Nimisha's Ship

CHAPTER 2

Five days after Lady Nimisha reached her full majority of eighteen years, her sire was killed in a freak accident at the Rondymense Ship Yard. She and Jeska were in the office, studying Lord Tionel's latest and revolutionary design for a spaceship capable of inter-galactic distances; his private design code for this yacht was GOLD PLATE. Having kept a keen eye on her sire's innovative schemes, Nimisha had already delighted him by making minor, but significant contributions to his special private project.

When the alarm alerted the entire yard to a major emergency, the two young women suited up and joined the search party. A space tug had gone out of control, shearing through the shell of a battle cruiser, propelling structural parts off at speed in all directions. One of them had lanced through Tionel's pinnace as he was returning from a meeting with Admiral Narasharim, head of the Fleet design committee. On such a short, routine journey, he had not been wearing a space suit. Nor had the little ship sufficient shielding to protect its passenger from the steel beam that lanced through the single compartment.

When Nimisha and Jeska learned the cause and the extent of the disaster, Nimisha paused long enough to calculate the trajectory of Lord Tionel's route between the navy yard and his office. Knowing the usual velocity of his trip, the vector of the structural member that had hit his craft, and the approximate point of impact, she calculated the likely course of the pinnace after the collision. Then, after both she and Jeska donned EVA garb. Nimisha commandeered a skiff, speeding to the exact location of the collision. She then followed the calculated path until she overtook the wreckage. They found battered human remains and identified the corpse as Lord Tionel's from his wrist com and what clothing was still attached to his body. Although the Yard personnel as well as the Fleet rescue teams would have given anything to spare the two girls such a ghastly task, they brought his remains in a body bag back to Yard headquarters while other teams were still looking for him. Nimisha and Jeska insisted on accompanying his body back to Acclarke.

When informed first of Lord Tionel's death and then of her daughter's actions, Lady Rezalla fainted for the first time in her life. She had revived by the time Nimisha and Jeska returned from the mortuary. At the sight of the two, Lady Rezalla lost her renowned calm and demanded to know how a gently reared child of the Boynton-Chonderlee family could possibly have undertaken the retrieval.

"He was my birth-sire and he deserved whatever final service I, his blood-kin, could provide. The thought of him, lost in space, spinning further and further away from where he could be most easily recovered, was too painful to bear," Nimisha informed her mother, her face pale and rigid.

Lady Rezalla regarded her body-heir with conflicting emotions, pride and approval vying with-Jeska said later to Nimisha-a tinge of jealousy mixed with anger that Nimisha had endangered herself when there were plenty of others to find… him.

"Jeska, pour me a drink, one for yourself and-what will you have, my mother?" Nimisha said, stiffly walking to the nearest chair and collapsing in it with an abruptness that Lady Rezalla would, under other conditions, have criticised as too graceless for a young woman of her upbringing.

"But you went OUT into space," Lady Rezalla said, nodding gratitude as Jeska handed her a strong stimulant.

"In a skiff and in EVA gear."

"In EVA gear?" Lady Rezalla's eyes bulged, her hand went to her heart, and Jeska guided her glass to her lips for a restorative sip.

"We were well instructed, Lady Rezalla," Jeska said, with a worried glance at Nimisha, who was silent with shock. "Part of our managerial training, my lady. In case there should be a major disaster and total evacuation of the premises was required."

"Then what was today's… horrid tragedy considered? A minor hiccup in normal procedures?" Lady Rezalla demanded, clearly recovering more quickly than Nimisha was.

"A terrible accident, Lady Rezalla," Jeska said, and she managed to get a handkerchief from a wrist pocket to blot her eyes of tears. "I understand that Admiral Narasharim herself is conducting the inquiry into how the tug was allowed to function without a proper spaceworthy certificate. She will be wishing to call on you, my lady, since neither Lord Vestrin nor Lady Vescuya are presently on Acclarke and someone must-" Jeska's voice broke.

"Take charge. Yes, of course, someone must take charge." Lady Rezalla said, sitting straighten "We were once contracted. We have a mutual child, my body-heir, and I have no doubt she will comport herself in a far more reverent and seemly fashion than that appalling young man who will now succeed him." Lady Rezalla gave a shudder of dismay and repugnance. "Not that he has the talent to emulate his sire." She took another long sip of the brandy. "Nimisha, drink that at once. You're dead white with shock and you must recover your composure immediately. The Boynton in you requires that. And at least the worlds will know that one Rondymense scion carries the name with honour and credit."

Nimisha downed the entire glass and then threw it into a corner of the wall.

Lady Rezalla blinked, but firmly pressed her lips together at the pleading look on Jeska's face.

"Yes, the Rondymense name will be honoured as fully as I honour yours, my mother," Nimisha said, clinging to the chair as she struggled to rise. "He will never be shamed by his daughter." And she ran from the room, weeping.

"But you're my body-heir," Lady Rezalla murmured, confused and a bit indignant. "Go with her, Jeska, and comfort her as best you can," she added, whisking the girl out of the door.

As Jeska turned back before the automatic door slid into place, she saw Lady Rezalla, hands covering her face, shoulders heaving as she, too, wept for Lord Tionel.

Ti had indeed left the entire Rondymense Ship Yard GmBH with all its assets, designs, and resources to Lady Nimisha Boynton-Rondymense-a bequest that Lord Vestrin Rondymense-Waleska instantly instructed his legal advisers to have reversed. He petitioned to be returned to Acclarke, having endured three years of his exile. His mother petitioned, as well, and had the advantage of being able to return to Acclarke City from the colony where, once she had learned where her son was being incarcerated, she had attempted to supply a few of the elegancies of life for her son. She pursued the claim with all possible vigour. Not that Lord Vestrin had been deprived in any way, for he inherited a considerable estate from his sire: funds so secured that the young heir would be unable to break the trust management and control the sizeable principal, but an allowance that would let him maintain a suitable lifestyle.

"He's the vindictive sort," Lady Rezalla said, "which characteristic he must have inherited from his dam's bloodline. Rehabilitation can only do so much-since body-heirs are not permitted by law to undergo the more drastic psychiatric treatments. Her other children display such pettiness from time to time. We've all noticed it." She then dismissed them as beneath her notice.

Lady Rezalla's attorneys were the acknowledged masters of their profession and instantly joined with Lord Tionel's to prove that the bequest was of long standing. In fact, when Lady Rezalla thought back over the years, she placed the transfer of the property to the very week in which Lord Tionel had made his casual remark about leaving his business to his blood-daughter. The Acclarkian courts refused to hear Lord Vestrin's appeal. He had been granted a substantial fortune as befit a body-heir. Since Lord Rondymense's bequest of his Ship Yard went to a blood relative, there was nothing to contend.

Lady Vescuya ranted and raved on about such iniquity to the point where she became a social liability to those who had once professed friendship for her. Certainly no hostess would commit the solecism of inviting both Vescuya and Rezalla to the same function. When a new scandal rocked Acclarke City's First Families, the untimely death of Lord Tionel and its subsequent problems were forgotten.

