The Ship Who Sang (30 page)

‘Bored, Broley?'

‘
I've
your best interest at heart, Helva. You're one of my favorite people, ever since that first brawn of yours fought five fleet bullies to a pulp because they laughed at your singing.'

Just like Broley to remind her of Jennan. And right now. Well, he'd learn the conditions anyhow so she'd better tell him and keep him friendly.

‘The CV drive,' he bellowed at the first mention. ‘You are out of your mind, Helva! I'll just keep those industrials around for you, my dear.' He sounded very smug.

‘The CV's that hazardous?'

‘Oh, my dear Helva, they cannot have been honest with you. Didn't you hear what happened to the test ship?'

‘Nine years out, I'm told, but you know
perfectly well that a shell-person is far better equipped to handle delicate circuitry than any mobile . . .'

‘Balls,' Broley interrupted her. ‘I never get time for a decent chat but something has to go wrong.'

She was grateful to whatever emergency had interrupted them. A little of Broley's cynicism went a long way. When she'd been in service as long as he, would she be as misogynistic and sour? Or as impassive as Silvia, living through years of quiet desperation on the off-chance that there might be a moment of beauty, of love, tomorrow?

Where was Niall? He must have calmed down enough to think straight by now. Hours had passed since he left. He must have realized that theirs could be a brilliant partnership, rich and full! He was wasted as a supervisor. Why, they'd pay off the CV debt in contract time, if not sooner, with both of them working to that end. Then she wouldn't worry about being independent. No-one could harm her with Niall as brawn. If Niall would be her brawn . . .

She glanced outside hopefully, surprised that the quick equatorial darkness had closed down on Regulus Base. Lights were few in the Tower, shining only at duty stations and odd offices. She remembered she'd turned on only the lift audios when she'd landed. Now, as she turned on others, she heard muted metal sounds from the distant maintenance shops and the measured
tread of the ceremonial sentry, parading the front of the Tower.

Another of the Service's archaic whimsies, Helva thought, knowing that highly specialized sensors around the Base could detect the mere passage of a night insect, identify and destroy it if noxious before the human guardian could react to a more visible or audible invasion. But the sentry's about-face clatter was comforting. She did not feel so alone. Some old traditions did have a special place for which there was no modern substitute. Like . . . Damn Broley! Why had he mentioned Jennan?

Broley could locate Niall for her. But he'd want to know the details. And he was unlikely to be sympathetic to her need. According to Broley, shell-people ought to be autonomous as well as self-sufficient.

She hastily answered the strident call signal.

‘Well, Parollan may not have conned you into all he planned, but he's certainly celebrating something!' Broley was at his churlish best. ‘And he started off by tangling up 15 air-cushion vehicles, and three mass transporters and that sheared off two transmitter masts. Why he wasn't killed I don't know, but there wasn't a scratch on him or the three females with him. Fortunately, no-one was more than shaken in the other cars, but he's been fined a stiff 1000 credits for such irresponsible behavior. And he had the nerve to laugh. If he weren't a Service Supervisor with plenty of pull, he'd've been sent down to cool off
for a few months. And it's all your fault. I'll be glad to see you go. Oh, fardles! He's at the
Vanishing Point
. And now I have to drag on emergency monitors to ensure order there! If he thinks he can get away with two civil misdemeanors in one night, he's vastly mistaken. I will not have my city disrupted by Parollan's egregious escapades.'

Having vented his spleen, he broke the connection.

Parollan was trying to kill himself? She could understand the Vanishing Point visit – the house was notorious for the variety and ingenuity of its entertainments. Most planets had several such establishments, particularly in spaceport cities, and most brawns were regular customers.

It was too unsettling to contemplate his activities there. She devoutly wished that shell-people were allowed the surcease of sleep. They ought to have some way to dispense with mental activity, some refuge from unbearable thoughts. Disobediently her mind ranged back to the Vanishing Point House and its reputation.

‘“Two households, alike in dignity . . .”' she began in a resolute voice that echoed through the empty cabins. She wondered: would the Solar Prane/Corviki understand her gratitude for this pastime?

