Nimisha's Ship

CHAPTER 7

Jon and Casper rigged a camouflaged remote device at the meeting place that Ay and Bee had been shown.

"That way we can go check out the fourth wreck," Jon said, brushing sand from his hands with the satisfaction of a job well done, "and still keep an eye on developments here. You don't know what it's like to have facilities and parts again," he added to Nimisha, rolling his eyes expressively.

"From what I saw in your cave-site, you did pretty well at improvising out of available resources," Nimisha replied.

"Needs must when the devil drives," Jon said with a wry grin and a shrug. "There was so much more we could have, should have, taken from the Poolbeg, but we didn't dare try a long journey back after the rocks those damned avians dropped stove in the starboard vents."

"Had you noticed them on the way to the plateau?"

"Noticed, yes," Jon replied.

"Certainly didn't think they were smart. Or organised enough to take offensive action," Casper put in.

"I think they got mad at us for gunning down those we did," Syrona said, shaking her head.

"They were organised?" Nimisha asked, incredulous.

Jon gave a harsh laugh. "Near as makes no never mind. Nimisha. Some came as a group, others whenever they found a rock big enough to do damage."

"Fascinating. Could we call it tool-using?"

Syrona gave a little laugh. "If you stretched the point a long way." She held out her arms as far as they would go. "They sure wouldn't be my choice of sapient beings." She gave a shudder.

"Ay and Bee are nice," Tim said softly, his eyes wide from listening to the adult conversation. "I didn't like the bombers."

"The one I met certainly wasn't friendly," Nimisha agreed, also shuddering at the danger she had survived.

In the false dawn, with the garage lights on so that Jon could check his position, he reversed the gig into the Fiver. Then, as the sky began to brighten with Primero's sun, they set off for the fourth wreck. Helm suggested a triangular approach, to avoid any sighting by the small aliens.

They reached their destination by midday and knew from the cargo pods and other bits strewn across the rocky landscape that no one in the old freighter could have survived the landing. Its cargo, protected by the heavy-duty plastic in which it had been shipped, was another matter. Only a few pods had broken open on impact with the ground and lay scattered about in small heaps, but the main line of pods led directly to the wreck. Helm had only to follow the debris to its source.

"That's an oldie," Ton remarked when magnification showed them the smashed freighter's ID. "Good hundred and fifty years old. Probably was sent out at the time of the Second Diaspora."

"If it was carrying colony supplies, we might find a lot of useful equipment," Casper said, rubbing his hands together in hopeful anticipation.

"Will it be good after so long?" Syrona asked.

"Should be." Jon said, "unless the contractors were dishonest. Those may be old cargo pods, but they were vacuum-sealed to load. The Navy still uses that model because it is durable and sturdy."

They reached the wreck, its forward section broken off from the stern by the force of its landing. But then, as Casper remarked sadly, the freighter had never been intended as a landing craft. Supplies would have been lightered down to the surface.

"Commander," Helm said, "if you can plug in a portable power source, I can access the ship's computer system and discover, from the pod markings, the contents from the manifest."

"Excellent idea, Helm," Jon said, grinning. "That would save a lot of guesswork."

"Scanning indicates that some of the inner cargo holds withstood the force of the impact, though opening the hatches may pose some problems," Helm added, sounding as surprised as it was possible for an Al to sound.

"We're in luck," Casper said brightly.

"We hope," was Jon's reply.

Syrona bit her lip not to laugh but Nimisha had no similar need to be tactful.

"You really are a team, aren't you?" she said, chuckling at the two men. "The optimist and the pessimist."

"It's worked so far," Jon remarked unabashed.

Getting to the main computer with an independent power source was not a problem. The bridge area had split wide open, and while the explorers had to remove vegetation-carefully, since Syrona identified some of the growths as highly toxic-they were able to reach the main data console. They cleared off the accumulation of dirt and debris and found the units were intact. Once powered up, leads attached, Helm went right to the manifest and started scrolling the items.

"Prefab parts, farm tools, hand tools, extra power packs-"

"That is, if the recharger survived," Jon said.

"Oh, you!" Syrona said with disgust.

"Well, it would be our luck that it was packed in one of the cases that broke open," he said with a grin and a shrug.

"No, Captain," Helm interrupted. "Manifest lists two pods of recharger units still intact on board." He paused the scrolling list at the appropriate entry.

"So there, too," Nimisha couldn't help but put in, grinning.

"Hey, disassembled ground vehicles," Casper said, crowing with delight and pointing at the entry.

"Helm, pause at that entry," Jon said, leaning his hands on the console and peering at the screen. "Won't do us any good if they're open vehicles… Ah, no, good choice. Closed vehicles and some with light repellers." He looked pleased, but then his expression changed abruptly. "I don't suppose there's fuel gel aboard in any quantity."

"I will scan ahead, Commander." The speed with which it did rendered other items unreadable. Then the screen stopped to display fuel gel supplies. "Fuel gel is listed as part of the contents of several holds, two of which are still intact. Some of the strewn pods probably contain that item."

"Satisfied?" Nimisha asked.

"It's a start," he said.

"The question now is whether or not you're enough of a mechanic to assemble one," Nimisha said, folding her arms across her chest.

"If I'm not. I'm sure you are, Lady Nimisha, if you built a ship that could survive the wormhole with so little damage," Jon replied, giving her a bow.

"That was not I. That was Helm's piloting."

"Thank you, ma'am. Shall I continue to scan the manifests?"

"Yes, please," Syrona said. "For seeds, medical supplies, food essentials." She turned to the men. "My turn, I think, since you are so happy to find your particular hobbies."

"Hobbies?" Jon exclaimed.

"Well, she has a point, Jon. We need everything…" Casper swung his arms out in an expansive gesture.

"So you don't think we should investigate the other two M-type planets?" Nimisha asked, having listened long enough to their enthusiasms for the riches of the ship's cargo.

"Ah…" Jon looked over his shoulder at her in surprise, with a slightly guilty expression. "Yes. well." He paused again, flushing a little with chagrin. "I think we've all been so concentrated on surviving on this planet that the notion we're no longer stuck here hasn't quite seeped in." He raised his hands apologetically.

"We can do both," Casper said, ever the intermediary. "Establish a better base here and then go exploring. Or vice versa," he added quickly.

"And there're the aliens now, too," Syrona put in, slightly hesitant as she made eye contact with Nimisha. "It is up to you to say, Lady Nimisha. You are captain of the Fiver."

"That's not at issue," Nimisha said. "And I do understand your excitement over all this… wealth. It must be secured before we go haring off to any other world." Then her eye was caught by an unusual item on the list that was still scrolling down the screen. "Windmills? Helm, do we know where this ship was bound for, when it was diverted?"

"Vega, ma'am, possibly for Acclarke City on Vega III when it was first founded. Records confirm the loss of this vessel at an unknown location-"

"And there are prairies and deep water tables on Vega III," Nimisha said, nodding.

"Windmills are good for more than pumping water out of the ground," Jon said, intent on the lists still rolling past. "We could establish a much better living standard with all this."

"For the little people, too?" asked Timmy, who had been sitting in the captain's chair and undoubtedly pretending he was the master of the freighter.

The adults exchanged glances.

"If they are willing, yes, Tim," Jon said. "There's more than enough here to share."

"They may not want our help," Syrona said gently. "But we will offer, won't we?"

The other three nodded.

"They might even be better scroungers than we are," Casper said, grinning.

Jon looked out of the split hull to the wide-open space beyond the ship's final resting place. "They may even have found the wreck and not figured out how to open the pods."

Casper looked around him. "Or someone may have survived. I've noticed a significant absence."

"I'm just as glad there are no skeletons," Syrona murmured.

"Considering what I've met of the local life-forms," Nimisha said, "with this section wide open, the scavengers would have removed any edible debris."

"Shall we see what else is to be seen in the wreck?" Jon asked Casper.

"Why don't Tim, Syrona, and I do a survey of the pods outside. See what's worth securing," Nimisha suggested. Though she sided with Casper in optimism, there was no sense in wasting valuable resources. She tried not to think that she might not be rescued. The others had accepted the fact. Would she have to?

"Excellent notion," Jon said. Casper and Syrona nodded in agreement, so the two groups went about their chosen tasks.

"Helm," Nimisha said into her wrist com, "track the men. We'll be in plain sight, but Jon and Casper will not."

"I can keep watch over more than two groups, ma'am."

"Concentrate on them," Nimisha said firmly as she and Syrona, aiding Tim over the longer steps, made their way to the ground. "Lemme have a look round, Syrie," she said, holding up her hand to mother and son. "There don't seem to be any tracks, but then, the wreck's been here for centuries. Local interest would have waned."

"I'll do that, Nimisha," Syrona said, "since I'm more familiar than you with the tracks of the indigenous species." She grinned and, giving Timmy a little shove, added, "You help Nimisha, dear."

Nimisha held out her hand and suggested that they examine the cluster of pods a few meters from the ship.

"What're in these, Helm?" she asked when they got to the first weathered and intact unit. First she had to scrape off the mud and ingrained dirt from the stenciled coding.

"Clothing," was Helm's prompt response.

"Keep a running account, please, Helm," Nimisha said. Next it was Timmy who found the markings on a pod of blankets.

By the time Syrona had rejoined them, without having found any suspicious tracks, Nimisha and Tim had found that fibre tents occupied a third, then more clothing and blankets, and bolts of fabric. The next few were marked "Miscellaneous," but Helm's probing determined that some of the miscellany was metallic.

"Scissors? Needles? Pins?" Syrona exclaimed, her eyes widening with pleasure. "I got to be a pretty good furrier, you know, when we found bone that wouldn't splinter. Casper kept experimenting because he was sure he'd find one that would make a good needle."

Nimisha grinned, thinking that optimism brings its own success.

They walked on, checking the strewn pods. Some had burst open, with little left in them but blown dust and debris: the contents had either deteriorated open to the weather or been removed.

Syrona examined the closing mechanism on an unopened crate. "Well, I suppose the little folk might have figured out how to open them-if they had enough strength in their digits."

"Digits, Syrie?" Timmy asked confused. "Digits are numbers."

"Digit is another word for finger," Syrona said.

