Энн Маккефри: The Ship Who Won

Keff stared at the overview on the tank. «How about we head out in a completely new direction? See what's out there thataway?»

«What's your advice, Simeon?» Carialle asked, locking down any loose items and sliding her airlock shut with a sharp hiss. Her gauges zoomed as she engaged her own power. Nutrients, fuel, power cells all showed less than half full. She hated lifting off under these circumstances, but she had no choice. The alternative was weeks of interrogation, and possibly being grounded—unfairly!—at the end of it.

«I've got an interesting anomaly you might investigate,» Simeon said, downloading a file to Carialle's memory. «Here's a report I received from a freighter captain who made a jump through R sector to get here. His spectroscopes picked up unusual power emanations in the vicinity of RNJ-599-B. We've no records of habitation anywhere around there. Could be interesting.»

«G-type stars,» Keff noted approvingly. «Yes, I see what he meant. Spectroanalysis, Cari?»

«All the signs are there that RNJ could have generated planets,» the brain replied. «What does Exploration say?»

«No ones done any investigation in that part of R sector yet,» Simeon said blandly, carefully emotionless.

«No one?» Carialle asked, scrolling through the files. «Hmmm! Oh, yes!»

«So we'll be the first?» Keff said, catching the excitement in Carialle's voice. The burning desire to go somewhere and see something first, before any other Central Worlder, overrode the fears of being caught by the Inspector General.

«I can't locate any reference to so much as a robot drone,» Carialle said, displaying star maps empty of neon-colored benchmarks or route vectors. Keff beamed.

«And to seek out new worlds, to boldly go . . .»

«Oh, shush,» Carialle said severely. «You just want to be the first to leave your footprints in the sand.»

«You've got twelve seconds to company,» Simeon said. «Don't tell me where you're going. What I don't know I can't lie about. Go with my blessings, and come back safely. Soon.»

«Will do,» Keff said, strapping in. «Thanks for everything, Simeon. Cari, ready to—»

The words were hardly out of his mouth before the CK-963 unlatched the docking ring and lit portside thrusters.

The Inspector General's angry voice pounded out of the audio pickup on Simeon's private frequency.

«CK-963, respond!»

«Discovered!» Keff cried, slapping the arm of his couch. The next burst of harsh sound made him yelp with mock alarm. «Catch us if you can, you cockatrice!»

«Hush!» Carialle answered the hail in an innocent voice, purposely made audible for her brawns sake. «S . . . S-nine . . . dred. H . . . ving trou—» Keff was helpless with laughter. «Pl . . . s repeat mes . . . g?»

«I said get back here! You have an appointment with me as of ten hundred hours prime meridian time, and it is now ten fifteen.» Carialle could almost picture his plump, mustachioed face turning red with apoplexy. «How dare you blast out of here without my permission? I want to see you!»

«Sorr . . .» Carialle said, «br . . . king up. Will send back mission reports, General.»

«That was clear as a bell, Carialle!» the angry voice hammered at the speaker diaphragm. «There is no static interference on your transmission. You make a one-eighty and get back here. I expect to see you in ninety minutes. Maxwell-Corey out.»

«Oops,» said Keff, cheerfully. He tilted his head out of his impact couch toward her pillar and winked. His deep-set blue eyes twinkled. «M-C won't believe that last phrase was a fluke of clear space, will he?»

«He'll have to,» Carialle said firmly. «I'm not going back to have my cerebellum cased, not a chance. Bureaucratic time-waster! I know I'm fine. You know you're fine. Why do we always have to go bend over and cough every time we make planetfall and explore a new world? I landed, got steam-cleaned and decontaminated, made our report with words and pictures to Xeno and Exploration. I refuse to have another mental going-over just because of my past experiences.»

«Good of Simeon to tip us off,» Keff said, running down the ship status report on his personal screen. «I hope he won't catch too much flak for it. But look at this! Thirty percent food and fuel?»

«I know,» Carialle said contritely, «but what else could I do?»

«Not a blessed, or unblessed thing,» Keff agreed. «Frankly, I prefer the odds as opposed to what we'd have to go through to wait for Simeon's next shipments. Full tanks and complete commissary do not, in my book, equate with peace of mind if M-C's about. Eventually we will have to go back, you know.»

«Yes, if only to make certain Simeon's coped with the man. Before we do though, I'll just send Simeon a microsquirt to be sure Maxwell-Corey's left for D sector . . .»

«Or someplace else equally distant from us. It isn't as if we can't hang out in space for a while on iron rations until Sime sends you an all-clear burst,» Keff offered bravely, although Carialle could see he didn't look forward to the notion.

«If the IG is sneaky enough . . .»

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

». . . to scan message files he'll know when Simeon knows where we are, and he could put a tag on us so no station will supply the 963.»

«We shall not come to that sorry pass, my lady fair,» Keff said, lapsing into his Sir Galahad pose. «In the meantime, let us fly on toward R sector and whatever may await us there.» He made an enthusiastic and elaborate flourish and ended up pointing toward the bow.

Carialle had to laugh.

«Oh, yes,» she said. «Now, where were we?» The Wizard was back on the wall, and he spoke in the creaking tenor of an old, old man. «Good sir knight, thou hast fairly won this scroll. Hast anything thou wish to ask me?»

Grinning, Keff buckled on his epee and went to face him.

While Keff chased men-at-arms all over her main cabin, Carialle devoted most of her attention to eluding the Inspector General s attempts to follow her vector.

As soon as she cut off Maxwell-Corey's angry message, she detected the launch of a message drone from the SSS-900, undoubtedly containing an official summons. As plenty of traffic was always flying into the stations space, it took no great skill to divert the heat-seeking flyer onto the trail of another outgoing vessel. Nothing, and certainly not an unbrained droid, could outmaneuver a brainship. By the time the mistake was discovered, she'd be out of this sector entirely, and on her way to an unknown quadrant of the galaxy.

Later, when she felt less threatened by him, she'd compose a message complaining of what was really becoming harassing behavior to SPRIM. She'd had that old nuisance on her tail long enough. Running free, in full control of her engines and her faculties, was one of the most important things in her life. Every time that right was threatened, Carialle reacted in a way that probably justified the IG's claim of dangerous excitability.

In the distance, she picked up indications of two small ships following her initial vector. All right, score one up for the IG: he'd known she'd resist his orders and had ordered a couple of scouts to chase her down. That could also mean that he might have even put out an alarm that she was a danger to herself and her brawn, and must be brought back willingly or unwillingly. Would the small scouts have picked up her power emissions? She ought to have been one jump ahead of old Sennet and expected this sort of antic. She ought to have lain quiescent. Oh well. She really couldn't contest the fact that proximity to the IG did put her in a state of confusion. She adjusted her adrenals. Calm down, girl. Calm down. Think!