Final Preparations

28

Final Preparations

    In the end, the only one of Jhl’s relatives to elect to join the expedition was G’gg. The expectable lamentations and wailings ensued, more especially since M’mri’in was in on the act, but eventually S’zaan said heavily: “It is his life. And he’s right: he won’t get another chance like this. He can go.”

    So G’gg came aboard and there was the expectable ecstatic reunion with Trff’s puce Flppu, and with the blue Flppu, that had appointed itself Official Ship’s Flppu. The ship had let it, so no being had bothered to argue. G’gg then had it impressed upon him that the blue one was his responsibility. If it was allowed to starve, or its fluff was found to be filthy—

    “Yeah, sure, BrTl!” he grinned. “We’ll keep an eye on each other, eh, Fl’Oo-ooueroii?”

    And the ship had strict orders not to provide ANY BEING with maxi-shakes, jolly-lollies, or any other form of unnecessary nourishment not specifically approved by the Captain.

    “By Aunty Jhl?” he asked sadly.

    “Yes,” affirmed BrTl grimly.

    “Yes, Supernumerary G’gg!” squeaked Fl’Oo-ooueroii, bobbing.

    Yes, affirmed the ship sadly.

    Stop that! ordered BrTl angrily. It had got very hypered up since the re-blobbing or pwlding or whatever the Federation Trff had done to it.

    Sorry, First.

    BrTl wasn’t absolutely sure whether that could have been read as insubordination, but he let it go. “And don’t think—I can see you’re thinking it, I’m not slow, thanks—that you’re in for a twenty-year jaunt with no school. All junior beings on this expedition are up for stiff courses in astrophysics and advanced maths, to name only two. In fact,” he added on a strange note, “you can join her cluh-clah— Help! Classes!” He fell all over the companionway, laughing himself silly. Fortunately the ship’s strengthened xrillion, almost-maxi-cruiser-class companionways could more than take it, and it had the sense to snatch G’gg and the Flppus up out of the way.

    “Help! Put me down!” wailed G’gg from up near the ceiling.

    BrTl recovered himself and hoiked him down.

    “Gosh! Galaxious! Thanks, BrTl!”

    “That was not a treat,” he said, looking down his noses at him.

    Sniggering, G’gg replied brazenly: “Not half! Gee, in your actual hand!”

    “It’ll be a pseudopod next time,” he said huffily, retrieving the Flppus with a couple.

    “Anyway, what’s so funny about Aunty Jhl’s classes?”

    “Oh! It’ll be you and Y-K-W, G’gg!”

    “Very funny,” he said uncertainly.

    “No, it will. He’s at about your level: well, his mathematics are way past yours, Trff gave him some coaching. But definitely in astrophysics, he only got part-way through Second School while were on that place where The Old Woman lives.”

    “Oh,” he said weakly. “Um, I don’t think you need to be so cautious on the ship, BrTl, especially with all that re-blobbing and stuff.”

    No being can penetrate this ship’s shield, the ship sent smugly.

    BrTl managed not to dignify that with a response. “No, actually I’ve forgotten its name. It had, um, water, yes, water, all round it.”

    G’gg fell all over the xrillion companionway, laughing himself silly.

    “Very funny, hah, hah. Not a need-to-retain,” he said grimly. “You wanna see your cabin?”

    Of course he did. Various remarks were passed on the way, such as: “Gee, it’s got bigger!” or: “I don’t remember that!” but BrTl ignored them all superbly.

    “Galaxious!” he breathed after BrTl had sent Open, and the blue Flppu, unasked, had also sent Open.

    BrTl had been about to apologise for the horrifically low ceiling of the horrifically cramped quarters. “Er—yeah. Suited to the humanoid physiology,” he said weakly as G’gg went into it.

    “Ye-ah! Hey, a hygiene cabinet! Hey, is this just for me?” he breathed.

    “Yes,” said BrTl heavily. “What other being would want— Sorry.”

    “Oh, many other beings might desire such galaxious accommodation, Great BrTl,” squeaked the blue Flppu, bobbing. “Any humbler beings who might be permitted to share this sumptuous humanoid cabin!”

    “It, it means, as if you couldn’t guess,” said BrTl sourly.

    “Yeah, ’course you can share it, Fl’Oo-ooueroii,” said G’gg kindly. He smiled kindly at BrTl. “I expect Trff’s awfully busy with all the re-blobbing stuff, isn’t it? Aunty Jhl sent me a message not to expect to see it for a while.”

    “Yeah,” he admitted glumly. “Uh—didn’t see her, did you, I suppose?”

    “No, um, not since I was home, she come to see Grandma and Grandpa. Um, Mum and Dad, to you, BrTl. Grandma, I mean Mum, she bawled all over the place. Water coming out of her eyes,” he elaborated kindly.

    Incautiously BrTl nodded. “Ow!” he gasped as his head connected with G’gg’s ceiling. “Yes, she would. That’s a very vivid picture, G’gg,” he approved. “I've got to get back to duty. Just send ‘Open’ or ‘Close’ if you want the hatch, I mean cabin door, to open or close.”

    “Ye-ah! Galaxious!” he breathed. “Hey BrTl, c’n I see the—”

    “No,” said BrTl quickly before the word “hyperdrive” was out of his mammalian mouth.

    “Aw! Gee, I wouldn’t—”

    “I know. But it’s—um, dunno.” He looked at him sadly.

    “I see!” said G’gg brightly as he got a very strong picture of one of Grandma’s culture-pans simmering. “The blobs and the pwld are being cooked up together, that it? That’s all right, BrTl. I’ll ask Trff for a look when they’re done, eh?”

    “Yes,” he said weakly. “Do that, G’gg.” He withdrew his head and shoulders gingerly from the cabin.

    “Hang on!” cried G’gg. “What do I do now?”

    BrTl peered in at him blankly. “Whatever you like. Um—I’m checking ships’ manifests today. Well, this IG week, really. Do you want to help with that?”

    “Yeah! Neato!” he cried. “Thanks, BrTl!”

    Prudently remaining in the companionway, BrTl shrugged. All right, so be it. It was one of the most boring jobs in the Known Universe, because every ship’s captain, not to say every ship’s engineer, would have primed their ship to list exactly what it ought to be listing; and therefore, to get it to list what was actually— Never mind, if the being wanted to, so be it.

    “Boy,” said G’gg helpfully, having prudently told Fl’Oo-ooueroii to guard their cabin.—Close.—“Boy,” he repeated as they set off.

    “What?”

    “Immature male humanoid. Boy,” he said patiently.

    “I’ve got things on my mind,” explained BrTl mournfully.

    “Yeah, and ya Service greige Space Fleet coveralls on ya back!” he choked. “Are they as uncomfortable across the shoulders as they look?”

    Glumly BrTl admitted: “More. I can hardly move. These are about ten IG years old. But it’s claimed that there’s no blob power to spare for the recycler, as yet.”

    That’s correct, First!

    BrTl gave in entirely, and hauled off and kicked it in the guts. “OW!” he bellowed, as, in spite of the Space Issue boots, the xrillion bulkhead had the expectable effect on his big toe. “Sorry,” he said glumly, hoiking down the grinning G’gg.

    “That’s okay! Hey, them restrainos, it has got enough blob power for them, eh?”

    “What?” BrTl followed his gaze to the ceiling. “Oh. Yes, standard issue on all ships with xathpyroid cr—” He stopped, G’gg was already laughing himself silly. “Come on,” he said resignedly. “Grab this notebook.”

    “Gee!  A notebook!”

    “It’s an Expedition Manifest Notebook and one of the most boring— Oh, forget it, forget it,” he sighed. “Come on, only another twenty-seven thousand ships to check.”

    “Thirty-two,” corrected G’gg solemnly, consulting the notebook.

    “It’ll feel like twenty-seven thousand,” he promised. “This way.” –Open. OPEN, blast you to Blerrinbrig’s and—

    “Hey, the blobs are hyper, eh?” ascertained the percipient boy, nipping out the open hatch.

