The Greatship (10 page)

A bowl of excessively sweet tea cooled on the oak tabletop.  Washen stood close enough to smell alien spices.  When the temperature dropped to a critical point, the Submaster took a pinch of maltose from a second bowl, sprinkling grains one at a time into the vaporous brew.  There was no reaction, and then everything happened swiftly, with surprising drama.  Like a sudden snow, supersaturated sugars fell out of solution, and what had been a fragrant brew turned into thick white syrup that could be spooned into dishes and served as a rare dessert.

The Submaster helped herself.  Then glancing at Washen, she said, “You are early today.  And Ishwish has been delayed.  Some critical matter has ambushed his attentions, it seems.”

“Yes, madam.”

“If you would like, sit.  Join me.”

“I’d prefer to stand, madam.”  Washen was dressed again, in a full uniform.  “But thank you for the invitation, madam.”

“As you wish.”  Miocene was an elegant creature, tall and lovely, cold and effortlessly forbidding.  But she had a rich dark voice, and when it was useful, a surprisingly engaging smile.  After the first mouthful of dessert, she showed her smile.  Then after a thoughtful silence, she said, “Something rolls in your mind, my dear.”

“I’m thinking about Ishwish, madam.”

“Yes?”

“And Tidecold-6.”

The Submaster said nothing.  But her face and manner appeared ready for the subject.

“Was my superior responsible for that tragedy?”

Miocene shrugged.  “I’m not free to give details.  But there were questions, and official inquiries, and unofficial meetings.  Investigations were carried out by assorted agencies, among our people and the harum-scarums too.”  She pursed her lips for a moment, perhaps using a nexus to access old files.  Or she was already familiar with the topic, and this was just a wonderful moment to savor her perfect dessert.

Washen waited at attention.

“The original colonists were interviewed, and each crewmember was interrogated.  Ishwish himself underwent years of suspicion.  But no credible account or chain of evidence has shown that there was any plan in place.  Nobody wanted to cheat or in any way harm the harum-scarums, and the humans involved were left officially and forever clean.”

With a nod, Washen said, “Good.”

Miocene bit her lip.  “He is a very careful man,” she said.

“And he is shrewd,” Washen said.

Miocene laughed softly.  “You admire our colleague, as you should.  The man has shown a small interest in your career, and it is important to appreciate the qualities of your superior.”

“Yes, madam.”

Miocene treated herself to a second bite of syrup and tea.

“Do you like Ishwish, madam?”

The Submaster tipped her head for a moment, swallowing.  Then with a knife-like voice, she said, “I hope you can imagine what I think of the man.”

Washen waited.

“Tell me my mind,” Miocene prompted.

Washen took a quick deep breath.  “Ambition is a wonderful trait.  And the man is calculating and subtle, when he wishes.  And those are excellent qualities to find in any captain.”

“Go on.”

“Ishwish carries authority and great responsibilities, but those blessings stem directly from decisions made thousands of years ago.  Tidecold-6 made him exceptionally wealthy.  That wealth brought him to the Great Ship, and being a captain was secondary.  But once here, his ambition helped elevate him to the rank of Submaster.”  Washen paused.  “Is that a fair accounting of his recent life, madam?”

“Don’t dismiss his wealth,” Miocene said.  “Remember how difficult it was for us to reach the Ship first…how tenuous our hold was, and still is, on this ancient machine.  With one command, Ishwish was able to mobilize an entire world, sending us more engineers and lines of credit to help us repair these old pumps and environmental systems.  And with good words from him, he coaxed thousands of equally wealthy human passengers to come here—paying bodies who migrated from dozens of safe thriving worlds.”

“He bought his rank,” Washen said with distaste.

“I prefer to think in different terms.”

“Do you accept his status, madam?”

“In the same spirit I accept each passing day.”

“But do you think about Tidecold-6?  Suspecting what you suspect, does it every leave your thoughts?”

“Will it escape your mind, Washen?”

“But I am not a Submaster.”

“And you are modest in the worst ways.”

“Perhaps.”  Washen offered a brief nod.  “I’ve been given orders and intend to carry them out to the best of my ability.”

“As is right.”

“The investment group,” said Washen.

Surprise showed in Miocene’s narrow face.  “To which group do you refer?”

“Inquiries,” Washen said.  “By several routes, I’ve made inquiries, and I think only one person stands behind the corporate mask.  An unidentified human owns properties in an assortment of districts.  And she once held title to a comfortable little apartment that now, purely by chance, belongs to an angry fellow named Hoop-of-Benzene.”

