With considerable time to fill in the journey, they had watched new tapes as well as the old favorites she had. First he had wanted to update his understanding of naval technical advances and the general history of their worlds during the time he had been marooned. He was apolitical, as most naval officers found it expedient to be, but he had definite ideas about individual rights and other domestic issues on Earth, and opinions about some of the colonial worlds’ issues. He always called them “colonial,” which amused her. Though the adjective was essentially accurate, any one from the “colonies” would have risen up in indignation at its use. Certainly Lady Rezalla would have been outraged, as would Rhidian. She wondered about Caleb’s reaction, since he was Vegan by birth, but they had never discussed the subject. Jon had such a nice way of teasing her about her “colonial” status that she humored him. She could warn him about her mother . . . later, when the need arose. She could hope that it would, but she was becoming more and more resigned to the improbability.
Resignation to the loss—no, absence, she told herself firmly—of her daughter, Cuiva, was another matter entirely. The thought of a new baby did not reduce the longing for her firstborn, but it was comforting.
She had checked with Doc each morning during the fertile period, and he ascertained that ovulation had taken place. Shortly thereafter he confirmed that an egg had been fertilized.
Despite her good health, she started feeling queasy before they reached the heliopause of the second M-planet system. In such close companionship, Jon noticed her distaste for breakfast, as well as for any pungent food smells, and jumped to the right conclusion.
“Pardon me for being personal, Nimi, but could you possibly be experiencing morning sickness?” Jon asked.
“I did offer you a remedy, Nimi,” Doc said, sounding miffed.
“You wanted to be pregnant by me!” Jon gave a whoop and a holler and swung her about the cabin in his arms. “And you never even warned me you’d taken out your implant.”
“My option, you know,” she replied. “And I wanted to surprise you.”
“You’ve sure done that.” Then he was pushing her toward the medical unit, his expression altered to one of deep concern.
“No need to worry, Jon, dear. Doc says our genes are eminently compatible.”
He hauled her back in his arms again to kiss her thoroughly, a spontaneous reaction that she found far more satisfying than Rhidian’s fatuous expression when she had informed him of Cuiva’s conception. In fact, Jon kept on hugging her, doing a sort of two-step dance of success all around the main cabin until she had to stop him since the motion was making her nauseous.
“I’ll settle that for you, Nimisha,” Doc said when Jon contritely stopped the whirling, “if you’ll deign to visit my couch.”
Jon immediately escorted her there and held her arm out while an extendable hypospray permeated the skin with an antinausea drug.
By the time they reached the third possible M-type system, she was well over that stage. This world, with two moons, was more hospitable in climate and terrain than Secondo’s. On one moon, when they did an exploratory orbit, they saw a crater, its center showing a metallic signature. Helm took them in low enough to record the anomaly, and the analysis provided them with the resting place of yet another of the eighteen missing spaceships. To establish its identity, they would send the analysis back to Navy Headquarters on Earth—when they finally made contact again—and see if a match could be found in their data banks. Its metallic signature was definitely similar to FSP materials.
“The other wrecks could still be traveling onward,” Jon remarked. “We may never find them.”
“I think it’s amazing we’ve located any of them, considering the odds.”
“True. I’m just overwhelmingly glad you found . . . me.” His eyes sparkled.
“Later; we’d best do what we came for . . . for a while, at least.”
To their astonishment, they found evidence from space of some sort of discernible ruins at the confluence of two rivers that meandered through the flat plains of one of the smaller continents.
Once Helm had checked the immediate vicinity for possible dangers, they kitted themselves out for on-site exploration. They found a rusted shuttle of such an awkward design that Nimisha wondered that it had landed at all, its exterior eroded by time and weather.
“Acid rain?” Nimisha guessed, putting her gloved hand on some of the pitting.
“Perhaps. They do seem to have built some sort of a settlement,” he said.
“And a cemetery,” she said, noticing eight stone markers. Time and weather had obliterated the shallow carvings of names and dates.