It wasn't until Admiral Narasharim herself called at the Boynton-Chonderlee House to see Lady Nimisha that Lady Rezalla began to appreciate exactly how much "managerial" instruction Lord Tionel had given his blood-daughter.

While Lady Nimisha was being summoned, Lady Rezalla offered hospitality and tried to discover why an admiral would need to seek out her daughter.

"Lady Nimisha has finished the latest calculations on the femtosecond processor and, since I have meetings on the surface myself, I thought to spare her an unnecessary trip to Headquarters."

"The femtosecond processor?" Lady Rezalla asked, trying to sound as if she knew what the admiral was talking about.

"Yes, she's been experimenting with storage fibres and she's come up with exactly the right composite to handle almost incredible electron transfers. Of course, having the latest Josephson junctions has been of inestimable assistance in solving that problem."

"Yes, it would, wouldn't it," Lady Rezalla said, smiling graciously.

A brief knock was followed by Nimisha's entrance into the room.

"Here you are, Admiral," and she passed over several of the tiny round disks that generally held quantities of information Lady Rezalla thought were quite remarkable. "I do apologise, my mother. But this is very important," she said.

"We have a little time in hand for you to complete your toilette before we leave," Lady Rezalla said with only the slightest hint of reprimand.

The admiral was on her feet, shaking Nimisha's hand and grinning. "I'll see you tomorrow with the test results, shall I?"

"I wouldn't miss it, ma'am," Nimisha said, and guided the admiral to the door, which the RM opened with a deep, respectful bow. "It won't take me long, my mother," Nimisha said gaily as she shot up the stairs to her room.

"You must tell me more about these… seconds…" Lady Rezalla began when they were settled in Nimisha's skimmer and on their way to the ballet that was the evening's occasion.

"It's just business, my mother," Nimisha said with a shrug.

"A business that an admiral comes in person to collect is not just business, Nimisha."

"It is, however, Fleet business, my mother, and I may not discuss it, even though I know you to be the soul of discretion. However, I would like to prevail on your financial acumen to take a look at the Ship Yard records. I may know a nanosecond from a femtosecond, but achieving trial balances and projections of what percentage our profits are above last year's is totally beyond me."

"I should be delighted to look them over, my daughter. When had you in mind?"

"Would the day after tomorrow be convenient?"

Lady Rezalla had no real need to consult her delicate wrist pad, but she did. "Quite suitable."

Showing good sense as well as filial respect, Nimisha brought her mother in to her executive office to peruse the Rondymense Ship Yard financial records while she busied herself with minor but necessary executive tasks. Halfway through the inspection, Lady Rezalla closed the file she was studying and sat back in the chair.

"Tionel knew very well what he was doing. And so do you, my dear girl, in spite of that famo-neto-second gibberish you gave me the other day. I shall leave your Fleet discretions and secrets, since you're in them as deeply as dear Ti was. Obviously he trained you to take his place and so you must, restoring the name Rondymense to the honour it deserves."

Neither remarked on the fact that Lord Vestrin had finally returned to Acclarke but was keeping a very low profile, generally taking himself off-planet to hunt with those of his acquaintance who did nothing but divert themselves with whatever foible or folly took their wayward interests.

"I don't believe that I had any idea of exactly the scale of dear Ti's Yard, nor how much construction is currently under way. How can you possibly find time to do little tasks for the Fleet? Much less spend so much time completing that yacht he was enamoured of." Lady Rezalla's final tone bordered on the critical despite the good impression the extent of Rondymense's enterprises had given her.

"He trained Jeska Mlan at the same time he trained me."

"He did?" That startled her mother, who hastily reviewed that young woman's behaviour but could find not the least trace of unbecoming or pushy manners.

Nimisha laughed. "Ti used to say that Jeska had the ninety-nine percent of perspiration it takes to invent something new and I'd supply the one percent genius that shot us into a new dimension. Actually, we're a very good team. I always have Jeska check my calculations. She's accurate to the exact limits of the data. I might be right in my guesstimate most times, but she makes sure it's substantiated by hard figures."

"Really," Lady Rezalla said faintly, in a mild state of shock.

"Actually, we do more design than administration anyway, since Tionel has always had excellent executives like Jim Marroo, Efram Dottlesheim, and Ferman Miles-Zynker. You met them at the obsequies and I remember you commenting on how impressed you were with their dignity and genuine grief."

"That is true. I was impressed." Lady Rezalla had been, but for reasons other than those quoted by her daughter. She had learned all she could about the men who were-nominally, it now appeared-in charge of her body-heir's inheritance. She would ruthlessly have dismissed any that had not met her high standards, but they all had. Which made dear Ti's dreadful body-heir all the more a tragedy.

"I have no qualms at allowing them to continue in their current responsibilities," Nimisha told her mother, smiling, "doing the bread-and-butter work that supports the icing on the particular piece of cake Ti wanted so to finish. It's mine now, and I'm continuing the work in progress. Some of it, I spin off to the Navy for their experts to try to pick apart. Tionel did that, and I seem to have inherited the same courtesy they extended him. Anyway, he left us copious notes on how to proceed." She gestured around her office to indicate the schematics and plans projected on the wall, all printed out from work down in the Design Room where she spent so much of her time.

"You'd best show me the ship itself while I'm here," her dam said, dismissing the plans that she couldn't read for a virtual shape that she might have more chance of evaluating. "I knew I should have supervised you more closely but…" Rezalla's shrug was as elegant as ever. Then she smiled up at her tall daughter. "His genes have done well by you. See that you do well by his legacy."

"I intend to, my mother."

"And, before you get too involved, I suggest that you have your body-heir."

Nimisha thought that suggestion over for a long moment. "Yes, that would be wise, since I intend to test the yacht myself." At her mother's startled gasp, she smiled reassuringly and touched her mother delicately on the forearm. "I'm a very good pilot, you know, but I have a duty to you and the Family. Have you any sire in mind for me?"

"Thank you, m'dear. Lately you have been so limited in your contact with your peers that I wonder that you are interested in men at all…"

"Oh, I am, Mother!' Nimisha said in such a warm tone that her mother became all the more anxious. But Nimisha did know about Family duty and would never involve herself, even in dalliance, with someone less than totally presentable.

"Only those, I suspect," Lady Rezalla said in a slightly acid tone, "who pretend to be interested in your fascination with parsecs and performance vehicles."

"There are some who have applied to me for recommendations on racing cars, my mother," Nimisha replied, her expression droll. "Over lunches at fashionable eateries and even on weekend parties. I do not live a monastic life."

Lady Rezalla sniffed delicately. "I should hope not!" Nimisha shrugged and her mother went on. "Leave the matter of a suitable sire to me. I shall give you several choices. After all, a body-heir contract is short. And you might even enjoy it."

"Did you enjoy your contract with my sire, my mother?"