The smile was respectful, perhaps even impressed.  “Please, dear.  Go on.”

“When Hoop was searching for a home, he found help from an agent with ties to that investment group.  The terms of the sale were very lucrative for the buyer.  Someone made certain that this one passenger was placed inside that particular apartment, and more than two thousand years later, here we are.”

“A captain did all this?”

“I know what seems to be, even if I can’t prove anything.”

The dessert was cooling, losing its delicate, precious flavors.  Yet the Submaster seemed unconcerned, setting her spoon aside, focusing on the novice captain standing beside her.

“Hoop recently learned who once lived inside his home,” said Washen.  “You have no connections with the harum-scarum who delivered that news.  As far as I can see, you are blameless.  If there is any blame to be given, that is.”

“That is so good to hear.”

“Hoop doesn’t want that man walking inside his house.”

“I would imagine not.”

“He intends to fight the invasion with every tool at his disposal.”

“Which leads him where?”  Miocene showed a big grim smile.  “To his ruin, I would think.  That’s the only possible destination for the poor fellow.”

Washen sighed.  “But this decision to give Ishwish an award, to do it now and hold the ceremony in that location…I find it easy to believe you were the one who set this slippery business into motion…”

With a chilled glance, Miocene asked, “Is there anything else?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Define your ignorance.”

Washen bent at the waist, explaining, “Until yesterday, Ishwish didn’t realize who Hoop was or that he had roots in Tidecold-6.  Until I delivered the refusal, Ishwish assumed that the harum-scarum would love the idea of a famous captain strutting about inside his rooms.  But if the Submaster suspects trouble, then he will do whatever is possible to make this problem vanish.”

“Whatever is possible,” Miocene agreed with a tiny wink.  “At this moment, my colleague is meeting with a team of advisors and confidantes.  Yes, my dear, he has given up on you and your patient ways.  New plans and brutal consequences are being considered.  And by the end of this day, his problem will be solved.”

“What plans?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Miocene replied.  “But several minutes ago, our security soldiers have learned that we have a murderer among us—a brutal criminal who happens to be a tall, strong, and very dangerous harum-scarum.”

“Not Hoop,” Washen muttered.

“This is a matter for our courts, my dear.  Not captains.”

Washen fought with a scream.

For the moment, Miocene said nothing.  Then with a soft pitying voice, she asked, “Why are you here?  What did you believe would happen, if you and I happened to speak?”

“What am I supposed to do, madam?”

Miocene shrugged.

“Thousands of years ago, you put Hoop inside Ishwish’s home.  In some fashion or another, you are responsible for this situation.  And now I’ve become your agent…although I don’t see what it is you hope to gain…”

“Are you a captain, or aren’t you?”

Washen threw back her shoulders.  “Yes.  I am.”

“This ship of ours is still almost entirely empty,” Miocene said.  “But before the end of our voyage, we will be walking these hallways with a hundred thousand other species, and nothing will matter more than having a cadre of good captains…wise captains…human leaders who deserve respect from this multitude of odd entities…”

“Yes, madam.”

“If you want to become one of the Great Ship’s important officers,” said Miocene, “you must be able to navigate your way to the best destination available.  Without the help of anyone else, I might add.  And even if this means, in one fashion or another, doing something that happens to be right.”

Once more Washen returned to the diamond door.  Hoop was surprised but gratified to see the human, and then she told him what she wanted.  She told him what she wanted, offering no explanations why.  Instinct took hold.  Feet squared on the floor, shoulders tilting forward as the eating mouth pulled into a tight pucker.  And once again, the young captain made her very simple demand, adding, “If you will not give me this, then I will fight you.”

“No,” Hoop replied.  “I refuse your challenge.”

There was little time remaining.  With one nexus, Washen tracked an order-of-arrest as it moved past amiable judges, while another nexus watched a team of security officers gathered in a nearby bunker, preparing for the moment when every signature was in place.

She said, “You can’t refuse.

“But I have,” he protested.

Then the mirrored uniform fell away, and Washen took the proper stance for combat.  “I demand this,” she said, citing codes more ancient than her species.

Hoop nearly turned away from the door.

Suddenly harum-scarums appeared in the wide hallway.  A few were neighbors, but most of the towering creatures were strangers from the far ends of the Ship.  There were dozens of them, more arriving by the moment, and walking at the lead were a few wearing distinctive gold emblems on scales and spikes.  The emblems marked them as belonging to the clan that had once fought Hoop’s clan, both standing on a world that neither would keep.

