Nimisha's Ship (37 page)

“Let’s ditch the titles, shall we, Caleb?” Nimisha said, an edge to her voice. She kept finding the return of formality annoying. Without further delay, she marched up the steps. At the top, she stopped and turned.

“Permission to go aboard, Captain Rustin?” she asked in a meek tone.

“Permission enthusiastically granted, La . . . Nimisha,” Caleb said, grinning as he waved her up the steps.

Though she could hear the others breaking ranks at Caleb’s “Dismiss!” and Tim renewing his willingness to translate, she was stricken with sudden hesitation as she stood in the hatchway.

“Go on, Nimi,” she heard Jon say, softly, supportively.

So she did and stopped because, although the dimensions of the Five B were the same as her Fiver, it was subtly a Navy ship, and furnished as such without the more homey touch she’d managed on hers.

“She’s just rousing, Lady Nimisha,” Doc said, startling her. The AI’s voice was that of Lord Naves, which she hadn’t expected.

Her “oh” of surprise elicited a chuckle. “Well, I am the best they have in medical AI’s, you know, Lady Nimisha. Captain Rustin chose me because Lady Cuiva would recognize my voice and be comforted. Come around to the unit. Speak to her. That will complete awakening.”

Nimisha felt her eyes fill with tears as she walked around to catch the long-awaited sight of her daughter. Cuiva was stretching sleepily, arching her back and pulling her knees up. Nimisha indulged herself with a long look at the rousing child who was a child no longer, having developed a slender womanly form during their separation. Cuiva was subtly Rhidian with the line of her brow, but more Boynton than Farquahar-Hayakawa in coloring and form. She’d been dressed in a knee-length tunic the same color as her eyes, the neckline leaving the body-heir tattoo on her neck uncovered. Nimisha drew in a long breath, trying to slow her joyfully beating heart and shaking hands so eager to embrace her daughter. Her eldest daughter—and that mental correction settled Nimisha’s nerves. Of course, without Lady Rezalla to glare disapproval for a totally unacceptable display of excess emotion, Nimisha could do what she damn pleased, but she did not think she should confront her waking daughter with a tearful mother, and took firm control of her emotions.

“Cuiva dear, happy birthday,” Nimisha said lightly, joyfully, and dropped a kiss on a sleep-flushed cheek. Cuiva smiled, still not fully awake, and hearing a dream voice.

“She’s in excellent condition, Lady Nimisha,” Doc murmured. “We’ve been careful to maintain muscle tone during her sleep, so she should have no ill effects. She’s to have small meals to reacquaint her stomach with food, but Cater knows. And she can have judicious portions of her Necklace banquet food.”

“Thank you,” Nimisha murmured. Then, in a stronger, teasing tone, no longer able to delay, she said, “Cuiva, you sleepyhead. Wake up. It’s your fourteenth birthday and there’s a lot to be done before your Necklacing.”

The gentian eyes flew open, caught sight of her mother’s grin—which Nimisha hoped was neither doting nor dopey—and then the girl was clasping her mother to her with strong young arms, cheek against cheek.

“Oh, Mother, Mother, Mother,” Cuiva cried, standing up and then whirling her mother around and around in an exultant dance.

“Easy does it, Cuiva,” Doc said.

“Oh!” Like a child caught misbehaving, Cuiva put one hand to her mouth and grinned mischievously at her mother. Nimisha felt the girl’s body quivering and deftly upheld her, walking them both to the nearest chairs.

“And it is my birthday? Caleb kept his promise?”

“He has indeed. It’s just dawn on Erehwon—that’s what I named the planet,” Nimisha hastily explained.

“Nowhere?” Cuiva’s fingers squeezed tightly on Nimisha’s hand, which she had not released. She giggled. “Just the name you’d pick, isn’t it?”

“It has seemed appropriate,” Nimisha agreed. “Whatever, subjectively, this is the morning of your fourteenth birthday.”

Cuiva looked around. “Where is Caleb?” she demanded, seeing no one else. “And Perdimia?”

“Did I hear my name?” Caleb said, poking his head through the open hatch.

“And Perdimia!” Not that Cuiva had released her firm hold on her mother.

“Perdimia,” Caleb called out the open hatch, “your presence is requested.”

Perdimia, with a respectful bow to Nimisha, stepped into the lounge, at which point Cuiva lost all formality and, jumping up, hugged the woman, kissing her cheeks four times in the formal manner before she started effusively thanking her for all her care.

