Warhorse (21 page)

“Such convenient timing,” Roman commented dryly. He watched Ferrol's rigid lack of reaction for a moment, then turned back to Demothi. “You ever been on a military spaceship before?”

“I spent a few days on one during my Starforce tests,” Demothi said. “I've also flown several times on passenger liners. Lately, much of my travel has been with Tampy ships.”

“Well, you're going to be in for some adjustment, then,” Roman said, pressing a button on his desk console. “Life aboard
Amity
doesn't resemble a passenger cruise much—more scheduled and less private, for starters. We'll be in free-fall a fair amount of the time, too.”

Demothi's eyes flicked to the viewport, where the stars were tumbling past in time to
Amity
's axial rotation, and quickly looked away. “I understand. I can handle it.”

“We'll also probably be in deep space for several months,” Roman added. The door buzzed and slid open to reveal a young crewer. “The mean time of our mission has been ninety-eight days, the longest having been 134.”

“I understand,” Demothi said again.

Roman pursed his lips. He hadn't really expected to scare Demothi off his ship, but it had still been worth a try. “As long as you know what you're getting into.” He gestured to the waiting crewer. “Kliment here will escort you to your quarters and help you stow your gear. We'll be staying in orbit around Solomon for another five hours.”

Demothi ducked his head in an abbreviated bow. “Thank you, Captain. I'll do my best to stay out of everyone's way.” Turning, he and Kliment left, the door sliding shut behind them.

Roman turned his attention to Ferrol. “So. Opinion, Commander?”

“About what, sir?” Ferrol asked.

“Demothi, of course. You think he has any chance?”

Ferrol cocked an eyebrow. “The Senate must think he has,” he said. “I can't see them going this far out on a limb on wishful thinking alone.”

“True,” Roman agreed. “Unless, of course, he's here for some other purpose entirely.”

Ferrol might have twitched. Roman couldn't tell for sure. “What other purpose could there be?” the other asked. “A secret inspection of some sort?”

“I'd think that highly unlikely,” Roman shook his head. “The only thing
Amity
does of any real interest these days is to midwife space horse calvings, and all except that first one have been fully recorded. What would an observer see that the cameras haven't?”

“The crew's performance, maybe,” Ferrol suggested. “Or possibly the Senate's still interested in human/Tampy interactions. That
was
the original reason for putting this ship into space, after all.”

It was indeed…and with only four voyages under
Amity
's belt, the most optimistic of the pro-Tampies had probably already conceded defeat on that point. Not even the excitement of being part of something as rare and awesome as a space horse calving was enough to dampen the anti-Tampy feelings that invariably grew among the human crewers; and despite the prestige and public attention the
Amity
was starting to attract, less than thirty percent of any given crew signed up for the following mission. Aside from the senior officers and the Tampies themselves, only ten of
Amity
's original crew had made it through all four of its voyages. “I seriously doubt that anyone still thinks of us in those terms anymore,” Roman told Ferrol. “No—whatever Demothi's here for, it has to involve the calving. If all he needed was a space horse he could go to the corral at Kialinninni and take his pick.” He eyed the other. “And that includes this so-called contact experiment.”

Ferrol shrugged. “Perhaps. On the other hand, I can think of at least two reasons why you'd want to try this kind of contact with a calf first. One, because a calf might not have the same aversion to humans that they seem to develop later in life; and, two, because the calf wouldn't be nearly as strong as a full-grown space horse. And, of course, completely unable to Jump.”

“That last being a major point,” Roman conceded, the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach growing stronger. It all made sense…but Ferrol had the arguments just a little bit too down pat. Which meant…what? That his friends in the Senate had briefed him on Demothi's true mission? Or merely that he'd been thinking lately about space horse calves and their possibilities? “I suppose we'll just have to wait and see.”

“Yes, sir. I really don't think there's any cause for worry, though. I expect he's really just here to try and contact the calf.”

Roman sighed. “Well, if he is, good luck to him. I'm sure we'd both agree that human control of space horses is the key to further expansion of the Cordonale—and with an eye to that, it's probably just as well that Kennedy will be handling the lander on this calving.”

