The Ship Who Sang

by Anne McCaffrey

  ‘Fardles,’ Helva said in unaccustomed profanity. The word echoed satisfactorily through the empty cabins. ‘I wonder if he stayed awake long enough to record my divorce.’

  She didn’t like to contemplate Niall’s remarks anent ditching Teron. She could practically hear his rasping voice reminding her that he’d tried to talk her out of Teron.

  ‘For a smart ship, you can be a dumb broad!’

  Well, it hadn’t been a complete disaster: she’d have that to counter Parollan’s scorn. In fact, if Teron hadn’t been such an irritating dolt, the Xixon creature would never have got into the main cabin; she and Teron wouldn’t have been overwhelmed and she wouldn’t have made enough in bonuses and rewards to Pay-off so soon.

  That was such a comforting thought. To accomplish Pay-off so early on in her career; to reach the goal all BB ships dreamed of. So, now what? She needed a brawn, one of her exceeding careful choice, and she needed another goal, a point, a destination. Maybe one would supply the other. Or vice versa?’

  ‘I could go to the Horsehead Nebula,’ she said aloud for the sound of it.

  And the sound triggered a carefully suppressed memory: Jennan leaning against the console, grinning at her, his eyes alight with affection and humor . . .

  ‘If they ever take us off the milkruns, we’ll make a stab at the Nebula, huh?’

  She was off the milkruns, but Jennan lay dead in Regulus Base cemetery, all their wild, happy schemes entombed with him. The challenge of such a flight, unaccompanied, was as empty as her ship self.

  Horsehead Nebula, indeed! To divert her trend of thought, she ran a rapid calculation. Oh, she could make it, for all her present material dependence on man. Her pile was fresh, though she wished someone would rattle a few brains and develop an energy source that would utilize the full potential of the f.t.l. principle. It was like having two high gears in a powerful ground car that couldn’t be used because they’d burn up all available fuel in a few milliseconds. As it was, she could reach the Horsehead . . . in a 100 standard years, at her present top speed.

  And then what? You needed someone to celebrate a victory with, to extol a notable achievement, or any triumph was empty. If there was no goad to progress, advance was sterile. You needed a goal, or there was no point to anything.

  Now Helva could understand why older class ships suddenly opted out for no discernible reason. And she wondered why Pay-off had seemed so enviable a state. Here she was. And where was she? Shell-people like Amon and Treel, so determined to get here, would never believe that it was the act of paying off that really mattered.

  The ship-to-ship band bleeped through her gloomy reflections.

  ‘Helva, this is 422!’

  ‘Silvia!’

  ‘From you I’ll accept the name. Rumor is that you’ve reached Pay-off.’

  ‘According to my computations I have!’

  ‘What’s the matter with you, then? That’s not the end of the world. It’s the beginning.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘Say, that Borealis sense-deprivation hit you hard.’

  ‘No, no, really. I’m all right. I just don’t like solitude.’

  ‘You don’t appreciate being well off,’ Silvia went on in her cynical way. ‘I’d’ve thought you’d be glad to be rid of that asinine Teron. He reminded me so much of that half-lobed . . . well, never mind him. Helva, you’re going to have to watch your step. You’ve Paid-off in less than 10 standard years. That’s too soon. Much too soon for Central Worlds to be willing to let you off their hook.’

  ‘I’m not so sure I’m off,’ Helva replied.

  ‘What do you mean? Listen,’ and Silvia’s voice sounded fierce, ‘if there’s any funny taping on you, you call in the Mutant Monitors or the Society for the Preservation of the Rights of Intelligent Minorities. That’d be Amiking and Rocco on Regulus. Amiking’s SPRIM, got the fancy uniform but it’s Rocco who has the brains. You get them in on any discussions. Demand a recalculation of all costs from the day they shelled you out of your cradle.’

  ‘Silvia, there’s not going to be any trouble about the Pay-off figures. I’m clear. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Then what’s the problem?’

  ‘What do I do now?’

