two dirty-tech stations that orbited Castor. It made for maximum efficiency in manufacturing components and maintaining the stations. Maximum boredom, too. He knew every seam and span in the construction of the stations from his days as a maintenance shuttle pilot. It had been thirty-seven years for the station dwellers since he had last been here, but it looked to him as if only his subjective three months had passed; if the Conservancy had made any changes in Delta, they weren’t readily apparent. Just looking at the unimaginative functionality of the station crumpled the moment of peace he’d felt in watching Evangeline’s organic opulence and renewed his earlier discontentment. The exterior of the station mirrored too accurately the blandly efficient interior of the station, of all the stations, even of his own ship.
Well, in a short time he’d be plunged into that grindingly efficient and correct place. It had been bad enough when all that meant was off-loading a cargo and picking up a new consignment. At least then he’d been free to follow his own interests, which usually meant spending the bulk of his pay on information and entertainments for his library. But this time it meant work, and real work, lining up a new client for Evangeline’s services. Reflecting that this type of task was one of the major reasons a Human captain was required at all on Evangeline didn’t cheer him. Tug was too fond of reminding him, “You are the captain of the ship, John, but I control the Beast.”
He glanced once more at the monitor that showed Evangeline’s approach. John fought it for an instant, then let his heart swell as it always did when confronted with the wonder of his ship. Dammit, she was his ship, just as much as Tug’s. She was more than that, she was his world. He’d spent the vast majority of his many years within her, and that, as much as anything, made her his. And he was glad. The Beastship Evangeline moved as lightly as he imagined thistledown had in Terra’s winds. He sometimes thought that perhaps his ship looked like thistledown, on a cosmic scale. The immensity of the cell-meld-constructed gondola fastened to her body was negated to insignificance by the delicacy of her lacy sails and fans and the angel-hair finery of her lines and filaments. The precise angles and functionality of the gondola that hugged Evangeline’s lower body and provided quarters for her Human crew was like a rectangular scar in that forest of delicacy. John jockeyed the monitor controls and shifted to a camera view that didn’t include the gondola. Now she was all Beast, all living creature moving herself easily toward the station. Evangeline was lifting and rotating her filaments and fans in the graceful lazing movement that all Beastships made, no matter what speed they were traveling at. Not for the first time, John stared at that seemingly idle shifting, at the play of the station’s reflected lights on her translucent body, and wondered how the hell the Beasts moved through space so effortlessly. One hank of filaments moved suddenly and coordinatedly in what could have been a venting of gases, a steerage correction, or simply a stretching of tissue as Evangeline brought them closer to docking.
“Tug,” he said softly, staring at the screen. “Tell her she’s beautiful.”
“Tell whom, John?”
He didn’t lift his gaze. “Evangeline. Tell her she’s beautiful.”
“I can’t do that, John. For one thing, she wouldn’t understand it. For another, we have found that any kind of communication with Humans, however indirect, is most unsettling to a Beast. Your culture is still, unfortunately, much too disharmonious.”
“Telling her she’s beautiful would upset her? What’s disharmonious about that?”
Tug sighed audibly, purely for the benefit of the listening Humans. John was suddenly aware of how still Connie was, how tuned in she was to this old argument between Tug and him.
“John, it is so simple. Think about it and even you will grasp it. Evangeline sees neither beauty nor ugliness, in herself or in anything else. She sees only things in their correct places, doing as they should. To speak of beauty to her would be to imply to her that this was a thing to strive for, somehow, at the expense of being harmonious with all around her. It would confuse her.”
John was silent. Tug wasn’t going to give Evangeline the message, was never going to let John have any kind of communication with the Beast that powered his ship. No, Tug kept it all for himself, and John often felt little more than an errand boy.
Sometimes, when he thought about it, it almost made him bitter. John Gen-93-Beta, captain of the Beastship Evangeline, sitting in his command lounge watching his ship rendezvous and dock with the station. And he didn’t lift a finger to control or assist it in any way, didn’t need to issue a single command, didn’t even really understand how any of it was done. The fact that the entire Human populations of Castor and Pollux and all four dirty-tech stations shared his ignorance did nothing to abate his frustration with it. The poor quality of the screen’s image only rubbed his nose in it. It didn’t matter what the Human captain saw, as long as the Arthroplana who owned her, and the Beastship herself, could perceive the correct docking coordinates. They were the ones doing all the real work. John had been more of a real captain when he had been operating one of the little scooters that performed duty maintenance on the exterior of the stations. On board the Evangeline, seated on the bridge, he was captain only of the gondola ship attached to Evangeline’s body. He did not navigate, he did not stand a watch. He was more of a social interface than anything else: a portable component of the ship that Tug could send forth to negotiate contracts, to make physical contact with Humans and other aliens, to supervise loading and unloading of any tangible cargoes they might carry. He thought of the years he had struggled to reach this position, the machinations he’d gone through, and felt his gut tighten. And yet he wouldn’t change what he had for anything else. Because it was as close as any Human could come to mastering an interstellar Beastship. As close as the Arthroplana would ever let a Human approach the freedom of the spaceways. He didn’t know any other Beastship captain who didn’t feel the same frustration with the biologically imposed ceiling on ambition. He’d reached the pinnacle of his career, but his fingertips would only brush mankind’s ambition to roam the stars.
He spared a glance for Connie, the only other Human inhabitant on the Evangeline. She was the crew, as he was the captain. Tug was the owner, and Evangeline herself was no one knew what. According to Tug and the other Arthroplanas who owned them, the Beastships were alive and almost sentient. And horribly sensitive to being peeked and probed at, which was why despite their two-thousand-year acquaintanceship, no Humans had ever been allowed more than the most cursory of inspections of one. No Human understood the mechanisms by which a Beastship fed or communicated with another Beast or with the Arthroplana within its body, let alone how they achieved light speed. When questioned by Humans about the Beastships’ method of locomotion, the Arthroplanas either professed not to understand it either, or retreated into a semantic jungle of words that had no Human equivalent, interspersed with concepts that seemed more philosophical than physical. Their “explanations” served only to give those Humans who specialized in Arthroplana psychology more to argue about among themselves. Once, during one of their quarrels, John had accused Tug and the Arthroplana in general of dissembling with Humanity merely to keep their monopoly on interstellar travel. Tug had laughed, in his most annoying simulated giggle. For ten solid minutes.
He reflected that as captain he still knew little more than the very first Humans who had boarded a Beastship “lifeboat” for the evacuation of Terra. He shifted restlessly, and tried to focus his mind on his more immediate problems.
“Check back with the ship every twelve hours while we’re in port. I don’t think our layover here will be very long. Norwich Shipping has picked up their contract option the last dozen times we’ve been here; I expect they’ll do it again, if I go in and argue with them. If they do, I want to be ready to go. And if they don’t, I want you to be ready to go with whatever I do find for us. But Norwich will be my first effort. I wonder what the hell they want to renegotiate. Probably want to lower the risk bonus again. Same old damn thing. They think because we haven’t had any accidents, there isn’t any danger in these weird runs they find for us. I’d like to see them find someone else who’d be willing to take on one of their little errands.”
John paused and waited for Connie to make some sort of response. He saw her eyes flicker in his direction, then fix on her screen again. Come on, kid, have an opinion about something,