Nimisha's Ship (41 page)

“With this Necklace, Cuiva Boynton-Farquahar, I, your mother, Nimisha Boynton-Rondymense, confirm that you have reached your fourteenth birthday and your minor majority. I confirm you unequivocally as my body-heir and eldest daughter.”

Then Cuiva turned her back on her mother while Nimisha carefully draped the beautiful jewelry about Cuiva’s slender throat, making certain that it fitted exactly over the tattoo that it replicated in gemstones, size, and design. She clasped it so that the drop sapphire exactly covered that part of the tattoo on Nimisha’s back.

Nimisha stepped down to the same level as her daughter, signifying Cuiva’s new level in First Family social ranking, and kissed her six times. Tears of joy streaked, but did not mar, their cheeks.

Cuiva stepped to the ground and gave Perdimia the four kisses of deep friendship before she made her way toward the naval contingent and the space station personnel. They rose as one body, the Navy saluting. Cuiva gave Caleb the six kisses of kin relationship that plainly astonished him. Jon could see Nimisha’s smile of approval. But when Cuiva accorded him the same degree of relationship, he had to blink away tears of surprise and unexpected pleasure, and swallowed against a huge lump in his throat. What a graceful way to accept a stepfather! She winked at him, her eyes full of mischief for a moment before she stepped to Kendra, embracing her warmly and with two cheek kisses. She gave similar salutes to all those who had been on the Five B. She warmly embraced Syrona, Casper, and Tim, which Syrona later told Tim was more than they could have expected since they had only just recently met Cuiva. She shook hands with the
Acclarke
crew members and the space station personnel before she made her way across the arena to curtsy deeply to Ook and Ool, graciously bowing to the others.

Then Caleb Rustin stepped into the arena, hat under his arm, walked toward the podium where Nimisha stood, and surveyed the crowd.

“Let us all give a rousing cheer for our Lady Cuiva on this auspicious occasion.”

He led the cheers, punctuated by the ululations of the Sh’im, who jumped up and down and waved their hands high above their heads, spinning round and round in place until it was a wonder none fell. With a word to Nimisha, who looked surprised, he led her to his chair and gestured for Cuiva to take the one Kendra Oscony immediately vacated, snugging a long black case under her left arm. The XO entered the circle, one step behind Caleb as he strode to the podium. Caleb took the top level and pointed his finger at Tim and Cherry, who ducked quickly around the circumference of the arena to where Ook and Ool sat. There they crouched beside the couches so they did not obstruct the Sh’im view of the next event.

“Lieutenant Commander Jonagren Svangel, Lieutenant Casper Ontell, Ensign Syrona Lester-Pitt, front and center.”

Marching abreast and immediately in stride, the three came forward and halted.

“At ease,” Caleb said in his most official voice.

The silence was broken by two light voices doing their best to translate unknown rites into a culture that might have nothing similar at all.

“I received a pulsed message at the beacon that I may now read,” he said. He took from his breast pocket a handful of the parchment on which commendations and special orders were printed; various colored ribbons and seals adorned the documents. “Ensign Syrona Lester-Pitt.”

She took one step forward to break rank, turned an exact forty-five degrees to port, took two more steps, and smartly turned to face the commander, saluting.

“I have the pleasure to announce your promotion to Lieutenant Commander, retroactive to your landing here on Erehwon twenty-two years ago.” He handed her the promotion document, and Kendra handed him the small box with the proper rank collar tabs. He stepped down and attached them to her uniform. Then he saluted her with a broad smile. “Well deserved, Commander. Don’t move,” he added as Syrona started to turn away. “It is also my distinct pleasure to award you the Galactic Medal, Gold Class with two clusters, for courage and devotion to your service above and beyond the call of duty.”

Syrona’s eyes widened and she blinked against tears. Kendra passed over the beautiful medal on its multicolored bar so that Caleb could pin it above Syrona’s breast pocket. This time his salute was held moments longer than necessary.

“Your courage is exceeded only by what you and your fellow survivors have managed to achieve in the most dangerous and primitive conditions. Your Service has asked me to extend their deepest respect. Your name is already listed on the Honor Board at Headquarters.”

