by F. M. Busby
Eventually he pushed himself up and sat. “You didn’t come?”
“I seldom do.”
“You didn’t even fake it — try to make me feel good.”
“That, I never do.” I would not give you the satisfaction.
“Chira does. She does it real good — don’t you, Chira?”
The girl pouted. “I do better than her. Anytime, Tregare.”
“Yeah? Well, not right now. Go get us all something to eat.”
“You, sure, Tregare. She can get her own.”
Even tired, he moved like a cat. His slap knocked Chira skidding. “You forgetting how to take orders?” He stalked toward her.
Rissa leaped and caught his arm. “No, Tregare! She is upset, that is all. Wait, Chira — I will clothe myself and come with you, to help. We must share these chores; I may as well start learning.”
The man looked at her. “Ms. High-and-Mighty Paying Passenger wants to help with the scutwork?”
“If you call it scutwork to accommodate one another in these small matters — then yes.”
“Oh, get the hell out of here. And hurry it up — I’m hungry.”
She returned his gaze. “It would serve you right if we ate in the galley and then brought your food. Cold.”
His mouth began a snarl — then he laughed. “Talk all you want, Obrigo. You know better than to do it.”
Dinner relaxed them all. Afterward, over wine, Tregare became talkative. “What all did Osallin tell you about me?”
Rissa shrugged. “What is there to tell? So far as we know, you command the only armed ship ever to Escape. It is said that sometimes you use your armaments as threat to bilk your suppliers, groundside. And that your command came not as consequence of Escape, but afterward. And — ”
He interrupted. “That old mutiny story, is it? Well, it wasn’t how you think.”
Her brows raised. “So? Then how was it, Tregare?”
He drained his glass, poured another and leaned forward. His face showed strain. “Obrigo? You know how ships Escape? You risk death, is how. People — officers, especially — who want out of UET — they talk, feel each other out. You think you have enough on the right side, you make your move. . . .”
His eyes narrowed; Rissa saw that they looked beyond her. Tregare said, “It’s better if the captain’s with you, but old Rigueres was UET all the way — not a chance. So Monteffial — he was First Hat, I was Third — he cut Rigueres’ throat and we had the ship. But we’d made some bad guesses; there were more against us than we thought. And Farnsworth — Second Hat — he was playing double agent, pretending he was with us and planning to hang us with UET.
“He had Monteffial killed — didn’t have the guts to do it himself — got most of our people locked up and set course for Earth. Where he missed — “ Now Tregare laughed. “Where he missed, was with me. I’d gone outside in a power suit to fix a viewscreen input — communications was my specialty — and hadn’t logged the jaunt.
“So Farnsworth didn’t know I was out, didn’t know Deverel was covering for me at the airlock, and told me the scoop when I came in. So I didn’t take off the power suit, was all. I walked right through Farnsworth’s goons with their knives and such, and caught him and broke his neck. And turned our people loose. The rest — the UET holdouts — went outside without suits. And that’s your mutiny. Not against our Escape command — against a UET takeover. And I wrecked the suit doing it.”
His face was flushed. He drained his glass and tapped it on the table. Chira refilled it.
“That is most interesting, Tregare. It explains a great deal.”
“Like what?”
“Such as — well, an experience of that sort must not be easy to live with. I will remember and make allowances.”
His laugh was half a snort. “Nobody has to make allowances for Tregare. On this ship I make the allowances. Don’t forget that.”
“Very well,” said Rissa. She smiled.
She thought he would hit her, but after a moment he laughed, and this time freely. “You’re a smart one, aren’t you, Obrigo — I’ll keep that in mind.”
“And I will keep in mind, Tregare, that you are another.”
Ship's time was measured by Earth days, but Rissa had no need to keep count. In her lock box an isotope-powered watch steadily noted, on its calendar dials, the subjective duration of her passage days. Those days were much alike — she ate, slept, visited various parts of the ship, and feigned lack of interest in the knowledge she eagerly accumulated.
