The Ship Who Sang

by Anne McCaffrey

  Fine time to feel sorry for Niall Parollan! She must keep firmly in mind that they wanted her very badly indeed, for some pretty substantial reasons, and they were going to have to pay for her.

  ‘I assume that the probability curve is high in my favor?’ she broke the silence to ask.

  Railly nodded.

  ‘As I mentioned,’ Dobrinon said quickly, ‘you are the most likely person to identify the immigrants if there is any trace of their previous personality in the Corviki entities.’

  ‘You don’t think there will be?’

  Dobrinon shrugged. ‘How can one gauge the depth of transfer with totally alien structure and psychology? As a human, I prefer to think some vestige of the humanoid remains. I recommend, however, that your initial contact be extremely brief. That is,’ he amended discreetly, ‘if you decide to undertake this mission. Under no circumstances would you be asked to jeopardize yourself in the search for others.’

  ‘The primary goal of the mission is to obtain the Corviki evaluation of the CV data,’ Breslaw spoke up. He glanced anxiously at Dobrinon, who shrugged his acquiescence to the priority.

  Oh, she had them now.

  ‘I should very much like to have that drive if it’s feasible,’ Helva said. Why on earth should Parollan flinch? Were they hiding something after all?

  ‘My personal faith in you has been vindicated,’ Railly declared, his usual jovial self.

  ‘But you’re going to have to agree to a few stipulations of mine or there is no point in proceeding further.’

  ‘You’ve never been unreasonable, Helva, and I do have authority to stretch a few regulations in your favor.’

  ‘You’d better listen to my conditions before you make any promises, Railly,’ Helva said drily. ‘I’m not about to mortgage my soul for 25 years or so, paying off 500,000 credits, on the supposition that the CV drive will be vetted by the Corviki and that I’ll resolve a few dangling traumas in the process.

  ‘This extension of my old contract will be void if the CV drive is not feasible. You can junk the modifications to my hull, I’ll pay for the cost of the alloy coating, and you’ll just have to write the rest off as experimental loss. That’s what it’ll be.’

  There was a hurried conference between Railly and Breslaw, with Railly reluctantly giving in to the engineer’s persuasions.

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Second, I can use my own judgement on the advisability of contacting the human immigrants on Corvi, with no penalty for not completing all phases of the planned mission.’

  ‘I think Dobrinon made that contingency clear.’

  ‘Third, the matter of a brawn partner . . .’

  ‘You have certainly proved that you can operate better without a brawn,’ Railly interrupted her, all cooperation. Parollan made an inarticulate sound in his throat. ‘You had something to say, Supervisor?’

  ‘May I finish?’ Helva demanded acidly. ‘Parollan, at least, is well aware of my continuous demands for a permanent brawn. I do not like to operate alone, I detest it.’

  ‘It would be most inadvisable,’ Dobrinon put in anxiously.

  ‘I will not undertake this mission at all without the brawn of my choice!’ she said, raising her voice above the others.

  ‘I heartily concur, Railly. This Corviki psyche exchange has tremendous emotional kickback. Parollan and I feel strongly . . .’ but when Dobrinon glanced toward the Supervisor for confirmation, he got no response at all and hurriedly continued, ‘. . . that it is imperative for Helva to be sustained by a strong, empathic brawn as a buffer to the trauma of the experience.’

  ‘The whole discussion can be terminated right now, Railly, if my conditions are not met. They are, as your experts agree, reasonable.’

  Railly acquiesced, but his smile had disappeared.

  ‘Good. My final condition also hinges on the success of the drive. You have set me 500,000 credits to pay off. Acceptable. However, with the CV utilizing the full potential of the f.t.l. drive, I will be able to get from here to there in next to no time at all. I’d be working my tail off for you. I hardly think the old scale of salary and bonuses would apply to the new level of mobility.’

  Railly began to protest, volubly, mentioning the possibility that Breslaw’s estimate of 500,000 was conservative, but he was willing to accept that fee.

