Cale nodded and started to speak, but Ruth interrupted. "Enough! This unfortunate man is injured and in pain. Noble sire," she asked Nabel, "Where might we find clean fresh water and a way to heat it?"
Nabel stared at Ruth as though seeing her for the first time. "Noble sire? I'd bet you'd be from . . . lessee . . . Ararat or Camelot, right? Damn if you ain't a purty thang."
Ruth winced inwardly at the old man’s swearing, but she smiled and nodded. "Ararat, noble sire."
Nabel looked at Cale. "I see why your mission was so urgent. Cain't blame ya none. I'da been in a hurry to get her, too!"
Both Cale and Ruth blushed and tried to stammer out denials at the same time, both trailing off as they heard the other speak.
Nabel just chuckled. "Then you're both damned fools. Th' water in the 'fresher in the office is good. The well goes through to bedrock. An' the galley works fer heatin'"
Cale nodded and set off. He found a bucket hanging from a rope outside the airlock of a DIN-class freighter hulk. He was still stiff from their high-G run, and yawning, but he got the water and heated it in the old corvette's tiny galley.
Between them they stripped off Nabel's filthy shipsuit and foul underwear, and Ruth calmly began cleaning the man up. She gave no indication that Nabel's nakedness bothered or offended her. She simply cleaned the dried urine and feces from the old man's skinny body in a calm and businesslike manner.
Then she turned her attention to his right thigh, gently touching and feeling the limits of the break. Finally, she sat back. "It is indeed broken, noble sire. May I offer my services? I am no healer, but I have set such for others in my village."
The hard lines of Nabel's face softened, as did his tone. "Yep. You're from Ararat, all right. Been there twice. The first time, by the time I figgered out their manners, I'd lost a deal. Second time was better." He paused, and a smile lit his face. "The manner of speech near drove me crazy, but I cain't say anyone ever tried to cheat me on Ararat. Thank ye, mistress. I'd be honored to accept your generous offer."
Cale gave the man a piece of thick leather to chew on, and then stretched the red, swollen leg. When Ruth felt the ends of the bone align, she replaced Nabel's makeshift splint with one from an emergency medical kit still aboard the DIN-class hulk. Cale rummaged through the med kit, hoping to find a nanobot kit, but he was disappointed.
Nabel shrugged. "They wouldn't have been any good by now, anyway. That ship's been here near twenty years." He brightened. "Say! If you can get me to th' orbital yard, I got an old Beta-class liner up there still powered up. I use it t'live in when I'm workin' up there. Which ain't often, any more. But she's got a real sickbay, with a regen tank. A few hours in there, an' I'll be right!"
L'rak was too small to transport the three of them, and Cale flatly refused to leave Ruth behind on Torlon, even for a few hours. However, Nabel assured him that one of the tramps on the port pad still flew. He used it to ferry ship parts down from the orbital yard. It was filthy and cluttered, but it did fly, and carried them to the liner. Cale matched orbits with the ships' airlocks only a few meters apart.
Ruth complained when told she would have to remain on the tramp while the two men went onto the liner. "You can't wear a suit with that long hair. Besides, it would be criminal to put you in a spacesuit without any training. There are too many ways a suit can kill you." Cale responded. Her pleadings failed miserably. Cale was adamant, and Nabel backed him up.
They helped Nabel into a suit and the two men simply jumped across the three meters between the airlocks. The liner was shabby, but her life support functioned flawlessly, as did her AI, which greeted them as they boarded.
Nabel explained their mission, and in moments, a robot floatchair appeared to carry the old man to the sick bay.
"I am activating the sick bay and the regen tank," the AI informed them. "I have run diagnostics, and the med comp is completely functional. Nanobot support is also available if needed, though the nanobots are nearing their expiration date." The AI's voice was female, a warm, cultured contralto befitting the fine liner she had once been.
Cale returned to the tramp and a frantic Ruth. Nabel joined them three hours later, walking effortlessly, as though he had not just had a broken thighbone. They returned to the planet.
