The Ship Who Won (5 page)

"And to seek out new worlds, to boldly go ..."

"Oh, shush," Carialle said severely. "You just want to be

the first to leave your footprints in the sand."

"You've got twelve seconds to company," Simeon said.

"Don't tell me where you're going. What I don't know I

can't he about. Go with my blessings, and come back

safely. Soon."

"Will do," Keff said, strapping in. 'Thanks for everything, Simeon. Cari, ready to-"

The words were hardly out of his mouth before the

CK-963 unlatched the docking ring and lit portside

thrusters.

a CHAPTER TWO

The Inspector Generals angry voice pounded out of the

audio pickup on Simeon's private frequency.

"CK-963, respond!"

"Discovered!" Keff cried, slapping the arm of his couch.

The next burst of harsh sound made him yelp with mock

alarm. "Catch us if you can, you cockatrice!"

"Hush!" Carialle answered the hail in an innocent voice,

purposely made audible for her brawns sake. "S... S-nine ...

dred. H... ving trou-" Keff was helpless with laughter. Tl

... s repeat mes... g?"

"I said get back here! You have an appointment with me as

often hundred hours prime meridian time, and it is now ten

fifteen." Carialle could almost picture his plump,

mustachioed face turning red with apoplexy. "How dare you

blast out of here without my permission? I want to see you!"

"Sorr ..." Carialle said, "br... king up. Will send back

mission reports. General."

'That was clear as a bell, Carialle!" the angry voice hammered at the speaker diaphragm. "There is no static

interference on your transmission. You make a one-eighty

and get back here. I expect to see you in ninety minutes.

Maxwell-Corey out."

"Oops," said Keff, cheerfully. He tilted his head out of

his impact couch toward her pillar and winked. His deep-set blue eyes twinkled. "M-C won't believe that last phrase

was a fluke of clear space, will he?"

"He'll have to," Carialle said firmly. "I'm not going back

to have my cerebellum cased, not a chance. Bureaucratic

time-waster! I know I'm fine. You know you're fine. Why

do we always have to go bend over and cough every time

we make planetfall and explore a new world? I landed, got

steam-cleaned and decontaminated, made our report with

words and pictures to Xeno and Exploration. I refuse to

have another mental going-over just because of my past

experiences."

"Good of Simeon to tip us off," Keff said, running down

the ship status report on his personal screen. "I hope he

won't catch too much flak for it. But look at this! Thirty

percent food and fuel?"

"I know," Carialle said contritely, "but what else could I

do?"

"Not a blessed, or unblessed thing," Keff agreed.

"Frankly, I prefer the odds as opposed to what we'd have

to go through to wait for Simeons next shipments. Full

tanks and complete commissary do not, in my book,

equate with peace of mind if M-C's about. Eventually we

will have to go back, you know."

"Yes, if only to make certain Simeon's coped with the man.

Before we do though, I'll just send Simeon a microsquirt to

be sure Maxwell-Corey's left for D sector...."

"Or someplace else equally distant from us. It isn't as if

we can't hang out in space for a while on iron rations until

Sime sends you an all-clear burst," Keff offered bravely,

although Carialle could see he didn't look forward to the

notion.

"If the IG is sneaky enough ..."

"... And he is if anyone deserves that adjective...."

"... to scan message files he'll know when Simeon

knows where we are, and he could put a tag on us so no

station will supply the 963."

"We shall not come to that sorry pass, my lady fair," Keff

said, lapsing into his Sir Galahad pose. "In the meantime,

let us fly on toward R sector and whatever may await us

there." He made an enthusiastic and elaborate flourish and

ended up pointing toward me bow.

Carialle had to laugh.

"Oh, yes," she said. "Now, where were we?" The Wizard was back on the wall, and he spoke in the creaking

tenor of an old, old man. "Good sir knight, thou hast fairly

won this scroll. Hast anything thou wish to ask me?"

Grinning, Keff buckled on his epee and went to face

him.

While Keff chased men-at-arms all over her main cabin,

Carialle devoted most of her attention to eluding the

Inspector General s attempts to follow her vector.

As soon as she cut off Maxwell-Corey's angry message,

she detected the launch of a message drone from the SSS-900, undoubtedly containing an official summons. As

plenty of traffic was always flying into the stations space, it

took no great skill to divert the heat-seeking flyer onto the

trail of another outgoing vessel. Nothing, and certainly not

an unbrained droid, could outmaneuver a brainship. By

the time the mistake was discovered, she'd be out of this

sector entirely, and on her way to an unknown quadrant of

the galaxy.

Later, when she felt less threatened by him, she'd compose a message complaining of what was really becoming

harassing behavior to SPRIM. She'd had that old nuisance

on her tail long enough. Running free, in full control other

engines and her faculties, was one of the most important

things in her life. Every time that right was threatened,

Carialle reacted in a way that probably justified the IGs

claim of dangerous excitability.

In the distance, she picked up indications of two small

ships following her initial vector. All right, score one up for

the IG: he'd known she'd resist his orders and had ordered

a couple of scouts to chase her down. That could also mean

that he might have even put out an alarm that she was a

danger to herself and her brawn, and must be brought

back willingly or unwillingly. Would the small scouts have

picked up her power emissions? She ought to have been

one jump ahead of old Sennet and expected this sort of

antic. She ought to have lain quiescent. Oh well. She really

couldn't contest the fact that proximity to the IG did put

her in a state of confusion. She adjusted her adrenals.

Calm down, girl. Calm down. Think!

Quick perusal of her starchart showed the migration of

an ion storm only a couple of thousand klicks away.

Carialle made for it. She skimmed the storm's margin.

