Nimisha's Ship (19 page)

“You’re supposed to chew your food, not swallow it whole,” Timmy said, frowning.

“They caught that facial change fast, didn’t they?” Nimisha said as both aliens stopped eating, their bodies tense.

“Smile, Tim,” Jon said.

“I didn’t scare them, did I?”

“I don’t think so. They’re eating again.”

“They must be starved,” Timmy said. His offerings were all gone and the water drained from the glasses. “What do I do now? Fill the glasses?”

“Hold out your hand and then gesture to the table, showing them they can leave the medic unit,” Jon said. “Smile.”

“They’re not smiling back,” Timmy said, but he was urgently pantomiming what he wanted them to do.

There was a low-voiced exchange of sounds before Ay pushed itself forward and slid off the unit, landing lightly on its feet with knees bent, ready to move.

“No, it’s all right, come along. It’s much easier for you to take what you want,” Timmy said with expansive and explanatory gestures.

“He’s good at this,” Nimisha said in a low voice to Syrona.

“We used to do playacting at nights or during long storms,” Casper said. “Passed time, and it was amazing how much dialogue we could remember from plays we’d seen a long time ago.”

“In bits and pieces,” Jon added, also keeping his voice low.

Slowly, and with Timmy encouraging them every step, the aliens made their way to the table, clutching their glasses against their squarish torsos. Timmy pointed at the glasses, patted the table, and picked up the pitcher.

“You put ’em down and I’ll pour. We might spill otherwise. Ever used a pitcher before? Yes, that’s right, put the glass down, Ay. You’re Ay, and you’re Bee. I’m Tee.” And Timmy started to giggle at his wit. Both aliens reacted, taking two quick backward steps before they realized Timmy’s unusual noise was not harmful. “I’m pouring, I’m pouring you water,” he said, hastily putting action to words. Then he stepped back and glanced over at the adults watching him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve laughed like that, should I?”

As the aliens were far more needful of water than concerned about his odd noises, they were quick to take possession of and drain both glasses quickly. They replaced the glasses on the table and turned meaningfully toward him.

“I get the message,” he said, cutting off another giggle as he refilled. “What about some more of this nice bread?” he asked, passing the plate from one to the other.

As daintily as if they were at a proper tea in Lady Rezalla’s salon, they used one finger and the opposing thumb to lift a slice from the plate.

“We got some fish, too,” Timmy said. Then he regarded his mother. “I can eat it with my fingers this time?” When she nodded, he pinched a portion of the cooked white flesh and, tipping his head, dropped the morsel down his throat.

Ay and Bee watched, their jaws dropping slightly open. Their eyes glittered. Then they relaxed and continued eating bread. Ay approached the fish, and its sniffing was quite audible, the vents of the vertical slit visibly fluttering. So quick was its pincer-like motion that the piece of fish was in its mouth before the humans caught the transfer. Then it turned slightly toward Bee and pointed to the fish. They both set about snatching pieces, alternating bites of fish, bread, and greens until they cleared all that had been set out for them.

“You were hungry and thirsty, weren’t you?” Timmy said.

Syrona covered her mouth, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

“You’ve said that a time or two, I guess,” Nimisha commented to Syrona.

“A time or two.”

Having fed themselves, Ay and Bee now regarded Timmy. The observers could see that they were no longer as tense as they had been. They were, she thought, seeing the almost imperceptible movements of their head, and the flick of their digits, assessing their current surroundings and the inhabitants.

“Now what do we do?” Timmy asked the adults, raising his hands, palms upward in query.

Immediately the aliens assumed a similar position. “Good question, Timmy. Why don’t you sit down on the floor and see what happens?” Jon suggested quietly.

The aliens’ heads moved slightly, indicating they knew where the voice came from.

“So.” Timmy crossed his legs and sat down.

The aliens leaned slightly forward and turned to each other; Ay made a sound and Bee lifted one shoulder, but both settled down cross-legged, too.

“Their knees are funny,” Timmy said, but he kept his expression bland.

“Now, Tim, point to yourself and say your name.”

“Timmy or Tee?”

“I told you that boy’s a born comedian,” Casper murmured.

“He’s the best one at charades, certainly,” Syrona replied in the same careful tone.

“Timmy! Tee!” said the boy and then, without a cue from Jon, he pointed to Ay and cocked his head, eyebrows set at an inquiring level. When there was no immediate response, he leaned toward them, cupping a hand behind his ear.

“They don’t seem to have ears, Timmy. That gesture may not be understood.”

“Tee! Timmy,” he repeated, pointing to himself and then at each of the aliens in turn.

Ay said a sound.

