Nimisha's Ship

CHAPTER 5

The two men woke almost simultaneously and appeared, dressed in new clothing and obviously refreshed. As soon as she had heard the faint sounds of activity in their cabins, Nimisha asked Cater to produce a snack for them. Cater, having seen what their appetites were like, produced several platters of sandwiches, bowls of fruit, pitchers of juice, and a thermal carafe of coffee.

"We ran out of coffee too soon," Casper said, inhaling deeply, a broad smile on his face when he saw the carafe and smelled the brew. "Timmy's still sacked out. His colour's better, too."

"I would have expected that," Doc replied though Casper hadn't addressed the medical unit directly. The man looked surprised by the spontaneous answer. "Syrona is progressing nicely but, since she's in here, I took the advantage of doing a little more repair. Analysis only confirmed what was obviously lacking in diet and you'll find her much improved when I log her out, Casper."

"Yes, well, thanks, Doc." Casper said with a nervous grin.

"You'll get used to them," Nimisha said with a little laugh. "I forgot their participation might be a surprise to you. Join me. I was just about to have a snack."

Casper cocked an eye at her. "If that's what you call a snack, I'd hate to have to plough through a feast."

"Oh, I'm sure you'd manage fine."

Jonagren had lost some of the more obvious signs of tension with the rest and shower. He really could use a bit more weight on his bones, thought Nimisha. Maybe his face would fill out, too, taking away some of those rawboned planes. Abruptly she decided that no, she liked his face the way it was-full of character. Some of the lines around his mouth and eyes were laugh lines. The ship suit was the right length for his body, but he looked gaunt in the standard sizing.

"What a relief not to have to forage for a meal," he said, rubbing his hands together before he settled at the table. He also commented on the coffee. "That's the best treat of all," he said and poured a cup for himself before Nimisha could. He held it up to his nose and inhaled the wonderful aroma.

He had a nice smile, which echoed in his eyes as he made contact with hers over the rim of his cup. He took a long pull and allowed himself a sigh of deep satisfaction before reaching for the nearest sandwich.

"Lettuce?" he exclaimed in amazement.

"We have some in the lower deck hydro-garden," she said. "I'll have to plant more, since I wasn't expecting company."

"There are edible greens here, but it's not the season for the best ones yet," Casper said, reaching for his second sandwich and licking his lips of the crumbs left over from the first.

"Did you by any chance explore the other two M-type planets in this area?" Nimisha asked.

With their mouths full, both men shook their heads.

"Not with… the damage… we sustained reaming our way through that wormhole," Jonagren said, managing to speak through his food. He looked down at the sandwich he held as if remembering it wasn't the best of good manners to talk while chewing.

"Go ahead," Nimisha said. "I don't mind if you talk around it."

"We couldn't fix it short of a Fleet facility," Jonagren said. "And the exterior nodes were sheared off. Pluny tried to jury-rig some sort of receptor, but we'd been knocked about a good deal in the passage. That's why we didn't even get off a beacon when we were dragged in. Might have saved you a few problems if there'd been one."

"On the other hand, I wouldn't be here now, would I? It's usually the Navy that rescues us civilians, isn't it, not the other way round." She smiled at the two men, focusing her eyes longer on Jonagren, wanting in some way to let him know that his burden was now being shared.

"While it certainly is a treat to see a fresh face-and a beautiful one," Jonagren said, unexpectedly dealing her a compliment as easily as Rhidian could, "with a fine ship to give us more mobility in any future plans, we would just as soon not have wished anyone else to be stuck here with us."

Nimisha was delighted to hear him sounding more cheerful. Good food, rest, and "a fresh face" seemed to have improved his morale considerably. "Did you notice the other three metallic anomalies?"

"Yes, we were able to get a good look at that ancient heap on our fly-by. By then we realised our first landing of the Poolbeg would be her fast stop. Pluny jury-rigged exterior comunits. Captain Querine hoped we might salvage something from one of the other two and the plan was to use the shuttle to have a look." He sighed and once again the lines of stress were prominent in his expressive face. "Plans change."

"So you don't know if those ships had any survivors?"

"We saw them on our way in and detected nothing," Casper said. "Not that that means anything. They could have holed up somewhere away from the ferocious stuff."

"Well, I've those two sites next on my list. So you couldn't have gone on to the other two M-types even had you wanted to?"

Both men shook their heads, Jonagren evidently regretting it more than Casper did.

"Well, then, we've things to do and plans to make," she said, trying not to sound too fatuous. "I did manage to get a beacon out, hopefully well beyond the reach of the wormhole. I have placed another at the point we came into this space. It's a standard omnidirectional FTL model. How long the pulses will take to reach a destination, or even make contact, is debatable. I've been updating the beacon this side. It'll be stripped once contact is made, so you might want to send a report for it to pass on. You're no longer missing."

"But you," Jonagren put in with unexpected whimsy, "are."

"You did say that you were designing this as a long-range vessel," Casper began.

"Not quite this long-range," Nimisha replied with a grin.

"The Rondymense Ship Yard has done a lot with the Fleet designers," Casper continued, warming to his theme, "so is it possible they'd be very keen to recover this one?" He looked around him, enviously. "It's stars above anything Exploratory has ever offered scouts."

Nimisha nodded, pleased at his perspicacity, Jonagren's eyes were sparkling again.

"They shall leave no turn unstoned," she said, "to find it."

"That-and your appearance, ma'am-are the best news we've had in almost two decades!"

"The only news we've had," Casper added.

The two men had worked their way through most of the sandwiches while she had consumed one.

"I'll just get more coffee," she said, rising, just as they all heard a wail of fright, muted by a partially closed door.

"It's all right, Timmy. I'm coming," Casper called. In his haste, he knocked over his chair, then hesitated, unsure whether to pick it up or get to the boy to comfort him.

Jonagren gestured for him to go and picked up the chair.

"There have been several babies who didn't survive?" she asked Jonagren in a low voice.

He shook his head. "Miscarriages, two stillborn, for Jesse. Peri's girl lived only a week. None of us has the expertise to do an autopsy-even if we'd wanted to-and we weren't able to get back to the ship. A fever took their first when he was ten months old, and weird allergies and an accident took the other surviving toddlers even though we guarded them night and day. Timmy's nearly a miracle for us. Maybe we should have started having kids earlier, when we were all healthier. I don't know." He gave a shrug.

"Cater, please prepare something appetising for a-" Nimisha paused, looking at Jonagren to supply Timmy's age.

"Six-year-old," Doc said, as if he had been waiting for a chance to get a word in. "Preferably high protein and complex carbohydrates made to look like his favourite food?" Now Doc waited for Jonagren to speak.

The commander grinned as he shook his head slowly from side to side. "He'll eat anything that doesn't eat him first. I'd say that's why he's still alive: an iron digestive system."

"Oh, it'll be so nice to cater for a child," Cater replied with a lilt in her voice. A plate appeared on the dispenser with a glass of white liquid. "Is he familiar with milk?"

"Excellent food for a growing child," Doc said. "Good idea, Cater."

"Thank you, sir," Cater replied demurely.

"Does she lower her eyes and blush, too?" Jonagren asked in a muted tone.

"Sure sounds like it," Nimisha said. She collected the food just as Casper entered, leading the boy by the hand.

Timmy looked much refreshed and subtly healthier. He saw the glass and pointed.

"You have milk?" His eyes were wide in his tanned face. "Syrie, Casper, and Jon keep telling me about it, but I've never had any but hers when I was a baby."

He took a sip and tasted it going down, making his swallow audible to the adults watching. Then a big smile crossed his face and there was a definite resemblance to Jonagren, not Casper. So, Nimisha wondered who was Syrona pregnant by this time? Casper seemed so attentive and loving that she'd originally assumed that Casper and Syrona were partnered. Well, they had said there had been other children: doubtless they had done what they could to provide a larger gene pool, even if disaster, fever, and miscarriages had ruined their attempt.

"That's good!" Timmy exclaimed, not quite catching the entire milk moustache on his upper lip.

"Try the sandwich, Tim," Jonagren said. "The kind of bread we haven't been able to make here." He turned to Nimisha. "We got a wild yeast and we did find a wheat-type grain cereal and ground it to flour consistency. But the bread had a tough texture. Hard to chew."

"The crackers turned out well," Casper said, winking at Jonagren before he turned to Nimisha with mischief in his face. "He likes cooking."

"And damned lucky I knew how," Jonagren said with a sharp nod of his head.

"You all had survival training," Nimisha said, quite aware of the fact that she had only a modicum.

"Yes, but Jon turned out to have a gift for making"-Casper wrinkled his nose-"what edibles we tested safe taste pretty good."

"The trick was tenderising the flesh-"

"He'd beat it for hours."

"-and then use the herb-types we found to take away its natural taste."

