Anne McCaffrey - Ship 1 - The Ship Who Sang
2024-12-18
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y#The Ship Who Sang
By: Anne McCaffrey
Copyright ????
Version 1.1
to the memory of the Colonel, my father
GEORGE HERBERT MCCAFFREY
citizen soldier patriot
for whom the ship first sang
The Ship Who Sang
She was born a thing and as such would be condemned if she failed to pass the
encephalograph test required of all newborn babies. There was always the
possibility that though the limbs were twisted, the mind was not, that though
the ears would hear only dimly, the eyes see vaguely, the mind behind them was
receptive and alert.
The electro-encephalogram was entirely favorable, unexpectedly so, and
the news was brought to the waiting, grieving parents. There was the final,
harsh decision, to give their child euthanasia or permit it to become an
encapsulated "brain," a guiding mechanism in any one of a number of curious
professions. As such, their offspring would suffer no pain, live a comfortable
existence in a metal shell for several centuries, performing unusual service
to Central Worlds.
She lived and was given a name, Helva. For her first 3 vegetable months
she waved her crabbed claws, kicked weakly with her clubbed feet and enjoyed
the usual routine of the infant. She was not alone, for there were three other
such children in the big city's special nursery. Soon they all were removed to
Central Laboratory School, where their delicate transformation began.
One of the babies died in the initial transferral, but of Helva's
'class', 17 thrived in the metal shells. Instead of kicking feet, Helva's
neural responses started her wheels; instead of grabbing with hands, she
manipulated mechanical extensions. As she matured, more and more neural
synapses would be adjusted to operate other mechanisms that went into the
maintenance and running of a space ship. For Helva was destined to be the
'brain' half of a scout ship, partnered with a man or a woman, whichever she
chose, as the mobile half. She would be among the elite of her kind. Her
initial intelligence tests registered above normal and her adaptation index
was unusually high. As long as her development within her shell lived up to
expectations, and there were no side-effects from the pituitary tinkering,
Helva would live a rewarding, rich and unusual life, a far cry from what she
would have faced as an ordinary, 'normal' being.
However, no diagram of her brain patterns, no early I.Q. tests recorded
certain essential facts about Helva that Central must eventually learn. They
would have to bide their official time and see, trusting that the massive
doses of shell-psychology would suffice her, too, as the necessary bulwark
against her unusual confinement and the pressures of her profession. A ship
run by a human brain could not run rogue or insane with the power and
resources Central had to build into their scout ships. Brain ships were, of
course, long past the experimental stages. Most babies survived the perfected
techniques of pituitary manipulation that kept there bodies small, eliminating
the necessity of transfers from smaller to larger shells. And very, very few
were lost when the final connection was made to the control panels of ship or
industrial combine. Shell-people resembled mature dwarfs in size whatever
their natal deformities were, but the well-oriented brain would not have
changed places with the most perfect body in the Universe.3
So, for happy years, Helva scooted around in her shell with her
classmates, playing such games as Stall, Power-Seek, studying her lessons in
trajectory, propulsion techniques, computation, logistics, mental hygiene,
basic alien psychology, philology, space history, law, traffic, codes. All the
et ceteras that eventually became compounded into a reasoning, logical,
informed citizen. Not so obvious to her, but of more importance to her
teachers, Helva ingested the precepts of her conditioning as easily as she
absorbed her nutrient fluid. She would one day be grateful to the patient
drone of the subconscious-level instruction.
Helva's civilization was not without busy, do-good associations,
exploring possible inhumanities to terrestrial as well as extraterrestrial
citizens. One such group, Society for the Preservation of the Rights of
Intelligent Minorities, got all incensed over shelled 'children' when Helva
was just turning 14. When they were forced to, Central Worlds shrugged its
shoulders, arranged a tour of the Laboratory Schools and set the tour off to a
big start by showing the members case histories, complete with photographs.
Very few committees ever looked past the first few photos. Most of their
original objections about 'shells' were overriden by the relief that these
hideous (to them) bodies were mercifully concealed.
Helva's class was doing fine arts, a selective subject in her crowded
program. She had activated one of her microscopic tools which she would later
use for minute repairs to various parts of her control panel. Her subject was
large, a copy of the Last Supper, and her canvas, small, the head of a tiny
screw. She had tuned her sight to the proper degree. As she worked she
absentmindedly crooned, producing a curious sound. Shell-people used their own
vocal chords and diaphragms, but sound issued through microphones rather than
mouths. Helva's hum, then, had a curious vibrancy, a warm, dulcet quality even
in its aimless chromatic wanderings.
"Why, what a lovely voice you have," said one of the female visitors.
