At first, it looked like just a bundle of rags, but as he drew his belt knife, it resolved itself into a girl or young woman, buried in a mass of petticoats and a huge overcoat.
She lay half on her side, still retching, though now vomit was no longer being produced.
Slowly the spasms faded, replaced by moans of misery. Despite his anger, Cale had to smile. He was very familiar with the effects a jump could have on the unprepared. He waited patiently as the retching turned to moans and finally to sobs.
Finally, he grabbed a reasonably clean wrist and jerked the girl to her feet. From Ararat, obviously. The white cap was askew, revealing coal-black hair. Most of the petticoats had settled, though her skirt seemed to be tangled in an Ararat man's greatcoat. Cale got the impression that the tear and vomit-stained face might be reasonably attractive, but in her current condition, he couldn't be sure.
Stowaways are nearly unheard of in space. For one thing, ship's ladings are calculated for mass to the last gram. So, they are usually detected long before liftoff. For another, even the stupidest groundhog should know that ship's provisions and air are calculated as closely as cargo. A stowaway could kill himself and everyone else aboard by using up their air while in jump.
Nothing and no one could leave a ship in jump space. For one thing, who or whatever was ejected would theoretically drift forever in jump space, a total
nothingness
that no one had ever been able to locate or identify. For another, the change in the ship's mass would mean she would never reach her target jump point. The ship, too, would drift forever in jump space, her crew presumably slowly dying as the air and food ran out.
Cale felt stupid. How did he ever miss an extra fifty-or-so kilos when the station reported
L'rak
's departing mass readings? Well, at least the astrogation comp had included the extra mass in its figures. Hopefully. He'd know in about . . . eighty-four hours, when
L'rak
was
supposed
to emerge into normal space.
Cale shook the wrist he was holding, furious at this fool of a girl. "Are you
insane
?" he shouted.
The girl shrank from his anger. "Yes." she replied in a tone muffled in greatcoat.
That was the one response Cale had not been expecting. "What?" She pulled on her wrist, and in his surprise, Cale let go. She overbalanced and fell to the deck again. This time she struggled back to her feet, red-faced and flailing as she fought to remove the oversized coat.
She threw the coat to the deck and stood, hands on hips, face angry. "I said, 'yes'," she spit out. "At least everyone on Ararat thinks I am!"
Cale was regaining his mental balance. "I think so, too," he replied in a sarcastic tone. "Don't you know that every gram of mass aboard a ship must be accounted? Every cubic centimeter of air? You may have killed us both!"
Her red face whitened and she looked stunned. "What? What?"
"If your mass wasn't included in the ship's jump calculations, we'll never emerge from jump space," Cale shouted, emphasizing his words with punches of his index finger against her breastbone. "Not to mention the fact that we may not have enough air to even make it to the emergence jump point.
L'rak
may emerge with only two corpses aboard! If we weren't already in jump, I'd push you out the airlock!"
Cale had thought he was prepared for any reaction, but he was wrong. The girl fell to her knees, bowed her head, pressed her palms together in front of her face, eyes closed, and began to murmur softly.
Cale stood mouth gaping, speechless as the girl continued with what was obviously a prayer. After a moment, he rolled his eyes in disgust and returned to the pilot's seat, shaking his head, and trying desperately to remember how to make
L'rak
's astrogation comp recall the mass figures it had used in the jump. If the comp had used the station figures, and those figures were accurate, they could still emerge in the right galaxy.
He finally succeeded, and the comp
had
used the station's figures. He breathed a huge sigh of relief, just as he heard a stirring behind him as the girl rose to her feet. She squeezed herself between the two seats, and large, dark eyes regarded him with an unnatural calmness.
"I'm ready," she said quietly.
Cale rolled his eyes again. "Ready for
what
?"
"Ready to be put out the airlock," she replied quietly. "I have made my peace with our Lord, and I apologize most humbly, noble sire, for my actions and my lack of manners before. Now, having made my peace with you as well as the Lord, I am prepared for my fate."
