78

SHEP/Wolf

CHAPTER TEN

In Which Our Heroes Get To Know One Another

-- Rather Better Than They Would Like

"Listen!" yelled Church, "If something doesn't happen soon, I'm going to make something happen!"

Polydora was disassembling the seats in the rear of the main cabin and building a second room out of the parts. She neither paused nor looked up as Church came and stood over her.

"Did you hear me? Why can't we answer a distress call or stop off at a strange planet or at least explore something! Why?"

Polydora sighed. Miranon answered from the other side of the slowly rising wall. "Because we haven't met anything. There haven't been any distress calls, and we haven't been near a solar system in three months. What do you think this is, an episodic vid series? Space is actually very large."

"I KNOW THAT!" Church replied. "I happen to know quite a bit about space. And one of the things I know is, there has to be something to relieve the boredom between ports of call -- or things start happening on the ship."

"What kind of things?" Polydora stood up, and passed the parts of the disassembled seats to Miranon, who used them to build up the wall.

"Look, I'm not threatening anyone. I'm just telling you, if I go nuts from boredom, it isn't going to be pretty."

"Oh yeah?" asked Miranon, interested. "What will it look like?"

"Hush," said Polydora. "Actually, Captain Church, I think we've been very lucky thus far." She called him "Captain" because they had all found it was the best way to calm him down when he got excited. He always stood up straighter at the title, and he did so now, and looked even more pleased with himself than ordinarily. Polydora continued, "We are, as far as we can tell, on course, and on our way home. It is to be hoped that we have gotten free, somehow, of the rift in the space-time continuum that we experienced some time ago. If we start undergoing adventures such as you describe, we might find ourselves wandering aimlessly through space for over a hundred and seventy such episodes, with no hope of ever seeing our own people again."

"Why are you so afraid of episodes?" Church asked. "I like them. Why, when I was with the Feds --"

"Yeah, yeah, we've heard it," said Miranon.

"Hush!" said Polydora. "I am averse to getting involved in an episodic series," she told Church, "because I am not of the type that generally survives them."

"Sure you are!"

"No; I am female, and humanoid, but I am neither young, nor well-built in the stereotypical manner, nor am I anyone's love interest, and I am not in love with the Captain." She eyed him astringently. "I would last, perhaps, two episodes at the most."

"But that's not true!" Church assured her. "Well, I know it used to be like that, but things are different now. I'll prove it. Let's have an episode right now!" He headed for the bridge.

"Church! Wait!" Miranon shouted.

Polydora didn't bother to yell; she took off after him as fast as she could.

He never reached the bridge, however. Halfway there, a pale-eyed wild-haired effigy rose up before him from between two rows of seats and he came to a halt with a shout.

"Pain! Pain!" The effigy raised her shaking hands to her head. Then her eyes cleared, and she looked around and smiled. "Hello, everyone. I feel you're astonished to see me awake."

The Empath had recovered consciousness.

Everyone gathered around to get a good look at her awake. After all, it was the first thing that had happened on the ship in ages. She looked around at her audience, raised a hand to her head, and swayed on her feet. As she fell, with a grace not unlike that of a delicate flower of the moon of Ardos wilting in the sudden heat of the seven-day sun, Pock caught her in his arms. She looked up at him gratefully, but then her expression changed.

"Ew, not you," she said. She looked around the circle and her eyes lighted on Cynthia, standing in the back, head and shoulders above the rest. Her eyes widened with pleasure. "You!" Her voice fell, and she continued weakly, "Please...carry me...somewhere safe..." Her head lolled, but she recovered as Pock stoically transferred his burden to the Stellar Beauty Queen. "Careful! I'm not strong..."

Cynthia obligingly carried her down to the first class cabin and laid her on an extended seat farthest from the door. The Empath looked around. "No. Not here. Not so far away from...people...and feelings...you don't know what it's like, to be alone for so long." She gazed up at Cynthia, and Cynthia obligingly carried her back upstairs, dropped her in a chair, and walked away. It was Miranon who pressed the chair arm until the Empath was leaning back comfortably, and Eloise who was ready with complementary drinks and a dish of Fringian mushrooms. The Empath sighed bravely, watching Cynthia from across the room. "She is suffering," she confided, "from a great secret, a great pain. We must help her."

Eloise, from that moment, had plenty to do. The Empath, having slept long, didn't sleep much anymore, and every moment she needed another drink, or to have her head bathed, or her feet rubbed, or her seat adjusted, or a blanket found, or another blanket found because the first had a peculiar smell, or another blanket found after that because she didn't like the color, or a pillow for her back, or another pillow because the first one was so nice, and another pillow for her head, and then a replacement for the second pillow because it wasn't as nice as the third... everyone was relieved that the job of keeping Eloise busy was in competent hands.

