by Ric Locke
“Alper has expressed interest first, and I yield to that prior claim,” Korwits declared. “As for the matter of nourishment and rest, neither of us is a teenager, to require everything immediately, and we wish to encounter the height of your powers. Do you concur, Alper?”
“In every respect,” the blonde declared. “There is an unoccupied chamber in these apartments, and the kitchen staff are always available for our needs. As for the delay—” she smiled, eyes slitted “—I can bear it if you can.”
“And I will excuse myself, expressing regret,” Luter Ander noted. Peters bowed again, and she returned a nod and slipped out the door, glancing back with a half-smile as she did so.
“Food first, or rest first?” Ander Korwits asked economically.
Peters considered. “Food first,” he specified. “The duration of the necessary rest can be part of the experiment.” The two women exchanged looks, and Alper Gor laughed again.
Chapter Forty
Peters ran his finger up the seam of the kathir suit, thinking how much easier it was to seal. Handheld and earbug went into pockets, leaving worse lumps than with the Grallt suit; this one was thinner. The ornh could stay; there was more where that came from. His multitool was missing, a real pity, but a nice souvenir for some ferassi… there was just enough light from Jivver through the window to allow him to scan the surface of the dresser for anything else. Just the small push-force weapon. He thought about leaving it, but it might be useful.
The woman on the bed stirred, rolling over to throw an arm over the unoccupied side. “John?” she said sleepily, and Peters felt a combination of pride and real regret. Having the woman remember your name at this point was a compliment, no doubt about it; he smiled in the dark at the memory.
He checked the door. Locked, of course, but the control was on this side. When he released the catch the mechanism snicked loudly, and the woman rolled over, sat up, and said, “John, what are you doing?”
The weapon weighed in his hand. Screaming women were not in his plans at the moment: the correct thing, the logical thing, was to shoot her and bug out. Jivver light backlighted a tumble of raven hair, now touseled, and picked out other salient features. “Escaping,” he said conversationally.
“You can’t do that.”
“Watch me.” He slipped out the door, closing it behind him, and set off up the corridor at a fast walk.
He was banking on memory, subterfuge, and timing. The ferassi ship observed a standdown period, a “night”, when few were about, and those at specific watches. They had no reason to expect untoward events, and the watchstanders were bound to be bored and sleepy at best. The subterfuge part came from a discovery: the kathir suit had stored programs for ferassi suit patterns. The patterns were simple, an overall dark forest green like pine needles with rings around the upper arm, their number and color depending on rank and specialty. His whimsical choice had been to assume his own zerkre rank and more or less correct specialty: two white rings, signifying an ipze of the operations department with smallcraft qualifications. The whimsy had stopped short of making one of them wider than the other.
He reached the door of the apartment area where the women lived. Before he could operate the latch another clicked behind him, and he turned, to discover Ander Korwits coming at just short of a run, wearing a white robe tied at the waist. She had nice legs. Well, she had nice everything. “Wait,” she hissed. “This is not a recommended procedure.”
Shit! At least she wasn’t screaming. He pushed into the corridor and set off at a run, heading forward and looking for a stairwell. The pirate ship had carried two small auxiliaries, high and forward of midships, set into the corners of the structure as Fers had described the ones here. So why had Gell said there weren’t any? He hadn’t, the memory came. He’d said there were no docking bays, which was correct.
Stairway here; he swung into it and pounded up the steps. So far no one had been around to ask questions about why someone was running in the corridors, but there was likely to be a guard on the smallcraft. Or maybe not. He remembered how slack they’d gotten after having nothing happen for so long in the first part of the voyage of Llapaaloapalla.
As anticipated the stair ended two decks up, letting out on a long fore-and-aft corridor. If there were six general purpose auxiliaries and two fliers it didn’t really matter which way he went, but he wanted a general purpose one, because the pirate ship hadn’t had fliers and he didn’t know how to open the fairings Fers had mentioned. He headed aft to maximize his chances. No guards visible, which was in a way disappointing. Not that he wanted to shoot anybody… here was a hatch, of the same pattern that had led to the auxiliaries on the pirate ship. He put his back into it, but it was wasted effort. The lever gave smoothly.
