"And if you've got to have a partner, grab one young, train him up right. The Academy ruins more than it improves. You ought to know by now what you don't want in a partner. Teach him what he ought to know. Don't wait for the impossible! Engineer it. And look out for Railly's conniving. He's going to try to keep you on the roster or I haven't been around this Service for 400 years."
"Why have you been around for 400 years, Silvia?"
There was such a long silence Helva wondered if they'd gone beyond contact range.
"I don't ask myself that any more, Helva. I used to when I was your age and Pay-off seemed close. Then we ran afoul of a meteor swarm off Saadalsund and. . . well, there's usually something interesting to do for Central Worlds. I've had good partners and bad ones, too." Her voice wavered now from attenuation. "Be careful, Helva. Don't sell yourself cheap."
The contact broke then but the comfort of Silvia's astringent concern overshadowed the substance of her warning for a tune.
To reassure herself, Helva ran through the computations again, starting with the fearful debts of her early infancy and childhood. The pituitary adjustments so that her body would not outgrow the final capsule and the delicate brain surgery that made Helva the ship had been, as always, expensive. However, since there could be no 'slaves' or 'indentured' servants within Central Worlds Autonomy, committees and organizations of dedicated citizens decreed that a salary scale, a bonus-and-awards system, should provide incentive and remuneration for shell people in every occupation.
Now Helva could see that the subtle, massive conditioning she'd received in her formative years was double-edged. It made her happy as a shell-person, it had dedicated her to her life in Service, and it made Pay-off a mockery. What else could a BB ship do but continue as she had started. . . in Service? The same must apply to shell people trained to manage ships, mining planets or industrial complexes. And yet there was compensation.
The memory of Jennan rose to plague her again, to plague and console. Those had been marvelous years; short but full of a glowing wonder of self-discovery and joint exploration. They'd been eager for the challenge of each new mission to be faced together. They'd taken a perverse pride in her sobriquet. And Jennan had had to defend them both against the ridicule of other brawns until the JH-834 had been admired and respected as the Ship Who Sang. Jennan had been unique. But surely there would be another man with other qualities to recommend him.
She wondered if she had unconsciously chosen Teron because he had been the antithesis of her first brawn. Well, Silvia was right. She ought to find a reasonable compromise, train him up as a proper brawn. Train him up to consider her a person, not a ship or an emotionally responsive computer.
She was Paid-off. She could take time to look around, to let Broley find a reliable, independent contract.
Idly she wondered how long it had taken the FG-602 to contract with the Alpheccan Confederacy. He'd Paid-off, just before her birth. She'd met him once with Jennan, but both he and his partner affected an amused, detached superciliousness that had been offensive.
She could, she supposed, broadcast an advertisement right now. She began to feel better. Action, that was what she'd needed. But perhaps it would be smarter to report in to Regulus Base, make sure all was in order. It was only sensible to keep on good terms with Central Worlds. She'd need their technicians and maintenance sheds for any overhauls.
She found she had slowed somewhat and added thrust, confidently speeding back to Regulus. She began to cast up a list of qualities that she wanted in a partner, and the traits to avoid. So pleasant were her meditations that it seemed no time at all before she had to request landing instructions from Cencom.
"Why, Helva, as I live and breathe," Niall Parollan answered her.
"Catch up on your beauty sleep?"
"Both."
"Both?"
"Caught up with beauty and sleep!"
"She didn't mind your snoring?"
"They were too exhausted to hear and much too grateful to comment, m'gal."
"I am not your gal."
"The endearment is considered an accolade by many."
"How do you arrange that delusion?"
Niall chuckled maliciously. "I pick my partners carefully, not just for the symmetry of their features and the density of their skulls."
"All right, Parollan. You've counted coup. By the way, I trust you stayed awake long enough to register Teron's dismissal?"
"Oh, yes, and took even greater pleasure in posting the penalty to your account."
"I can afford it."
"I know," and there was an unexpected grimness in his voice. "Put your lazy tail down on Pad No. 3, Administrative Landing. An official welcoming committee has been waiting for you."
"You mean, an emancipation delegation."
Cencom was silent.
Well, she'd got off lightly at Parollan's hands. She'd miss him. His caustic manner had been stimulating, and whatever his motives, he had been there at the end of the tight beam. Independence would have its own compensations. Wouldn't it?
As she jockeyed with finicky precision onto the No. 3 pad, she experienced another jolt of uncertainty. Every conscious hour of the last 10 years had been devoted to Central Worlds. She had 'belonged' in that Service and had not been aware of her indebtedness to them. Well, she was just going to have to make some drastic reorientations in her thinking. Change was necessary to growth and maturity.
She was about to send a peremptory signal to Cencom to get a move on when she saw the group emerging from the Base Tower. Niall Parollan was dwarfed by the other three tall men. She recognized the burly figure of Chief Railly, fitting and due her achievement. The other two men she identified as Commander Breslaw of Engineering and Admiral Dobrinon of Xeno Relations. This wasn't a standard graduation line-up. Silvia might be right about Central not letting her off their hook. She ought to have called Double M or SPRIM. Or Broley. She could hardly blast off now. She'd fry the quartet of notables.
So she lowered the passenger lift and cannily turned up her audio units. However, none of the visitors made any comments until they reached the lock. Then they only played the precedence routine.
However, after Niall Parollan had politely ushered the Chief from the lift, he stared at Helva's column with a definitely possessive air. As he stepped into the lock and tossed off the customary salute, it was as if he had proclaimed her his exclusive property.
His audacity staggered her. It wasn't Railly she must guard against. It was this liter-sized, heavyworld machiavelli, Parollan!
Dobrinon noticed the Supervisor's salute.
"Gentlemen, our manners," and, bringing his bootheels smartly together, he accorded her the proper ceremony.
Service had such archaic traditions, Helva mused; like saluting a ship on boarding. Or did they salute her as a ranking officer? Probably not. Salutes between persons had to be reciprocal. She'd train her new brawn to salute. Sentimental about the Service?
"And our profound gratitude, Helva," Chief Railly was saying, holding his own salute an overlong moment "Your superb courage and resourcefulness at Borealis are already Service legends. A triumph of mind over immobility. We're proud, very proud, to have had you on our roster."
Helva caught the past tense and wondered again at Parollan's attitude.
"You know Dobrinon of Xeno and Breslaw of Engineering, of course," the Chief went on, so smoothly passing by the adroit admission that Helva wondered if she had heard aright. And why were these two here if she were, by tacit admission, an independent.
"Yes, we've met," she admitted so drily the Chief chuckled.
He gestured for the others to take seats, his deference of moments before giving way to the next order of business. Helva scanned the delegation warily. Parollan gave her a quick, sideways grin before he settled himself on the couch, one arm draped negligently along the back.