Jonagren leaned back in his chair, extending his legs and assuming a very relaxed pose. That he and Casper were able to joke about the shifts they had been reduced to was admirable in both men. She hoped that Syrona would prove as compatible. When she had a chance again, she'd see if Helm couldn't access their psych profiles and see just what she should watch for and avoid. So often in long-term forced relationships little petty matters assumed an importance out of proportion.

"How's that sandwich, Tim?" Nimisha asked into the easy pause that followed that exchange.

"Best thing I've ever eaten," he said with a charm all his own. "May I have another when I've finished this one?"

"You certainly may, or you can ask Cater to prepare-" Nimisha paused, realising that Timmy had little experience with "normal" foods."-a burger," she finished hastily. "I used to adore them when I was your age."

"On a bun, please, with what d'you call it… the red sauce…" Casper said, waving one hand as if to drag the lost word out of the air.

"Ketchup," said Cater, who could respond to any catering question.

"What is it?" Timmy was slightly dubious.

"High protein and tender enough to chew with no problem," Jonagren replied.

"I'd like to try it, please," Timmy said, popping the last of the sandwich into his mouth.

This time Casper collected the plate and the aroma of charcoal-broiled meat wafted through the room.

"I wouldn't mind one of those myself," Jonagren said, and Nimisha realised that all the sandwiches had been eaten. "Medium rare." There was such an expression of wistful anticipation on his face that Nimisha suspected all the indigenous meat had been well done or destroyed to sear parasites out of the flesh. That much she remembered from her survival lessons: You cooked any unknown meat very well or abstained.

"I could manage a small one myself," Casper said. "Rare, please, Cater!"

Nimisha chuckled behind her hand as they hastily strode to collect their latest orders. There were looks of total satisfaction as they began to consume the burgers.

"More ketchup, please, Cater?" Casper began, but when he started to rise, Nimisha signalled him to remain seated and collected the tube from the dispenser.

They said nothing as they ate, just as hungrily as if they hadn't cleared away a dozen sandwiches between them.

"It is good," Timmy said, licking his lips and his fingers as he finished his portion. "Thank you, ma'am," he added with a little bow in her direction and then one in Cater's.

"We didn't want him growing up a barbarian," Casper said in a low voice for Nimisha's ears only,

"He's charming," Nimisha said. "I know. I've met many who are not as well mannered as Tim is."

The boy sat back, rubbing his stomach, and suddenly looked around. "Is Syrie still asleep?"

"Syrie's in the medical unit," Nimisha said quickly. "Her leg's being straightened."

"Oh, she'll be so happy," Timmy said. "Jon did the best he could." He shot a grateful glance at the captain.

"I ought to have waited until she was conscious, but we were low on any analgesics by that time," Jonagren said, his tone bleak, "and we decided it was kinder to try to set the leg while she was out. I'm a much better cook than medic."

"The leg is now straight, sir," Doc said. "You didn't do a half bad job for a novice. I would surmise that the bones slipped slightly before you could splint it. You'd no regen gel left?"

"No, we didn't." The animation that Jonagren had shown, joking with Casper and eating, abruptly disappeared.

"Let me take you on a tour of the ship," Nimisha said, breaking the awkward silence. "It's more spacious than you'd imagine."

"Private cabins, even," Casper said admiringly.

"I wasn't constrained by fleet regulations, Casper," Nimisha said, leading them past the admired accommodations.

"How many can she sleep?" Jonagren asked.

"Six singles, but sleeping platforms extend to double size," she said, feeling an unexpected rush of blood to her face. Fortunately she was leading and hoped no one noticed. "Two washrooms but, as you saw, each cabin has a separate head unit."

"A real toilet, Casper said," Timmy said in a chirp. "Not like the head on the shuttle-but we can't use that any more."

She showed them the various storage units and then the upper deck hydroponics garden that featured the usual broadleaf plants that were essential to a space-going vessel's air health.

"Some of these are Terran varieties," Jonagren said, and named pumpkin, squash, and the ti plant. "Do I see carrot tops?"

"You do. Good for eyesight," Nimisha said.

"And gravelot from Vega, if I don't miss my guess," Jonagren said, fingering the furry silvery leaf of the plant. "That's hardy enough to last even when air temp's down to near freezing. Saved many a crew from carbon-dioxide poisoning."

"That's why it's included," Nimisha said. "We've a second hydro unit on the lower deck."

They spent more time, as she had expected looking around in engineering, asking all kinds of questions that showed their own expertise and Fleet experience.

"I've manuals for every aspect of the Fiver if you'd like to see them."

"I certainly would," Jonagren said, rising from a crouch by the drive console, his knees cracking.

"You need more oil in your diet," Doc said, surprising them.

"Does he listen in to everything?"

"Everything that happens to be even vaguely medical," Nimisha said. "I can shut him off if you like."

"What? And risk annoying the medic?" Casper made his eyes wide with dismay at the mere thought, while Jonagren dismissed the idea with quick gestures of both hands.

"If you knew how good it is to hear different voices…" he said. "This is some sweet ship, ma'am."

"Nimisha," she corrected him.

Jonagren nodded acceptance. "You're quite a designer, but you called it the Fiver, so it's not your first?"

"No, the first four have gone into production, smaller than this, as personal transport yachts for the First Families who need or want the prestige of possessing their own spaceships or as transports for corporate executives. But useful as experiments. And with some utility for the Fleet. The fourth was… nearly what I wanted, but I didn't have the space I decided is optimum for its purpose."

"So, just what differences did you incorporate in this prototype?" Jonagren asked.

"Let's get back to the main cabin. I've wide screens there and I'd be more than happy to show you."

Casper just chuckled as he took Timmy's hand to lead him forward.

Nimisha was still explaining the rationale behind some of the improvements when the chime sounded and the medic unit released Syrona.

Casper was beside her in an instant, wrapping her in a sheet, helping her sit up, reassuring her. Her appearance had also been enormously improved by Doc's ministrations. Jonagren smiled, cocking his head in appreciation, but as she watched Casper help Syrona dress, it became obvious to Nimisha that he was definitely Syrona's mate, not Jonagren.

"D'you want a bath? There's a real tub, Syrie," Casper began.

Sitting up, Syrona immediately looked for Timmy, relaxing with relief when she saw him. "May I get out now, Doc?"

"Of course," Doc said with grave condescension. "You'll find that leg is working properly. You might experience a twinge or two while the muscles learn to stay where I've put them, but you can walk soundly."

She took a few trial steps and the relief and joy brought tears to her eyes. She tried to stem them, biting her lip.

Nimisha went to her, pushing a dithering Casper out of the way, and embraced the woman. "Now, now, it's all right. Crying's good therapy, you know. The bravest men and women know its healing power."

Syrona Lester-Pitt indulged herself in that luxury, allowing Nimisha to lead her to the nearest couch and settling them both so Syrona could weep in more comfort.

"Tea?" Casper exclaimed, swivelling his body toward Cater.

"Milk or lemon, sir?" Cater asked.

"Lemon?" Syrona managed to gulp in surprise through her tears,

"Lemon, I'd say," Nimisha told Cater and had to deal with a new outburst of tears from Syrona. She glared up at the two men, both of whom seemed perplexed, and Timmy, who looked worried. Nimisha smiled reassurance at him over Syrona's head and continued to pat and hug the woman.

"With extra sugar," Doc added.

When Casper brought this to Syrona she reached eagerly for the cup. Nimisha tactfully balanced the cup in the shaky hands that Syrona lifted to her mouth. She managed one sip, then wept a few more tears, sniffled, and rubbed at a runny nose, Jonagren took a napkin from the table and passed it over to her. Nimisha held the cup while Syrona blew her nose and wiped her eyes. Then Syrona took back her cup and gave everyone a watery smile.

"Even a cup of tea," she said in an unsteady voice. "You don't know what this means." She held the cup up as if voicing some inner toast.

"I think I do," Nimisha said gently. "Would you like something to eat, too?" she asked when the cup had been drained. Timmy had nestled in close to Syrona on the other side while the two men had pulled chairs closer, offering moral support and sympathy by their proximity.

"I ate a burger, Syrie," Timmy said, grinning impishly. "And drank milk!"

"Milk?" Syrona swallowed. Sniffing again, she was about to use the make-do handkerchief when she stopped. "I can smell burger. Oh, my word!" And she closed her eyes, hands tight against her lips to prevent another outburst of tears.

"I would prescribe food," Doc said.

"How do you like your burger?" Nimisha asked.

"Medium rare," Syrona said as if this was almost too wonderful to be believed.

"Medium rare, coming up," Cater said. "And did you wish ketchup on it, ma'am?"

"Ketchup?" Syrona's eyes shot wide in amazement. Shaking her head and laughing weakly, she commented, "Why am I surprised that this ship would have such a sauce? Even Fleet units do. But it's been so long…"

"Too long," Casper said, retrieving the burger, smothered with ketchup. "Some foods simply cannot fade from continuous use. The burger is universally a favourite. Yours, ma'am." With plate balanced on one hand, he made a bow to bring it to Syrona's hands.