Lady Rezalla raised her head, stiffened her back, and regarded her daughter for a long moment. At first, Nimisha wondered if she had broached too personal a matter.

"Yes," Lady Rezalla said, her eyes reflecting sadness, "I did. And he tried to extend it."

"I know," Nimisha said with a moue of regret.

"He was far too committed, even then, to… his business." Rezalla rose from the desk to indicate that the subject was closed.

The inspection of the ship-or rather of the skeleton, for the special petralloys that would be the hull plating had yet to be added-was duly conducted, and Lady Rezalla did not affect either specious approval or dismay. She was even allowed into the sacrosanct Design Room. She inhaled sharply when the lights went out, and then exhaled as the Designer displayed the yacht as she would look in finished form.

"Impressive," she said. "I wouldn't have thought dear Ti was so inventive. Much better than his colour schemes," she added blandly, leaving the now-bare Design Room.

Lady Rezalla also took note of the respect with which her daughter was treated by all the Rondymense personnel. So the tour ended with Lady Rezalla both pleased and reassured.

As Nimisha conveyed her mother back to the surface of Vega III, she decided that she'd very deftly gotten her mother to take care of screening suitable sires so that she wouldn't have to spend unnecessary time away from the Yard to attend to that family obligation. She had too much scheduled right now to spend time going through bloodlines and gene patterns. Her mother would enjoy the occupation far more than she would. And probably choose a far more suitable alliance. Nimisha's current bedmate would not meet her mother's high social standard, but then, what her mother didn't know wouldn't offend her.

Two weeks later her mother handed her a list of suitable men. Of the lot, Nimisha decided that Lord Rhidian Farquahar-Hayakawa was the most acceptable to her. She was, of course, acquainted with the man. He was an ardent hunter of alien monsters, charming and handsome, though she deplored his hobby as much as he probably disapproved of her professional involvement. But he was known to be an excellent companion on a hunt, never complaining about the dirt or discomfort, and had often caused her to howl with laughter at his sly and clever jokes. She had never once heard him belittle anyone. He had blue eyes, too, so that feature would be perpetuated. When approached by Nimisha for his service, he was surprised but recovered smoothly.

"You're only eighteen, Nimi," he'd remarked. "Surely you don't need to rush into maternity yet."

"I might as well get it over with so I can concentrate on what interests me. I've the Yard to manage, you know."

"How's that new long-distance yacht of yours coming along? I hear it's going to reduce travel time phenomenally," he said. "Could I make it from Demeathorn to Canopus IV in time to attend both hunting seasons?"

"Only if you learn to handle a spaceship better than you do hunting vehicles," she replied, obliquely reminding him of a near-fatal accident while hunting raptors on Canopus IV.

"Will you do a shakedown cruise with me when the yacht's ready?"

"I need the body-heir contract now. Rhid, but I'll see what I can do when the yacht is ready for trial runs."

"Fair enough," he replied, and then he was willing to discuss the contract for a body-heir. He surprised her by asking for Rondymense Ship Yard stock and added mining concessions from his family holdings as his half of the child's birthright. The agreement was signed, the begetting of an heir was conducted with grace, skill, and such fervour that Nimisha was quite pleased. And just a little disappointed when she became pregnant a scant two months later. Rhidian did not cease his visits, for the contract stipulated a live, healthy child. She didn't object to his company during her pregnancy, since he usually arrived after she had returned from the Ship Yard. He did once mention that he felt she should suspend her operations at the Yard in the last trimester of her pregnancy.

"Why? All I'm doing now is programming the AI's on board and that takes very little physical effort on my part. Still, it's nice of you to be concerned, Rhidian."

"I know you're healthy, and all that, and carrying easily, Nimi. It's just that accidents can-and have…" He paused, wondering if he should have obliquely mentioned the tragic circumstance of her sire's death. "… happened at the Ship Yard and I should not like to see you miscarry. Of course, if you did, I would naturally honour the contract, which requires the successful birth, not merely the pregnancy," he said, his expression hopeful.

"That's most considerate of you, Rhidian, but I don't foresee any problems, and no one at the Yard lets me overextend myself. I could probably do a lot more than Jeska and my other department heads allow."

Rhidian gave a reluctant shrug. "Well, if Jeska's always with you…"

"Always," Nimisha said.

When her daughter was born, Nimisha was overwhelmed with a totally unanticipated rush of maternal devotion that put the half-finished yacht into second place in her life. Lady Rezalla couldn't believe how the birth altered her daughter, nor could Jeska. Fortunately, both approved.

"Having a baby is not at all like designing a spaceship, is it?" Nimisha said, smiling fatuously at the dainty girl that her body had produced.

"I should hope not," Lady Rezalla said sharply, but her expression softened instantly. She, too, was quite besotted with her grandchild.

Lady Astatine was the only relative who retained critical objectivity. "It's well enough," she said. "If it lives and has its health."

Lady Rezalla's suddenly revived hope that Nimisha would dispense with spaceship design and Yard supervision was ruthlessly shattered. Although a registered wet nurse was hired to tend the baby's needs, Nimisha set up an office suite in her domicile, adding vid screens showing the nursery rooms so she could enjoy her daughter's antics whenever she chose. In fact, as Cuiva advanced from crawling to an unsteady walk, only Jeska knew how often Nimisha totally ignored other pressing professional matters.

Lord Rhidian was so beguiled by his firstborn that he continued his visits, even missing an important Trophy Hunt when Cuiva first walked. Although Nimisha had not initially intended to take so much time away from the Yard to supervise her body-heir's nurturing and development, she found time spent with her daughter a source of relaxation from a long day of programming. She was setting up what she knew would be a revolutionary femtosecond control system for the yacht. That such a system also required a whole new generation of central processing units-as well as a staggering cost-meant little to her in her search for perfection.

When the Mark 2 was completed, she did the test runs, her first major absence from her daughter since Cuiva's birth. Rhidian was one of those permitted to come along "for the ride." Jeska was another, along with an "interested" observer from the Fleet Design Department. That had been a compliment to Lord Tionel's good standing with the Department, though Nimisha had the feeling that Commander Modesittin was present more as a goodwill representative. While he asked few but pertinent questions, he had evidently been sufficiently impressed; a more thorough investigation of the Mark 2's performance resulted in sales of four of this prototype for scout vessels. Nimisha and Jeska had found a way around the cost of the necessary CPU's, so that the Navy could also afford to buy the Mark 2.

Several of the patents she had registered for improvements in minor control devices were also purchased in quantity and installed wherever they would update existing systems. It was obvious that the Fleet was now as interested in her as a naval designer as they had been in Lord Tionel. She had several very complimentary interviews with Admiral Levertim Gollanch, who had succeeded to Admiral Narasharim's position after the older woman's retirement. There was no harm, Nimisha thought, in cooperating with the Fleet. She was amused to be invited to a formal dinner by Admiral Gollanch shortly after the interviews.

