Chaining the Lady (12 page)

Something about that very proficiency bothered Melody, but she couldn't quite place her objection.

* * *

I've checked six officers,” Melody said subvocally to Llume's ball. “All six are hostages. High-Kirlian Andromedans masquerading as loyal Segment Etamin entities.”

“I am dismayed, not surprised,” Llume replied. “I had noted some possibilities, once put on alert. This is why I brought these entities to you first. Is it time to take the matter to the Captain?”

“Maybe,” Melody agreed. “But I don't know how he'll react. These are his trusted officers, after all. If he refuses to believe, it could mean disaster, six against one. They'll kill him. I'd better play it pianissimo until I'm sure.”

“Yes.” The Spican, too, was uneasy. “We swim through treacherous waters.”

But if they didn't swim, Melody thought, they would soon sink.

Chapter 6:

Chaining the Lady

*action hour revised approaches*

–we must delay it a little longer segment knyfh remains in doubt we must improve our situation there–

*quadpoint will object*

–droppings on quadpoiunt! let him hammer out his own tunnel
I
coordinate this effort–

* * *

Melody had been finding so many hostages she was beginning to wonder if there was anyone aboard who was not a hostage.

It was her off-shift, not that she really had shifts. Llume was sleeping. Spicans might not sleep, but the Polarian host did. Melody would normally be sleeping too, but now she was awake and restless. Should she tell the Captain about the hostages? How?

She garbed herself in reasonably nonprovocative attire and poked her nose into the hall. No one was in sight. “Slammer, let's take a walk,” she said. “Lead the way.” She broke off. Where did she want to go? She really had no destination.

“I wonder where March lives?” Yael remarked innocently. “We haven't seen him since we left the shuttle, and so much has happened. I hope he wasn't hurt in the explosion.”

“The crew's quarters!” Melody said with sudden inspiration. She might be able to make a quick survey for hostages.

Slammer moved down the hall. Melody followed, pleased to have the experiment work: the magnet could and would take her where she wanted to go.

The officer's section of the ship seemed to be sealed off, a separate world, yet there was far more to this vessel of space than that. The whole sword-handle was almost a Solarian mile, 1/186,000 of a light-second, in diameter, and several miles long. Much of it was taken up with supplies and machinery and huge stores of emergency fuel, but even the residential levels were partitioned. Toward the end of the handle, away from the blade, was the crew ring, much larger than the officer ring. Crewmen did not even pass through the officer ring when on duty; they took light or heavy gravity bypasses. Melody regarded this as a form of discrimination. After all, March was just as much an individual as was Captain Dash.

Slammer brought her to an airlock. “An airlock—here in the middle of the ship? she asked, surprised. But she saw that the pressure gauge indicated no differential, so she waved one finger over the OPEN panel. The barrier slid aside, and she stepped through.

A smart young man stepped up. “Sir?”

“Oh, I'm not an officer,” Melody said. “Just a wandering visitor.”

He looked at her again. “With a magnet, sir?”

“Well, the Captain assigned—a courtesy gesture, so I wouldn't get into too much trouble.”

He politely let that stand unchallenged. “And your business here?”

“I—thought I'd–” Would it get March in trouble if she gave his name? She decided not to risk it yet. She shifted her posture to enhance her female attributes. “I'd like to take a look at the crew's quarters, just from curiosity. I am very new to space. Is this permitted?”

His pupils expanded as he noted those attributes. ”Is this an official or unofficial visit, sir?”

“Unofficial. I have no authority, no rank. I'm just—I don't want to be any trouble.”

“Lagniappe?” he asked.

“Lan of Yap? I'm afraid I don't understand.”

He smiled. “Lagniappe. One word, not a place. It signifies—sir, you really
don't
understand?”

“I really
don't
,” she agreed. “Have I given offense?”

His eyes traveled over her body again, seeing what her demure clothing could not conceal. It was amazing the persistence with which the Solarian male observed the Solarian female. “Sir, there is no way you could give offense. If you will appoint me as your escort, and so advise the magnet, I shall be happy to explain and demonstrate.” He smiled again. “Lan of Yap—that's clever.”

