The Privateer

by Zellmann, William

  Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and he realized she’d been expecting criticism. A relieved smile lit that familiar yet unfamiliar countenance. “This outfit is my declaration of independence,” she replied quietly. “It took me hours to work up the courage to actually wear this thing. And even longer to decide to wear makeup. I’m still Dee, with my rather conservative tastes. But I’m going to keep this dress, this outfit. Whenever I find myself homesick or moping over my fate, I’ll break it out and put it on, to remind myself of the freedom I’ve gained!”

  Cale grinned. “Good! You’re too beautiful not to have at least one glamorous costume. In fact, I’d suggest you get a few more, less formal dresses. Faith styles are considered pretty severe in most places. A beautiful woman has certain natural advantages when dealing with others. It seems silly to not take advantage of them.”

  She flushed and her eyes dropped. “You think I’m beautiful?”

  “Of course! Uh, er, I mean . . .” It was his face’s turn to darken.

  The evening passed in a happy haze, and they parted only reluctantly. At her door, Cale restrained himself from taking her into his arms and kissing her. On Faith, he knew, kissing was restricted to engaged couples. But he thought he detected an expression of disappointment on her face as the door closed.

  The days became a wonderful blur of color and activity, all spiced by the presence of Dee. Without the enforced closeness of a ship, with the freedom of a city, inhibitions could fade, and nature began to take its course. Cale awoke every morning in anticipation of spending the day with Dee, and parted from her in the evenings only reluctantly. Their “city arrest” had become more of a vacation than a coerced stay.

  More than a week had passed, and they were walking comfortably back to the hotel from their new favorite restaurant, hand in hand.

  “Behind you!” The shout was sudden, but trained reflexes spun Cale about, arm coming up to block the arm of a large dark-clad man, and deflect the vibroblade intended for his kidney. He continued the spin, slamming his left foot into the outside of the man’s right knee. The man gasped as the knee dislocated, and he slumped to the ground. He struggled to rise, waving the vibroblade. Cale feinted a right kick toward the man’s head, and when the ‘blade came up, delivered the kick to the man’s crotch. The man gurgled and slumped to his side.

  Cale whipped around, looking for Dee, just in time to see her stamp a spike heel into her man’s instep. As his grip loosened, she spun and swung her left elbow into his solar plexus. The man released her and grabbed for his chest, gasping, giving Dee the moment she needed to back up a step and slam a kick into his crotch. The man collapsed, and Cale started to smile when he saw two other men struggling alongside her.

  He paused, uncertain which man he should help, if either, when the smaller man broke free and ran down the street. Cale heard a groan behind him, and turned to see his man trying to struggle to his feet, hugging his crotch. Cale spun a kick to the man’s head, and he slumped back to the ground. Dee’s man wasn’t even trying to rise. He was curled into a fetal position and vomiting. Cale looked around and found they had attracted an audience. “Would someone call the police?” he asked, and someone replied, “On the way.”

  Then, suddenly, Dee was in his arms, clinging desperately to him and trembling. “It’s all right, darling,” he murmured into her hair. “It’s all over.” He kept repeating the two phrases while he reveled in the sweet smell and soft feel of her. Her trembling subsided, and he began to feel another sort of tension arise in both of them.

  He cleared his throat, and then looked over Dee’s head at the man who had warned and then helped them. He reluctantly released Dee and stepped toward the man.

  “Thank you, sire,” he said. “Your timely help saved us from being robbed or even injured.”

  The man looked at him quizzically. “Robbed or injured?” he replied. “Don’t you realize that this wasn’t a simple robbery attempt?”

  Tan frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  The man toed the still-buzzing vibroblade at Cale’s feet. “Vibroblade’s not a robber’s weapon. A knife is more intimidating. ‘Blades are assassin’s weapons, pure and simple. Somebody wants you dead.”

