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history and of our future." He put an arm around Tall Eyebrows back and led
him toward the spaceport buildings surrounded by the chirping horde. Suddenly
he looked back, an afterthought occurring to him. "Oh, bring the giant, too."
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A guard waved his hand, and Keff stumbled forward.
"Depot in range," said Glashton, the pilot, over his shoulder. "I'm keeping
that string
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between us and their sensors."
"Good." Minna Don paced back and forth behind the pilots' couches, peering at
the computer construction of the asteroid-bound repair facility. Old, but
well-supplied, if their scout's report was anything to go by. And they'd
recently had a delivery that interested the Melange. "Notify Bisman."
The young Thelerie in the co-pilot's seat threw off his straps and arose,
prepared to run aft. Mirina caught him by a wing-joint and turned him back.
"No, Sunset. Use the intercom."
"Yes, madam," he said, his slit-like pupils wide. He scrambled back into his
padded couch and reached out one skinny wing-hand to activate the
communications channel, at the same time keeping track of the ship's progress.
He lay rather than sat in the couch, his mighty haunches curled up behind,
leaving free clawed forelegs and wing-
fingers so that his head was between two agile pairs of hands. The boffins
told her that with their long eyes they could watch both sets at once. He
glanced back at her eagerly. "He is on his way."
Mirina shook her head. So young. So heartbreakingly anxious to please. Some of
the
Thelerie never got over their initial awe of humans, never stopped seeing them
as benevolent gods, whose bidding must be done no matter how perilous. Not
even after their first missions, when the humans proved themselves to be
thieves and pirates. The
Thelerie just kept on trusting them, even against the evidence. Their ethical
culture told them that a person was what he said he was, even if he wasn't.
That made them jam for the dishonest beings in the galaxy like the Melange.
Mirina felt responsible for all the Thelerie they enrolled. She suffered
nightmares when one of them got injured or killed, and still dreamed about the
first time she had had to take the body of an apprentice back to its
homeworld. As guilty as she was, the alien family didn't blame her. They
trusted humans, not realizing that they were as mortal as Thelerie, with no
special powers to save anyone, or any special wisdom to keep them from falling
into danger. They thought everything humans did was wonderful. It never
occurred to them that the ships the humans flew were old, cobbled together out
of spare parts and baling wire. They never saw that the couches had been
mended a dozen times, nor that the equipment in the control room came from a
dozen different derelict ships, and failed as often as it worked.
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She'd once been told by a suitor that she had fine eyes. The mirror in her
cramped little cabin let her know that the strain of the last years had put a
hard quality into them that frightened her, and would have put off that
long-gone beau. That tough shell protected what was left of her soul, because
business was business. The presence of the Thelerie was essential to the
success of her venture. There'd have been far more bloodshed, and much more
loss of life if she couldn't rely upon their unique talent.
Even to herself she admitted that she minimized the danger in every way
possible. She didn't want anyone else to die. Anyone.
"Close in," she said, leaning over Glashton's shoulder. "Plot us in, staying
as close to the asteroids as possible till the last minute. I don't want them
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to have time to push the panic button. Can you see the parts depot?"
"Aye, sir."
Bisman came striding up. He had on an armored pressure suit, the helmet held
under one arm. His grizzled hair was hidden under the protective hood, and his
sharp, dark eyes were calm.
"Boarding party ready," he said shortly.
"Stand by," Mirina said, turning back to the viewtank. "How long to the drop?"
Sunset ran through one of those instantaneous mental calculations that seemed
so effortless for his people.
"Eight minutes, madam."
"Don't call me madam," Mirina snapped, yanked back with annoyance from her
planning.
"Sorry again," he said, contritely. "Thunderstorm told me always to use titles
of respect."
Mirina felt the corners of her mouth start to turn upward in an unwilling
smile. "My name will do. Thank you. Stand by."
"At least he isn't calling you 'holy one,' any more," her brother called from
the engineers seat, where he was waiting to operate the airlock and grapple
controls.
Sunset glanced up at the human male, then hastily ducked his head. Bisman
smirked at the young Thelerie, his narrow jaws drawn upward. Mirina glared at
her co-leader.
"Isn't anyone else here thinking of business?"
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"On my way," he said, fending off the evil eye with an uplifted hand.
"Wait a minute, Aldon," Mirina said, as he turned to go. "Remember, just grab
those containers and go. No killing."
"That's the idea, lady," he said, offhandedly, holding his helmet up over his
head and shaking it to free the hanging tabs. "Strike hard so they don't know
where you're coming from, then move out. But I'm not going to stand helpless
and let them tickle me. My people will use self-defense as needed." Mirina
moved to place herself in his path.
"Disarm and disable only. Those are my orders. Just take the stuff and go!"
He paid no attention as he clamped the headpiece into place. The seals
whistled a diminishing scale as he sidestepped her and stalked away down the
corridor toward the airlock.
Mirina stared after him, feeling fury rising fit to choke her. There wasn't
time to lecture him again, and she was beginning to feel like she was losing
control of him.
She'd turned this operation around into a profit-making enterprise. He and his
miserable little group had only three pathetically archaic ships when she met
him eight years ago. Now they had sixty, and more under construction.
She'd been confirmed as the leader by a majority of the vote. But there were
some people who couldn't take direction from anyone, especially not from a
former government spacer like her.
Bisman had been raiding for thirty years, had started under his father, who'd
owned the original three ships. Anyone who'd survived that long deserved
respect, just for sheer longevity, but damn it, it was bad for crew morale to
have him defy her every single order. She snatched up her remote
communications headset and clamped it down on her head.
Zonzalo sat in the engineers seat snickering. Mirina rounded on him.
"What are you laughing at? You couldn't survive in a planetside shopping
center."
"Hey," he held up helpless hands. "I didn't say anything. It just reminds me
of Mom and Dad, how you two carry on."
"I suppose I asked for that," Mirina said, feeling her cheeks burn. "But I
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want him to remember what I say."
"It won't help," Zonzalo said, "It never does. I don't know why you keep
trying."
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JODY LYNN NYE - [The Ship Who Sang Series - 06] The Ship Errant
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