"Confusing. You always said numbers for numbers, not digits."

"True, but digit is a synonym. Don't worry, I'll teach you about them soon, Tim," his mother said.

"Oh." He frowned. "I'm getting hungry, Syrie. Do we have to look at all of 'em?" He made an expansive gesture toward the long line leading several kilometres beyond them.

"I'm feeling a little empty, myself," Nimisha said. "Let's go back and see what the men have found, and we'll all have a snack on the Fiver."

Timmy brightened and skipped ahead of them on their return.

"It's so… so reassuring to know there are supplies on hand," Syrona said, running her fingers across the sides of the pods they passed as they retraced their steps.

"Oh, we'll be rescued before we need to tap into any of this," Nimisha said, cocksure.

Syrona gave her an odd glance. "You're counting on it?"

Nimisha regarded her frankly. "I." she said, placing a self-deprecating hand on her chest, "am not that important, but the Fiver is. Vegan Fleet and Rondymense Ship Yard will spare no effort to locate it, and me. And now you."

Syrona let out a sigh. "There is no record of that wormhole at those coordinates, Nimisha. Don't get your hopes up no matter how valuable that ship is. We're a very long way from Vega, or Altair, or any of the other settled areas of space."

"That's all too true, Syrona, especially as that wormhole makes such sporadic entries," Nimisha agreed, gesturing toward the wrecked freighter. "However, while you were marooned here, there've been many technological advances. I'll bet anything that Vegan Fleet and the FSP Navy will set up the very latest equipment at the Mayday beacon I managed to get off. They'll find us."

Syrona did not comment and they walked on in silence and were almost to the wreck, where Timmy was squatting and looking up through holes in the hull.

"I didn't mean to upset you, Nimisha," Syrona said at last.

"I'm not upset, Syrona, but it doesn't hurt to have two optimists in this expedition, does it? I've a particular reason to need to be back at Vega in another-" She counted, "-eighteen months."

"Your daughter's Necklacing?" Syrona asked.

"That's it."

"Even at the best speed your Fiver can do, you might be late."

"You're as bad as Jon," Nimisha said, keeping rancour and exasperation out of her voice. She told herself firmly that Syrona had suffered a lot in sixteen years: She had been forced to be a realist.

The two men came swinging down, feet first, from the larger of the holes Timmy had been looking up at.

"There's a lot salvageable aboard her," Casper said cheerfully. "And with what Helm says is available in prefab units, both on the ship and spread out across the landscape, we could each have our own private quarters."

"That's what you think," Syrona said with some asperity.

"Yes, ma'am," Casper said, pretending to avoid a blow.

"When," Jon said, pausing for emphasis, "we have found the best possible spot to set up a more permanent colony." He grinned at Nimisha, and she realised she must not have concealed her dismay at that abrupt remark. "I include the other two unexplored worlds, which we definitely should investigate now that we can," he said with a placatory bow in her direction. "At least we have plenty of stores to start off with."

"I hesitate to mention this," Casper said with a rueful smile, "but I'm… hungry."

"Me, too, Cas, me too," Timmy exclaimed, grabbing Casper's hand and swinging himself about. Syrona nodded agreement.

"Unanimous?" Jon asked, looking at Nimisha. "No question of that," she said and led the way back to the Fiver.

When Timmy was engaged in eating and watching a vid, the two men told the women what they had discovered in the rest of the ship.

"I don't think there were any survivors, not with the damage to the bridge area. Below, we found skeletons-practically every bone in their bodies had been broken," Jon said soberly. "Helm augmented our findings by his sensor readings. The log data he's accessed so far indicated that they'd dumped fuel in the hope of surviving a crash landing. Maybe one or two did. Crew complement was eighteen on a vessel this size. We found twelve skeletons. We figure the other six would have been on duty on the bridge. Nothing could have got into the crew quarters. The doors were still shut. In fact, we had trouble prying them open."

"Helm reports accessing their names and home ports," Casper said. "Their families will benefit."

"If we can get a report back," Jon said with a diffident shrug.

Nimisha waited a moment, controlling her irritation. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Syrona give Casper an anxious look.

"You really are a pessimist, aren't you, Captain?" It took Nimisha all her self-control not to colour that remark with her true feelings.

"I've had to be… ma'am."

"Hey, you two, there aren't enough of us to be at each other's throats," Casper said, a placatory smile on his face.

Jon laughed and waved toward Casper. "The eternal optimist."

"I came, didn't I?" Nimisha said. She smiled all around the table. "The point is, we can improve our situations now, can't we? We can make a serious attempt at cultivating another alien species. We can investigate the other two M-type worlds. I'd rather one that didn't have as many predators if we want to be safe until… help… comes!" She stressed those words. "Because help will come." She glared at Jon and then at Syrona. "I am proof."

"Of what?"

"Oh…" Nimisha's patience was strained. "Proof that our technology is capable of finding us, no matter how far away our home worlds are."

"You, you mean," Syrona said almost angrily.

"I've heard enough of this," Doc said in a stern voice. "You do not need to wrangle with each other. You're all you have. So hear this, loud and clear. The euphoria of discovery has dissipated and you're all experiencing a quite logical swing toward depression. There is no need for acrimony. My programming tends for me to side with you optimists, but then I am aware, as an extensively programmed Artificial Intelligence, how far our technology has progressed from state-of-the-art as you would have known it, Captain Svangel. Message pulse sending is now highly refined, and a pulsed message will reach some listening ear, if it hasn't already. I highly recommend that you finish your meals and get a good night's rest. You'll need it tomorrow for clear thinking in dealing with the small people. Understand?"

"My apologies," Jon said formally, and bowed to Nimisha.

"Mine as well," Syrona said meekly.

"None are needed," Nimisha said and rose. "Helm, has the remote shown any activity at tomorrow's meeting site?"

"There has been peripheral movement in the area, but no alien was visible, nor were there sounds that could be recorded and added into the base for semantic analysis."

"Maybe they're just not curious," Casper said, getting to his feet. "C'mon, Tim, we're all having an early night to be rested for tomorrow's meeting."

"Can I finish watching this adventure? It's exciting."

"A soothing nightcap might be advisable," Doc said charmingly. "Cater, do provide us with an appropriate beverage."

"My pleasure. What may I serve you, Lady Nimisha? A tea perhaps?"

Whatever it was, herbal and tasty, had undoubtedly been laced with a mild sedative, Nimisha decided the next morning when Helm's chimes roused her. She had slept like the proverbial log.

Helm announced that there were significant movements at the proposed site, so everyone climbed into the gig after Jon carefully exited the Fiver's garage. They had patched in both Doc and Helm to the gig and, through that control board, to their wrist units, which would be recording the proceedings. Nimisha fixed a com-unit to Tim's belt, rather than wrapped about his much smaller wrist. Ton suggested an earring, so that Tim could receive advice from his mentors during the interview; a small receiver was found and planted behind his right ear. He strutted about, pleased with his equipment.

"A reception committee," Nimisha murmured when the gig, coming in at an angle over the obscuring bluff, showed them the throng that had gathered.

"They've set us a table, too," Timmy cried excitedly, pointing.

When the adults saw the rest of the carefully set scene, they exchanged amused glances. There were four stools set well back from the table, just as they had been positioned to allow Timmy to make the initial contact on the Fiver. There were little piles of what were obviously samples of edibles on pottery plates, as well as cups and several pottery jugs.

"Nice design on the pottery. Looks painted on with fine brush-work," Jon murmured. "Glazed, too."

"The best china for the visitors?" Nimisha replied.

"No diagnostic unit though," Syrona remarked with a sigh of relief.

"They are showing a nice degree of intelligence by reproducing our first encounter as well as they have," Jon said.

"All right, Tim, you're our resident ambassador," Casper said. "You go first."

"Me?" Tim went all wide-eyed and nervous. "They've set everything up for you, honey," Syrona said encouragingly, giving him a little shove toward the gig's open hatch.

"They have no weapons with them," Helm said, his low reassurance making Tim square his shoulders and advance. "Based on Doc's medical reports, they are at ease and waiting. No elevation of pulse or heartbeat."

"We're right behind you, cadet ensign," Jon said.

"So long as you are." Tim muttered, but he took the step forward. Then he paused and gulped as he reached ground level and began to appreciate just how many were assembled up the hill beyond the meeting place. "There's an awful lot of them, isn't there? What do I say? What do I do?" Apprehension made his voice quiver.

"Walk up to the table, Tim," Jon said. "We'll prompt you. Put your left hand behind your back if you want suggestions. I suggest that you point to yourself and say your own name. Then ask for Ay and Bee. Let's see if they remember the names we gave them."

"Shouldn't one of us go with him?" Syrona asked anxiously. "Tim's a brave lad," Nimisha said, assessing the rows and rows of quiet gray aliens seated in their odd cross-legged position. "He'll do the ambassador very well indeed." She made certain her voice was loud enough to reach Timmy's ears as he advanced. He must have heard her, for he suddenly stood a little straighter.

Four aliens rose and came forward to the table, bowing to Tim, and then bowing again to the larger humans and gesturing to the seating provided. Timmy bowed back.

Obediently the adults sat down, though the stools were more suited to smaller rear ends than theirs.

"Notice the much darker coats of two of them," Nimisha said softly. "Would that indicate age?"

Jon shrugged. "We should have painted Ay and Bee on the two while we had them. They all look exactly alike."

"They won't when we get used to them," Casper said. "I think they mean to get used to us."

Nimisha firmly hoped so. That would be a plus for the Poolbeg crew, and for herself and the achievements of the Fiver. She tried to settle on her stool, but it was too unstable on the soft ground for her to really relax or even put her full weight on it.

"Tim," the boy said, pointing to himself. "Ay? Bee? Oh, hey, they know who they are!" As two of the four aliens took an additional step forward, he turned about to grin at the adults.

Ay bowed again and said quite plainly, pointing to itself, "Ay."

"BbbbbEEEE," the second one managed to get out, having a lot of trouble with "b," which sounded more like "bubbubb," as it stepped forward. It took a plate carefully in both three-fingered hands and held it out to Tim. Then it took one of the unevenly chopped pieces and popped it into its mouth, chewing vigorously and making a thing of swallowing.

