Crisis On Doona

by Anne McCaffrey

  Hrriss’s jaw dropped to his chest and his tail began to lash. “Of course! Proof that we weren’t where that tape said we were has always been in front of our faces.”

  “In our faces, if you please. That sort of travel would have left us trembling wrecks. How many jumps were we supposed to have made? Nine? We’re pretty fit guys, but we’d’ve been dragging for days after so many transfers. And the engines? They’d’ve been dry as old snakeskins and badly in need of realignment. Wowwee!” Todd ripped off a wild yell that echoed across the village green. “C’mon. Race you to Hu’s. His is the nearest console and we want him to hear this, too.”

  Since their meeting on the bridge had been more on the Hayuman side than the Hrruban, their few steps brought them to the Hayuman lands.

  “Rrrace me?” Hrriss demanded. “We rrrace but together, Zodd. Together!” Hrriss was so full of joy he could have run to Hrruba and back without benefit of the grid, but now he lifted his thighs to push off, Todd beside him, the friends heading toward the low bungalow that housed Hu Shih and his wife, Phyllis.

  She saw the pair thundering down the path toward her house and called over her shoulder at Hu.

  “Todd and Hrriss are coming at a stampede pace, Hu. Oh, dear, you don’t think any more has happened, do you?”

  Her husband, his age showing only in his slower movements, patted her hand as he peered out the window.

  “Something good, to judge by the elation on their faces.” And Hu felt the better for seeing that as well as seeing them together again. That had been such a miserable thing to do to those boys. Young men, he corrected himself.

  “Mrs. Shih, good morning. Good morning, sir,” Todd said, his bows as jerky as his breath from running. “Please, sir, can we use your comunit? We urgently need to contact Captain Kiachif.”

  Hrriss had said nothing but he was bowing and grinning his jaw off its hinges and Hu stepped aside, gesturing toward the alcove which constituted his home office and held the communications equipment.

  “You’d better hear this, too, sir. Don’t know why we didn’t think of it sooner than this.”

  “You boys have always operated as a team,” Phyllis said, her indignant expression showing her poor opinion of the separation.

  Todd raised Captain Kiachif’s ship only to be informed that the captain was asleep.

  “Look, Todd Reeve here. Hrriss and I have to speak to him. I know he’s probably hung over. Put a cup of malak in his hand and ask him to please come speak to me. It’s urgent or you’d better believe I wouldn’t bother Captain Ali so early.”

  Todd flung a grin over his shoulder, for it was close to midday. Hrriss chuckled, and even Hu smiled.

  “That man!” Phyllis muttered, for she had never understood how anyone could consume so much hard spirits and be allowed to command a ship, much less a whole fleet of them.

  “This better be good, young feller me lad,” came a growl that was barely recognizable as a voice.

  “Drink the malak, Captain Ali, while you listen,” Todd said. He explained his theory in crisp sentences and was rewarded by a string of curses.

  “Plain as the nose on my face, which has always been very plain to see,” Kiachif replied, his voice rougher with chagrin than with overindulgence. “Look, laddie, this is something we don’t leave to just one engineer. And that ship of yours is under Martinson’s seal, isn’t it? So we gotta have an order to see the condition of those engines. They ain’t been touched, have they? ... No, good! Ha! Better ’n’ better. Them’s as they were left but how d’you prove you and Hrriss weren’t space-shattered?”

  “And start organizing the Snake Hunt the very next morning?”

  “Everyone saw you then?”

  “Hrriss and I had day-long conferences and there’d be tapes on the whole day ... that day and the next thirteen!”

  “Ha! Best way to wake up of a morning, laddie. Good news sure sets a man up, if you know what I mean. I’ll just get the DeVeer feller. He seems to know beans from bran and brawn. Leave it with me, laddie.”

  “Of course, of course, of course,” Hu muttered to himself, past chagrin that he hadn’t thought of that factor: that no one, trying to clear the boys these past weeks, had thought of it.