They watched her as she tried not to bolt the food. After three quick bites, she slowed down, smiling hesitantly around.

"Good, isn't it?" Timmy asked, nodding his head to give her a clue to the necessary response.

"Nimisha's given us a tour of the ship while you were otherwise occupied," Jonagren said, relaxing again. "She's the chief designer at Rondymense Ship Yard. We're on the Fiver, and if it took no damage after its trip through that fragging wormhole, then it's definitely better designed than the old Poolbeg was."

"Wait'll you see the cabins, Syrie. Your own head and a bathtub like you told me about, and soft covers that aren't fur," Timmy rattled on. "And all kinds of growing things that don't try to attach to you and-and-"

"Easy, lad," Casper said, laughing.

"If that burger will stay your hunger," Nimisha said, for the food had disappeared quickly in spite of the small bites Syrona had taken, "perhaps a bath and clean clothes will restore you completely."

"A bath sounds like heaven."

"I cleaned you up quite well," Doc said, sounding miffed.

"Yes, of course, sir," Syrona replied and then stopped, realising that it was an AI she was talking to.

"Doc tends to be cheeky," Nimisha said by way of explanation and apology.

"I'd love a bath, with hot water, and proper cleansing gel and-" Syrona paused. "Any fragrant oils on board?"

Nimisha chuckled. "I have a respectable inventory. You've only to look at the dispenser menu and dial the one, or ones, you want."

Syrona stood, and both men leaped forward to offer a hand each to their crewmate.

"I can get up myself now," she said in an almost haughty tone and proved it. A teary smile crossed her face and she firmly held back more tears. "And that's a real pleasure. Thank you so much, Doc," she added, turning toward the medical unit.

"My pleasure, I assure you."

"This way. Ensign Lester-Pitt," Nimisha said, formally gesturing the way for Syrona. "The com equipment is standard for reportage, Captain," she told Svangel, nodding her head in the direction of the bridge. "And Casper, I think we also have tape entertainment suitable for Tim. Just check with the library."

"Great! We didn't have much on the shuttle unit, mainly manuals."

"I can read," Timmy said, puffing out his chest.

Nimisha was following Syrona's proud gait-nearly a strut-to the living accommodations. She knew the library included some younger child entertainment tapes, because Cuiva had mentioned old favourites she wouldn't mind seeing again when she was travelling with her mother. No one saw the pang that thought gave Nimisha.

She stayed with Syrona at the ensign's request.

"It's so good to see another woman," Syrona said apologetically. "It's not that Casper and]on haven't been solicitous and reassuring. They've been wonderful… but-" She paused with a wry smile. "-there's something about having a member of your own sex around. And I'm sorry to have wept all over you…"

"You have nothing to apologise for, Syrona," Nimisha said, assuming a mock scowl. "Now what had you in mind for fragrance?"

"Sandalwood," Syrona said, stripping off a uniform that was thin to transparent in places. "And lots of bath foam…"

The water was pouring into the deep tub that would accommodate any size human body. There was a shelf to sit on in its circle. The steam rose, carrying with it the aroma of sandalwood. Syrona inhaled deeply and took the two steps up to insert herself down into the hot bath. She, too, was terribly thin, her pregnancy apparent as an abdominal bulge between gaunt pelvic bones. Her skin was now free of the scrapes, bruises, and dry patches she'd arrived with. The injured leg, still slightly pink from the medic unit's ministrations, showed a straight line of tibia.

"Oh, this is heavenly."

"Your sandalwood soap, ma'am, and a sponge. A Lytherian sponge-they're softest."

"Expensive, too," Syrona remarked as she dipped the delicate bath accessory into the water. "Oh, I've dreamed of this!"

The water was deep enough for her to be buoyant and, sitting on the ledge, she fitted her head into the appropriate concavity in the wall of the bath, her eyes closed, steam rising gently in aromatic waves. Nimisha sat on the slip bench, quite pleased with the effect the amenities of the Fiver was having on this survivor.

With her eyes closed, hot water bringing more colour to her face, Syrona had the bone structure that would make her-once she was in better condition-a very attractive woman. Her dark hair began to curl about her face. It had been cut rather raggedly to just below the ears. Nimisha studied the resting face and saw the character in it, the lines made by the last years of struggle, perseverance, and repeated disappointments. She wondered how many children Syrona had had, and lost.

"Timmy's Jon's son," Syrona said without opening her eyes. "The boy Casper and I had together died of a fever. I miscarried twice, and then they made me wait until they could build me up." She gave a snort. "I don't think the indigenous diet was good for any of us even if it was edible. We ran out of the supplements we took from the Poolbeg's supplies. No vitamins, too few trace minerals; I think that's why we had so many spontaneous abortions. But we hadn't thought of increasing the population while we had them. Casper insisted that we'd be found before we had to start a colony." Her eyebrows quirked in amusement. "That man's the eternal optimist," she added, her lips curling a trifle in a fond and loving smile. "Jon's more of a realist so the two balance each other." She opened one eye, clear now and a pretty light green. "Jon's a good man," she said firmly.

"I've already decided that," Nimisha remarked with a chuckle.

"It's been harder on him when he knows how much Casper and I care for each other."

"I should imagine so," Nimisha replied casually. "While you were still being treated, I caught up on the basic facts of the expedition's history. There are two other habitable planets within a reasonable distance."

Syrona's eyes flew open and she regarded Nimisha solemnly. "You're First Family. None of us are, though my older sister is body-heir to my mother. But Jon's family is longtime Fleet and he's… he's very good," she finished in a rush. "Don't-don't-" Syrona flushed deeply and closed her lips tightly.

"I have no intention of denying him human rights, but," Nimisha said with a little smile, "I think we both need to get to know each other a little better."

"Oh, fraggit, Lady Nimisha," Syrona said, squeezing her eyes closed with embarrassment. "I didn't mean it to come out that way. Sounds like I'm pimping for Jon."

Nimisha burst out laughing. "Is that how Fleet works out these partnerships for long-term voyages? A spokesperson to sound out the chosen?"

Syrona opened her eyes and regarded Nimisha squarely. "Well, it generally works out. Of course, there's usually more choice available. But sometimes a crew member has to settle for what's left over. Not that / would consider Jonagren a leftover."

"That's encouraging."

"It's just that Casper and I have been mates a much longer time. Peri was Jon's." A look of intense sorrow crossed Syrona's face and she closed her eyes against painful memories. "She's been dead a long time now."

Her voice cracked a bit-partly the remembered loss and partly fatigue.

"I think you ought to rest by yourself, Syrona," Nimisha said gently, touching her arm as it lay on the tub side. "Until the water cools. Good to soak and let the sandalwood soothe you."

"I didn't offend you, did I, Lady Nimisha?"

"Nimisha, please, Syrona. We're equals on this planet. And all First Families!" she said as she slid the door closed behind her. To her relief, she heard Syrona chuckling.

Nimisha paused a moment before rejoining the others. Syrona hadn't wasted any time at all in setting out the interrelationships of survivors, possibly because she felt that was her duty in smoothing the trio into a quartet. Well, Nimisha found Jonagren Svangel not only attractive enough but also an interesting human being- certainly one she would find acceptable and deserving the comfort of "human rights," as she had so drolly put it. But she was not about to rush matters. If nothing else, the situation was slightly awkward for them both. She was civilian, as well as First Family, and he was Fleet and leader of his group. She'd have to figure out how to set him more at ease. What with all that she had had to do prior to leaving on the shakedown cruise, she hadn't had a chance for an intimate interlude with Caleb. Intercourse was still one of the most effective therapies for the relief of stress. No doubt why it was part of the Human Equation, rather than required solely for procreative purposes.

A\t breakfast the next morning, they started to make plans.

"I'd very much like to have a look at the other two anomalies, Nimisha," Jon said politely.

She heard Fleet in his tone and grinned back.

"That would be my first order of today." she replied, looking at Casper and Syrona for agreement. Both nodded first in Jon's direction. "I don't have room on the Fiver for the Poolbeg's gig," she said.

"I think it might just be possible to fit-without your skiff," Jon said thoughtfully. "As you pointed out last night at dinner, the skiff has no defence capability, but the gig does. We might need that when we investigate the other two planets. There seems to be sufficient fuel on board the Fiver to make both journeys feasible and still get back here."

"We can store the skiff in the cave," Casper said. "Plenty of space there. Does it have repellers?"

"Yes, but why would it need them in the cave?" Nimisha asked, puzzled. They had been living in the cave, hadn't they?

"Well," Casper replied, scratching his head and grinning wryly, "as long as we make noise, nothing comes to investigate us, but I wouldn't want to leave the gig silent and unprotected."

"Oh," Nimisha said softly, still puzzled.

Syrona caught her eye and grinned. "It's mostly the mess they leave behind," she explained. "The acid residue could damage even petralloy. Shame to mess a new skiff exterior if it can be protected."