“I think food might be the next order of the day, Cuiva,” Doc said firmly. “Cater, I do believe you have organized the appropriate sustenance for Lady Cuiva?”

“But where is everyone else?” Cuiva demanded, looking about. “I can’t start my birthday without Gaitama and Nazim and Cherry and Kendra and Ian and Mareena. That wouldn’t be proper, would it, Mother? They all cared for me. As you did,” she added, raising herself on tiptoe to kiss Caleb’s cheek. The way she hung on his arm made Nimisha wonder if she had a young girl’s crush on the attractive man. Caleb had developed quite an air about him, new to Nimisha; a subtle improvement.

“We thought to give you a little private space with your mother, Cuiva,” he said.

Cuiva stood upright, reminding Nimisha so much of herself at that age and on the day of her Necklacing that she thought her heart would burst. “It is
my
birthday and I’ve waited long enough for it. So I do the choosing, now that I’m legally old enough to have a say in what I want to do.”

Caleb scratched the back of his neck. “Then I apologize for not discerning your wishes first, my dear, because I dismissed the crew. Some of your mother’s friends are showing them about.”

“Oh, how selfish of me,” Cuiva said, remorseful.

“Not at all,” Caleb said quickly. “Very thoughtful to wish to include them. Give them a little walkabout time and then I’ll recall them for elevenses. This is a glorious planet at dawn.”

“They
have
all been cooped up longer than I was,” Cuiva said, still repentant.

“We’ll join you while you eat, dearest,” Nimisha said, going for the dish that had just appeared in Cater’s dispenser. Returning to Cuiva’s table, she spotted Jon lurking outside. “Well, there’s one who hung about to meet you. Jon, please come in and meet my daughter.”

“Permission to come aboard, Captain Rustin?” Jon asked formally in the hatchway.

“Permission granted, Captain Svangel.”

Deciding to make it plain where Jon stood in her regard, Nimisha met him, linked her arm in his, and led him to the table. “Cuiva, this is Jon Svangel, one of the three survivors of the
Poolbeg
, which had the misfortune to meet the wormhole that snatched me, too. He and the others have been my very good companions.”

Cuiva gracefully held out her hand, but at the angle to be shaken, not kissed.

“My congratulations on achieving your minor majority, Lady Cuiva,” Jon said, shaking her hand first and then turning it to drop a light kiss on it. “This is just as much an occasion for us as it is for you.”

Cuiva smiled back at him and shot a mischievous glance at her mother and a quick sideways one at Caleb.

“I am most relieved to know that my mother had companions.” Her formal phrasing was accompanied by a radiant smile of relief.

Jon shot a quizzical look at Nimisha and then at Caleb, who shook his head.

“There’s a lot more you’ll need to know, my love,” Nimisha said, slipping into her chair again. “I could stand caffeine, Cater, and something more substantial for breakfast. Caleb, Perdimia?”

“I’ll get it,” Jon said, giving her shoulder an affectionate pat that he intended everyone present to notice.

Perdimia didn’t know where to look.

“What more should I hear first?” Cuiva asked, though her eyes followed Jon to the dispenser.

“You weren’t awake when we arrived at the beacon, Cuiva,” Caleb said. “Your mother and her friends have also made contact with aliens. Sapient aliens.”

“Oh, Mother, you didn’t! How marvelous! What are they like?”

“We haven’t seen any either,” Caleb said with a laugh.

“I have,” Perdimia said. “They’re small, gray, furry, I think—” She looked to Nimisha, who nodded. “—and there seem to be a great many of them.”

Nimisha laughed. “We’re in the largest of their six settlements. This is the main one. Their wrecked ship is on the other side of the cliff.”

“Oh, Mother, how wonderful. Sapient aliens! But, if their ship crashed, then they’re not indigenous, right?” Cuiva’s curiosity did not allow her to make much progress with her bland breakfast.

“Eat,” her mother said. “Quite right, they’re not indigenous to this planet, but they are space-farers, so we can treat them as equals.” Nimisha settled a stern look on Caleb and Cuiva. “We—or rather Tim Lester-Ontell—have acquired a fair amount of basic terms and verbs. We’ve managed to program translators, but we’re nowhere near understanding abstract terms yet.”

“Cherry Absin-Hadley will be glad to hear that,” Caleb remarked with a grin.

“The main point I’m making,” Nimisha continued, “is that we haven’t compromised the evolution of a new species. That would be a major breach of FSP regulations.”

“They couldn’t exactly expect you to hide in a cave for five years, could they?” Cuiva asked indignantly.

