by Peter Grant
She stared at him. "That's terrible! You're almost nineteen years old, and you've never been with a woman? A good-looking kid like you?"
"Er... no, not yet."
She shook her head in dismay as they started walking again. "You poor thing!" A slow smile came to her lips. "Tell you what. The entertainers sound like they're busy tonight, so they'll be using the freshers a lot. We can't have you delay them from cleaning up before the next customer - that costs them money, and us too. You can use my shower."
"Gee, thanks, Maxine, but don't you live in Louie's apartment? Won't he mind?"
"Like Momma always said to Poppa, 'What you don't know won't hurt you'. I won't tell him if you won't. He'll be busy in the saloon for a long time yet. He doesn't get to bed until three or four."
"Er... OK, I guess."
They entered a sitting-room carpeted in a thick, lush pile, with a long low sofa and two reclining chairs. She led him across the room and through a door. It led to a lavishly-furnished chamber containing the biggest bed Steve had ever seen, about two meters on each side.
"The fresher's through that door. There are towels in the cupboard, and everything you need is in the racks. Louie pays extra for unlimited water, so use as much as you like."
"Gee, thanks! I've been having water-rationed showers ever since I got up here. My skin's forgotten what a real soaking feels like!"
The fresher proved to be as luxuriously equipped as the rest of the apartment. No cramped, spartan spacer facilities, these; they were spacious, clad in faux marble paneling, with a plasglass enclosure around the shower and a real hot tub in the corner, big enough for two. Steve had to firmly rein in his imagination at the thought of Maxine and Louie using it together.
He closed his eyes, blissfully luxuriating in the unrestricted rush of hot water, switching the shower head to a pulsating massage that eased the tightness in his shoulders and spine. He stood beneath it for a couple of minutes before reaching for the shampoo. He'd just picked it up when the shower door clicked open behind him, and he heard Maxine's voice.
"Room for one more?"
His eyes flew open as he spun around, almost falling. She was completely nude, her firm breasts pointing her small, erect nipples at him, her tanned skin and the fine wisps of hair at her groin already speckled with the water droplets cascading from him.
"Ah... uh... I... W - what about Louie?"
She stepped inside, closing the door behind her, and pressed gently against him. "I'm just his latest squeeze. He'll get tired of me in another month or two, and send me away with a nice present, then find someone new. He always does that. He doesn't own me, if that's what's worrying you - and he'll never hear about us from me." Her fingertips traced through the sparse hair on his chest. "Besides, it's not fair to send you off into space without you knowing what you've been missing - at least, I don't think it is."
"Er... gahr?" The shampoo fell to the floor unheeded as he began to tremble.
Her fingers began to wander lower. "And I know just how to soap you... and I'll teach you how to soap me... all over... and then you can find out what you don't have to go on missing." Her fingers tightened. "What d'you say?"
"Arg!"
Chapter 5: January 25th, 2837 GSC, morning
The lights of the passageway were transitioning from evening dim to morning bright as Steve eased his way out of the recessed, inconspicuous staff door next to the Horseshoe Saloon, carryall in hand. The powered trunk base followed the signal from the tracking unit clipped to his belt, the stack of luggage on top of it rocking gently as it crossed the low ledge of the threshold. Steve closed the door behind him, hearing its automatic lock click. He turned to see the Bosun approaching, carrying an overnight bag, looking a little hungover.
"Morning, Maxwell. Ready?"
"Yes - I mean, aye aye, Bosun."
The older man looked him over. Steve was now wearing black shoes, socks and uniform trousers, and a lightweight white polo-neck jumper beneath a double-breasted black jacket like the Bosun's, with a bright silver-steel name-tag on his right chest, but no badges of rank on the left sleeve. His face was freshly depilated, but his neck... The Bosun peered, then guffawed.
"Ah-ha! I see someone gave you a spacer's farewell! You'll need to pull your collar a bit higher to hide that hickey."
Steve blushed scarlet. "Er... thanks for the heads-up." He hurriedly adjusted the neck of his jumper.
Still grinning, Cardle reassured him, "Don't worry, we've all been caught that way before. Apart from that, you look smart enough."