A channel opened and it was no surprise to hear Broley's sharp voice. But he sounded puzzled, not irritated.

‘Did you get Niall Parollan discharged for cornering you into that extension?'

‘No, I did not.'

‘Just asking. I simply can't imagine why he's acting the way he is. It just isn't like the Parollan
I
know.'

‘What's he doing?' The question was out before Helva could reflect.

‘He
was
doing his usual. Now he seems to have lost what little sense all that strong drink left him. In fact the monitors were all set to close in, when he calls the House jeweler, buys all the girls a bauble, “to remember him by,” he says. And he goes home. Alone, what's more. And you'll never guess what he's doing now.'

‘Not unless you tell me.'

‘He's got an effects-buyer in and he is selling off his furnishings, his paintings, his artifacts, his tapes. He spent a fortune on that collection and he won't get half of it back. He's sold his aircar.
And
he's selling his wardrobe.'

Helva tried to quench the sudden hope this news generated. A symbolic rejection of a closed part of his life? Why? Niall knew that brawns kept a home in some port of call. Why should he sell off? Not unless . . . She refused to consider the alternative.

‘You would have heard,' Broley was saying, ‘if he and Railly had had another one of their fights?'

‘I haven't heard a word from Cencom all night.'

‘You'll remember Broley, won't you, if you do?'

‘Yes, Broley, I'll remember you.'

Could the girls and the drinking and the V-P House, the farewell jewels, all be part of a bachelor night out?

Caesar and Cleopatra
occupied her until dawn, until the technicians and computermen poured back into the Base complex to divert her.

An urgent beep from Cencom and then Railly was on the line, bellowing.

‘What'n'ell does Parollan mean, handing in a resignation? What're you up to now, Helva? Let me speak to him. Now!'

‘He's not aboard.'

‘Not aboard? Where is he?'

‘I don't know.'

‘And I suppose you also don't know that Parollan left a resignation on my desk to foul up my morning? That he cited Paragraph 5, sub-article D? I'll say he's suffering from mental aberration. He's
out
of his mind. If you two think you can put something else over on the Service after that performance yesterday . . .' Railly's angry ranting trailed off. ‘All right, Helva,' he began again in a patient voice, ‘what happened after we cleared out? I thought the whole matter was settled. Parollan was the brawn of your choice, and you two would handle the Beta Corvi mission as outlined. So . . . what happened?'

‘A partnership is formed by the mutual consent .of both parties,' Helva replied, speaking slowly and carefully.

There'd been a dangerous edge to Railly's voice, an unspoken threat, and the astounding implication that she
and
Niall had prearranged yesterday's events.

Then that was why Niall had resigned, trying to stay one jump ahead of Railly – who would certainly have tried to coerce him back on board. So Niall Parollan had made his decision. That was why he'd sold everything off: to have money enough to get away from Regulus, beyond Railly's authority.

It was very difficult to think clearly. And she must keep her wits for Niall's sake. If that was what he had to do, she wouldn't let anything hinder him.

‘I am aware of that definition of partnership, Helva,' Railly said acidly. ‘And?'

‘Niall was not agreeable to the partnership.'

‘Now see here, Helva. No more garbage. Niall Parollan begged to join the Service 12 years ago when he found out he was too damned short to be a brawn. Since he made supervisor, he's been telling brawns how to manage their missions, their brains, and their lives. You can't tell me that when Niall Parollan got a ship to the point where she'd opt him as brawn, he'd sheer off?

‘Well I'll tell you, XH-834, he's going to make that Beta Corvi mission, or he'll be in irons for the rest of his life.'

Irons?
Helva thought wildly. Another Service hold-over. How ridiculous of Railly to think he could ‘iron' Niall Parollan!

Calm down and think! Railly would soon find out Niall had sold everything. She'd better lift . . .

The shrill keen of overworked aircars roused her. She ran an automatic check and saw a full squad deploying at her base. Round one to Railly.

‘Broley,' she began as soon as she got through, ‘you've got to warn Parollan. Railly's after him and out for blood.'