"I don't know what it is," Tim asked plaintively, eyeing the dish with anxiety.

"Doc says the offered food will not harm you but he can't guarantee the taste, Tim," Helm said softly, using the earring amplifier.

Tim reached hesitantly, but he took the food, sniffed it as the aliens had done, licked it. "Not so bad." He popped the morsel into his mouth. "Chewy," he added. "Like the nuts we found, Syrie."

He smiled, then rubbed his stomach and licked his lips. The two who stood beyond Ay and Bee recoiled slightly.

"Whaddid I do wrong?" Tim asked anxiously.

"I don't think you did anything wrong," Jon said quietly. "Take another piece and don't make faces."

"I thought it'd help if I showed 'em I liked it," Tim replied, but he took another morsel, chewed it, and swallowed. Ay offered him a pottery cup with water in it. Then Bee picked up another cup, took a careful sip, and handed it to Tim. He sniffed at it, since that seemed to be acceptable behaviour. "Some sort of sweet-smelling stuff, like the fruit you picked last year, Cas."

"Doc says neither will harm you, Tim," Helm said through the earring.

"Hey, the juice is good," Timmy said after the first sip, and drained the cup. Bee was quick to refill it, and Ay presented a different plate of small brown balls that Nimisha thought might have been cooked. Ay ate a ball before offering the plate to Tim.

"Doc says it's a meat product and harmless," Helm informed him.

Tim popped a ball into his mouth, closed his mouth, and then reacted in distress, opening his mouth wide, fanning it.

"Harmless?" Tim drained the fruit juice with a sigh of relief. "Hot stuff-not hot to touch, hot to eat. Wooof!"

His antics seemed to amuse not only Ay, Bee, and the other nearer aliens, but all those observing. Muted hoots and ooos rippled through the audience.

Bee said something liquid in sound to Ay, who changed plates to some green sprouts.

"I know what these are," Timmy said and crammed a handful into his mouth, nodding enthusiastically. Another ripple of hoots circulated the audience.

Ay picked up another plate and, after showing it to Tim, waved its free hand in front of its mouth and put the plate to one side.

"Thanks. Ay. That was hot all the way down," Tim said. "I wouldn't mind some more of the first stuff," he said, and picked up two more morsels from the plate. This appeared to please the audience.

"Is it possible to get samples of all they have offered?" Helm asked.

"Tim, why don't you load some of the food on the greens plate and bring it back to us," Jon suggested.

"Shouldn't I ask first?"

"Make gestures," Jon said and Tim went through an elaborate pantomime, of filling a plate, taking it to the adults, and bowing as he pretended to serve it.

Ay and Bee turned to the other two, sound rising and falling in the ensuing conversation.

Ay made the selection itself and indicated that it would like to do the serving. Timmy shrugged and gestured for him to proceed.

Bee produced more cups and filled them with the fruit juice. It used the largest plate to convey the cups to the adults, following after Ay.

"It is tasty," Nirnisha said.

"Tim's right about having had it," Syrona said, "but it's not in season right now. So where did they get it from?"

"Curiouser and curiouser," Nimisha said.

"Weapons, pottery, food preservation technique," Casper said, grinning. "And smart."

"Now, if we can only figure out how to exchange-" Jon stopped as the two very gray aliens came forward, bowing not quite as deeply as Ay and Bee did.

Jon rose carefully and bowed at the same angle. Casper, Syrona, and Nimisha followed his example.

Ay and Bee stepped back, out of the way, as if they had done their part in introducing one species to the other. Two others came out of the crowd, carrying stools similar to the ones provided for the humans. When the legs of these were firmly pushed into the ground, the dark grays gestured for the humans to sit. Jon indicated that they should be seated first. They motioned for the humans to sit.

Jon held up his fingers. "One, two, three." He mimed that they should all be seated at once. "Sit." He matched action to the work.

The darkest gray personage hissed as it sat, turning its head slightly to its companion and making some liquid comment. The other nodded.

"Ex and Wye?" Nimisha said out of the corner of her mouth, leaning toward Jon.

Ex touched one digit to its chest and "ooool" was the sound that came out.

"Ex equals Ooool?"

Ool nodded vigorously and the mouth slit opened. The other gray clearly said, "Ooook," pointing to itself. Then it indicated Ool and repeated that sound.

"Help, Helm," Jon murmured.

"The true sound goes beyond human hearing, Commander. Repeat the sounds you do hear as closely as you can," was Helm's advice.

"Ool, ooooool?" Jon pointed to Ool. Then struggled with "Ooook."

The two grays titled their heads from one side to another, regarding each other with black bands of eye slits wide.

"They're too polite to laugh," Syrona murmured. "But they have a sibilant… let me try my name. Sy-ron-ah."

"Ssssooo ah," was Ool's attempt and it struggled with that much.

"Tim?" Tim offered, pointing to himself.

"Immmmm." For some reason this sound was repeated not only by Ool and Ook, but by Ay, Bee, and then the audience.

"Pay dirt," Casper remarked in a low tone.

Ool and Ook exchanged several remarks.

"If they could be kept talking," Helm said quietly, "more sounds could be registered and there would be a better chance of isolating words within the sounds."

"What do you call this?" Jon said, holding up the cup and pointing to it.

Ool and Ook once again exchanged glances. Ool said a quick combination of vowels.

Jon pointed into the cup. Ook replied with another set of sounds. And the audience repeated these. Then the aliens began to chant the sounds that had already been made, starting with the names of the two grays, Syrona's name, Tim, and the word for cup and for the juice. The name, "Immm" caused what must be alien laughter whenever it was repeated.

"Let's everyone sing along," Nimisha said softly, struggling to keep from laughing aloud. "Cup," she said in a louder voice, holding it up. Pointing inside, she said, "Fruit Juice."

The audience came in right on cue, and that was how the rest of the morning went: each species getting a chance to point and name things in its own language while the other struggled to replicate the sounds. Occasional ululations rippled through the audience, but the overall reaction seemed to be one of enjoyment.

"Makes me think of the sounds from old Terran Africa," Syrona remarked at one point when a warble had been musically extended.

Then Jon raised his arms for silence, a gesture understood by the aliens. He pointed to all the humans and said very clearly, "Hu-manz." He put his thumb on his chest "Hu-man."

"Ooooh-maaaa-zuh!" Ool said carefully.

Jon repeated the word, aspirating the "h."

"Yu-man-z."

"Yu-ma-z," was as close as Ool, Ook, Ay, Bee, and the crowd got. But Jon clasped both hands above his head in approbation. He gracefully turned his hand to Ool and Ook, then circled his fingers toward Ay, Bee, and the audience.

Ool gave a quick bob of its head. "Ssss-imm," was the carefully enunciated reply, with Ool opening its mouth wide and showing the regular row of tiny pointed teeth before the lips closed on the "m" sound.

"Maybe that's why they laughed at my name," Tim said. "It's something like a word of theirs after all. Ssss-immm," he said, enunciating with lips and sound.

The hooting was widespread, and many repeated Jon's gesture of clasping their hands above their head.

"Helm, are they saying shim or ssssh-im?" Casper asked.

"On the decibel recorder it is two separate sounds. Sh'im is closest," Helm replied after a nanosecond's deliberation.

"Sh'im," Jon said, pointing to them. His thumb in his direction. "Oo-man."

"I am picking up private conversations in the audience," Helm said. "I am recording. They are relaxed and enjoying this."

"Best show in town," Casper said, rolling his eyes with amusement.

They kept on pointing at and naming things, from the dirt and stones underfoot to the shrubbery, the stools, the ruins of the old ship, the sky, sun, and moons until the sun was high in the sky.

At last Syrona admitted to a splitting headache, which allowed Nimisha to say she, too, had one. Tim had been quiet for some time, but sat quietly on his stool, watching the Sh'im leaders.

"Have you enough to work on now, Helm?" Jon asked as both Sh'im and Humans seemed to take a pause.

"Yes, Captain."

"Good, then let's wind up this session and thank our hosts." He rose, bowed to Ool and Ook, and gestured to the gig. Then he pantomimed the sun going down and raised one finger.

Ool bobbed his head and held up his two fingers. Then turned his head from side to side.

"Now does that mean a bob is no and a shake is yes?" Syrona asked.

"That would be my interpretation," Helm said.

So Jon lifted two fingers and shook his head and bowed again.

Ool, Ook, Ay, and Bee rose and bowed. So did all the Sh'im in the audience, and with that the two groups separated.

"I don't know when I've been more exhausted," Nimisha said as they returned to the gig.

"That's normal enough when trying to reach a rapport with new… ah… aliens," Jon said. "I'm whacked."

"Thank goodness," Syrona muttered, but she gave Jon a quick grin to take away the sting of her comment.

"And Tim's our star," Jon said, putting his arms across the boy's shoulders and then catching him as the boy stumbled. "Our tired star. I think he rates as many burgers and as much ice cream as he can eat."

"If he doesn't fall asleep first," Casper said.

"You have been followed," Helm said softly. "They do not carry arms."

"Don't turn around," Jon said quickly, twisting Tim who was about to do Just that. "They would be curious about our transport."

"Ay and Bee'd've told 'em," Tim said tiredly, plodding along.

"I think seeing's believing," Syrona remarked, reaching out her hand to help him.

"Shouldn't we at least wave goodbye?" Nimisha asked, keenly aware of being under surveillance.

"A bow would be safer and equally appropriate," Jon replied.

They had reached the gig now and, when Jon murmured "about-face," they did so as well as any drill team, bowing at the line of Sh'im who crowded the crest of the hill, some creeping up to peek through the shrubs. The hisses, hoots, and other sounds which could only have been made by Sh'im vocal equipment carried on the still midday air. Once again bows were exchanged. Then the Humans entered the gig and the hatch slid shut.

"That's hard work," Casper said, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Cater, something cool and tart, please. Tim, what do you fancy?"

"Anything cool," Tim said, flouncing down in the nearest chair. "I never thought talking could be such hard work," he added.

"Cater, please increase the cool and tart order by… all of us?" Nimisha looked round at Jon and Syrona, who nodded.