She asked no questions; she waited until the answers came unasked, to fill gaps in her growing expertise. At turnover, in the control room, fidgeting and pretending boredom, she learned the location of Number One. Mentally she filed that answer with the rest.
She had little converse with Tregare’s officers and less with the crew. She suspected that he had ordered it so, but did not accuse nor ask him.
In the case of First Officer Gonnelsen, no such stricture was needed. Except in line of duty, Rissa never heard him speak. Yet he seemed relaxed and calm; when he did talk, his voice was low and pleasant.
Third Officer Hain Deverel always greeted her with a smile. But the short, dark-haired man did not follow the greeting with talk, so neither did Rissa.
The one who did speak without constraint was Second Officer Zelde M’tana — a tall, very black woman, large-boned — but with her considerable height, slender in appearance. At first sight the woman startled Rissa — her strongly pronounced features, the tightly curling hair cut to a close-fitting cap, the deep voice when she spoke. From her left ear dangled a large heavy gold ring; on the right side, the lobe was missing.
Caught staring, Rissa felt herself flush. The other said, “The ear? Bandits — they used to be bad, in the back alleys of Parleyvoo. That’s on Terranova.”
“I — I am sorry — I did not intend rudeness. Even though you are very striking, still I — ”
The woman laughed. “I’ve been catching double takes ever since I got my growth. You’re Tari Obrigo, aren’t you? I’m Zelde M’tana — Second Hat.” Her hand engulfed Rissa’s smaller one, but her grip was gentle.
“I am pleased to know you, Second Officer M’Tana.”
“Make it Zelde, will you?” Rissa nodded. “Those bandits, though — out of the dark, two grabbed me and before I knew it a third one sliced my ear to get the gold. Lucky he didn’t get the whole ear — I guess I jerked sideways enough so he missed.”
“And then — how did you get away?”
“Me?” Zelde laughed. “I didn’t get away — and only one of them did. Bad luck, the one with the gold and part of my ear. I killed the other two, right enough.”
The woman was smiling; Rissa smiled also. “I am glad you did.” “Yeah? Most people don’t care for that part of the story. Tari — I think I like you.”
At a later meeting — in the galley and by chance — Zelde asked, “You have any plans for yourself, on the ship here?”
“I — what do you mean?”
“Just what I said. I started as captain’s doxy myself. Not much future in it, I figured, on the long haul — so I learned things, how to help run a ship and all, and now I’m somebody in my own right. You could be, too — so think on it.”
“Yes. Thank you. But I will not be on Inconnu much longer. My passage is to Number One.”
“Passage? You’re a paid passenger?” Rissa nodded, and the other burst into laughter. “That Tregare! Who else could work it to collect passage money from his bedmate?” She shook her head, then sobered. “I shouldn’t make fun, Tari. And from the look of you, you’re not beaten down or anything. Maybe I ought to mind my own business.”
“No, Zelde — I appreciate your concern. But truly, I am all right.”
As time passed, she lay less often with Tregare. Once only, by apparent accident, she destroyed his desire moments short of climax. Thereafter, though obviously she was more skilled than Chira, he approached her seldom — an
d never without taking pains to soften her mood. She in turn was careful not to allow him to ingratiate himself too easily. Once he looked at her and said, “If I thought you were playing games with me . . .”
She laughed. “We all play games — it is our nature.”
“I don’t.”
“Of course you do. You are playing one now. The name of it is ‘I don’t play games.’”
One side of his mouth smiled. “You should have been a space captain. Or, no — a politician.”
“Perhaps I shall be — a politician, I mean. On Number One.”
“I ought to put you outside without a suit — and the Hulzeins be hanged.”
“Perhaps you should. Before, though?” In bed she held him incompleted long enough to see worry in his face; then brought him to jubilating, draining conclusion. For the first time she thought, I must keep in touch with this man — he is dangerous, but I can handle him. He could be useful. Later . . .