    BrTl followed him quickly. “You said it.” –Close. CLOSE! WILL YOU CLOSE!! “And now we can look forward to twenty-odd light years of it!” he noted brightly.

    Strangely, G’gg at this fell all over the exclusive, A-Class, super-duper, maxi-galaxy Whtyllian-style spaceport tarmac on which they were now standing, laughing himself silly. “You—haven’t—changed—BrTl!” he choked.

    “No. Did you think I would? And just you wait, some others haven’t changed, either.”

    G’gg just grinned, and they set off to check ships’ manifests together, hand-in-pseudopod.

    The shining ships were gathering on the great plain that constituted Space Fleet HQ Whtyll. Approximately five megazillion lesser ships had attempted to gather but had been chased off by assorted Space Patrollers and IG M.C. beings with time on their appendages and blasters or even probes in the same. Likewise all those beings that had attempted to penetrate the perimeter fence, or, more brazenly, the very entrance gate itself, with offers of themselves, their provender, their progeny, their neighbours’ progeny, cognates, or affines, a better form of pwld, a better form of long-lasting agar-agar, a more reliable kind of hyperblob, and, in short, you name it. Anything and any being in the two galaxies that could possibly be of use to the First Federation Expedition to the Third Galaxy was on offer. And not a few things and beings that could be of no conceivable use to any being. Just as well it was all on an official Space Fleet footing, because just keeping these hopeful salesbeings out would have taken several intergalactic private fortunes.

    “A small mammalian humanoid being wishes to come aboard, First!” squeaked the blue Flppu, bobbing.

    BrTl sighed. “It's gone all Space Fleet, why did you have to tell it it wasn’t Service enough?” he said heavily to their Supernumerary.

    “’Cos you were fed up with it calling you Great BrTl all the time. At least I haven’t told it to polish the companionways,” he said pointedly.

    “Er—true. If this small mammalian humanoid being is the Captain, you’re for the hyperdrive!” he promised the Flppu.

    “Oh, no indeed, First! This humble Official Ship’s Flppu knows the Captain!” it assured him in shocked tones. Emanating shock.

    “Stop that emanating. Has it got any ID?”—It bobbed.—“Go and check,” he said evilly.

     It bobbed off hurriedly.

    “I don’t suppose it might be S’zzie? How small is small, to a Flppu?” wondered BrTl.

    “She couldn’t come by herself, BrTl. And I think it would’ve said if it was R’shn as well.”

    “Yes. What did she decide to do, again?”

    “To stay on Old Rthfrdia,” G’gg explained patiently.

    “Oh, on the primmo. Yes.”

    “Mum thinks, um, I mean S’zaan, but actually Grandma, um, Mum, she thinks so too, that she’s getting quite fond of Collector Kadry,” he said cautiously.

    “Ugh, is she? Repro stuff as well? –Ugh. Um, but is he still on Old Rthfrdia?”

    “Dunno. Hey, you know Captain BkHl?”

    “Very well indeed,” he said, baring the crunchers.

    “Yeah, thought so,” agreed G’gg, unmoved. “Well, would he be likely to get his ship to declare fifty thousand crates of unreconstituted Wofer orange juice when actually it was carrying seventy-five thousand crates of unreconstituted fruit juice and twenty-five thousand crates of IG-illegal hyperblobs cradled in IG-illegal plush-moss? Well, undeclared plush-moss,” he amended dubiously.

    “That is IG-illegal, and the simplistic arithmetic sounds exactly like him, and the short answer’s Yes.”

    “I did look, but I could only see fifty thousand, even with them shades you, um, lent me.”

    “I said: the simplistic arithmetic sounds just like him, of course you could only see half the crates.” BrTl held out a hand and G’gg put the notebook into it. “Who does he imagine he’s going to sell hyperblobs to in the Third Galaxy?” he muttered into it.

    G’gg was just beginning: “Dunno. Crooked Third Galaxy beings?” when the Flppu reappeared, and the ship piped Coming aboard!

    Do NOT do that! ordered BrTl terribly.

    “Me, First?” it squeaked.

    “No, the ship. What’s coming aboard?”

    Saluting smartly, the Flppu reported: “Beg to report: Supernumerary Ven L’Thea, V617-948-008-342, of New Rthfrdia reporting aboard, First!”

    “I know a L’Thea,” he said uncertainly.

    “They give them names like that on New Rthfrdia,” said G’gg indifferently.

    “Yes. It is me. Hullo, BrTl,” said a small voice in not-very-good Slaetho-Xathpyrian.

    “L’Thea!” he cried, bounding up.

    When the echoes had ceased reverberating and the ship had tenderly lowered all smaller beings to the floor and BrTl had apologised all round and sent for steaming basins, um, glasses of whatever they fancied—YES, he was allowed to countermand the Captain’s order in re maxi-galaxy shakes, G’gg, only don’t take it as a precedent—and they were all seated and sipping, he admitted limply: “I never expected to see you again.”

    “I know,” she said, going very pink.

    “Senso-tissues,” ordered G’gg briefly.

    “Thank you,” she said as some pale green ones drifted into her hand. “Pretty!” she approved, smiling mistily at BrTl. “I don’t know if you remember me,” she said shyly to G’gg.

    “Yeah, I remember it all. Like when we seen you in the nursing-home pretending to be Aunty Jhl, and all that.”

    “He’s been practising: certain other beings have decided he needs all the powers he can get,” explained BrTl.

    “Of course! For the expedition!” she beamed.

    At this point the blue Flppu, possibly with some vague recollection of the formal manners it had observed in the Vt R’aam palace, suggested that the First Officer and the lady visitor might care to be left alone together, but G’gg merely looked blank and BrTl said blankly: “It’s not a secret, is it?” so it desisted.

    “No, of course it’s not a secret,” said L’Thea. “They were calling for civilian volunteers, so I volunteered.”

    “Volunteered? You’re coming with us?” he gasped.

    “Yes. Help!” gulped L’Thea as he then produced a very loud, painful, penetrating—

    The ship reckons it’s the Slaetho-Xathpyrian hum, sent G’gg helpfully. I never heard him do it before, ’ve you?

    No, she sent, smiling at him whilst clutching her ears and shaking her head.

    G’gg kicked BrTl smartly in the shin just above the Space Issue boot.

    “Ow,” he said, stopping. “Help, sorry, was I humming?” Carefully he bared his crunchers at L’Thea. “I’m very glad that you’re coming—” He stopped, L’Thea was laughing herself silly.

    “You—don’t—need—to smile—for me, BrTl!” she gasped, mopping her eyes.

    “No; I’d forgotten,” he admitted happily. “Well, this is better, isn’t it!”

    “Thanks,” noted G’gg drily.

    “I like you, too, G’gg,” he said quickly. “But L’Thea’s learning my Slaetho-Xathpyrian dialect!”

    “Yes. It’s hard, but very interesting,” she said. “They have different voices from us, G’gg.”

    “I noticed.”

    “Not that!” she squeaked, giggling. “Ooh, help! –Grammatical voices. Linguistically, G’gg.”

    “Sounds boring,” he admitted cheerfully. “Hey, ya wanna see your cabin?”

    “Um, but I don’t think I’m officially on your ship!” she gasped.

    One smallish humanoid being, female, has been added to the manifest, announced the ship.

    “Notebook!” said BrTl irritably to G’gg, snapping his fingers.

    Dubiously G’gg consulted it. “It looks all right.”

    “Blink at it, asteroid-brain!” he hissed.

    “Eh? Oh.” G’gg lowered his shades. “Yeah, good. I guess she’s officially aboard.”

    “Am I?” she quavered. “That’s great. But they wouldn’t let me bring any of my luggage. –Clothes and stuff,” she explained.

    “If they made ya go through Decontam.,” said G’gg, “ya clothes get done separate, like, and ya pick them up outside.”

    “Yes, but they wouldn’t return them.”

    He looked thoughtfully at her elaborate wound garment. “Can’t say I blame them. Were you seriously proposing to set off for the Third Galaxy in something like that?”

