Hiska growled and made the rest of the way to him in a less aggressive manner, her attention focused on the disks. She was a compact little woman with mousy hair cropped to her skull. Her round face had no lines whatsoever—not surprising, since she rarely exhibited emotions of any kind that would encourage wrinkles. Her grunts, snorts, humphs, ohs, and ahs did service for whatever she might be feeling. She had penetrating eyes deep-set under thick brows of the same mousy shade hair. Her hands were oddly much like Nimisha’s, square palms with short, clever fingers and incredible strength when she put her body behind her grasp. Nimisha had taken her as her private mechanic years before on the advice of Jim Marroo, then Yard Manager, who had recognized an unusual aptitude in the silent person. There was no question of her dedication to Lady Nimisha and her almost zealous proprietary control of this machine shop.
“If we are to have the best possible chance of finding Lady Nimisha, we need this Fiver in the same condition as the one she went out in. Lady Cuiva gave me the disks yesterday afternoon. I didn’t know she had them. I thought Lady Rezalla would have been the custodian,” Caleb said bluntly. He was rewarded with as noncommittal a humph as he’d ever heard out of Hiska. “Next week Lady Cuiva’s coming up to see how we’re getting along. I’d like her to see the ship finished now that we have these.” He gestured to the disks. “I’d like you to be especially on your guard, Hiska, as we have information that suggests Lord Vestrin might be vindictive enough to try to harm Lady Cuiva. You spot any face you don’t know, you report it immediately to Security!”
Hiska stared at him, her gaze intensifying with outrage, her eyes going so round that he wondered if they’d pop out of their sockets. Then her jaw muscles tightened and her hands became blunt fists, banging into her thighs. She inhaled deeply and then exhaled so fiercely that Caleb knew no one would get into this workshop or past Hiska to harm Lady Cuiva.
Having settled that problem, he handed across to the mechanic the clipboard with his listing of what needed to be completed.
“If you’d be willing to assist me in translating these specs, Hiska, I’ll know there will be no errors in the finished designs.”
With more courtesy than she’d ever accorded him before, she took the clipboard from him. She scanned it quickly and gave one emphatic nod. She returned the board to him and went to unlock Nimisha’s supply closet. Nimisha would keep on hand supplies of any sort that she might need in her designs. Caleb doubted that there’d be any shortage of exactly what they’d need to make the spare parts or upgrade the boards.
“Need anything at the dispenser?” Caleb called as he went for a stimulant. He’d see how long he could keep up with Hiska before he took a rest. One needed clear eyes and steady hands for some of the delicate assemblies they were about to undertake. If he started to fumble, Hiska would insist on his taking a break.
They’d completed two of the six boards when he broke a delicate connection. Hiska drew her breath in a hiss of concern. Pursing her lips, she reached over and took the tool from his hand, jerking her head at the small office. Her invitation for him to rest needed no elaboration.
“Wake me in two hours,” he said.
“Humph,” was her answer, and he wondered if she would obey.
She didn’t. He was asleep for four hours before she judged him sufficiently rested to continue. And she’d been right. She had completed one more board and several of the finicky alterations on parts she had brought in from the Fiver.
They finished, and installed, all the boards by the time fatigue again overtook Caleb. He slept aboard the ship while Hiska occupied the cot in Nimisha’s office when the second shift quit.
IV
“LADY NIMISHA?” said a familiar voice as the fog of sleep lifted from her mind. The medical couch was open and not so much as a whiff of the sleep gas remained.
“A full standard year has passed, ma’am,” added Helm’s tenor voice.
“And no response?”
“No, ma’am.”
She felt the coolness of hyposprays penetrating both arms. “Sit up slowly, Nimi, but I think you’ll find you’re in excellent shape after that nice long nap,” Doc said.
“May I fix you something to eat, Lady Nimisha?” Cater asked.
Nimisha’s stomach rumbled.
