Nimisha's Ship (20 page)

“She does,” Caleb admitted. His mind was already leaping forward to the tasks of altering the luxury cabins to accommodate more crew and choosing a crew of utterly trustworthy credentials and skills.

“I shall check with my legal staff and see how to compose a Will that will secure my granddaughter’s assets, and those of her mother. I will inform you within the hour of the results, Commander. Keep yourself available to my call.”

“I shall, my lady.”

He bowed himself out of her chamber. Outside, he let off a whoosh of surprise. That had been incredibly easy.

“The shakedown cruise lasts three months, which is a start,” he murmured to himself as he left the House. “And that gives time to find any evidence there might be that Vestrin and Vescuya are behind the attempts. If we’re lucky. After that? We haven’t even any idea of which direction to search in!”

There had been no reports of any activity from the monitors on guard in the section of space where Nimisha had expected to re-enter normal space: both Caleb and the admiral had known the details of her flight plan for that test-run. No one still knew if, indeed, that wormhole had been the cause of the disappearance. Nor had anyone come forward with any other explanation for why nineteen ships had gone missing in that area. He would rather they had a destination in mind. Even the maw of the wormhole.

Frustratingly, it took three more weeks to test Five B with the augmented and refined elements that had been on Nimisha’s disks. Hiska noticeably lost weight and apparently would keep going until she fell asleep at her workstation. Lord Vestrin definitely was part of the hunting party, and discreet inquiry revealed that he had been seen boarding his friend’s space yacht at Vega III Port. However, that did not keep him from having hired someone to act as his agent. GoP were doing their own hunting. So was the Fleet. Lady Vescuya was being closely watched. Lady Rezalla, who was well liked and respected by her contemporaries, subtly queried them about the woman’s associates and social activities. Lady Vescuya’s methods might be amateurish and clumsy, but no one could find a link between her and either the message bomb or the plant.

On the advice of the APG as well as Caleb, Cuiva was housebound and a rumor was circulated that she was suffering from some malady. Lord Naves, in fact, was to be seen hurrying to the House several times a day. Emergency medical equipment was delivered and specialists arrived and departed. If Lady Vescuya had a spy watching, she might be fooled into thinking the poisoned plant was responsible for such activity. Lady Rezalla curtailed her social visits and canceled several engagements for herself and Lady Cuiva.

Two further inept attempts to damage Five B were foiled before any damage could occur. The first one was a robotic device, its reservoir charged with an acid that could destroy almost any metal. The second was an unmanned personnel gig, similar to those used by the Yard for short hops between construction sites. When it responded to an identity request, the answer was not only wrong but also delivered in the flat tone of a bad recording.

“The most sophisticated of the tries,” Caleb said when the gig was tractor-beamed into space and its explosive package disarmed. Of course, whoever had sent it could not have known of the increased security at the Yard, or that all the access codes for traffic to and from Rondymense had been changed.

“Their information was fortunately out-of-date,” Bellpage said. “We now have off-planet suspects that we are investigating.”

“The sooner that ship is out of here, the better. And Lady Cuiva on it,” the admiral said.

“Lady Cuiva must first be seen alive and well,” Lady Rezalla put in. She had accompanied Caleb Rustin to Fleet Headquarters. “Completely recovered from a mystifying childhood fever. Her legal position as body-heir is unassailable. Nor, I am assured by our solicitors, can it be contested.” She gave a smug smile. “Even so, Commander, I expect you to find my daughter before she can be legally assumed to be . . . dead.” Lady Rezalla’s expression challenged the commander.

“My intention, I assure you, Lady Rezalla,” Caleb replied firmly.

“Have you chosen a crew for the Five B?”

The admiral cleared his throat and offered the pad with its crew profiles to her. He and the commander had spent hours matching psych profiles and duties to provide the best personnel mix for the three-month test run.

“Lady Cuiva will be accompanied by Perdimia, of course,” Caleb said. “Lieutenant Commander Kendra Oscony is not only a communications expert but has advanced credentials as a mathematician and will continue your granddaughter’s education in that field.” Lady Rezalla bowed her head in acknowledgment. “Ensign Mareena Kawamura has special training in biology and botany and will instruct in those areas. Chief Engineer Ian Hadley has an intimate knowledge of the Fiver’s propulsion and Interstellar Drive, as well as a keen interest in astronomy.”

“Astronomy limited to the stars of this quadrant, though,” Lady Rezalla remarked.

“All too true, my lady, but he would be ecstatic to chart new ones and quite capable of assessing whatever spatial anomalies we encounter. His wife, Lieutenant Junior Grade Cherry Absin-Hadley, is our semantics expert and xenobiologist.”