Jon laughed. “No breach, and as my ship was on an exploratory mission anyway, we followed protocol. In fact,” he added, turning to Caleb, “we’ve been adapting the
Poolbeg
’s gig for three-fingered hands, so they can learn how to fly it. That is, Captain Rustin, if you have no orders to the contrary. We’ve found the Sh’im to be intelligent, quick to assimilate and learn from demonstration . . .”

“They’re allies,” Nimisha said firmly.

“No reason not to continue on that footing,” Caleb said, raising his hands in accord. “They’ve obviously impressed you.”

“We’ve mining operations under way, since we’ve exhausted what we found in the freighter—”

“Freighter?” Caleb asked, surprised. “Your initial report mentioned four wrecks. Where did that come from?”

“First Diaspora, from the design of it,” Jon said. “Most of its pods survived the rough landing and we put them to use.”

“Meterios took exception to that,” Nimisha began.

“To your use of jetsam?” Caleb frowned. “Survivors have the right to use any material to hand.”

“We felt that included recycling whatever we could use of the
Poolbeg
,” Jon went on.

“Of course it would,” Caleb said firmly. “Don’t worry about Meterios. She’s in trouble anyhow for delaying her return.”

“Actually, her delay worked to our advantage, Caleb,” Nimisha said, grinning. “We couldn’t send the rest of her original crew back on a quarantined ship. And most of them were on short-term tours, so . . .”

“So, as senior serving officer, Captain Rustin, I take responsibility for keeping them here until proper orders could be transmitted. Were there assignments in the messages at the beacon?” Jon asked.

“Not yet,” Caleb replied with a slight grin, “considering the time it takes for a pulse message to get where it’s going and return. Frankly, Svangel, I doubt Headquarters would fault your decision to retain them here when you can use their skills to advantage.”

Jon started to shake his head in the Sh’im manner, but Nimisha’s nudge had him change it to the appropriate human one.

“A tip on local protocol,” she said, leaning across the table to Caleb. “The Sh’im have reversed the meaning of nod and shake. When they shake their heads, they mean yes. A nod implies the negative. We’re used to it now, but you’ll need to know.”

“Sorry to mar your birthday breakfast with naval matters, Cuiva,” Caleb said.

“I don’t mind, Caleb. It made this goo go down without me noticing that it doesn’t taste like much at all,” the girl said, regarding the final spoonful with no great enthusiasm. “And it’s so good to be awake. You don’t dream in cold sleep, you know. And now I’ll have to catch up on all that’s happened. So confer away.”

Caleb acknowledged the invitation. “Since Headquarters does know from your flow of pulses that an alien contact has been made, you couldn’t be in better odor with Fleet and the Federated Sentient Planets right now.”

“That’s a relief,” Jon said.

Caleb started to shake his head—then nodded, practicing the Sh’im fashion, grinning as he switched. “Forget Meterios. She had her head so far up her ass her eyes were brown.”

They all laughed at that, though Cuiva’s laugh was more tentative, having never before heard that particular phrase.

“I beg your pardon,” Caleb said hastily, bowing to both Nimisha and her daughter.

Nimisha was laughing too hard to do more than shake her head.

“Incoming avians,”
Helm announced, startling everyone at their leisurely meal. “The Fiver forwards the alarm. How do I respond?”

“Caleb, tell your crew to seek immediate shelter and do not, I repeat, do not attempt to return here,” Nimisha said, as she and Jon leaped out of their seats and toward the bridge. Jon grabbed her arm before she automatically took the pilot’s chair. “Your permission, Captain?” Jon said.

“Helm, Lady Nimisha and Captain Svangel share the conn,” Caleb said, and then spoke urgently into his wrist com.

He was no more than a step behind them into the bridge as they slipped into the seats, Jon touching in orders for the missile launchers as soon as he could reach the pad.

“Helm, Nimisha Boynton-Rondymense here. Accept orders from Fiver on emergency procedures.”

“I am accepting emergency procedures from the Fiver,” Helm replied.

“Magnify main screen to northwest at eleven of a clock port side,” Jon said. “Arm missile launchers. Targets are coming in fast in uneven deployment. Fire when locked on.”

The forward screen magnified the advancing waves of avians, looking so evil that both Perdimia and Cuiva, standing out of the way at the entrance to the bridge, gasped at their appearance.

“Aren’t we going airborne?” Caleb asked.

“No need,” Nimisha said. “Lordee, they’ve got some big ones today, haven’t they, Jon?”