"My pleasure. This is a combination of tart fruity flavours, unsweetened," Cater said in her lovely alto voice. "It should be refreshing to the entire body."

"I agree, Tim," Nimisha said, taking two glasses from the dispenser counter and bringing one to him.

"Using a different section of the brain," Jon said. "Not one that ordinarily gets much exercise. But I think we did well." He lifted his glass in a toast.

"I have acquired a great deal of phonetic information which I will now analyse. Your next session in two days' time will be much easier. Hand units can be adapted to synthesise their words in tones they can hear and reduce theirs to ones you will understand." Helm paused. "Verbs would be very useful."

"Some languages on old Earth didn't have the verb 'to be'," Syrona commented after a thoughtful sip of her drink.

" 'Cogito, ergo sum,'" Jon said, laughing.

Nimisha regarded him with surprise.

"Latin can be very useful," he added, and his eyes twinkled at her with humour.

"You continue to surprise me, Captain," she said, raising her empty glass in a toast.

"More?" Jon asked, reaching for the pitcher.

"Yes, please."

"You continue to surprise me, Lady Nimisha. I thought First Families were above normal courtesies."

Nimisha blinked. "Not if you were raised by my mother."

"Orders please, ma'am?"

"Oh, yes, Helm, we'll be returning to the Fiver shortly." She gestured to the controls. "You or me?"

Jon grinned. "Shall we give Casper a turn? He needs the practice."

"Which means," Casper said, rising and putting his glass down, "that your headache is worse than mine. Well, I don't mind if I do." He seated himself at the control pane! and checked the screens to be sure there were no Sh'im lurking close enough. Just in case, he lifted vertically, very slowly.

As the gig rose above the obscuring hill, they could all see the Sh'im on their way back across the broad plain where the bird ship had carved its final path.

"Do we wait for a formal invitation to see where they live?" Nimisha asked.

"I have the feeling that that would be appropriate. I would suggest we bring the Fiver and perhaps rig an exterior screen so a vid can give them the usual out-of-this-world briefing," Jon said.

"Hmmm. That could be very interesting," Nimisha mused.

The invitation to visit the Sh'im settlement was issued halfway through a very productive session at the original site. The visual aids, carefully prepared by the Federated Sentient Planets Exploratory team for showing to sapients, was avidly watched- three times, in fact, after Ool and Ook asked with many bows and gestures. The tape included space views of Earth and its moon, diagrams of Sol system, the two sexes that inhabited it, and the many animals that still roamed the Wildlife Preserves. The first moon landing and the subsequent installation and the space station were included, and then the first great colony generation ship that was launched to Alpha Centauri binary system. Mathematical equations were included, since this had always been considered the best way to bridge a semantic gap. While the humans watched for signs of especial interest in the reruns of the tape, they saw none.

Many small comments were made and recorded by Helm during the replays. When the third showing finished, Tim, Jon, and Casper began to acquire action verbs by demonstration. Vocabulary increased in a quantum jump as both species could now repeat what they learned in their own way and get across meanings.

By afternoon, the Sh'im were able to indicate that they were indeed descendants of those who survived the crash. They had remained near the wreck, hoping to be rescued. The cliffs not far from the wreck were riddled with habitable caves. The survivors had explored these when such equipment as they had was still operational.

"If we're figuring their notion of a year correctly," Nimisha said, "that was not quite a hundred of our years ago."

"Yes, but we can't establish if they are from this general spatial area or if they got caught by the wormhole," Jon said. "Helm, have you anything we can screen that looks like a wormhole?"

"Yes, Captain," was the prompt response. "I recorded the one we came through."

"Oh, well done, Helm," Casper said. "We bounced around so much that we couldn't get any sort of an accurate record."

"I suspect it's only because of you, Helm, and your response time that we weren't badly damaged," Nimisha said.

"That is why an AI Helm is superior to the fastest human reaction times," Helm said.

Jon leaned toward Nimisha and whispered, "Do I detect a bit of condescension in that reply?" Then he nearly fell off the stool when it responded to his change of position by tilting.

Nimisha smothered a laugh. "Helm is only stating a fact," she replied, recovering her composure.

The humans also learned that the Sh'im had two sexes, and that the darker the coat the older the being. They did not have long life spans, thirty years being an average. The female tended to have multiple births-two and three, produced every year for ten years.

The male also tended the young, who matured quickly and could help in providing food for the latest arrivals by the time the next group were born. An increasing population appeared to be the main reason why the Sh'im had been searching for a suitable planet: to relieve overcrowding on their home worlds. They had three, but the humans could not grasp if these were M-type planets in separate systems or three planets in the same one.

"Three M-type planets would be most unusual in the same system," Jon said.

"Unless they've terraformed or Sh'immied others in their home system," Nimisha said. "If they could fly in that crazy bird, they might have been technologically superior in other ways."

The Sh'im had power from windmills, laboriously constructed out of local woods, which is why there had been no metal echo on the Fiver's screens. Over the hill and at the original town site, the windmills were busy spinning in the good breeze. The Sh'im had four towns, since they were prolific even with the number of predators on Erehwon. That was why the two-day interval was needed: to allow the leaders of the other townships to arrive, go home and report, and return for the next session. They had a form of chemo-luminescent lighting in their caves. They had blown glass artifacts, some in brilliant colours. They were able to draw water from artesian wells, and they had power to smelt and manufacture metal implements. They hunted in large groups for protection and to transport meat back to their homes. They dried and stored the meat in the large pottery containers they produced from local clay and fired in kilns. There were a few metal containers from the shipwreck, but these were rarely used, more treasured as objects to venerate. They had looms and collected fur from the huge grazers to weave into rugs for their homes and for use at night in the coldest part of the year. Otherwise they did not use clothing or footwear. They had written glyphs, and the young were taught basic lessons. In each cliff site an elder kept meticulous records of births, deaths, achievements, and a general history.

"We shan't be breaking any FSP laws, then," Jon said with a sigh of relief, "if we help them upgrade to a higher technology."

"How much higher do they need to go?" Nimisha asked.

"Well, a repeller screen would keep them from the periodic attacks of the avians," Jon said. "If Helm has sufficient parts to make them."

"I do," Helm replied, and Nimisha frowned.

"Why not?" Jon asked. "They've already shown us more edible vegetables and burrowing creatures than we were able to find. They've had a more balanced diet than we managed."

"The terrain here is different," Nimisha said.

"Not that much," Jon said.

"It's not that I object to offering what the Fiver has," Nimisha began, not really sure how to present her real objection.

"I'd say it's more the time it'll take us to do installations, isn't it?" Jon said, glancing sideways at her, one eyebrow raised.

"You come right to the point, don't you?"

"I don't see why not," was his quick reply. He touched her arm lightly. "I do want to see what the other planets are like. Those orders remain whether or not we have the Poolbeg. In the light of what we now know, one of them might be Sh'im, and we can return them to their own civilisation. Or tell their planetary leaders where they are."

"They wanted to found a new colony. Basically, they have," she said, almost resenting how well he read her body language.

"If their ship had landed intact, they'd've had more essential tools and equipment, as well as bodies, to found an efficient colony."

"I don't see what prevents us from giving them stuff from the freighter," Casper said.

"Do we know they haven't found it?" Jon asked. "They indicated that they've done some considerable exploring."

"I think they would have mentioned it," Syrona said. "Though that would have been a long way for their shorter legs to go. Most of the open pods we saw had been damaged in the drop. We didn't see any intact ones that had been opened manually."

"Good point," Jon said. "More to cement good relations with them."

"We are being candid?" Nimisha asked.

"As they have had space drive, even if none of those now alive ever flew a ship, I feel we should be as honest as possible," Jon said. "I rather like them."

"I do, too," Nimisha began and then realised she had no reservations. Being open and forthright saved all the trouble of remembering what they should or should not say; or what useful technology they could give the Sh'im to improve on what they had already achieved. "Of course, we'd have to modify equipment for three-fingered hands."

Jon grinned, and if he could read her body language, she could read his. He was relieved that she was willing to be open.

"They will need tools that give them a different leverage than we'd need," Casper said thoughtfully. "Their body center of mass is at a different height above the ground, which requires a different lever length, and their smaller handspan means they would need smaller spans for tools."

"Look, Nimisha," Syrona said, "I know you're anxious to investigate the other planets, so why don't you and Jon go do that while Casper, Tim, and I stay here to help the Sh'im. Tim's had so much fun with the young Sh'im… and I'd really like to stay here." She glanced down at her hands, which were nervously pulling at the seams of her coverall.

Instantly Casper put a sympathetic arm about her shoulders. "Pregnant and all, I'd say that might be wiser, love." He looked up at Jon and Nimisha, not exactly pleading but obviously siding with his mate. "And for Tim's sake, too."

"I beg your pardon, Syrona," Jon said, executing an apologetic bow. "An excellent proposal, since priorities are pulling us in two directions. Two birds with one stone…"

"Where's a stone here big enough to get one of those murderous avians, much less two?" Syrona asked, giving a nervous little laugh. but she was clearly relieved by the reception of her suggestion.

"We'll stock the gig from Cater's supplies so Tim won't go without burgers," Nimisha said, chuckling.

"I think he's taking to what the Sh'im eat all the time." Syrona said with another laugh, not quite as nervous. "Those nutty morsels, not the hot stuff."

"So let's take a group of Sh'im in the Fiver to the freighter wreck, shall we?" Jon proposed. "See what they can use from the pods. The Fiver can bring back quite a bit. When there's enough here, we can go exploring."

He glanced at Nimisha with a look of approval for the versatility of the ship. She waved a hand, accepting the idea. An exploratory voyage with him would certainly allow her to get to know him better. She liked him, but with Syrona and Casper so intent on their making a partnership, she felt herself resisting. She had the notion that he was resisting the pairing as well, which both put her in charity with him and made her wonder why he didn't attempt to forward an interest. Maybe he resented being catapulted into an intimacy even though she knew she was feeling the strains of celibacy, possibly more than he was. Perverse of her, she knew.

Then more immediate concerns diverted her from such rumination.