  Cale started. He realized the man was right. Robbers don’t want trouble; they want an easy score. They are rarely killers, and fighting draws attention. No, they prefer to intimidate their victims. They want big, shiny weapons; shiny plated needlers and blasters, or knives with big, shiny blades to scare victims into giving up their valuables quickly and quietly. Vibroblades weren’t intimidating, just deadly. The ‘blade at his feet had a blackened blade only about 10 centimeters long. But the blade of a vibroblade, as its name implies, vibrates at several thousand cycles per second, and is capable of slicing through tissue and bone without slowing. As their rescuer had said, an assassin’s weapon; not intimidating, but deadly,

  He began to reply, but suddenly they were inundated by uniforms. The officer that questioned Cale and Dee agreed with their rescuer’s assessment, asking them if they knew of any reason someone would want them dead. At their negative replies, he shrugged. “We’ll get these two down to the station and run their DNA. But we already know they were both carrying 500 crowns in gold. You be very careful. That’s a premium price for a murder here.”

  When the police left, Cale, Dee and their rescuer retired to a nearby restaurant. His name was Zant Jenfu, and he was from a planet called Selfa. He was a tall, heavyset man with the leathery look of an outdoorsman. His city-style suit hung on him like a costume; one got the feeling that it wasn’t his usual attire. Cale estimated the suit was ten years out of date and well worn, though clean.

  In all, Cale assessed him as being from a rural or frontier area or planet, forced to come to Angeles City for unknown reasons, and possibly stranded here, short of funds.

  "So," Dee asked once they were seated, "Do you get to Angeles often?"

  Zant shook his head. "Nope. First time. And maybe my last."

  "You don't like it?"

  He shrugged. "Angeles City's a nice enough town, if you have crowns. It's not nearly as nice if you're broke."

  Having just eaten, they just ordered drinks while they introduced themselves and expressed their appreciation. Zant just shrugged it off. “People need help, ya help ‘em,” he said. “Least, that’s how we feel on Selfa.”

  As they chatted, Cale began to notice how Zant’s eyes followed the trays of food going by. He insisted on ordering the man a sizable dinner, despite his rather weak protests. “You’re hungry. ‘People need help, you help ‘em’” he mimicked Zant’s tone.

  The big man laughed aloud. “I reckon things are gettin’ a leetle tight right now,”

  Cale grinned. "I sense a story."

  Zant shrugged and grinned. "Nothing too uncommon. I wander around a lot. About eight years ago, I landed on Selfa. The whole planet is mostly a thick forest of giant trees that pretty much covers everything except the poles and a dozen or so small seas. The early settlers were the kinds of ne’er do wells that try to stay well ahead of civilization. We were a frontier, with just a few woods rats and fur hunters, an’ a small settlement that wasn’t much more than a few small shops, tradin’ posts, bars, an’ whorehouses for the boys to cut loose.

  "But then city dwellers started takin’ control of more and more planets in the sector, an’ pushin’ the folks that liked open territory out. When Diego and Sanfran began seizing farms and ranches and giving 'em to slum dwellers they were forcin’ out of the cities, a lot of the rural people got together and chartered ships to take ‘em elsewhere; and Selfa looked pretty empty.

  “Well, when all these civilized folks started comin’, some o’ the boys lit out and others did the hermit thing, but most of us liked a little civilization, not to mention havin’ honest-to-god women around. After awhile, though, they started growin' towns, and the towns became cities. Well, one city. But it was enough to bring the city dwellers, with their laws an' taxe
s."

  Zant paused while his dinner was delivered. He immediately dug in, continuing to talk around mouthfuls. "Anyway," he said, "when they decided to put a tax on furs bein' sold to the free traders, me an' some of the boys figured it was time to cash in and move on. Six of us collected our years' take and chipped in for one ticket to Angeles. We figured that instead of sellin' our furs to one of the free traders and payin' them city dwellers a big percentage they hadn't earned, one of us would take the whole shebang to Angeles, direct to the importers. The take would be bigger without the traders gettin' their cut, an' we wouldn't have to pay them damned taxes on the sale. Then we would all have a stake to move on with.

  "Well, we drew lots, an' I won. We were right, too. Even subtractin' out the cost of the ticket, the importers paid us almost twice as much as the traders ever did.

  "But then I had a bad attack of stupid. I was leavin' the next day. I didn't plan to be here long enough to open a bank account, and some fella told me I shouldn't trust a hotel safe in Angeles. He said I should buy a money belt. That way my letter of credit couldn't go anywhere without me knowin' about it."