Now the securing latches. He stepped back into the corridor and headed aft… there. If he had the pattern right there were four of them, the same general type as the hatch latches. He had to assume that the glyph the handles pointed to meant “secured”, but it was probably the best bet. The first one yielded as smoothly as the hatch had, and so did the second.
Rapid thuds came up the corridor. Ander Korwits was running that way, her robe streaming out. He shook his head, casting off the distraction, and threw the third latch. “What are you doing?” she asked, low but insistent.
“Stealing a smallcraft.” He twisted his mouth. “I suppose it could be called ‘borrowing’. If I make it to Llapaaloapalla, you can have it back.” There, that did it for the fourth latch.
She followed him into the access trunk, crowding close as he worked the handle for access to the ship proper. “You don’t need to do this,” she urged, still in a low voice. “I’ve told you. You can have all the status you want among us.”
“I’m sorry.” She’d made the offer before; so had Alper Gor, in the occasional intervals. He’d thought about it, if fleetingly, but the prospect had no real appeal. The warmth pressing against him was a strong argument, but the women lived in a section to themselves, and he’d never seen another male of either species during the llor or so he’d been there. Continued association with Brendik Jons had no appeal… he’d also discovered he had no more wish to cast away the chance of returning home than Todd had had. He expressed it in his own mind as “Granpap’s funeral”, but even to himself he made no attempt to deny that there was much more to it than that.
He pushed her back into the corridor, not encountering too much resistance, and secured the hatch. Then the entry hatch to the ship, and forward to the control deck, with fingers crossed that the nuñe ptith used the same system as the dar ptith did. Zifthkakik activator here, and a right-handed sidestick for the pilot, not too different from the ones in the Hornets except lacking all the pushbuttons for weapons functions. Activator engaged, and the left-handed meter above the nav instruments began swinging toward the usable zone.
The hatch banged. He laid the weapon within easy reach and continued the startup. If it was open when he broke loose, too bad for whoever was in the entry… he had a momentary flash of white limbs and robe disarranged and drifting, and hesitated.
Another bang from the hatch, this time sounding like it had when he’d secured it. Then soft pounding in the gangway, and Ander Korwits came onto the control deck, face flushed with exertion, robe streamed back over her hips. She felt his stare, twitched the robe so that she was covered, and leaned against the hatch coaming, breathing heavily.
“What is this?” he asked sharply. “Get back to your quarters and say nothing.”
She shook her head. “It wouldn’t do any good. There’s no way I can stop you, and if you get away like this after I sponsored you they’ll put me out of the ship.”
“And you don’t think you could find another ship, or live Down?”
“That wouldn’t be a choice. I’d have to walk there, dressed like this, or less.”
He stared a moment. The energy indicator was in the safe zone. “Are Alper Gor and Luter Ander in the same danger?”<
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“Alper is, of course. Luter didn’t cooperate after the meeting.”
Shit! “Why didn’t you raise the alarm? Two or three burly Grallt could have managed.”
“I’m not so sure. You handled three of them, as I understand it. It wouldn’t matter anyway. Once you left me and made it to the outer corridor my breathing space would have been inevitable.”
He considered the prospect. Down two decks, fifty meters to the women’s quarters, there to fetch a sleeping woman who didn’t know what was going on… “Shit! How long would it take you to fetch Alper Gor here?”
“Too long.” She made a throwing-away gesture. “I never liked her much anyway.”
He knew that sort of black humor. “Try anyway. You at least can be expected to be walking the corridors. I will stay here as long as possible.” She looked at him wildly. “Go, go! We may not have enough time. We certainly won’t if you waste it.” Another wild look, then a nod, and she was gone in a flash of robe and legs.