Ool and Ook were surprised to see Helm's tape of the freighter and the pods. And delighted when they understood that these supplies would be available to them. Even their most adventurous scout parties had been unable to traverse the mountain range that lay between the two wrecks. Nimisha had had Helm make maps of Erehwon from space, a Mercator projection, a Goode's Homolo-sine, and a Lambert Azimuthal equal area for detailed views of smaller areas, plus modified cylindrical and conic projections for the hemispheres. Helm could also, on request, put up on any screen the 3-D spherical globe. She had him print up an Azimuthal for the area in which the freighter had come down, complete with topography.

The freighter had come down on the eastern edge of this continent, and to the south of the Sh'im, the formidable mountain range separating the two portions. Three very dark-furred Sh'im were fascinated by the maps, poring over them. They hooted loudly and with great appreciation when Helm screened the 3-D of Erehwon and they could watch it turning. Nimisha had him do the same for Vega III and old Earth. In their turn, they responded by unrolling carefully preserved star charts, printed on a flimsy material that Casper suggested was the Sh'im plastic analog. The colours were as bright as when they had first been printed; the designations of the various stars provided no clue to any of the humans or Helm as to their current galactic position. The Sh'im had colonised three different star systems, one quite far from the home world, which proved they had been space-faring for a significant period of time. None were apparently near Erehwon, so the Sh'im were probably just as lost and distant from their original star system as the humans were. Neither species took encouragement from that fact.

Ool and Ook quickly picked a group to go with the humans. Syrona chose to stay behind, as she was feeling oddly queasy. Doc ran a check on the foetus and found nothing untoward. For good measure, he administered a spray of broad multivitamin and trace minerals. He recommended some peace and quiet, with her feet up, and she was as glad to have the gig to herself while the others went on the Fiver. Tim was essential in any team working with the Sh'im.

"Good thing they're on the small side," Casper remarked as the furry bodies of the Sh'im took up most of the floor space in the main cabin of the spaceship.

"Warn them we're taking off," Jon told Tim, who was sitting with their guests.

"He hoots as to the manner born," Casper said with due pride as Tim relayed the message.

"Not that they'll feel much movement," Nimisha said at the controls. She and Jon had arrived at a tacit arrangement: They took turns piloting the Fiver. She felt that was only fair. Jon was not only acting captain of his own group, but also a very deft pilot. She could not object to his taking turns and it allowed her to watch someone else obviously enjoying the command of the Fiver. "Take her up in a vertical lift, Helm."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Any reason you didn't use Fleet usage?" Jon asked idly.

"This Fiver is a civilian ship," she said with a grin. "The Fleet will program its own Helms, if they decide to use AIs."

"The Fiver survived the wormhole a lot better than the Poolbeg or the others," he commented, jerking a thumb at the broken bird-ship in the rear screen. "If that's what an AI can do, I'm for it."

"Thank you, Captain," Helm said.

"You're welcome, Helm. That was one superior job of piloting to come through that wormhole with only a few scrapes." He shook his head, apparently recalling the battering the Poolbeg had taken.

"Can we please see where we're going, Nimisha?" Tim asked, leaning into the bridge area.

"Helm, if you would be so good," Nimisha said.

"Of course, Lady Nimisha." In the next instant there were startled hoots of the Sh'im and a rustling and moving about that made Jon look around the partition.

He was grinning broadly, but signalled a thumbs-up to reassure her about their passengers.

Later on, Tim had them line up at Cater's dispenser worktop and gave orders for food and drink. Cater had accepted samples of the Sh'im edibles and was able to re-create them. Tim had a burger and served Jon and Casper. Nimisha had a cheese pasta dish and a salad, since they now had access to the fresh produce from the Sh'im gardens. The broad green leaf was neither spinach nor lettuce but had a definite and pleasant taste, more like fennel.

Even at cruising speed, it took several hours to make the trip. However, as it was the vernal season, they would have six hours of daylight in which to conduct their work.

The humans had arbitrarily decided which pods they'd open first: tools, blankets, some of the prefab building, the disassembled vehicles, and the repeller shields. If, for instance, the older Sh'im allowed those to be mounted on the cliff, the danger of stone-dropping avians would no longer terrorise them and the town could expand out of the crowded caves. The gardens could be extended and more edible leaves and roots provided, especially as they could put the repellers to work underground as well as over it. Further afield, the Sh'im gathered wild grains in season where it grew naturally. Although the harvesting was fraught with the peril of avian attacks, the Sh'im managed to keep casualties low. To protect their towns, they had devised a powerful catapult-similar in structure to the ancient crossbows. They were evidently good marksmen. While the humans had not seen the device in action, both Jon and Casper allowed that it would be as effective as the gig's missiles. They were of two minds about installing a missile system on the cliffs. Nimisha had suggested that as long as the Sh'im had an effective defence they should reserve their more advanced technology for the time being.

Then they were fast approaching the wrecked freighter, and Timmy was excitedly telling the passengers-in broken Sh'im- about the marvellous things they would soon see.

"Where shall I land, Lady Nimisha?" Helm asked.

Nimisha looked at Jon and Casper. "Near the biggest clump of pods. I think that constitutes a fair selection of what's available."

"Won't they want to see the freighter?" Casper asked.

"They'd find it awkward climbing into it, I think," Nimisha said. "Unless you have ladders available."

"Point," Jon said, "but I think we should take a couple of dark-furs on a tour to show good faith."

"It's not as if they could fly it away, is it?" Casper added.

"All too true," Nimisha remarked wryly.

"I can't remember if we closed the hatches on those skeletons," Jon said, frowning. "We should have."

"If there's time, I'll grab body bags and cover them up," Casper said. "Leave it to me. We can hold a proper burial ceremony next time we're back. I suspect we'll be making additional trips. I know we'd have the gig while you're gone, but Syrona wants a house, a proper house," he said with a long-suffering sigh for the vagaries of his pregnant partner. "I think I do, too, complete with a fireplace for the cold winter nights Ay was talking about. Have you ever felt how thick the fur on him is?"

Nimisha nodded, for she'd had occasion to touch some of weavers when they showed her their looms and what they were currently working on. It was a craft that had always fascinated her. She might try her hand at it when they got back from their exploration of the other two M-type planets.

Though none of them discussed the subject, once Helm had regretfully admitted that none of the primaries listed on the Sh'im star charts matched anything in his data files, they were individually coming to terms with the fact that, quite possibly, they might spend their lifetimes on Erehwon. That is, if one of the other planets was not gentler in its climate and indigenous species. Not that she was eager to leave the Sh'im and Erehwon. There were only four of them and not a sufficient gene pool. She'd have to have children by Casper, as Syrona had had one by Jon. Or more.

"They exude a sort of lemony smell, don't they?" she observed, bringing herself ruthlessly back to the moment.

Helm set the Fiver down so gently there wasn't so much as a bump.

"Well done, Helm," she said and touched the control to open the two hatches.

The exodus was remarkably like a stampede as the Sh'im leaped daringly from the open hatch down the human-adult-sized steps to the ground. Jon, Casper, and Nimisha followed as Sh'im swarmed about the pods, hooting and ooing and dancing with excitement.

"Tools, I think," Casper said, consulting the printout in his hand and going to the nearest pod on his list. "Jon, the next one has tools, too. Nimisha, you open the third one. Jon, go to the fourth on the left. It's listed as prefab units. I'll join you as soon as I open up."

Though the Sh'im were small, they had unusual strength for their body size. They were also good observers and they needed only to be shown what to touch on the digital locks-each commodity had its own series of four numbers-and managed to undo the tight clasp.

"One way to teach them our numbers," Jon said, pleased with their quickness.

Rather than requiring the Sh'im to scramble up and into high pods, Jon and Casper tipped those containers still upright to their sides for easier access. Soon enough, all the pods in that first strewing were open and the contents examined-even the farm tools that had been designed to be drawn by some four-legged draft animal.

Neither Jon nor Casper-and certainly not Nimisha, who'd been city bred-could explain exactly what the more complicated equipment was used for, though they did recognise a plough.

"1 can see juvenile shaggies from those grazers on the other continent being taught to pull one of these," Nimisha said, laughing at such a whimsy.

"They have tried to domesticate them," Casper surprised them by saying. "But so far they've only found the ones the herd rejects, the weak or lame. So long as you feed them, they're amenable to being kept enclosed. The trouble is they grow up and break out of any enclosure the Sh'im have been able to construct."

"There are other, smaller, grazers," Nimisha said. She remembered seeing them eating apart from the bigger creatures.

Casper grinned. "They've tried. Fast as the Sh'im are, those deer types are faster. We weren't able to hunt them, much less catch any. First hint of danger and they're off… at incredible speeds. Like the springbok types from old Earth."

"Didn't the Altair III colony domesticate their deer types?"

"Finally," Jon said with a grin.

The Sh'im also spent a great deal of time trying to figure out the use of some of the tools, talking among themselves and turning the equipment this way and that. Then Jon found a pod full of disassembled wagon elements. He showed the Sh'im the instruction booklet with its illustration of the finished product and they went into a frenzy of excitement. One group was trying to push and shove the pod toward the Fiver in their eagerness to take possession of its contents. Others were wildly running up and down the line of pods trying to find a similarly marked one. Jon and Casper managed to convey, with Tim acting as pantomimist, that as many as the Sh'im wanted would be transported. In this first trip, they should take back samples of everything that looked to be useful.

"I had an easier time of it with my girls," Nimisha said. She and her group happened to find blankets, clothing, pots, pans, and domestic items. They had run back to see what was causing so much hooting and ululation. "The wooden wheels with the metal rims they're using now are pretty good, considering the materials to hand, but these low-pressure balloon tires will revolutionise travel. Good thing they were reinforced with that plastic fibre."

Jon grinned. "Whoever stocked this vessel thought ahead to cope with unknown and undoubtedly rough terrain."

What the Sh'im considered essential to take back with them was more than could be accommodated in the Fiver. There were plaintive ululations from the Sh'im as they pared down the stack of treasures to fit the available space. That was when one of the dark-coats was pinned down under one of the crates, ooooling piteously. Instantly, Sh'im and humans went to its aid, but it was obvious from the way its foot hung, it had been hurt.

"I can't do anything with it there, you know," Doc said tersely.

Ay and Bee came forward and purposefully led the way for the dark-coat to Doc's facility, patting the injured Sh'im and volubly reassuring the others who crowded about anxiously.