  Zant paused between bites for a massive sigh. "Well," he continued, "I knew about it, all right. It got a little drunk out that night, but I knew it, kinda, when I got pushed into an alley and sapped. And I even knew it when that same fella's voice told somebody, 'he's got a money belt'. And I damn sure knew it when they took the damned thing, 'cause I tried to fight an' damn near got killed.

  "Oh, everybody was real sympathetic, but there was always 'nothin' they could do'; and since my ticket home was in the money belt too, I couldn't even leave." he frowned. "I guess my partners think I skinned out with their shares. That hurts even worse than losing the credits."

  Cale and Dee commiserated with their new friend. He had been trying to sign on as crew on an outbound ship, but all his certifications were at least ten years old, and he wasn't having any luck.

  They tried to press money on him, calling it a 'reward', but Zant's pride wouldn't let him accept it.

  "I'd offer you a lift," Cale said, "but I really don't know where we're going." He explained that once they were free to leave, he'd promised Dee to deliver her to any planet of her choice within two jumps. "Actually, though, I've invited her to stay with me as long as she cares to, and offered to take her anywhere she wishes."

  Zant grinned. "I can certainly understand that!" he said emphatically, causing Dee to blush to the roots of her hair. "But where do you plan to head if she doesn't choose, or if you drop her off?"

  Cale frowned. "I'm not sure. I'll probably head for Ilocan. I have a home there. Or, at least I think I do."

  Zant said nothing, merely cocking an eyebrow. Cale felt his face warming. "Well, I've been kind of buying a place by mail." He explained the arrangement. "Actually, though," he concluded, "I've never seen anything but holos. The place may not even exist."

  Dee clapped her hands. "Let's go see!" she exclaimed excitedly.

  But Zant's broad face had settled into a deep frown. "Ilocan . . . Ilocan. I've heard something about Ilocan recently."

  Cale turned to him. "What? What have you heard?"

  "I'm not sure," came the reply. "But I don't think it was good news. It'll come to me."

  They resumed chatting. "You surprise me, Captain," Dee said. "I've been thinking of you as some nomad of the spaceways, wandering aimlessly among the stars."

  Cale chuckled. "I'm afraid very few people could afford to do that, even if they wanted to. Even in the glory days of the Empire, very few people had private yachts, and those that did have them were very rich. Provisioning, fueling, life support supplies, even air can be very expensive. Then there are docking fees, port fees, visa fees, servicing fees, air taxes and a thousand other things. It takes a lot of money to wander aimlessly among the stars."

  Her smile remained, but suddenly her eyes narrowed. "But you do it," she said. "When I asked Tess where you were going next, she said you hadn't decided."

  Suddenly Zant was very attentive, though he said nothing.

  Cale knew he had to be careful. He most emphatically did not want to lie to Dee, or to Zant, for that matter. Nevertheless, the wrong answer was very likely to come back to haunt him.

  "Tess told you the truth, as she knew it," he replied with a shrug. "I had not yet made up my mind whether to go to Ilocan, or to pursue courier contracts and stay in space. But frankly, with all the pirate activity I've been hearing about, running high-value shipments suddenly doesn't seem so appealing."

  Zant nodded. "I can understand that. But your ship's pretty fast, isn't it?"

  "Yes, and she's armed," Cale replied. "But no matter how fast we are, sooner or later word would get out about a contract rich enough for them to find a way to mousetrap us."

  He turned to face Dee. "I have dealt with all the pirates I ever hope to meet," he continued. "If I never see another pirate, I will be perfectly happy. Could I live as a groundhog? You had better believe it. I have no intention of becoming some kind of Flying Dutchman, endlessly cruising the stars."

  "What's a 'dutchman'?" Zant asked.

  Cale shrugged, relieved at the distraction. "Damned if I know. It's an old story, supposed to even predate spaceflight. This 'dutchman' was captain of a wind-powered ship making a difficult passage. During a terrible storm, he cursed God and swore he'd make the passage if it took forever. Supposedly he's still trying."

  Dee shuddered. "We have wind-powered ships on Faith. We also have a lot of sailing stories. I think I may have heard one like that."