“Indeed you may,” she said, following Doc’s advice about movement. She was stiff with disuse. “Helm, plot a course to the nearest of the primaries with an M-type planet. I’m tired of hanging about in space. Let’s see what mischief we can get into out there.”
“I am programmed to remind you, Lady Nimisha,” Helm said, sounding as close to repressive as the AI could get, “that we are constrained to avoid contact with emerging species. It is against FSP policy to interfere with normal evolution when the indigenous population has reached either toolmaking or settled agricultural base level.”
“That is, if there is an indigenous and sapient population,” she said with a grin.
“Yes, ma’am,” was Helm’s not at all contrite response.
Nimisha smiled as she collected the usual post-sleep liquid meal.
“This at least tastes appetizing, Cater. Thanks,” she said after the first tentative sip. The gruel for the revived that was offered on naval ships was so bland it was difficult to swallow. That was another of her little improvements for long-distance traveling: savory comestibles.
“And, Helm,” she added, “leave an update on that beacon to indicate our new destination.”
“Already programmed, ma’am.”
She shrugged. She really was almost superfluous.
“Estimated arrival time?” she asked.
“At Interstellar Speed Three, we will reach the heliopause in two days.”
“So be it, Helm. We will decelerate and record all data on our way into the third planet. It is the third planet, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Standard almost, isn’t it?” she murmured.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Nimisha made a facial grimace. Oh, well, “yes” was more encouraging than another spate of “no’s” from Helm.
She felt the thrum through the deck plates as the Fiver moved forward, gradually increasing speed sufficient to enter IS drive. She watched the stars in the view screen begin to blur, counted down to herself to the translation into the IS speed mode, and braced herself just as the Fiver slid forward. She had become inured to the insertion nausea but was still pleased when it passed as they settled into warp drive.
“Report on insertion and performance, please?” After all, this was still a trial run.
“All systems functioning at normal levels and efficiency.”
That was certainly as it should be.
She opened her log and made the necessary entry. Helm would have kept the ship’s log updated on a daily basis; she would have to update hers.
The fact that she now had a destination made all the difference to her morale. She felt alive, keen, wondering just what this world would be like. Of course, if there were any signs of civilization, she’d have to veer off. She could almost wish there were a society of some sort to visit. As the first Emissary of Federated Sentient Planets.
Damn. Had she put the universal translator on board? Yes, she must have. She remembered having Hiska install the unit. The woman had given her a shocked and surprised look. But she’d done it.
“Helm, is the universal translator activated?”
“Yes, ma’am. Shall I put it online?”
“No, but I’m glad it’s there.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Always prepared for the unexpected, aren’t you, Nimi?” Doc commented.
She gave him an ironic laugh. “Except for a wormhole, Doc.”
“Well, yes, but you had cleared your course with the Fleet, and they had no records of a phenomenon in that sector, had they?”
“No, they didn’t. It’s mostly used for their Navy maneuvers and testing since it’s rather barren of stars and
planets.”
“Is that so?”
“It is!”
She was certain that there had been intensive searches for her while she had slept. Caleb Rustin, not to mention her mother and Cuiva, would never give up until they either heard the ship’s death knell or found her. That was comforting, but she did want to make it back before Cuiva was Necklaced. She looked forward to that day: She’d be able to take her daughter more fully into her confidence and to examine Cuiva’s natural aptitudes. No reason for the girl to be one of those gilded—or misshapen for fashion—dilettantes. Useless creatures. Her mother might have been traditional in every aspect of social behavior and a devil for propriety, but she had never been vapid, stupid, or shallow. Boynton women had always been achievers.
The system, which Nimisha whimsically named Primero, adding its coordinates within the present sphere of the galaxy, was so close to “normal” that it was exactly what any exploration team would give all left arms to encounter. There were ten planets, the coldest, outermost few were frozen; then there was another giant, and while there was no asteroid belt between the gas planet and the fourth, the third was in the proper astrophysical position for being close enough to its primary to be habitable. It had three moons, the largest farther out, with two inner ones seeming to chase each other. Must wreak havoc with the tidal system. She decided to call the third planet Erehwon, partly after an old dystopic novel she’d once read and partly because it was “nowhere” backward and that certainly was her present situation. She hovered by the large moon to do the usual basic investigative tests, sending down an exploratory probe and waiting for its reports.
