"Close enough for government work. It isn't a point, it's an arc four light-minutes long," Renner said.
"We go, then. Agamemnon, Atropos, and Sinbad."
"Why Sinbad?" Commander Balasingham asked. "She's not even armed!"
"You might be surprised," Mercer said. "Jacob, will you go with them?"
Buckman nodded. "I expected to. And I'd much prefer to work aboard Sinbad than a Navy ship. I remember trying to work aboard MacArthur. Everyone felt entitled to get in my way, block my sightings, move my equipment—"
"Renner, you can't keep up with us," Balasingham said.
Renner shrugged. "We won't be all that far behind. At worst, we're witnesses, we can report back. Your destruction will make prime-time news."
Bury scowled. "I suppose the Trujillo woman . . . yes, of course. She would have gone with us to the Eye, after all. We should be on our way now. Now. Allah is merciful. We may yet be there before the Moties. We must be there before the Moties."
3
Communications
In the name of Allah, most benevolent, ever merciful.
Say: I seek refuge with the Lord of men,
The King of men,
From the evil of him who breathes temptations into the minds of men,
Who suggests evil thoughts to the hearts of men—
From among the djinns and men.
—al-Qur'an
On their last night together, Kevin told Ruth, "I'd take you with me if I could find any kind of excuse. Good or bad."
"Would you?"
"Yeah. We're crowded as hell, you know. We've dropped part of the kitchen, we're carrying a drop tank . . ." She wasn't buying it. "Love, when we get back into the Empire, it'll make the news. Contact me then? You've got my work number."
"I gave you mine." She looked down at her sleeves. The three rings of a full commander had just been sewn on. "Of course we're likely to be in different solar systems."
And it really felt like good-bye.
From New Scotland to the Jump would take nearly two weeks. Agamemnon and Atropos started later, but were moving at two gravities of thrust; they would Jump just ahead of Sinbad. Sinbad could beat them there with the
drop tank's extra fuel, but Kevin refused to subject Bury to more than one gee. He would have preferred less.
This trip wasn't like the voyage from Sparta. Sinbad felt like a different ship. Attitudes had changed.
With Mercer gone, the kitchen storage region could carry cargo more appropriate to their mission. It didn't matter much. Sinbad's kitchen was styled to feed Horace Bury: to create small, healthful meals rich in flavor for a man whose taste buds were almost dead of old age. Now that program served Renner, too. Renner could diet between suns, when fresh food was unavailable anyway. Blaine, a lord's son but also Navy, expected no better. Buckman never noticed what he ate, and as for Joyce Mei-Ling Trujillo . . .
"Ms. Trujillo, are you getting fed all right?"
"Lieutenant Blaine asked me that, too. I eat whatever's where the story is, Mr. Renner. I'd say you set a fine table, but—have you ever eaten streaker rat? By the way, you'll be calling me Joyce eventually, won't you? Start now."
Perhaps Bury derived some satisfaction from what Joyce didn't know she was missing. He made no great effort to avoid her; he wasn't agile enough. In her presence he could be affable, but he called her Trujillo.
And so the ship was settling down, and Kevin Renner was enjoying his freedom.
Freedom. Ridiculous. He was surrounded by people, by walls, by obligations . . . and yet this was his place of power. Horace Bury's ship; but then, he was Bury's superior officer in the Secret Service. Sinbad went where he willed . . . except that with the Empire of Man at stake, his will had best take Sinbad straight through to MGC-R-31.
Over the past quarter of a century Kevin Renner and Horace Hussein Bury had evolved routines and rituals. One was coffee after dinner.
"She is attractive enough," Bury said. He sipped at the thick, sweet brew. "I know planets where she could be sold at a high price." He chuckled softly. "Not as many as there once were, thanks to our efforts. Perhaps we could arrange to use her as bait . . ."
"She'd be good at that. For a good enough story she'd volunteer," Renner said.
Bury fingered his beard and waited.
"Only guessing," Renner said. "I really haven't spent much time with her at all."
"So I noticed."