    “All my clothes are like this, they’re ladyship gowns from plasmo-blasted Old Rthfrdia, from when I was being—” She broke off abruptly.

    “Lord Mk-L’ster’s Pleasure Being—yeah. We can read ya. And the ship won’t let anything ya say get past it, you can bet ya Space Issue boots.”

    L’Thea looked in a confused way from G’gg’s giant boots to her own dainty hand-sewn nyr-hide Old Rthfrdian ladyship footwear. “Um, not his Pleasure Being, exactly. That stupid L’nnie. But I’m not her.” She stuck out her rounded chin.

    “We get it. Um, maybe the ship can issue you with some sensible clothes.”

    “Recycler,” warned BrTl in a doomed voice.

    “Uh—mok shit!” he gulped.

    “I'll try,” conceded BrTl heavily, getting up, “but five’ll get you ten in quadrupled triangles—” He tried. Nothing. “Nothing,” he reported.

    “Never mind, I got an idea!” cried G’gg. “Come on! Aunty Jhl won’t mind!” He seized L’Thea’s hand and dragged her out.

    BrTl followed slowly. If the ship would open Jhl’s cabin door for G’gg, and if it would allow him to access her garments, and if it would then allow L’Thea to assume any of said garments—no, not the uniforms, it wasn’t silly. But if it would allow her to wear any of the others, this might work. Otherwise she’d just have to wear that strange wound garment until Vvlvania froze over or until Jhl got back to the ship, two periods which had begun to seem more and more coterminous.

    “See?” he said glumly, reaching her cabin door to find a red-faced G’gg and a disconcerted L’Thea.

    “Mok shit,” muttered the resourceful boy.

    “First, I have a suggestion, sir!” squeaked the puce Flppu, bobbing excitedly.

    BrTl took a deep breath, but conceded it could put it forward. Fl’Jfaffl’s suggestion was to get on over to the fence and buy a suitable garment off one of the—

    “NO.”

    That was that, and they all went off to show L’Thea her cabin. And lo! On the mammalian humanoid bed, horribly small, but then, she wasn’t large, was laid out a very, very neat, spanking new Durocloth coverall in Service greige!

    Compliments of— The ship subsided, it must have felt BrTl’s emanations even before he emanated them.

    “Hey! Good one!” cried G’gg admiringly. “Hey, you know you’re aboard a blobbed-up ship now, eh, L’Thea?”

    L’Thea looked weakly at the awful, awful Durocloth coverall. Not again!

    “It’s not that different from mine!” G’gg congratulated her.

    Nor it was.

    “Or even from BrTl’s Space Issue uniform one!” he congratulated her.

    That was true, too. They were all looking at her, emanating bright expectancy. Smiling weakly, L’Thea got out of the elaborate ladyship dress of finest mn-mn silk and into the Thing. She knew from past experience that it would be wonderfully comfortable, and of course it was, but Service greige was the ugliest colour in the Known Universe and made her skin look dead.

    “That’s better!” cried G’gg in congratulatory tones.

    “Much better!” echoed Fl’Jfaffl.

    “Very functional!” squeaked Fl’Oo-ooueroii.

    L’Thea looked nervously at BrTl.

    “Yes. You look more like a ship-companion now.” He thought about it. “More like you,” he decided pleasedly.

    Smiling weakly, L’Thea squared her shoulders inside It. Well, if this was the sort of sacrifice it took to go along on the one and only First Federation Expedition to the Third Galaxy, so be it! Because she wouldn’t miss it for anything!

    Jhl stood in the Spaceport Control Room, high above the tarmac of Space Fleet HQ Whtyll, a notebook in her hand. And glared at the contents of the tarmac. After quite some period had passed in silent glaring, one of the Spaceport Controllers, a Thwurbullerian bearing the rank of Lieutenant-Commander, said apologetically: “That Bhylloblaster shouldn’t really be there, Captain.”

    “No!” replied Jhl in astonishment.

    Wincing, the Thwurbullerian nevertheless persisted: “It brought the load of spare blobs the Admiral requested, and, um, there wasn’t room for it over in the cargo area.”

    Jhl had to swallow. A Bhylloblaster-load of spare blobs, when they only had—count ’em—fifty-two ships? Had the man run mad? Was there some sort of Whtyllian paranoia that she’d never heard of?’

    Yes, but we don’t think he’s got that.

    Jumping slightly, she replied: “Sorry, Commander. Didn’t mean to broadcast. Er—well, has it unloaded?”

    “No. Still in progress,” it admitted.

    “Uh-huh. Well, these fifty-two ships are fully laden, apart from that,” said Jhl grimly.

    All of the beings in the Spaceport Control Room could then clearly be perceived emanating sympathy and the message: It is only an exploratory expedition, Captain.

    Jhl sighed. True. And it was true that Shank’yar had insisted on recruiting from Space Fleet personnel only, until it had dawned that they weren’t getting enough volunteers—or at least, not enough suitable ones. All the beings in Space Fleet with any indications towards any sort of obsessional tendency that might, if left to develop, result in incarceration in a Mullgon’ya nursing-home for life, had volunteered. The screening process had taken quite some time. They had ended up with seven hundred and fifty-eight beings who met Shank’yar’s strict specifications, not counting assorted Flppus that assorted crew, in view of the blue and puce ones on Jhl’s own ship, had been permitted to bring along. And all right, they could bring their cursed pet lemurs and whatever those other things were, but THIS WAS NOT A PLEASURE-TRIP! So a few New Rthfrdian lemurs and several singing fish had been added to various ships’ manifests, and one smuggled immature Kernarvian balloon had been led off, in view of the fact that they grew to enormous size and required inordinate amounts of o-breather mixture in order to survive. And its possessor had been severely reprimanded by her captain.

    Seven hundred and fifty-eight beings was not enough, according to the Admiral, so civilians having been allowed to volunteer, they had ended up with, in toto, again excluding Flppus, two thousand and two, count ’em, two thousand and two sentient beings within the Meaning. He was very annoyed about it. Also about the time it had taken to screen the megazillions of wildly unsuitable volunteers. Being-rights being what they were in the Federated Worlds of the Two Galaxies, every civilian being that was turned down had had to be given a reason that would stand up in IG law… Time-wasting mok shit, quite. And he bitterly regretted ever having taken the decision to call for them—quite.

    The Orpetularian will be all right.

    Jhl jumped. “Huh? Oh, was I broadcasting again? Sorry. I suppose it will, yes. So long as it can stick out the period until it’s due to divide without going crazy from loneliness.”

    “I saw it the other day. Did you know it had a spell in Ground Control before doing its Pilot Training? Quite a unique being,” said the Spaceport Controller admiringly. “It seemed quite happy and placid. It’s got a Flppu for company, you know. A yellow one, very pretty.”

    “Oh, well, good,” said Jhl weakly. Company or food, she reflected silently: they got ravenous when ready to divide.

    “Each one carries the entire Orpetularian gene pool, Captain, so if you do get, um,”—stranded, broadcast every being in the room—“um, I mean, if you can’t come back, it will be viable for um, settlement.”

    “Yes. We haven’t got enough Friyrians, though,” said Jhl, biting her lip.

    “No, well, not to be anything-ist, they do tend to look after Friyrians first, last and sideways, don’t they?” said the Spaceport Controller, waggling its frontal lobes in the Thwurbullerian equivalent of a laugh.

    Too right! they all broadcast with great feeling.

    Jhl cleared her throat. “Very probably, though this isn’t quite a proper conversation, is it, Commander?”

    “No, sir,” it said, shutting up like a dendrion nut and waggling its frontal lobes apologetically.

    “Well, once that Bhylloblaster is cleared out of the way and we’ve run a last security check, we’ll start testing the drives. Essential personnel only,” she said firmly over the mind-clamour of Ooh! Exciting! Wow! and similar. She took a deep breath. “You might like to let your people know, Commander, that there’ll be nothing much to see. The new drives won’t be blobbed up until the ships are in hyperspace.”