“I’d guess some element of the First Diaspora,” Jon said, squatting down and running an index finger across the indistinct legend. He rose and, silently, they walked over to what was left of stone walls. They stepped over them into a compound with the ruins of several small dwellings. Splinters of wood, protected by insertion in the stones, proved that the unknown builders had acquired wood from some other place, since there was none on the broad plains.
“They didn’t go in much for mixed crews at first, did they?” she asked.
Jon shook his head, digging his toe into the dirt clogging the remains of a hearth. When the metal tip of his boot hit something, he used a trowel to uncover the corroded remains of a pan.
“The deceased had no survivors,” she murmured, unconsciously stroking her still-flat abdomen.
“Life-forms are approaching cautiously through the vegetation,” Helm said. “Some are large enough to be dangerous.”
“Let’s not take unnecessary risks right now,” Jon said, taking her arm.
They ran back to the Fiver and were safely within it when the creatures could be seen on the main screen.
“Carnivorous, to judge by the shape of their muzzles and protruding fangs,” Helm reported. “And large enough to suggest the reason the compound was walled.”
“Well, let’s see what else this planet offers prospective settlers,” Jon said, shedding the protective gear.
“Thirsty work,” Nimisha said, ordering beverages for both of them from Cater while Helm lifted.
Careful quartering of the planet showed no further remains of interest.
“And it’s boring, geologically speaking,” was Nimisha’s complaint. “Normal plains, old mountains, wide rivers, three oceans, and a dozen seas.”
“Some rather unnice indigenous specimens, six-legged, too,” Jon said. “More extendibles to capture us and teeth to eat us with. Also, there doesn’t really seem to be much in the way of easily obtainable metal and mineral resources. Deep pit mining would be necessary, and we will need metals when the freighter’s cargo is used up. As it will, the way the Sh’im proliferate.” He gave her hair an affectionate ruffling, which she liked, though she hadn’t expected to. “While we will try our best, I don’t think humans are given to litters as the Sh’im are.”
“Well, it’s a good place to have to fall back on. Or give the Sh’im in a few generations. Though this primary’s a lot brighter than Erehwon’s.”
“Oh, you’d noticed that about their eyesight, too,” Jon remarked.
“I didn’t. Doc did,” Nimisha said. “The Sh’im optical equipment is not happy with bright sunlight. Their home-world sun must be much dimmer. Maybe the real impetus for them to colonize is that their sun’s old and dying.”
“At first I considered it possible that they habitually required a midday rest,” Doc said. He had had his own reports to make of the two planets they had investigated, but he granted them the courtesy of silence unless they asked him a direct question. “Then I noticed that their eye slits become narrower as the Erehwon sun nears zenith. Their eye slits are wider at night, and I don’t think it has that much to do with their night vision, which is better than that of you humans. I’ve compared their optical equipment with that of other minor species available on data file. I suspect that you’re right, Nimisha. They originate on a world w
ith a dimmer sun, an older world.”
“Would tinted lenses help, Doc?” Nimisha asked.
“I would suggest it, though the problem seems to affect the younger ones more than the darker-coated elders. Perhaps the pigment alters with age, and their sensitivity to harsh sunlight is reduced.”
“Put wraparound sunglasses on your list of things to do,” Jon said.
“I have,” Doc replied blithely. “May I suggest that since the necessary investigations are complete for this planet, we return forthwith, posthaste, and immediately to Erehwon? You have promised to assist Syrona in the birth and she might just deliver early. I neglected to request a connection between my diagnostic and the Poolbeg’s unit.”
So Helm plotted the most direct return flight to Erehwon, and when Nimisha told him to come as close to redlining the drive as possible now that the engines were well broken in, they made it back at a record speed. She spent a lot more time sleeping, which Doc reminded her was a normal part of the first trimester.
She did try to access the beacon at the wormhole exit.
“Not that I expected anything,” she murmured when there were no messages. “Not as far away as presumably we are from home.”