"I'm agreeable," Nimisha said. "Are you sure it will fit?"

"Casper and I did a bit of measuring, and it will," Jon said, "but this is your ship, Nimisha."

"And one that I hoped to sell to Fleet for long-distance exploration. So let's test all its capabilities."

Jon's eyes echoed his smile. Were they gray or blue? Nimisha still wasn't sure. They were large and well set in his head and, now that he was definitely relaxing, filled more often with a droll sense of humour.

"Do you have anything else you want to bring on board?" she asked. The two men had gone out in the last light of the spring evening and she'd watched them climb up the ladder. They'd taken two loads from the cave, which they'd stored in the shuttle before returning to the Fiver. Casper had brought in some hand-carved toys and a stuffed creature that was obviously Timmy's comforter. It was made of animal fur, stuffed with some sort of plant fibre, and wore a small Fleet uniform, complete with ensign bars. Timmy had greeted it with a loud cry of delight, and immediately sat down to tell it all about the new ship it was on.

"No," Jon said, shaking his head, then grinned in apology for his bluntness. "We stored whatever could be useful in the shuttle last evening."

"All right, then, Helm, let's open the hatch and see about switching my skiff with the gig," Nimisha said. "I'll take it up to the cave. I'm curious to see where you've… survived."

"It has served its purpose," Jon said.

"And may again," Nimisha remarked.

Jon beckoned to Casper. "Let's do it, then."

She followed them back and watched for a moment as they used the anti-grav handles to move crates and make the necessary room for the skiff.

"Don't worry. We won't scrape the shining new walls," Jon said, noticing her dubious expression.

"If it'll fly, Jon'll fly it," Casper said. "Been with him when he squeaked through some very tight asteroid belts."

Jon shook his head. "But not the wormhole."

"Even Helm, and he can respond in femtoseconds, had trouble keeping the Fiver from careening into the walls," Nimisha reassured him. "Anyway, that bedamned hole didn't even have a constant diameter."

"Hmmm," was Jon's rejoinder.

She had to admit, when they had adjusted the supplies in the garage area, that the skiff might indeed fit, though tightly. She got into it and, after making sure the men had stepped back, eased the little craft out and then up to the cave.

The entrance was partially obscured by drooping vines from which a flutter of tiny insectoids departed as the top of the skiff brushed them loose. Rather like coloured snowflakes and not much larger. Surely they weren't the acid-droppers. Then she turned on the skiff's lights for a good look at the cavesite.

They certainly had done their best to make it a home. Hewn wooden partitions closed off spaces for privacy on either side of the wide entrance. She could see that they had also built a rock wall across the rear of the cave. The amenities included roughly built couches, chairs, tables, a fireplace, and a cooking area. Shelves had been built and there were lighting fixtures on the walls, powered by the solar panels she had seen outside. There was even a rug, woven of rags all space-blue and gray. A bookcase, now empty, had obviously held reading materials.

When she heard the gig engine thrum softly, she slid down the lift rope to the ground and ran to see Jonagren Svangel's performance. He lined up the gig with the open hatch and, with a precise exhibition of his skill as a pilot, backed the vehicle inside the Fiver. He left just enough space on one side to permit him to disembark, but there wasn't more than finger's width between the gig and the wall of the cargo hatch on the other.

"Well done," Nimisha said, applauding when he emerged. He was grinning in almost boyish delight at his success.

He jumped down to the ground beside her, an I-told-you-so look in his eyes.

"Indeed you did," Nimisha said. "You're good enough that I'll even let you take the Fiver to our first destination."

Jon laughed, cupping her elbow and walking her to the main entrance. "Considering Helm would automatically correct any errors I might make, I accept the offer."

They entered the spacecraft laughing.

"Helm, Captain Svangel is herewith authorised to fly the Fiver, and you are to insert that order in today's log."

"Log so reads, ma'am," Helm replied. "If you will respond for a voice record, Captain?"

"This is Captain Jonagren Svangel, Helm, accepting the authorisation of Lady Nimisha Boynton-Rondymense to act as additional pilot of the Fiver. Will that suffice, Helm?"

"Yes, Captain."

Nimisha winked at the now-authorised pilot.

"Set us a course, Helm, to the nearest of the two anomalies you discovered on this-" Jon turned to Nimisha. "We never bothered to give this planet a name."

"I've called it Erehwon," Nimisha said.

"Nowhere?" Jon said after a blink of surprise and a bark of laughter. Casper and Syrona joined in the laughter.

"Well, it is the back of nowhere, isn't it?" Nimisha said.

"All too true," Jon said ironically. "Helm, set us a course to the nearest of the two anomalies on Erehwon."

"Casper, Syrie, Timmy, join us," Nimisha said.

There was a manner of intense satisfaction about Jonagren Svangel as he took the pilot's chair and waited while it adjusted to his longer frame. "More comforts than at home," he said.

"Course laid in, sir," Helm said. "Maximum fuel conservation."

"Accepted. Let's go," Jon said, leaning to one side on the armrest.

As the Fiver lifted away from the meadow and the place they had lived for so long, Nimisha noticed that only Syrona glanced down. Timmy seemed to be fascinated by the altitude and the speed with which the ground dropped away as the Fiver angled her nose skyward. Once she had reached the programmed altitude, the engines throttled back and were almost silent, minute use of the thrusters keeping her on course.

"It's not a bad-looking planet," Nimisha remarked.

"In the safety of high altitude," Jon replied. "Lovely ship. Smooth as a baby's… ah, cheek."

Nimisha grinned at the quick substitution, obviously made in deference to her social standing. She caught the turn of head from both Syrie and Casper but she ignored them. They maintained this altitude for nearly an hour before the Fiver smoothly tilted forward and began her descent. They were passing over one of the oceans between the continental masses.

"What about life-forms, Helm?" Jon asked.

"Those are being observed and catalogued, sir." One of the auxiliary screens lit up.

Timmy drew back, wide-eyed at the size of the aquatic leviathans pictured on the screen.

"Well, I did see little butterfly things in the foliage at the cave," Nimisha remarked, "so not everything on the planet is oversized."

"Chichim-he was our geologist-thought this planet was possibly in a late Pleistocene epoch. He was hoping to find fossils before…" Casper's voice trailed off. "I mean, the size and variety of life-forms does compare to that period in Earth's history. And there is evidence of at least one ice age. We got"-he turned to Nimisha-"too busy surviving to do much real exploration."

"We managed botanical research and what biological specimens didn't want to eat us," Syrona added, somewhat defensively.

"We did an in-depth survey of our immediate area, which was relatively free from the largest carnivores and grazers," Jon said firmly, "as well as a complete sampling of riverine life-forms."

"A lot were very poisonous," Syrona put in.

"Good thing I didn't get a bath in that lake," Nimisha said.

"Ooh, you're right about that," Syrona said feelingly. "Jon got Peri out before something with tentacles tried to drag her under the surface and we hadn't even known it was there."

"Not quite a cetapod," Jon said, "but similar, from what we saw. Very strong. Peri had marks on her leg for weeks."

"The surface feeders were small enough to be fished, and there were nine types that we could safely eat," Casper added. "Two are very tasty grilled."

"I like burgers better," Timmy said, turning on his mother's lap to look up appealingly at her face. "Can-may I have a burger for lunch, Syrie?"

"I believe that can be arranged," Syrona said with a straight face, but her eyes danced. A second long rest had given more sparkle to her, and she had managed to trim her hair with sharper scissors. It curled like a cap about her head. Though her face looked smoother, there hadn't been time to fill out the hollows in her cheeks or completely eradicate the dark circles under her eyes.

The Fiver was over land again, the topographical features discerned even at their present height.

"Much the same geologically," Casper remarked. "Though that's some desert area with not so much as a shrub or ground cover to show the presence of water."

They were angling across the desert when they encountered deep canyons and, in their depths, the sparkle of water a long way down. Gradually that terrain gave way to more of the grasslands, and they could see the black clusters of the grazers moving steadily across it.

"Well, maybe over that mountain range we'll find something new," Casper said, ever the optimist.

"Our objective is seven kilometres directly forward," Helm said. He brought that image up and magnified it.

"That's new," Jon observed dryly. "Not one of ours."

"Not by a long shot," Nimisha agreed. The metallic mass was strangely formed, with rounded semicircles on its uppermost surface and what looked like atmospheric fins buried in the dirt. "It seems to have had a sharp prow."

"Until it met the hard rock," Jon added. "Broke its nose."

"It does look sort of like a bird, doesn't it, with the fins legs and those blobs on the top a series of eyes," Syrona said. "Is it a green metal or is that paint?"

"It's badly scraped, whatever," Casper remarked. "If it came through the wormhole, it took more damage than we did."

"Alien. It looks very alien to me," Nimisha said.