Steve relaxed, devoutly grateful he hadn't been asked the name of his girlfriend. For two hours Maxine had introduced him to delights he'd only dreamed of before, affectionately tolerating his inexperience, guiding his fumbles. He knew he'd always remember her with amazed, befuddled affection. He'd helped her re-make the bed with fresh linens before sneaking out after two that morning, to get far too little sleep before having to be on his feet again.
"Louie tells me the Dragon Tong made good on their promise," the Bosun remarked. "I'll fix it for you to store the reward in the ship's strongroom. It's common enough - most of us keep our cash stash there."
"Thanks, Bosun. I appreciate that."
As they spoke, another spacer came out of a nearby cross-passage and turned towards them. He wore the same uniform as themselves, with a pair of crossed anchors on his left sleeve but no wreath around them. A pair of silver wings was pinned to the left chest of his jacket.
The Bosun noticed him. "Ah, good! Here's Tomkins."
"Morning, Bosun," the man said as he came up to them. "Have a good time?"
"Yeah, I let off some steam - among other things!" The two spacers laughed. "This is our new apprentice, Steve Maxwell. Maxwell, this is Bosun's Mate Second Class Dale Tomkins. You'll be in his accommodation unit, and he'll be in charge of training you. I asked him to meet us here and come back with us today so he can get you settled in before the rest of the crew arrives."
"Morning, Maxwell," the new arrival said with a smile, extending his hand. "Welcome to the legion of the lost! What makes you want to be a merchant spacer?"
"The Bosun made me an offer I couldn't refuse," Steve rejoined as he shook hands.
"Couldn't refuse, or couldn't understand?"
"Probably a bit of both!" All three laughed. "I'm sorry to have interrupted your liberty like this."
"It's not a problem. I want to try for promotion to First Class next year, but one of the pre-reqs is experience as an instructor. There haven't been opportunities to do much of that aboard Cabot, because we mostly hire trained spacers. I'd arranged to teach at the pilot school of a merchant spacer academy during our next maintenance period, in part fulfilment of that requirement, but I needed something more. The Bosun says if I train you well, the Captain will accept that as the balance of the instructor requirement; so, you see, you'll be helping me career-wise as much as I help you."
"I'm glad to hear it. I guess I'm going to keep you very busy for the next few months."
"That's all right. The Bosun vouches for you, so I'm sure you'll learn fast."
"May I start by asking a question right away? What's a Bosun's Mate Second Class do? Does that mean you work directly for the Bosun?"
"Only when I don't see him coming in time to get out of his way!" Both spacers laughed. "Basically, to use a military analogy, I'm a junior NCO to his senior - although he's actually more like a warrant officer. He's in charge of day-to-day crew organization and discipline. I'd like to have his job someday. I've got my own specialization aboard ship - I'm a small craft pilot," and he reached up to touch the wings on his left chest, "but I also supervise work parties, and look after one of the accommodation units, and do anything else the Bosun or one of the mates sends my way - like training you, for example."
"That's about the size of it," the Bosun agreed. "Now, before we do anything else, I need coffee. Maxwell, can we find the good stuff around here at this hour of the morning?"
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"There's a breakfast cart two blocks down. I've eaten there before - it's not bad. I could use some coffee, too. I didn't get much sleep last night."
"Yeah, I noticed!" Another chuckle as Steve blushed again. "I'll treat both of you - I did real well trading with Louie this trip, so I'm flush. Lead on!"
They stood beside the cart in preoccupied silence for a few minutes, each with a large insulated carry cup of coffee in one hand and an outsize toasted bacon and egg sandwich in the other. It was orbital food, of course, produced synthetically rather than naturally, but the artificial flavors and textures adequately imitated the originals.
Finally the Bosun gulped down the last of his breakfast and took a slug of coffee. "Aah! That hit the spot!" He glanced at Steve. "Thanks, Maxwell. I'm not fully human until I've got something inside me in the mornings."
Steve decided to risk it. "Yeah, I noticed, Bosun."
"Cheeky bugger!" His grin belied his words. "I see you got a buzz-cut."