Lady Rezalla raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“One never knows, my lady,” the admiral murmured.

“Nazim Ford-Coattes is the second pilot, having been a test pilot on the Fiver with Nimisha and one of her trusted employees,” Caleb went on. “Gaitama Rezinda is on board as our joat—a jack of all trades. She is also a Rondymense employee of long standing. She is by way of being an unarmed defense specialist, as well, and can instruct Cuiva in that skill and keep the rest of the crew physically fit. Lord Naves himself gave our medical unit private tuition. Should we have a direction for a positive search, the catering unit has been augmented to make use of available natural materials that can be converted to human nutritional requirements.”

“Well,” Lady Rezalla said approvingly, “your crew seems exemplary in the range of their qualifications, abilities, and backgrounds, even to representatives of good, solid Minor Families. The Hadleys are unexceptional and so are the Ford-Coattes. Clever of you, Commander, to realize that Cuiva’s education must continue uninterrupted. Among the impedimenta I brought today—”

“Which has already been stowed in Cuiva’s cabin aboard Five B,” Caleb said.

“Excellent. You will find the carton containing disks and learning tapes for those courses I wish Cuiva to study over the next three months. These will be in addition to what the crew can teach her. Perdimia will supervise strict lesson hours. My granddaughter will be kept busy and out of your way.”

“Lady Cuiva will never be in our way, Lady Rezalla.” When Caleb saw a scowl beginning to form on her aristocratic features, he hastily added, “Nor will her position in society, despite her youth, be forgotten.”

“Gratifying indeed.” Lady Rezalla rose and extended her hand to the admiral, who had leaped to his feet. “We shall see you at the commissioning, then, when Lady Cuiva will formally launch the Five B.”

“Until tomorrow then,” the admiral said, bowing over her hand.

“Oh, I have . . . issued an invitation to Lady Vescuya.” Lady Rezalla’s smile was subtly vindictive. “She shall see . . . Cuiva return with me to Acclarke.”

“That is all arranged, then,” Caleb said. The APG had found a look-alike child to take Cuiva’s place.

“Rather a nice child, too,” Lady Rezalla said without condescension. “She is to accompany me to an undisclosed location for an extended holiday.”

“And,” the admiral added, “reappear with you whenever Lady Cuiva must be seen.”

“The surveillance will continue, you know,” Caleb said.

“Of course,” Lady Rezalla replied. “I have no more intention of risking that child than my own granddaughter. Less, if the truth be told, since I have her on trust from her parents. Not that the child will not profit from being in the household of a First Family, you realize.”

She had turned so that she did not see the amused glances that the admiral and the commander exchanged.

“Actually,” Gollanch said, when she was gone, “Lady Rezalla’s solicitors—although I am told most discreetly that they hold a watching brief on the matter—are most alarmed. There is a way in which Lord Vestrin could have Rondymense Ship Yard returned to his control.”

“There is?” Caleb was shocked. “How? Why?”

Gollanch waved one hand irritably. “Damned complicated body-heir laws. If both Lady Nimisha and her daughter can be proven dead before the daughter reaches her minor majority, the bequest is returned to the main Rondymense estate. Lord Tionel made no other provision. Oh, don’t worry. With Lady Cuiva safely on the shakedown cruise, the APG feels certain he can prove Lady Vescuya’s duplicity. Or find Lord Vestrin’s accomplices in the matter of the mechanical attempts. Hiska, that odd mechanic of Lady Nimisha’s, has given the APG some information on five former employees of the Yard who were dismissed for theft. She told Jim Marroo, who has informed the APG, and he agrees that there could be ill-feeling. The men have apparently served their penal sentences and have been seen near the Yard by more faithful workers. The stolen items were valuable, and they are of a temperament to take revenge if they had the chance. However, we’re on to them now.” The admiral smiled with considerable malicious satisfaction. “We have only to keep Lady Cuiva safe for the duration of the shakedown cruise and the whole matter may be resolved.”

“I devoutly hope so,” Caleb said, nervous enough to finger the crease of his dress uniform.