Then, letting her computers plot the greatest possible

radiation her shields could take without buckling, she slid

nimbly over the surface, a surfer riding dangerous waters.

The sensation was glorious! Ordinary pilots, unable to feel

the pressures on their ships' skins as she did, would

hesitate to follow. Nor could their scopes detect her in the

wash of ion static. Shortly, Carialle was certain she had

shaken off her tails. She turned a sharp perpendicular

from the ion storm, and watched its opalescent halos

recede behind her as she kicked her engines up to full

speed.

Returning to the game, she found Keff studying the

floating map holograph over a cold one at the "village

pub." He glanced up at her pillar when she hailed him.

"I take it we're free of unwanted company?"

"With a sprinkling of luck and the invincibility of our

radiation proof panels," Carialle said, "we've evaded the

minions of the evil wizard. Now its time for a brew." She

tested herself for adrenaline fatigue, and allowed herself a

brief feed of protein and vitamin B-complex.

Keff tipped his glass up to her. Quick analysis told her

that though the golden beverage looked like beer, it was

the non-alcoholic electrolyte-replenisher Keff used after

workouts. "Here's to your swift feet and clever ways, my

lovely, and confusion to our enemies. Er, did my coffee

come aboard?"

"Yes, sir," she replied, flashing the image of a saluting

marine on the wall. 'The storesmaster just had time to

break out a little of the good stuff when Simeon passed the

word down. I even got you a small quantity of chocolate.

Best Demubian." Keff beamed.

"Ah, Cari, now I know the ways you love me. Did you

have time to load any of my special orders?" he asked, with

a quirk of his head.

"Now that you mention it, there were two boxes in the

cargo hold with your name on them," Carialle said.

Clang. BUMP! Clang. BUMP!

The shining contraption of steel that was the Rotoflex

had taken little time to put together, still less to watch the

instructional video on how to use it. Keff sat on the leath-erette-covered, modified saddle with a stirrup-shaped,

metal pulley in each outstretched hand. His broad face red

from the effort, Keff slowly brought one fist around until it

touched his collarbone, then let it out again. The heavy

cables sang as they strained against the resistance coils, and

relaxed with a heavy thump when Keff reached full extension. Squeezing his eyes shut, he dragged in the other fist.

The tendons on his neck stood out cordlike under his

sweat-glistening skin.

'Two hundred and three," he grunted. "Uhhh! Two

hundred and four. Two ..."

"Look at me," Carialle said, dropping into the bass

octave and adopting the spiel technique of so many tri-vid

commercials. "Before I started the muscle-up exercise

program I was a forty-four-kilogram weakling. Now look at

me. You, too, can..."

"All right," Keff said, letting go of the hand-weights.

They swung in noisy counterpoint until the metal cables

retracted into their arms. He arose from the exerciser seat

and toweled off with the cloth slung over the end of his

weight bench. T can acknowledge a hint when its delivered with a sledgehammer. I just wanted to see how much

this machine can take."

"Don't you mean how much you can take? One day

you're going to rupture something," Carialle warned. She

noted Keffs respiration at over two hundred pulses per

minute, but it was dropping rapidly.

"Most accidents happen in the home," Keff said, with a

grin.

"I really was sorry I had to interrupt your tryst with

Susa," Carialle said for the twentieth time that shift.

"No problem," Keff said, and Carialle could tell that this

time he meant it. "It would have been a more pleasant way

to get my heart rate up, but this did nicely, thank you." He

yawned and rolled his shoulders to ease them, shooting

one arm forward, then the other. "I'm for a shower and

bed, lady dear."

"Sleep well, knight in shining muscles."

Shortly, the interior was quiet but for the muted sounds

of machinery humming and gurgling. The SSS-900 technicians had done their work well, for all they'd been rushed

by circumstances to finish. Carialle ran over the systems

one at a time, logging in repair or replacement against the

appropriate component. That sort of accounting took up

litde time. Carialle found herself longing for company. A

perverse notion since she knew it would be hours now

before Keffwoke up.

Carialle was not yet so far away from some of the miners' routes that she couldn't have exchanged gossip with

other ships in the sector, but she didn't dare open up channels for fear of tipping off Maxwell-Corey to their

whereabouts. The enforced isolation of silent running left

her plenty of time for her thoughts.

Keff groaned softly in his sleep. Carialle activated the

camera just inside his closed door for a brief look, then

dimmed the lights and left him alone. The brawn was

faceup on his bunk with one arm across his forehead and

right eye. The thin thermal cover had been pushed down

and was draped modestly across his groin and one leg,

which twitched now and again. One of his precious collection of real-books lay open facedown on the nightstand.

The tableau was worthy of a painting by the Old Masters of

Earth-Hercules resting from his labors. Frustrated from

missing his close encounter of the female kind, Keff had

exercised himself into a stiff mass of sinews. His muscles

were paying him back for the abuse by making his rest

uneasy. He'd rise for his next shift aching in every joint,

until he worked the stiffhess out again. As the years went

by it took longer for Keff to limber up, but he kept at it,

taking pride in his excellent physical condition.

Softshells were, in Carialles opinion, funny people.

They'd go to such lengths to build up their bodies which

then had to be maintained with a significant effort, dispro-portionate to the long-term effect. They were so

unprotected. Even the stress of exercise, which they considered healthy, was damaging to some of them. They

strove to accomplish goals which would have perished in a

few generations, leaving no trace of their passing. Yet they

cheerfully continued to "do" their mite, hoping something

would survive to be admired by another generation or

species.

Carialle was very fond of Keff. She didn't want him

anguished or disabled. He had been instrumental in

restoring her to a useful existence and while he wasn't