Bee said a sound.

Timmy shook his head.

“Any ideas, Helm?” Nimisha asked softly.

“A liquid noise, neither vowel nor diphthong,” Helm replied. “I have not heard sufficient of their sounds to replicate them.”

“Tee. Timmy!”

“TTT,” Ay said, stuttering out the consonant but unable to complete the “ee” sound.

“Hey, that’s great!” Timmy said, clapping his hands. This startled the two, who reared back away from him. “Ooops!” he said in dismay, hunching his shoulders and clapping fingers to his mouth.

“Oooo!” repeated both aliens at once, turning to each other as if both pleased with his word and their repetition.

“Try more vowels, Timmy.”

“Vowels?” Timmy turned for an explanation.

“A, e, i, o, u,” his mother replied.

“Ay is what we named him.”

“AAAA,” Ay echoed politely.

“Bee?” Timmy said, pointing to Bee.

“EEEE,” Bee said.

“We’re going to have to change their names,” Timmy suggested.

“Try ‘I’ . . .”

The vowels were easier for the aliens to manage and they went through the five.

“Open your mouth enough, Timmy,” Jon suggested, “so they can see how you make the Tee sound.”

Timmy did so, grimacing and showing his teeth, his lips peeled back as far as possible. The boy kept on, and the aliens seemed to be trying to enunciate what they heard.

“I have turned to a wider frequency band, ma’am,” Helm said in a quiet voice. “Human aural equipment is not adequate to hear all the sounds they do make. I have tracked their voices up to fifty kilohertz, far beyond what humans are capable of, and nearly the limit of my receptors. Also, there are some glottal stops, fricatives, and labials that do not register properly. In their own voices, they are approximating the sounds Tim makes.”

At just that point, Timmy threw both arms up in the air in total frustration and exasperation. “I give up. Can’t we do something else?” he asked, turning toward the adults.

“Yes, why don’t you show them around the ship, Tim?” Nimisha suggested.

“Great!” Timmy leaped so quickly to his feet that the aliens, surprised, slid backward from him with great agility and speed. “Aw, sorry. I keep forgetting. It’s all right. Get up—” He made appropriate gestures. “—and I’ll show you the ship.”

“Ooo uuu t eep,” Ay said, peeling its lips back in an effort to emulate Tim’s exaggerated pronunciation.

“Let’s give that alien a high score for trying,” Jon said in a whimsical tone.

“Helm,” Nimisha said in a low voice, speaking over her shoulder toward the bridge, “keep on recording at the necessary frequencies and see if they speak to each other while Timmy’s showing them around.”

Timmy was leading the way now, chatting all the time. The aliens were a good head taller than he was. They walked with a very smooth gait though they were slightly knock-kneed.

“So what do we do now?” Syrona asked when the trio was out of earshot. “We’ve doctored, watered, and fed them and—”

“I’d say we take them back where we got them,” Jon said, looking at Nimisha, who nodded agreement as did Casper and Syrona. “Showing good faith . . .”

“As well as giving Helm time to parse their language,” Nimisha added. She peered out the front screen. “We’ve enough daylight left, I think, to bring them back before any of the nocturnal predators you told me about emerge from their lairs.”

“Let’s see if we can arrange another meeting with them in . . . say, two days’ time?” Jon went on, checking with each of the others.

“Sounds good to me.”

“Tim’ll need the break,” Syrona said, but she was obviously delighted at her son’s performance. “I didn’t think he’d be able to do so well.”

“He did a great job,” Casper said.

“Still is,” Jon added, for Timmy’s voice could be plainly heard. “He hasn’t had much chance to . . . socialize. Only barely remembers the others.”

Nimisha thought of the society into which her daughter had been reared, with all its restrictions and traditions. “I don’t think Tim has suffered any neglect you could have avoided. I’m a parent, too, you know.”

Syrona blinked. “No, I didn’t realize.”

Nimisha laughed. “The subject never came up. Cuiva should be just over twelve now. My mother has her in keeping—” She stopped speaking for a moment, gave a little sniff, and went on. “We’ll have to get Timmy to do the pantomiming.”

“Is there a chance the aliens will think he’s in charge?” Syrona asked, startling herself at the notion.

“Not when they both see us handling the gig on its return, with Timmy safely belted in a passenger seat,” Jon said with a grin.

Being escorted with Timmy to the gig after they had toured the Fiver did not surprise Ay and Bee. They did not resist when they were belted into seats just as they had seen Tim do. On the other hand, their ship awed Tim when he saw it.

“Looks like a gigantic bird—nicer than the ones that dive-bomb you, though. Ah, its head got broke.”