"Helm, land the Fiver half a klick from the vehicle," Jon said. "We'll take a closer but safer look from the gig." He caught Nimisha's eyes, looking slightly apologetic for assuming command so automatically until she gave him a wave of approval. "Force of habit."

"I enjoy being a passenger… now and then," she replied evenly. And she did when she was certain, as she was with Jonagren Svangel, that the pilot was at least as competent as she knew she was.

She rose to go change into her protective suit, then turned back to Syrona. "Come along in the gig."

"Thank you but I'd just as soon stay here and have… a burger," Syrona said in an equable tone. "Timmy, did you still want one, too?"

"Sure do" was the enthusiastic reply and the boy danced ahead of his mother into the main cabin.

Nimisha had changed and found two spare suits for the men when she felt the slight bump as the keel of the Fiver settled to the ground.

"Here, you'll need these," she said, encountering the men on their way from the bridge. The smell of burger was tempting.

"Thanks. Our gear's long gone," Casper said, but, after taking the suit from Nimisha, he edged toward the dispenser. "But I wouldn't mind a burger for the trip."

"Come on then," Nimisha said, giving Jon his suit.

"I'll meet you at the gig," he said, pulling his protective gear on over what he was already wearing. "Order me one, too, Casper. Medium rare and no ketchup."

They were both finishing the last bites of their burgers as they joined her in the gig. Casper licked his fingers clean.

Jon sat in the pilot's seat that Nimisha had tactfully left for him.

"Letting me do all the work today, huh?" he said, snapping on the harness and switching on the engines.

"You got her in, you get her out," Nimisha said blandly.

"Aye, aye, sir."

"I'm a ma'am-I'm civilian."

"Yes, sir," was Jon's bantering reply.

Any lightheartedness vanished at the sight of the wrecked ship's obviously alien design. Circling the wreck showed the deep scores in its hull. One whole side of the aftersection had been pulled open. What looked like a small gig had been jammed against the largest hole. That may have been more luck than planning, but the obstacle would have kept smaller objects, like bodies, from being sucked into space.

"Hope they got their crew out," Casper said, shaking his head at the damage.

"I'd guess that that was cargo space and they lost whatever they were carrying," Jon said. "If that is the stern of this vehicle."

"I'd hazard the guess that they didn't back into their current position," Nimisha said with a droll grin at Ion.

"You're right about that. How could such a crazy shape be spaceworthy?" he remarked, shaking his head.

"Maybe it was never meant to land. Only they had to, with that great rent in their stern," she said.

Jon kept the gig hovering above the wreck so they could estimate the size of the alien vehicle. It was bigger than the Poolbeg and nearly as large as the ancient Diaspora wreck. The prow of the ship had been knocked sideways by the force of its landing, so the pointed shape resembled a bird looking over its shoulder.

"It's been here a while," Casper said, pointing to the vegetation

growing from dirt on the top of it. "Hold it, Jon, there's some sort of design or glyphs on the side."

"I've been taping, Cas," the captain said. "Might be oxygen breathers, or why would they pick the M-type?"

"No choice," Nimisha suggested, having looked for some evidence of escape from the vessel. "And no tracks leading from it."

"It's been down a long time," Jon said. "Shall we have a look inside?"

"Why not?"

Nimisha was glad that was decided so effortlessly. There was no way she was going to relinquish the chance to see the inside of an alien spaceship.

They got in through one of the gaps in the hull toward the stern of the ship, which was again birdlike, resembling a fantail, bulging slightly on the end to accommodate a solid parabola of odd tubes.

"Funny sort of propulsion units," Jon said.

"No radiation readings, or Helm would have mentioned it," Nimisha said, switching on her wrist light and swinging the beam around the aperture.

Athletically, Jon Svangel hiked himself into the opening, then reached down to give Nimisha a helping hand. Casper was beside them in another moment.

"I'd say the aliens are smaller than we are," Jon remarked, crouching as he made his way forward. They all had to bend to clear the passageway.

"Much smaller," Casper said, banging his head on a mass of piping. A piece detached itself and dropped with a thud to the deck. A whiff of something acrid floated in the air for a moment before dissipating in the light breeze blowing through the wreck.

They were glad to enter an area where they could stand upright: the central round ball of the ship, which was obviously a command area.

"I feel like a giant," Nimisha remarked, looking at the small, almost child-size, seats and consoles. The worktops were filled with boards of rocker switches, dial knobs, and toggles, surrounding what had to be display screens, and there were large screens on one wall: shattered or crazed, but their original function was still obvious. She twiddled and switched and pulled and nothing happened. "I didn't expect any reactions," she murmured.

Jon and Casper were prowling about, looking at broken equipment on the perimeter of the chamber, peering into cabinets that had cracked doors or facades. They could not access the sharp prow where the bridge must have been situated; the passage to it was crushed against the stones of the hillside.

Nimisha noticed the pole and the hole in the deck and called their attention to it. As the size of the opening would not accommodate any of their adult bodies, they could only shine light down it.

"Access to crew quarters, I'd say," was Casper's comment.

"If we could rig enough lights so he wouldn't be scared, Timmy would fit," Jon said.

Casper was shaking his head.

"Not when I've mobiles we can send," Nimisha said. "Helm can control them. There's no need to ask a six-year-old to go down a hole in the floor."

Jon regarded her for a moment, then nodded. "Agreed. I have to reframe rny thinking to include available resources I haven't had access to for years." Then he added, "Do your mobiles have additional lighting?"

Nimisha shook her head. "Self-contained units."

"What other surprises has the Fiver?" he asked in a wry tone.

"I like to keep something back from you Fleet types." she said.

"Why didn't you send them first, to scout the place?"

"Because I like to do my own reconnoitering. Get a feeling for the craft and who or what might have been on it."

"Whoever, they're a long time-"

"There is a party of unknown bipeds approaching from the hills, ma'am," Helm announced suddenly. "They appear to be armed with a variety of primitive weapons."

Nimisha undipped her beltcom. "Can you patch through this hull?"

He could and she held up the unit so they all could see the furtive approach of the small bipeds.

"Further orders, ma'am?"

"We don't know that they are aggressive," Nimisha said.

"Aggression can corne in many sizes," Jonagren remarked succinctly and he crouched to return through the low passage to their point of entry.

"The foremost question in my mind," she said, following him, with Casper behind her, "is are they descendants of the original owners?"

"Great minds," Jon said.

"I do have a translator on board the Fiver," Nimisha added. "Helm, can you pick up any sounds?"

"They are not making sounds," was Helm's reply.

"They are then attempting to creep up on us undetected," Nimisha said, amused. "What do we do?"

"Go out and act friendly, of course," Jon said.

"So they tell me," Nimisha said, regarding the weapons that were being brought toward them in the possession of small people who might dislike visitors on board their ship. If this was their ship. But who else's would it be? Unless, for some unknown reason, sentient-possibly even sapient-bipeds were limited to this continent of the nine land masses on Erehwon.

"I wonder how long they have survived here," Casper said as they reached the fracture through which they had entered.

"They are on the hill above you and the ship hides you from their view," Helm said.

"Thanks," Nimisha murmured, turning to the captain. "What do we do?"

"Walk out where they can see us, hands open, palms up."

"Let's hope that's their indication of peaceful intent, too," Nimisha replied. "Helm, on guard!" She switched on her suit's repeller, knowing that it had been designed to protect her against a variety of more sophisticated weapons than those being carried toward them, Jon and Casper did so, too.

"Forward and to your left," Helm said. "You're not yet visible, but they've sent two on ahead. You may meet them. You will. Now."

/\nd they did. Nimisha was never sure exactly what happened, the encounter was over so quickly. Projectiles of some sort came flying at them from the two midget bipeds that reacted faster than any of the humans did. But Helm was faster and his stun beam caught them. The weapons were deflected by the individual repeller shields and fell uselessly to the ground.

"The others are retreating," Helm said.

Nimisha leaned down to pick up the impotent darts.

"Be careful!" Jon said, holding out his arm to prevent her. "The tip could be poisoned."

Casper had sprinted to the two supine figures. "Hope Helm didn't give them too much stun."

"We're lucky he could," Jon said. "At least we know they have some sort of nervous system that can be affected by stunners."

"I adjusted the beam to a strength sufficient to stop creatures of that size and weight," Helm said, and Nimisha thought the AI did not appreciate this aspersion to his common sense. "I had projectiles on targets, as well."

"Well, the translation device is on the Fiver. Let's take them to it," Nimisha said as she and Jon joined Casper by the limp bodies.

Jon knelt down and touched the fur-covered throat of the one nearest him.

"A pulse of some sort. Maybe Doc can figure out what they're composed of besides fur." He rubbed his fingers together. "Nice feel to it. Wonder how warm it is."

The two bipeds wore not much more than their weapon belts. Their sex-if they were of different sexes-was not obvious.

Casper bent and picked one up. "Heavier than you'd think," he remarked.

Jon took the second. Nimisha, craning to regard the head drooping over his arm, wondered at the blank oval face devoid of recognizable orifices.