The next day was a great occasion with many important government and Fleet representatives, along with the cream of Acclarke’s Society, coming to watch the Spacing of the Five B. Although most of Vega III knew that Lady Nimisha Boynton-Rondymense had disappeared and that this second Mark 5 was to search for her, the actual commissioning ceremony did not reflect this. Lady Cuiva duly activated the traditional bottle of champagne—an excellent vintage had been chosen from the Vegan vineyards—which was sent at speed against the prow of Five B and satisfactorily broke, leaving globules of the wine and shards of glass to do a gavotte in space until a patrol could surreptitiously corral them. Lady Cuiva declared, in a firm alto voice neither affectedly adult nor obviously childish, that the Mark 5 B was duly commissioned. The gantry fell away and the tugs pushed her gently, her riding lamps blinking, to her new mooring out of sight of the audience in the spectators’ gallery. A naval band played a spirited tune and Lady Cuiva passed among the various senior members of the construction crew—pausing to embrace Hiska—before being shepherded by her grandmother into the private office. She reappeared shortly to accept refreshments. If she was quiet and seemed almost overcome by the crowd, such modesty was expected of a child her age. Lady Rezalla kept her close by, which was also proper. No one saw anything odd in the fact that Hiska seemed to shadow Cuiva’s moves, scowling if anyone came near to the child.

Once the champagne reception got under way, no one was in a position to notice the Five B slip its mooring and continue to drift away from the Yard; nor could they see the substitute hull, complete to the ID, slide into the vacated space. When the guests finally made their way to the lighters that would take them back to Acclarke City, they only saw what they expected to see—a Mark 5 prototype serenely moored, riding lights lit and blinking.

VII

J
ON AND
C
ASPER
rigged a camouflaged remote device at the meeting place that Ay and Bee had been shown.

“That way we can go check out the fourth wreck,” Jon said, brushing sand from his hands with the satisfaction of a job well done, “and still keep an eye on developments here. You don’t know what it’s like to have facilities and parts again,” he added to Nimisha, rolling his eyes expressively.

“From what I saw in your cavesite, you did pretty well at improvising out of available resources,” Nimisha replied.

“Needs must when the devil drives,” Jon said with a wry grin and a shrug. “There was so much more we could have, should have, taken from the
Poolbeg
, but we didn’t dare try a long journey back after the rocks those damned avians dropped stove in the starboard vents.”

“Had you noticed them on the way to the plateau?”

“Noticed, yes,” Jon replied.

“Certainly didn’t think they were smart. Or organized enough to take offensive action,” Casper put in.

“I think they got mad at us for gunning down those we did,” Syrona said, shaking her head.

“They were organized?” Nimisha asked, incredulous.

Jon gave a harsh laugh. “Near as makes no never mind, Nimisha. Some came as a group, others whenever they found a rock big enough to do damage.”

“Fascinating. Could we call it tool-using?”

Syrona gave a little laugh. “If you stretched the point a long way.” She held out her arms as far as they would go. “They sure wouldn’t be my choice of
sapient
beings.” She gave a shudder.

“Ay and Bee are nice,” Tim said softly, his eyes wide from listening to the adult conversation. “I didn’t like the bombers.”

“The one I met certainly wasn’t friendly,” Nimisha agreed, also shuddering at the danger she had survived.

In the false dawn, with the garage lights on so that Jon could check his position, he reversed the gig into the Fiver. Then, as the sky began to brighten with Primero’s sun, they set off for the fourth wreck. Helm suggested a triangular approach, to avoid any sighting by the small aliens.

They reached their destination by midday and knew from the cargo pods and other bits strewn across the rocky landscape that no one in the old freighter could have survived the landing. Its cargo, protected by the heavy-duty plastic in which it had been shipped, was another matter. Only a few pods had broken open on impact with the ground and lay scattered about in small heaps, but the main line of pods led directly to the wreck. Helm had only to follow the debris to its source.

“That’s an oldie,” Jon remarked when magnification showed them the smashed freighter’s ID. “Good hundred and fifty years old. Probably was sent out at the time of the Second Diaspora.”

“If it was carrying colony supplies, we might find a lot of useful equipment,” Casper said, rubbing his hands together in hopeful anticipation.

“Will it be good after so long?” Syrona asked.

“Should be,” Jon said, “unless the contractors were dishonest. Those may be old cargo pods, but they were vacuum sealed to load. The Navy still uses that model because it is durable and sturdy.”

They reached the wreck, its forward section broken off from the stern by the force of its landing. But then, as Casper remarked sadly, the freighter had never been intended as a landing craft. Supplies would have been lightered down to the surface.

“Commander,” Helm said, “if you can plug in a portable power source, I can access the ship’s computer system and discover, from the pod markings, the contents from the manifest.”

“Excellent idea, Helm,” Jon said, grinning. “That would save a lot of guesswork.”

“Scanning indicates that some of the inner cargo holds withstood the force of the impact, though opening the hatches may pose some problems,” Helm added, sounding as surprised as it was possible for an AI to sound.

“We’re in luck,” Casper said brightly.

“We hope,” was Jon’s reply.