Jon had explained to Timmy what he wanted to communicate to the aliens. Timmy did a good job, pointing to the setting sun in the west and then to the east, making a circle with his hands and passing it twice around the sky. Ay nodded, with Bee as quick in comprehension.

“Two days. We meet. Here. Your people . . .” Tim swung his finger to indicate the adults.

That caused Ay and Bee to communicate with each other with oo’s and uu’s and other unheard noises. Then they both nodded.

Bee took a half step forward, bending at its midsection, and raising a glass to its lips with one hand, and then miming food in the other that it chewed lustily.

“I getcha,” Timmy said, clapping his hands. Again the reflex action of the two aliens was to recoil from the noise. “Does it hurt their ears or something?” he asked Jon.

“Could be. They hear in a different range than we do.”

“Oh.” It took a moment for Timmy to digest that information. “Like the whistlers?”

“Like them.” Jon nodded. “He’s referring to a flier we’ve encountered, not as large as some, but when it dives it emits a whistle. Only if you hear it, it’s homing in on you and you’d better find cover fast. We think the noise is used to paralyze some of the indigenous creatures.” He turned to the aliens and mimed drinking and eating.

Neither Ay nor Bee moved as the others went back to the gig.

“You better move back,” Timmy said, leaning out of the hatch and flipping his hands at them.

“I’ll take off vertically, Tim,” Jon said from the pilot’s seat. “Don’t worry.”

Timmy watched the two figures, who braced themselves against the slight wind of uplift, as long as he could on the rearview screen. Then he took a seat and very shortly was fast asleep.

“Hard day’s work when you’re only six,” Casper said with great pride and affection.

VI

T
HERE WERE TWO
malicious attempts to injure Lady Cuiva, so clumsy that Lady Rezalla was outraged: How could anyone think a message bomb or a poisoned plant sent to her granddaughter would reach its intended victim?

The Residence Manager had, in any case, been programmed to investigate any package or hand-delivered formal invitation sent to the House. The RM detected the dangerous message immediately and disarmed it. The RM then informed Lady Rezalla, the Acclarkian Peace Guardians, and Commander Caleb Rustin of the incident.

The message folder was similar to any of hundreds manufactured on the planet; when opened, it was set to detonate an explosive.

“For a younger child,” the APG said, examining the now-impotent device, “it would have caused serious injuries. Your granddaughter would have sustained only minimal damage.”

“
That
,” Lady Rezalla said scornfully, “is not much comfort. I want the perpetrators caught and punished to the full extent of the law.”

“Dear lady,” the APG said, ruefully shaking his head. He had been chosen for this assignment because he knew First Family protocol and how to deal with indignant members of that society. “We shall certainly do our best to arrest the perpetrators. But, in fact, this,” and he jiggled the disarmed message envelope, “was useless as well as stupidly contrived since, obviously, your granddaughter’s age and size were ignored. I do, however, respectfully suggest that this House go on an alert status against subsequent invasions of its privacy and/or the causing of injury or distress to its residents. I shall instruct the patrols that they should keep an especial watch on your House, Lady Rezalla.”

She repeated her first demand in an even more disapproving manner, which he took with the grace for which he was noted.

“Be assured, Lady Rezalla, that my department does not treat this matter lightly. The Peace Guardians consider the protection of members of Acclarke’s illustrious First Families the most important aspect of their many duties. May I comment on your wisdom in employing Perdimia Ejallos as Lady Cuiva’s constant companion.”

Lady Rezalla regarded him with an expression of displeased surprise.

“Oh, yes, Lady Rezalla, we have already investigated the young woman’s background and family. She will guard her charge with her life.”

“That’s what she’s been employed to do.”

Commander Rustin’s response was to rig about the House the most sensitive alarm system the Vegan Fleet possessed. He got permission to install a repeller shield in the ground vehicle that was generally used by Lady Rezalla, Cuiva, and Perdimia for their social activities and other excursions. He presented both Lady Cuiva and Perdimia with a top-secret personal alarm. His presentation was as offhand as he could manage, considering the necessity for keeping Cuiva ignorant of the malicious message.

“Cuiva, I’ve a little gift for you today,” he said, displaying the golden band in its velvet case.

“A Coskanito?” Lady Cuiva exclaimed, noticing the name discreetly printed in gold on the cover. “Oh!” she cried, examining the delicate bracelet within.

Coskanito was not only the maker of the special body-heir Necklaces for the First Families but also of elegant adornments with unusual, hidden facets. This bracelet, which fastened snugly around the wrist, immediately detected any increase in pulse, consonant with its wearer’s alarm or excitement. Perdimia recognized what it was instantly but connived with the commander to exclaim over its charm so that Cuiva would not realize she was wearing a personal alarm. Contained in the circuitry was a homing device, so that Cuiva’s location could be traced anywhere on Vega III.