“We live on hope, you know,” Jon said gently.
“It’s almost two years since I pulsed the Maydays from this side,” Nimisha said.
“We know we’re far away from our homes, love.” He stroked her hand. “Too soon.”
“Or the damned beacon’s malfunctioning.”
Jon gave her a mock-surprised look. “A Rondymense unit malfunctioning? I find that hard to believe.”
His teasing reassured her. She knew that the beacon had been functioning. Wasn’t it receiving the updates Helm sent?
“Report on all systems, please, Helm,” Jon asked, as he was the day’s pilot.
“All systems are in perfect working order. All diagnostics are in the optimum range,” Helm reported. “I have taken the liberty of forwarding a message through the comsat, giving our ETA,” he added.
“Well done, Helm,” Jon said, smiling over at Nimisha. “We can expect a welcoming committee!”
Nimisha considered this for such a long moment that Jon raised his eyebrows in query.
“I haven’t missed them. I should have.”
He leaned over and kissed her. “Thank you,” he said, his eyes glowing.
“No, I thank you, Captain Svangel,” she said softly. “I’ve never had a . . . a more restful voyage.” She grinned.
“The voyage is not yet over.” He held his hand out.
“Helm, you have the conn,” she said, rising and following him back to their cabin.
“You will want to see the improvements,” Helm said, interrupting the afterglow of their activities.
“Improvements?” Jon said, dutifully donning his coverall while Nimisha was still struggling to sit upright on the bed.
“Yes, Captain. Truly impressive.”
The two humans made eye contact. It was rare for Helm to comment. Nimisha hurriedly pulled on a clean coverall and joined Jon in the pilot area.
“Now that is worth seeing,” she said. “Helm, are you taping this? They’ll surely want to see the aerial view. Impressive! They have been busy!”
Where there had been but the one prefab L-shaped building, there was now an avenue of twelve residences, all slightly different, as the prefab units had been designed to allow variations. These were neatly fenced with space for small gardens that did not entirely feature edible plants. There were more flowers in the largest unit that housed Syrona, Casper, and Tim.
The most surprising building was the large triple-span barn with a corral to the right of it: a corral in which they could see four-legged animals that had to be the smaller deer that the Sh’im had not been quick enough to capture. She’d want to hear how Casper had turned cowboy in the gig. Since it was early morning Erehwon time, they also saw farm units and wagons on definite tracks that wheeled vehicles had packed down.
“They’ve tripled the amount of cultivated fields,” Jon said. “The repeller shields have made a big difference.”
“And look at the prefab sheds by the cliffs!” Nimisha added. “Does every family have a ground unit now?”
“Have they completely emptied the freighter? Look at all the empty pods.” Jon pointed as the Fiver swung around the bend of the cliff, and they could see the entire Sh’im town, not just the peripheral buildings. “Seem to be using some for rain barrels . . .”
“And tree houses,” Nimisha added with a whoop of laughter.
“I hope some were saved for storage purposes,” Jon said.
“Casper’s the optimist. He’d’ve put some aside for a bountiful harvest with all those fields under cultivation.”
Their arrival had been seen, and the powered vehicles were making for what had obviously become a landing site. The gig was parked by a large prefab hangar. There was sufficient room for the Fiver to set down.
“They’ve collected the skiff, too,” Nimisha said, spotting the vehicle inside the garage as Helm did a neat vertical landing. “Well done, Helm. Not so much as a bump.”
“Of course not, ma’am,” was the imperturbable response. “All running systems inactive. Performance data will be stored for analysis by fourteen hundred planetary time.”
“Very good, Helm,” Jon said. “I’d like a report on any necessary service, maintenance, or resupply required.”
“That will be available at the same time, Captain.”
Someone banged on the hatch that was still space-locked. The two humans grinned at each other just as Helm released the hatch. “Apologies tendered.”
“None required,” Nimisha said and, taking Jon’s hand, they went to meet their friends.