She liked to lie in the main cabin. She was too weak, she said, to be up and about much. The first class cabin was too small, and besides, people only came there to sleep. She liked to be where the activity was; where people would come over and talk with her.

"Hi. I'm Captain Church. I hope Eloise is looking after you all right?"

"Captain Church?" With sudden energy, the Empath sat up, her eyes glittering. "You mean you're still alive? They let you live, after what you've done to us...?"

"Oh, no, no -- I wasn't an officer of this shuttle service. No, no -- I was elected to my present rank," he smiled at her. "I'm the most experienced man aboard, you see. I used to be with the Feds. Well, still am, actually. Once a Fed, always a Fed, everyone knows that."

"I see. Yes, of course." The Empath fell back gracefully against her cushions, and Eloise adjusted slightly the one under her right elbow. "I am called Thebes."

"Right. And you're from Zeba-5? One of the race of Zebans known for their empathic abilities and their talent for sensing the feelings of other beings."

"Not at all," Thebes answered. "I am completely telepathic. My people have always been able to read minds. You Feds simply didn't know what to do with our abilities, and after our first experiences with you, you minimized our abilities into 'feelings,' and we had to call them so. Pah." For someone so weak, Thebes could spit pretty far.

"You mean you really can read minds?"

"Yes."

"What am I thinking right now?"

Thebes closed her eyes. "You are thinking I can't read minds. You are also thinking, that if I can read minds, then you should find a way to get me to team up with you and then you would somehow be able to get control of the ship and then --"

"Sh! Sh! Sh! All right. I believe you."

"Is this guy bothering you?" Miranon, carrying a bunch of tools back to the building site, paused at Thebes' seat.

"Oh, no," Thebes assured her sweetly. "It's so kind of you both, to stop and speak to me..."

Miranon shifted her load. "Well, if he does, just tell me, or Polydora."

"I'm not bothering anyone!" Church replied, but Miranon had departed. "What is her problem?" he asked rhetorically.

"I can tell you," Thebes said with a sigh, but before she could do so, they were interrupted.

"Are you the Empath?" Axel leaned close.

"Do you want to know if I can read your mind?" Thebes asked him very sweetly. "Of course; you are thinking, 'Uklargy' -- whatever that means -- 'another butthead. She's so ugly -- I wonder if that thing on her head hurts.' No, it doesn't," she assured him kindly, but Axel had turned vermilion in distress and was backing swiftly away.

"That wasn't very nice," Church told her.

"He asked me," Thebes answered primly. "My people never lie, and we never prevaricate. I had to answer him. Don't you think it unkind, really, to shelter the very young...?" She looked up at him appealingly.

"Well yes, I mean -- no -- I mean, what were you going to say," he crouched down beside her, and spoke more quietly. "About Miranon? About her problem?"

She looked up at him. "Should I tell you?"

"I asked, didn't I?"

"Yes, yes, you did." Thebes sighed. "And I must answer. Very well. Miranon knows that she is suffering from a brain tumor. The size of a Belizian melon.1 She is afraid that she will die in agony away from the medical facilities that could ease her pain. She is also afraid that, owing to her -- uniqueness -- no one will ever love her." She looked up at him and sighed again. "So we must be very kind to her. Very, very kind."

Church walked consideringly to where Miranon was working on the wall. Thebes watched him go, and could hardly stop herself from grinning after him.

"Hey, let me help you there." Church grabbed a chairback and held it in place.

"Thanks -- I got it."

He smiled at her, his most winning smile, but she was concentrating on fixing the chair part in position and missed it. He considered several scenarios, and then decided: he would softly replace the lock of hair that was lying against her cheek -- he was looking at her smooth side -- and when she looked at him, he would say...

A moment later he picked himself up from the deck. "Hey! I just touched you! I didn't mean anything by it, what do you want?" But before she could answer, he walked -- limped -- away.

"What is his problem?" Miranon wondered allowed.

"I can tell you," the Theban pitched her voice to sound soft, yet it still could be heard across the main cabin. Miranon wandered over to where Eloise was spoon-feeding the Zeban a helping of Fringian mushrooms, which Thebes had not yet grown sick of.

"What did you want to tell me?"

"It's about Church," Thebes' voice sank to a weak but urgent whisper. "He is wondering how much longer he can keep from you..."

"Keep what from me?"

"Shhh...He is your brother. It was his mother that took part in the experiment to graft her species with that of her lover, and after you were born, abandoned you to your fathers' people --"

Miranon was already on her way.

It's not that Church couldn't hold his own in a fight. But when jumped by someone who throws herself roaring from halfway down a stairway onto your back and then, still roaring, lands on top of you on the floor proceeds to pound your head senseless into the deck -- Pock, Cynthia, Polydora and Axel all had to drag her off of him, and then hold her so she didn't go back and batter him some more. When asked, however, she would not explain. She simply said she had her reasons, and that she would do it again.