  ‘Pure extortion,’ she interrupted him. ‘For that matter, am I expected to absorb the cost of any expensive adjustments that the Corviki might recommend? I’ve got to consider that, too, as well as service to a completely new power source. No, Railly, I’m sure that Double M and SPRIM might very well consider that the old rate of pay will need some adjustment upward to compensate for my increased efficiency.’

  ‘She’ll be the fastest thing in the galaxy,’ Breslaw said.

  ‘Whose side are you on, Breslaw?’

  ‘In this case, Helva’s,’ the engineer replied, unintimidated.

  ‘I’m only asking a reasonable one-third increase: surely not excessive for such a loyal employee of Central Worlds. I’m sure you’ll contrive to get your money’s worth out of me, if I know how you operate?’

  ‘How I operate?’ Railly swung around to glare pointedly at Parollan.

  ‘Parollan operates his section under your orders, Chief,’ Helva said, ‘and the dictates of expediency.’

  She was sorry she said it the moment the words were out. Parollan’s withdrawal was obvious to the others now. He – not the Chief – had initiated this project. He had neatly layered the odds against her refusing it. She couldn’t imagine what was wrong with him now. He had simply dropped out of the arguments, ignored the discussions, was totally immersed in that private struggle.

  She was sorry for him. She hated him. She needed him. And she was about to get him. She couldn’t beat him but she could join him.

  ‘Do you agree to my conditions, Railly, or don’t you? Take ’em or leave ’em.’

  Dobrinon and Breslaw added their entreaties and Helva didn’t really need to hear Railly’s growl of consent to know that he’d had no real alternative either.

  She’d say this for Railly, he was a good loser. For a long moment after he called the revisions in to the Base computer and made them official, he stood with his head down, staring at the pilot’s console. When he turned back, his face was impassive.

  ‘I was warned you might drive a stiff bargain, Helva.’ He flicked a glance at Parollan. ‘I didn’t think a BB ship would ever outguess me. But you’re goddamned right,’ he added, his eyes flashing, ‘when you say that I’ll work your tail off while you’re still a Central Worlds ship.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘Now, Breslaw’s going to want you at the maintenance docks to lay in the CV drive. You’ll retain all standard equipment until the Beta Corvi vet the new drive. And yes, that’s included in the 500,000. Dobrinon has a stack of results on his analysis of the Beta Corvi trauma for you to print into your banks.’

  ‘It’s as much Niall’s work as mine,’ Dobrinon said, again trying to draw the silent man into the discussion. ‘He had several astute correlations to make from the debriefing and psych tapes of the others on that mission that have helped my staff formulate such preliminary conclusions as we’ve been able to make.’

  ‘Yes, yes, Parollan’s very helpful,’ Railly muttered. ‘So there’s just the proper brawn left to be discussed. Right now . . .’

  ‘Hold it,’ Helva interrupted him. ‘I thought I made it clear that I will only undertake the Beta Corvi run with the partner of my choice. Whether that man continues after Beta Corvi is not at issue.’

  Railly turned to her, his eyes wary. ‘Yes, we’d agreed to that. But you also said you wanted a permanent brawn.’

  ‘I do. But I won’t go to Beta Corvi unless Parollan goes with me.’

  She ignored Railly’s explosive protest and the astonished exclamations and congratulations from Dobrinon and Breslaw. Her eyes, her mind, her being were focused on Niall.

  The wiry
little man turned, his eyes seeking the exact spot on the column parallel to her head.

  ‘This is a bad time for jokes, Helva.’

  ‘I’m not joking, m’boy.’

  ‘By all that’s holy, Parollan, Helva’s a genius,’ Dobrinon cried delightedly, clapping the unresisting shoulder. ‘And she’s called your bluff.’

  ‘Indeed she has. You’ve always boasted you could outbrawn any man in the Service,’ Railly said in a dry, cool voice. There’d been no vindictiveness in Helva’s nomination, but there was in Railly’s prompt ratification. ‘A little field work will make you a better supervisor.’

  ‘I think Helva can rectify that fluctuating gravity problem that bugged the test ship,’ Breslaw assured Parollan. ‘And there’s always the shockweb for added protection.’

  Abruptly they left. Niall Parollan remained, troubled and dazed, reacting not at all in any of the ways she could understand.