Rolling his eyes seemed to be becoming a habit. "Nobody is going out the airlock!" Cale exclaimed. He swiveled the pilot's chair to face the small open area that passed for a cabin. He waved irritably. "Get over there and let's get a look at you."
She said nothing, but moved into the small clear space and stood quietly. The bulky Ararat clothing revealed little of her shape, but she was about 155 cems tall, and seemed to mass about 55 kilos. She seemed quite young, though it was difficult to tell under the vomit staining her face and clothing.
Speaking of the vomit, the sour smell was beginning to permeate the tiny ship.
Cale heaved a gusty sigh. "I don't suppose you know how to use a shipboard 'fresher? No? I thought not." He squeezed past her and opened the door to the rudimentary 'fresher. He showed her how to stand and let the sonics loosen dirt and dead skin, and then showed her how to don the air mask and seal herself inside the transparent bag while a brief soapy shower washed away what the sonics had loosened. He then demonstrated how the bag deflated itself, squeezing out the water for recycling before packing itself away to reveal a spacer's toilet (He'd show her how to use that later — when the stench wasn't so strong!) and a basin that could hold about two cups of water for other ablutions.
"Your pardon, noble sire," she protested, "But there is no room! Where am I to disrobe?"
Cale forcibly suppressed another eye roll. "Here. This is a very small ship. There is no provision for privacy."
She looked stunned. "But sire, it is . . ."
He waved a hand. "Unseemly, scandalous, indecent, immoral . . . any other words you'd care to add? As you may have noticed, we left Ararat some time ago, and it is by now light-years away. I'm afraid you're about to learn that the rest of the universe does not subscribe to Ararat morality."
Her head jerked from side to side, obviously seeking an escape. Finally, she asked, "Uh, noble sire, may I disrobe in the sleeping accommodation in which I was hiding?"
Cale chuckled. "You can try. But even if you close the bunk, the floor is covered with slimy vomit. You'll be cleaning that up later, by the way."
She frowned. "Perhaps I should clean the, uh, bink? And floor before bathing, noble sire."
"It's 'bunk', not 'bink'," Cale replied. "And do so if you wish. But go easy on the water. A ship this size doesn't really run to a full recycler, and the tanks are limited.
They found a small plas bag that was watertight, and she began her smelly task. He returned to the pilot's seat and tried without success to concentrate on a novel he had been reading.
Ruth set to her task. Cleaning up vomit didn't bother her; she had five younger brothers and sisters, and had cleaned up after them more than once. Actually, she was grateful for the task. Ruth was terrified. Pastor Goodman had once told her to be careful what she wished for – she might get it. It had sounded important, but she really didn't understand it then. Now, though, it seemed very wise, indeed!
Ever since she'd found that cache of condemned books when she was twelve, she had dreamed of escaping the drab world of her birth to explore the universe. To actually sail between God's stars and survey His handiwork! Her father, Pastor Goodman, even her teachers in school had tried to dissuade her, to tell her of the horrible and unnatural ways of the offworlders. Depravity, rape, and murder were casual occurrences on other worlds, and she would be in danger of losing her immortal soul!
However, Ruth did not believe them. Offworlders were God's creatures, too, weren't they? Well, Pastor Goodman had told her that the offworlders had turned away from God, and embraced the evil ways of Shaitan. He said that Ararat was an outpost of godliness and civilization in a veritable sea of depravity. That's why all interstellar traffic, even those ships capable of landing, was forbidden to touch the soil of Ararat. Ararat needed their trade, but feared contamination.
Yes, there had been evil characters in the books, and smoking, drinking, drugs, and even dancing were portrayed as casual activities. Even sexual contact between men and women had been portrayed. But there were evil people and sinners on Ararat, too, weren't there? What about that man two villages over who'd murdered his entire family? And what about Patience Godslove from their own village? Hadn't she been whipped out of the village for being found in the arms of a man?
