"Of course, there're a lot of things I wanted to do; you d-did, too — maybe this is the b-big one—"
The recorder lapses to a fuzzy sound.
"Something has been erased," the deputy says.
It comes back in a minim or two with Coati's voice saying, " — didn't need to hear all that. The point is, we've decided. So — ow! Oh-h-h—ow! What?"
"Coati!" The small voice seems to be screaming. "Coati, I'm losing — I'm losing myself! Something wants to hurt you, to stop you — to make you go into cold-sleep — I'm fighting it— Oh, forgive me, forgive me—"
"OW! Hey, I forgive you, but— Oh, ouch! Wait, hold it, baby, I just have to set our course, and then I'll hop right into the chest. I have to set the computer; try to understand."
Undecipherable noise from the alien. Then, to everyone's surprise, the unmistakable sound of a young Human voice humming fills the room.
"I know that tune," the computer chief says suddenly. "It's old — wait — yes. It's 'Into the Heart of the Sun.' …She's trying to tell us what she's doing without alerting that maniacal parasite."
"We'd better listen closely," the deputy observes superfluously.
A moment later the humming gives place to a softly sung bar of words — yes, it's "Into the Heart of the Sun." It ends in a sharp yelp. "Hey, Syl, try not to, please—"
"I try! I try!"
"We get into cold-sleep just as soon as I possibly can. Don't hurt me, you doppelganger, or I'll make a mistake and you'll end up as fried spores— Owwwww! For an amateur, you're a little d-devil, Syl." The voice seems to be trying to conceal the wail of real agony. Exec is reminded of the wounded patrolmen he tended as a young med-aid iong ago during the Last War.
"I just have to regoogolate the fribilizer that keeps us from penetrating high g-fields," says Coati. "You wouldn't want that to happen, would you?"
Her own throat growls at her. "Hurry."
"That's an old nonsense phrase," Computers speaks up. "'Googolating the fribilizer'—she's trying to tell us she's killing the automatic-drive override. Oh, good girl."
"And now I must send this message pipe off. It's in your interests, Syl; it shows you doing all those useful things. And I have to heat it first— Oh, ow — please let me, Syl, please try to let m-me—"
Sounds that might be a heat oven, roughly handled, punctuated by yelps from Coati. Her father is gripping his chair arms so hard they creak.
"Yes, I know that big yellow sun is getting pretty hot and bright. Don't let it worry you. If we go close by it, we'll save a whole leg of our trip. It's the only neat thing to do. Han Lu Han, anybody there? Here, I'll pull the bow blinds.
"And now the cassettes from Boney and Ko go in the pipe—ow! — and where's that little one from their bow camera? Syl, try to tell your primitive self you're just slowing me down with these jabs. Please, please— Ah, here it is. And out come the spores — I mean, the seeds that were in there. …That pipe is hot!
"And now it's time to say good-bye, put this in the pipe, and climb into the chest. I really hope the pipe's frequency can pull it through these g's. On second thought, maybe I'd like to see where we're going while it lasts. As long as I can stand the pain, I think I'll stay out and watch."
Loud sounds of the cassette being handled.
"Good-bye, all. To my folks, oh, I do love you, Dad and Mum. Maybe somebody at FedBase can explain—OW!! Oh… Oh… I can't …Hey, Syl, is there anybody you want to say good-bye to? Your mentor?"
A confused vocalization, then, faintly: "Yes…"
"Remember Syl. She's the real stuff, she's doing this for Humans. For an alien race. She could have stopped me, believe it. …Bye, all."
A crash, and the recorder goes to silence.
"Han Lu Han," says the xenobiologist quietly into the silence. "He was that boy in the Lyrae mission. 'It's the only really neat thing to do.' He said that before he took the rescue run that killed him."
Exec clears his throat. "Myr Cass, we will send a reconnaissance mission to check the area. But I fear there is no reason to believe, or hope, that Myr Coati failed in her plan to eliminate the contagious menace of herself, her passenger, and the ship by flying into a sun. By the end of the message, she was close enough to feel its heat, and it was doubtless the effect of the gravity that delayed this message pipe so much longer than the preceding one, which was sent only a few days earlier. She had, moreover, carefully undone the precautions that prevent a ship on automatic drive from colliding with a star. Myr Cass, when confronted by a terrifying and painful dilemma capable of causing great harm to others, your daughter took the brave and honorable course, and we must be grateful to her."
Silence, as all contemplate the sudden ending of a bright young life. Two bright young lives.
"But you said she was alive and well when the message was sent." Coati's father makes a last, confused protest.
"Sir, I said she was compos mentis and probably in her ship," the deputy reminds him.
"Thank the gods her mother didn't come here…"
"You can pinpoint the star she was headed for?" Exec asks Charts.
"Oh, yes. The B-K coordinates are good."
"Then, if nobody has a different idea, I suggest that it be appropriately named in the new ephemeris."
"Coati's Star," says Commo. People are rising to leave.
"And Syllobene," a quiet voice says. "Have we forgotten already?"
"Myr Cass, I think you may perhaps prefer to be alone for a moment," Exec tells him. "Anytime you wish to see me, I'll be at your service in my office."
"Thank you."
Exec leads his deputy out, and opts for a quiet lunch in their small private dining room. Added to the list of things that were on his mind before he entered the conference chamber to hear Coati's message are now the problem of when and how to contact the Eea; how to determine the degree of danger from their seeds or spores, in space near the promising GO suns; the Lost Colony question; whether to quarantine the area; and whether there is any chance of any seeds in FedBase itself from the earlier messages. Also, a sample of the chemical that Syllobene had immunized Coati with would seem to be a rather high priority. But behind all these practical thoughts, an image floats in his mind's eye, accompanied by the sound of a light young voice humming. It's the image in silhouette of two children — one Human, the other not — advancing steadfastly, hand in hand, toward an inferno of alien solar fire.
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