The three sat at their last dinner; morning would see Inconnu landed. “This wine is special,” said Tregare. “I save it for arrivals, and I have only enough for three more.”
“It is delicious,” said Rissa. “I hope you can replenish your supply.”
“Not hardly, he can’t.” Chira laughed. “Comes from — I forget the name — UET’s main base, off Earth. Armed ships there all the time, he says.”
“‘Stronghold,’ it’s called,” said Tregare. “I got in and out of there once with fake papers. For repairs. That trick won’t work a second time. But you never know — someday I may try the place again, at that.”
Rissa nodded. “Yes, you might. With a few more armed ships . . .”
He stared at her. “What have you heard?”
“Nothing specific. But you have taken another Escaped Ship — perhaps more? Obviously you wish to build your own fleet. Does your plan involve taking more armed UET ships, or arming your own?”
His voice was low. “Nothing’s safe from you, is it? All right — either, or both. I have — well, never mind that — I — ”
“You have someone trying to duplicate this ship’s weapons; I guessed that much. I will not ask where. But the missing projector unit — the place I saw, where it used to be — you did not remove it for repairs, I think, because the defective freeze-chambers are still in place. And why, may I ask? You should — ”
“Hey! You trying to tell me how to run my ship?”
“Someone should!”
His face reddened; his palm struck the table hard enough to rock the wine in its glasses. “Damn it, Obrigo — you’re right again! I’ll get those useless chambers off here as soon as we land.”
“But maintain ownership; it may be they can be restored.”
“I know that! Why don’t you tell me how to zip my own shoes?”
Chira giggled. “You sure let her get you mad a lot.”
He turned on the girl, then looked to Rissa and shook his head. “You’re giving her bad habits — you know that?”
Rissa shook her head. “I do not consider honesty a bad habit. Impractical sometimes, but not bad.”
Not quietly, Tregare exhaled. “Funny thing, Tari Obrigo. Like she says, you do get me mad. But — you know? I’ll miss you.”
For over a month he had not touched her. Now was the last night. Making her decision, she reached for his hand. “Tregare?”
“Yes?”
“At the first of this trip, I hated your guts.”
“Come to that, I wasn’t too crazy about yours. So?”
“Now — Tregare, I am not sure if I like you or not — or whether anyone should — but you are important to me. I want you to survive and succeed.”
“Same to you and many of ‘em. Anything else, while you’re at it?”
“Yes, Tregare. Will you sleep with me tonight?”
And with skills she had never before shown him, she made that night one he would remember. And then lay wondering why her own body would not respond. For this time she had truly wanted him.
When Chira woke her, Tregare was gone. “We’re landed.”
“Oh.” Rissa sat up. “I had better get my things together and leave.” She dressed and packed; the tasks took little time. Chira left and returned with their breakfasts.
“Your last eats on Inconnu.”
Rissa sat and began eating. “Thank you, Chira.”
“Y’welcome, Tari.” The girl frowned. “First I didn’t like you — you scared me. But you treat me good. I dunno — if you stayed on, pretty soon Tregare don’t need me — I’m down with the property. But still
— I’m gonna miss you.” Rissa moved around the table and hugged the girl. “Just remember, Chira — he does not own you. Stand up for yourself.” “I think I see it — yeah. Like the way you do, with him. Not too much, but sometimes.”
“Perhaps now, Chira, he will be easier with you.”
“Maybe. Hey — siddown, eat, before it gets all cold.” Rissa obeyed. Then she brushed her hair — on the ship she had not bothered to curl it — and tied it back with a clasp.
When she was ready to leave, she carried all her gear. Chira said, “Tregare wants to see you, say good-bye before you get off.”
“All right, I will.” Laden, no hands free, she smiled goodbye as she left Chira to whatever destiny the girl could manage.
She looked for Zelde M’tana, then remembered the watch schedule; the woman would be sleeping. Near the main airlock she found Tregare arguing loudly with persons she had never seen — groundsiders here, she thought.