It had taken her weeks of effort to convince her parents, her pastor, and the board governing the space station that she could hold down a cleaner's job there. She suspected that her parents felt that once she was exposed to the offworld scum, she would flee back to their welcoming arms. Once on the station, she had been caught once trying to stow away. The spacer that had found her had been gruff and impolite, and used the most
scandalous
language, but he had agreed not to notify the station authorities, claiming she reminded him of his daughter.
Finally, the little ship came in, and she knew her chance had come. The Proctor said it was the smallest ship ever to visit Ararat, and that it carried only one man. A whole ship for one man! Surely, there would be room for a small girl, as well!
At first it had been exciting, sneaking aboard when the work crew was servicing the air and water supplies, though she
had
been surprised at how small everything was. Then she felt the ship moving, and knew she was actually in the space between the Lord's stars! She had prayed, of course. Where better? But then the time had dragged. The most horrible wrenching feeling had awakened her, as though the whole universe had suddenly gone mad. And in the midst of her agony, she had been discovered. Too sick to apologize, too sick to plead, too sick to even speak her carefully rehearsed speech. And then that hard, strong hand had seized her wrist, and the man she had thought had a kind look had shouted at her, told her that she might have
killed
them both! All she could do was make her peace with God and the man, and offer up her life in expiation.
And what now? How was she to wash the filth from her body? The complicated mechanism she had been shown intimidated her. There were few machines in the village, and though there were many on the space station, there were special caretakers for them. What if she couldn't figure out how to use the thing? Dear Lord, even if she disrobed in the bink . . . uh 'bunk', how was she to get to the 'fresher? She
had
to strip. Her clothes were filthy and fouled. She would be completely
naked
, and
he
would be there! He would see her! Even husbands were not permitted to see their wives naked, except in cases of emergency or serious illness. Maybe she could keep her underwear. No, he had told her they would interfere with the 'sonics', whatever they were. And if she couldn't remember how to use the complicated 'fresher, she would be forced to
invite
him to see her as he helped her. She felt tears begin to well up.
NO!
She would
not
cry. The man would think her a child. She swallowed, and took her courage in both hands. The man had said that the morals of Ararat were not the morals of the universe, though she did not understand how that could be. Wouldn't the Lord make certain that His rules were followed throughout the universe He created? But the man had sounded sincere. And it seemed the authorities on Ararat agreed. Wasn't that what they had really been warning her about? That other places had different ideas of right and wrong? Could there really be different customs and beliefs, like the ones in those books?
She steeled herself. Yes, there obviously could. This man and those books proved it. She had not believed it at the time, but one of those books maintained that there were places where people truly did not believe in the Lord of All. How could they then discern right from wrong, good from evil?
Apparently, she was about to find out. If they survived this 'jump', the man had mentioned. Suddenly, she was looking forward to it.
She
knew right from wrong. She had studied the holy word since she would walk. Yes. She would walk through the valley of the shadow of
sin
and she would fear no evil! And she would fear no man, either!
Finished with the cleaning, she approached the man. "Noble sire, my clothing is fouled. Is there fresh clothing aboard that I may wear?"
Cale turned to her with a smile. “There is clothing, but I'm not sure you'll have the courage to wear it. In the locker in that stateroom, you will find several shipsuits. Those are coveralls that are normally worn by both sexes while in space."
"Coverall?"
Cale stood. "This is a shipsuit," he said, indicating his own garment.
Ruth grabbed hold of her panic. Yes, it had trousers. Unthinkable for a woman.
On Ararat
, she finished. The man had said they were normally worn by both sexes. Very well. The sly grin on the man's face showed that he knew what she was thinking. She would show
him
!
She composed her face. "Thank you for your kindness, noble sire. Now, if I may beg one more favor?" Cale nodded, and she continued, "It is not our custom to appear unclothed before strangers, noble sire. May I beg your word that you will keep your eyes averted while I bathe?"
Cale grinned, but it was not an evil grin. Rather, it was the grin of one who sees humor in the request. Could it be that these people could even be casual about
nakedness
? "I understand," he replied, “and I will keep my eyes to myself. You had better know, though, that we're going to be living in
very
close quarters for several weeks. I'm not sure your modesty is going to survive."