When the commander later, and privately, gave Perdimia a silver bracelet from the same maker, she was both pleased and even more concerned.

“You don’t think . . .”

“That Lord Vestrin will try again? I certainly do, Perdimia,” Caleb said. “He’s known to be a vindictive sort.”

“I’d look to his dam more than him, sir,” Perdimia said, her expression angry.

“Vescuya?” he asked. Perdimia nodded. “That’s a point. Especially since it is Lord Vestrin who has seen Cuiva whereas I doubt his dam has.”

He took that suggestion more seriously when the second attempt was made: An exotic flowering plant was sent by an “unknown admirer” after Lady Cuiva’s appearance—well guarded—at the ballet. The leaves of the plant had been coated with a contact poison, and the blooms had been treated with a dust that would have badly affected the lungs of anyone sniffing the fragrant blossom. The RM had detected the poison and reported it.

“Poison is generally a woman’s choice,” Lady Rezalla remarked, circling the dangerous plant on the table where it had been set until the AGP could arrive.

“Would Lady Vescuya . . .” Commander Rustin said. He had been close enough to answer the RM’s emergency pulse in moments. He had not mentioned to anyone that he had, in fact, taken new quarters in a nearby building where a naval security unit had been set up for permanent surveillance of the Boynton-Chonderlee Compound.

“Lady Vescuya most certainly would,” Lady Rezalla said scathingly. “A worm of a woman. Can’t figure out why dear Ti ever consorted with her, except she had quite a talent for attracting the opposite sex. Cultivated it into an art. Can’t stand any member of her own sex. Nor we her, for that matter. That would explain why the letter bomb was so ineffective. She never bothered to check how old Nimisha’s body-heir is! Stupid woman! Ineffectual! I’ve always suspected that she isn’t full-blooded First Family. There are certain standards that all of us,”—she placed her hand gracefully on her chest—“keep no matter what the provocation.”

“Provocation?” the commander repeated.

She looked down her elegant nose at him despite his superior height. “I have been tempted occasionally, Commander, when events have seriously tried my patience. I consider it my duty, however, to adhere to the strictures and disciplines of my lineage. Make no doubt of that!”

“I do not, Lady Rezalla, I fervently assure you.” He bowed low in apology for any unintentional affront to her dignity.

Cuiva never knew of the existence of this dangerous gift. The AGP, now attached as additional protection for the Boynton-Chonderlee Compound, took the plant away for forensic analysis. The RM had of course taped the delivery; the tape showed a man wearing the livery of a well-known courier agency. When the agency representatives were shown the tape, they said the person was not employed by them and was illegally using their livery. They opened their personnel files to prove their point. They were horrified and promised to do all possible to protect the Boynton-Farquahar body-heir. The other courier firms were put on alert, just in case their agency was misused for a similar errand.

The day after the plant’s delivery, a third untoward event occurred in the space adjacent to the Rondymense Ship Yard. An old freighter hulk, ostensibly bound for the supply dock, suddenly started its engines, its trajectory inexorably making for the gantry around the Fiver B; a trajectory that could not be random, since the gantry was nowhere close to the main supply station. When there was no response to the Navy’s first hail and warning to sheer off, the naval yard defensive batteries blasted its engines and it was intercepted by a high-speed tug before it reached the Fiver’s vicinity. The tug deployed a strong netting material around the hulk and gently braked it to a stop. When it was boarded, after very careful remote scrutiny, it was found that it had been carrying considerable explosive material, surrounded by scrap metal to make it a giant shrapnel shell. The experts deduced from the installation of the explosive and the detonating device—which was set to explode on a sudden deceleration, such as might be caused by contact at high relative velocity with another object—that had it come any closer to the Ship Yard it could have easily caused significant damage, not so much from the explosion itself as from the fragments propelled from the point of detonation by the explosives.

“To my mind, that is just a further example of their ineffectuality,” Caleb told the admiral when they discussed the matter with the Fleet Security staff.

“
Their?
” the admiral repeated. “Is this a gang? I thought you said you were certain that the Rondymense body-heir was behind the attempts on the child.”

“I do, but I think his womb-mother is as deeply involved.”

The admiral stared angrily at the commander. “First Families are supposed to be above such antics. Especially someone with an FF tattoo. If they have aggressions, they can dissipate them on the hunting preserves set up for that purpose. But to attack humans! And a child at that. Revolting!”