Aliens! A spurt of triumph raced through her. Nimisha Boynton-Rondymense had met aliens! Sapient aliens, able to make and use tools, and who had once been space-farers. All kinds of questions tumbled about in her head: How long had they been marooned? Had they seen other humans to know that they should be wary of them? Had they regressed to a primitive existence? What stories would they tell about their landing here? Did they know where their home system was?

Then she realized that Jon and Casper were carrying on a conversation dealing with such queries and grinned.

"Helm, let's get back to the Fiver as quickly as possible."

"Advisable, ma'am, as there are now a multitude of these creatures advancing in a menacing fashion toward the gig."

"Lifting," Nimisha said, having seen the van of a small army appearing on the hilltop. She slipped into the pilot's seat as the two men were gently depositing the aliens on the deck.

They were up and out of range just as the army charged down the nearside of the hill, making loud hooting noises.

"So they do have voices," Nimisha said, turning the gig. "The Fiver's not that far away and they can really move," she added, making rapid forward progress.

"Let us then remove ourselves from danger while we treat these two," Jon said. "We could meet the Fiver back at the ocean. I doubt they can follow us that far."

"Do you doubt my ability to park the gig in Fiver?" Nimisha asked, amused.

"Never," Jon replied, and Casper gave a snort of laughter. "But why waste time landing?"

"Point." And so Nimisha suggested a rendezvous to Helm. She had a chance to see how gracefully Fiver lifted from the surface and sighed happily… even if no one in her quadrant might ever see it again. Idly she wondered if Caleb Rustin might not have gone on to finish the Mark 5 that had been skeletal when she left on the shakedown cruise. Would Cuiva realize that Caleb should be given the disks she had entrusted to her for safekeeping?

She landed the gig on the beach close to the Fiver. The aliens had not roused from their stun during the short run. Jon and Casper reassured her that they were still breathing and seemed to have a pulse in their short necks. As no facial orifices were visible, they weren't able to judge what optical or aural arrangements existed in the oval "head." Each hand had three digits, one opposing.

"If they can launch darts, they've tool capacities," Casper said, subtly pleased. "Sapient. How marvelous!"

"The feet are more flippers than feet, with vestigial toes… of a sort," Jon said, having gently felt down the four limbs of the one he was examining. "They don't smell bad, either."

"No, they don't, but with all that fur, how do they perspire?"

Jon picked up one limb, inspecting the sole. "Callused and bare of fur. Well, fur would've rubbed off on rough surfaces if there had been any, wouldn't it?"

"Let's see what Doc's diagnostics can tell us about them," Nimisha said.

"That's sensible," Jon said, kneeling to pick up the alien he had been examining. He stepped out of the gig and the alien bounced out of his arms, sprawling on all fours before it started across the beach in a dash. "Hold yours down, Cas," Jon cried.

Nimisha, who had been following Jon, started off after the fugitive. She had always been fast on her feet, and with legs twice the length of the alien's, she was able to catch up with it. Tackling seemed the logical way to halt its progress. It squealed at the sudden impact in the sand and tried to wriggle away.

"I won't hurt you," she cried, trying in this awkward position to radiate goodwill and positive feelings. It took Jon's assistance to subdue the creature. It might be small, but it was strong and writhed so violently that the two humans were afraid of hurting it. A dark band of what seemed to be one long eye centered in the upper third of its face sparkled with angry determination to free itself.

Casper had wisely put a wrap about the feet of the other alien. He was halfway to the Fiver with his still limp captive in his arms. As Nimisha and Jon carried theirs, it hooted in a desperate tone to the other and writhed in their arms, an action that required them to hold it more tightly than they wanted to.

"Really, we are not going to hurt you," Nimisha repeated in as reassuring tone as she could manage. "I hope its flesh doesn't bruise, or Doc will have my guts for garters."

"Your what for what?" Jon asked, startled.

"I've a friend… oh, do stay still, dear… who collects archaic words and phrases. That's one of them. He's also got some marvelous… 'Ods blood!" she exclaimed, as their burden writhed violently. "Like that-expressions from bygone days."

"'Od's blood?" Jon repeated.

"He didn't know what it means. Ah. here we are and not above time… another phrase Pheltim collected."

The two now had their captive inside the Fiver and Nimisha palmed the hatch shut.

"Bring the other one in here, too," Doc called. "They'll both fit in the unit. Once I've figured out what I can use to sedate them."

Casper's alien, lying in the medic unit, was still unconscious. Seeing the disposition of its colleague, the one Nimisha and Jon were holding made frantic efforts to escape.

"Oh, it's my size!" Timmy cried. He had been eating-a burger, to judge by the bun still clutched in his hand as he moved to get a closer look at the creature. "Are you hungry?" he asked solicitously, his face on a level with the alien's as he graciously broke off a bit and held it out.

The creature, whose optics seemed to be placed in a narrow band across the front of its "face," ceased struggling for a long minute. What Nimisha now took to be some sort of air intake had slitted open and was fluttering rapidly.

Encouraged, Tirnmy held the piece closer. A wild sniff, and the alien redoubled its effort to free itself.

"I've got enough from this one to be able to choose sedation. Put yours in before it damages itself struggling like that," Doc said. "Oxygen breathers."

"It might be vegetarian, Tim," Nimisha said, "but that was thoughtful of you."

Nimisha and Jon deposited the creature beside its fellow and Doc closed the canopy, which then misted with gas. The little alien used its small fists on the plastic, but its efforts diminished as the sedative took effect and it collapsed in a heap.

"Not the best way to make friends, I might add." Doc remarked.

"They weren't of a mind to be friendly," Nimisha said.

"You can look at the darts," Jon said, putting the two in a specimen drawer in the medical unit.

"There was an army of them about to overwhelm us."

"Yes, we saw," Syrona said. "Tim was a bit concerned for you. Even if they are closer to his size than yours."

"There were a lot of them," the boy said, eyes wide, and looked at the bite he had offered the alien. Then he popped it in his mouth. "I'm glad I'm not veggit."

"Let us know when you've found anything interesting, Doc," Nimisha said. Then, ruffling Tim's hair, she added, "That burger smells good. Think I'll have one. All that exercise gave me quite an appetite."

Jon and Casper followed her to Cater's dispenser and gave their orders, as well.

"Red blood," Doc said just as Jon was about to bite into his rare burger.

Nimisha smothered a laugh at Jon's expression. Almost defiantly, he closed his teeth on the bun. She leaned closer to him. "It isn't real meat anyway, even if that's the way it masquerades and tastes. It's got much more protein than mere flesh would have."

"We should have reassured the alien on that score," Jon said, flicking one eyebrow up rakishly.

"If these are the descendants of those in that bird ship," Syrona began, "they've done very well to survive on this hostile planet, the size they are." With that the others heartily concurred. "I heard their hoots and asked Helm to see if the translator could make something of them."

"Purely noise, to frighten an enemy and express aggression," Helm said. "Their vocal equipment goes off the scale into higher frequencies, so you didn't get the full effect."

"We tried shouting at the slugs and the bison-types. Had absolutely no effect on them," Casper said, sounding droll. "Neither did our weapons," Jon added, equally droll. "My, my," Doc said in surprise. "Well, the PanSpermia clique will be glad to know that they may have had it right all along." "What are you talking about, Doc?" Nimisha asked.

"Surely you remember the two camps of thought about what aliens will look like when, and or if, we ever met any?" Doc asked.

"I do," Jon said, looking at Casper, who nodded.

Doc went on, obviously enjoying a lecturing mode. "Biologists have always been divided on the subject of whether or not we will ever find humanoid bipedal life-forms such as ourselves. As we know, it took astrographers long enough to admit that there just could be far more M-type planets with a proper atmospheric mix and carbon-based than earlier stargazers suspected. However, on the subject of what life-forms could emerge from the same sort of primordial stew, biologists remain in violent disagreement. One group insists that the percentage against encountering humanoids like yourselves is too high. The sentient, or perhaps I should say, sapient life-forms on other planets will be very alien. The aerial monsters that attacked your settlement, Captain Svangel, might be considered sentient, since they purposefully kept attacking you. But sapience indicates wisdom. And the avians showed little of that. However, back to the point, one group of biologists insisted that humanoid life-forms couldn't happen.

"The other, equally vocal and determined group, the Pan-Spermians, who postulated that once Life originates anywhere, that accident or design could cause that basic pattern to spread out through a galaxy. An excellent example of this is the evidence of life found in a meteorite that originated on Mars. And later confirmed in the initial Mars probes and landings."

Jon grinned at Nimisha, who smiled, remembering history lessons of humankind's earliest explorations of its own solar system before the First Diaspora.

"Am I boring you?" Doc asked.

"No, no, please continue, Doc," Nimisha said courteously.