    Ignoring the emanations of terrific disappointment, she nodded firmly to the Commander, and strode out. Great splintered shards of quog! It was worse than an appointment to a pleasure-planet! Well, almost as bad: the difference being that there was plenty to do. Plenty of the most time-wasting intergalactic mok shit ever invented by the combined minds of Federation bureaucracy at its worst.

    Captain coming aboard! piped the ship.

    BrTl sat up, blinking. “Where have you been?” he said aggrievedly as his Captain came into the officers’ mess looking bleary.

    Captain on board!

    “Stop that piping,” ordered Jhl grimly. “I've been all over the Federation visiting all the pleasure-planets to say a last goodbye, where do you think I’ve been?” she snarled.

    “Basin of qwlot?” he offered meekly. “Courtesy of the mess, since we seem to have acquired one.”

    “Thank you, First,” said Jhl grimly. “An IG shot glass will do. Humanoid size, thanks.”

    Sighing, BrTl handed it to her. “Do you relieve me?” he said without hope.

    “Not yet, no,” she said, downing it.

    “Well, what are you doing?” he whined.

    “Boring intergalactic bureaucratic MOK SHIT! What do you THINK?” she shouted.

    “Welcome aboard, Captain!” squeaked the blue Flppu, bouncing in emanating panting.

    “Thank you, Fl’Oo-ooueroii,” said Jhl grimly. “Please stop that emanating. Why aren’t you asleep?”

    “I woke up when the ship piped you aboard, Captain,” it said respectfully.

    “I see. Well, you can go back to bed now. No—come here a moment, please.”

    Very pleased to be the focus of its Captain’s attention, Ship’s Flppu Fl’Oo-ooueroii bobbed up to her, extended a flexible appendage, and saluted.

    “Sorry,” said BrTl faintly, closing his eyes in spite of himself.

    “Not your fault,” allowed Jhl, inspecting the Flppu’s fluff narrowly. “Roses?” she croaked.

    “Master G’gg allows me to use his splendidly galaxious hygiene cabinet, Captain,” it said respectfully.

    “Uh-huh.” Jhl poked it gingerly in the region of its middle. “Stuffed like a grqwary ready for Galaxy Day,” she said limply in Bluellian.

    “Pardon, Captain?” it squeaked.

    “Uh—nothing. You seem to be getting enough to eat.”

    “Yes, indeed, Captain! Very nourishing approved food!”

    “Huh?” she said foggily to her First Officer.

    “It’s, um, been receiving from G’gg, think that’s the story. If it didn’t have a lot of tact for a Flppu, you’d be getting the resentment at the veto on the diet of maxi-galaxy shakes, too.”

    Jhl’s mouth twitched in spite of herself. “Right. Well, off you go, Fl’Oo-ooueroii, and just remember, if you have any complaints, take them straight to Commander BrTl.”

    “Yes, indeed, Captain!” It saluted, bobbed approximately seventeen times, and withdrew.

    “Me?” said BrTl glumly.

    “Space Fleet Regs. In any case, I haven’t got time to listen to crew complaints, I’ve barely got time to turn round.”

    “Ye-es… Oh! Figure of speech! Yes.”

    “Yes. That’s Full Commander, by the way, BrTl.”

    “You did it?” he said numbly.

    “No, I didn’t do it, I made him agree to do it and apparently he’s actually remembered it, amongst the five zillion megatonnes of Regulation sparf and assorted other mok shit he seems to have on his plate at the moment. –Figure of speech, again.”

    “Several,” he murmured. “Well, thanks anyway. I suppose it’ll come through— Ooh,” he said as the bars on his strained Service greige Durocloth shoulders suddenly changed. “Any IG microsecond now,” he finished feebly.

    “Yeah. The recycler still out of commission?”

    “What do you think?”

    Jhl sighed. “Yeah. Well, I’m for bed. Oh—hang on, do I gather that G’gg did get aboard okay?’

    “Um, yes,” he said limply, well though he knew her. “Um, one of the male cognates brought him. Not Dad.” He looked at her cautiously.

    “His Dad? Bhl? Yeah: S’zaan’s bond-partner.”

    “Oh, yes! Um, you didn’t see him?”

    “No, didn’t even know he was here. –Not a sender,” she said drily. “Remember that Galaxy Day we spent on Bluellia?”

    “Ten light-years ago,” he agreed, sighing. “I remember every moment of it, actually. Exquisite torture though it was, it was one of the happiest holidays of my life, funnily enough.”

    “Are you having second thoughts?” she demanded grimly.

    “Yes, of course,” replied BrTl simply. “I think every being on this super-duper Whtyllian tarmac at this instant is having second thoughts. But I’m still coming. We all are, as far as I can feel.”

    “Mm,” she said, smiling a little. “Sorry. Well, goodnight.”

    BrTl got up groggily. “I’m going to my stall, too.” They went out together. “Oh, um, we’ve got L’Thea, too, did you know?” he said awkwardly as Jhl looked in on the snoring G’gg and the wide-awake blue Flppu, tactfully in its Flppu-nest.

    “No,” she said indifferently. “Have we? Well, good show. How’s her Slaetho-Xathpyrian?”

    “Er—not improved. But there’ll be plenty of time to work on it!”

    “Yeah. Good,” she said, yawning.

    “This is her cabin,” he said hopefully.

    Jhl shrugged slightly but obligingly looked in. L’Thea was lying on her back, her mouth wide open, snoring.

    “Teach her not to do that, would you?” she said, ordering the door to Close. “There is the possibility that some of us will have to sleep in caves with unknown beings dropping off the roofs of same into our open maws.”

    “If that’s a hit at me—”

    “Yeah, teach yourself not to do it while you’re at it. The two of you can practise it in between”—she yawned widely—“the Slaetho-Xathpyrian and all those lessons in Tactical, Maths, and Elementary Navigation that every civilian being on this expedition is going to get, like it or not.”

    “She did say something about funny questions in the screening test… Are you serious?”

    “Yes. Just suppose that you and I get zapped, or get sick—there may be illnesses out there that the ship can’t handle,” she reminded him impatiently, “who’s going to navigate?”

    “Her or G’gg—right,” he conceded.

    “Yeah. So if you’ve got nothing better to do tomorrow morning you can get started on the lessons,” said his Captain grimly, going off to her cabin.

    “Right you are, Captain. –Oy!”

    Jhl paused. “What?”

    “Will we see you in the morning?”

    “Not unless you’re up at two o’clock, local time. Goodnight.” She disappeared.

    BrTl went glumly into his cabin. It was still pitch dark at two o’clock local time, had she forgotten it was vacuum-frozen Whtyll?

    No, she sent drily. Get some sleep.

    Sighing heavily, BrTl went into his stall. So much for the great adventure, and all together again, and… And besides, he couldn’t give any being lessons tomorrow, he and G’gg would have to spend all day monitoring the Manifests Notebook in case any of the Admiral’s adventurous-minded captains tried to slip anything, or any being, past them. Because Admiral Lord Shank’yar Vt R’aam’s decree that only adventurous-minded captains with over ten thousand IG hours Pilot’s experience would be accepted as Expedition Captains had sort of tended to overlook the fact that the adventurous-minded captains tended also to be the entrepreneurial captains, who not only knew every way in the two galaxies to work the system, up, down, and sideways, but were more than ready to do so. It went, in case the Admiral hadn’t noticed it, with the territory.

    “You mean she was here?” cried G’gg in shrill disappointment over his nourishing breakfast of Whtyllian cows’ milk on dry cereal cakes only fit for grqwaries after five IG years of drought. –Where suited to the metabolism, all ships’ companies had been ordered to use the local provender, and save the blobs.

    “Briefly.”

    “G’gg,” reproved L’Thea, “you haven’t even congratulated BrTl on his promotion!”

    “Eh? Oh—sorry, BrTl. Congratulations; Full Commander, eh? Galaxious! Hey, that’ll make that dim BkWl on Captain Olaf Berryman VI’s ship look pretty sick, eh?” he choked.