Caleb Rustin and the others in the room murmured agreement.

“Proof of such aggression will have to be without the shadow of a doubt, you know,” the admiral said sternly.

“If they are as stupid as these three attempts indicate,” Caleb remarked, “they are likely to give themselves away in an irretrievable fashion.”

He looked over to the Security chief, who was there to report on the investigations of how, or why, a derelict freighter had been in that vicinity and illegally packed with explosives. Lt. Commander Barney Bellpage stood and flashed images on the main screen of the admiral’s ready room.

“We’ve traced the freighter, which was bought from the scrapyard for far more than it was worth by an unknown using untraceable pay-bearer credit chits,” he reported. The subject freighter was seen hanging amid the remnants that infested the area. “The freighter was towed, part of the purchase fee, to coordinates and left there. Beyond any surveillance drones, naturally.”

“Naturally,” the admiral said drily and waved at the commander to continue.

“With so many private and public fields available to the perpetrators, we are slowly sifting through arrivals and departures, and the APG is tracing the supplier of the explosive material. Unfortunately it is a readily available commercial product for construction contractors. We are also checking the construction firms to see if any quantities of explosives in their inventories have suddenly disappeared.

“Unfortunately, that takes time,” the commander went on sourly, “but we should have some leads shortly. The APG is also tracing unusual deposits in credit accounts of some of the less respectable traders in such substances. They are quite upset about the attempts to harm a body-heir, and one not even of her minor majority. As they are well aware of the penalties for being accessories to such a heinous crime, they are assisting our efforts. They suggest, most respectfully, that the explosives might have originated off-planet.”

Looks were exchanged among those in the office: they all knew that both Lady Vescuya and Lord Vestrin had been off-planet for some time.

“No matter, we merely extend the search,” the admiral said, bringing one fist down on the table to emphasize his resolution. He turned toward Caleb Rustin. “How soon will Five B be ready for space? The safest place for that child is on her and out of this system.”

Caleb was speechless for a moment. That solution to Cuiva’s safety had never occurred to him. She was far too young to be an asset to a search party, even if its object was finding her mother. Certainly accompanying the search would remove her from harm’s way. Could Lady Rezalla be persuaded to such a course? She doted on her granddaughter.

“APG is aware of our suspicions as to the source of these attempts,” he began.

The admiral snorted. “And can do nothing without absolute, airtight proof that a First Family scion would dare harm the body-heir of another. It’s unheard of. Totally out of character for any First Family!” His sarcasm mirrored his disgust with the notion that First Families, merely by virtue of their social status, were totally free of greed, dishonor, and underhanded activities.

“Lady Rezalla believes that Lord Vestrin’s dam is behind the attempts,” Caleb said, “not Lord Vestrin. Though the freighter stratagem is more in keeping with his personality than the message bomb or the poisoned plant.”

“Lord Vestrin’s logged off-planet with a hunting party,” Bellpage said with a weary sigh.

“Are you absolutely sure of that?” Caleb asked.

Bellpage sat up straight and stared at Caleb. “Yes, I see your point. If the admiral will excuse me, I’ll check further. We have a patrol unit near his destination planet. I’ll insist on vid proof of his presence.”

The admiral waved him off on that errand.

“Lady Vescuya remains in Acclarke,” Caleb said. “But her activities are being closely monitored.” He grinned. “She’s a very busy lady.”

“See if you can persuade Lady Rezalla to allow Lady Cuiva to go off-planet. She
will
be safer,” the admiral said. “The three-month shakedown cruise would not be too arduous for a girl her age and her safety would be assured.”

To give Lady Rezalla credit, she considered the notion only briefly before agreeing.

“I’d even considered putting her into suspension to keep her safe,” Lady Rezalla said, but she dismissed that option with a flick of her long white fingers, delicately tipped in a pink that matched her flowing attire. “And keep her safe we must! She is, unfortunately, too young yet to have a body-heir to whom she can assign her possessions.”

The very notion of that shocked Caleb. He did happen to know that Cuiva had started menstruation, but the very thought of the twelve-year-old child having a body-heir merely to preserve her assets unto the next generation was nothing short of brutal.

“I will
not
allow that man, nor his dam, to succeed, or profit by their machinations,” Lady Rezalla said in the harshest voice he had ever heard her use. Her tone made him straighten to full attention. “The ship can carry a crew of six, if I correctly remember such details from Nimisha’s rattling on about its unique specifications.”

“More if necessary, milady, though not in as elegant a manner.”

“Manner be damned if my grandchild’s life is at risk. Perdimia, of course, will accompany her. Jeska will have to stay and run the yard, since she does that well, according to my reports.”