Peters snatched up the weapon and followed. She vanished through the hatch, robe flapping, and he took up a position just inside, alert for any passers-by. Minutes stretched, and he thought irritably, If you think this is complicated, wait ‘til we get back t’ Llapaaloapalla. Talk about complications! He thought about closing the hatch and hoping nobody chancing by would notice that the docking catches were released. No, that wouldn’t work. He wouldn’t be able to watch, or tell when the girls were coming.
More time went by. It seemed like hours… he was really disappointed in the ferassi. Surely they had some kind of deck patrol or watch in this area. On the other hand, it seemed that they kept to themselves and never had visitors. If so, they might scarcely be capable of imagining such a sequence of events… Ah. Here came the deck watch, a ferassi with a single ring around his bicep. He was strolling along idly, a nightstick swinging from a belt at his waist, not really noticing anything. Another neat ethical problem.
Peters waited until the man was almost at the hatch and had begun to express puzzlement at its being open before making his move. He jumped out, threatened the crewman with the weapon, and moved in fast. The man—kid, really—didn’t have nearly enough time to react before Peters had him in a choke hold. Whack with the butt-end of the weapon; it didn’t put the ferassi out, but it stunned and confused him, and Peters used the moment to drag him through the hatch and into the smallcraft. The belt made a satisfactory immobilizer, and a swift review of the cabinets by the hatch found one that seemed empty and had an outside lock. Now if nobody had come along in the interim—
The two women were coming up the corridor. He’d known they were quick on the uptake; it now appeared that they also had their priorities straight. They also evidently hadn’t encountered anyone in the corridors. Both had kathir suits slung over their shoulders, but Ander Korwits was still in her robe, Alper Gor was as naked as he’d left her, and between the two of them nobody, or at least no male, could have failed to take notice that something out of the ordinary was going on.
Alper scowled as he handed them through. Well, that was to be expected, he supposed. He yanked open the cabinet and dragged the unresisting officer to the hatch, shoved him out, and dogged it. “Get forward,” he hissed. “That fellow will be able to free himself in moments.”
“Why didn’t you just kill him?” Ander Korwits wanted to know.
“It didn’t seem necessary or appropriate.” He pounded forward, took the control seat, and called out, “Take hold. I don’t know if the compensator is properly set or not, and I don’t want to take the time.” Then he yanked the sidestick up and sideways.
The smallship broke loose with loud scrunches and squeals of tortured metal, but break loose it did, and Peters rotated the heading until the planet was in view and pressed the control forward. Time to make distance and velocity before taking care of other matters.
Ander took the seat to his left, the navigator’s position, with a swish of white cloth. The robe had become disarranged again, offering a good view of regions concealed in most normal circumstances. “What do you intend?” she asked as Alper Gor took the other adjacent chair, still elegantly clad in nothing whatever.
“First, place some distance between us and the ship, and take on velocity. Details will follow from how much of that I am able to achieve. My ultimate goal is Llapaaloapalla.”
“Will you be able to reach it?” Ander had made no move to rearrange her clothing.
This’d make a good book cover, Peters thought sardonically. Heroic spaceman in Spandex, flanked by one good-lookin’ woman naked as a jaybird and another good as. Too bad you’d have t’ put a cardboard flap over it. “Get dressed, both of you,” he said irritably. “I saw you brought your airsuits. That was smart. We’re likely to need them.”
Ander Korwits stood, flicked her robe into position, and stepped back with a flash of smile, but Alper Gor kept her seat. “I don’t think I will,” she said. “I haven’t gone around bare since I moved into the adults’ quarters. It feels good, and the events of the next few tle should be interesting. I want to watch.”
“Ssth. If anything happens in the next few tle we are probably lost,” Peters told her irritably. “And in any case I don’t need the distraction.”
“You find me distracting?” she asked, with arched eyebrows and a little wiggle.
“Ssth.” Peters grinned. “Go get dressed, Alper. If you want to display your elegant self, I can find a larger audience if we make it.”