The Doc cleared its throat in a very human fashion. "Many eminent biologists were willing to recognize that a hardy life-form, like some bacteria, might be able to survive such a journey through space-"

"Arrhenius' theory," Nimisha interrupted, cocking her finger at Jon, who grinned.

Doc went on as if there had been no interruption. "… Lasting decades, hundreds or thousands of years, and thus plant the seeds for biologically compatible life on another similarly hospitable world. If they check out, that theory is validated."

"Oh." Nimisha smirked with anticipation.

"The very fact that the stunner disabled them," Doc continued, "indicates that they have a central nervous system that can be stunned. They also have a haemoglobin blood similar to ours." Then he chuckled. "I have been busy during my peroration," he added. "Let's add to a nervous system an amazing circulatory arrangement and a heart-type pump and the bellows they use for lungs. Neatly packaged between their shoulder blades. Which adds more proof of being a humanoid type. Ah, one difference! They can withdraw their genitals into their bodies for safekeeping. A wise precaution, but there may be more than two sexes. I'd need to check other specimens. One does have a prod withdrawn in its body, but it also has an egg sac. A blood filter, a waste compartment for liquid and solids. There are some odd fissures in the hind end that probably open for evacuation. Muscle tissue, strong skeletal frame, articulated joints, but we saw them at work, didn't we? Definitely humanoid. I'm just getting to the brain but… hmmm." Doc broke off. "That's odd…"

"What?"

"Different structure, though I can discern divisions that might be comparable to human lobes. Very dense brain matter. Just how high on the scale their intelligence is will have to be estimated by their reaction to other stimuli. I'm willing to call them not only sentient but sapient."

"Aggressive, too," Casper remarked, "so they have a territorial imperative. However, except for their size, we haven't established if these little folk are the descendants of those on that ship."

"Why else were they determined to protect it and drive us away?" Nimisha asked.

"I'll tell you one thing-I don't think they are indigenous to this planet," Doc said. "They have residual accretions of minerals in their muscles and systems that they haven't been able to either use or evacuate. Once the organ is full up, I suspect it causes them a lot of problems, up to and including early demise."

"Are they capable of speech?"

"They've demonstrated that they can make sounds. Whether these sounds form a consistent language we have yet to see. Certainly they have tongues, so they can vary the sounds they make. They also have teeth… omnivorous variety. Not as many as humans, but the type of dental equipment suggests they can be omnivorous."

"We didn't do them any harm restraining them, did we?" Nimisha asked.

"Flesh is dense, dark in color. I cannot detect any contusions on their extremities. Remarkably tough creatures. It would take a lot to pierce their hides or break their bones. Possibly why they survived the crash of their space vehicle so well."

"Good point," Nimisha said with a laugh. "I don't think many humans would have survived that crash."

"Or that these did," Jon added, gesturing to the limp bodies in the medical unit.

"I've done what I can. They no longer have intestinal parasites, and I was able to laser the accretions out of their organs. Could be some sort of gall bladder. But they didn't need that foreign matter filling it up."

"When will they wake?" Syrona asked.

"And what do we do with them when they do?" Nimisha asked. "Feed them?" Casper's expression was amused. "Any ideas on what they eat, Doc?" Nimisha asked. "Meat certainly turned that one off."

"Stomach contents have been analyzed and they have recently eaten grain products and a protein I cannot identify with what few biological entities of this planet this ship has been asked to examine. I can see no reason why what is nutritious for us may not be equally edible for them, given that we may have descended from the same type of primordial pond scum."

"The burger was protein, not scum," Syrona said.

"But not in a recognizable form or with a familiar smell," Doc replied.

"You've been living here longer. And you made bread," Nimisha said, turning to Jon. "That's grain. Fish is protein-did we scan enough of the area around the wreck to know if there is a body of water in the vicinity that would supply fish?"

"1 can provide fish for them, and greens," Cater replied. "Helm sent me an update of what you have been eating, Captain."

"Thanks, Helm. As efficient and forethoughtful as ever," Nimisha murmured.

"Only doing my job, ma'am," was Helm's response. They all chuckled.

"We'll take fish-cooked, I think," Nimisha said, looking at the three for confirmation. "And greens, plus some sort of bread, coarse grained, but a finer quality than what Jon made." She shot him a teasing glance. "And water in clear glass."

The requested items were available within minutes.

"They're waking up," Doc advised them.

"Let's move the table closer to the med unit so they can see the food. You don't generally offer edibles to an enemy," Jon said.

"We hope." Nimisha said as she took one end of the table nearest her to help Jon move it. Casper and Syrona, with Timmy's help, set the food on the table. "Tim, you're small. Stand in front and offer them food. Take a piece of each and show them you're willing to eat it."

"Sure, only I wish it was burger instead of fish," Timmy said, promptly taking his position.

"If we are seated," Nimisha went on, "we may not look as threatening."

"You took the course, too?" Jon asked her, pulling chairs to form a row well behind the set table.

"No, it just seems sensible," she replied, and he nodded approval.

"I'm opening up," Doc said.

"Talk to them as soon as they start moving, Timmy," Jon said. "It doesn't matter what you say."

"But what will I say?" Timmy asked, anxiously turning to his mother.

"Tell them who you are, who we are, that we didn't mean to scare them, and are they hungry?"

"When do I eat?"

"Drink first and offer it to them," Doc said. "They'll likely be thirsty after what I've done to them."

Everyone watched as the alien creatures began to stir.

The more violent captive of the two roused first. They could tell by the sudden tautness in its body.

"Hi, I'm Timmy. I'll bet you're thirsty," the boy said, pausing to take a drink of water before offering the glass.

The alien hissed, but its now-open black optical slits were obviously focused on the glass as it watched Timmy drink. If it drew back from his extended hand, the action was more in an automatic defense.

"Move slowly, Timmy," Syrona said. "Maybe place the glass beside it in the unit?"

Timmy did so, taking the three steps slowly, glass still in his outstretched hand. Some of the water slopped in his hurry to put it down and the alien backed away, crowding into its fellow, who was just beginning to stir.

"Try it. Good clean water," Timmy said, taking the second glass and again drinking from it. "And we got good food. You can have what you want to eat." He picked up one of the bread slices and moved to place it beside the glass.

"Eat a bite, Timmy," Jon murmured softly.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot." His next words were muffled around the slice as he bit into it before placing it beside the glass. "See? I'm eating it. And drinking the water, too. Try it. Won't hurt you. Please?"

The alien sniffed at the wet spill that had become drops on the nonabsorbent covering of the medical unit. It put one of its two fingers on a drop and watched it run away from the touch. It sniffed the glass and then, slowly rising to a seated position, lifted the glass in both hands and took a tentative sip. Its fellow had now roused and was watching, turning its head just enough to take in what was happening.

Having had a quick sip, the first one made a short soft sound to its companion, who also pulled itself up into a sitting position and reached for the offered glass. It took one sip and then another before handing the glass back.

"Would that mean Ay is dominant over Bee?" Syrona asked.

"Ay was awake before Bee," Nimisha said, smothering a chuckle.

"Give Bee its own glass, and the greens, Timmy," Jon said. "Eat some before you put them down where they can reach them."

Timmy, obviously enjoying his role, did so, taking a bite of the green leaf with exaggerated eagerness before adding it to the offerings. He got a second piece of bread, breaking off a piece and eating that before giving the slice to Bee.

Ay took the bread and sniffed it, licked it, and bit into it, chewing quickly and then nibbling more enthusiastically. Bee took the leaf, sniffed, licked and then crumbled the whole thing into its mouth, swallowing almost instantly.

"You're supposed to chew your food, not swallow it whole," Timmy said, frowning.

"They caught that facial change fast, didn't they?" Nimisha said as both aliens stopped eating, their bodies tense.

"Smile, Tim," Jon said.

"I didn't scare them, did I?"

"I don't think so. They're eating again."

"They must be starved," Timmy said. His offerings were all gone and the water drained from the glasses. "What do I do now? Fill the glasses?"

"Hold out your hand and then gesture to the table, showing them they can leave the medic unit," Jon said. "Smile."

"They're not smiling back," Timmy said, but he was urgently pantomiming what he wanted them to do.

There was a low-voiced exchange of sounds before Ay pushed itself forward and slid off the unit, landing lightly on its feet with knees bent, ready to move.

"No, it's all right, come along. It's much easier for you to take what you want," Timmy said with expansive and explanatory gestures.

"He's good at this," Nimisha said in a low voice to Syrona.

"We used to do play acting at nights or during long storms," Casper said. "Passed time, and it was amazing how much dialogue we could remember from plays we'd seen a long time ago."

"In bits and pieces," Jon added, also keeping his voice low.

Slowly, and with Timmy encouraging them every step, the aliens made their way to the table, clutching their glasses against their squarish torsos. Timmy pointed at the glasses, patted the table, and picked up the pitcher.