"Yeah. Well, put it down to complications. We've got all the time in the world just now, but that could change. Or not. Most likely thing is we spend a boring six months in an empty solar system until an Imperial fleet comes in and chases us out."
"If so, Miss Trujillo will be desperate for distractions," Bury said. "I would presume from anyone willing to provide them."
"Hmpf. Truth is, Horace, it feels good to be— unencumbered."
"The Devil he blew an outward breath, for his heart was free from care."
Renner grinned. "Something like that." And maybe she wants something I can't deliver . . .
"I cannot say Allah has not been merciful. It would not do to presume too much on His mercy," Bury said.
"And that's the truth. We'll be to the I-point soon enough. What's happening there could tear everybody's leisure all to hell."
* * *
"I still don't understand," the Honorable Frederick Townsend said. "And I don't think I ever will."
"I'm sorry," Glenda Ruth said. She looked around the ship's lounge. I think I know every rivet and seam. Hecate was not much larger than a messenger ship. She was fast, but not overly comfortable. Freddy Townsend had bought her for racing, not for long-distance cruising. Compartments had been added for ship's stores and one servant, but everything was cramped. "I should have gone with Kevin—"
"You needn't start that again, either," Freddy said. "I suppose you could have gone with them, but why? I'm glad to do you the favor. I like doing things for you. As you must know. But—" Freddy looked up in irritation as Jennifer Banda came into the lounge. "Dinner in half an hour," he said. "Guess I'll get washed up."
Frederick Townsend insisted on dressing for dinner. It
had seemed a bit silly at first, but at least it broke up the monotony. The ship was mostly automated, with only the ship's engineer, Terry Kakumi, as crew. The only servant was George, a retired Navy coxswain who served as cook, butler, valet, and sometimes piloted the ship as well. Having one nearly formal meal each day gave everyone something to do.
Jennifer waited until Freddy had left the lounge before she spoke. "I walk into something heavy?"
Glenda Ruth shrugged. "No heavier than usual. Glad you came in, though."
"You're driving that boy crazy," Jennifer said. "Sure you want to do that?"
"No, I'm not sure I want to do that."
"Want to tell me about it?"
"Not really. Yes. What Freddy is too polite to say is, 'You went to bed with me when we took the trip after graduation, so why won't you sleep with me now?' "
"Oh. I didn't know. I mean, I know what's happened since we left Sparta. Or what hasn't happened. Glenda Ruth, no wonder he's going nuts! I mean—" Jennifer stopped.
"I know what he had every right to expect."
"All right, so why? Bad experience the first time?"
"No." Glenda Ruth's voice was very low and small. "Not a bad experience." Silence; then, "You've studied Moties."
Jennifer smiled. "But I was raised by an all-human orchestra."
"Right. I picked up attitudes from the Moties. Consider that I can refuse to mate. From twelve to seventeen years of age I just plain enjoyed that. Then, consider that I can refuse to get pregnant."
"Freddy?"
"Yes. Sure. I've known him since we shared a crib. And we had just under a month . . . which was just about right for both of us to get to know our bodies. Something I wasn't likely to learn from Moties. Jennifer, I wish to hell I could tell him all this."
Jennifer was folded up like a stick
figure into her web chair. "Ruth, I haven't heard a problem yet."
"Sometimes it takes a while before I feel the vibes. Particularly with vague, murky attitudes. You know?" Glenda Ruth was turned away, looking at the universe in a picture-window display. "My parents don't think it's right to take a bed partner before I'm married, or at least engaged, but they're not sure, so I can live with that. Freddy's parents are sure, but I can live with that, too."
Glenda Ruth turned around. "But Freddy's maybe half sure his parents are right, and it was two months after the trip before I realized it, while I was dancing with him, and what it amounts to is this. By the way, I really appreciate you listening."
"Okay."
"And understanding. Only a damn Motie expert could listen to this and not try to send me to a confessor. Okay. If I sleep with Freddy, it's because we're going to get married Or it's because I'm a slut. I'm not sure I want to marry him, and I'm not sure I don't. Either way would be okay, but I'm hung up, so . . ."