"More likely to pick my brains than to entertain me," Nimisha remarked to Jeska, who complained when she accepted the invitation.

When Lady Rezalla heard about it, she considered such interest only right and just and wondered why it had taken them so long to realise that Lady Nimisha was a fit successor to Lord Tionel.

"They had to be sure of that, my mother," Nimisha said. "They have, after all, continued to buy Rondymense units. But I designed some of the systems that Tionel never got around to making."

"So you've informed me," was her dam's droll reply.

So Nimisha attended a very formal dinner at Vega's Fleet headquarters in the Supreme Admiral's quarters. She was the celebrity of the evening. The other guests, gaudily attired in formal uniforms, displaying medals for a variety of achievements, ranged from young to ancient, male and female, and were almost all naval. Two other civilians had been included and she knew both-naval architects, each good in his specialty. But, she reminded herself, not as good as she was.

Well, service to one's Federation was part of the duty of a good Family, but if she had to have a naval officer or other "observer" checking up on her, she would choose with care. After narrowing down the candidates to a short list and conducting a round of private investigations, she made an appointment to see Admiral Gollanch. She'd have Lieutenant Senior Grade Caleb Rustin, she told the admiral, as her Fleet spy.

Gollanch pretended astonishment. "Fleet spy?"

"That is certainly what last week's dinner was all about, wasn't it?" Nimisha responded, sitting totally at her ease in his impressive office. The wood paneling was supposedly resurrected from the wreck of some ancient and honorable oceangoing vessel. The decor was certainly all naval, including the curious instruments by which ancient mariners had been able to deduce their location and make course corrections. "Let us be honest with each other, Admiral."

"You have the forthrightness of your dam."

"I do not. She'd never say anything so direct. My biological father might have."

Gollanch hid a smile behind his hand but his eyes twinkled. "I feel that it is quite likely that we can deal with you as equably as we did with Lord Tionel."

"His understanding was with your predecessor, Admiral Narasharim."

"I can only hope that ours-" He paused to make her a half bow."-will be as productive."

"Productive in what way? My sire never spoke of his… arrangement with Fleet. I knew that there was one, not what it entailed."

"This office has watched your handling of his Yard with interest and respect. I wish to be more fully briefed on your projects in case we may collaborate…"

"On my long-distance yacht?" She cocked her head a little to one side.

"The Mark Two vessels have performed well above the most optimistic criteria and yet you have a new design on the gantries."

"There is always room for improvement, Admiral."

"If there is, this department is very interested. I do not intend to interfere in any way with a civilian installation…"

"Then that isn't why Rondymense is situated so conveniently at one edge of your main facility?"

"Happenstance. The Rondymense Yard predates the Fleet's Vegan base by nearly a hundred years, you know." When she nodded, because she did know, he went on. "It would please me personally, not as admiral in charge of Fleet Design, if you would duly consider recommendations and suggestions from my representative. Since young Rustin is your choice, I shall put him on detached service to the Rondymense Ship Yard."

"He should get a promotion for accepting hazardous duty," she said with a smile. "And another one if our mutual efforts produce results."

"Are you well acquainted with Caleb Rustin?"

"Never met him before the other evening. But he has an impressive record-good engineering aptitude, cleverly displayed when he did that mid-space repair to the comcomplex a meteor sheared off the old Aegean Sea. What he jury-rigged that day had been translated into standard equipment to prevent any similar accidents. And he's obviously being monitored for further promotions. At least in the Design division."

Somewhat startled by her knowledge of the lieutenant's record, he covered his surprise with a sly smile. "I'd've lost my bet then," he said.

"Oh?" Nimisha raised both eyebrows in amusement, encouraging an explanation by curving her mouth in a delicate one-sided smile that fascinated the admiral. He was by no means immune to the charismatic charm of the young woman with such speaking gentian-blue eyes.

"Yes," Gollanch said, steepling his fingers and rhythmically bouncing his fingertips together, a reflective habit of his.

"Let me guess," Nimisha said, leaning forward and grinning as shrewdly as he had. "That Marcusi captain."

"How did you arrive at that conclusion?" Gollanch did not yet care to admit how accurate her assessment was.

She leaned back. "He was doing his best-adroitly," she said, raising her hand not to denigrate the captain's performance. "He also seemed exceedingly well informed about my, ah, present design plans."

"Hmmm…" Gollanch made a mental note to find out how the captain had been able to access that information. Not even the Fleet had the right to invade a Family's private enterprise without due invitation. "I shall check into that."

"Don't bother. There's nothing I do not intend to share with the Fleet when I have perfected what will improve your ships." She dismissed that problem with a flick of her hand. It was an unusually callused hand for a Family scion, with a wide strong palm, deft fingers, and trimmed nails, unlike the usual elegantly tapered fingers with artificial extensions almost as long again as the finger-a fad that impeded any use of humankind's greatest advantage over most animals. "How can you fault Captain Marcusi for wanting to succeed? He's really very good at it."

"In that case…" Gollanch ended the subject with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Good, especially as I made my own"-her delightful grin enlivened fine features that tended, in repose, to be sober, if not aloof- "discreet inquiries, since it was obvious my operation is of interest to the Fleet. So it is very good of you, really, to be so… so…"

"Accommodating?" Gollanch suggested. On consideration, Rustin was a very good choice, a better match for this woman than Captain Marcusi, who had great ambitions for himself-in which he would probably succeed, bar a bad command decision. Rustin was far more interested in achieving the best results from a project than in making certain everyone knew he had had a hand in it. The lad had good ideas and, as the Lady Nimisha had noted, excellent engineering credentials. Then, without trying to appear rushed, though the admiral had a full day's appointments-a few of them not as pleasant as this one-he smiled at her. "How soon can I send Lieutenant Commander Rustin to Rondymense Ship Yard?"

Nimisha rose. "He's waiting at my skimmer. I promised him a tour of the Yard at dinner the other night. As soon as I could arrange it." She reached her hand across the table and Gollanch shook it with both of his, noticing the workmanlike strength of her grasp. Again that almost gamine grin and the twinkle of her gentian-blue eyes. "He was the only one who didn't hint. He also was the first to ask me to dance and converse on suitable subjects."

"Ah! I will recommend such tactics should similar strategy be needed."

"You are a dear, Admiral," she said, releasing her hand and making her way to the door. There she stopped, considered momentarily, and then gracefully looked back over her shoulder at him. "Lieutenant Commander Rustin may never know all I have in mind as design features, but he will be privy to what would improve the performance of the Vegan Fleet vessels."

At such an outrageous remark, Gollanch let out a roar of laughter that brought the officer at the worktop in the anteroom to his feet in surprise. "Such condescension is more than we hoped for, Lady Nimisha Boynton-Rondymense."

"Certainly it's more than you deserve," was her parting shot.