Syrona somehow managed to return to her place in rank and paid no attention to the tears still trickling down her cheeks or the fact that she had to sniffle.

Casper Ontell was promoted to full Commander and received his Galactic Medal, Gold Class with two clusters, and a repeat of the citation that Syrona had been given.

“Lieutenant Commander Jonagren Svangel, I have the great pleasure of confirming your rank as Captain, retroactive to the date you assumed command on the death of Captain Panados Querine of the
Poolbeg.
” Caleb’s grin was broader than ever as he pinned on Jon’s new rank pins and handed over the promotion document. “I am also directed by Federated Sentient Planet Exploratory Service to award you the Galactic Medal, Platinum Class with four clusters.”

“I don’t deserve that,” Jon murmured.

“Shut up,” Kendra muttered back. “You bloody well do.”

“Quite right, XO,” Caleb said, and attached the medal with its iridescent ribbon bar to Jon’s chest, saluting him with extra precision and length. He waited until Jon had taken a backward step to fall in line with his companions before he held up the final sheet.

“If you are in accord, Lieutenant Commander Lester-Pitt, Commander Ontell, and Captain Svangel, it is the wish of your Service as well as that of Fleet High Command and the Senate of the Federated Sentient Planets that you accept the administrative management of this planet and continue the fine work you have already done with your—with
our
alien allies. Such a decision, so far from your home planets and family, may not be an easy one to make and I am directed to allow you to consider the proposition until we have received further, or different orders sent by pulse messages. Additional support units are on their way—though we know they will take approximately four years to reach us—but any and all of them are subordinate to your commands and such titles as seem relevant to enforce the policies of mutual cooperation and development of equable Human-Sh’im relations.”

The audience, including those nearest the translators, erupted into cheers, hoots, hollers, calls, whistles, and other sounds that made some humans cover their ears in protest.

Caleb stepped down from the top level. “You’ll have to draft a plan for development and exploration of this sector of space, you know,” he said quietly to the three newly promoted and honored officers. “But we can take our time on that.”

“Who owns this planet then?” Jon murmured, his face expressionless.

“The indigenous personnel,” Caleb said with first a nod and then a shake of his head. “Which I interpret as those born here.” He looked directly at Tim, so earnestly translating to Ook and Ool. “And the Sh’im. Your lot, too, Jon. D’you think Nimisha will stay on?”

“You couldn’t drag Nimisha away from here with a space gantry,” the Lady answered for herself, having quietly joined them. “How did you manage to blackmail so many people into agreeing to all this?” she asked.

“I didn’t do anything,” Caleb said, holding up his hands in mock defense. “I was on my way here.” Then he relented with a big grin. “Now your esteemed mother, Lady Rezalla, made certain that neither High Command nor FSP Senate was going to slight
her
body-heir, since it was your ship and inimitable wit and courage that precipitated the discovery of this brand-new sector of space. And rescued our lost officers.”

“Nimisha deserves a medal, too,” Syrona said, blushing a little when Caleb gave her an odd look.

“Civilians don’t get medals,” Nimisha said. “They get greater responsibilities, but since I can pick mine—again—I’d rather stay on Erehwon with all my friends.” She touched Syrona’s cheek, then Casper’s, before linking her arm in Jon’s and standing close to him. “You’ve some time to kill here then on Erehwon, Caleb? Kendra?”

“That’s open-ended,” Caleb said with a grin and a quick glance at Jon. “I’m still your naval attaché, Nimisha. I can’t seem to get relieved of that duty.”

“Onerous as it is,” she said, pretending long-sufferance.

Tim burst into the small circle of them, hugging his mother around the hips and then pulling her down so he could see her medal, and then Caleb’s and Jon’s.

“Just how much did the Sh’im understand of the honors ceremony, Tim?” Caleb asked, hunkering down so he was on a level with the twelve-year-old.

“Well, we know they knew that Cuiva’s now an adult. They know that you got honors, and they were very impressed with the way you did it all, Caleb,” he said. “Looked right
o’olio
to them. But the best part is that we’re all staying. They really didn’t want us to leave.”

