If the authorities remarked on her curious avocation, they did so among themselves. Shell-people were encouraged to develop a hobby so long as they maintained proficiency in their technical work.
On the anniversary of her 16th year, Helva was unconditionally graduated and installed in her ship, the XH-834. Her permanent titanium shell was recessed behind an even more indestructible barrier in the central shaft of the scout ship. The neural, audio, visual, and sensory connections were made and sealed. Her extendibles were diverted, connected or augmented and the final, delicate-beyond-description brain taps were completed while Helva remained anesthetically unaware of the proceedings. When she woke, she was the ship. Her brain and intelligence controlled every function from navigation to such loading as a scout ship of her class needed. She could take care of herself, and her ambulatory half, in any situation already recorded in the annals of Central Worlds and any situation its most fertile minds could imagine.
Her first actual flight, for she and her kind had made mock flights on dummy panels since she was 8, showed her to be a complete master of the techniques of her profession. She was ready for her great adventures and the arrival of her mobile partner.
There were nine qualified scouts sitting around collecting base pay the day Helva reported for active duty. There were several missions that demanded instant attention, but Helva had been of interest to several department heads in Central for some tune and each bureau chief was determined to have her assigned to his section. No one had remembered to introduce Helva to the prospective partners. The ship always chose its own partner. Had there been another brain ship at the base at the moment, Helva would have been guided to make the first move. As it was, while Central wrangled among itself, Robert Tanner sneaked out of the pilots’ barracks, out to the field and over to Helva’s slim metal hull.
“Hello, anyone at home?” Tanner said.
“Of course,” replied Helva, activating her outside scanners. “Are you my partner?” she asked hopefully, as she recognized the Scout Service uniform.
“All you have to do is ask,” he retorted in a wistful tone.
“No one has come. I thought perhaps there were no partners available and I’ve had no directives from Central.”
Even to herself Helva sounded a little self-pitying, but the truth was she was lonely, sitting on the darkened field. She had always had the company of other shells and, more recently, technicians by the score. The sudden solitude had lost its momentary charm and become oppressive.
“No directives from Central is scarcely a cause for regret, but there happen to be eight other guys biting their fingernails to the quick just waiting for an invitation to board you, you beautiful thing.”
Tanner was inside the central cabin as he said this, running appreciative fingers over her panel, the scout’s gravity-chair, poking his head into the cabins, the galley, the head, the pressured-storage compartments.
“Now, if you want to goose Central and do us a favor all in one, call up the barracks and let’s have a ship-warming partner-picking party. Hmmmm?”
Helva chuckled to herself. He was so completely different from the occasional visitors or the various Laboratory technicians she had encountered. He was so gay, so assured, and she was delighted by his suggestion of a partner-picking party. Certainly it was not against anything in her understanding of regulations.
“Cencom, this is XH-834. Connect me with Pilot Barracks.”
“Visual?”
“Please.”
A picture of lounging men in various attitudes of boredom came on her screen.
“This is XH-834. Would the unassigned scouts do me the favor of coming aboard?”
Eight figures galvanized into action, grabbing pieces of wearing apparel, disengaging tape mechanisms, disentangling themselves from bedsheets and towels.
Helva dissolved the connection while Tanner chuckled gleefully and settled down to await their arrival.
Helva was engulfed in an unshell-like flurry of anticipation. No actress on her opening night could have been more apprehensive, fearful or breathless. Unlike the actress, she could throw no hysterics, china objets d’art or grease-paint to relieve her tension. She could, of course, check her stores for edibles and drinks, which she did, serving Tanner from the virgin selection of her commissary.
Scouts were colloquially known as ‘brawns’ as opposed to their ship ‘brains’. They had to pass as rigorous a training program as the brains and only the top 1 percent of each contributory world’s highest scholars were admitted to Central Worlds Scout Training Program. Consequently the eight young men who came pounding up the gantry into Helva’s hospitable lock were unusually fine-looking, intelligent, well coordinated and adjusted young men, looking forward to a slightly drunken evening, Helva permitting, and all quite willing to do each other dirt to get possession of her.
Such a human invasion left Helva mentally breathless, a luxury she thoroughly enjoyed for the brief time she felt she should permit it.
She sorted out the young men. Tanner’s opportunism amused but did not specifically attract her; the blond Nordsen seemed too simple; dark-haired Alatpay had a kind of obstinacy with which she felt no compassion; Mir-Ahnin’s bitterness hinted an inner darkness she did not wish to lighten, although he made the biggest outward play for her attention. Hers was a curious courtship, this would be only the first of several marriages for her, for brawns retired after 75 years of service, or earlier if they were unlucky. Brains, their bodies safe from any deterioration, were indestructible. In theory, once a shell-person had paid off the massive debt of early care, surgical adaptation and maintenance charges, he or she was free to seek employment elsewhere. In practice, shell-people remained in the service until they chose to self-destruct or died in line of duty. Helva had actually spoken to one shell-person 322 years old. She had been so awed by the contact she hadn’t presumed to ask the personal questions she had wanted to.
Her choice of a brawn did not stand out from the others until Tanner started to sing a scout ditty, recounting the misadventures of the bold, dense, painfully inept Billy Brawn. An attempt at harmony resulted in cacophony and Tanner wagged his arms wildly for silence.
“What we need is a roaring good lead tenor. Jennan, besides palming aces, what do you sing?”
“Sharp,” Jennan replied with easy good humor.
“If a tenor is absolutely necessary, I’ll attempt it,” Helva volunteered.
“My good woman,” Tanner protested.
“Sound your ‘A’,” laughed Jennan.
Into the stunned silence that followed the rich, clear, high ‘A,’ Jennan remarked quietly, “Such an A, Caruso would have given the rest of his notes to sing.”
It did not take them long to discover her full range.
“All Tanner asked for was one roaring good lead tenor,” Jennan said jokingly, “and our sweet mistress supplied us an entire repertory company. The boy who gets this ship will go far, far, far.”
“To the Horsehead Nebula?” asked Nordsen, quoting an old Central saw.