Tim was first, brown as a nut, followed more sedately by his parents. Syrona waddled, she was so near the end of her pregnancy. She looked as healthy as her son and obviously relieved to see Nimisha. When the two women had embraced, while Timmy and a beaming Casper greeted Jon more circumspectly, Syrona held Nimisha off.
“You’re pregnant,” she said, accusingly.
“Well, what else had we to do with the time between planets?” Nimisha said. “But how could you tell? I don’t show yet.”
“Yes, you do,” Casper said, grinning. “You’re glowing.”
“I am?” Nimisha turned in astonishment to Jon and then back to Syrona.
“Indeed you are,” Syrona said and then kissed her cheek, squeezing her hands to indicate how very happy she was for Nimisha.
Then the Sh’im, who had tactfully allowed the humans to greet each other, moved forward. Ool and Ook wanted to know if their search had been successful, so Jon told them there would be a showing of tapes of the planets that evening when they could rig the exterior screen to allow all to see.
VIII
IN ORDER TO cloak their exit from Vegan space, Five B slipped into the middle of a large convoy of drone-pulling freighters.
“It’s not exactly the kind of exit I’d prefer to make,” Caleb remarked to Lt. Commander Kendra Oscony, his executive officer, seated beside him in the bridge compartment.
She grinned. “Ignominious for a ship of this caliber,” she said, her glance sliding around the control panel. She had had some simulated training on a mock-up at Fleet Headquarters. But even the best virtual simulations never equaled the reality. “She is some beauty. When can we slip the dogs?”
“As soon as we’ve cleared the comsats,” he said, almost as eager as she to be free of their cover vessels. “We don’t want our markings too visible.”
“We’ve only got an interim marking, RX-25. The admiral isn’t being overcautious, is he?” she asked.
“If he isn’t, I am,” he said firmly. “Lady Cuiva’s safety is as important as the task of finding her mother.”
She cleared her throat at that subtle rebuke. He took the edge off it by giving her a grin. “I sure never thought to be this lucky,” she said.
; “Nor I,” Caleb admitted, trying to make friends with his executive officer. He knew the XO by reputation, although he would never tell her that it was her fine mathematical abilities that had decided her selection for this shakedown cruise.
“She’s a nice child, too.”
“She is,” Caleb agreed.
“Coming up to the last comsat, Captain,” said Helm, and Kendra shook her head.
Caleb grinned more broadly. He was accustomed to the AI trio on a Fiver, having helped program and install the original units. It would take the naval segment of this crew time to adjust to having independent AI’s as integral entities. The Chief Engineer, Ian Hadley, had been over all the design specs; he had spent hours with Hiska, who had actually talked volubly about the refinements that Lady Nimisha had made to drive components. Gaitama Rezinda had received intense briefing by Hiska on how to deal with any adjustments that might be required during this shakedown cruise. The young Rondymense Yard employee had been a bit goggle-eyed over the responsibility, but there was no question that she was capable of handling the job if Hiska had approved her. Caleb had given Hiska the choice of being the shakedown cruise jack-of-all-trades, or joat, as such mechanics were called. She had declined on the grounds that Lady Nimisha had given her the responsibility of attending to her quarters, workspace, and office, and not even to find her patron would she abandon that position of trust. Which, Admiral Gollanch remarked, was very well, since the woman had personality problems that could have proved awkward even on the test run.
“In that case, Helm, proceed to maximum Insystem speed,” Caleb said.
“Aye, Captain.”
Caleb wasn’t certain that Nimisha would approve of him programming naval parlance into this AI, but with six naval personnel on board, it would simplify matters.
“Time to heliopause?”
“At maximum speed, eighty-two hours, thirty minutes, ten seconds and—”
“Thank you, Helm.”
“Aye, sir.”
Kendra smothered a laugh.
“You have the conn, XO,” Caleb said, releasing the safety net and rising.
Nimisha's Ship Page 24