“Slammer, I appoint this man as my escort through the crew's quarters of this ship,” Melody said to the magnet. Slammer bobbed agreeably. Melody's initial fear of the magnet had rapidly faded. Cannonballs weren't dangerous unless someone activated the cannon.

The man spoke into the intercom. “Replacement to Officer's Lock number Two,” he said crisply. “Lagniappe.” Then, to Melody: “It will be only a moment, sir. Please don this cover.” He handed her a somewhat wrinkled brown jacket.

Perplexed, Melody put it on. The young man removed his hat, revealing bright yellow hair. “Now if you will give me your name, sir.”

“Yael,” she said. “Yael of–”

“That suffices. I am...Gary. No more need be said.”

Another crewman arrived. “Take over, Sam,” Gary said. “I'm going Lan of Yap.”

The other smiled. “Lan of Yap.” Then he peered at Melody, his eyes seeming to strike right through the jacket. “With
her
? You lucky–”

Gary cut him off with a lifted hand. “Carry on, E-Two.” Then he took Melody firmly by the arm. “This way, Yael.”

As they walked down the passage, with Slammer floating sedately behind, Gary explained. “Officers have to act like officers, because that's what they are. We enlisted men have more freedom to be ourselves. We fight, we cry, we laugh, we have wild parties, we good off. So while the officers go slowly crazy, we enlisted men get along pretty well. When an officer can't take any more of the gung-ho, he comes down here, off the record, and takes off his rank, and we let him in on some of the fun. We don't recognize him, we don't call him 'sir,' we just help him let go. It's like a night on the town. No one ever says a thing about it afterward; it just doesn't exist, as far as official ship's protocol is concerned. It's that little extra in his life, the lagniappe, the gift we give beyond the call of duty, no obligation. Know what I mean?”

“Sounds like fun,” Melody agreed, though she was not entirely clear about the rationale.

“More than fun. Lagniappe is the way of space. You do a little something extra for your neighbor, and in turn he does it for you, because we are all here in space and there's nothing else but the ship. If we don't get along
here
, we don't get along at all.”

“What do you do, Gary, when you aren't—getting along?”

“I'm a foilman,” he said. “When I'm not pulling guard duty. I put on my suit and get out there and clean the blade. It gets pitted and holed and dirty from space dust, you know, and–”

“You go outside the ship?” she asked, surprised.

“Sure; that's where the solar collection foils are. If we just let them go, next thing you know collection efficiency will be down ten percent, then twenty percent. We need that light-power to keep us energy self-sufficient.”

“Yes, of course. All the ships have solar collectors. I saw that as I came in on the shuttle. But Gary, the ship is turning, isn't it, and centrifugal force is more than one gravity at the outer shell. How can you stay
on
?”

“That's what makes it a challenge,” he said, inflating a little. “I have magnetic soles on my boots, of course, and a safety line, but it's a bit like hanging by your toes. I can't even do
that
on the sword-foil; it'd tear. So I have to use a support sling.”

“But if anything breaks–”

“I go swinging out into space,” he said. “That's why I'm careful, very careful.” He guided her into a lounge. “The job isn't bad, in fact I like it, but it takes a special kind of man. One who gets a bit paranoid about carelessness.”

Five crewmen looked up. Rather, three human crewmen looked, and one translucent jellylike Antarian quivered, and a jumper from Mirzam angled an antenna. Evidently there was quite a bit of physical travel between spheres, for Mirzam was about eight hundred light-years from Etamin. Maybe some entities had been mattermitted on a special mission, then left at Outworld to fend for themselves because of the enormous expense of the return trip. If the contingents representing other spheres were staffed by sphere-natives, this was another example of the tremendous waste of energy involved in the military. All for the sake of show. If all that energy were only used for more positive purpose—but probably that issue would never be settled. Waste, thy name is Empire, she thought.

“This is Yael,” Gary said. “Lan of Yap.”

The others smiled in their separate fashions, enjoying the mispronunciation. In turn they introduced themselves: “Adam.” “Joyce.” “Manfred.” “Slither.” “Bounce.”