It took Lady Nimisha some twenty minutes to reach her skimmer, where Caleb Rustin was standing, looking bewildered. The long planes of his face were slightly Oriental, often giving him a vexingly unreadable expression. He was regarding his wrist com as if it had extruded fangs and bitten him. When he heard her steps-she was wearing her usual work apparel, including calf-high boots with reinforced toes and soles-he smiled a little hesitantly. His bemusement was still apparent in his light gray eyes, a contrast to the sallow skin and thick black hair. He swallowed.

"Admiral Gollanch's office has just contacted me, Lady Nimisha," he said. And blinked. "I've received a promotion, and I'm not due one yet."

"Ah, but you certainly couldn't be the naval attache at Rondymense Ship Yard as a mere senior lieutenant!' she replied.

"I'm the naval attache?" There was little inscrutability left in the genuine delight and amazement of his expression.

"Yes, you'll suit me ever so much better than that pushy Captain Marcusi."

"Mar-" Caleb tilted his head and let out a roar similar to the admiral's, though she did not mention the similarity. She noticed the discreet design of his body-heir tattoo, not common in the Navy; she supposed his family had been awarded prize money, possibly in the last pirate attacks. First Families had started the convention of tattooing several hundred years before to prevent the kidnapping of heirs.

"What occasions such mirth?" she asked.

"Because Marcusi fancies himself as adroit, devious, and charismatic."

"He is. Those tactics are useful for a line officer on the fast track to command, but they don't work quite so well on Family."

"May we speak candidly, Lady?" he asked, his expression serious. When she nodded, he went on. "Why me? There were many candidates for you to choose from, some who've had commands and more experience."

"You…" she said, pointing her finger at him, "asked me to dance."

Caleb let a small smile pull at his lips while his eyes met hers with equal candour. "That was only because I didn't know what else to do to get you away from the others."

"Ah, but you conversed with me, too."

"What else does one do when one dances?" He seemed surprised.

She chuckled. The ingenuous reply did him no harm at all. A man who had the right priorities, training, and certainly some breeding, though his tattoo was neither complex nor colourful. She gestured toward her skimmer, indicating they could now leave.

"How does a body-heir become a Fleet officer?" she asked.

"When that body-heir's sire is also a Fleet officer!' he replied.

As they rounded the little spacecraft, the guard came to immediate attention. He wore the gray and silver of Nirnisha's Yard livery. Now he gave a smart salute to the freshly promoted Lt. commander, as if he somehow knew Rustin was no longer a mere lieutenant.

"Worrick, this is Lieutenant Commander Caleb Rustin, who has recently been appointed naval attache to our Yard. He is to be treated with all due courtesies, naval and yard. Secure the hatch for takeoff. We'll just go forward and inform Control of our imminent departure. Thank you."

/\s she gave the new attache the promised guided tour of the Rondymense facility, she also put him through some general paces, including a short EVA. There did happen to be a suit that could have been measured for him, since the EVA ready room was equipped with quite a range of sizes in spaceworthy gear.

"Put your name on that one when we come back in," she said when they had returned from the inspection of the Fiver. At the moment the ship was a skeleton of petralloy rings, tapering to the bow and blunt at the stern: her latest attempt to design the perfect long-distance spacecraft. He seemed totally at ease, automatically clipping on to safety rings with his suit harness and unclipping as they pushed about the skeleton.

His chuckle came over the helmet com. "This fits me better than my navy issue ever did."

"You should investigate the other perquisites that come with an attache's position while you're at it."

"Ah, now I wouldn't have thought of that."

"Speak sharply to Admin," she said. "You'll require specialty pay and an extra uniform allowance."

"Should I ask how you know what perks are available to an attache?"

"I looked them up." She hadn't anticipated a sly sense of humour from him, but it did him no harm. "But you have to sign the authorisation."

"True."

She activated the airlock controls, and as the lock rolled back, they reentered the Yard proper. That was the beginning of their stimulating and inclusive association.

Caleb lent his knowledge and naval expertise to Nimisha's often intuitive ideas. He came to appreciate Jeska's precision and practicality. Indeed, he encouraged them to include some of the more radical changes, revelling in their grasp of efficient spaceship design. It was a change for him to work with minds that were not hedged in by bureaucratic shibboleths and antiquated thinking, not to mention Fleet budgetary restrictions. Nimisha had the resources to build a squadron of her versatile long-distance yachts if it so pleased her, and Jeska kept her to what was possible, effortlessly taking over most of the less spectacular management duties.

It was inevitable that Nimisha and Caleb enjoyed some intimacies, the result of long hours of intense, cerebral work that had ended in rather special, to him, interludes. He knew she hadn't taken these incidents seriously: No doubt she dismissed them as the needs of the moment, enjoyed them for that moment, and then forgot them in the face of more pressing concerns as she returned to her overriding desire to perfect an intergalactic spaceship. He had schooled himself to do so as well, fascinated more by her personality and her dedication to design improvement than by her beauty-not that he ever became accustomed to having such a beauty as a companion. With selective breeding and gene control now four centuries in use, no one in her stratum of society could ever be considered ugly; some were simply more beautiful than others. Indeed, beauty was hardly limited to her class, since antenatal gene repair and intelligent nutrition produced handsome folk in every walk of life. Lately, elements of bizarre styles of "beauty" had been introduced, not in the major Families, of course, who were more conservative, but in those lesser Families who delighted to shock. Some of the variants had been spectacular-but artificial in ways that did not quite come off as something the owner would be likely to bequeath to his or her successor.

Lady Rezalla actually approved of Lt. Commander Rustin, despite his rather modest body-heir tattoo, especially after she discovered from Admiral Gollanch that he was due for further promotions in his position as attache. She could consider a possible admiral appropriate for any long-term association her daughter might make. When not even a "friendly contract" ensued after several weeklong absences with Rustin, Rezalla was almost disappointed. Nimisha did, indeed, know what was due her Family. And to her daughter.

Obviously, Nimisha's passion for naval design far outweighed the need for any legal companionship. The best of all possible worlds, Lady Rezalla thought, for she had long practiced the art of "to have and have not" as far as males were concerned. At least, if Nimisha insisted on such an unusual career, she had chosen one of the most prestigious.

And Lt. Commander Rustin was an acceptable escort, so Lady Rezalla included him on her special guest list, an honour on which he never presumed.

The Mark 3 was built, tested, and put into production over the next three years but, after many severe tests, the perfection Nimisha wanted of it had still not been attained. Candidly Caleb Rustin agreed with her. Jeska, who spent more and more of her time in her managerial capacity, still attended their Design Room sessions and felt that the Mark 3, sleek and compact, could become claustrophobic for the light-year distances it was intended to traverse.

"Why not go back to the ellipsoid shape and keep it pure in that shape?" she suggested. "There's really no need, especially if you plan to have this a surface lander, to have all the bulges and bumps to contain the necessary storage spaces. We've gone a little too far in the opposite direction. Simplicity, especially with the femtosecond AI's now available, might be the way to go." And so Nimisha called up the shape, dragging in the basic units from other successful designs.