They got Illi, for that's what Tim understood its name to be, safely on the couch. Though it was wide-eyed with apprehension, a whiff of some gas near its face had it reposing in happy comfort while Doc made his examination.

"More of a bad bruise, with some ligaments torn," Doc said. Tim did one of his mimed explanations, which was passed back through the ship to those waiting for a response. "Its joints are bulging with mineral deposits, and it's got the worst case of accretions I've seen so far. But then it's older. I'll just remove them while I regen and nu-skin the graze. He'll return in far better shape than he came."

That was when Tim suggested they accommodate the passengers in the sleeping cabins, a move that opened up more space in the main room. They also used the gymnasium space on the lower deck.

"Helm, are we overloading?" Jon asked as he settled in the pilot's seat for the return voyage.

"No, Commander. The Fiver is capable of lifting considerable tonnage without stressing the engines," Helm said.

Jon, his eyes sparkling with suppressed laughter, grinned at Nimisha, seated in the next chair over. She grinned back rather smugly.

"I'm really looking forward to seeing how she flies on IS drive," he said.

His words were delivered in a level, thoughtful tone, but she got a hint of his eagerness to put the Fiver to that test.

"How many trips will we have to make, Captain, to provide the Sh'im with enough to keep them happy before we go?" she asked.

"Not how many trips, Lady Nimisha, but how few we can get away with," he replied, some impatience colouring his voice.

They made six trips, to equip all four towns with repeller screens, enough wagons and the fuel to run them, and farming and domestic equipment. Only one pod of blankets and fabric was brought, since not much was needed with spring in the air. With many willing hands, Casper and Syrona had a fine two-bedroomed prefab house in four days, with running water from their own well and a septic tank for waste products. They had a shower and a bath in a small but adequate bathroom. The Sh'im produced basic furniture items, like beds, chairs, chests, and tables that craftsfolk had made, working late into the night, in gratitude for the help the communities had received from the humans.

At Doc's suggestion, another, longer trip was undertaken, to bring the Poolbeg's diagnostic unit to the main Sh'im town.

"As I mentioned in my analysis of Ay and Bee, they had residual accretions of minerals in their systems. These are present in varying quantities in all those Sh'im I have treated for broken bones and cuts. I have automatically removed the accretions as a preventative treatment. We do not wish to upset our little allies, but I would like to use every opportunity possible to remove those accretions from all the Sh'im, especially the dark-coats, like llli, who was all but crippled by the deposits. Those are not at all beneficial."

"D'you know how many thousands there are of them?" Nimisha asked.

"Perhaps when they are completely confident of our goodwill toward them, a proper program can be initiated. In the meantime, I will remove the material whenever I can. I will program the Poolbeg unit to that effect."

"You're the Doc," Jon said.

"It's a very good idea," Syrona said, Casper nodding agreement.

While the Poolbeg's diagnostic was not an AI unit, Doc updated its memory with information on the Sh'im anatomy and biology, as well as the physical profiles of the humans, especially Syrona. He programmed in automatic checkups for Tim who was showing substantial physical improvement from the nutritional program Doc had initiated. Additional supplies and a maintenance check had the unit in perfect working condition. Syrona was reassured by its availability, more for Tim's sake than her own.

Then Syrona came up with an excellent notion. She was, after all, a communications expert. So a satellite pulse beam was constructed, to be put into position by the Fiver when it reached the proper orbit for the satellite, on its exploratory trip to the other M-planets. That way, the Fiver could keep in contact with Erehwon. They found sufficient units to make a powerful enough comsat, with solar panel wings to keep it operating for several generations, if necessary. Nimisha was impressed with Syrona's professional abilities, seeing her in a new light. Syrona was also improving in health and vitality from the better nutrition she was receiving.

"If you've no objection, Syrona," Nimisha said when they were reviewing the comsat's design, "I've some bits and pieces of newer communications technology that I made Fleet give me." She grinned, tacitly admitting that she had acquired the "bits and pieces" by devious means.

When Syrona saw the specifications for the new solar panel wings, she couldn't wait to install the upgrades to her design. Nimisha realised then just how much of the equipment in the cave had probably been designed by Syrona, though the two men had done the construction.

Once Nimisha and Jon were certain that Casper, Syrona, and Tim would be housed and safe-their home had its own solar-powered repeller screen-they decided they could leave. The Sh'im were sociable by temperament and used any occasion for celebration: The housewarming, even if the Sh'im didn't know the custom, was an excellent excuse for a party.

"They could be at this for days," Jon said quietly to Nimisha as they watched the Sh'im doing a very energetic and athletic form of dance that even Tim could not imitate, though he was willing to try.

"I don't know about you, but I avoid leave-takings whenever possible," Nimisha commented.

"Good thing Syrona and Casper have moved their things out of the Fiver, then, isn't it?" he asked, making eye contact with her.

"Indeed." She rose. They happened to be sitting well beyond the bonfire that was warming the chill spring night air for the spectators.

He got to his feet and, putting a hand under her elbow, guided her away.

"I did warn Casper we might just leave now they're settled," he said after they were well away.

"I'll hope we can return before Syrona delivers. I promised her I'd be there for her," Nimisha said.

"If that ship of yours is as fast on IS drive as you say, we will." Jon's voice rippled with amused challenge. "Oh, she can move," Nimisha assured him.

And the Fiver did, with Helm managing one of the quiet vertical lifts that he was so good at. He achieved a higher altitude than was generally required before he cut in the main engines and kept them on minimal power until they were out of range of the acute Sh'im hearing. Then, at Nimisha's command, the nose of the Fiver tilted up, toward the unnamed stars, pierced the atmospheric envelope, and increased speed to a safe system maximum.

Nimisha felt elation grip her as the Fiver was once more in space and doing what she had been designed to do. She was about to admit that in the Fiver she had reached the perfection she had been seeking so long.

Then Helm announced they had achieved the altitude for the release of the comsat.

"Let it go, Helm," Jon said.

To herself, Nimisha added, "And let it receive news of home."

Jon touched her arm. "Let's get some rest, shall we?"

"Helm, you have the conn," Nimisha ordered.

"Yes, ma'am," Helm replied.

Jon and Nimisha walked across the main cabin, but when she opened the door to her compartment, he once again touched her arm.

"If I'm not rushing matters…" he began, cocking his head a little in tacit appeal, a shy, or rather nervous, smile tilting his mouth up on one side.

Since Nimisha had experienced a sudden rush of sensuality at his first touch, this second physical contact only emphasised what she had been denying: that she was very much attracted to him.

"No, I don't think you are," she agreed and took his hand. "We could shower together and save time," she added.

His chuckle was deep and charged with eagerness. As she shed her one-piece coverall, he turned on the water and, with remarkable speed, was also naked by the time she stepped into the stall. The touch of his skin on hers was quite the most wonderful sensation, and matters progressed with great pleasure from then on.

In fact, Nimisha reflected when she heard the gentle chime from Helm and awoke to find herself curled against Jon's long body, he was quite possibly the best lover she had ever had. Of course, the prolonged celibacy that both had endured produced an intense hunger that had done much to increase their ultimate mutual satisfaction. Several times. She decided that morning to have Doc remove her implant. Tim should learn how to deal with human children and, if she chose to have a male this time, he could be a mate for the girl child that Syrona was carrying. With a proper medical unit to monitor pregnancies, she was not averse to increasing the human population.

"Jon…" She caressed his shoulder, running her hand down to his chest to the strong pectoral muscles, then tweaked him. Hushed awakenings were one of the minor pleasures of having a good lover. Indeed, as the Fiver sped toward the heliopause, they left the cabin, and the bed, only to eat, bathe, and do cursory checks of their progress.

"I heard Helm," he murmured and slowly turned toward her, capturing her hand and kissing the palm. "I just didn't want to move."

"How long to heliopause, Helm?" Nimisha asked.

"Thirty-five minutes, ma'am."

"That's time enough to spare," Jon said, and rolled over onto her.

Dressed and ready for the translation into IS drive, Jon grinned as he gestured for Nimisha to take the pilot's chair. She grinned back and took it. She'd have been quite willing for him to do the honours but liked it in him that he gave her preference.

The actual translation was accomplished effortlessly, with Helm increasing Interstellar Drive toward the nearest system with an M-type planet.

"The journey to the programmed destination will take four days, seven hours, and twenty minutes to reach the heliopause, ma'am," Helm announced. "All systems are functioning at recommended levels."

"Thank you, Helm. You have the conn," she said, rising. "I don't know about you, Jon, but I'm starving."

"Burgers?" Jon asked, his expression merry.

"No," she said firmly as he stepped aside for her to precede him to the main chamber. "Cater, I'd like a proper big breakfast, please."

"Double that, Cater," Jon said, following her and placing an arm about her waist the moment they had cleared the partition. "I'm rather tactile, Nimisha. Do you mind?"

She shook her head, grinning up at him, and looping her arm around his waist.

They ate, dawdling over the meal and talking about nothing in particular, until Jon, taking a deep breath, asked a question that Nimisha knew had been on his mind for some time.

"Could I possibly see the specs for the Fiver, Nimisha? I'd understand," he added hastily, raising one hand, "if you were reluct-"

"Helm, bring up my special design disks on the cabin screen," she said, leaning back, pleased by his interest in her work.

"Thanks, Nimisha." His eyes were warm with love as he gave her hand a special squeeze. She returned the pressure.

"Fleet will have the specs by now, anyway," she said.

"They will?" He was surprised by that.

"I assume so. I had a second hull nearly finished when I took this one out on what was to be a short testing run…" She gave an ironic chuckle. He pressed her hand again. "I gave-" She paused, suddenly overcome with a longing for the daughter she might never see again. "I gave Cuiva the final design disks. She'll know when to give them to Caleb Rustin. And I hope she has. If they're to find us, they'll need a second Fiver."

Jon sat up straighter, his eyebrows lifting. "Caleb Rustin… tall guy, blue eyes, attached to Vegan Fleet?"

"You know him?"

"I was jig on the ship he was first assigned to. Good man." He gave her a long thoughtful look.

