"Yes, they are." She matched her tone to his, too relieved to have him safely aboard to prolong a quarrel. "And you'd better have a sound explanation for Railly in nothing flat, because there's a no-nonsense penetration team assembling on the pad. And Railly knows my release syllables, too."
Niall didn't need that reminder as he heard the penetration team clank against the outer hull.
"You fool, you could have been all clear," he murmured, more desperate now than angry.
"Just the Beta Corvi mission, Niall. That's what he wants."
Niall jerked his head up. "I don't think it's that simple even for Railly."
"If the CV drive's good, I'm ahead of the game," she said. "If it's bust, then I'm free and so are you!"
"Free?" Niall repeated softly but there was an odd grin on his tired face. He put one hand out, gently stroked the panel, sensitive fingertips finding and running along the all but invisible seam of her quarters. "I'm no more free than you are, Helva. But, as the gods are my witness, I tried to get you out of this fardling foul contract I cooked up." Deliberately he jammed one fist against the column, breaking the skin and bloodying his hand.
"Stop it, Parollan. If we couldn't settle a piddling 500,000 debt in less than 10 years, we're not the team I think we are!"
He had cocked his fist to strike again, but he stepped back, staring at her, eyes wide with surprise and hope.
"You know, you're right. Absolutely right."
"Of course I am. And if you've got to exact penance, get the hell on the com and persuade Railly to call off that penetration team!"
He was already at the console, banging for vision, forgetting that Helva would do it faster for him.
"What'n'hell's going on out there, Railly? Damnall, can't a brawn leave his ship alone on a Service Base, for chrissake, without finding her subjected to some asinine indignity? I thought that nardy Beta Corvi flap had top priority! Where are the specs? Where are Breslaw's models? I need Dobrinon's files. How in hell can we lift off in 5 days unless you move those lazy techs!"
"Parollan," Railly began with a full spleen to unload, "you're under arrest. You're fined. You're. . ."
"I resigned, remember, Railly?" Niall roared back, gathering fresh impetus. "You have no authority to fine or arrest or order me anywhere. I'm a citizen of Central Worlds, acting as mobile partner to the Helva-834. She contracted a mission with you, stipulating in Paragraph 6, Section 1, that she would have free choice of aforesaid partner, to wit, one Niall Parollan. There was nothing taped about the rank or status of said Niall Parollan. And if you think you can make something of it, my resignation is time-stamped before those Federation credits came in. Therefore, before the contract extension took effect. Now, if you want to tie this ship up in a court battle over who bosses who, go right ahead. But if you want to get this ship off her expensive ass to Beta Corvi to vet your lovely new power source, you'd better start moving!"
Helva should have known that Niall would neither explain or humble himself. And perhaps such an offensive was the only effective method of dealing with Railly. She could feel sorry for the Chief's aide, standing in paralyzed shock at Railly's elbow. She was glad for his sake as well as theirs that Rocco and Amiking were still there. In fact, she didn't doubt that Niall counted on their presence to force Railly to accept this bald revision of the facts.
And the Chief was going to have to accept this version. He had no choice and no recourse, not before representatives of powerful organizations that he could not antagonize.
"You'll move, Parollan," he vowed in a strangled voice, "and you'll work like you never believed a team could work."
"Naturally."
"And one day. . ." Railly grated out the words, "one day, Parollan, you're going to outsmart yourself!"
"No prophecies, Chief, just the tapes and models. Nice to see you, Rocco, Captain. Signing off."
As the screen blanked, Niall turned back to Helva, his expression oddly defenseless.
"He'd give his pension to know I already have, wouldn't he, Helva?" He spoke in a quiet, resigned voice, but his wide grin took away the sting. And the look in his eyes, possessive, proud, loving, intensely alive, made Helva's mind reel with joy.
They'd come through this crisis together after all. They could face any challenge. They knew each other better than she and Jennan ever had. They knew each other's strengths, and flaws. This was going to be bright heaven with fireworks, a constant stretching toward challenge and achievement. Helva longed to extend this ardent moment. Such pure happiness was so rare, so fragile.
The Cencom beeped to shatter it.
"Ah, Mr. Parollan? I mean, XH, ah, NH-834?" a nervous voice stammered.
"Parollan here," he said without glancing away from her column, knowing she'd open the channel.
"Sir, we can't use the lift to make delivery because. . ."
Helva cut him off as she belayed the tamper field, restored the lift power and slid the lock open.
"Fardles, what a way to take command. Look at me!" Niall swore, suddenly aware of externals again, of the filthy clothes he wore. "I'd've been cleaner if they'd dragged me back." He began to strip off the torn clothes as he strode toward the pilot's quarters. "Order me some gear from Base quartermaster, Helva. They know my size. Tell someone to pick up a small black carrier on guard post 17. And, oh yes, the perimeter sensors are shorted between 17 and 18."
He continued to give instructions while showering, dressing in the hastily delivered shipsuit, grabbing a quick meal from the galley. Neither her lift nor com circuits were free a moment. The main cabin sprouted additional tables to accommodate the drive models and the tape files Dobrinon rushed over. Niall sent for every filmstrip from the exploratory ship. He seemed indefatigable, yet he'd been up the previous night and running half the day. Railly could never work Niall as hard as he'd work himself. . . and her.
"Hey, Helva," Niall said suddenly, squinting toward the open lock, "turn on some light. I can barely see."
"I'd no idea it had got so late." She scanned the equatorial dusk.
Just then the mellow brass voice of a trumpet from the top of Base Tower sounded the ceremonial day's end call. Day's end. . . and requiem. The rich measured notes floated over the great Service Base, out to the distant cemetery under the great trees. Once she'd heard it only as requiem. Tonight. . . each day dies, Helva thought, to let night with its darkness for sorrowing and sleep complete its course and bring. . . a new day. Taps, a simple, poignant statement of end and beginning.
Day is done
Gone the sun,
From the sea, from the land, from the sky.
All is well.
Rest in peace,
God is nigh!
Goodbye, Jennan. Welcome, Niall.
As the last note died away in dark space and in her heart, she saw Niall's knowing eyes on her, wary, expectant.
"Such a sentimental tradition for a modern Service," Helva murmured. "Blowing taps at sundown."
"And you love it," he said, unexpectedly, in a grating voice. "You'd have tears in your eyes, if you could."
"Yes," she admitted. "I would. If I could."
"It's a good thing I'm so nasty. Balances your soft heart-partner," he said. "Helva! Don't ever change."
He might as well have been singing.
THE END
About the Author
Anne McCaffrey shuttles between her home in Ireland and the United States, where she picks up awards and honors and greets her myriad fans. She is one of the field's most popular authors.