  Silvia spluttered for a moment. ‘Don’t you realize,’ she demanded angrily, ‘that industrial complexes, not to mention planetary unions, will pay you any figure you name? For any time you’ll spare them? Of course, you do have to watch yourself with private industry. They play dirty. Before you touch down at Regulus, you call Broley. A city shell-person always knows who’s ready to bid and who you can trust. Particularly Broley. He’ll get you a good contract!’

  ‘And a good brawn?’

  ‘Are you on that wheeze again, Helva?’ Silvia was disgusted. ‘Change around. Grab the kind of technician you need for an assignment, then drop him. I’d’ve thought you’d had quite enough brawns for a while.’

  ‘Quite enough brawns, yes. I just want one who’ll stay a while. If only Jennan . . .’

  ‘If only . . . “If” converts no energy and has no credit. You don’t seem to realize, Helva, you’re a top BB ship. You’ll have brawns begging to board you. Take your pick. Sure, you and Jennan made a fine team. His death was a piece of rotten luck. But he is dead. Let him rest in peace. Find yourself another guy, someone up to your calibre: not another blunt-brained bastard like the one you shouted off your deck.’

  Helva was startled that Silvia had already heard about that.

  ‘And if you’ve got to have a partner, grab one young, train him up right. The Academy ruins more than it improves. You ought to know by now what you don’t want in a partner. Teach him what he ought to know. Don’t wait for the impossible! Engineer it. And look out for Railly’s conniving. He’s going to try to keep you on the roster or I haven’t been around this Service for 400 years.’

  ‘Why have you been around for 400 years, Silvia?’

  There was such a long silence Helva wondered if they’d gone beyond contact range.

  ‘I don’t ask myself that any more, Helva, I used to when I was your age and Pay-off seemed close. Then we ran afoul of a meteor swarm off Saadalsund and . . . well, there’s usually something interesting to do for Central Worlds. I’ve had good partners and bad ones, too.’ Her voice wavered now from attenuation. ‘Be careful, Helva. Don’t sell yourself cheap.’

  The contact broke then but the comfort of Silvia’s astringent concern overshadowed the substance of her warning for a time.

  To reassure herself, Helva ran through the computations again, starting with the fearful debts of her early infancy and childhood. The pituitary adjustments so that her body would not outgrow the final capsule and the delicate brain surgery that made Helva the ship had been, as always, expensive. However, since there could be no ‘slaves’ or ‘indentured’ servants within Central Worlds Autonomy, committees and organizations of dedicated citizens decreed that a salary scale, a bonus-and-awards system, should provide incentive and remuneration for shell people in every occupation.

  Now Helva could see that the subtle, massive conditioning she’d received in her formative years was double-edged. It made her happy as a shell-person, it had dedicated her to her life in Service, and it made Pay-off a mockery. What else could a BB ship do but continue as she had started . . . in Service? The same must apply to shell people trained to manage ships, mining planets or industrial complexes. And yet there was compensation.

  The memory of Jennan rose to plague her again – to plague and console. Those had been marvelous years; short but full of a glowing wonder of self-discovery and joint exploration. They’d been eager for the challenge of each new mission to be faced together. They’d taken a perverse pride in her sobriquet. And Jennan had had to defend them both against the ridicule of other brawns until the JH-834 had been admired and respected as the Ship Who Sang. Jennan had been unique. But surely there would be another man with other qualities to recommend him.

  She wondered
if she had unconsciously chosen Teron because he had been the antithesis of her first brawn. Well, Silvia was right: she ought to find a reasonable compromise, train him up as a proper brawn. Train him up to consider her a person, not a ship or an emotionally responsive computer.

  She was Paid-off. She could take time to look around, to let Broley find a reliable, independent contract. Idly she wondered how long it had taken the FG-602 to contract with the Alpeccan Confederacy. He’d Paid-off just before her birth. She’d met him once with Jennan, but both he and his partner affected an amused, detached superciliousness that had been offensive.

  She could, she supposed, broadcast an advertisement right now. She began to feel better. Action, that was what she’d needed. But perhaps it would be smarter to report into Regulus Base, make sure all was in order. It was only sensible to keep on good terms with Central Worlds. She’d need their technicians and maintenance sheds for any overhauls.