"Yes. You specified an enhanced PIA with a cranial headnet in your list of gear, so I figured I'd need really short hair to use it; and I remembered how short you cut your hair."
"You're right. A standard PIA is far too limited to cope with all the tasks and duties we have aboard ship."
"That's for sure," Tomkins agreed. "You'll have to wear the cranial headnet for a couple of days to let it identify your brain patterns, then we'll authorize your new PIA to access the ship's training systems. You won't be able to use our hypno-study facilities without it - and that's just the beginning."
The Bosun glanced at the tower of Steve's luggage. "By the way, don't trust that belt tracking unit alone. If a thief aims a more powerful signal at your baggage on the same frequency through a directional antenna, it'll turn away from you and go to him instead. If you don't notice, it can be gone in five or ten seconds."
"Oh!" Steve lowered his cup, his face a picture of dismay. "Thanks for warning me. I've never owned much worth stealing before. How can I prevent that?"
"Hold the base unit's towing strap in your hand, or attach it to your belt. The trunk will still follow the tracking unit, so the strap won't hold you back; but if your baggage gets diverted by another signal, you'll feel the strap tug at you."
"I get it."
Steve fastened his carryall to the top of the baggage tower and pulled the long strap from its reel in the base trunk. They set off, coffee cups in hand. Steve felt the strap's inertia reel tugging occasionally at his hand as his baggage followed dog-like behind him.
"You marked all your belongings the way I told you?"
"Aye aye, Bosun. I engraved or etched my name on all the tools, work gear and baggage, and bought a roll of heat-seal name-tags for the clothing."
"Good. Our crew is pretty honest, but if something's unmarked and lying around it tends to be regarded as 'finders keepers'."
They paused to let a robotic cleaning cart roll across an intersection with another passageway, its speaker warning of its approach by playing a noisy tune over the rumble and hiss of its water jets, brushes and suction heads. The Bosun raised his voice to be heard above it. "See that robot? It never complains about having to work hard - it just gets on with the job. You need to learn from that. You're bound to make a beginner's usual mistakes, and we understand that; but the one thing you've got to show your shipmates, right from the start, is that you're prepared to work as hard as they do. That's what binds us together as a crew - the knowledge that we can count on one another. Anyone who shirks his duties doesn't last long. You'll have to prove you've got the right attitude by your actions, far more than your words."
They started walking again as the cleaning cart moved away. Tomkins added, "The Bosun's right. Our merchant spacer grapevine has a long memory. Years from now, you'll run across people who knew you way back when. They'll remember you, and talk about the kind of person you were, even if you've changed since then. The reputation you establish over the next few weeks and months will stay with you for the rest of your career, so it's best to make sure it's one you'll want to keep!"
"I get it. Thanks for - "
His words strangled in his throat as two men, both short, stocky and visibly of Far Eastern extraction, jumped out of a narrow side alley and stood facing them, half-crouched. Both wore black shirts and trousers. The leader also sported a black waistcoat, and held a pair of short, heavy wing chun butterfly swords, curved points angled upwards. Heart suddenly pounding in his chest, Steve recognized him. He was the leader of the six men who'd attacked Louie a few nights before, who'd fled after seeing most of his comrades brought down. The second man, standing to one side and slightly behind the leader, grasped the hilt of a long-bladed dao backsword in both hands.
The leader spoke, his voice a malevolent hiss, face twisted in a scowl of hatred. "You shamed me and my Tong! Now you pay!"
A sudden scuffling noise came from the alley, and a strangled yelp. The speaker whipped his head around towards the sound, and Steve seized the opportunity. He dropped his coffee cup and the towing strap, slid smoothly forward and lashed out with a mae geri frontal kick, lifting his right thigh then driving his lower leg outwards from the hinge-point of the knee. The hardened toe of his work shoe crunched into the man's right wrist with vicious power, slamming it back into his chest. He grunted in pain, the knife falling from his right hand.
Steve snapped his foot back to the floor. His off-balance opponent, staggering backward, slashed wildly at him with the weapon in his left hand. Steve swayed back, outside the arc of the blow - but collided with his baggage tower, which had followed the signal from the tracking unit at his waist and now blocked his retreat. Only his attacker's rearward motion saved him as it opened the distance between them. The blade nicked his jacket, but didn't touch his skin.