Ferrol's poker face cracked, just a little. But enough. “Kennedy, sir?” he asked carefully.

Roman nodded. “She's been wanting to have a shot at handling the webbing maneuvers anyway; and with the Senate so hot on “Demothi the Boy Wonder” we'll certainly want our best people out on the lander with him. Just in case any problems crop up.”

“Of course, sir,” Ferrol said between stiff lips. “I had, however, hoped to ask you to let me be in charge of the webbing this time around.”

Roman felt an unpleasant chill run up his back. So his vague suspicions had been right, after all. Demothi
was
up to something, Ferrol knew what it was…and it was something he very much wanted to be on hand to participate in.

Or else, he just
didn't
want Kennedy to be there alone. Fleetingly, Roman wondered just what Ferrol's friends had told him about Kennedy. “Well, that shouldn't be a problem,” he said, forcing his voice to remain casual. “There's no reason why you can't both go.”

For a moment Ferrol seemed to be studying him, and Roman had the odd sense that his own thoughts, mirror-imaged, were running a parallel track through the other's mind. “That should work,” Ferrol said at last. “Provided Kennedy won't feel her capabilities are being called into question, that is.”

Roman shook his head. “She'll be there for the helm experience,” he said. “You'll be there because of your interest in space horse calves. That's all there is to it.”

Another brief flicker of reaction. “Yes, sir,” Ferrol said. “Thank you, Captain.”

“Good. That's settled, then,” Roman said, pretending he hadn't seen anything. “You'd best get back to the bridge now, Commander. There's still a lot of work to do before we leave orbit.”

“Yes, sir.” Nodding, Ferrol turned and left.

For a moment afterward Roman gazed darkly at the door. So it had come at last; the anti-Tampies' response to
Amity
's unexpected breakthrough. Ferrol, Roman felt sure, he could handle if it became necessary…but Ferrol plus Demothi was another matter entirely. And if push came to shove…

Involuntarily, he shivered. What, he wondered,
had
Ferrol's friends told him about Kennedy?

New faces were hardly a novelty aboard the
Amity
; but even so Roman expected Demothi to make something of a splash, a prediction that was borne out with a swiftness beyond his most pessimistic fears. Within an hour the news about Demothi and his—possibly—historic experiment was all over the ship; within two hours, it was the major topic of conversation in the lounges and workrooms. By the time Sso-ngii had their new space horse, Man o' War, ease the ship out of Solomon orbit everyone seemed to have formed an opinion about the chances of success, and the arguments began to appear. And by the time
Amity
made its first Jump, the man had become the punch line of at least two jokes.

It followed immediately that Demothi was going to be a major pain in the neck for all involved; but here, Roman's expectations proved wrong. Demothi wasn't a great deal of trouble; he was, in fact, almost exactly the opposite. Much of his time was spent on the Tampy side of the ship, discussing his upcoming contact attempt with Sso-ngii and the other Handlers and practicing with the spare amplifier helmet. He returned to the human side only for meals and sleep, and since he often ate in the solitude of his own cabin, Roman could often go days at a time without so much as passing him in a corridor. There was no particular reason Roman could see for the other's self-imposed isolation—certainly the psych profile that had accompanied him aboard gave no hint of antisocial tendencies. The most plausible suggestion Roman heard came from Kennedy, who pointed out that Demothi might think he would stand a better chance of making a successful contact if he stayed as aloof as possible from the other humans. Given how little was really known about space horse senses, it was as good a theory as any.

Still, Demothi's space-hermit act didn't help his reputation among the more heavy-handed humorists aboard, and Roman was therefore not at all disappointed when Man o' War began to show the telltale lethargy a mere sixty days into the mission.

“It's started, all right,” Marlowe reported, fingers dancing across his keys as he ran comparisons against the data from the previous calvings. “I'd say one more Jump and a few hours' rest and Man o' War will be ready to become a mother.”

Roman nodded: “Good. Give Demothi a call—he may need some time to prepare. Commander?—how's the delivery room search going?”

Ferrol had a section of the New Cygni List on his screen; from his chair Roman could see that several of the lines were highlighted in yellow. “Working on it, sir,” Ferrol told him. “I think…yes, here we go. NCL 11612. Little K-type about four light-years away from here. Couple of gas-giant planets, no known life, completely uninteresting.” He turned to face Roman, eyebrows raised questioningly.