  She found she had slowed somewhat and added thrust, confidently speeding back to Regulus. She began to cast up a list of qualities that she wanted in a partner, and the traits to avoid. So pleasant were her meditations that it seemed no time at all before she had to request landing instructions from Cencom.

  ‘Why, Helva, as I live and breathe,’ Niall Parollan answered her.

  ‘Catch up on your beauty sleep?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘Both?’

  ‘Caught up with beauty and sleep!’

  ‘She didn’t mind your snoring?’

  ‘They were too exhausted to hear and much too grateful to comment, m’gal.’

  ‘I am not your gal.’

  ‘The endearment is considered an accolade by many.’

  ‘How do you arrange that delusion?’

  Niall chuckled maliciously. ‘I pick my partners carefully, not just for the symmetry of their features and the density of their skulls.’

  ‘All right, Parollan. You’ve counted coup. By the way, I trust you stayed awake long enough to register Teron’s dismissal?’

  ‘Oh, yes, and took even greater pleasure in posting the penalty to your account.’

  ‘I can afford it.’

  ‘I know,’ and there was an unexpected grimness in his voice. ‘Put your lazy tail down on Pad No 3, Administrative Landing. An official welcoming committee has been waiting for you.’

  ‘You mean, an emancipation delegation.’

  Cencom was silent.

  Well, she’d got off lightly at Parollan’s hands. She’d miss him. His caustic manner had been stimulating, and whatever his motives, he had been there at the end of the tight beam. Independence would have its own compensations. Wouldn’t it?

  As she jockeyed with finicky precision onto the No 3 pad, she experienced another jolt of uncertainty. Every conscious hour of the last 10 years had been devoted to Central Worlds. She had ‘belonged’ in that Service and had not been aware of her indebtedness to them. Well, she was just going to have to make some drastic reorientations in her thinking. Change was necessary to growth and maturity.

  She was about to send a peremptory signal to Cencom to get a move on when she saw the group emerging from the Base Tower. Niall Parollan was dwarfed by the other three tall men. She recognized the burly figure of Chief Railly: fitting and due her achievement. The other two men she identified as Commander Breslaw of Engineering and Admiral Dobrinon of Xeno Relations. This wasn’t a standard graduation line-up. Silvia might be right about Central not letting her off their hook. She ought to have called Double M or SPRIM. Or Broley. She could hardly blast off now. She’d fry the quartet of notables.

  So she lowered the passenger lift and cannily turned up her audio units. However, none of the visitors made any comments until they reached the lock. Then they only played the precedence routine.

  However, after Niall Parollan had politely ushered the Chief from the lift, he stared at Helva’s column with a definitely possessive air. As he stepped into the lock and tossed off the customary salute, it was as if he had proclaimed her his exclusive property.

  His audacity staggered her. It wasn’t Railly she must guard against: it was this liter-sized, heavy-world machiavelli, Parollan!

  Dobrinon noticed the Supervisor’s salute.

  ‘Gentlemen, our manners,’ and, bringing his boot-heels smartly together, he accorded her the proper ceremony.

  Service had such archaic traditions, Helva mused; like saluting a ship on boarding. Or did they salute her as a ranking officer? Probably not. Salutes between persons had to be reciprocal. She’d train her new brawn to salute. Sentimental about the Service?

  ‘And our profound gratitude, Helva,’ Chief Railly was saying, holding his own salute an overlong moment. ‘Your superb courage and resourcefulness at Borealis are already Service legends. A triumph of mind over immobility. We’re proud, very proud, to have had you on our roster.’

  Helva caught the past tense and wondered again at Parollan’s attitude.

  ‘You know Dobrinon of Xeno and Breslaw of Engineering, of course,’ the Chief went on, so smoothly passing by the adroit admission that Helva wondered if she had heard aright. And why were these two here if she were, by tacit admission, an independent.

  ‘Yes, we’ve met,’ she admitted so drily the Chief chuckled.

  He gestured for the others to take seats, his deference of moments before giving way to the next order of business. Helva scanned the delegation warily. Parollan gave her a quick, sideways grin before he settled himself on the couch, one arm draped negligently along the back.

  ‘As if he meant to stay a while,’ Helva thought sourly.