    “Yes. Thank you, G’gg. Would you like a small piece of this delicious roasted meat?”

    “Yeah, I would— Ooh, thanks!” he gasped as a “small” piece of grpplybeast meat landed on his plate, on the mess table next to his plate, and on part of L’Thea’s plate.

    BrTl closed one eye carefully at him. “Small in my terms.”

    “Too right! Mmm! Goob!” he said through it. “’Licioush!”

    Some beings might have concluded that that was all right, then, but neither BrTl nor L’Thea made that mistake. And sure enough, when a goodly portion of the meat had disappeared, G’gg returned to his grievance. “What’s Aunty Jhl doing?”

    “Bureaucratic mok shit!” squeaked the blue Flppu, bobbing. “Is that delicious meat suited to a Flppu’s metabolism, Great G’gg?”

    “’Fraid not, and don’t call me Great G’gg again, on pain of instant demotion to cargo.”

    The Flppu subsided, though not neglecting to emanate an impression of bright blue fluff turning pale—it had discovered the phrase somewhere in G’gg’s vocabulary.

    “Is she?” said G’gg glumly to BrTl.

    “Yeah.”

    “But so are we,” he said numbly. “And she’s a captain!”

    BrTl sighed, thoughtfully directing it away from the lighter beings at the mess table. “Space Fleet’s like that. Life’s like that, G’gg. Only sentient life as we know it, I grant you.”

    “Oh,” he said numbly.

    “Maybe the Third Galaxy will be different!” chirped Fl’Jfaffl brightly, bobbing a little. It caught the emanations and subsided.

    “Going there will be fun,” said G’gg cautiously at last.

    “No. Actually arriving may be exciting, and it may be dangerous: that may well constitute fun, granted. Going into this new kind of hyperdrive will definitely be dangerous, and possibly fun, though no being has yet managed to offer a clear picture of what sentient beings experience during it. Physically or emotionally. –The Admiral hasn’t let Jhl try it yet,” he added in response to G’gg’s mental confusion. “That’s not helping, by the by. Where was I? Oh, yes. Going there will be very largely boring, tedious, and, in terms of the commonly perceived space-time continuum, which granted may not obtain in pwlded space, very long-drawn-out. But it won’t be fun. Finished with that meat?”

    G’gg looked sadly at it and conceded he couldn’t manage any more. BrTl engulfed it casually before any being could suggest it might go to the recycler and help to blob it up. He got up. “Come on—work. Boring bureaucratic mok shit though it is, it is what’s required to get this expedition off the ground.”

    “So they tell us!” squeaked L’Thea, suddenly exploding in giggles. “I do love you, BrTl!”

    “Yeah, and so say all of us,” agreed G’gg, grinning. “I s’pose I can stand it. But lessons are gonna look real good, after this. You wanna come, L’Thea?”

    “Ooh, yes! What can I do?”

    “You can stand by and monitor anything that might be emanating in the vicinity of these plasmo-blasted adventurous captains. Every little helps,” acknowledged BrTl.

    And, notebooks having been gathered up, they went off to do that…

    “Vvlvanian-cursed diplo dinner,” explained Jhl grimly, standing before the sim-image of herself in dress uniform. She twitched crossly at the set of the jacket across the shoulders.

    “No recycler,” BrTl reminded her.

    “Shut up about the recycler, BrTl,” she warned.

    He sighed, but desisted. Instead he said: “Why diplo dinners at this stage, for Federation’s sake?”

    “No idea. All I know is, all ships’ captains were ordered to be there. End of story. Get that blue Flppu in here, would you?”

    The Flppu was delighted—delighted—to be asked to valet the Captain! …Er, there was very little that it could do about the uniform’s shoulders, it apologised.

    “No.” Jhl peered at her head. “Is this a Whtyllian ladyship hairdo?” she enquired grimly.

    “Oh, no, indeed, Captain! Entirely neat and ship-shape!”

    “Yeah. Well, it’ll do. Thanks, Fl’Oo-ooueroii.”

    It saluted and bobbed off happily.

    “I've no idea when I’ll be back or if I’ll be back tonight at all.”

    “If you get any news about when the ship might be due for its pwld test—”

    “BrTl, they’re still running safety checks on the second ship,” she groaned. “We’re twenty-fifth, remember?”

    “Yes. Well, the Thwurbullerians on Ship 1 came through it well.”

    Jhl eyed him drily. “Not to say, didn’t notice a thing, they’re like that. See ya.”

    “See ya,” he said sadly, looking sadly at the space where she’d been. He went out sadly, pretending to ignore the emanations of satisfaction as the ship closed her cabin hatch after him.

    The reason the Expedition Fleet captains had been ordered into dress uniform was pretty soon revealed, because up at the top table amongst all the sparf Jhl could dimly perceive, from her humble position in the body of the banquet room, a whole fleet of Federation Reppos, Ambassadors, and extraordinarily rich intergalactic pleasure-set persons with nothing better to do than attend diplo mok shit like this dinner. And, looking extremely calm and composed, Rh’aiiy’hn of Old Rthfrdia.

    After some time he saw her. She felt his little smile. The hairdo suits you.

    Enlightenment didn’t come until the dessert course, by which time things had visibly loosened up at the top table—though not so far as for those exalted personalities at it actually to come and chat at the lower tables—and the fifty-two captains at the lower tables had begun to circulate amongst themselves, with dishes of whatever-the-muck-was in the appendages, in the cases of those who had appendages or could cope with dishes or fancied the muck.

    “Whtyllian fruit mushed up with agar-agar, I think,” said a gloomy voice in the vicinity of somewhat above Jhl’s ear.

    Jhl turned and smiled up at Captain uprshardenarD uw drioneL of Nblyteria. “Hi, drioneL. Yeah, I think you’re right. I was offered some fluffed-up Whtyllian cows’ milk to go with it, too. Did they offer you that?”

    “No. Can’t be suited to the metabolism,” she said, shaking the pretty crested head. “Er—pardon my incivility, Jhl. You are a female, are you?”

    “Yes, that’s right.”

    “Not—er—not going into your male stage?”

    “No, we don’t do that; we’re different from you.”

    “I thought so. In that case, perhaps I should mention, though you may be aware of it, that your hairdo does closely resemble a male style that’s popular on New Rthfrdia and, um, several other humanoid worlds.”

    “Oh, does it? Well, considering a blue Flppu chose it, I suppose that’s not bad going. –Got it half right!” she explained with a grin. “Humanoid, at least!”

    “Yeah!” said Captain uprshardenarD with the loud rumble of bass laughter that typified crested Nblyterians in their female stage. “Oh, by the way, I think I owe you sincere thanks for saving a young relative of mine from a fate considerably worse than death.”

    “DqxH ut paxeR?” croaked Jhl limply, receiving a vivid mind-picture of his version of the rescue from Captain Marvel’s clutches. “Think nothing of it. He was my responsibility.”

    “Nevertheless,” she said, smiling. “Oh, and it’s ‘paxeL,’ now, s/he’s gone into her/s female stage.” She sniggered. “And got some sense!”

    “Glad to hear it,” admitted Jhl, grinning.

    Various intoxicants then began to be circulated by a crowd of, guess what, Whtyllian s-beings, and after a while drioneL suggested very tactfully a five with her and a trio of— No? Oh, well, no hard feelings?

    “No hard feelings,” agreed Jhl, smiling, and trying not to let her see that she was reading, loud and clear, the Nblyterian’s conclusion that the rumours about her and the Admiral were true.

    After that—and it probably wasn’t a coincidence: after all, they were all Pilots—about a dozen other captains managed to ask Jhl if she’d heard what the new drives were like. None of them quite believing her statement that all she knew was what they did, that was, what the Thwurbullerians had reported.

    And after that, and several rounds of meaningless formal toasts and diplo speeches, everyone really did begin to circulate freely, and Rh’aiiy’hn came up to her, smiling.