Melody was glad to find an integrated crew, regardless of the waste. The officership was almost entirely Solarian, but it seemed any entity could join the crew. There would be plenty of Solarians and Polarians in the crews of other sphere ships, too, serving under other-sphere officers. She was sure this was a deliberate policy, to prevent prejudices from arising between spheres of the segment.

Of course some adjustments had to be made, as the atmospheres of all planets were not interchangeable. She could detect a faint odor in the air here; presumably something had been added for the benefit of one or the other species. The Mirzam entity seemed to have a mask of sorts covering part of its face, much as a Solarian would carry an oxygen inhaler in an oxygen-deficient atmosphere.

“Let's have a party,” Gary said.

There was a flurry of activity. Slither the Antarian cleared a table by englobing its surface in animate jelly. When the flesh withdrew, the table was spotless. The three Solarians fetched food and drink. Bounce of Mirzam remained to entertain the visitor. Melody felt a certain affinity to him, because she was an equivalently alien creature, and Sphere Mirzam bordered Sphere Mintaka. She was sorry she could not reveal her origin to him.

“We do not receive many Lans currently.” He spoke by vibrating as his legs extended hydraulically from their stout tube-sockets. Mirzam was a jumping society, she knew; those three legs were made to deliver a lot of lift, and to absorb a lot of shock.

“Oh?” Melody inquired, accepting a squeeze-bottle of greenish liquid. In space, potable liquids were never poured; one never knew when a condition of null-gravity might occur. This drink had a sweet but strong flavor. “I understood this was a regular exchange.”

“It used to be,” Gary said. “But in the last two weeks no one has come except Skot, and the tabs have not been honored. Something funny going on. I have a message overdue from my buddy aboard the
Trey of Swords
. Usually Hath or somebody slips it in the chute during slack time, but...”

So that was the nature of the exchange. Officers did little unofficial favors for crew, in return for a few hours' “anonymous” relaxation that she suspected had something to do with intoxicants and amenable female Solarians. All off the record, of course. Getting along, in a fleet that never put in to planet.

And the hostages were fouling up the system. Because a hostage was not the same entity as the host. Hath of * had different priorities from Hath of Conquest. What was important to a member of a two-gendered species was not necessarily important to a member of a five-gendered species. So far almost no one but Melody knew the situation. And how would she make it known?

She was beginning to feel dizzy. “The drink,” Yael said in answer to Melody's confusion. “Alcoholic.” She giggled. “Drink it slow, or you might wind up getting impregnated.”

Melody looked at the drink, startled. “An intoxicant!” Yet why was she surprised? She had known from her host's memory that such things were common, and had reasoned that they applied to this lagniappe custom. She had merely failed to relate her intellectual comprehension to herself.

Suddenly a buzzer sounded in a rapid series of bursts and pauses. Gary looked up, dismayed. “That's my call—emergency. It would have to come right
now
!”

“We shall see to your friend,” Bounce of Mirzam said, jumping up. Literally. His feet left the deck. “Like pogo sticks,” Yael commented, observing the way his three legs pistoned.

“No, I'll go with you,” Melody said quickly to Gary. She was glad for an excuse to stop taking the intoxicant, and she didn't want to have to explain to Slammer about a new escort; the magnet might get confused.

“Can't do,” Gary said with genuine regret. “I've got to go hullside.” He started off down the hall.

Melody ran after him. “I'd like to go hullside!”

He whirled on her, harried. “You're crazy! No offense, sir.”

But she stayed with him, and Slammer stayed with her. “I won't get in the way!”

“I never should have gotten relieved from watch,” he muttered. “Then I wouldn't have been on call.” He jumped into a chute, disappearing from view.

Melody hesitated, then followed him, sliding down through darkness. This crew chute was smaller and faster than the officer's access she had used before. Finally she leveled off in heavy gravity. She was, she judged, near the outer hull, her weight now about half again its normal amount. This was not a pleasant sensation; it dragged on her internal organs as well as her limbs, and her mammaries were uncomfortable. Although it was not as bad as the shuttle deceleration had been, she knew there was no immediate relief, and she had to stay on her feet.