  “Don’t fret, Mr. Shih,” Todd said, grinning, “Hrriss and I just thought of it ourselves! You’d have to make a lot of warp jumps to know what it does to your circadian rhythms... or be an engineer to know what that kind of punishment does to your engines.”

  “Or the skin of the ship,” Hrriss added. “The Albatrrrossss is remarkably unpitted and bright.”

  “Thanks for the use of the com, sir. We’d best be going. Got a lot more to sort out today.”

  “Have some ...” Phyllis’s offer of lunch trailed off as the two young men were out the door, leaping off the top of the steps and making for the village corral. Spare horses were always available for emergency use.

  Hu took a deep breath. “I feel better than I have since ...”

  “Since Todd Reeve came out of the mist leading the First Speaker?” his wife teased.

  He nodded, his smile nostalgic.

  * * *

  Todd and Hrriss didn’t bother with saddles. They used bridles only because they didn’t recognize any of the horses standing hipshot in the bright noonday sun. They set off at the easy ground-covering lope most Doonan-bred horses were trained to use, kind to both horse and rider.

  Pat and Inessa came out onto the porch the moment they heard the horses. Ken, Robin, and Lon jogged up from the barn, warned by shrieks of welcome from the two females.

  “Oh, it’s so good to see you, Hrriss,” Pat said, pulling his head down to rub his muzzle affectionately, squeezing his hand, for he was too massive now for her to embrace.

  Inessa bounced about, clapping her hands and hooting like a hunting urfa, a habit her mother deplored, but this day was too special for reprimands.

  Pat was babbling about the feast they must have to celebrate the reunion, that Mrrva and Hrrestan were coming, and ...

  “Kelly and Nrrna,” Inessa said, “and half the Solinaris and most of the Adjeis, and Hrrula because that filly they killed was his.”

  The men arrived and they welcomed Hrriss with much back-thumping and handshaking, while Ken went so far as to rub cheeks with the young Hrruban.

  “You’ve had no lunch!” Pat declared, suddenly noticing their hot faces, the sweat on Todd’s and the dust on Hrriss’s. “Get washed up this instant. Inessa, come with me.”

  “Dad, got some real good news for you,” Todd said, interrupting the general tumult and launching into what he had asked Captain Kiachif to do.

  Ken stared, as drop-jawed as a Hrruban, as he assimilated the information. Then he swung about, banging his fist against the nearest wall in self-abnegation.

  “Why didn’t one of us think of that aspect?”

  “Calm down, Dad,” Todd said, grabbing his father’s fist. “You haven’t warp-jumped half as much as Hrriss and me, and you haven’t logged in enough spacetime to know how it disorients you. You know we didn’t come into your office that day shagged.”

  Ken shook his head from side to side, still blaming himself for not seeing so plain a verification that they could not have been plucking items from so many different systems during that controversial Hrrethan flight.

  Todd gave his father a clout with his fist. “Stop it, Dad, no time for recriminations now. If Captain Ali gets an independent, and well-witnessed, overhaul of the Albie’s engines, and we get statements from everyone who saw us working all hours of the day to organize the Hunt, that still only proves we couldn’t have made those side trips. It doesn’t prove who did. And that ...” Todd glanced at Hrriss as he began spacing his words in an implacable tone, “is... what... we... have ... to ... find ... out!”

  “You’re right about that, son,” Ken said. “
From the way the Treaty Controller was handling the hearing, not to mention the smug look on Rogitel’s face and that sycophant Varnorian, proof that you didn’t smuggle is not as important as documentation of who did.”

  “Right. Then let’s figure out how to go about getting the proof.” Todd pulled his father to the dining room table at which so many happier conferences had been held, snagged a chair back, and guided his father to sit. He and Hrriss sat down in the same instant beside each other while a grinning Lon Adjei and Robin joined them.

  “By any chance do we have holos of those items we’re supposed to have stolen?” Todd asked.

  “Hrruvula should have been given copies of all the evidence against you,” Ken said.

  “Rrrobinn,” Hrriss said, “please brrring us the star maps and the handcomp. We must calculate prrrecisssely.”