“Sounds good,” Roman agreed, shifting his eyes to the helm. “Yamoto?”

“Vector worked out, Captain,” she reported promptly. “Ready to transmit to the Tampies.”

Roman nodded, feeling his stomach muscles beginning to tighten. “Do so,” he instructed her. He shifted his attention back to Ferrol, who was still watching him, and the muscles tightened a little more. “You'd best get below, Commander,” he told the other. “You'll want to supervise the webbing team's preflight preparations.”

“Yes, sir.” Unstrapping, Ferrol kicked off for the bridge door.

To supervise the team's preparations,
Roman thought after him,
and to make your own.

Whatever those preparations would include.

Most of the physical arrangements for the calving had been completed far in advance, and the few that required waiting until the last minute were over with in less than an hour. Ferrol's own personal last-minute checklist—consisting mainly of getting the needle gun and envelope from his cabin and slipping them into his EVA pack—took even less time.

Which left him several hours with nothing at all to do. Except think. And worry.

He'd spoken with Demothi perhaps half a dozen times since the voyage began, and had come away from each conversation progressively less certain as to what the hell the senator was up to. Was Demothi really nothing more than what he seemed, a rather fog-bound dreamtype who the senator had found and inveigled onto the
Amity
in response to Ferrol's demands for action? Or was he, in fact, a quiet agent of the anti-Tampy forces, with some mission above and beyond the contact experiment?

None of Ferrol's delicate conversational probes had gotten him any nearer to finding out. And the uncertainty made him nervous.

They had made the Jump to their target system, and Man o' War had been quiescent for nearly an hour, when the call finally came. “Captain to ready room; Commander Ferrol?”

“Yes, sir,” Ferrol called toward the intercom. “Is it time?”

“It seems so, yes,” Roman told him. “The dust sweat analysis indicates that you've got perhaps two hours before the calf comes.”

Definitely time to get into position. “On our way, sir.”

With Kennedy and Demothi following, he led the way to the hangar deck, wondering sourly how long he'd have to wait for the two Tampies who'd be accompanying them to make their leisurely way aft. The cynicism was, for a change, wasted: even as he ducked his head and maneuvered his way through the door he saw that they were already there.

“Ffe-rho?” one grated as both turned.

“Yes,” Ferrol acknowledged. Beneath the filter mask covering half the misshapen face a corner of red and white cloth was visible… “Sso-ngii?” he tentatively identified the other.

“Yes.” The Tampy indicated his companion. “Wwis-khaa will assist.”

“Fine,” Ferrol said shortly, moving forward to take his place at the command station and keying for status readouts. It was, he realized, a revealing choice of assistants for Sso-ngii to have chosen: Wwis-khaa, according to the crew profiles, was the only Handler aboard
Amity
who'd had any experience with soothing space horses freshly captured in the wild. None of the previous carvings had required any such soft-touch Handling…but then, none of them had had Demothi poking around with an amplifier helmet, either. To the best of Ferrol's knowledge none of the Tampies had raised any objections to Demothi's experiment; but it was clear that they weren't interested in taking any chances with him, either.

“Ready to go, Commander,” Kennedy reported into his thoughts.

Ferrol shifted his attention back to his own readouts and nodded. “Looks good,” he agreed. “Let's do it.”

Deftly, Kennedy eased them out of the hangar, swung away from the hull, and headed up the shimmering rein lines toward the patch of starless sky that was Man o' War.

They reached the space horse's curved side to find a stockfloor of activity already in progress. Floodlights from three outlying lifeboats illuminated the area where a hundred-meter-long cylinder was already pushing outward from the dark gray skin. Surrounding it, spacesuited Tampies were snipping carefully through the tight-fitting webbing, giving the bulge room to expand. Fifty meters away, two more lifeboats stood by, the shimmer of slack webbing between them. It was to this group that Kennedy directed their boat, where they would have both a bird's-eye view of the final stages of the calving and would be in position to link up with the brand-new space horse as soon as it was secured.