“Good night, sweet prince, and may . ..”
Niall’s eyes flew open and he made a mock-exasperated noise in his throat. “Will you never rid me of your Shakespeare saws? When I think of a perfectly good, well-behaved ship consorting with ribald, rowdy actors … I cringe.” But he yawned again and was asleep before his jaw closed.
Helva chuckled as she secured the lock, lowered all but her safety lights, and began her habitual nightly check. Suddenly it was too silent; too empty of Niall and his energy. He was sort of like having one’s own private hurricane and he probably expended as much energy as the nardy c-v drive could. Would that thing work? And what accounted for Breslaw’s pessimism? Had he rechecked some factor to a lower probability? Or was it the particle emission that troubled everyone? Even if the c-v drive were feasible, the emissions could make it highly impractical in settled space, which would rule out its use as far as Helva was concerned.
Unless of course they detached her to Search and Survey. But would that kind of long-distance lonely travel suit Niall Parollan? Why had she been plagued with both Rocco and Davo today? And why had Abu asked about her two missing senses? She’d had them in the Beta Corvi envelope. Not that “coffee” would be anything tastable by a Corvikan. Did they have its equivalent, Helva wondered? Had Niall really overcome that brawn fixation?
More corrosive to her peace of mind, if ruthlessly suppressed, was her own disquieting wish to see that Asuran solido. Shell people were conditioned not to think about physical appearance. They were told that their bodies were physically stunted to fit in the shells. They knew that they were necessarily immersed in nutrient fluids, that there were masses of wires connecting the various sections of their brains to the sensors that allowed them to operate their particular vehicle or mechanisms. It was tacitly understood that a shell person was a grotesque in a civilization that could ensure physical perfection and pleasing looks.
Only now had it become important to Helva to know that, but for the birth defect that had destined her to be a shell person, she would have been beautiful. She wanted to be, she could have been, but she wasn’t. And it was possible that Niall, deprived of all feminine companionship on long trips, might succumb to the temptation to open her shell. Illegally he had obtained the release words, a sequence and pitch unique and supposedly known only to one person, which would open the panel and give access to her titanium shell beyond. As Rocco had said, a brawn fixation was dangerous.
The unbidden thought of Niall sporting with the three nubile girls in the galley exacerbated her mind. Had he suggested to Permut and Abu that they keep her occupied while he was … ? You … are a jealous bitch! Helva told herself in measured tones of surprise and self-repugnance. A shell person jealous of a mobile? For a sexual reason? Ridiculous and yet, she’d all the symptoms of sheer flaming jealousy. She’d loved Jennan, but there’d been no trace of that utterly human vice in their relationship. Well, Helva thought sternly, you didn’t have to worry about sharing Jennan with half the female population of the Galaxy. And you didn’t love him this way: you loved Jennan with a purity equal to Juliet’s, with not a care as to things-as-they-are. You’d’ve changed your tune if Jennan had lived. Or would I? Jennan, at least, had been discreet. Unlike the stud she’d aboard her now.
Had Niall passed the danger point of his fixation? Or, when his libido reached the unendurable in space, would the temptation to open her panel return? How much did Niall count on the Corvikis approving the drive? How long would he stay her brawn if they didn’t? It was scant consolation to realize that the cycle-variant drive wasn’t the only one undergoing a test run.
By the time the immense crane had swung her back on her tail fins, Helva was evaluating her new suit of superfine superskin. “You gleam, baby, you glisten, you shine in the sun like a jewel,” Niall said into his combutton. In the company of Breslaw and Railly and several of the ceramicists, he was standing at a distance from her on the apron of the kiln building. “By god, you’re blue in some lights. Is that stuff iridescent, Breslaw?”
Helva increased the magnification of her scanner on the group. Breslaw was beaming fatuously, for the process was a new application of old techniques and the coating had been accomplished with relatively no halts or snags. Certainly the finished product was impressive. “How d’you feel, Helva,” Niall asked.
“How’s one supposed to feel after a face-lifting?”
“Bruised. Stop being so eternally female, woman. Are all your systems go? We don’t need a clogged pore where we’re going.”
Helva’d been doing a rapid check of her exterior installations. Everything was in operating order, but she felt differently. Not uncomfortable, merely altered.
“So,” Railly was saying to Niall in a steely, teeth-clenched voice, “now how soon can you lift?”
“Why, Chief, we’d’ve been away two days ago if I could’ve got any decent cooperation from servicing personnel.”
Blithely unaware of Railly’s pop-eyed reaction, Niall turned to the startled ceramicists. “Do we need to wait until her skin cools?” The senior technician stammered out something about temperature variations and tolerances, and then shrugged assent.
“Great. Good-bye all. See you sometime yesterday!”
With an insolent salute, Niall strode across the permatarm toward Helva. She let down the lift for a quick 288 getaway, keeping one eye on Railly, who was apoplectic at the calculated insolence. Breslaw began speaking to his superior, though Helva couldn’t tell if he were pacifying Railly or diverting him with other matters. The ceramicists had certainly departed quickly. No sooner was Niall within than he brusquely signaled her to secure for lift-off. She started to get clear-ance from the Control Tower before she remembered a minor detail.
“We’ve no supervisor.”
“Oh yes, we have. Railly!” The name came out as a growled curse. Niall bounced into the pilot’s seat, strapped down. “Let’s get off this fardling base. Now!”
She began lift-off, sluggish because of the extra weight in drive chamber, strut, and skin.
“It’s heavy going, Niall,” she warned him and then piled on thrust.
Once clear of Regulus’s service satellites, Niall spun himself away from the console. “One more moment down there listening to Railly and I’d’ve done my nut!”
He heaved himself out of the pilot chair and floated across the lounge, his expression bleak and weary. As she felt rather elated to be finally away, she was momentarily dumbfounded by the transformation in her private whirlwind. She was even more surprised when he bypassed the galley and hand-pulled himself into his cabin. “Wake me, girl, if anything startling occurs.”
He kicked off his boots, stripped off the shipsuit, rolled under the cover, pulling the free-fall strap across him, and was asleep before his arm dropped slowly back. And so he slept and slept and slept. Which was no consolation to Helva. She occupied herself at first by space-testing all her functions, did a bit of jockeying on thrusters to get the feel of how the modifications in her hull affected her maneuverability. She felt like a scow, and wondered if the now inert mass of the c-v drive would lighten once it was operative.
Asleep, Niall Parollan did not resemble his waking self; there was a curious vulnerability about his mouth, the sweep of rather long eyelashes on wide cheekbones. He looked altogether too young to be his chronological age and rather defenseless. He did not twitch, toss, or snore, moving less than usual in what she understood were normal sleep patterns. Economical that. She watched him for quite a long time, as if memorizing the very pores of his rather coarse skin, the way his hair pattern took an abrupt turn at the back of his head.