No holes in the ozone layer, the usual mix of atmospheric gases, sufficient seas, and nine continents, three with archipelagoes reaching out like broken fingers to the larger landmasses. Helm, in the AI’s science officer capacity, agreed that the planet looked to be eminently habitable.
“Let’s orbit and see what else we can discover,” Nimisha said, toggling the log to include that order. She’d had the usual space traveler’s briefing from FSP about not infecting indigenous sapients with too abrupt a contact with a space-faring race and what to do if—by any remote chance—she met other space-farers. So far the universe seemed very full of sentient species incapable of ever attaining that freedom.
“Shorter day, I see,” Nimisha mentioned as they completed one orbit. “And no sign of what we tend to term ‘civilization’ either.”
“No, ma’am,” Helm replied. “No artificial satellites. No pulses, no sonar or radar transmissions. Not even radio.”
“Let’s go in,” she said.
The ship continued its inward spiral, quartering the planet’s surface as it went. Daylight shone on a land teeming with small and large life-forms, jungles, forests, plains, and mountain ranges of considerable height and depth running like twisted spines suggesting their savage upthrust from basement rock materials. The nightside did not show any fires or the use of fossil fuels. The planet did have ore deposits that would certainly interest developers back in her native portion of the galaxy. That is, if they could establish that there were no sapient inhabitants. Further circling brought her over portions of the continents, Helm assiduously mapping, though Nimisha had turned off that screen. She tried viewing the surface at high magnification to be able to make out details, but it gave her a headache to see surface features speeding by that quickly. So she reduced the magnification and trusted Helm to call her attention to any anomalies. On the fourth lap, Helm spoke.
“Sensors read an unusual metallic mass on the plateau directly ahead.”
Nimisha turned up the magnification, but they were too far out to determine what the anomaly was, other than something that perhaps ought not to be there.
“Mark it, Helm. Definitely needs to be seen.”
On the seventh lap, another anomaly was discovered.
“Now that’s ridiculous. We haven’t seen so much as a band of humanoid nomads, but those two metallic blips are not indigenous to this planet. I’ll bet my Necklace on it.”
“Rash of you, dear Nimi,” Doc said with an audible ripple in his voice.
“You know me, Doc,” she agreed.
“Let’s home in on the first anomaly, Helm. I think we’ve ascertained that this indigenous population is mainly composed of beasts, unlikely to be evolutionarily compromised by our presence.”
“There is a third metallic anomaly, ma’am, and I am now reading a fourth.”
“We’ll have a dekko at those, too.”
It was out of the bounds of possibility that all eighteen missing ships had landed on Erehwon, though that would have been a logical course of action, given its suitability for humans. This could be rather a fun adventure. Of course, the downside was that if they all had been stuck here—since they were still listed as missing—then she might be, too. Well, maybe some marooned male would be passable. Lady Rezalla would be furious when she learned of her daughter making any sort of an improper alliance. But celibate life was not a prospect Nimisha could contemplate with any joy!
As Helm obeyed her instructions and they cruised across the plateau to the first object of interest, the grazers didn’t so much as raise their heads from their industrious eating. Great shaggy brown and black creatures, they moved steadily across the grassy savannah, heads swaying back and forth as they ate. She did notice that the young of this species were kept behind a formidable wall of their elders. So there were predators of some sort.
“We are closing, ma’am. Shall I magnify?” Helm asked.
“By all means.” She gasped as the sharply defined image filled the screen. “Undeniably a spaceship,” she said. “A match on our files?”
“A fair big mouthful for that wormhole to trap,” Doc remarked.