"No man would understand that line of argument, counselor."
"Freddy's not stupid. He'd know, he'd understand, if I could say it right. So I'm still thinking. Damn."
"He'd marry you—"
Glenda Ruth grinned. "Like a shot. But—look, all my life—"
"All eighteen years."
"Well, it's a lifetime to me." Poor Charlie didn't last much longer, Glenda Ruth thought. "All my life I've had someone who could tell me what to do. Had the right to tell me. Now I don't. Now I've got my own money, and I'm legally an adult. Freedom! It's wonderful. The last thing I need is a husband."
"Maybe it's better this way. You sure keep the Honorable Freddy attentive!"
"Oh, damn, it does look that way, doesn't it? He hasn't seen it, but—"
"It'll be all right. Last jump tonight. We'll be on New Scotland in three weeks. Freddy can find another girl." Jennifer grinned. "Don't like that either? Honey, you are in what the Navy calls an untenable position."
* * *
Her cabin was small, like all the cabins on Hecate. The only spacious cabin belonged to Freddy. Of course he'd expected her to share it.
Why don't I? she wondered. I lie awake thinking about it. It's not like I don't have my pills, or Freddy has some kind of disease. It's not like I didn't—all I'd have to do is go tap on his door.
Maybe I'd lose him. Can't he be replaced? I can pick any stranger out of a crowd and know if he's sane, trustworthy, intelligent, horny, crosswired, docile. I hear women say they don't understand men, and I want to snicker—
There was a sharp wrenching sensation, and she felt sick and confused. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew the ship had made an Alderson Jump, and she was in the grip of the disorientation that always followed. Her father had told her there were a dozen explanations of Jump shock, all inconsistent with each other, but no one had ever been able to disprove any of them.
Gradually control returned. She moved her fingers, then her hands and arms, until they did what she wanted them to. Freddy always recovered faster than she did. She resented that. Not fair.
And now they were in New Caledonia system. Maybe Freddy would drop her off and go on to New Ireland . . . She had just settled in to try to sleep when her intercom chirped.
"Glenda Ruth."
It was Freddy, of course. What in the world did he want? Hah. Well, why not? If he could stand her in this condition. It wouldn't take long to get cleaned up. She tapped the intercom button.
"Hi. Look, I hate to disturb you, but we've got a message for you."
"What?"
"There's a trader ship here, the New Baghdad Lion."
"Here?"
"Here. Waiting at the Jump point. They say they have a message for the Honorable Glenda Ruth Fowler Blaine. They need your identification code."
"Oh. All right, I'll be right there. You're on the bridge?"
"Yep."
"Be right up. And—Freddy, thanks."
"No problem. Bring your computer."
This sounded urgent, but she took the time to get dressed, the baggy trousers gathered at the ankles that were standard for low gravity. She also took time to put on an Angora sweater, comb her hair, and dab on lipstick. The ship was under slight acceleration, just enough to hold her slippers to the carpet. She made her way forward. Freddy was alone on the bridge.
He indicated the copilot chair. "They're standing by for your code."
She plugged her personal computer into the ship's system. "Clementine."
Yes, dear. The words scrawled across her computer screen.
"We're supposed to identify ourselves," Glenda Ruth said. "This is me. Now prove it to them."
Password.
"Damn it all, you know it's me. All right." She sketched rapidly with the stylus; not words, but a cartoon.
Right you are. There was no sound, but she knew the computer was sending an encrypted message that could be decoded using her public key. It hardly mattered what the message was, since only messages encrypted with her secret key could be decoded with her public key. The public/secret key system made for positive identifications as well as secure communication.
"Acknowledged," a voice said on the ship's speakers. It was a voice thick with Levantine accent. "Greetings to Miss Glenda Ruth Fowler Blaine. Please prepare to record an encoded message from Lieutenant Kevin Christian Blaine."
"Ah," Freddy said. "Standing by. Ready. Got it. Thank you, New Baghdad Lion."
"You are welcome. We have been instructed to offer you fuel."