    “Hullo, Rh’aiiy’hn,” said Jhl feebly. “What in Federation are you doing on Whtyll?”

    “I came to see you take off, but it appears that won’t be for a while, yet. And Mother wanted to see something of Whtyll, and to spend some time with Cousin J’nfr.”

    “Who? Oh—Raj’s mother?” she said dazedly.

    “Yes. Not some sort of pre-emptive strike,” he said on a wry note. “Mother’s thinking of settling here, and after all, Raj and I are related, and she wanted to get to know Whtyll from the point of view of someone who doesn’t lead an entirely sheltered, privileged life.”

    “I see. Have you been here long?”

    “A few days. Mother rather likes it, so far.”

    “The winters are very long and bitter,” said Jhl dubiously.

    “Old Rthfrdian winters can also be very bitter: I think you missed the winter? Mm. Shall we sit down?” They sat down together, Jhl rather hoping that he wasn’t recalling other times in other plasmo-blasted diplo reception rooms, like she was.

    “May I ask what your plans are, Rh’aiiy’hn?”

    He looked wry. “I’ve had numerous offers.” Jhl winced as he let her see some of them. “Quite. But the one which appeals the most is the offer from the Federation to become Personal/Group Being Rights Commissioner.”

    The Commissioner was head of the body which administered the IG Inalienable Being-Rights Declaratory Act. “Rh’aiiy’hn, you’d be tangled up in Feddo bureaucratic mok shit for the rest of your life!” she gasped in horror.

    “No, well, one of the things I’d like to do is get rid of the bureaucratic mok shit.”

    Jhl’s jaw dropped. After a moment she managed to whisper: “That’s going against the whole history, what am I saying, the whole nature of sentient life as we know it!”

    “Yes, most of us do seem to build bureaucracies around ourselves, don’t we? I envisage that the main criterion for a judgement will not be precedents, but that the claimants are satisfied.”

    “Uh—they never are. That’s sentient-being nature, too,” she croaked.

    “Yes, it is,” he agreed. “Drouwh tells me I’m banging my head against a stone wall, like a bull kna beset by kna flies in summer.”

    Jhl nodded feelingly.

    “By satisfied, I don’t mean that the case has gone in the claimant’s favour, however. Just that they’re satisfied that the hearing has been fair.”

    “One percent of those who lose,” she whispered.

    “Very probably. But can it be worse than the present system? I’ve looked at the figures, and over the last hundred IG years, sixty-eight percent of the claimants have died before their cases could come to judgement. Which given the very wide variety of lifespans within the Federation, is appalling. Truly appalling.”

    “Y— Um, does this include the obsessed ones that re-appeal however manifestly just the verdict?”

    “Yes. Eighty-two percent of those died before their cases could be heard.”

    “Well, that’s logical: none of them would be precisely young, given that they’d have spent the preceding thousand IG years in litigation!”

    “Mm. I’m hoping to change that. To make it all happen on a much smaller, local scale. –To make it more humane,” he said in Old Rthfrdian, smiling a little.

    “Uh—oh. Right. But it is IG law, Rh’aiiy’hn,” she said dubiously.

    “Bringing IG law home to the people? Something like that,” he said, mocking himself gently. “No, well, the immense bureaucracy would be dismantled, and all those highly qualified Federation civil servants would be re-assigned to positions as local commissioners, in every community, however small, throughout the Federation. With two criteria for appointment: one, they wish for it, and two, they don’t come from the planet in question. We can’t pre-empt the usual local bribery attempts, but we can at least avoid the problem of victimisation of the judge’s affines, cognates, family, glkp group, or whatever.”

    “Um, how are you going to winnow out the ones whose cases don’t fall within IG law?”

    “That will still be done at the local law level.”

    “Rh’aiiy’hn, it isn’t working at the local law level!”

    His slanted blue eyes twinkled, just a little. “No. So I’ve decided that for every case there will be a judgement. Those who attempt to bring unsuitable cases will speedily find out their mistake. There has been a little trialling done. To take one example: there was a case where the claimant alleged that the respondent had been undercutting its price for Stryptwontian nymbo cheese. On Stryptwontia.” The eyes twinkled.

    “But it’s a whole bucket for almost nothing! And isn’t the price fixed anyway?”

    “Quite. Nevertheless, this being brought the case. The beings trialled as local commissioners all declared that there was no case to answer, though various forms of decision relating to wasting the court’s time were handed down. One judge ordered the claimant to clean the respondent’s buckets for the next ten IG years, regardless of the fact that cheese sellers don’t provide buckets, they’re provided by bucket sellers direct to the cheese buyers—right? Right. Another ordered the claimant to circulate its recipe for the cheese not only to the respondent but to the whole of Stryptwontia. –There is no recipe, I know: it’s a natural product; that’s part of my point. A third ordered the claimant to pay the respondent’s travel costs and vice versa. They traded in the same street and had come to the same court in public transport bubbles—so, you see?”

    Jhl laughed weakly, but admitted it all sounded like chaos. Pointless chaos.

    “That is the point. I agree that it will be chaotic for a while, but when it dawns that there is nothing at all to be gained and possibly something to be lost by bringing cases which fall within local law, they’ll tail off. Word does get around, in the two galaxies, you know.”

    Limply she conceded that that part of it might work. But no case law? No precedents? All judgements ad hoc and based on the merits of the case, as seen by a Feddo commissioner with no grasp of local custom at all? Ninety percent of them would appeal!

    “Not ninety. Ninety percent of those claimants who lost.”

    “But for every claimant, there’s a respondent—isn’t there?” said Jhl limply: it was a favourite saying on most planets of the Federation.

    “Yes, but IG law will be changed so that respondents are unable to appeal. Though they will be free to bring a fresh case.”

    “Most of them won’t be put off. Litigious beings never are,” she warned.

    “No, but you’re still envisaging it operating within the present set-up, Jhl. It won’t be like that. Um—well, think of your average small Bluellian community. The local village near your parents’ farm, for instance. What’s it got that every other little village has got?”

    Rolling her eyes slightly, Jhl obliged. “Um—grqwary herding yards. Not big enough for a grqwary auction shed, before you start.” She eyed him suspiciously, but he merely nodded mildly. “Public transport stop. Little man who checks the bubbles in and out for you. Uh—well, maxi-galaxy shake shop. Bubble and lifter agency that’s hardly ever open: only an offshoot of the bigger one in the next village. Um, two qwlot houses, you call them taverns on Old Rthfrdia. One mini maxi-mart that stocks the most over-priced blrtlberry buns in creation, not nearly as good as every local farmer’s wife can make. Um… a Bluellian Lotto agency: it’s legal on Bluellia. That’s about it, it’s not big enough for an Emergency Station. Oh: and a Kiddy Kinder that takes kids from pre-school up to second-year First School. Then they have to get the bubble-train to the next village up the line.”

    “Yes,” he said, smiling very much. “That’s about the size of community I have in mind. Each public bubble stop will have a Personal/Group Being Rights Local Commissioner’s Office.”

    Jhl’s jaw sagged. “But the cities have tens of thousands of bubble stops!”

    “There are several billion civil servants who will need posts,” he replied calmly.

    She nodded groggily. After a while she managed to croak: “They’ll be in and out like fleas in a grqwary’s down.”

    “Mm? Oh—colourful! Yes, but turnaround will be very fast, with no precedents to cite. And no lawyers,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

    She gulped. “That’ll ruin a few intergalactic fortunes.”

    “Quite possibly,” he agreed with distaste.

    “Maybe it could work, then. Throwing out the lawyers is a great step in the right direction. But—um—it’s more than a lifetime’s work. You’ll lose yourself in it, Rh’aiiy’hn,” she said awkwardly.

    “I think I want to,” he replied lightly.

    Jhl gnawed on her lip. Yeah. Right. Poor fellow.

    “It’s the right sort of challenge for me,” he said with his nice smile. “Hypering off to the Third Galaxy wouldn’t suit me at all.”