Nabel was in an expansive, talkative mood. "While I was sittin' there in my own shit for a week, I had a lot of time to think," he began. “Torlon is done. I've tried for thirty years to find a younker I could teach to take over the business, or just to learn to pilot. But them as were interested was drove off by the book learning it took, an' once the port traffic slowed down, people started driftin' away from Torlon City. Ain't but about twenty left. Most of 'em went off farmin' or somethin'."
"What about the man over in the port building? The comm tech?"
"Him? Pah. It just makes him feel important to carry the comm alarm around. I figger he'll get tired of carryin' it someday, an' Torlon's last contact with the rest of the galaxy will be lost.
"Anyway," he continued, "I'm done here. I'll buy L'rak back, 'cause I said I would, an' 'cause I just hate to give her up. But I'm gittin' outta here. I figger I'll just load up that old tramp with the best stuff I got, take your gold, and head off fer greener pastures."
Cale grinned. "You'd abandon your scrap empire, here?"
Nabel's answering grin was accompanied by an enthusiastic bobbing of his head. "Truth is, I been bringin' in the only hard currencies on the planet, and the people here are goin' back to barter. No profit in that fer me. Oh, they's a good market out there fer used ship parts, what with the loss of manufacturin' since the Fall. But this fall showed me I'm too old t'be climbin' around on scaffolds in gravity fields."
Finally, Cale thought, an opening. "If you're really going to abandon this place, do you mind if I do a bit of scavenging, myself?"
Nabel laughed aloud. "Son, you find anything here or in orbit you want, you can have it as the price of L'rak. I got a few operable ships left, if you want one. Tell ya what. I'll just transfer the title to the whole shebang to you. Oh, I expect once I leave these people will come in an’ steal anythin' down here not welded down. But there's still plenty a' good stuff in orbit."
Cale thought hard. No one would be able to track him to Torlon, and if they did, no one here except Nabel had really had contact with him. It might be useful to have a cache of ships and parts in orbit here. Call it a "bolt hole," a safe refuge in case the hounds got close. Nothing deteriorates in the vacuum of space, except radioactives, of course. Nabel had already posted a beacon proclaiming ownership of the orbiting junk and warning off trespassers. But chances are he could come back in fifty years, and that Beta-class liner would still be there to welcome him. Call it a private space station and space fleet. All for the price of two bars of gold.
"Done," he said, "but there're two things I'll need you to do for me. One is to help me ferry any operable ships here on-planet up to the orbital yard. Second, do you have papers on all your ships here? I'm particularly interested in that Stinger-class courier in the yard."
"That? Sure, I got all the papers on it. Had to keep 'em, in case somebody claimed it was theirs. I got papers on all of 'em."
Cale nodded. "Good. I want you to transfer ownership of that ship to me, officially, on the ship's papers. I also want you to cut out the hull plate with the ident info cast into it. We'll be welding it into place on my ship, once I bring it down. We'll hide the rest of the papers on one of the hulks in orbit. You never know what you might need some day."
Nabel's smile turned suspicious. Then his face cleared, and he waved a hand. "No, I don't want to know. Fer two bars a gold, I ain't askin' no questions.”
They wrestled a large file cabinet out of the depths of the old ship, and Nabel finally found the papers for Cheetah, the Stinger-class in the yard. They completed the formalities transferring Cheetah and the entire scrapyard business to Cale, and L'rak back to Nabel. They put the file cabinet full of ship's papers on an anti
grav skid and moved it to the port landing pad, near the tramp they'd used, and Cale triggered the recall beacon for Scorpion, soon to be Cheetah.
Nabel's tramp was the only operable ship planetside, so no ferrying was required. Cale offered to help Nabel gather valuables and load the tramp, but Nabel declined. "Naw, I'm retired now. Got nothin' but time. They's no hurry. Might take a week, might take a month. It don't matter. I got nowhere to go, an' all the time in the world t'get there. Right now, I think I'll get started cuttin' out that hull plate."
Cale frowned. "Ber, are you sure about this? I mean, you just signed your life's work over to a stranger because of a broken leg."
Nabel smiled. "Yep, I'm sure. 'Sides, it ain't my 'life's work'. It's been more of a life than you think!"
Cale wished him well, and the old man returned to the yard.