Before the bladesman could reverse his swing Steve pushed himself off the baggage tower, using it to lend impetus to his forward lunge. He seized the man's left wrist and arm and twisted them, angling the weapon away from him, forcing his enemy to drop it. The bladesman screamed as something snapped in his arm with an audible crack! Steve kept up the pressure, tugging at his off-balance foe, pulling him over his hip then slamming him down hard on the unyielding steel, driving the air from his body with an agonized "Unfh!" He wrenched at the man's arm to pull his shoulder back, twisting his neck, exposing his head, then put his full weight behind his knee, driving it down into the base of his opponent's skull. The man's face hit the floor at an angle with sickening force, wrenching his jaw out of its socket with the impact, drawing a gurgling moan of agony.
Steve flicked a glance to see what the other attacker was doing, but he needn't have worried. In the instant that his kick had landed on the leader, the Bosun had taken advantage of the distraction he'd provided to hurl his coffee cup full into the second man's face. Its flimsy lid came off, splashing steaming-hot coffee into his eyes.
As the blinded bladesman flinched, Tomkins jumped forward and launched a roundhouse kick, his shoe striking the attacker squarely in his testicles with shattering power. His victim screamed, beginning to fold forward onto himself like a pocketknife, dropping his dao; but Tomkins grabbed his jacket and lashed out with his right hand in a pile-driver of an uppercut. He began the punch below his waist, putting his full weight and momentum and all the power of his back and shoulder muscles behind it. It caught the bladesman squarely on his descending nose, smashing it, sending blood spurting. In a continuation of the blow Tomkins seized the man's hair and slammed him face-down, very hard, to the floor. He bounced, then lay motionless.
As Steve rose, still grasping his victim's wrist, twisting his arm to lock it and control his movements, he heard Tomkins mutter, "That'll teach the bastard!" He looked across as he massaged his right hand's knuckles with his left palm. "Nicely done, Maxwell. You move real fast and smooth - but you'll have to remember to turn off your baggage tracker next time!"
Steve nodded, breath coming fast, heart pounding, trembling as the adr
enaline rush hit him. He reached back to switch off the tracker.
"Yeah, that caught me off balance. I never had to fight wearing one of them before!" As he spoke, he toed the fallen blades further out of reach, then bent to pat along his opponent's waistline. He felt something, tugged the man's waistcoat aside and pulled a wooden scabbard from behind his belt. A stone knife hilt rose from it. He tucked it into his own belt, beneath the right side of his uniform jacket.
Tomkins grinned wolfishly. "Let's say we make a good team." He looked back at the Bosun. "Nice throw. You set him up perfectly for me."
"Heads up!" Cardle called urgently, looking past them. As they spun around, they saw six more men emerge from the narrow alleyway. All were of Far Eastern descent, like their two attackers, but they made no threatening move. Five wore identical gray coveralls, while the leader - whom Steve also recognized from his encounter outside the Horseshoe Saloon a few nights before - was dressed in black trousers and a loose-fitting collarless white shirt, open at the neck. He raised his right hand, holding it across his chest, fingers forming a claw-like sign.
"Easy!" Steve warned his comrades. "These guys are Dragon Tong."
He let his attacker's arm fall to the floor. The man whimpered, rolling slowly onto his back, jaw hanging slackly, eyes flooded with tears and unfocused. A mixture of blood and spittle leaked from his mouth.
"Let Maxwell handle this," the Bosun confirmed. He and Tomkins took a slow, careful step backward, ready for whatever might be needed.
Steve half-bowed to the lead figure. "We meet again, Sir," he said carefully, trying to adopt the same polite, formal tone he'd heard Louie use with this man.
"We do indeed," the other agreed. "We have been trying to locate this one since your previous encounter with him," nodding towards Steve's victim. "He did not show himself, but he paid others to watch you; so we watched them. That one," pointing to Tomkins' victim, "saw you this morning. As soon as you met your colleagues, he hurried to warn his master. They took a short-cut to get here before you, bringing four more armed with knives and a pistol. We dealt with them in the alley before they could join these two."
