Damia's Children (14 page)

“Some of their vegetables are quite tasty, captain,”
Thian ventured and then grinned at his expression.

“I only eat enough greens to keep balance,” Ashiant said and, then after a pause, added, “but I think I'd be willing to try them. For good will, you know. Ha! Glad you're aboard, Prime. You'll sort a lot of this kind of misunderstanding. And I think I'll do some discreet inquiring and find out if any officers or ratings have had odd dreams. I'll tell Exeter—you've met him—in case he's had incidents reported to him.”

Then he took Thian to the bridge to introduce him to those on duty. If the bridge crew had any private thoughts about the congenial attitude of their captain for the newest arrival, they kept so tight a lid on them that Thian couldn't sense a thing. Thian was invited to the captain's mess at 2000 and provided with an escort—until he learned his way about the ship—to return him to his cabin.

Wearier than he had ever been before—even after helping his parents push big daddies—Thian was grateful to close the panel on his tiny cabin. Dad had warned him that it would be different working totally on his own. Thian had been dismissive then, but now, with no other Talent as back-up, it
was
different. Slumping down on the bunk, he had only to extend his hand to the terminal and contact sick bay.

“He's fine,” the medic said. “No,
it's
fine. Read somewhere that these creatures don't have any sex.”

“They do but they don't discuss that aspect of their biology. In 'Dini culture, ‘it' is always preferable to either gender designation, doctor.”

“Why?”

“Doctor, that requires a very long explanation.” And a yawn surprised him.

“I'll catch you later,” the medic said with a chuckle.

Thian was almost asleep before his head hit the bolster.

*   *   *

Dinner at the captain's mess was not an obvious ordeal. Drinks were offered as well as hot finger foods which Thian decided were not the standard fare to judge by the pleasure of their reception.

The captain cleared his throat and the wardroom had his immediate attention.

“In case you haven't guessed, the extras served tonight are thanks to the supply drones brought in by Prime Thian Lyon,” and Thian tried to demur as he'd been as much a passenger as the food. “Whatever, Prime,” the captain went on, “we have it and intend to enjoy it and it came with you. As most of you already know . . .” now Ashiant grinned as he glanced about, “the Prime has demonstrated some of his potential use to the Fleet by what I hear . . .” he cleared his throat “are termed his antics today. ‘Antics' if you will but they saved the life of one of our allies and have given us the opportunity to forge stronger links with them. So welcome aboard, Prime Thian Lyon.” He held his glass up, looking about to see that his toast was being recognized by everyone, and drank to Thian.

Thian cleared his throat several times, bombarded by far too many reactions emanating from all sides of him: one outright black thrust of suspicion and distaste, several skeptical ones, but more
were curious, with tinges of amusement and slightly malicious anticipation. To counteract the negative feelings, Thian began to project serenity and compassion.

“Considering the havoc I played today with navy protocol, sir,” he said, grinning sheepishly, “I can only say I'm infinitely relieved to be here and not in the brig or sent back where I came from.”

That reply generated a few honest laughs but also a second shaft of malicious amusement at his self-deprecation.

Cloudhead's smarming the audience, is he?
was the verbalized thought.

On the pretext of lifting his own glass to toast his company, Thian looked around, trying to spot the source.

Ohho! Could he have heard me?

The thought was all too ephemeral and there were too many people who could have thought it. Thian hadn't been quick enough to catch that second unexpected lapse. He let his glance slide quickly from Commander Tikele to the chunky sallow-skinned woman beside him, a security officer by her shoulder-tabs, Vander-something; and around the immediate circle. The comm officer, Eki Wasiq, a very gaunt man with soft brown eyes that made him the least likely suspect of the group; the exec, Jaskell-Germys, a few centimeters shorter than Thian, with a carefully controlled face that gave away nothing of his thoughts. Lieutenant Sedallia, the only one he already knew by name, exhibited polite attention while the gunnery officer, an older man, Fardo Ah Min, with the squint that had become a programmer's trait, had been so abstracted that he was late lifting his glass,
and more irritated by that lapse than shooting snide thoughts at the newcomer. The two juniors present, because it was their off-duty time, were laughably easy to read: they hadn't expected the chance to dine well tonight.