"Fuel. Why would we want more fuel?" Freddy asked.
The Levantine voice was unperturbed. "Effendi, His Excellency told us to offer you fuel. We offer it. It will not take long to transfer. Shall we do so?"
Freddy looked to Glenda Ruth. "Now what?"
She shrugged. "They're bigger than we are, and if they
wanted to do us any harm they'd have done it. Why not let them top off your tanks?"
"Lot more than topping off," Freddy said. "All right. New Baghdad Lion, we accept your offer with gratitude." He punched an intercom button. "Terry, that merchantman's going to pump us some hydrogen. Give them a hand, will you? You have the con."
"Aye, aye. I relieve you," the engineer said.
Freddy shook his head. "But just what is all this in aid of?"
"Maybe this will tell us," Glenda Ruth said.
The message had been encrypted using her public key. She set Clementine to decoding it.
Kevin Christian Blaine to Glenda Ruth Fowler Blaine, The rest does not break in clear, the computer informed her.
"Hah. Use Kevin's special code."
Willco. She adjusted her earphones and waited. Everyone was assured that the public-key/private-key system was secure against everything. Maybe we're just paranoid.
She heard, "Sis, we have a problem. The Moties could be loose by the time you get this."
Freddy was watching her. "Ruth, what's wrong?"
"Nobody's dead. Shh." In the boredom and the interpersonal dominance games, she'd had weeks to forget that she was frightened for the Moties. Now—
Her brother's voice said, "We're taking three ships to the incipient Alderson point, the I-point, at MGC-R-31. Two Navy ships, and Bury's Sinbad. I've been put aboard Sinbad as liaison. I'm the senior Navy officer aboard, but I catch vibes from Renner. He can show he ranks me if he wants to. Maybe by a lot. The other Navy officer who came out here with Sinbad, an Intelligence lieutenant commander, decided she was needed back on New Scotland.
"I don't think of a lot we can do there by ourselves. The Moties have had a quarter century to prepare for this, and we're just now realizing we have a problem. I can't think three ships will have any surprises for them.
"The pot odds say we'll get there with ten to twenty years leeway, but there are complications. Odd things happening. It might be a lot sooner. There's even a chance it happened already.
"Sis, I sure wish we had the latest the Institute has developed. So does Mr. Bury.
If you can get that to us, it might change things. I've attached our best-guess coordinates for the I-point. We thought about waiting for you, but we don't know just how long we have before everything happens. Bury arranged for the ship that gave you this message to refuel yours. Let them, if you haven't done that already. Try to get to the I-point before the Moties do.
"Sinbad's crowded. Bury's got Nabil and three women including Cynthia, no change in the relationships. There's me, Dr. Jacob Buckman, and Joyce Mei-Ling Trujillo, the newscaster. She's interesting. Intelligent and wants to prove it, female and doesn't have to. Commander Cohen decided she was needed on New Scotland just after Trujillo was invited aboard, and that leaves Renner loose. Interesting patterns here.
"You may get here and find nothing's happening at all. Some of the blockade fleet may be en route already, but of course it'll take them months. If things last that long, maybe there won't be a problem, or maybe Mom's Crazy Eddie project will work just fine and we can think on how to use it.
"Or it may be all over before you get here. If they send through a big fleet with Warriors . . ."
If they do that, you'll talk to the Master in charge. If we have the symbiote, maybe she'll listen. If you live long enough to talk, Glenda Ruth thought. If.
And her brother's voice ran on: "Anyway, we're going for a look. It will probably help if you can get here pretty quick, but you do what you think best.
"Love, Chris."
She reset and heard the message through again. "Freddy?"
"Yes, my love?"
She let it pass. "Freddy, we're being given fuel so that we can go direct to"—she punched in the coordinates from Kevin Blaine's message, and the navigation screen lit up— "here, instead of going to New Scotland first."
Freddy studied the display. "That's a wretched red dwarf system. There's nothing there."
"There will be."
"Glenda Ruth, do you know what you're doing?"
The Gripping Hand Page 18