By the time Scorpion grounded, the new hull plate was ready. Cale had Tess ground Scorpion at the entrance to the yard. Nabel simply commented on her similarity to the Stinger-class ships, and the differences. Then he began expertly cutting the ident hull plate out. Some six hours later, the hull plate was in place. Only a slight newness in the antirad coating over the new plate revealed the deception, and a few weeks in space would take care of that. Cale inspected the work carefully. After all, Cheetah was a space-to-ground vehicle, and aerodynamics was important. However, Nabel was an expert. The new welds were blended flawlessly. Cheetah would pass even the closest inspection.
Tess, the ship's AI, took the identity change in stride. Evidently, she accepted it as part of the 'secret agent' story with which she had been programmed.
It was not so easy with Ruth. Ever since he had introduced the subject, Ruth had been cold and distant. "I will not ask why you feel it necessary to perpetrate this hoax. I understand that lying and cheating are the offworlder's way." was her only comment.
Cale sighed in exasperation. "I told you when you came aboard that I was being chased," he replied in an irritated tone. "With luck, this will be the last of the deceptions necessary." Anger flared. "Damn it, I'm trying to save our lives!"
She was unruffled. "At the cost of your honor and your immortal soul."
"I don't believe in souls, and I lost my honor a long time ago." he shot back. "About the time I was made a slave and sent to the mines! All I have left is my life. I'm very fond of my life. It's the only one I've got!"
She stiffened in astonishment. "You do not believe in the soul? And what of God?"
"Which one? There are thousands throughout the galaxy. One of the nastiest tyrannies in history was a theocracy. You, of all people, should know. Ararat was a Glory world!"
"Of course I know of the Mission. They were seduced by false prophets, but they sought only to bring mankind to the Lord. Their intentions were good."
Cale laughed, a grating, derisive sound. "Good intentions have caused more misery throughout mankind's history than anything else." He became aware of a growing anger, and clamped down on it. "You see? We have to work out an arrangement, at least for the time we're together. Can we agree that your moral standards differ from those of most man-settled planets?"
"Yes!" she replied heatedly, "They're better!"
Cale suppressed an equally heated reply. A quarrel would not settle their differences; indeed, it would only drive each of them toward the extremes. "Very well," he said in a reasonable tone, "They're 'better'. But they are not the same, and unless you want to provoke quarrels wherever you go, I suggest you follow them if you wish, but not try to impose them on others or lecture others about them."
Ruth looked troubled, but did not reply.
"Also," he continued after a moment, "While your exaggerated courtesy and piety fit the culture of Ararat, you will find that they will only irritate and annoy most others."
"You prefer rudeness and impiety?" she shot back sarcastically.
"Of course not," he replied quietly. "I suggest only that you restrain yourself from using the extravagant courtesies of Ararat. No, don't interrupt," he added, to forestall her heated response. "You're not stupid. You know exactly what I mean. You've seen me interact with you and with Nabel. You know the level of courtesy I mean. And if you still don't, just keep quiet until you do know."
"Of course I understand," she replied in a surly tone. "But just because others lack courtesy is no reason for me to forego it."
He shook his head. "Of course it is. Look. I'm not from Ararat. But I was taught that the real essence of courtesy, the reason for its existence, was to make others feel at home and comfortable around you."
She nodded. "Of course."
"Good. Can't you accept that we are more casual than those on Ararat, but we can still make others feel comfortable? That your frequent references to beliefs they do not share might make them uncomfortable? And that the high-flown verbiage and flowery courtesies would only embarrass or even offend these more casual people? That they might think you are mocking or ridiculing them?"
Her eyes widened. "Would they really think that I would do such?"
He shrugged. "Very possibly. You find some of our mannerisms offensive, don't you?"
Ruth frowned. "I certainly do!"
He smiled a genuine smile this time. "Of course. Essentially," he continued, "you have two choices. You can force yourself to adapt to the ways of most of the galaxy, or you can try to insist that it adapt itself to your Ararat ways. Since you won't be returning to Ararat soon, if at all, I'd suggest you do the adapting."
Ruth did not reply, but her expression was thoughtful.