Thian tipped his glass to his lips and drank. The malevolence was as startling in its absence as in its brief flare.

As he was seated opposite the security officer, Lieutenant Commander Ailsah Vandermeer, he had a chance to put her to the most adroit mental probe he could summon: the kind he got away with using on his cousin Roddie. He could read no more than her public mind without breaching the most stringent injunction of his training but, if she was dissembling, she was doing an extremely skillful job of it. Her thoughts were clearly centered on enjoyment of the excellent meal: such comments as she directed at him were about learning Mrdini.

He was astonished at how many were willing to learn Mrdini, including Lieutenant Sedallia. In answer to a direct query from Commander Tikele, Thian—again sensing only genuine interest—agreed to produce 'Dini engineering terms, and their phonetic equivalents, for the engineering officer to study. Tikele already had plans of the 'Dini engines but was unable to decipher some of the special terms for a full understanding of the intricacies of the 'Dini drive: a system that had some advantages over the type which the Humans used. Tikele was hoping to draft some refinements, using the 'Dini method, that would improve the
Vadim'
s drive. Sedallia was his design assistant.

On a chase assignment like this, as on exploratory
vessels, crew and officers were encouraged in off-duty studies and occupations, interspersed with emergency drills for any contingency the devious mind of their captain could envisage. As Thian later heard a chief petty officer proudly remark, “Cap'n Ash-i-ant can sure think up some dillies! Ain't caught us out yet, neither.”

The wine that was drunk that evening was not part of the supplies which arrived with Thian and his 'Dinis. But it was the last of the dry white the mess steward had and he advised all to make the most of it. Thian liked wine, perhaps too well, for he seemed unwilling to refuse a refill of his glass, yet he didn't think he'd ever been what others might call drunk. This evening, probably due to the cumulative effects of the day's busy-ness, he did find himself a little light-headed. That's when he began to “hear” the snicking little taunts. As these came through in the form of mental commentary, he couldn't even identify the sex of the source. Whoever it was did not like Talent, of any degree, though Thian suspected the person was unaware that he or she possessed some: the person was “sending” on a telepathic level which, to Thian, indicated a latent Talent of some degree. The content of those little barbs was much like the sort his cousin Roddie would verbally throw out. At least with Roddie, you knew who you were fighting.

The time—when Mur would be released from its treatment—saved him from both too much wine and too much stress under the continued barrage of malicious jibes. He excused himself to the captain, thanking him again for the meal, and
once again repeating his wish to be of service to the
Vadim
in any way he could.

“D'you know your way to sick bay?” Commander Tikele asked as Thian had his hand on the wardroom door release.

“I think so, sir,” Thian said with a smile at the medics in intense conversation and left. There'd been no over or undertones to that remark and yet . . .

Thian had lied. He'd had enough wine so that he didn't know if he should turn left or right—port or starboard. He'd better get accustomed to thinking all the time in nautical terms. He looked up and down the passageway, closed his eyes and 'ported himself into the main corridor outside sick bay. At this hour, as he'd hoped, there was no one about and he went in.

Mur was out of its bath, color bright and pelt shining, poll eye sparkling. On the other hand, Dip looked exhausted.

THN HAS COME FOR US
, Mur said in its clipped staccato fashion and a nurse looked around the curtains separating cubicles.

“Oh, Prime, you're very punctual,” she said and then smiled broadly. “Mur is quite recovered but I don't think Dip has stood the gaff as well. I offered . . . you do call them ‘its,' don't you . . .” and when Thian nodded, she went on, “but all it took was some enhanced broth. Dr. Exeter looked up what additives would be sustaining for a 'Dini. He was really frightfully pleased to meet such a distinguished 'Dini physician, too.”

Despite his fatigue and the blurring caused by the wine, Thian couldn't help but note that she regarded him with keen interest, tilting her head
and smiling at him. She was pretty, he thought, and certainly gave off a reassuring aura. She'd be a comfort to the sick.

“Thank you, Lieutenant . . .” All navy nurses were at least lieutenants, weren't they?

“Greevy, Alison Anne Greevy,” she said. “Most people call me Gravy, though,” she added with a rueful grin.