‘Really?' Broley was delighted. ‘Parollan's on his way to the spaceport now. He got an under-the-counter ticket from the effects-buyer. I just found out.'

‘When's liftoff?'

‘At 0900 but . . .'

‘Warn Parollan that Railly's out to stop him. He's mounted a guard at my base, so I'm stalemated, and the next place he'll close off is the spaceport.'

‘Helva, really! Parollan is Service . . .'

‘Not any more. Remember? He resigned. That's why Railly wants to keep him on Regulus.'

‘But, if Parollan has tendered his resignation, Railly has no authority to stop him.'

‘Broley, you? Naïve? That extension with Railly is void unless Parollan goes as my brawn on the Beta Corvi mission.'

‘Railly will stop him,' Broley agreed, and then realized what Helva had admitted. ‘You tried to con Parollan into being your brawn?' Broley had a laugh like a dying amphibian, probably from
lack of use, Helva thought, but at least he was not annoyed by the choice information she'd withheld. ‘My dear girl! You are fabulous, absolutely fabulous. Why, that man's pure stud. He'd never lock himself away in a brawn's celibacy . . . Great heaving gods, maybe he would! He sent those girls away last night.'

‘Listen to me, Broley. Warn Niall
now
that Railly is out to secure his hide for that contract.'

‘Easy, dearie. If Parollan stays missing, the contract's void?'

‘Yes, yes.'

‘And then you'd be free to listen to my bidders?'

She'd half expected that bargain, so she agreed.

‘Railly's a bad enemy, Helva.'

‘He can do nothing to me without Parollan. And if he tries, I'll call in Double M and SPRIM.'

‘Them!' Broley was contemptuous.

‘They have their uses, like right now.'

‘But my bidders will have first chance?'

‘I agreed, didn't I? Now warn Parollan. And then forget where you called him.'

‘He's in a public cab, but I'm to remember which one, with all I have on my mind, managing this city?' Broley was chuckling as he broke the connection.

‘Lock himself away in celibacy.' That was what Broley had said. But Niall had called her beautiful. There had been such desire in his voice, in
the wiry body straining against the metal barrier. He'd wanted to look at her, to hold her . . .

That long night after she'd returned from Beta Corvi, he'd come to keep her company. He must have been obsessed with her then. And that was why he'd suggested that she take Kurla's empty body. How could she have been so dense not to realize what prompted that bizarre conversation!

Her body that could not function as a body, inhabited by a soul that was all too human. And Kurla's body, that was only flesh, nubile, tactile, beautiful – soul-less.

She could have been tangible for him, to be used by him, able to experience herself that ultimate gift of self . . .

Maybe, if Kurla's body had not been appropriated . . .

No!
No.
Resolutely she rejected such devastating thoughts. Broley would keep his word. He'd warn Niall. The rest was up to the man. She was sure he could keep free long enough for Railly to cool off. He had plenty of money. You can always buy safety.

But Railly was a bad enemy. Broley had been right about that. However, an unwilling BB ship is an unmovable object. Even if Railly could catch Niall, she'd only refuse him admittance. She wanted no reluctant brawn.

Reluctant? Hmm, yes, that was the key word. How droll that the first man she'd wanted as brawn since Jennan died should prove reluctant.
We lose perspective, we shell-people. We forget that not everyone is eager to share our destiny.

But Niall had wanted to be a brawn! When he couldn't qualify physically, he had raised himself to supervise a whole section of brawns. And then she had to come along, coy and stubborn, and force him to throw away everything he'd achieved, rank, prestige, luxury.

‘Broley?'

‘Now what?'

‘You warned him?'

‘I said I would. And I did. I also made a few pointed remarks about his behavior and a warning of my own about future embroilments.'

Oh, no, she groaned inwardly, Broley preaching to Niall in his state of mind?

‘Where's Parollan now?'

‘I can't tell what I don't know.'

‘You must have some idea.'

‘None, but you'll be the first to hear when I have. In the meantime, you'd better check your acid level, dear!' Broley signed off with that snide advice.