Caleb added a new water-purification system that the Fleet had been perfecting, as well as a top-quality catering system, designed to convert pure protein and complex carbohydrate substances into food that not only tasted exactly as the diner wished but provided the necessary nutrients for the maximum efficiency of the human body. Repair units had to operate autonomously should the ship be damaged in any one of the hundreds of scenarios that had to be programmed into the memory banks from those the Fleet generously opened for the project.

Civilians-like Lord Rhidian, who bought the test Mark 3 from her and effusively praised it-found it more than comfortable and certainly fast enough to meet their requirements. The Rondymense Yard expanded and Jeska became executive director, freeing Nimisha to pursue the elusive ideal with Caleb. The Fleet was attempting to come up with a more economical version, which she and Caleb privately referred to as the Faulty Four, while she refined the satisfactory units of the Mark 3 and started from the beginning to conceive further innovations that would make the Mark 5 nearer to her ideal. She and Caleb spent hours in the Design Room, dragging and drawing, redesigning, reorganising components, until the day they asked the all-important questions: Would the performance of this design equal Nimisha's optimum? How much would it cost to build? And how long would it take to complete?

"A projection of its performance capability is twelve percent higher than the Mark Four" the Designer replied. "It would take no longer to build than the Four, since much of the same basic design has been refined and can now be utilised. Based on current prices for top-grade materials…"

"Have I ever economised on them yet, Designer?"

"… the cost would take precisely sixty-two percent of the credit currently on deposit."

Caleb whistled.

"I'd've expected a higher cost, considering the complexity of the AI units you've specified and the other refinements on our Mark Four designs," Jeska said, knowing how much Nimisha depended on her opinions. "But I have new contracts just in that will recoup thirty-one percent of that credit within the next two years. Plus the usual maintenance contracts that come in regularly-and I suspect the Zynker-Deltoid Shippers intend to accept our tender for their fleet additions. In short, it's doable," she finished, "without you having to invest much of your own money."

"That's a lot better than I thought," Nimisha said, surprised. "And Lady Rezalla will be pleased that I don't have to touch my capital."

"So, do we build?" Caleb asked, aware he'd been holding his breath.

"We sure do," Nimisha said. "Designer, let's have one more look at those main AI circuits. They have to be in the most shielded part of the hull."

Meanwhile, Cuiva grew from a toddler to a graceful young girl who obediently did ballet training with her grandmother and was every bit as handy with a soldering tool or construction fastener as her mother had been at the same age.

"How many generations is that wretched Yard going to consume?" Lady Rezalla demanded when she found Cuiva about to set off in the space skimmer when she had planned to take the girl to a new anti-grav ballet that had been sold out for weeks. She had had trouble enough obtaining tickets and was exasperated to find her treat preempted. Cuiva might be content enough to keep her grandam company when her mother was busy, but Nimisha had first call on the child's loyalties.

"Tionel's family had it for nine generations, so Cuiva's only the second for us," Nimisha said.

"Which would you-" Lady Rezalla began, bending down to the child.

"Mother!" Nimisha interrupted, so abruptly that Lady Rezalla stared at her body-heir in amazement. Nimisha forced a smile as she dropped into old Terran language that Cuiva ought not yet understand. "Let us not descend to competition for her preference. I apologise if I neglected to inform you that I was taking her with me today and for your disappointment. Perhaps you can exchange the tickets."

Lady Rezalla confined her response to a curt nod and. pivoting on one heel, walked stiffly to where her driver awaited her at her skimmer's door.

Nimisha never told her dam that today she, Caleb, and Jeska were taking Cuiva on her first space walk. Nimisha had had a special suit constructed, and Cuiva was going to be able to go over the exterior of the now petralloy-clad Mark 5. Nimisha had promised the child that treat for her scholastic achievements. Cuiva was a better mathematician than Nimisha, Jeska, or Caleb, She was therefore also a better programmer. Nimisha wondered how long she would have to wait until Cuiva was old enough to work on the artificial intelligence programs that would manage the elusive ideal she was herself chasing.

The four of them had a marvellous time and Cuiva showed no problem at all with inner ear dysfunction in the vacuum of space. She obeyed every order explicitly and the naval EVA trainer who attended the sessions remarked that some of his novices did not show as much confidence as the child did.

"We must see that she doesn't become overconfident." Nimisha said.

"Oh, next time she's up, we'll give her a little problem to solve," Caleb suggested. "Nothing to frighten her, Nimi, but certainly something to remind her of the dangers inherent in an EVA."

"Cuiva's sensible," Nimisha said firmly.

"Of course she is," Caleb agreed, wondering if perhaps he had been out of line. But he was as fond of Cuiva as if she'd been his own offspring, and she, in turn, was certainly at ease in his company. "She's your body-heir, and Lord Rhidian is a fine hunter but not a chance-taker like Lord Vestrin is."

Lord Tionel's body-heir had had a shattering accident in a hunt stampede. Body sculpting would be needed, and even with the recent strides in the replication of body organs and bone replacements, he would not be active for a while. Meanwhile he lived in seclusion with his dam, Lady Vescuya, who attempted to amuse him during the process of revision.

"By the way, Nimi," Caleb said, as much to change the subject as to seize an opportunity to remind Nimisha that she'd promised to think the matter over, "have you decided on rejuv?"

Nimisha glanced at him out of the corner of her eye so that he could not see her expression. "Rejuv would not have saved Vestrin when he insisted on being a carpet for a whole herd of Altairian antelopes," she remarked. "But I've made the appointment. One reason why I've spent the day with Cuiva." Then she gave an exaggerated sigh. "All these delays in getting what I want make me think in the long-term."

Caleb laughed. "I don't think it's going to take that long for you to get the long-journey yacht you're aiming for. Design's estimate is proving accurate from the work-reviews Jeska keeps filing." He paused and then grinned roguishly. "Of course, I did rejuv long ago."

"You never told me."

"Admiral Gollanch required it. That's where I spent my last leave."

"What? You weren't dancing and dallying with tropical beauties as I so fondly thought?"

Caleb appeared to think. "Well, there was one…"

Cuiva approached them just then, waiting like the well-bred youngster she was until there was a pause in adult conversation.

"Yes, Cuiva?" he said, seizing her presence to leave the fuller answer dangling.

"Is ballet fun, Mother?" Cuiva asked.

"Ah, I see your grandmother will keep you from missing me," Nimisha said, giving her daughter a hug and a kiss.

"And," Cuiva went on, clinging shyly to Caleb's hand, "would it be possible for you to take Belac and me out together, too?"

"If Lady Rezalla permits…"

Nimisha knew how well Cuiva and Caleb's son got on despite a three-year age difference. She also was aware that one of the reasons Caleb liked his present assignment was the extra time it allowed him to spend with Belac. "I'll make sure of that," she said.