"You put 'em down and I'll pour. We might spill otherwise. Ever used a pitcher before? Yes, that's right, put the glass down, Ay. You're Ay, and you're Bee. I'm Tee." And Timmy started to giggle at his wit. Both aliens reacted, taking two quick backward steps before they realized Jimmy's unusual noise was not harmful. "I'm pouring, I'm pouring you water," he said, hastily putting action to words. Then he stepped back and glanced over at the adults watching him. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't've laughed like that, should I?"

As the aliens were far more needful of water than concerned about his odd noises, they were quick to take possession of and drain both glasses quickly. They replaced the glasses on the table and turned meaningfully toward him.

"I get the message," he said, cutting off another giggle as he refilled. "What about some more of this nice bread?" he asked, passing the plate from one to the other.

As daintily as if they were at a proper tea in Lady Rezalla's salon, they used one finger and the opposing thumb to lift a slice from the plate.

"We got some fish, too," Timmy said. Then regarded his mother. "I can eat it with my fingers this time?" When she nodded, he pinched a portion of the cooked white flesh and, tipping his head, dropped the morsel down his throat.

Ay and Bee watched, their jaws dropping slightly open. Their eyes glittered. Then they relaxed and continued eating bread. Ay approached the fish, and its sniffing was quite audible, the vents of the vertical slit visibly fluttering. So quick was its pincer-like motion that the piece of fish was in its mouth before the humans caught the transfer. Then it turned slightly toward Bee and pointed to the fish. They both set about snatching pieces, alternating bites of fish, bread, and greens until they cleared all that had been set out for them.

"You were hungry and thirsty, weren't you?" Timmy said.

Syrona covered her mouth, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"You've said that a time or two, I guess," Nimisha commented to Syrona.

"A time or two."

Having fed themselves, Ay and Bee now regarded Timmy. The observers could see that they were no longer as tense as they had been. They were, she thought, seeing the almost imperceptible movements of their head, and the flick of their digits, assessing their current surroundings and the inhabitants.

"Now what do we do?" Timmy asked the adults, raising his hands, palms upward in query.

Immediately the aliens assumed a similar position.

"Good question, Timmy. Why don't you sit down on the floor and see what happens?" Jon suggested quietly.

The aliens' heads moved slightly, indicating they knew where the voice came from.

"So." Timmy crossed his legs and sat down.

The aliens leaned slightly forward and turned to each other; Ay made a sound and Bee lifted one shoulder, but both settled down cross-legged, too.

"Their knees are funny," Timmy said, but he kept his expression bland.

"Now, Tim, point to yourself and say your name."

"Timmy or Tee?"

"I told you that boy's a born comedian," Casper murmured.

"He's the best one at charades, certainly," Syrona replied in the same careful tone.

"Timmy! Tee!" said the boy and then, without a cue from Jon, he pointed to Ay and cocked his head, eyebrows set at an inquiring level. When there was no immediate response, he leaned toward them, cupping a hand behind his ear.

"They don't seem to have ears, Timmy. That gesture may not be understood."

"Tee! Timmy," he repeated, pointing to himself and then at each of the aliens in turn.

Ay said a sound.

Bee said a sound.

Timmy shook his head.

"Any ideas, Helm?" Nimisha asked softly.

"A liquid noise, neither vowel nor diphthong," Helm replied. "I have not heard sufficient of their sounds to replicate them."

"Tee. Timmy!"

"TTT," Ay said, stuttering out the consonant but unable to complete the "ee" sound.

"Hey, that's great!" Timmy said, clapping his hands. This startled the two, who reared back away from him. "Ooops!" he said in dismay, hunching his shoulders and clapping fingers to his mouth.

"Oooo!" repeated both aliens at once, turning to each other as if both pleased with his word and their repetition.

"Try more vowels, Timmy."

"Vowels?" Timmy turned for an explanation.

"A, e, i, o, u," his mother replied.

"Ay is what we named him."

"AAAA," Ay echoed politely.

"Bee?" Timmy said, pointing to Bee.

"EEEE," Bee said.

"We're going to have to change their names," Timmy suggested.

"Try T…"

The vowels were easier for the aliens to manage and they went through the five.

"Open your mouth enough, Timrny," Jon suggested, "so they can see how you make the Tee sound."

Timmy did so, grimacing and showing his teeth, his lips peeled back as far as possible. The boy kept on, and the aliens seemed to be trying to enunciate what they heard.

"I have turned to a wider frequency band, ma'am," Helm said in a quiet voice. "Human aural equipment is not adequate to hear all the sounds they do make. I have tracked their voices up to fifty kilohertz, far beyond what humans are capable of, and nearly the limit of my receptors. Also, there are some glottal stops, fricatives, and labials that do not register properly. In their own voices, they are approximating the sounds Tim makes."

At just that point, Timmy threw both arms up in the air in total frustration and exasperation. "I give up. Can't we do something else?" he asked, turning toward the adults.

"Yes, why don't you show them around the ship, Tim?" Nimisha suggested.

"Great!" Timmy leaped so quickly to his feet that the aliens, surprised, slid backward from him with great agility and speed. "Aw, sorry. I keep forgetting. It's all right. Get up-" He made appropriate gestures."-and I'll show you the ship."

"Ooo uuu t eep," Ay said, peeling its lips back in an effort to emulate Tim's exaggerated pronunciation.

"Let's give that alien a high score for trying," Jon said in a whimsical tone.

"Helm," Nimisha said in a low voice, speaking over her shoulder toward the bridge, "keep on recording at the necessary frequencies and see if they speak to each other while Timmy's showing them around."

Timmy was leading the way now, chatting all the time. The aliens were a good head taller than he was. They walked with a very smooth gait though they were slightly knock-kneed.

"So what do we do now?" Syrona asked when the trio was out of earshot. "We've doctored, watered, and fed them and-"

"I'd say we take them back where we got them." Jon said, looking at Nimisha, who nodded agreement as did Casper and Syrona. "Showing good faith…"

"As well as giving Helm time to parse their language," Nimisha added. She peered out the front screen. "We've enough daylight left, I think, to bring them back before any of the nocturnal predators you told me about emerge from their lairs."

"Let's see if we can arrange another meeting with them in… say, two days' time?" Jon went on, checking with each of the others.

"Sounds good to me."

"Tim'll need the break," Syrona said, but she was obviously delighted at her son's performance. "I didn't think he'd be able to do so well."

"He did a great job," Casper said.

"Still is," Jon added, for Timmy's voice could be plainly heard. "He hasn't had much chance to… socialize. Only barely remembers the others."

Nimisha thought of the society into which her daughter had been reared, with all its restrictions and traditions. "I don't think Tim has suffered any neglect you could have avoided. I'm a parent, too, you know."

Syrona blinked. "No, I didn't realize."

Nimisha laughed. "The subject never came up. Cuiva should be just over twelve now. My mother has her in keeping-" She stopped speaking for a moment, gave a little sniff, and went on. "We'll have to get Timmy to do the pantomiming."

"Is there a chance the aliens will think he's in charge?" Syrona asked, startling herself at the notion.

"Not when they both see us handling the gig on its return, with Timmy safely belted in a passenger seat," Jon said with a grin.

Being escorted with Timmy to the gig after they had toured the Fiver did not surprise Ay and Bee. They did not resist when they were belted into seats just as they had seen Tim do. On the other hand, their ship awed Tim when he saw it.

"Looks like a gigantic bird-nicer than the ones that dive-bomb you, though. Ah, its head got broke."

Jon had explained to Tirnmy what he wanted to communicate to the aliens. Timmy did a good job, pointing to the setting sun in the west and then to the east, making a circle with his hands and passing it twice around the sky. Ay nodded, with Bee as quick in comprehension.

"Two days. We meet. Here. Your people…" Tim swung his finger to indicate the adults.

That caused Ay and Bee to communicate with each other with oo's and uu's and other unheard noises. Then they both nodded.

Bee took a half step forward, bending at its midsection, and raising a glass to its lips with one hand, and then miming food in the other that it chewed lustily.

"I getcha," Timmy said, clapping his hands. Again the reflex action of the two aliens was to recoil from the noise. "Does it hurt their ears or something?" he asked Ion.

"Could be. They hear in a different range than we do."

"Oh." It took a moment for Timmy to digest that information. "Like the whistlers?"

"Like them." Jon nodded. "He's referring to a flier we've encountered, not as large as some, but when it dives it emits a whistle. Only if you hear it, it's homing in on you and you'd better find cover fast. We think the noise is used to paralyze some of the indigenous creatures." He turned to the aliens and mimed drinking and eating.

Neither Ay nor Bee moved as the others went back to the gig.

"You better move back," Timmy said, leaning out of the hatch and flipping his hands at them.

"I'll take off vertically, Tim," Jon said from the pilot's seat. "Don't worry."

Timmy watched the two figures, who braced themselves against the slight wind of uplift, as long as he could on the rearview screen. Then he took a seat and very shortly was fast asleep.

"Hard day's work when you're only six," Casper said with great pride and affection.