Very few people she had met, Helva admitted sadly, thought of her as Helva, a person, a thinking, feeling, rational, intelligent, eminently human being.
Jennan had. Theoda, except for that one brief instance of rapport, had been too immersed in her lifelong expiation to entertain a personal reaction to Helva, the human. And, although Kira Falernova had been with her over 3 years, neither of them had let the friendship develop into a deep attachment.
In fact, the only mobile human who appeared to regard Helva as Helva was Niall Parollan. And for all Helva knew, he had merely developed an effective way of handling his BB ship subordinates by alternately praising and insulting them in that highly personal, stimulating way.
And yet, he had stayed on the tight beam for 3 days, nursing that tenuous trace of her whereabouts. He could just as easily have delegated the duty to a regular com man. That he hadn't done so absolved him of her previous grievances.
She hoped someone had discovered him asleep at the control panel. He must have been in a deuced uncomfortable position to snore that way. Helva chuckled to herself. Too bad he wasn't bigger. He'd've made a good brawn. And yet, he was passed over, while someone like that nardy idiot, Teron, tall, brawny enough to look at, not only got into training but completed the rigorous course. He must have done it. . . as Niall had acidly suggested. . . on theory credits. Perhaps Central Worlds had better reevaluate their image requirements as a result of this Borealis fiasco. What heavy-woriders like Parollan lacked in stature, they made up in mass. . . and pure cussedness.
"Fardles," Helva said in unaccustomed profanity. The word echoed satisfactorily through the empty cabins. "I wonder if he stayed awake long enough to record my divorce."
She didn't like to contemplate Niall's remarks anent ditching Teron. She could practically hear his rasping voice reminding her that he'd tried to talk her out of Teron.
"For a smart ship, you can be a dumb broad!" Well, it hadn't been a complete disaster. She'd have that to counter Parollan's scorn. In fact, if Teron hadn't been such an irritating dolt, the Xixon creature would never have got into the main cabin; she and Teron wouldn't have been overwhelmed and she wouldn't have made enough in bonuses and rewards to Pay-off so soon.
That was such a comforting thought. To accomplish Pay-off so early on in her career; to reach the goal all BB ships dreamed of. So, now what? She needed a brawn, one of her exceeding careful choice, and she needed another goal, a point, a destination. Maybe one would supply the other. Or vice versa?
"I could go to the Horsehead Nebula," she said aloud for the sound of it.
And the sound triggered a carefully suppressed memory. Jennan leaning against the console, grinning at her, his eyes alight with affection and humor. . .
"If they ever take us off the milkruns, we'll make a stab at the Nebula, huh?"
She was off the milkruns, but Jennan lay dead in Regulus Base cemetery, all their wild, happy schemes entombed with him. The challenge of such a flight, unaccompanied, was as empty as her ship self.
Horsehead Nebula, indeed! To divert her trend of thought, she ran a rapid calculation. Oh, she could make it, for all her present material dependence on man. Her pile was fresh, though she wished someone would rattle a few brains and develop an energy source that would utilize the full potential of the f.t.l. principle. It was like having two high gears in a powerful ground car that couldn't be used because they'd burn up all available fuel in a few milliseconds. As it was, she could reach the Horsehead. . . in a 100 standard years, at her present top speed.
And then what? You needed someone to celebrate a victory with, to extole a notable achievement, or any triumph was empty. If there was no goad to progress, advance was sterile. You needed a goal, or there was no point to anything.
Now Helva could understand why older class ships suddenly opted out for no discernible reason. And she wondered why Pay-off had seemed so enviable a state. Here she was. And where was she? Shell-people like Amon and Treel, so determined to get here, would never believe that it was the act of paying off that really mattered.
The ship-to-ship band bleeped through her gloomy reflections.
"Helva, this is 422!"
"Silvia!"
"From you I'll accept the name. Rumor is that you've reached Pay-off."
"According to my computations I have!"
"What's the matter with you, then? That's not the end of the world. It's the beginning."
"Of what?"
"Say, that Borealis sense-deprivation hit you hard."
"No, no, really. I'm all right. I just don't like solitude."
"You don't appreciate being well off," Silvia went on in her cynical way. "I'd've thought you'd be glad to be rid of that asinine Teron. He reminded me so much of that half-lobed. . . well, never mind him. Helva, you're going to have to watch your step. You've Paid-off in less than 10 standard years. That's too soon. Much too soon for Central Worlds to be willing to let you off their hook."
"I'm not so sure I'm off," Helva replied.
"What do you mean? Listen," and Silvia's voice sounded fierce, "if there's any funny taping on you, you call in the Mutant Monitors or the Society for Preservation of the Rights of Intelligent Minorities. That'd be Amiking and Rocco on Regulus. Amiking's SPRIM, got the fancy uniform, but it's Rocco who has the brains. You get them in on any discussions. Demand a recalculation of all costs from the day they shelled you out of your cradle."
"Silvia, there's not going to be any trouble about the Pay-off figures. I'm clear. I'm sure of it."
"Then what's the problem?"
"What do I do now?"
Silvia spluttered for a moment. "Don't you realize," she demanded angrily, "that industrial complexes, not1 to mention planetary unions, will pay you any figure you name? For any time you'll spare them? Of course, you do have to watch yourself with private industry. They play dirty. Before you touch down at Regulus, you call Broley. A city shell-person always knows who's ready to bid and who you can trust. Particularly Broley. He'll get you a good contract!"
"And a good brawn?"
"Are you on that wheeze again, Helva?" Silvia was disgusted. "Change around. Grab the kind of technician you need for an assignment, then drop him. I'd've thought you'd had quite enough of brawns for a while."
"Quite enough brawns, yes. I just want one who'll stay a while. If only Jennan. . ."
"If only. . . "If converts no energy and has no credit. You don't seem to realize, Helva, you're a top BB ship. You'll have brawns begging to board you. Take your pick. Sure, you and Jennan made a fine team. His death was a piece of rotten luck. But he is dead. Let him rest in peace. Find yourself another guy, someone up to your calibre. Not another bluntbrained bastard like the one you shouted off your deck."
Helva was startled that Silvia had already heard about that.