Nimisha went for the weeklong rejuv procedure of which Lady Rezalla approved. She'd been trying to get Nimisha to take it, if only to protect Cuiva. The ballet was but one of the many activities she had planned, but it was the one that Cuiva enjoyed the most. The child was delightfully appreciative and talked quite excitedly about the various scenes she had particularly enjoyed. All that week she applied herself to her morning exercises and even reviewed vids from her grandam's extensive ballet library. But the moment Nimisha returned, she was once again the center of the child's universe. Cuiva greeted her mother as ecstatically as if she'd been gone far longer. And Lady Rezalla sighed with regret. It wasn't as if the little girl hadn't been given all sorts of toys to play with- from the very feminine to the same scaled-down toolkit her grand-sire had given Nimisha. Nor had Nimisha influenced the child in any obvious way, except by her own example of dedication to her chosen profession.

Therefore, Lady Rezalla was more pleased than concerned when Nimisha said she was going to solo her new Mark 5 prototype for an extended test run. Her absence meant Cuiva, now a charming eleven-year-old, would be available to her grandam for the duration of the six weeks' trial run. All three were satisfied with that arrangement.

It was a great day for the Rondymense Ship Yard when the Mark 5 prototype was freed from the last gantry umbilical and moored at the Naval Base station. While the Fiver looked small in the company of the battle cruisers, even destroyers, she had the sleekness of a stellar racer combined with the toughness of a military craft.

"Dangerous," Lady Rezalla said, with a delicate shudder. "Why can't spacecraft be… pretty… like ocean-going yachts?"

"She is," chorused Nimisha, Caleb, and Cuiva, who was considered old enough to take part in the celebration.

Cuiva never told her grandam just how well she knew the Fiver, inside and out. She did have to try very hard not to hang on to her mother, but she manoeuvred to stay close behind Nimisha as the designer did the rounds of the invited guests and accepted official, and personal, congratulations on her achievement.

"Let's not be too optimistic," Nimisha said, dismissing the more ardent comments. "I'll be more sanguine when I've seen the results of the shakedown cruise."

The naval contingent nodded sagely at that remark. Caleb tried hard not to look smug, because he had no doubts himself that the Fiver would pass with flying colours. Then it came time for Nimisha to say farewell to her dam, to Jeska who would capably deal with problems during her absence, and to her beloved Cuiva. Despite the number of people surrounding them, Nimisha raised her body-heir into her arms, hugged her tightly, and kissed her six times before giving her into Lady Rezalla's keeping. She waved to them all until the hatch of the Fiver closed.

/\ week later, Nimisha brought the Fiver out of warp space at precisely the coordinates she had designated in the Delta quadrant. She was pleased but not surprised. If she'd been a degree off, she would have been upset.

"Run diagnostics on all systems," she told the artificial intelligence that managed ship functions.

"Aye, ma'am," said the tenor voice she had programmed into the AI. Her early years as a test pilot on long and lonely runs had taught her that it was psychologically reassuring to hear another human voice-and the AI, Helm, was the state-of-the-art in that regard, even to making independent queries and initiating standard procedure actions without direct command. She had another AI in the compact infirmary, Doc, and a less broadly programmed one in the galley who responded to "Cater."

She flipped open the safety harness that she had fastened at the sound of the warning bell of reentry and rose in a single graceful movement. "I'll be in the galley."

A needless comment but part of the routine she had established with her AI units. This initial run should shake out the glitches that had escaped the gruelling routines to which she subjected each part of a new ship. Responses from the AI's were very much a part of a ship that she wished to produce and sell to both the Federated Sentient Planet Space Authority and private buyers among the wealthy of her acquaintance. Many of them enjoyed flitting about the star system. Many of them preferred to have little, if any, crew and some of them were not competent enough to be permitted to travel alone. Most needed as much backup and assistance as could be crammed into a compact vessel. And a Fleet ship with a single scouting pilot would need the "company," spurious as it was.

The large "day" room was spacious enough to hold large parties in. That would be a boon to those who wished to entertain at their ports of call. It could also be separated into four sections with privacy shields for discreet conferences. The galley was located on the long starboard wall, and the panels on either side of it enclosed additional dispenser units to accommodate an increase in guests. The main airlock was on the port side of the cabin. On either side of the galley facility were the passageways to the six private cabins, far more spacious and well appointed than a naval vessel could permit. A circular staircase on one side gave access to the lower level, which included a well-equipped gymnasium, one of the several hydroponics units, and additional storage space. On the other side, a quick descent pole reached the lower deck, closer to the escape pods. On the main deck, beyond the private cabins, were the main storage units and the larger hydroponics. Through a safety hatch, there was the skiff secured in its own garage, and, through an additional safety hatch, the engineering section and the ship's propulsion system.

The medical unit was directly to the port side of the bridge: compact enough to hold state-of-the-art diagnostic equipment, a life-suspension facility, and an AI programmed to deal with any esoteric disease so far discovered-or any condition a human could be reduced to, including being flattened by the stampede of quadrupeds. The AI medic was a baritone. Nimisha had borrowed his mellifluous voice from Lord Physician Naves, a longtime friend of her dam's. In fact, she'd nearly asked him to sire her heir. Not that she wasn't totally satisfied with Rhidian's performance; his genes had abetted hers in producing beauty, intelligence, and character. She wouldn't have had Rhidian as a long-term partner-hunting bored her and stimulated him-though he had a wry sense of humour that she liked. And he seemed to be rather proud of his biological daughter, evoking Lord Tionel's continued interest in Nimisha. But Rhidian had never understood Nimisha's fascination with space or her propensity to do hands-on work with machinery of all kinds. Which was why Cuiva's early childhood interest in "tinkering" was such a delightful surprise. Obviously the Rondymense genes had dominated.

Nimisha had no intention of pushing the child into her own profession since there were many options for an intelligent, well-trained mind. She was, however, gratified that Cuiva was so happy to play with building blocks and stick-togethers while she was busy at her design screen.

Nimisha's thoughts right now were more on something to fill her empty stomach than on her heir.

"I'll have a mixed fruit juice, a green salad, and Mercassian bread," Nimisha said as she strode across the carpeted deck. A single chair and table emerged from the wall just as the dispenser chimed the arrival of the order. So Nimisha settled immediately to her meal with a pleasant thank-you.

"You're quite welcome. Let me know if you wish anything else," said the dulcet dispenser AI. It spoke in a lilting tone and, while Nimisha didn't need to respond, much less express appreciation, the habit of courtesy had been so ingrained in her that she was unable to break it. Some of her friends found it amusing but then, few of them traveled the distances she did and could appreciate the companionship of other voices, AI or human. And Nimisha had been well drilled by her womb-mother: Courtesy was the Mark of True Nobility and aided the Instillation of Loyalty. And No One of Any True Breeding assumed Service.

She grinned, wondering how often she had heard that litany, as she tucked into the salad-crisply green with odd crunchy seasoned bits, just as she liked it. She remembered the day that she had auditioned voices. She'd had half a mind to use her mother's sultry one. But Lady Rezalla would not have considered it in any way a compliment, nor were her mother's highbred tones and elegant diction suitable for any AI on this ship.