She grinned back. “But I want to be present for every thrilling moment of this.”
“Whereas I am strongly hoping that no thrilling moments occur. Get your suit on. Your carcass will not be nearly so attractive if it is exposed to vacuum.”
“You’re probably right.” She got up, still grinning, arranged herself briefly in a provocative pose, and moved aft, out of his line of view. Peters shook his head, stared at stars and the planet a moment to recover his composure, and turned to the navigation instrument.
Every zifthkakik had a unique identifier—call it a serial number—and a portion of that sequence was used by the detectors for nav guidance. Gell had insisted that he memorize the sequences for Llapaaloapalla and the smaller dli, and he had, if he could remember all of it under these conditions. The controls on this instrument were different, of course, and they hadn’t studied the ones on the pirate ship very closely, assuming that details like that could wait.
He was still puzzling over the gadget when Ander Korwits returned to stand at his elbow, dressed fully if still less than modestly in the skintight suit. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Do you intend to land on the planet?”
“I’m entering the navigation identifier for Llapaaloapalla. No, I don’t intend to land on the planet. There are only two places upon it, both essentially points, where I might receive assistance, and I have no notion where they are or how to find them.”
“That’s a pity. I’ve never seen the surface of a planet,” she said a little wistfully. “I understand that it’s wild and very, very large.”
“Yes, that’s correct as far as it goes.” He finished entering the sequence, and observed with satisfaction that the instrument was active. The indicator was a ball painted in quarters of white and black instead of a pair of orthagonal pointers; he rotated the ship until the intersection was under the circle in the center and looked. Nothing. He inspected the instrument more closely. If those were numbers along the black-white boundaries, these were large… he rotated the ship a hundred and eighty degrees. There was a bright spark in about the right place, and he nodded. Then he looked up at Ander. “You’ve never been Down?”
“I’ve never been off the ship.” When he looked at her in incredulity she corrected, “Well, once before, of course. I was born on a different ship, and when I reached the age of bleeding I was traded to this one. So, yes, I’ve been off the ship before, but only once, and never to a planetary surface.”
“Isn’t this exciting?” said
Alper as she took the right-hand seat again. “Just like Belsar Flen escaping Ptarne Keep, with the Jewel of Ropta and his first tuwe.”
“Details intrude,” Ander objected. “Belsar Flen had his loyal retainer Kuniss and a stalwart crew of andar to help him, as I recall. And we hardly constitute a valid tuwe; there are only two of us, and we are far too old.”
“You have no imagination,” Alper Gor said cheerfully. “He even looks a little like I imagine Belsar Flen to look: dark-haired, tall, at the height of his vigor, with noble features.”
Ander considered her—captor?—sidelong. She had long beautiful lashes. “I can’t quite visualize Belsar Flen in an airsuit, though.”
The blonde girl waved that off. “Of course not. But he was wearing the uniform of the Keep guardsmen at the time; that’s how he got access to the jewel in the first place. The situation is exactly parallel.”
“What are you two talking about?” Peters asked.
Ander was smiling. “Alper refers to a book of history, or to be more accurate, historical romance. Belsar Flen was one of the early figures in our history. There are squares of stories about his exploits, each less credible than the one before it.” She held out a hand as if in presentation. “In the incident she refers to, he coerced the Jewel into providing him with great wealth, and used that to essentially found our society.”
“Bah. To the extent I understand your society, I would be more likely to destroy it than found another. It could certainly use a few innovations.”
“And if you did so, you would become a figure of romance for later generations,” Alper pointed out. “Just think, Ander, here we are at the beginning… ”
Wham! came from aft, the vibrations transmitted through the fabric of the boat. Peters twisted the sidestick at random; the craft swerved and tumbled. The compensator was obviously not set correctly, because the rapid motion almost pushed them out of their seats. They caught sight of a bright spark. It flared green, and simultaneously another jolt tingled their feet. “What was that?” Ander asked in alarm.