"He was my Fleet spy." She never talked about previous alliances and did not intend to now, so she deliberately deflected the possibility of that question.

"Your what?" Jon's voice reflected conflicting emotions: anger, surprise, and indignation.

"Well, you can hardly blame Vegan Fleet Headquarters for wanting to keep their eyes on my designs, can you?" When he shook his head, his eyes flickering with questions, she went on. "I did get a chance to choose my-" She chuckled. "-naval attache. He was the best choice I could have made, though I'm not sure who was more surprised, he or Admiral Gollanch. He had some very good notions, and had seen naval action against that annoying band of freebooters over in the Beta system. I'm not averse to using other people's ideas when they're as good as some Caleb came up with. Actually, I'm more of a tinkerer than an innovator."

"Considering the performance of this ship. Lady Nimisha, I question that description." He gave a snort of denial.

"No, really, that's the truth. You know how Fleet economies constrict real advances," she said. "I'm under no such restraints, so I can tinker and refine a system until I've achieved the optimum possible performance no matter what it costs. Of course, I do keep an eye on the best way to achieve what I want at a suitable price. The designs have to be feasible if I'm to make a profit from the yachts."

"You have to know how and when to tinker."

" 'If it ain't broke, don't fix it?' " she quoted, grinning.

As the designs shown on the screen were getting to the more interesting alterations she had made, he was torn between looking at her and them.

"Well, I see you've worked on the missile recoil problem." He gave her a quick admiring glance. "The solution is so simple, I'm surprised it was overlooked."

"I don't think it was, Jon. But it required a new design of buffer that was expensive until my Yard found a substitute material that could be imported from Altair rather than Earth. Transportation expense is often an inhibiting factor, as you know."

"All too true," he admitted and they continued to discuss her "tinkering," which he called "inspirational" or "inventive" until she was almost uncomfortable with such unstinting praise.

"You know," he began, taking his eyes away from the data on the screen, "I've known many career Fleet women, but I've never before met one so… possessed by the design factors. Oh, I've heard them complain about the inadequacies of this or that system-"

"Males do, too," she reminded him.

"Of course we do, but we don't often know how to rectify the problem. This Fiver of yours is a total beaut inside and out." He shook his head, partially in envy, partially in approbation. "Hey. Lady Nimisha Boynton-Rondymense can blush!" He stroked her hot cheek. Then turned her chin so he could kiss her mouth.

Of one mind, they rose and adjourned to her cabin.

"The AI's have no access here, do they?" he asked as he closed the door behind him.

"Only comunit. And I shut it down for out-going until I address it."

"That's good!"

And very shortly, Nimisha was intensely glad that there was no contact with the other intelligences aboard the Fiver.

Late that night, while Jon was soundly asleep-she was grateful that he was a quiet sleeper-she crept out and to the medical unit.

"Doc, please remove my implant," she said softly, settling herself on the couch.

"Local?" he asked, responding in as low a tone.

"Yes."

"You do know what you're doing?"

"Yes. I do. And now's the time to do it."

"For what it's worth, I agree with you."

"Thank you."

"Thought you might need a vote of confidence. You're a very healthy young woman, Nimisha, and should carry and deliver a fine healthy baby with no more trouble than you had with Cuiva. Especially since you will have me to keep you in tiptop form. I took the liberty of checking Captain Svangel's gene patterns when I did his physical-" When she made an inarticulate sound of surprised protest at his initiative, Doc chuckled in his best Lord Naves imitation. "Only routine at the time, of course, but vital information to have on hand on an alien and basically unknown planet. I found no genetic incompatibilities between you." While he was talking, he had deadened the spot on her leg that contained the implant. She felt nothing even when he sprayed on the new skin. "There. That's done. If my reading of your menstrual cycle is accurate, you are likely to be fertile in the next two days. Good timing, Nimisha. That's all. Except check in with me each morning while we're on our run to the new M-type."

Nimisha slipped out of the unit and thanking Doc, made her way back to her cabin and into the head, the faint noise of flushing rousing Jon from sleep and to renewed activity. She was not averse to satisfying him, and herself.

Helm called them to the bridge just after they felt the translation into system drive.

"Unidentified object drifting off the port bow, Lady Nimisha."

"Magnify," she said as she and Jon slipped into the seats and automatically netted in.

"I don't think that mess poses any problems," Jon said, regarding the twisted, battered flotsam.

"It was once a spaceship," Nimisha said.

"It had no luck coming through the wormhole. And I think that's what happened to it."

They got close enough to circle the wreck, but it was too battered and compacted to give them any idea of its original shape. No markings of any kind remained. Helm did an analysis of the metallic composition, but that was unexceptional enough, containing no unusual alloys that might have given them some clues as to its origin.

Jon asked for a spatial map of the area and, after some figuring, decided that the vector of its current velocity did not point to the same spot where the Fiver and the Poolbeg had exited from the wormhole.

"How could that be? Are your figures correct?" Nimisha asked, astonished.

"Check 'em yourself." Jon handed the pad over to her, grinning. "I could hope that there is an error. If there isn't, then there may be more than one wormhole exit in this area of space."

Nimisha regarded her calculations with dismay and slowly handed back his pad. "I don't like to think of more wormholes emptying who knows what in on top of us."

"That one's going to do us no harm," he said consolingly, and had Helm record its presence and their disturbing calculations. "Where'll it end up, Helm?"

"Plotting its current trajectory, it will probably be attracted by the gravity of the fifth planet and impact on that surface," Helm said.

Jon saluted the wreck. "I wonder how many other vessels met a similar end in this part of the galaxy."

"Unknown, Commander," Helm replied.

"A rhetorical comment." Jon grinned at Nimisha.

They continued inward, examining the other planets of the system, none of which would sustain humanoid life.

The M-type planet had three moons, one with a thin atmosphere but obviously dispersing, for what plant life was still supported was starving for oxygen. They continued on to the planet. Its atmosphere did not check out as eminently suitable, in its present geological age. Even as they made their first orbit, they could see that the active volcanoes in its mountain ranges spewed forth black dust and pyroclastic materials, as if celebrating the arrival of the observers. Though life-forms, small and large, were scanned, there seemed to be more aquatic types than land surface dwellers. A smart option with such volatile landmasses. The vegetation managed to cling where it could and was lush enough but all too primitive to be useful, even as basic stuff for a catering unit to turn into edible substances. What oases of habitable areas there were without nearby volcanic action were few and far between.

"Maybe in a few millennia, all that volcanic activity will calm down," Nimisha said, not entirely disappointed since she already was quietly nurturing the good news Doc had given her early that morning. Even Rhidian had not succeeded in his first attempt to impregnate her for her body-heir. She would tell Jon later. She wished to savour the news herself for a while.

"Who knows when they'd grow volcanoes, too," Jon said.

"Let's come back in a few centuries and see if it's calmed down."

"You've had rejuv?" Jon asked.

"Of course, though I resisted when it was first mentioned. Have you?"

He nodded. "There were moments a while back when I bitterly resented having to deal with longevity."

"Not now?" she asked in a teasing voice. She had discovered that she could tease him about almost anything without him taking offence. Caleb had so often backed off when she spoke whimsically or sarcastically that she had controlled her habit. Caleb had been far too aware of his anomalous situation as attache and determined not to "presume."

Jon glanced at her, his expression tender, and he stroked her bare arm. "None at all."

His genuine spontaneous responses were another point in his favour. Rhidian had always been on his dignity, even in bed with her, as befitted a First Family scion-polite, courteous, and appropriately concerned for her enjoyment, delivering his query as a necessary ritual. Jon never needed to inquire; he knew! Caleb had been… well, a nice lover, but… unimaginative. With Jon, she could be as spontaneous and inventive as he, which added a zest to their love-making. She had also discovered, in the moments when they conversed-and they seemed to have a lot to talk about on many subjects-that Jonagren Svangel came from an old and property-owning family in the Scandinavian peninsula. It probably accounted for his innate self-confidence with none of the posing that a colonial First Family male would display. Lady Rezalla-if she ever saw her mother again-could find no fault with his lineage. He could be as stern as command required him, or open and frank in discussing anything that they had so far considered. Sometimes he was even so outrageous that he could surprise her out of long-held notions that his observations made her reexamine.

With considerable time to fill in the journey, they had watched new tapes as well as the old favourites she had. First he had wanted to update his understanding of naval technical advances and the general history of their worlds during the time he had been marooned. He was apolitical, as most naval officers found it expedient to be, but he had definite ideas about individual rights and other domestic issues on Earth, and opinions about some of the colonial worlds' issues. He always called them "colonial," which amused her. Though the adjective was essentially accurate, any one from the "colonies" would have risen up in indignation at its use. Certainly Lady Rezalla would have been outraged, as would Rhidian. She wondered about Caleb's reaction, since he was Vegan by birth, but they had never discussed the subject. Jon had such a nice way of teasing her about her "colonial" status that she humoured him. She could warn him about her mother… later, when the need arose. She could hope that it would, but she was becoming more and more resigned to the improbability.

Resignation to the loss-no, absence, she told herself firmly- of her daughter, Cuiva, was another matter entirely. The thought of a new baby did not reduce the longing for her firstborn, but it was comforting.

She had checked with Doc each morning during the fertile period, and he ascertained that ovulation had taken place. Shortly thereafter he confirmed that an egg had been fertilised.

Despite her good health, she started feeling queasy before they reached the heliopause of the second M-planet system. In such close companionship, Jon noticed her distaste for breakfast, as well as for any pungent food smells, and jumped to the right conclusion.

"Pardon me for being personal, Nimi, but could you possibly be experiencing morning sickness?" Jon asked.

"I did offer you a remedy, Nimi," Doc said, sounding miffed.

"You wanted to be pregnant by me!" Jon gave a whoop and a holler and swung her about the cabin in his arms. "And you never even warned me you'd taken out your implant."

"My option, you know," she replied. "And I wanted to surprise you."

"You've sure done that." Then he was pushing her toward the medical unit, his expression altered to one of deep concern.

"No need to worry. Jon, dear. Doc says our genes are eminently compatible."

