted the wrongs, if more had been open about their experiences, we would have rejected you long ago." She addressed Carialle. "If you are going back to your Central Worlds, we will keep these bad ones in safe custody until you return."
"There's a lot to do yet," Carialle said. "We can't leave until we . . . I'm receiving an incoming message," she said to Keff. "And this time, it is a CW ship."
"CK-963, this is DSM-344. Remain where you are. Do not lift ship," the uniformed commander said severely from the central screen. "Repeat: do not lift ship. You are under arrest. Any attempts at escape will result in the destruction of your vessel."
"This is the CK-963," Carialle said. "Why are we under arrest?" There was a brief time lag for the distance between the ship and the planet. By the time the screen cleared again, another human had taken the place of the commander in front of the video pickup, a tall, thin man with graying hair and an overwhelming moustache that had been waxed firmly into submission. To Carialle it was the most unwelcome face in the galaxy. Her blood vessels constricted momentarily, but the shock passed quickly.
"This is Dr. Maxwell-Corey, Carialle," he said, in his thin, irritated voice. "You left the Cridi planet strictly against orders."
Keff interposed himself in front of one of her video pickups at once.
"Dr. Maxwell-Corey, how nice to see you," he said. "The circumstances altered the import of your orders. We had to investigate the destruction of the DSC-902, as we transmitted to you, as soon as possible before the perpetrators got too far away. We found them. You did receive our messages?"
"I did," the Inspector General said peevishly. "You conscripted the Cridi for your illegal activity, endangering them on your mad scramble to justify your longstanding mania, Carialle. This will not sit well with Alien Outreach, or Xeno! On my arrival I am insisting that you be placed in protective custody pending a hearing on charges of constructive kidnapping."
"That's ridiculous. We didn't conscript them," Carialle said, feeling the adrenaline in her system increase twofold. "They insisted on accompanying us—their right as an intelligent species. They have saved our lives several times. I am very pleased to have had them as allies."
"They should not be there at all!" The IG's hollow cheeks went red with fury. "An insane brainship and her dupe convincing them to chase off after illusory pirates to a so-called secret base on the fifth planet of the Cridi system? Preposterous! There was a base, if you could call it that," M-C said, disdainfully. "But there were no mysterious 'griffins.' Er . . . griffins," he said, as Noonday moved into range of the video. She smiled at him, and he goggled at her. Carialle knew what it was like for a human the first time a Thelerie smiled, parting its lip to show the needle-sharp fangs underneath, and she enjoyed the effect it had on the Inspector General.
"Thelerie," Carialle said, sweetly. "We know. May I present Noonday, Sayas of Thelerie? She is the head of planetary government. The pirates escaped and came here, sir. They have only just arrived. The commander of that ship is called Autumn, and if you will check the video I sent you, you can see that that is indeed the ship, out there on the landing field." She inserted a view from her external camera of Ship Three, lying abandoned on the plain. "I strongly suspect that if you check their engine compartment, they flew here using components from the DSC-902."
"It is true," Autumn admitted, as Noonday's guards hustled her forward. She wrapped her wings protectively about herself. "Our ship had no propulsion unit left. Nor communications."
Maxwell-Corey stared out of the screen. "They speak Standard." He glared at Keff. "This is undoubtedly your doing. You have no right to involve this species in anything. They are not members of the Central W
orlds, or if what you say is true in your transmission, possessed of their own technology."
"Breaking the Prime Directive again," Carialle said pertly. "Not guilty on that count either, sir. They spoke Standard when we arrived. That's part of the rest of the story we have to tell you."
"I am glad to encounter you, sir," the Sayas said warmly, opening sincere, striped eyes at the Inspector General. "We wish to apply for membership in the Central Worlds. We wish to be one with all of the blessed humans."
"I . . . I'm not really the one you should speak to about membership," Maxwell-Corey admitted, staring at the golden-eyed beast. "Er, blessed humans?"
"Then, who? We are most eager. We would like to be full members."
"I'm afraid that's impossible. You lack the necessary technology," the Inspector General said. "If the report the CK-963 sent me is accurate, all that you possess is stolen or derelict."
"We are sorry about that," Noonday said, dipping her head slightly. "What you say has recently come to my attention. We're willing to make reparation as we can, but we still wish to fly in space."
"Er, I don't see how." M-C looked bemused.
"Fait accompli," Carialle said cheerfully. "They have already been in space numerous times. Plus, they have a viable culture and society. They should be at least given ISS status. The rest will follow."
"We will help them gain access to space," Big Voice piped up, floating close enough to Keff to be included on his camera. Carialle opened up the focus so the IG could see all of the Cridi. "As we began to do many revolutions ago, we will continue. It is only right that we fulfill the promise made so long ago, if such a thing is permitted among the Central Worlds." Behind him, Narrow Leg and the others nodded energetic agreement.
Noonday was very touched. She knelt down onto her belly before the plump councillor. "We accept your offer most gratefully, blessed Cridi."
"Yes," Big Voice said, enjoying himself. "We shall be good patrons to you, and you shall be good customers to us."
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The Ship Who Saved the Worlds Page 66