“As if we would,” Nimisha said indignantly. “We still have to find their home world and see if Tertio’s M-type can be made habitable and— What are you laughing about, Captain?” she demanded of Jon.

“Lady Rezalla knew what she was doing,” Jon said.

“Lady Rezalla always knows what she’s doing,” her daughter said firmly. She kissed him enthusiastically while the others cheered.

“So it’s just as well, isn’t it,” remarked Caleb at his drollest, putting his arm about Kendra’s waist and pulling her close to him, “that Lady Rezalla does not know the half of what her daughter’s been up to.”

“Mother?” Cuiva’s soft voice interrupted. “Can we start the dancing now?”

“And the eating?” Tim asked plaintively.

“Just a moment, if you will, Timothy Lester-Ontell,” Jon said firmly. He pointed to where the Sh’im had been seated, on couches and chairs. Without their occupants, it was plain that these were naval issue. “How did the Sh’im end up with
Acclarke
furnishings?”

Syrona gasped, Casper gulped, and both stared at their son in amazement.

“Well,” Tim replied, not at all dismayed by Jon’s or his parents’ reaction, “Captain Meterios and Brad Karpla wouldn’t be needing them, since they’re asleep. And I thought Ook and Ool should have something more . . . important looking . . . than their stools.” Then he cocked his head questioningly at his adults. “I didn’t do anything wrong, did I? We’re always recycling stuff here, aren’t we?”

The adults exchanged glances and then Nimisha burst out laughing.

“We are indeed always recycling stuff here,” Jon said, trying very hard not to break into a smile. “But the
Acclarke
’s furniture falls in a different category, since she’s going back to her base for reassignment.”

“Oh.” It was obvious that Tim did not quite understand the distinction Jon was trying to make.

Casper and Syrona both started apologizing at once until Jon held up his hand.

“We can’t give him examples and then complain when he follows them, can we?” he said. “We all have enough back pay to refit the entire ship if anyone complains.”

“No one will,” Caleb said firmly. “After all, the furniture was only bolted to the floor to keep it from sliding about in turbulence.”

They all began to laugh at that, while Tim kept looking from one face to another, clearly mystified.

“Is it okay for me to go eat now?” he asked.

“Yes, go on, Tim,” Jon said and gave the boy a little push toward those crowding around the refreshment tables. “Only I want to be around when you two explain the difference to him,” he added, cocking his finger at Tim’s shocked parents. “And he’s got the right idea about eating. My lady?” He held his arm for Nimisha to take and led the procession to the Necklace feast.

EPILOGUE

“H
OW DO THEY
keep going?” Jon asked in a weary voice, flapping a hand in the direction of the music still coming from the arena. That there were unusual sounds made by alien instruments and alien throats adding to the volume seemed only appropriate.

“You know how they love celebrations,” Nimisha said, leaning her head on his shoulder. Her bare right foot touched his. She had long since removed her finery, including her Necklace, and her hair, though still braided, hung down on either side of her shoulders.

“It could go on all night,” Casper said, glancing down at Syrona, who was fast asleep, head on his shoulder, both hands curled about his upper arm. They were dressed in the more comfortable summer gear and occupied one of the two long couches.

They had all changed out of their formal dress uniforms, and found enough extra sarongs for Kendra, Caleb, Ian, and Cherry, who were the other occupants of the Fiver’s main compartment.

Although the table near Cater still displayed celebratory viands, most of the debris of a fine feast had been cleared away.

“Night’s nearly over,” Kendra remarked into the silence that had followed Casper’s observation.

“So the celebration goes on all tomorrow—or today, since it’s already today,” Casper said, lifting a hand briefly and letting it fall back across his leg. Syrona murmured sleepily and snuggled in.

“I should try and get some sleep,” Nimisha said in an apathetic tone.

“Why?” Jon turned his head toward hers. Her face was tilted against his shoulder; they were stretched out on the other long couch. “The Sh’im ladies are on duty. They cope. In fact,” he added, fatigue slowing both thought and remark, “from what Cherry there said, they consider it a very respectable occupation.”