    Right. “Best of luck with it,” she croaked. Personal Being-Rights C—The man was mad! Talking of nymbo cheese: nymbo cheese pie in the sky and then some!

    Fifteen ships had gone up, gone into hyperdrive and pwlded for a couple of light years without trouble. And come back without trouble. Ship 16 went up, went into hyperdrive, and pwlded into nothingness.

    Admiral Vt R’aam’s golden face had taken on a greyish tinge. “What was that?” he croaked, as the listeners suddenly felt nothingness.

    Two dozen sparf-laden beings tried to tell him what it was but he shouted “QUIET!” and they got the point. “Chief Engineer Slp-Og V. Trff, what happened?”

    “Captain Olaf Berryman VI lost control of his-its blobs, Admiral, and they failed to make the bond with the pwld. It then became unstable, er, instantaneously in humanoid terms,” it said on a dubious note, “and the ship, its cargo, and all twenty-seven beings on it disintegrated. Twenty-six crew and one singing fish.”

    After this succinct report the Spaceport Control Room of Space Fleet HQ Whtyll rang with silence. Even the assembled minds were stunned into silence.

    “Are you sure?” said Shank’yar dangerously.

    “Quite sure, Admiral.”

    “Get Captain Smt Wong in here,” he said through his pearly teeth.

    A dozen sparf-laden beings scurried to obey. Nobody uttered in the interim.

    “Have you heard?” he demanded grimly as the captain of Ship 25 came in.

    Jhl saluted. “Nothing specific, sir. But my First Officer’s a xathpyroid, as you may remember, and there was a Lieutenant-Commander BkWl on Captain Berryman VI’s ship.”

    “I thought your First Officer was a Br-cognate?” said one of the sparf-laden beings crossly.

    “Yes, sir. Nevertheless he moaned and passed out shortly after I felt Captain Berryman VI go into hyperdrive. I assume the pwlding failed?”

    “Yes,” said Trff succinctly.

    “That’s its story. Get out of it what really happened,” ordered Shank’yar Vt R’aam through his pearly teeth.

    “Er—it will have told you the literal truth, sir.”

    “CHECK IT!” he shouted.

    It did tell him-it the truth, why does he-it think it would lie?

    Dunno, Trff. Whtyllian humanoid paranoia, maybe. Go on, tell me.

    Trff reported. Its report was exactly what it had said to the Admiral, but Jhl was in no doubt of this.

    “Yes. Thank you, Chief Engineer. Berryman VI lost control of his blobs, Admiral, and they failed to make the bond with the pwld. It then became unstable and the ship disintegrated instantaneously. I gather that implies that no-one on board had time to realise what was happening, or to suffer.”

    “Except the singing fish,” said Trff.

    “Tell it to stop maundering on about SINGING FISH!” shouted the driven Admiral Vt R’aam.

    “Trff, no need to mention sentient beings not responsible within the Meaning of the Act to the Admiral.”

    “Oh. Ever?” it said cautiously.

    “No, just when reporting failure to pwld or similar catastrophic disasters occurring to whole ships that just incidentally happen to be carrying the odd singing fish or so.”

    “Yes, sir, Captain,” it said, giving a wobbly salute.

    “Not really got the physiology for the gesture,” Jhl explained carelessly to two dozen or so sparf-laden dropped jaws.

    “How do you stand it?” said the Admiral through his pearly teeth.

    “How do other commanders stand hypering through the galaxies with engineers that can’t express themselves exactly?” replied Jhl lightly, omitting the sir bit for the nonce.

    He breathed heavily. “You’d better stick around for the rest of the trials, Captain, because frankly, if some sort of translator doesn’t come between me and—” He breathed heavily.

    He-it’s got a translator, a very up-market one, and anyway, he-it speaks excellent Ju’ukrterian, sent Trff, very puzzled.

    Yeah. Shut up, Trff.

    It sees, that’s sadness that they’re all emanating. Sorry, Jhl. It loses touch with emotional stuff, after it's been concentrating on pwld muck for weeks on end. It’ll shut up now.

    “Look, sir, part of the problem here may be that you’ve been expecting too much, in physical terms, of the it-being: it’s a small physical being that needs its rest,” said Jhl on a desperate note.

    Grimly he replied: “We’ve all been working all hours of the day and night, Captain.”

    “Sir, look at it! It barely comes to your knee!”

    He looked at it crossly. “If you mean it hasn’t done its job properly and it failed to make sure Berryman VI’s ship’s blobs could safely make the bond with the pwld, I’m quite ready to believe you.”

    Jhl took a deep breath. “May I speak to you alone, Admiral?” –Every last sparf-laden being in the room was now involuntarily emanating: Ah-hah! And: Told you so! And even ruder, cruder things.

    “Very well. Come in here.” He pulled her into some sort of Inner Sanctum that was full of some being’s discarded lunch and strange plants in strange containers. Maybe they were part of the lunch, too. “Go on,” he said sourly. “–I suppose you heard them all?”

    “Yes. Too bad. My experience with Trff has shown that it does get overtired and that while this does not effect its work performance, because the it-being as a whole seems to, um, help, or something, it does become even more literal than usual, and unable to communicate with other beings in a way that’s acceptable to those beings. And if you've been working it as hard as you have your own great humanoid body,”—she looked at it with intense dislike—“then it cursed well is overtired! And all that singing fish shit was symptomatic!”

    “I see,” he said, suddenly passing his hand over his high golden forehead. “Federation. I’ve known Olaf Berryman VI most of my life. We did Pilot Training together.”

    “I’m sorry. But that doesn’t mean Trff would lie.”

    He gnawed on his lip. “It said he lost control of his blobs.”

    “Then he did.”

    “But— Oh, very well. He failed Flight Finals the first time. I suppose it’s not inconceivable. I should never have agreed to let him… But he was so keen,” he said sadly.

    “Yeah. I really am sorry, Shan.”

    “Mm,” he said with a twisted grimace. “Well, life goes on. Uh—I’ll give everyone a break; I think we’ve all been driving ourselves too hard. Two days’ recreation leave for all crew.”

    “Great. I’ll make sure Trff spends it in its nest.”

    “Yes. Good. What was all that about my humanoid body?” he asked on a cautious note.

    Jhl coughed. “Dunno. Misplaced maternalism towards Trff? Saw you as the aggressor? Don’t ask me, it just came out.”

    “Yes, well, you might like to remember that I have feelings, too, appearances to the contrary,” he said on a dry note. He went over to the door but hesitated. “Did Rhan tell you about his appointment?”

    “The personal-being-rights thing? Yes. Well, said it appealed the most.”

    “Mm. He has decided to take it up. At least he’s enthusiastic about it, poor Rhan.”

    “You are tired, you’re calling him Rhan again,” said Jhl matter-of-factly.

    “What? Oh. Well, I’m on my home ground, hearing Whtyllian spoken may be an influence. Uh—memorial service in three days’ time, all right?”

    “Yes.”

    “How’s BrTl?”

    Jhl concentrated. “Still comatose. The ship reckons he’s okay: it’s just shock, combined with, fancy that, overwork.”

    He made a sour face at her and went out.

    Jhl followed slowly. Help. Feelings? Shank’yar Vt R’aam? He must be a lot more tired than she’d thought.

    “You’re not going up for the test,” he said grimly.

    It was very late. Jhl blinked blearily at him. “Did you call me into this sumptuous Whtyllian-style Inner Sanctum, Admirals and top sparf for the use of, to tell me that?”

    The mobile mouth tightened. “Yes.”

    “What’s it going to look like? Every other captain in the fleet’s gone up with her, his, its or their ship!”

    “It’ll look like I don’t want you to disintegrate instantaneously like poor Berryman VI, that’s what,” he said grimly.

    “I have to go. I’m the Pilot, in case you’d overlooked that small fact. The blobs will need me, first time.”

    He was silent, his mouth very grim.

    “Won’t they? Won’t they?”

    “Can’t the inept Commander BrTl— No, very well. Get out,” he said, suddenly covering his face with his hand.