Nimisha gave a bark of laughter. “Trap? That’s a good description of a wormhole. Well, well. This ship’s very old. Maybe we’re number twenty, not nineteen. Can you decipher anything of the ship’s original ID markings, Helm?”
“Wind, sun, and time have scoured the hull, which was badly damaged.”
“In the wormhole?”
“That is a distinct possibility given the turbulence the Fiver experienced. The tube of the hole did not have a regular shape. It was difficult to avoid contact with the walls.”
“Which proves the merit of having an AI at the helm, when femtosecond reactions are required,” Nimisha said approvingly.
“Perhaps when we are closer, some traces will be legible enough to identify the craft,” Helm said, unaffected by either praise or blame.
“An ID might give a clue as to the frequency of the wormhole on the FSP side of it,” Doc said.
“My very thought, Doc. But it’s not very well designed, is it?” she commented, scanning the vessel. “Cumbersome, to say the least.”
“No match, ma’am, on available files.”
“That old?” asked Doc.
“Not disparaging the files of our Navy, are you, Doc?”
“Even their files do not contain some of the early independent efforts of humankind to probe space for habitable planets.”
“That’s true enough, Doc,” Nimisha agreed, rubbing her chin and trying to figure out what sort of propulsion the ship used with that stern configuration, dented and mangled as it was. She shook her head and gave a sigh.
By now, they were closing with the object, and Helm automatically switched to normal screen.
The ship hadn’t been landed with any great skill, for its prow had plowed a long furrow across the plateau to where a high ridge out-thrust from the foothills had finally halted its forward momentum. The furrow was clearly visible from the air, along with the heavy vegetation that had grown up in it. She could distinguish the bleached white skeletons of the giant grazers that had been bowled out of the way of this minor leviathan until it had come to a grinding halt.
“It’s been there a long time,” she murmured as they closed with the wreck. “How could anyone survive such a crash?”<
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“The ship was not designed for landing,” Helm said. “It is also not equipped with either thrusters or vanes for atmospheric maneuvering.”
“Any life signs?” asked Doc.
Nimisha laughed at such optimism. “Hardly, if such dense vegetation has grown up on the avenue it plowed. Probably from the First Diaspora. Imagine being brave enough to go into space in that sort of contraption,” she added with some admiration. “Please land, Helm, near the center of the ship. I see some sort of airlock in its side.”
She dressed in appropriate skintight protective gear for a first walkabout. As the air had tested pure, she didn’t require a breathing apparatus. Pure enough to breathe, but slightly tainted with an unfamiliar smell, she thought as she stepped out of the Fiver and onto the thick grassoid surface covering. Three steps into it, she was glad of the impregnability of her suit, for the “grass” was saw-toothed and managed to leave scratches on the tough material. What digestive equipment those shaggy creatures must have to graze on this, she reflected. She took samples of the obvious varieties growing about her and had to use the vibro blade to sever the blades and stems.
She tripped over the first skeleton, partially hidden in the vegetation and by the remains of its apparel.
“Human skeleton, clad in exceedingly durable clothing,” she reported to Helm.
“Bring me a swatch of the material and a bone and I’ll do a forensic and carbon-date it,” Doc suggested. The longest finger bone was added to her pouch, along with a piece of the material, now so old it tore like paper.
“They must have set up some sort of a camp,” she said. There was a clearing of sorts, evidently made by melting the ground into a semi-glaze that defied the grassoid’s attempts at succession. There were oddments of metal scattered about, poking up from the dirt that had blown over them. The larger items she unearthed were crushed as if the grazers had put their big clumsy feet on them.
“Analysis suggests this ship was of a design used in the First Diaspora, with chemical fuel engines of the type typical of that period for planetary landing and takeoff,” Helm informed her. “I have been able to distinguish sufficient of the faded insignia on the bow to determine that it belonged to a federation known as the United Nations of Earth. We are the twentieth ship to come through the wormhole.”
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