Since she was a luxurious yacht, Cheetah was much roomier than the tiny L’rak. After her discussion with Cale, Ruth retreated to her large stateroom and seldom came out even for meals. She spent most of her time avoiding Cale, thinking a lot, and talking to Tess, the ship’s AI. Unfamiliar with ships, Ruth never noticed anything unusual in Tess’s responses or even her seeming concern. Ruth didn’t wonder at Tess’s ability to offer unsolicited opinions, or indeed, her ability to even have opinions. Moreover, Tess’s apparent woman-to-woman sympathy to Ruth’s confidences only incited her to share more of them.
Ruth was seriously worried. She had had her space adventure, and she had started to believe, trust, and even like Cale. But his actions and responses on Torlon had shaken her badly, and his responses during their last conversation had actually frightened her.
Obviously, Ruth’s family and teachers had been right about offworlders. They had no honor. Apparently, falsifying a ship’s documents and even flat-out lying to planetary authorities and even business associates were well within Cale’s moral code.
Worse, he was an atheist – a creature Ruth had been taught to fear and abhor. How could one have a moral compass without a belief in the Lord and His holy word?
Worst of all, though, was his ability to twist words, to make the worst of sins seem acceptable and even laudable. Somehow, he could make things seem reasonable and right, even when she knew they violated God’s Holy Scripture.
No, she and Tess decided, Ruth had to get away. Tess claimed to know of planets with codes and beliefs similar to those on Ararat.
If she could convince Cale to drop her off . . . Ruth was cured of her wanderlust. She was lonely and frightened. She wanted to go home! Unfortunately, she knew that to be impossible. Perhaps if she prayed hard and repented her sinful actions, God would soften Cale’s heart and get him to take her to a civilized world!
Ruth was not the only one doing a lot of thinking. With Ruth hunkering down in her stateroom, Cale had been trying to deal with the problem she presented.
Damn it! He hadn’t asked the silly girl to stow away on L’rak. Nevertheless, he was stuck with her, now. He had no doubt what Smiley’s answer would be — he would simply push Ruth out the airlock and be done with her.
But he wasn’t Smiley, and he was no longer Emo Arror, the Terror. He never even considered that action. No, he had to find a way to deal with the girl that John Smith could live with. Not Cale Rankin the
pragmatist, and certainly not Emo Arror; but John Smith, the honest, upright, respectable attorney. The man he hoped to someday become once more, even if under a different name.
Okay. Maybe he could find a world that was similar enough to Ararat to permit the girl to live a happy life. He still had two of the gold bars. Surely, they would be enough to get her comfortably settled, and maybe even enough to serve as a good dowry. With any luck, in a few years she would be a plump farm wife with a child on each hip. He smiled.
“Tess,” he called out, “Search the stellar index for this sector. Keywords are universal religious belief, Christianity, and open to strangers.” He paused. He still wasn’t sure he understood Tess’s capabilities. He sighed. “I’m looking for planets similar to Ararat, where Ruth would be able to live without offending the planet’s mores, or hers either, for that matter.”
“Yes, sir,” the AI replied in her pleasant, if somewhat mechanical contralto. “There are six planets in the sector that feature universal Christian beliefs, but most are insular and suspicious of strangers. The planet that most closely meets your criteria is Faith.”
“Faith! Of course!” Cale answered. “Just the right choice. I haven’t been there, but I’ve met two people from there, and they do resemble people from Ararat, though without the flowery language. Thank you, Tess,” he continued. “Would you ask Ruth to join me, please?”
“Of course, sir”
Ruth appeared a few minutes later, looking sullen and suspicious. Tess had told her that Cale had found a Christian planet on which to leave her, but Ruth was having trouble believing that the Lord could answer her prayers so quickly.
“Ruth,” Cale began, “It is obvious that our outlooks are far too different for comfort. I do not know your original plans when you stowed away, but I’m afraid you will find most worlds far too liberal and worldly for your comfort. I cannot return to Ararat for several reasons, and I must be about my own business alone. I have, however, located a world with values similar to those of Ararat. I propose to take you there and drop you off. The planet is called “Faith,” and from what I know of it, I think you will be happy there. Tess will have information about Faith in her files, and will be able to tell you about it.”
The Privateer Page 8
