Life on other planets -- Fiction; Quarantine -- Fiction; Science fiction; Space medicine -- Fiction
"The astrogators are coming," she said swiftly. "They'll bring some
boxes with them. They'll ask you to instruct them so they can handle
our ship better. They lost themselves coming back from Orede. No,
they didn't lose themselves, but they lost time, enough time almost to
make an extra trip for meat. They need to be experts. I'm to come
along, so they can be sure that what you teach them is what you've
been doing right along."
Calhoun said, "Well?"
"They're crazy!" said Maril vehemently. "They knew Weald would do
something monstrous sooner or later. But they're going to try to stop
it by being more monstrous sooner! Not everybody agrees, but there are
enough. So they want to use your ship--it's faster in overdrive and so
on. And they'll go to Weald in this ship and--they say they'll give
Weald something to keep it busy without bothering us!"
Calhoun said dryly, "This pays me off for being too sympathetic with
blueskins! But if I'd been hungry for a couple of years, and was
despised to boot by the people who kept me hungry, I suppose I might
react the same way. No," he said curtly as she opened her lips to
speak again, "don't tell me the trick. Considering everything, there's
only one trick it could be. But I doubt profoundly that it would work.
All right."
He slid the door back and returned to the control room. Maril followed
him. He said detachedly, "I've been working on a problem outside of
the food one. It isn't the time to talk about it right now, but I
think I've solved it."
Maril turned her head, listening. There were footsteps on the tarmac
outside the ship. Both doors of the airlock were open. Four men came
in. They were young men who did not look quite as hungry as most
Darians, but there was a reason for that. Their leader introduced
himself and the others. They were the astrogators of the ship Dara had
built to try to bring food from Orede. They were not, said their
self-appointed leader, good enough. They'd overshot their
destination. They came out of overdrive too far off line. They needed
instruction.
Calhoun nodded, and observed that he'd been asking for them. They
were, of course, blueskins. On one the only visible disfigurement was
a patch of blue upon his wrist. On another the appearance of a blue
birthmark appeared beside his eye and went back and up his temple. A
third had a white patch on his temple, with all the rest of his face a
dull blue. The fourth had blue fingers on one hand.
"We've got orders," said their leader, steadily, "to come on board and
learn from you how to handle this ship. It's better than the one we've
got."
"I asked for you," repeated Calhoun. "I've an idea I'll explain as we
go along.... Those boxes?"
Someone was passing in iron boxes through the airlock. One of the four
very carefully brought them inside.
"They're rations," said a second young man. "We don't go anywhere
without rations, except Orede."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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