  ‘You’ve got to be joking, Helva,’ he said, his voice cracking despite an obvious effort to control himself.

  ‘Why? You know more about brawning than anyone in Service. You know the Corviki problem backward and forward, and you undoubtedly researched Breslaw’s equations thoroughly before . . .’

  ‘Of course I did,’ and the control was gone. His words tumbled out harsh and bitter. ‘Do you think I’d let you walk into something I hadn’t checked thoroughly? But I rigged this farce. I did! Not Railly. I talked him into it. And Breslaw and Dobrinon, too, once I saw the possibility of hooking you.’

  ‘That was obvious!’

  ‘You didn’t have a chance, Helva, because I knew every button to push on you and when. And I did, gods help me, I did!’

  ‘You are undoubtedly the most unscrupulous supervisor in the Service,’ she agreed, countering his scathing self-contempt with unruffled humor. ‘And that was a fardling underhanded trick you just served me.’

  ‘You’re not even listening to me, you stupid tinplated witch. Can’t you understand what I did to you? I made you stay in the Service!’

  ‘No. I elected to stay. On my conditions.’

  Niall stared wildly at her, his eyes dark with the conflict that was tearing him apart. All arrogance, all self-confidence had been stripped from him. This was too violent a reaction to finding himself momentarily outmaneuvered.

  ‘Your conditions? Your conditions! Now there’s another real fine example of cosmic justice,’ and he laughed hoarsely at an irony only he could see.

  ‘Maybe you’d better let me in on that joke, Niall. I could use a laugh, even if it’s on me.’

  There were tears in his eyes now and he held his clenched fists rigid against his thighs.

  ‘I rigged all this, Helva, because I, Niall Parollan, could not let you leave Central World Service. Oh, yes. I put every mission your way that would help you Pay-off. And when you actually had, I found I couldn’t tolerate the prospect. So I set up all those clever nardy ploys to keep you in. Only when I saw you reacting just as I’d planned you should, I knew I’d used my position for the most despicable act in a long series of clever, shrewd, despicable manipulations. And I couldn’t stop what I’d started. I couldn’t even think of a way to get you out of the mess. Then you – Helva – want me, Parollan, for your brawn.’ His laugh was a cry of anguish.

  ‘That doesn’t change my option, Parollan,’ she said forcefully. She had to override that horrible laughing. ‘I want you for brawn as selfishly as you want me in Service. And it’ll be safer to have you my brawn than my Supervisor. There isn’t much else for me to do anyway but stay with Central Worlds,’ she added in a gentler voice. ‘You did make it possible for me to stay on my terms, because they fardling well know that I’m the only ship to do this job. I want you as brawn, Niall Parollan, because you are clever, devious, despicable, unscrupulous, and demanding. Because you do know the right buttons to push on me. You’re not much on looks and size, but I’ve been that road. I’ll trust you to bring me back out of anything . . . even Beta Corvi.’

  ‘Trust me?’ It was a scream starting from his guts. His body was shaking with effort. ‘Why, you fool, you freak-out, half-grown, wirehaired retard of a romantic, tin-assed fool. You trust me? Don’t you realize that I know every single thing there is to know about you. I even had a chromosonal extrap made so I’d know what you look like. And I know the release syllables they coded into your panel not seven days ago! Trust me? I’m the last person you can trust. Choose me as brawn? God!’

  Helva was staggered by his disclosure. Parollan had a brawn fixation on her? She wanted to sing hallelujahs, she wanted to scream with rage. She was exalted and full of panic. But she knew what to do. She’d better. A brawn’s irrational desire to see the face of his ‘brain’ partner was scarcely uncommon when there was a deep emotional attachment between partners. It was usually thwarted by the difficulty of removing the access panel. If Niall had those guarded syllables . . .

  She had to deal with this fixation, one way or the other.

  ‘That’s why I can’t be your brawn, Helva,’ Niall said in a broken voice. ‘And don’t give me that assywarble about fixations are common and cured. I know the release syllables. And one day, it’d be too much for Niall boy. I’d have to open that coffin they’ve sealed you in. I’d have to look at your beautiful face, touch that god-lovely smile, and hold you . . .’