  ‘I don’t know if the directive reached you in transit, Helva,’ the Chief said, ‘but those audiovisual modifications you suggested are going to be built into every new shell. Never again will one of our people have to suffer sense-deprivation. Can’t imagine why such a contingency wasn’t provided for long ago.’

  Breslaw cleared his throat and pulled at his left ear, managing not to look at anyone as he replied. ‘Units exist in prematuring shells, Railly, and used to be transferred at final encapsulation of ship-designated personnel until the 4th Class. In that century, modifications to the inner shell made direct linkage to the ship’s facilities and seemed to make an auxiliary system redundant.’

  Railly frowned. ‘Sometimes these apparent archaic traditions passed along in Service do have their place in our modem context.’

  ‘Unfortunately, the shell people kidnapped by Xixon were all of later classes.’

  ‘Yes, indeed, that was unfortunate, Breslaw. In your case, Helva,’ the Chief went on briskly, ‘there will be no charge for the modification. That puts you right close to Pay-off . . .’ he held up his hand, smiling benignly as Helva started to interrupt, ‘. . . probably over and to spare. I think there’s no question that you’ll get full finders’ fee and the reward for the apprehension of federal offenders. That comes in from Central Bureau of the Federation.’ Railly had taken to pacing the length of the cabin. Helva couldn’t decide if he had a guilty conscience or was gathering mental take-off speed. In either case it augured ill for her.

  ‘Therefore, Helva, Regulus Base must consider you a free agent,’ he announced in stentorous tones, smiling again to contradict apparent reluctance. ‘We’re proud of your record, Helva. Very proud.’ He dropped his voice to a confidential aside. ‘All space-drek to the contrary, we wish all the BB ships could perform at such efficiency and remove themselves from our fiscal autonomy. Be quite an achievement to run the Service in the black. However, pending the confirmation of those rewards, Regulus Base is required to consider you unavailable for a new assignment of any duration.’

  ‘And you had one in mind for me.’

  ‘Yes, we did have one in mind,’ Railly admitted with twinkling eyes and the paternal smile. He glanced expectantly toward Parollan.

  ‘Rather pointless to waste your valuable time, Chief, discussing it then, isn’t it?’ Helva asked just as Parollan got to his feet.


  ‘Why, I don’t think the Chief would ever consider you a waste of his time, Helva,’ Parollan said, his eyes mocking, challenging her. ‘Of course, if you’ve made other plans on the way back from Borealis, it was real courteous of you to check in here and say goodbye.’ He turned on his heel and started purposefully for the lock. ‘Drop in again some time.’

  ‘Just a minute, Parollan,’ Railly said.

  The Chief managed to control his expression but Breslaw looked close to panic and Dobrinon’s smile had frozen in alarm. Whatever they had had in mind for her must be mighty big. She didn’t trust any ploy of Parollan’s but these other two were keen, solid, honorable specialists. It wouldn’t hurt to listen.

  Parollan got to the lock, turned to give her a hearty wave.

  ‘Parollan!’

  He halted, hand on the left rail, his face expressing only polite attention. He wasn’t giving anything away.

  ‘What had you cooked up, Parollan?’

  ‘I? I’d cooked up nothing.’

  Helva ignored Dobrinon’s startled exclamation.

  ‘We had,’ Parollan admitted after a glance at the Chief, ‘discussed another assignment for the TH-834 after that spectacular drug-run. Naturally that mission has been aborted due to circumstances beyond our control.’

  Helva chuckled to herself. He hadn’t let her off lightly on the matter of Teron after all. He’d needle her for the next 25 years for that mistake . . .

  ‘As a matter of purely academic interest – until those rewards are posted to me – would you deign to discuss this aborted mission?’

  ‘No harm in discussing it, certainly,’ he agreed as he sauntered back into the cabin, ‘while we wait for confirmation from Federation.’ He settled his wiry body into a comfortable position before he continued. ‘It had originally been planned to assign the TH-834 to the projected Beta Corvi mission.’

  ‘Beta Corvi?’ Helva suppressed the flicker of alarm. Then she laughed out loud. ‘Teron of Acthion in a Corviki shell, coping with the environment?’