Helva 'looked' up and caught a fascinating panorama of regular, dirty
craters on a flaky pink surface. Her hum became a gurgle of surprise. She
instinctively regulated her 'sight' until the skin lost its cratered look and
the pores assumed normal proportions.
"Yes, we have quite a few years of voice training, madam," remarked
Helva calmly. "Vocal peculiarities often become excessively irritating during
prolonged intrastellar distances and must be eliminated. I enjoyed my
lessons."
Although this was the first time that Helva had seen unshelled people,
she took this experience calmly. Any other reaction would have been reported
instantly.
"I meant that you have a nice singing voice ... dear," the lady said.
"Thank you. Would you like to see my work?" Helva asked, politely. She
instinctively sheered away from personal discussions, but she filed the
comment away for further meditation.
"Work?" asked the lady.
"I am currently reproducing the Last Supper on the head of a screw."
"O, I say," the lady twittered.
Helva turned her vision back to magnification and surveyed her copy
critically.
"Of course, some of my color values do not match the old Master's and
the perspective is faulty, but I believe it to be a fair copy."
The lady's eyes, unmagnified, bugged out.
"Oh, I forget," and Helva's voice was really contrite. If she could have
blushed, she would have. "You people don't have adjustable vision."
The monitor of this discourse grinned with pride and amusement as
Helva's tone indicated pity for the unfortunate.
"Here, this will help," said Helva, substituting a magnifying device in
one extension and holding it over the picture.
In a kind of shock, the ladies and gentlemen of the committee bent to
observe the incredibly copied and brilliantly executed Last Supper on the head
of a screw.
"Well," remarked one gentleman who had been forced to accompany his
wife, "the good Lord can eat where angels fear to tread."
"Are you referring, sir," asked Helva politely, "to the Dark Age
discussions of the number of angels who could stand on the head of a pin?"
"I had that in mind."
"If you substitute 'atom' for 'angel', the problem is not insoluble,
given the metallic content of the pin in question."
"Which you are programmed to compute?"
"Of course."
"Did they remember to program a sense of humor, as well, young lady?"
"We are directed to develop a sense of proportion, sir, which
contributes the same effect."
The good man chortled appreciatively and decided the trip was worth his
time.
If the investigation committee spent months digesting the thoughtful
food served them at the Laboratory School, they left Helva with a morsel as
well.
'Singing' as applicable to herself required research. She had, of
course, been exposed to and enjoyed a music appreciation course that had
included the better known classical works such as 'Tristan und Isolde',
'Candide', 'Oklahoma', and 'Le Nozze di Figaro', along with the atomic age
singers, Birgit Nilsson, Bob Dylan, and Geraldine Todd, as well as the curious
rhythmic progressions of the Venusians, Capellan visual chromatics, the sonic
concert of the Altairians and Reticulan croons. But 'singing' for any
shell-person posed considerable technical difficulties. Shell-people were
schooled to examine every aspect of a problem or situation before making a
prognosis. Balanced properly between optimism and practicality, the
nondefeatist attitude of the shell-people led them to extricate themselves,
their ships, and personnel from bizarre situations. Therefore, to Helva, the
problem that she couldn't open her mouth to sing, among other restrictions,
did not bother her. She would work out a method, bypassing her limitations,
whereby she could sing.
She approached the problem by investigating the methods of sound
reproduction through the centuries, human and instrumental. Her own sound
production equipment was essentially more instrumental than vocal. Breath
control and the proper enunciation of vowel sounds within the oral cavity
appeared to require the most development and practice. Shell-people did not,
strictly speaking, breathe. For their purposes, oxygen and other gases were
not drawn from the surrounding atmosphere through the medium of lungs but
sustained artificially by solution in their shells. After experimentation,
Helva discovered that she could manipulate her diaphragmic unit to sustain
tone. By relaxing the throat muscles and expanding the oral cavity well into
the frontal sinuses, she could direct the vowel sounds into the most
felicitous position for proper reproduction through her throat microphone. She
compared the results with tape recordings of modern singers and was not
unpleased, although her own tapes had a peculiar quality about them, not at
all unharmonious, merely unique. Acquiring a repertoire from the Laboratory
library was no problem to one trained to perfect recall. She found herself
able to sing any role and any song which struck her fancy. It would not have
occurred to her that it was curious for a female to sing bass, baritone,
tenor, mezzo, soprano, and coloratura as she pleased. It was, to Helva, only a
matter of the correct reproduction and diaphragmic control required by the
music attempted.
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.
"To the Horsehead Nebula and back, we shall make beautiful music," said
Helva, chuckling.
"Together," Jennan said. "Only you'd better make the music and, with my
voice, I'd better listen."