  “Kelly’s good at that,” Robin said. “And she’d want to help.” He didn’t glance in his brother’s direction but there was a twinkle in his eye.

  “Both Kelly and Nrrna will be here shortly,” Pat said, bustling in with platters piled with sandwiches.

  “We owe those girls a lot,” Todd said, reaching for a sandwich. The appetite which had deserted him during his separation from Hrriss had returned, doubled.

  “Well, don’t tell me,” his mother said archly. “Tell them!”

  Astonished at her tone, Todd watched her leave the room. Then shook himself.

  “We’ve also got to find out who could have possibly assembled such a variety of items, how much they’d cost on the black market—I figure Kiachif might know—”

  “And I will inquirre of Hrruban sssourrrces for those which came from ourrr interdicted planets ...” Hrriss was making notes, too.

  “Any word from Linc Newry about launches?” Todd asked, remembering another detail.

  Ken shook his head. “But all the ranchers are looking for burn-offs and other illicit corrals. Those hides aren’t as important ...”

  “Oh, yes, they are, Dad,” Todd replied. “Every single element has to be sifted, sorted, and sewed up.”

  “Could Kiachifisms be contagious?” Robin asked, his face screwed up in a grin.

  * * *

  Rogitel did not move from his seat when Reeve and his feline friends left the Council chamber so noisily. The bailiff closed the door and returned to his post. Once order had been restored, Poldep Officer DeVeer took up where he had left off, deferring to the Spacedep official.

  “If Spacedep has any further objections, I hope it will inform Poldep,” DeVeer suggested politely. “We would be happy to cooperate in any interdepartmental inquiries.”

  Rogitel was already considering the ramifications of the Poldep official’s words. He wondered what other data Reeve had uncovered that caused Poldep to intervene on their behalf. There might be a leak in Spacedep’s own offices. Internal security checks must be promptly initiated. “None at this time. Spacedep is grateful for Poldep’s interest.”

  “Then, honored Council members, and gentlemen, I must take my leave. There is much to do in the next four weeks.” DeVeer left the chamber. It seemed larger without him there. Rogitel felt less pressured. Beside him, Varnorian had fallen asleep.

  “I would not wish it to be understood that the department is unwilling to cooperate,” the Spacedep subchief said, addressing the board. “Admiral Landreau will be happy to assist in any way he can to fulfill all our wishes.” He met the Treaty Controller’s eye, and the Hrruban nodded almost imperceptibly. Landreau was correct. The Controller was willing to form a detente to prevent the renewal of the Treaty of Doona. Little did Treaty Controller realize that his actions would displace his fellow animals and leave the entire planet in the possession of its rightful owners, the Human race.

  “I am convinced that we both want the same thing,” the Controller said. He will help me, the Treaty Controller thought. And then he and his bareskin cohorts will be expelled, leaving only Hrrubans here on Rrala. The unnatural colony would be disbanded. He and Rogitel smiled at each other companionably over the conference table.

  CAPTAIN HORSTMANN found Deever and whisked him off to Portmaster Martinson’s office, where that official was in a state of dithering shock. For one thing, he had every spacefaring captain and every chief engineer of the many ships on landing pads in his facility crowding his office and the adjacent hall.

  “Make way! I got ’im,” Horstmann bawled, and bellies were sucked in, toes splayed, to allow the passage of two more large men. “Special delivery! Live cargo!”

  “Now, will you tell me what this is all about?” DeVeer demanded, for he was unused to being manhandled without explanation, and his temper, exacerbated by the hearing, was becoming shorter with every passing second.

  “They say ... the engines will show wear and tear,” Martinson said, gulping in anxiety and waving his hands about. “But I can’t let them in unless I have proper authorization. They absolutely refused to let me contact Spacedep or Codep ...” He flinched as bass and baritone rumbles reinforced that prohibition. “Inspector DeVeer, I can accept your authorization to unseal the Albatross?” It was more entreaty than query.