He hauled her back in his arms again to kiss her thoroughly, a spontaneous reaction that she found far more satisfying than Rhidian's fatuous expression when she had informed him of Cuiva's conception. In fact, Jon kept on hugging her, doing a sort of two-step dance of success all around the main cabin until she had to stop him since the motion was making her nauseous.

"I'll settle that for you, Nimisha," Doc said when Jon contritely stopped the whirling, "if you'll deign to visit my couch."

Jon immediately escorted her there and held her arm out while an extendable hypospray permeated the skin with an anti-nausea drug.

By the time they reached the third possible M-type system, she was well over that stage. This world, with two moons, was more hospitable in climate and terrain than Secondo's. On one moon, when they did an exploratory orbit, they saw a crater, its center showing a metallic signature. Helm took them in low enough to record the anomaly, and the analysis provided them with the resting place of yet another of the eighteen missing spaceships. To establish its identity, they would send the analysis back to Navy Headquarters on Earth-when they finally made contact again-and see if a match could be found in their data banks. Its metallic signature was definitely similar to FSP materials.

"The other wrecks could still be travelling onward." Jon remarked. "We may never find them."

"I think it's amazing we've located any of them, considering the odds."

"True. I'm just overwhelmingly glad you found… me." His eyes sparkled.

"Later; we'd best do what we came for… for a while, at least."

To their astonishment, they found evidence from space of some sort of discernible ruins at the confluence of two rivers that meandered through the flat plains of one of the smaller continents.

Once Helm had checked the immediate vicinity for possible dangers, they kitted themselves out for on-site exploration. They found a rusted shuttle of such an awkward design that Nimisha wondered that it had landed at all, its exterior eroded by time and weather.

"Acid rain?" Nimisha guessed, putting her gloved hand on some of the pitting.

"Perhaps. They do seem to have built some sort of a settlement," he said.

"And a cemetery," she said, noticing eight stone markers. Time and weather had obliterated the shallow carvings of names and dates.

"I'd guess some element of the First Diaspora," Jon said, squatting down and running an index finger across the indistinct legend. He rose and, silently, they walked over to what was left of stone walls. They stepped over them into a compound with the ruins of several small dwellings. Splinters of wood, protected by insertion in the stones, proved that the unknown builders had acquired wood from some other place, since there was none on the broad plains.

"They didn't go in much for mixed crews at first, did they?" she asked.

Jon shook his head, digging his toe into the dirt clogging the remains of a hearth. When the metal tip of his boot hit something, he used a trowel to uncover the corroded remains of a pan.

"The deceased had no survivors," she murmured, unconsciously stroking her still-flat abdomen.

"Life-forms are approaching cautiously through the vegetation," Helm said. "Some are large enough to be dangerous."

"Let's not take unnecessary risks right now," Jon said, taking her arm.

They ran back to the Fiver and were safely within it when the creatures could be seen on the main screen.

"Carnivorous, to judge by the shape of their muzzles and protruding fangs," Helm reported. "And large enough to suggest the reason the compound was wailed."

"Well, let's see what else this planet offers prospective settlers," Jon said, shedding the protective gear.

"Thirsty work," Nimisha said, ordering beverages for both of them from Cater while Helm lifted.

Careful quartering of the planet showed no further remains of interest.

"And it's boring, geologically speaking," was Nimisha's complaint. "Normal plains, old mountains, wide rivers, three oceans, and a dozen seas."

"Some rather unnice indigenous specimens, six-legged, too," Jon said. "More extendibles to capture us and teeth to eat us with. Also, there doesn't really seem to be much in the way of easily obtainable metal and mineral resources. Deep pit mining would be necessary, and we will need metals when the freighter's cargo is used up. As it will, the way the Sh'im proliferate." He gave her hair an affectionate ruffling, which she liked, though she hadn't expected to. "While we will try our best. I don't think humans are given to litters as the Sh'im are."

"Well, it's a good place to have to fall back on. Or give the Sh'im in a few generations. Though this primary's a lot brighter than Erehwon's."

"Oh, you'd noticed that about their eyesight, too," Jon remarked.

"I didn't. Doc did," Nimisha said. "The Sh'im optical equipment is not happy with bright sunlight. Their home-world sun must be much dimmer. Maybe the real impetus for them to colonise is that their sun's old and dying."

"At first I considered it possible that they habitually required a midday rest," Doc said. He had had his own reports to make of the two planets they had investigated, but he granted them the courtesy of silence unless they asked him a direct question. "Then I noticed that their eye slits become narrower as the Erehwon sun nears zenith. Their eye slits are wider at night, and I don't think it has that much to do with their night vision, which is better than that of you humans. I've compared their optical equipment with that of other minor species available on data file. I suspect that you're right, Nimisha. They originate on a world with a dimmer sun, an older world."

"Would tinted lenses help, Doc?" Nimisha asked.

"I would suggest it, though the problem seems to affect the younger ones more than the darker-coated elders. Perhaps the pigment alters with age, and their sensitivity to harsh sunlight is reduced."

"Put wraparound sunglasses on your list of things to do," Jon said.

"I have," Doc replied blithely. "May I suggest that since the necessary investigations are complete for this planet, we return forthwith, posthaste, and immediately to Erehwon? You have promised to assist Syrona in the birth and she might just deliver early. I neglected to request a connection between my diagnostic and the Poolbeg's unit."

So Helm plotted the most direct return flight to Erehwon, and when Nimisha told him to come as close to redlining the drive as possible now that the engines were well broken in, they made it back at a record speed. She spent a lot more time sleeping, which Doc reminded her was a normal part of the first trimester.

She did try to access the beacon at the wormhole exit.

"Not that I expected anything," she murmured when there were no messages. "Not as far away as presumably we are from home."

"We live on hope, you know," Jon said gently.

"It's almost two years since I pulsed the Maydays from this side," Nimisha said.

"We know we're far away from our homes, love." He stroked her hand. "Too soon."

"Or the damned beacon's malfunctioning."

Jon gave her a mock-surprised look. "A Rondymense unit malfunctioning? I find that hard to believe."

His teasing reassured her. She knew that the beacon had been functioning. Wasn't it receiving the updates Helm sent?

"Report on all systems, please, Helm," Jon asked, as he was the day's pilot.

"All systems are in perfect working order. All diagnostics are in the optimum range," Helm reported. "I have taken the liberty of forwarding a message through the comsat, giving our ETA," he added.

"Well done, Helm," Jon said, smiling over at Nimisha. "We can expect a welcoming committee!"

Nimisha considered this for such a long moment that Jon raised his eyebrows in query.

"1 haven't missed them. I should have."

He leaned over and kissed her. "Thank you," he said, his eyes glowing.

"No, I thank you, Captain Svangel," she said softly. "I've never had a… a more restful voyage." She grinned.

"The voyage is not yet over." He held his hand out.

"Helm, you have the conn," she said, rising and following him back to their cabin.

"You will want to see the improvements," Helm said, interrupting the afterglow of their activities.

"Improvements?" Jon said, dutifully donning his coverall while Nimisha was still struggling to sit upright on the bed.

"Yes, Captain. Truly impressive."

The two humans made eye contact. It was rare for Helm to comment. Nimisha hurriedly pulled on a clean coverall and joined Jon in the pilot area.

"Now that is worth seeing," she said. "Helm, are you taping this? They'll surely want to see the aerial view. Impressive! They have been busy!"

Where there had been but the one prefab L-shaped building, there was now an avenue of twelve residences, all slightly different, as the prefab units had been designed to allow variations. These were neatly fenced with space for small gardens that did not entirely feature edible plants. There were more flowers in the largest unit that housed Syrona, Casper, and Tim.

The most surprising building was the large triple-span barn with a corral to the right of it: a corral in which they could see four-legged animals that had to be the smaller deer that the Sh'im had not been quick enough to capture. She'd want to hear how Casper had turned cowboy in the gig. Since it was early morning Erehwon time, they also saw farm units and wagons on definite tracks that wheeled vehicles had packed down.

"They've tripled the amount of cultivated fields," Jon said. "The repeller shields have made a big difference."

"And look at the prefab sheds by the cliffs!" Nimisha added. "Does every family have a ground unit now?"

"Have they completely emptied the freighter? Look at all the empty pods." Jon pointed as the Fiver swung around the bend of the cliff, and they could see the entire Sh'im town, not just the peripheral buildings. "Seem to be using some for rain barrels…"

"And tree houses," Nimisha added with a whoop of laughter.

"I hope some were saved for storage purposes," Jon said.

"Casper's the optimist. He'd've put some aside for a bountiful harvest with all those fields under cultivation."

Their arrival had been seen, and the powered vehicles were making for what had obviously become a landing site. The gig was parked by a large prefab hangar. There was sufficient room for the Fiver to set down.

"They've collected the skiff, too," Nimisha said, spotting the vehicle inside the garage as Helm did a neat vertical landing. "Well done, Helm. Not so much as a bump."

"Of course not, ma'am," was the imperturbable response. "All running systems inactive. Performance data will be stored for analysis by fourteen hundred planetary time."

"Very good. Helm," Jon said. "I'd like a report on any necessary service, maintenance, or resupply required."

"That will be available at the same time, Captain."

Someone banged on the hatch that was still space-locked. The two humans grinned at each other just as Helm released the hatch. "Apologies tendered."

"None required," Nimisha said and, taking Jon's hand, they went to meet their friends.

Tim was first, brown as a nut, followed more sedately by his parents. Syrona waddled, she was so near the end of her pregnancy. She looked as healthy as her son and obviously relieved to see Nimisha. When the two women had embraced, while Timmy and a beaming Casper greeted Jon more circumspectly, Syrona held Nimisha off.

"You're pregnant," she said, accusingly.

"Well, what else had we to do with the time between planets?" Nimisha said. "But how could you tell? I don't show yet."

"Yes, you do," Casper said, grinning. "You're glowing."

"I am?" Nimisha turned in astonishment to Jon and then back to Syrona.

"Indeed you are," Syrona said and then kissed her cheek, squeezing her hands to indicate how very happy she was for Nimisha.

Then the Sh'im, who had tactfully allowed the humans to greet each other, moved forward. Ool and Ook wanted to know if their search had been successful, so Jon told them there would be a showing of tapes of the planets that evening when they could rig the exterior screen to allow all to see.