The Ship Who Won by Anne McCaffrey, Jody Lynn Nye Page B

gave him
    credit for that. She had the lights guide him to the wall
    where Keffs weight bench was stored. It slid noiselessly
    out at knee level before the Noble Primitive who didn't
    need to be told that that was where he was to lay Keffs
    body.
    'The only intelligent man on the planet," Carialle said
    quietly to herself.
    Brannel straightened up and took a good, long look at
    the cabin, beginning to turn on his callused heels. As he
    caught sight of the monitors showing various angles of the
    crop field outside, and the close-up of his fellow Noble
    Primitives crouched in a huddle at the cave mouth, he let
    out a sound close to a derisive laugh.
    Carialle turned her internal monitors to concentrate on
    Keffs vital signs. Respiration had begun again and his eyes
    twitched under their long-lashed lids.
    Brannel started to walk the perimeter of the cabin. He
    was careful to touch nothing, though occasionally he
    leaned close and sniffed at a piece of equipment. At Keffs
    exercise machines, he took a deeper breath and straightened up with a snort and a puzzled look on his face.
    'Thank you for your help, Brannel," Carialle said, using
    the IT through her own speakers. "You can go now. Keff
    will also thank you later."
    Brannel showed no signs of being ready to depart. In
    fact, he didn't seem to have heard her at all. He was wandering around the main cabin with the light of wonder in
    his eyes beginning to alter. Carialle didn't like the speculative look on his face. She was grateful enough to die furry
    male for rescuing Keff to let him have a brief tour of the
    facilities, but no more than that.
    Thank you, Brannel. Good-bye, Brannel," Carialle said,
    her tone becoming more pointed. "You can go. Please.
    Now. Go. Leave!"
    Brannel heard the staccato words spoken by the mage's
    familiar in a much less friendly tone than it had used to
    coax him inside Keffs stronghold. He didn't want to leave
    such a fascinating place. Many objects lured him to examine them, many small enough to be concealed in the hand.
    Some of them might even be objects of power. Surely the
    great mage would not miss a small one.
    He focused on a flattened ovoid of shiny white the
    size of his hand lying on a narrow shelf below a rack of
    large stiff squares that looked to be made of wood. Even
    the quickest glance at the white thing told him that it
    had the five depressions of an item of power in its surface. His breathing quickened as he reached out to pick
    it up.
    "No!" said the voice. That's my palette." Out of the wall
    shot a hand made of black metal and slapped his wrist.
    Surprised, he dropped the white thing. Before it hit the
    floor, another black hand jumped away from the wall and
    caught it. Brannel backed away as the lower hand passed
    the white object to the upper hand, which replaced it on
    the shelf.
    Thwarted, Brannel looked around for another easily
    portable item. Showing his long teeth in an ingratiating
    smile and wondering where the unseen watcher was concealed, he sidled purposefully toward another small device
    on top of a table studded with sparkling lights. His hand
    lifted, almost of its own vohtion, toward his objective.
    "Oh, no, you don't," Carialle said firmly, startling him
    into dropping Keffs pedometer back onto the monitor
    board. She watched as he swiveled his head around, trying
    to discover where she was. "Didn't anyone ever tell you
    shoplifting is rude?"
    He backed away, with his hands held ostentatiously
    behind him.
    "You're not going to leave on your own, are you?" Carialle said. "Perhaps a little push is in order."
    Starting at the far side of the main cabin, Carialle generated complex and sour sonic tones guaranteed to be
    painful to humanoid ears. The male fell to his knees with
    his hands over his ears, his sheep's face twisted into a rictus. Carialle turned up the volume and purposefully began
    to sweep the noise along her array of speakers toward the
    airlock. Protesting, Brannel was driven, stumbling