“Oh,” was all Thian could think to say at first, then he added, “most people call me Thian.”

“But you're a Prime,” she said, surprised.

“Primes are people, too . . . Gr . . . Gravy,” he said, annoyed that he was stuttering. There was something wrong and he didn't know what it was. His mind seemed gluey.

WE MAY GO NOW
, Mur said at its firmest and folded its digits about Thian's hand.
COME DPL.

Gravy looked down at them with the sweetest smile on her face. “They are the darlingest creatures. I'm so glad Mur recovered.”

He gulped. “Where are the two from the other ship?”

She smiled again. She seemed to have quite a vocabulary of smiles. This one was slightly condescending, as if he should have known. “They're asleep. They were tireless in their care of Mur. And they speak very good Basic. They will contact you when they have refreshed themselves . . . their words . . . and are ready to return.”

“Oh, good. Yes, that's fine.” Thian was excessively relieved that he didn't have to 'port anyone anyplace tonight.

Dip was swaying.

“Ah . . . um, Gravy, how do I get back to my cabin? Deck Eight, cabin C80N?”

“Very simple,” and it was, when he took the directions from her mind, and paid no attention to what she said, for she had a habit of using her right hand when she said “port,” and her left hand when she meant him to turn to “starboard.”

That they got back to his cabin at all was due to Mur's attention.

WINE, THN
? Mur asked once on their way.

WINE, MRG
, Thian admitted.
NO GREAT QUANTITY INGESTED. FATIGUE ASSISTS EFFECTS.

THN WORKED HARD THIS DAY. REST COMES.

DREAMS, TOO, GOOD DREAMS WITH MRG RECOVERED.
And Thian was overwhelmingly grateful that this was so, and hugged the silky body to his side. He helped the 'Dinis into their hammocks and then stretched out, once more, on his own bunk.

And there were dreams, but not 'Dini inspired. Gravy seemed to be flowing all over him while something black hissed out of the walls of his cabin which compressed and expanded with no warning.

*   *   *

Over the next few weeks, Thian was so tightly scheduled that mental exhaustion made him sleep deeply and dreamlessly. Gradually, as he became accustomed to the new routines, he did enjoy dream-time, with his 'Dinis and with the other new 'Dini personalities he met, either physically, as he 'ported them to the
Vadim
or took Captain Ashiant and other officers to the KLTL and the KLTS, or by communications. These dreamers were different from any he had previously encountered: older and considerably more active so their dreams were projected on many levels: some which he couldn't understand. Mur and Dip, as juvenile
in experience as himself, were unable to give him any help: as much because they were in awe of these contacts as anything else.

His classes were surprisingly crowded. In the first morning slot, which held the most officers, was Malice and Thian began to narrow down the possibilities: Tikele was one, though that surprised Thian; Ailsah Vandermeer was the second; the weapons officer, Fardo Ah Min, a Terran ectomorph with black hair, a sallow skin, and high cheekbones, was the third and the fourth was one of the surgeons, Lacee Mban, a roundfaced man, pale haired, and eyed, with the smallest hands Thian had ever seen on an adult. Lieutenant Sedallia had initially been a strong contender for the honor but he worked so hard at learning 'Dini that Thian scratched him off the list. Innocently Thian was hoping that this antagonist would lose the edge of his distaste for Talents when Thian proved himself on this level but the Malice hovered expectantly: but expecting what, Thian didn't know. Still, it kept him constantly on the alert, hoping to penetrate the identity or reduce the resentment.

He had three hours of classes in the morning. Mur and Dip acted as his assistants which speeded instruction considerably for they could conduct pronunciation lessons with those struggling with crucial words and phrases while he explained grammar and syntax and increased vocabulary, written and spoken. These were techniques which his sister had found useful teaching 'Dinis and which he could adopt for Human students. The adults of both species had trouble getting their tongues to accept such contortions. Only
now could Thian appreciate the manner of his own learning from childhood onward. None of the Humans would know how often Mur and Dip were convulsed in 'Dini laughter and sometimes he too found it difficult not to join in: 'Dini laughter being infectious—for him, at least.