Hoop looked at the bystanders and then glared down at tiny Washen.  “You brought them,” he said.

She said, “In their presence, I challenge you.”

“And I will kill you.”

“Break my bones and smash my heart,” she said, “and I will heal again and stand here again.  And I will launch a second challenge.”

The diamond door opened up.

Out stepped the giant figure, peeling off his clothing while half-heartedly taking the defender’s pose.  “What is happening?” he asked.

“You have lost,” she whispered.

“No.”

She lifted a fist.

Again, he said, “No.”

“But there are different ways to lose,” she said.

Hoop said nothing.

On this public ground, Washen announced, “The challenge is accepted, and now I strike.”

Her opponent smoothly deflected the first blow.

Then she drove left fist into his chest, and a human finger broke.

Twenty more blows were absorbed.  Washen sliced her arms open against the spines, and every finger was shattered, and Hoop stood like a statue defending honored soil.  But she kept hitting him, and beneath her increasingly miserable breath, she told the giant again that he was beaten and it didn’t matter how and the only rational course at this point was to trust a friend to find the best route to make his retreat.

The forty-third blow astonished everyone.

The harum-scarum remained invulnerable.  Covered with his opponent’s blood, he had to do nothing and Washen would soon bleed dry and collapse.  But there was frustration in Hoop’s posture, and sorrow, and a measure of boredom too.  Those were all fine reasons to end this chore.  One fist tightened, and maybe he hesitated too long.  But really, who would guess that the human had any strength to spend?  Hoop hesitated and then swung at the naked captain, and Washen spun and wrapped one arm around her enemy’s arm, clinging to him as she swung her entire body, throwing a bare foot into the armored neck.

The target was tiny.  The harum-scarums decided that only an expert in alien physiology would recognize the weak point in an otherwise invulnerable throat, and of course there was luck involved.  But humans did enjoy strong legs and a famous rage.  Washen broke toes with the impact, but Hoop’s head snapped back.  He did not fall, not immediately.  Anything looked ready to happen for a moment or two.  Then the head dropped and pulled the rest of that great body to the floor, into the open doorway, and the bloodied victor took her rightful place on his chest, standing only on her good foot.

* * *

Security forces arrived to discover that a minor captain now owned the apartment and a wanted criminal had vanished.  Neither the alien witnesses nor the captain knew where to find the harum-scarum, which was frustrating; and even worse, despite the severity of these charges, the arrest forms were suddenly turning into dream, evaporating despite the valiant efforts of their owners tried to hold tight to them.

“Brilliant,” Ishwish said, walking in front of his new protégé.  “That was a brave, bold, marvelous job.  A little too noisy, I think.  But still, you managed to find a solution to this difficult problem.”

“There are no difficult problems,” Washen said.  “Not with a simple solution in hand.”

The Submaster laughed amiably.

Washen’s wounds had healed.  But she still felt sick, and she wasn’t sure what she believed, and then she decided that she was certain, yes, and that was why her entire body ached.

The procession had almost reached her new home.  The Master Captain and Miocene were directly behind her, speaking about matters that seemed tiny to them and huge to a little captain like her.  There were young captains like Washen, and others of higher rank, and every Submaster was there too.  She glanced at the faces.  She looked at her own face mirrored in Ishwish’s back.  Then she took the lead, hurrying to the diamond door, her presence causing it to open.

“Still the old furnishings, I see,” said Ishwish.

The wooden harum-scarums guarding their original ground, with one new shape standing at the back of the hall, watching events.

“Oh, well.  You’ve been too busy to see to every detail,” he said with uncommon charity.  Then he turned to face the other captains, golden eyes shining with a boyish joy.  “Welcome,” he said.  “Welcome all.  I’m so glad you could be here.  And it is such a pleasure, coming back to this wonderful district that I remember so well.”

“My home,” Washen whispered.

“You are all welcome here,” Ishwish declared.  Then he turned to his protégé.  The happiest creature in existence, he said, “This will be your first celebration in your lovely new home.”

Washen nodded, and on quick legs, she stepped up to the door.

To the very important gathering, she said, “Come inside, my welcome guests.”  Then in the next moment, she turned back to Ishwish, whispering a few words that took the blood from his face and nearly knocked him to the ground.

“Except you, sir,” she said.  “In my home, you will never be.”