Nimisha had listened to voices on tri-d, selected those she liked and felt she could bear hearing constantly, and contacted an agency to act for her. The contralto was a young actress, determined to break into big time tri-d, who dutifully read through the material supplied, enunciating culinary words and displaying no curiosity as to the limitation of the audition. She had certainly been grateful for the credit lodged to her account when she finished the day's reading.

The man she had chosen for Helm's voice had been an entirely different matter: He was a well-known compeer, and he had agreed only after haggling with both her and his agent as to price. Once that was finally settled, he had rattled off the required pages of dialogue and vocabulary in a professional manner, but he was curious as to the usage.

"Do I have to be… only…" and he had leaned toward her, his eyes and manner seductive.

"Dear man, how would I survive listening to your voice thousands of systems away from your presence if we were to indulge…" She paused, smiling as she ran a delicate finger down his strongly modelled jawline. "… in an intimacy? I know-" And again she paused, this time in compliment."-your reputation."

When he leaned forward across the worktop that separated them, Nimisha rose from her chair in a graceful whirl toward the door and waved her hand across the control panel. "That'll be all, pet," she said, using her "business" voice, a tone guaranteed to reduce ardour.

With a rueful smile, he tipped her a saucy wave as he exited. "You may be sorry," he murmured. Annoyed, she pressed the fast-close stud of the door controls and just missed his left heel.

Her mother's long-term friend, Lord Physician Naves, had started his medical career as a diagnostician but was now more in demand as a body-sculptor. He had assisted in the massive sculpting necessary to put young Lord Vestrin back together into the handsome figure he had once been before his accident. He had been charmed by her request to use his voice.

"Not that I'm expecting any trouble," she assured Lord Physician Naves, "but when you roll off those unpronounceable diseases and suggest procedures in that gorgeous voice, one is instantly comforted and feels safe."

The older man, who had let his hair go silver-a contrast to his young and vigorous countenance-preened slightly. He was very fond of Lady Rezalla's body-heir and thought her most original to have struck out for herself in a profession of her own: so different from the languorous women and men whom he was called upon to body-sculpt. He smiled and winked at her.

"I've always considered my voice a professional asset. For you, Nimi, I'll be happy to lend my vocal support." Then he went on, repeating a familiar concern of his. "Far too many financiers, bankers, and entrepreneurs in our line. We need some diversity, some other role models for the next generation, or no one will be able to speak in anything except debentures, compound interest, and multiple mergers." He effected a shudder. "There is, after all, only so much you can say about those."

"And infinite queries for you to answer for those of us who think we've contracted something lethal in our travels."

"Precisely." He put both hands on her shoulders, giving her a little shake and sternly eyeing her. "But, of course, I shall be only an emergency feature? You'll be careful?"

"I always am," Nimisha said, having no need to remind him that she had had only very minor scrapes in her career as a test pilot-nothing more than a sprain and bruises. As the saying went, any landing you walk away from is a good one. "Oh, how is Lord Vestrin progressing?"

Lord Naves's expression became very solemn. "That young man feels the world owes him something. Which I assure you it doesn't. His… ah… reconstruction is almost complete and indeed, there were some improvements he insisted on in the facial reconstruction. Symmetry is just not natural. It is, indeed, those minor flaws that give the whole countenance its character. Of course, character is a lack that body sculpting cannot repair. Nor can Lady Vescuya's devotion to her son be considered an asset." He paused, a fleeting look of dismay crossing his handsome and definitely asymmetrical features. "But she has been devoted."

"So he'll be more handsome than ever?"

Lord Naves gave her an odd look. "Illusory, of course," he said, flicking his fingers to dismiss this topic of conversation. "Good luck, my dear," and Lord Naves had given her four tenderly fond embraces. "At least the essence of me will be at your command. I feel much more confident about that."

This shakedown flight was no more than routine, she thought, tearing off a chunk of the Mercassian bread and using it to sop up some of the salad dressing.

One second she was eating, the next, some subtle instinct had her on her feet and running to the bridge, swaying with the erratic motion of a ship gone unstable and yelling "Report!" at the top of her voice.

"Instruments indicate emergence of wormhole-"

"There isn't a wormhole in this sector."

"Ship's library confirms wormhole phenomena…"

She caught sight of the boiling white pout of disturbance that could be nothing other than a wormhole plugging open the space directly in front of her.

"Helm to starboard! HARD!"

If they were lucky, they might just slip under the edge of the yawning maw that seemed to be sucking the ship in. From this angle, the hole looked far larger than it might actually be, for after all it wasn't supposed to exist at these particular coordinates in Delta Quadrant. She'd chosen this area, off main shipping routes, so she could let out the Fiver's engines without running any other vessel down. The seventy meters of her ship were no more than a splinter at its perimeter, yet she might just be able to skim past.

Fighting against the bucking of the deck beneath her feet, she pushed herself into the pilot's chair, fingers flying to program and release a Mayday beacon, propelling it well astern of her ship. With her left arm, she fumbled into the safety harness but had no time to fasten the belt when the ship juddered and inexorably yawed to port, unable to execute the starboard manoeuvre though she could hear both thrusters and engines roaring to comply. The wormhole had got her and the ship was slipping over its thick lip and down into the brilliant, roiling interior of the tunnel it made. A tunnel to where? She clung to the right armrest, struggling to secure herself in the harness.

"We are in the wormhole, ma'am," said the AI. "What procedures are recommended?"

Nimisha swallowed a totally inappropriate and useless expletive.

"Shut down the drive. Use thrusters to keep us as steady as possible, Helm," she replied, firmly quelling the fright she could not quite suppress. To her immense chagrin, she realised that she had forgotten to program wormhole protocol. Now, in the incredible gullet of the hole, it was too late! Furthermore, she'd never been in one. Stable wormholes were relatively uncommon, and no one in their right mind entered one that hadn't been thoroughly probed.

Was the passage through a hole supposed to be this rough? If Helm's reflexes hadn't been femtosecond fast, they'd be mashed against the sides, the hull scored if not penetrated by the protuberances that she saw more as retinal afterimages they passed by so fast. Petralloy was considered the best possible material to clad spacecraft and she had used the most advanced composition for the Fiver, but it could be dented and scraped. She could lose the exterior modules and sensors. Was she being sucked into a oneway route to nowhere? Still attempting to fit the harness about her for whatever protection that would afford her, she leaned to port to get her right arm through the straps just as a savage downward plunge brought her forehead against the armrest with sufficient force to render her unconscious.

"Ma'am? Ma'am?" the calm voice of her pilot asked, "your vital signs are showing distress. You should report immediately to the infirmary." When there was no reply, the advice was repeated with an additional query: "Orders are required. No preprogrammed orders conform to the current emergency. Orders are requested. Ma'am?" Then, as the wormhole spat them out into starlit space. Helm added, "Without formal orders, will comply with standard operating procedures."