The Ship Who Sang

"Furthermore, if I opted," Amon went on sourly, "I'd have to take whoever is up next for assignment with no refusal right."

"That's too true."

"I'm not fat with double bonuses from grateful Nekkarese."

Helva swallowed a fast retort to such an unfair remark and meekly said she hoped that things would soon look up. Amon wanted a sympathetic listener, not an adviser.

"You take the advice of one who's been around, Helva," Amon went on, mollified by her contrition, "and take every solo assignment you can get. Rack up bonuses while you can. Then you'll be in a position to bargain. I'm not. Oh, here he comes!"

"He's in a hurry, too."

"Wonder what lit his jets." Amon sounded so disagreeable that Helva began to wonder just how much the brawn was at fault. Brain ships were people, too.

Just then, Helva could her the brawn's excited greeting over the open ship-to-ship band.

"Amon, man, get us cleared and lifted. We got to get back to Regulus Base on the double. I just heard. . ."

The band went dead.

It was so like Amon to be selfish with good news, too, that Helva did not take offense. Good luck to him, she thought as she turned on the outside scanners and watched him lift off. If he did get a good assignment and the delivery bonus, he could pay off his debt. He might even resolve most of his problems with his brawn. The man had seemed nice enough when he'd paid a courtesy call on Kira and herself the day they arrived at Nekkar. But it was petty of him Helva thought. . . If the brawn had heard, the news could not come via tight beam.

"Nekkar Control, XH-834 calling."

"Helva? Had my hand on the switch to call you. Our ground crew treating you right? Anything you want them to do, you just let 'em know," answered the affable com man.

Considering Nekkar's recent disaster, you'd think they'd be as sour as Amon.

"I was wondering if you could tell me why the TA-618 left in such a hurry."

"Say, yes, that's something, isn't it? Never know who's around in the next system over, do you? I always said, a galaxy's got room for all kinds. But who'd ever think people. . . I guess you could call 'em people. . . would want any old archaic plays. Can you imagine that?" and infuriatingly the com man chuckled.

Amon had problems knowing ahead of time what his man'd say? Helva thought, impatiently waiting for this jovial soul to say anything worth listening to.

"Well, not really, because you haven't told me what you heard yet," Helva cut in as the man seemed likely to continue editorializing.

"Oh, sorry. Thought you ships'd all have your ears. . . oh, pardon the slip. . . to the rumor-block. Well, now, generally my sources are very reliable and this came to me from two sources, as I was telling Pilot Trace. A survey ship out Beta Corvi way registered some regulated-energy emissions. Pinpointed them to the sixth planet which had. . . of all improbabilities. . . a methane-ammonia atmosphere. Never heard of any sentients before developing in that kind of environment, have you?"

"No. Please go on."

"Well, before the crew could get an exploratory probe treated to withstand that kind of air; ha, ha, air, that's good."

"Consider that what we breathe might be poisonous to them," Helva suggested.

"Oh, true, too true. Any rate, before the crew could shake a leg, the Corviki had probed them. What do you think of that?"

"Fascinating. I'm hanging on your words."

"Well, those Survey men are on their toes, I'll tell you. Didn't let an opportunity like this slip from their grasp. Offered to exchange scientific information with the Beta Corviki and invited them to join the Central Worlds Federation. Say," and the man paused to think, "how'd the survey know they were high enough on the Civ-scale to qualify right off if they hadn't even got a probe down to the surface of the planet?"

"If the Beta Corviki could contact our survey ship, and if they are fooling around with regulated-energy emissions detectable outside their solar system, we might not qualify on their Civ-scale."

"Oh. Hadn't looked at it from that angle." The man's resilience was incredible, for he paused only briefly before taking up again. "Well, we have something they want badly," and he sounded as pleased as if he had himself invented this commodity. "Plays!"

"Plays?"

"That's right. Guess it'd be hard to develop any art forms on a methane-ammonia planet. At any rate, the story is that they will exchange some energy-process of theirs that we need for our old plays."

"New lamps for old?" Helva murmured.

"How's that?"

"That doesn't explain why the TA shot out of here so fast."

"Oh, well, that's easy. Calls are going out all over the sector for you ships to report in. Say, you being the ship who sings and all, this ought to be right up your alley."

"Possibly," Helva temporized. "But I'm due to be assigned a new brawn partner and they woudn't send a green team out on a mission of this importance."