  “It’s like this, Inspector,” and a swarthy, hook-nosed wiry man with a stubbled chin, bleary-eyed, stepped forward. He wasn’t a large man, but he exuded an air of authority that DeVeer related to immediately, accepting him as spokesman for this crowd. “Ya see, Todd and Hrriss are supposed to have made these nine warp jumps in the Albie on their way back from that Hrrethan do. They say they didn’t. The engines in a ship that has been tightly sealed since that Spacedep chair pilot charged ‘em with all that piracy will show to this impartial”—and a long stained hand waved at the crowd silently listening—“jury of experts just how much wear and tear those engines took since their last service.” He hauled flimsies which DeVeer recognized as maintenance records. “We got these from Martinson here and the Hrrethan Space Authority, dated, sealed, and all legal-like, as proof of the most recent service checks the aforementioned Albatross had. You sign the authorization. We all take a look, write up official reports, and I’d bet you credits to cookies, we’ll all discover—not to our amazement but what we all know without having to check—that those engines’ll prove those boys didn’t take no nine warp jumps in that vessel like they’re accused of doing. Whaddaya say?”

  DeVeer had had to concentrate to follow the rapid-fire explanation in a hot cramped space. It took him a moment to absorb the points.

  “It will not prove who did, o’ course,” the captain went on before DeVeer could respond, “but those engines will prove those boys didn’t! Hear you got word the Mayday beacon turned up, if you know what I mean?” The captain winked. “By the way, I’m Ali Kiachif, skipper of the White Lightning,” and he offered DeVeer his hand.

  Absently DeVeer accepted and the slender fingers were as strong as his own though the hand was half the size of his.

  “I believe that could prove a profitable investigation, Captain Kiachif.” DeVeer turned to Martinson, who was wiping the sweat from his face, looking haggard and harassed. “Can you supply me with the proper documents, Mr. Martinson?”

  “All made out, ready for your John-Cock on the dotted line,” Kiachif said, wiping out a second sheaf of official-issue flimsy and spreading it out on the one clear portion of Martinson’s desk.

  Writing implements were offered by eight or nine different obliging hands. DeVeer, for once feeling completely overwhelmed, twitched the nearest one free and poised it over the quintuplicate form. He was far too experienced an executive to sign what he had not scanned, but he was a speed-reader. The form had been filled in properly, and when he actually started to sign, a deafening cheer resounded from office and corridor.

  “You must of course be present during the unsealing and the investigation, Inspector,” Kiachif said, seizing the form and separating its sheets, crumbling the first one, which he
fired at Martinson, shoving a second into DeVeer’s hand, and, waving the rest over his head, pushed his way out of the office while the cheers still echoed. Realizing that DeVeer was not on his heels, he paused and beckoned urgently for him to follow.

  Several hours later, the truth of Captain Kiachif’s allegation was proved beyond question. In all particulars, the engines were in excellent running order, no wear, tear, or abuse visible: rather no more than was consonant with a journey to and from Hrretha, and this was verified not only by the Hrrethan Space Authority maintenance check but by nine fully qualified warp-drive engineers and nine fully qualified space captains of impeccable integrity. In order to prove their qualifications and allegations, DeVeer learned more about the workings of warp-drive engines, fuel capacities, gauges, the pitting of ship skins from forced warp jumps, and the condition of lubricants, greases, flux levels, and rocket tube encrustations than he would ever again need. He fully appreciated why Martinson had looked so fraught: he felt rather wrung out himself.

  “Ah, Inspector, I see you are in need of sustenance,” Kiachif said, folding away the sheaf of formal declarations from captains and engineers. “Lads, we can’t let this fine gentleman suffer a moment longer.”

  DeVeer had no option but to accompany the jovial group to the pub. He also had no memory of how he got back to the accommodations he had been assigned on the Treaty Island. Some thoughtful soul—possibly Ali Kiachif—had left a small vial and a brief note where he could not fail to see it the moment his eyes could focus. “Drink this!” the note said. He did and rather more quickly than he thought possible, his condition improved.

  * * *

  Others had celebrated during that evening of which DeVeer had few lucid memories. For immediately upon finishing the scrupulous inspection of the Albatross, Ali Kiachif had informed the Reeve family.