Syrona bit her lip not to laugh but Nimisha had no similar need to be tactful.

“You really are a team, aren’t you?” she said, chuckling at the two men. “The optimist and the pessimist.”

“It’s worked so far,” Jon remarked, unabashed.

Getting to the main computer with an independent power source was not a problem. The bridge area had split wide open, and while the explorers had to remove vegetation—carefully, since Syrona identified some of the growths as highly toxic—they were able to reach the main data console. They cleared off the accumulation of dirt and debris and found the units were intact. Once powered up, leads attached, Helm went right to the manifest and started scrolling the items.

“Prefab parts, farm tools, hand tools, extra power packs—”

“That is, if the recharger survived,” Jon said.

“Oh, you!” Syrona said with disgust.

“Well, it would be our luck that it was packed in one of the cases that broke open,” he said with a grin and a shrug.

“No, Captain,” Helm interrupted. “Manifest lists two pods of recharger units still intact on board.” He paused the scrolling list at the appropriate entry.

“So there, too,” Nimisha couldn’t help but put in, grinning.

“Hey, disassembled ground vehicles,” Casper said, crowing with delight and pointing at the entry.

“Helm, pause at that entry,” Jon said, leaning his hands on the console and peering at the screen. “Won’t do us any good if they’re open vehicles . . . Ah, no, good choice. Closed vehicles and some with light repellers.” He looked pleased, but then his expression changed abruptly. “I don’t suppose there’s fuel gel aboard in any quantity.”

“I will scan ahead, Commander.” The speed with which it did rendered other items unreadable. Then the screen stopped to display fuel gel supplies. “Fuel gel is listed as part of the contents of several holds, two of which are still intact. Some of the strewn pods probably contain that item.”

“Satisfied?” Nimisha asked.

“It’s a start,” he said.

“The question now is whether or not you’re enough of a mechanic to assemble one,” Nimisha said, folding her arms across her chest.

“If I’m not, I’m sure you are, Lady Nimisha, if you built a ship that could survive the wormhole with so little damage,” Jon replied, giving her a bow.

“That was not I. That was Helm’s piloting.”

“Thank you, ma’am. Shall I continue to scan the manifests?”

“Yes, please,” Syrona said. “For seeds, medical supplies, food essentials.” She turned to the men. “My turn, I think, since you are so happy to find your particular hobbies.”

“Hobbies?” Jon exclaimed.

“Well, she has a point, Jon. We need everything . . .” Casper swung his arms out in an expansive gesture.

“So you don’t think we should investigate the other two M-type planets?” Nimisha asked, having listened long enough to their enthusiasms for the riches of the ship’s cargo.

“Ah . . .” Jon looked over his shoulder at her in surprise, with a slightly guilty expression. “Yes, well.” He paused again, flushing a little with chagrin. “I think we’ve all been so concentrated on surviving on this planet that the notion we’re no longer stuck here hasn’t quite seeped in.” He raised his hands apologetically.

“We can do both,” Casper said, ever the intermediary. “Establish a better base here and then go exploring. Or vice versa,” he added quickly.

“And there’re the aliens now, too,” Syrona put in, slightly hesitant as she made eye contact with Nimisha. “It is up to you to say, Lady Nimisha. You are captain of the Fiver.”

“That’s not at issue,” Nimisha said. “And I do understand your excitement over all this . . . wealth. It must be secured before we go haring off to any other world.” Then her eye was caught by an unusual item on the list that was still scrolling down the screen. “Windmills? Helm, do we know where this ship was bound for, when it was diverted?”

“Vega, ma’am, possibly for Acclarke City on Vega III when it was first founded. Records confirm the loss of this vessel at an unknown location—”

“And there are prairies and deep water tables on Vega III,” Nimisha said, nodding.

“Windmills are good for more than pumping water out of the ground,” Jon said, intent on the lists still rolling past. “We could establish a much better living standard with all this.”

“For the little people, too?” asked Timmy, who had been sitting in the captain’s chair and undoubtedly pretending he was the master of the freighter.

The adults exchanged glances.

“If they are willing, yes, Tim,” Jon said. “There’s more than enough here to share.”

“They may not want our help,” Syrona said gently. “But we will offer, won’t we?”

The other three nodded.

“They might even be better scroungers than we are,” Casper said, grinning.

Jon looked out of the split hull to the wide-open space beyond the ship’s final resting place. “They may even have found the wreck and not figured out how to open the pods.”

Casper looked around him. “Or someone may have survived. I’ve noticed a significant absence.”

“I’m just as glad there are no skeletons,” Syrona murmured.