  He’d moved, fighting the drive of his body every inch, until he was eaglespread against her column, his cheek pressed against the cold metal, his fingertips white with the effort to penetrate the unyielding surface. One hand slid slowly toward the access panel. Yet his face was oddly clear, serene, almost happy, his eyes closed as if he already held her against him.

  ‘Then say the syllables,’ she cried passionately. ‘Open the panel, breach the shell, stare at my face and hold my twisted body. It would be better for me to die at your hands than remain an inviolate virgin without you!’

  With an inarticulate cry, he jumped back as if the metal had burned him. His face was contorted in a terrible grimace.

  ‘If you didn’t then, Niall, you never will,’ she said, keeping her voice gentle and soothing, suppressing the unexpected longing that threatened to rob her of sanity.

  ‘God, Helva. No!’

  He whirled, running to the lock, jamming down the controls on the lift. He jumped from it before it reached ground level, and disappeared into the Tower.

  And I can only wait, Helva thought bitterly. He’s got to make this decision himself. He’s got to want to come back because he’s sure he can trust himself. My implicit trust in him is irrelevant. He must be the initiator, the manipulator, the schemer.

  Why didn’t I slam the lock shut? Why didn’t I keep him here until he realized that he’s all right now – that the critical moment had come and gone? All his defenses had been down: He’ll never be that vulnerable again, either to himself or me. He’s got to see that when he gets himself under control.

  Surely he’ll be back soon, all arrogance, jaunty, swaggering with self-assurance. If the fixation is so deep, he’ll have to come back. He couldn’t stay away. Only – a Niall Parollan could . . . if one Niall Parollan decided that was what he had to do. He’s that kind of man. He can rationalize away all the deceitful, collusive, unprincipled things he does, dismiss them from his mind once they’d accomplished their purpose. But set him up against pressure on his deepest integrity, touch him in the core of reluctant goodness and honesty, and Niall Parollan could make the noble gesture, the uncharacteristic sacrificial act. And foul them both up for the rest of their lives!

  Should she call Railly? He’d act instanter. On what? Niall had gone into the Tower. To think, consider, decide; she sincerely hoped, to come back. After what they’d put Railly through, she’d better not roil him unnecessarily. Particularly against Niall.

  And Helva was stuck again, waiting, with her lock wide open and the lift ground level, immobilized.

  He’d said she was beautiful. When had he had an extrapolation made fr
om her chromosome pattern? It cost a fortune to make even a solido. Before Beta Corvi? Or at Borealis? Oh, gods, had he got hold of her medical records? No, that would have revolted a man with Niall’s predilection for the nubile. She felt like giggling; wasn’t she nubile, and young? Of course, the easy knowing way in which he inferred startling sexual prowess might be delusive. No, small men were often compensated for their lack of stature by another more generous endowment. And the appetite to fit. But her face was beautiful, he’d said. Even if it was only by way of an artificial extrapolation, it pleased her. He was unlikely to use that adjective lightly. She would have to be beautiful for him to say she was.

  The concept of being beautiful was both reassuring and disturbing. Shell-people were conditioned not to think of their personal appearance, never saw any repros of themselves. These, too, were high security secrets. Evidently nothing was secret or sacred to the determined. Niall had managed to get the new release syllables, supposedly known only to Chief Railly and hypno-locked in to that mind as an added precaution.

  She was beautiful. Niall had said so. Where was he?

  ‘Men have died, and worms have eaten them,

  But not for love.’

  She giggled unexpectedly at the ridiculous line that floated into her mind. Men had dared more for beauty, however, particularly beauty unattainable, than for any other single motivation.

  For legendary Helen’s beauty had Troy fallen. For the beauty of gold and gems others had risked life, superstition, and freedom. For the beauty of knowledge men had strained and died. For the beauty of a principle a host of fanatics of every moral persuasion had perished.

  She didn’t want Niall dying for her – beautiful or not. She wanted him at the pilot’s console!

  A channel opened.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What a charming welcome,’ a familiar voice replied.

  It was not Niall’s and her surge of relief died.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘What an insulting change, my dear.’