"I rather imagined it would be I who listened," suggested Helva.
Jennan executed a stately bow with an intricate flourish of his
crush-brimmed hat. He directed his bow toward the central control pillar where
Helva was. Her own personal preference crystallized at that precise moment and
for that particular reason. Jennan, alone of the men, had addressed his
remarks directly at her physical presence, regardless of the fact that he knew
she could pick up his image wherever he was in the ship and regardless of the
fact that her body was behind massive metal walls. Throughout their
partnership, Jennan never failed to turn his head in her direction no matter
where he was in relation to her. In response to this personalization, Helva at
that moment and from then on always spoke to Jennan only through her central
mike, even though that was not always the most efficient method.
Helva didn't know that she fell in love with Jennan that evening. As she
had never been exposed to love or affection, only the drier cousins, respect
and admiration, she could scarcely have recognized her reaction to the warmth
of his personality and thoughtfulness. As a shell-person, she considered
herself remote from emotions largely connected with physical desires.
"Well, Helva, it's been swell meeting you," said Tanner suddenly as she
and Jennan were arguing about the baroque quality of 'Come All Ye Sons of
Art'. "See you in space some time, you lucky dog, Jennan. Thanks for the
party, Helva."
"You don't have to go so soon?" asked Helva, realizing belatedly that
she and Jennan had been excluding the others from this discussion.
"Best man won," Tanner said, wryly. "Guess I'd better go get a tape on
love ditties. Might need 'em for the next ship, if there're any more at home
like you."
Helva and Jennan watched them leave, both a little confused.
"Perhaps Tanner's jumping to conclusions?" Jennan asked.
Helva regarded him as he slouched against the console, facing her shell
directly. His arms were crossed on his chest and the glass he held had been
empty for some time. He was handsome, they all were; but his watchful eyes
were unwary, his mouth assumed a smile easily, his voice (to which Helva was
particularly drawn) was resonant, deep, and without unpleasant overtones or
accent.
"Sleep on it, at any rate, Helva. Call me in the morning if it's your
opt."
She called him at breakfast, after she had checked her choice through
Central. Jennan moved his things aboard, received their joint commission, had
his personality and experience file locked into her reviewer, gave her the
coordinates of their first mission. The XH834 officially became the JH-834.
Their first mission was a dull but necessary crash priority (Medical got
Helva), rushing a vaccine to a distant system plagued with a virulent spore
disease. They had only to get to Spica as fast as possible.
After the initial, thrilling forward surge at her maximum speed, Helva
realized her muscles were to be given less of a workout than her brawn on this
tedious mission. But they did have plenty of time for exploring each other's
personalities. Jennan, of course, knew what Helva was capable of as a ship and
partner, just as she knew what she could expect from him. But these were only
facts and Helva looked forward eagerly to learning that human side of her
partner which could not be reduced to a series of symbols. Nor could the give
and take of two personalities be learned from a book. It had to be
experienced.
"My father was a scout, too, or is that programmed?" began Jennan their
third day out.
"Naturally."
"Unfair, you know. You've got all my family history and I don't know one
blamed thing about yours."
"I've never known either," Helva said. "Until I read yours, it hadn't
occurred to me I must have one, too, someplace in Central's files."
Jennan snorted. "Shell psychology!"
Helva laughed. "Yes, and I'm even programmed against curiosity about it.
You'd better be, too."
Jennan ordered a drink, slouched into the gravity couch opposite her,
put his feet on the bumpers, turning himself idly from side to side on the
gimbals.
"Helva, a made-up name ..."
"With a Scandinavian sound."
"You aren't blonde," Jennan said positively.
"Well, then, there're dark Swedes."
"And blonde Turks and this one's harem is limited to one."
"Your woman in purdah, yes, but you can comb the pleasure houses, "
Helva found herself aghast at the edge to her carefully trained voice.
"You know," Jennan interrupted her, deep in some thought of his own, "my
father gave me the impression he was a lot more married to his ship, the
Silvia, than to my mother. I know I used to think Silvia was my grandmother.
She was a low number so she must have been ... a great-great-grandmother at
least, I used to talk to her for hours."
"Her registry?" asked Helva, unwittingly jealous of everyone and anyone
who had shared his hours.
"422. I think she's TS now. I ran into Tom Burgess once."
Jennan's father had died of a planetary disease, the vaccine for which
his ship had used up in curing the local citizens.
"Tom said she'd got mighty tough and salty. You lose your sweetness and
I'll come back and haunt you, girl," Jennan threatened.
Helva laughed. He startled her by stamping up to the column panel,
touching it with light, tender fingers.
"I wonder what you look like," he said softly, wistfully.