“Considering what I’ve met of the local life-forms,” Nimisha said, “with this section wide open, the scavengers would have removed any edible debris.”

“Shall we see what else is to be seen in the wreck?” Jon asked Casper.

“Why don’t Tim, Syrona, and I do a survey of the pods outside. See what’s worth securing,” Nimisha suggested. Though she sided with Casper in optimism, there was no sense in wasting valuable resources. She tried not to think that she might not be rescued. The others had accepted the fact. Would she have to?

“Excellent notion,” Jon said. Casper and Syrona nodded in agreement, so the two groups went about their chosen tasks.

“Helm,” Nimisha said into her wrist com, “track the men. We’ll be in plain sight, but Jon and Casper will not.”

“I can keep watch over more than two groups, ma’am.”

“Concentrate on them,” Nimisha said firmly as she and Syrona, aiding Tim over the longer steps, made their way to the ground. “Lemme have a look round, Syrie,” she said, holding up her hand to mother and son. “There don’t seem to be any tracks, but then, the wreck’s been here for centuries. Local interest would have waned.”

“I’ll do that, Nimisha,” Syrona said, “since I’m more familiar than you with the tracks of the indigenous species.” She grinned and, giving Timmy a little shove, added, “You help Nimisha, dear.”

Nimisha held out her hand and suggested that they examine the cluster of pods a few meters from the ship.

“What’re in these, Helm?” she asked when they got to the first weathered and intact unit. First she had to scrape off the mud and ingrained dirt from the stenciled coding.

“Clothing,” was Helm’s prompt response.

“Keep a running account, please, Helm,” Nimisha said. Next it was Timmy who found the markings on a pod of blankets.

By the time Syrona had rejoined them, without having found any suspicious tracks, Nimisha and Tim had found that fiber tents occupied a third, then more clothing and blankets, and bolts of fabric. The next few were marked “Miscellaneous,” but Helm’s probing determined that some of the miscellany was metallic.

“Scissors? Needles? Pins?” Syrona exclaimed, her eyes widening with pleasure. “I got to be a pretty good furrier, you know, when we found bone that wouldn’t splinter. Casper kept experimenting because he was sure he’d find one that would make a good needle.”

Nimisha grinned, thinking that optimism brings its own success.

They walked on, checking the strewn pods. Some had burst open, with little left in them but blown dust and debris: the contents had either deteriorated open to the weather or been removed.

Syrona examined the closing mechanism on an unopened crate. “Well, I suppose the little folk might have figured out how to open them—if they had enough strength in their digits.”

“Digits, Syrie?” Timmy asked, confused. “Digits are numbers.”

“Digit is another word for finger,” Syrona said.

“Confusing. You always said numbers for numbers, not digits.”

“True, but digit is a synonym. Don’t worry, I’ll teach you about them soon, Tim,” his mother said.

“Oh.” He frowned. “I’m getting hungry, Syrie. Do we have to look at all of ’em?” He made an expansive gesture toward the long line leading several kilometers beyond them.

“I’m feeling a little empty, myself,” Nimisha said. “Let’s go back and see what the men have found, and we’ll all have a snack on the Fiver.”

Timmy brightened and skipped ahead of them on their return.

“It’s so . . . so reassuring to know there are supplies on hand,” Syrona said, running her fingers across the sides of the pods they passed as they retraced their steps.

“Oh, we’ll be rescued before we need to tap into any of this,” Nimisha said, cocksure.

Syrona gave her an odd glance. “You’re counting on it?”

Nimisha regarded her frankly. “I,” she said, placing a self-deprecating hand on her chest, “am not that important, but the Fiver is. Vegan Fleet and Rondymense Ship Yard will spare no effort to locate it, and me. And now you.”

Syrona let out a sigh. “There is no record of that wormhole at those coordinates, Nimisha. Don’t get your hopes up no matter how valuable that ship is. We’re a very long way from Vega, or Altair, or any of the other settled areas of space.”

“That’s all too true, Syrona, especially as that wormhole makes such sporadic entries,” Nimisha agreed, gesturing toward the wrecked freighter. “However, while you were marooned here, there’ve been many technological advances. I’ll bet anything that Vegan Fleet and the FSP Navy will set up the very latest equipment at the Mayday beacon I managed to get off. They’ll find us.”

Syrona did not comment and they walked on in silence and were almost to the wreck, where Timmy was squatting and looking up through holes in the hull.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, Nimisha,” Syrona said at last.

“I’m not upset, Syrona, but it doesn’t hurt to have two optimists in this expedition, does it? I’ve a particular reason to need to be back at Vega in another—” She counted. “—eighteen months.”