    Jhl hesitated. Then she shrugged very slightly, and went.

    Two steps out of the sumptuous Administration Block where the Admiral had his office she realised that a Security Officer was silently escorting her back to the ship. Shan must have sent a mind-message. …Inside the perimeter fence of Space Fleet HQ Whtyll? With only the expedition ships on the tarmac? The man was paranoid, all right!

    “Get off,” she ordered brutally.

    One small puce Flppu, one slightly larger blue Flppu, one grimy humanoid boy—was plasmo-blasted BrTl under the impression that was his natural colour?—and one smallish adult humanoid, female, all protested vociferously.

    “ALL OF YOU! NOW! THAT'S AN ORDER!” shouted Jhl.

    They got off into the chilly Whtyllian crack of dawn, emanating resentment—four lots of resentment; bewilderment—the Flppus; and considerable relief—both humanoids. Quite.

    “Where shall we go, Captain?” asked L’Thea, looking up at her plaintively.

    Jhl bit back several obvious replies. “The cafeteria. Uh—Other Ranks Cafeteria,” she amended somewhat feebly. “Tell the civilian s-beings that are serving up Whtyllian foodstuffs that the Flppus are allowed ooff-puffs, in fact you can all have ooff-puffs if you want them, and G’gg’s allowed maxi-galaxy shakes. Chargeable to Ship 25. –There isn’t any Njneeainwearian chewing-taffy, before you start, haven’t any of you ever heard of the concept of a budget?”—None of them had, apparently.—“Well, Great Lord at the head of it or not, this expedition can't afford luxuries. Get going.”

    “How long do we have to stay there, Captain?” she asked meekly.

    “All day,” said Jhl firmly, “or until ordered by a ranking officer to do otherwise.”

    “The ship’s not even due for its turn until afternoon!” burst out G’gg resentfully. Though that relief was still hovering there not so far in the background.

    “True. All the more time to stuff yourself. Go. That’s an order.”

    The four small figures trudged off into the chilly Whtyllian morning. Well, the Flppu physiology couldn’t trudge, but they were emanating trudge.

    Close, sent Jhl grimly. The ship’s hatch closed up like a dendrion nut immediately, so at least it had taken the point.

    “Now,” she said, entering the officers’ mess without ceremony, “the morning will be spent re-running checks.”

    “Yes, sir,” agreed BrTl.

    “But first, First Officer,” said Jhl, not smiling, “you will have your breakfast.”

    “But Captain, I don’t feel like— Sorry, sir. Permission to speak freely?”

    “No. Breakfast. That’s an order. Plenty of protein, please. –Chief Engineer!”

    It came to with a start. “Yes, Captain?”

    “Please do not salute me in the mess. When did you last ingest nourishment?”

    At dinnertime, sent BrTl involuntarily.

    “Yesterday. Nine hundred hours, local time,” Trff whistled mournfully. –The ship started to tell her what that was, Ship’s Time, and then thought better of it.

    “Good. Kindly inspect your fluid levels.” She waited. “Well?”

    “It needs a drink, Captain,” it admitted.

    “Right.” A small kettle had been brought on board for the purpose. Grimly Jhl opened the packet of dried khyai’llh leaves, dumped some in a mug, ascertained there was water in the kettle, made the fire come under the kettle, and poured the hot water on the leaves. They were both sending fearfully: Put that free-fire out! She doused the fire. “When this cools down to a suitable temperature and not before,” she said threateningly to her Chief Engineer, “drink as much as is necessary to get your fluid levels to the desirable operating level. Clear?”

    “Very clear, Captain.”

    Jhl sighed. “Yeah. Then you’d better get on over to Ship 24 and run its last checks. We’ll expect you back here—uh—about five hundred hours, local time. Between five hundred hours and five hundred point two, okay?”

    “Yes, Captain.” There’s no need to worry, if a being’s in control of its blobs.

    Jhl ignored that last: she didn’t think it had sent it intentionally. “Good. Carry on.” She strode out.

    After a moment Trff said sadly: “Will she-it have breakfast?”

    “Dunno. Probably. Ugh, I don’t feel like meat.”

    “No. Protein supplement?” it suggested kindly.

    “That’s bland, all right,” agreed BrTl to the thought behind the words. Protein supplement, he ordered.

    Nothing.

    “Oh, mok shit. Can’t we use the blobs, just for this morning?”

    “Yes. But she-it’ll feel the difference in the balance.”

    “Ugh, will she? She’s better than I thought. Then don’t let’s.”

    “No,” it agreed mildly. “Look in the mess store-cupboard, BrTl.”

    Obligingly the ship began listing what was in there but it was such a load of FW garbage that BrTl stopped it. He creaked to his feet and trod heavily over to the cupboard. “Ugh, yuck, pooh, pwah, argh. Uh—what’s this?”

    Nymbo cheese.

    “Uh—wouldn’t have protein in it, would it? Lots of protein?” The ship reported obediently, and BrTl said plaintively to their Chief Engineer: “I don’t understand any of this, it sounds like Chemo to me. You’ve done that, haven’t you-it? Is there enough protein in it to satisfy her requirements for my breakfast this morning?”

    “Yes.”

    “That’s good. –Step one,” he muttered to himself. “Now, Trff, without specifically referring to my sugar levels, is there enough of anything to make it unsatisfactory for my breakfast this morning, in her terms?”

    “Yes,” it said simply.

    Eat the plasmo-bLasted nymbo cheese, BrTl!

    “Ooh, good, I will,” he said pleasedly.

    A certain time passed in munching, asking the ship whether Trff’s tea was at the right temperature, and waiting and asking the ship again if Trff’s tea— Then it was, so it siphoned it up.

    BrTl sighed deeply. “My sugar levels have really shot up,” he admitted. “I feel a lot brighter.” He concentrated briefly. “I wouldn’t worry about G’gg and L’Thea any more.”

    “It isn’t.”

    “Er—no. Well, you may not have bothered to look, but all the supernumeraries from Ship 24 are in that cafeteria, too. Oh, and both its singing fish.”

    “Ship 24’s blobs assure it that their captain is an excellent pilot.”

    “Yes, but Trff, they all say that! It’s ship’s loyalty or something!”

    “Yes, but their engineer agrees.”

    BrTl sighed. He could point out that Berryman VI’s engineer had also agreed—

    “In that case, they were wrong,” it said tranquilly.

    Quite! He got up. “I’m off to check that the cargo’s safely battened down. See you round lunchtime.”

    “No earlier than five hundred hours, local time, and no later than five hundred point two hours, local time,” it replied.

    Or, lunchtime: yes! BrTl went out quickly. It couldn’t help it, but all the same, it did tend to get on your nerves, especially when those nerves were already— Yeah. Well.

    Ship 25 went up, went into hyperdrive and pwlded for a couple of light-years without trouble. And came back without trouble into hyperspace, and then safely into orbit round Whtyll.

    Admiral Vt R’aam’s golden face went greyish and he groped for a chair.

    “They’re all right, sir!” gasped two dozen sparf-laden beings.

    “Yes,” he said faintly. “Yes.”

    Ship 25 safely in orbit, came the Pilot’s report. There was the suggestion of a laugh behind the words. Test successful.

    The assembled sparf-laden beings and Spaceport Controllers waited respectfully but the Admiral said nothing. Eventually the Chief Controller ventured: “Ship 25 is cleared to land, sir. Shall we bring it in?”

    “What?” he said, jumping slightly. “Uh—by all means.”

    Ship 25 duly drifted down and settled on the tarmac, light as a feather.

    There was a slight pause. No being looked at the Admiral.

    “Well,” said one of the senior Commodores from Space Fleet Command in a bracing tone, “that proves humanoid captains can pwld as well as any!”

    Shank’yar Vt R’aam took a deep breath and got up. “I’m going out there. Don’t bother to accompany me, thank you.”

    As the door closed behind him a deafening babble of excited speculation, voiced and unvoiced, broke out in the Control Room.