  "I wouldn't be surprised," Zant replied. "Legends tend to get around."

  "At any rate," Cale said, "I have no desire to emulate him, no matter what a 'dutchman' is!"

  The next morning, Cale received a call from Sana Archuk, the investigator for the pirate case, asking him and Dee to come to his office.

  The investigator welcomed them with a grin and a friendly wave. After seating them and offering refreshment, he said, “You had a bit of trouble last evening,” It was a statement, not a question.

  Cale frowned. “Then you haven’t heard from S&R?”

  The grin faded slightly. “No, I’m afraid not. We really don’t expect to hear from them for another week or so. But I need to talk to you about last evening. It may be related.”

  Cale’s frown faded to puzzlement. “Related? Related to what?”

  Archuk shrugged. “Related to your pirate troubles. The two you captured last night have been identified. They’re both wanted for piracy. They both know they’ll be going to the headsman, so they’re not talking. Yet. If I had to guess, I’d say you upset the captain of that pirate ship, and he gave a couple of his crew a bonus to eliminate you. But a thousand crowns is a big bonus for a couple of street killings. Any idea what makes you worth it?”

  A stab of fear ran through Cale. “Not a clue,” he said, forcing a casual tone. “Maybe he wanted Cheetah and thinks he could buy her if I was out of the way.”

  Archuk looked unconvinced. “Perhaps. Or maybe he’s just the vengeful sort. At any rate, you are obviously in danger, and it would be embarrassing if you were murdered while technically in our custody. Are either of you trained to use hand weapons?”

  Both Cale and Dee nodded. “It may be possible,” Archuk continued, “to arrange the necessary permits to allow you to go armed on Angeles.” He toyed with a scriber on his desk. “Such permits are not common on Angeles. His Majesty’s government feels that weapons should be kept under the control of the government. However, I feel certain the current situation constitutes sufficient justification.” He smiled slightly at Cale’s poorly suppressed grimace. “You disagree?”

  Cale shrugged, mentally berating himself for letting his feelings show. “I disagree with His Majesty’s government. I feel that an unarmed people are at the mercy of those that are armed, be they criminals, police inspectors, or governments. I do not disagree that His Majesty’s government has both the right and the power
to enforce its opinion, however. I would appreciate such a permit, if it can be arranged.”

  Archuk rolled his eyes in feigned disgust, his smile taking any sting from the act. He groaned. “Oh, no, not another one of those ‘a blaster for every 12-year-old’ types!”

  Cale smiled. “Not exactly. And I do not wish to appear ungrateful. I know that yours was a very generous offer, and I would gratefully accept. Even more so if I could be allowed to retrieve my own concealment rig from my ship. The slight difference between having my own rig and a strange one could save our lives.”

  This time Archuk’s smile and nod were genuine and understanding. “I understand. I think we can arrange that, if you are willing to have your weapon catalogued in our database.” He stood and grinned. “I’m afraid no uncatalogued weapons can be admitted to Angeles.”

  “Except in the hands of criminals,” Cale murmured. A smile took the sting from his words. If Archuk heard, he made no reply.

  Whatever its weapon-control stance, the government of Angeles was nothing if not efficient. Since he was technically in custody, within minutes Cale was being escorted to Cheetah by two police officers. They knew there was no way Cheetah could launch in less than fifteen standard minutes, so the officers were casual and friendly. They insisted on boarding Cheetah, but as Cale hoped, they simply sat in the lounge and waited for him. They didn’t try to follow him into his stateroom, nor did they insist he keep the door open.

  He quickly briefed Tess on the previous evening’s events while retrieving his concealment weapons rig with its plain, black 2mm ladies’ model needler.

  “Tess,” he said softly, “Do you have some inconspicuous way we could stay in touch? I’d like your help, but I need communications.” Cale asked.

  “In the small drawer beneath your secure comp there are several small transceivers,” came Tess’s equally quiet reply. “They are flesh-colored disks about 2 millimeters in diameter. One side is adhesive. Simply stick the disk to the mastoid bone of your skull. We can speak using bone conduction, and you usually will not need to actually speak aloud, but can simply speak in that manner humans call ‘under your breath’. President Cord found them quite useful.”