Helva had been briefed about this natural curiosity of scouts. She
didn't know anything about herself and neither of them ever would or could.
"Pick any form, shape, and shade and I'll be yours obliging," she
countered, as training suggested.
"Iron Maiden, I fancy blondes with long tresses," and Jennan pantomined
Lady Godiva-like tresses. "Since you're immolated in titanium, I'll call you
Brunehilde, my dear," and he made his bow.
With a chortle, Helva launched into the appropriate aria just as Spica
made contact.
"What'n' Hell's that yelling about? Who are you? And unless you're
Central Worlds Medical go away. We've got a plague. No visiting privileges."
"My ship is singing, we're the JH-834 of Worlds and we've got your
vaccine. What are our landing coordinates?"
"Your ship is singing?"
"The greatest S.A.T.B. in organized space. Any request?"
The JH-834 delivered the vaccine but no more arias and received
immediate orders to proceed to Leviticus IV. By the time they got there,
Jennan found a reputation awaiting him and was forced to defend the 834's
virgin honor.
"I'll stop singing," murmured Helva contritely as she ordered up
poultices for this third black eye in a week.
"You will not," Jennan said through gritted teeth. "If I have to black
eyes from here to the Horsehead to keep the snicker out of the title, we'll be
the ship who sings."
After the 'ship who sings' tangled with a minor but vicious narcotic
ring in the Lesser Magellanics, the title became definitely respectful.
Central was aware of each episode and punched out a 'special interest' key on
JH-834's file. A first-rate team was shaking down well.
Jennan and Helva considered themselves a first-rate team, too, after
their tidy arrest.
"Of all the vices in the universe, I hate drug addiction," Jennan
remarked as they headed back to Central Base. "People can go to hell quick
enough without that kind of help."
"Is that why you volunteered for Scout Service? To redirect traffic?"
"I'll bet my official answer's on your review."
"In far too flowery wording. 'Carrying on the traditions of my family,
which has been proud of four generations in Service', if I may quote you your
own words."
Jennan groaned. "I was very young when I wrote that. I certainly hadn't
been through Final Training. And once I was in Final Training, my pride
wouldn't let me fail ...
"As I mentioned, I used to visit Dad on board the Silvia and I've a very
good idea she might have had her eye on me as a replacement for my father
because I had had massive doses of scout-oriented propaganda. It took. From
the time I was 7, I was going to be a scout or else." He shrugged as if
deprecating a youthful determination that had taken a great deal of mature
application to bring to fruition.
"Ah, so? Scout Sahir Silan on the JS-44 penetrating into the Horsehead
Nebulae?"
Jennan chose to ignore her sarcasm.
"With you, I may even get that far. But even with Silvia's nudging, I
never day-dreamed myself that kind of glory in my wildest flights of fancy.
I'll leave the whoppers to your agile brain henceforth. I have in mind a
smaller contribution to space history."
"So modest?"
"No. Practical. We also serve, et cetera." He placed a dramatic hand on
his heart.
"Glory hound!" scoffed Helva.
"Look who's talking, my Nebula-bound friend. At least I'm not greedy.
There'll only be one hero like my dad at Parsaea, but I would like to be
remembered for some kudo. Everyone does. Why else do or die?"
"Your father died on his way back from Parsaea, if I may point out a few
cogent facts. So he could never have known he was a hero for damming the flood
with his ship. Which kept Parsaean colony from being abandoned. Which gave
them a chance to discover the antiparalytic qualities of Parsaea. Which he
never knew."
"I know," said Jennan softly.
Helva was immediately sorry for the tone of her rebuttal. She knew very
well how deep Jennan's attachment to his father had been. On his review a note
was made that he had rationalized his father's loss with the unexpected and
welcome outcome of the Affair at Parsaea.
"Facts are not human, Helva. My father was and so am I. And basically,
so are you. Check over your dial, 834. Amid all the wires attached to you is a
heart, an underdeveloped human heart. Obviously!"
"I apologize, Jennan," she said.
Jennan hesitated a moment, threw out his hands in acceptance and then
tapped her shell affectionately.
"If they ever take us off the milkruns, we'll make a stab at the Nebula,
huh?"
As so frequently happened in the Scout Service, within the next hour
they had orders to change course, not to the Nebula, but to a recently
colonized system with two habitable planets, one tropical, one glacial. The
sun, named Ravel, had become unstable; the spectrum was that of a rapidly
expanding shell, with absorption lines rapidly displacing toward violet. The
augmented heat of the primary had already forced evacuation of the nearer
world, Daphnis. The pattern of spectral emissions gave indication that the sun
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时间：2024-12-18
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