She waited briefly, then spoke. “Tregare — before I leave, do you have a moment?” Against the others’ words his arm swung like a scythe; he came to her.
“So you’re getting off. All done with me.” His arm went round her shoulders.
“Getting off — yes. Done with you, Tregare? Will that not depend on our travels, yours and mine? If I settle here, I might be old before you next return.”
He looked away from her. “You know, I could like that. I’d take you to bed and you ‘d be the grateful one.”
She laughed and nipped his earlobe. “Do not bet on it. But stay in communication when you can. I shall when I can. And good luck, Tregare.”
She left the ship and walked out into Number One’s hot morning sunlight.
At ground level an armed woman, an albino, met her. Rissa judged her insignia at officer grade. The woman said, “Identity check — get it all out, and tell me your reasons for coming here.”
Rissa produced Tari Obrigo’s papers. “Here are my bona fides.” She paused and decided to chance it. At the least, I may gain information. “My presence on Number One concerns the Hulzein Establishment.”
The pink eyes looked at her. “You’re a Hulzein employee?”
“A . . . representative, you might say. I bring word from Earth and from the Far Corner connection.”
The woman nodded; her white hair swung. “That’s good enough. I’ll advise the Provost that you’re coming, and arrage your transport there and beyond.”
A large radius and low density gave Number One a gravity pull slightly less than Earth’s. From the clumsy, jerky groundcar, Rissa watched scudding masses of purple cloud cover and uncover the sun. The ride was short. The driver — a burly man who had not spoken — led her into a windowless gray building, past a bank of elevators and up one flight of stairs, to a door labeled “Provost.”
“In there,” he said, and turned to leave.
She said, “Thank you.” He did not answer. She took one deep breath, opened the door, entered, and closed the door behind her.
The walls simulated a jungle scene; play of shadows on moving foliage had a hypnotic quality. Three persons were in the room but her attention went to the big dark-bearded man behind the largest desk — with the marker “Stagon dal Nardo: Provost.” Even sitting, he loomed.
He cleared his throat and said, “Anyone can push the Hulzein name this far. Now let’s see you back it up.” He looked through the pap
ers she handed him. “Tari Obrigo, eh?” He pronounced it AHB-riggo.
“Oh-BREEgo.”
“Whatever . . .” He frowned. “Are you Hulzein-connected by blood? By marriage?”
“Neither.”
“Then which Hulzein do you represent?”
She said, “None directly, Provost dal Nardo. I — ”
“None directly, you say?” He tugged at his short, full beard. “That poses problems.”
“I know Erika and Frieda. You have heard of them?”
“They’re on Earth; you’re here.” He placed his hands flat on his desk, fingers spread. “Obrigo, so far you haven’t convinced me you’re more valuable alive than as fertilizer. Your status puts you under my jurisdiction — and we’re very short of fertilizer.”
She nodded; push had come to shove. “You are long on bullshit, if that helps. I pose problems? Then refer me to someone who understands them. You waste your time as well as mine — and I would like to get on with my business here.”
He sneered. “Yours? I thought it was the Hulzeins’. The more you talk, the more I smell fertilizer.”
She hadn’t wanted this conflict — damn the man! — but now there was no evading it. Thinking quickly, she said, “It annoys me, having to deal in threats — but you leave no choice. Dal Nardo — are you immunized against zombie gas?”
His eyes widened. “I never heard of it. What — ?”
She nodded. “I am not surprised. But in that case, I suggest you do not threaten me again.” He said nothing. “Now, may we stop niggling and get on with it?”
“A moment.” He glared at a subordinate. “I’ll have to call and ask.”
“Yes,” she said. “That is the difference between us.”
He spoke into a hushphone. Zombie gas, she thought — I will have to remember that one! But the fear she saw, plain on the faces of dal Nardo’s aides, disturbed her.