Cherry opened her eyes. “Tim helped, but I got a lot of good detail of how they run their communities. Two years growing up, ten years producing, and the males are just as involved in the process as the females. Then, with any luck, they’ve got another fifteen or twenty to do what they want to: hunt, develop skills, build, and decorate . . . I crawled into one or two of the caves this afternoon and they have murals—they make all their own pigments, you know.” She paused, sighed, and picked up her narrative. “Seems like there was some kind of competition that Ook, Ool, Ay, and Bee referred as to which females would be allowed to assist the
i’l ‘iliti.
”

“I thought that referred to the shaggy grazers,” Casper said, rousing slightly in surprise.

“It now applies to you as well, but it’s said in a different pitch and with much affection,” Cherry said with a slightly smug smile.

“I thought I recognized several different Sh’im going in and out,” Nimisha said, trying to focus tired eyes on Cherry across the lounge.

“Probably. There were so many applying for the job that I guess they’ve been split into shifts,” Cherry said. “I’ll have to check with Tim tomorrow, but that’s how I figured they must have worked it out.”

“Casper,” Syrona roused enough to ask, “where
is
Timmy?”

Casper inclined his head. “Outside.”

“He is dancing,” Helm said, “with young Sh’im.”

“Oh,” Syrona murmured. “Thanks, Helm.” She resettled herself against Casper. “I still can’t get over him appropriating the
Acclarke
furniture.”

Jon and Caleb both chuckled.

“Escorias has taken most of the blame for that,” Jon said. “Tim evidently asked Globan to explain what he’d done wrong. He and Tim had been working on the platform for the Sh’im to use at the Necklacing before the
Acclarke
left. Tim thought the couches would be nice. So Escorias showed the Sh’im how to undo the bolts.”

“That’s a relief,” Syrona said. “I’d hate to think we had encouraged him in—” She paused.

“In taking ways?” Nimisha asked, grinning.

“Colonial recycling,” Jon said firmly, waggling a finger at her.

“The boy shows great initiative,” Kendra said approvingly. “We could always give him Junior Officer training.”

“With Cuiva showing him the ropes?” Jon asked.

“The very person to do so,” Caleb murmured.

There was a companionable silence for a few moments, until Nimisha spoke again.

“You know,” she began, “while it’s good to know my dam has taken charge of Rondymense—” She couldn’t help a giggle over that. “—we are going to have to figure out some way to shorten the long haul from here to there. Is that why they’re letting you stay on here, Caleb?”

Caleb grinned sleepily. “You figured it out, did you?” But he turned his head just slightly to catch Jon’s eye and Svangel nodded with a little smile.

“Finally. Does she have an attaché, too?”

“Well, he’s there more to assist Jeska, who’s got a good grip on design, too—”

“She should,” Nimisha interjected with a snort. “I taught her all I knew, and Hiska likes her. So did all the other department heads once they figured out how smart she was.”

“Didn’t take them long,” Caleb said, “once they saw how she rushed Five B through to completion.”

“And that reminds me,” Nimisha said. “It’s confusing to have two Fives. They need names.”

“They do,” Syrona said, rousing again. “Said so this afternoon to Jon.”

“Do I still own them both, Caleb?” Nimisha asked.

“You certainly do. Lady Rezalla had to give me official permission to remove Five B from the Ship Yard to make our getaway.”

“Good. That settles that,” Nimisha said. “I’d like to name this one”—she pointed one finger downward—“the
Querine-Weleda.
”

Syrona sat up, wide-awake, and Jon turned to regard Nimisha with bemused admiration.

“Oh, that would be such a fitting tribute to them,” Syrona said, her voice thickened with emotion. “They were a very dedicated pair.”

“And what name have you decided on for the Five B?” Caleb asked, though by the expression on his face, Nimisha rather thought he’d guessed.

“It’s not just filial respect that’s involved, but gratitude for all she’s connived at behind the scenes to be sure we get to keep what we’ve made. It’s also letting my mother, as she so often does, have the last word.” Nimisha grinned. “I officially declare that the Five B is now the
Lady Rezalla.
”