Church was put to bed in the first class cabin, and Eloise went down to point her salt shaker at him, for all the good that would do. They didn't have the more advanced salt shakers that could actually (so the Feds said) heal tissue and bone damage, cure headaches and disease. Church lay on his pallet moaning, "I only touched her. I swear to God I only touched her..." while Pock and Eloise tended his bruises with cold packs.

Upstairs in the main cabin Polydora told Cynthia to stay with Miranon while she talked to Thebes.

"Thebes," she gently and firmly took the Empath's hand, so that Thebes' eyes opened. "I understand from Eloise that you were talking to Miranon just before Miranon -- went down stairs."

"Yes," Thebes responded weakly. "Yes, Eloise. Where is she? I'm thirsty..."

"Thebes, what did Miranon say to you? Did you talk about anything?"

"Yes. She asked me...if I felt Captain Church was a danger to the ship. I had to answer her. My people always answer..."

"What did you tell her?"

"Captain Church...is planning to seize the ship. He has gotten in touch with the Fed ship Yage, and with their help will commandeer this vessel...You will all become Fed passengers..."

"Is that so?"

"Of course. I told you, my people never lie."

"And what about you? Are you going to be a Fed passenger?"

"Oh, no. I am an Empath. I will become an officer on board the Fed ship. I will wear the tightly fitting uniform so attractive on small female beings like myself."

"I see. That would explain why you never mentioned Church's plans before now."

"He...he asked me not to."

"Oh! You've discussed them with him?"

"Yes -- I mean -- no -- I mean --" but before she could explain, Thebes' weakness overcame her, and she gently fainted away, like the violet swamp-spore blooms of Grangel-2, that open only at the passing of the second moon at full, and then disappear again.

Polydora went below to talk to Church. Church, however, was in no case to be talking to anyone, since he was suffering a mild concussion and a great deal of pain from multiple bruises. Polydora did not space him on the evidence of the empath; instead she went to the bridge, called up the computer, and looked for any communications, on any level, going out from the Shep, that she might not know about.

There was no indication of any outward communication from the Shep, nor of any communication whatsoever from the Yage. Polydora made a few tests to assure herself that the computer was taking note of such things, and that no one had tampered with the records. Having done so, she leaned her elbows on the edge of the control bank and stared out the view finder at Rom and Rem, that seemed not the smallest bit closer after all their months of travel.

Cynthia came in and sat down next to her. "Polydora?"

"Mm?" She roused herself. "How is Miranon? Has she explained herself yet? And how is Church doing?"

"Miranon's not talking. Pock's with her. He's told her he'll pinch her if she heads down the stairs, so she's working on your wall, like a fury. Church is fine. Eloise is with him." She lowered her voice. "I want to talk about you."

"What about me?"

"I know you're very old --"

"Ha. That's because you're a baby."

"I'm twenty-two!" (All Stellar Beauty Queens are twenty-two from the time they actually reach that age, until their contracts run out seven years later).

"Seventy-two seems old to you. Seventy-three. I must have turned seventy-three by now."

"That's not what I want to talk about. Polydora, is it true that you are in fact a male reporter for the Galaxy News, surgically disguised to get the woman's view story of politics on Hogsbreath?"

Polydora burst into laughter. "What will that woman think of next?"

"Then it's not true?"

"I think what is true," Polydora said, containing herself, "is that Thebes' empathy is such that she is able to tell each of us what we least want to hear. I wonder what she told Pock about you."

Polydora was looking past Cynthia at that moment to see Pock stalking toward them from Thebes' bedside. He walked up to Cynthia, and without a word, backhanded her to the face. Fortunately, Cynthia, in the course of her training to be the vision of most beings' fantasy sexual partner, had been taught to defend herself, should any being bypass her obligatory bodyguard and attempt to make such fantasies into a reality. Cynthia blocked the blow with her arm. Unfortunately, Pointy-Eared-People being as strong as they are, the arm was broken at the contact. Cynthia didn't notice at the moment; she was busy kerwalloping Pock about the head and neck and screaming at him.

Pock eventually had to apologize. "Am I to understand that you are not one of the Pointy-Eared People who permitted herself to be sold to a corporate conglomerate and surgically modified to meet your current contractual obligations?"

"No! No, I'm not! I was an Arcturan, and I have papers to prove it!"

"Then -- I would like to point out -- that it is probable, given the information that was passed on to me -- that the Empath calling herself Thebes, who purports to read minds -- is telling fibs."

"Yes," said Polydora. "We had gathered that."

1 That's pretty big.