Young Rissa (12 page)

“Perhaps you should.
Before
, though?” In bed she held him incompleted long enough to see worry in his face; then brought him to jubilating, draining conclusion. For the first time she thought,
I must keep in touch with this man — he is dangerous, but I can handle him. He could be useful. Later
. . .
 

 

The three sat at their last dinner; morning would see
Inconnu
landed. “This wine is special,” said Tregare. “I save it for arrivals, and I have only enough for three more.”
 

“It is delicious,” said Rissa. “I hope you can replenish your supply.”
 

“Not hardly, he can't.” Chira laughed. “Comes from — I forget the name — UET's main base, off Earth. Armed ships there all the time, he says.”
 

“‘Stronghold,' it's called,” said Tregare. “I got in and out of there once with fake papers. For repairs. That trick won't work a second time. But you never know — someday I may try the place again, at that.”
 

Rissa nodded. “Yes, you might. With a few more armed ships . . .”
 

He stared at her. “What have you heard?”
 

“Nothing specific. But you have taken another Escaped Ship — perhaps more? Obviously you wish to build your own fleet. Does your plan involve taking more armed UET ships, or arming your own?”
 

His voice was low. “Nothing's safe from you, is it? All right — either, or both. I have — well, never mind
that
— I — ”
 

“You have someone trying to duplicate this ship's weapons; I guessed that much. I will not ask where. But the missing projector unit — the place I saw, where it used to be — you did not remove it for repairs, I think, because the defective freeze-chambers are still in place. And
why
, may I ask? You should — ”
 

“Hey! You trying to tell me how to run my ship?”
 

“Someone should!”
 

His face reddened; his palm struck the table hard enough to rock the wine in its glasses. “Damn it, Obrigo — you're right again! I'll get those useless chambers off here as soon as we land.”
 

“But maintain ownership; it may be they can be restored.”
 

“I know that! Why don't you tell me how to zip my own shoes?”
 

Chira giggled. “You sure let her get you mad a lot.”
 

He turned on the girl, then looked to Rissa and shook his head. “You're giving her bad habits — you know that?”
 

Rissa shook her head. “I do not consider honesty a bad habit. Impractical sometimes, but not bad.”
 

Not quietly, Tregare exhaled. “Funny thing, Tari Obrigo. Like she says, you do get me mad. But — you know? I'll miss you.”
 

For over a month he had not touched her. Now was the last night. Making her decision, she reached for his hand. “Tregare?”
 

“Yes?”
 

“At the first of this trip, I hated your guts.”
 

“Come to that, I wasn't too crazy about yours. So?”
 

“Now — Tregare, I am not sure if I
like
you or not — or whether anyone should — but you are important to me. I want you to survive and succeed.”
 

“Same to you and many of ‘em. Anything else, while you're at it?”
 

“Yes, Tregare. Will you sleep with me tonight?”
 

And with skills she had never before shown him, she made that night one he would remember. And then lay wondering why her own body would not respond. For this time she had truly wanted him.
 

 

When Chira woke her, Tregare was gone. “We're landed.”
 

“Oh.” Rissa sat up. “I had better get my things together and leave.” She dressed and packed; the tasks took little time. Chira left and returned with their breakfasts.
 

“Your last eats on
Inconnu
.”
 

Rissa sat and began eating. “Thank you, Chira.”
 

“Y'welcome, Tari.” The girl frowned. “First I didn't like you — you scared me. But you treat me good. I dunno — if you stayed on, pretty soon Tregare don't need me — I'm down with the property. But still
 

— I'm gonna miss you.” Rissa moved around the table and hugged the girl. “Just remember, Chira — he does
not
own you. Stand up for yourself.” “I think I see it — yeah. Like the way you do, with him. Not too much, but sometimes.”
 

“Perhaps now, Chira, he will be easier with you.”
 

“Maybe. Hey — siddown, eat, before it gets all cold.” Rissa obeyed. Then she brushed her hair — on the ship she had not bothered to curl it — and tied it back with a clasp.
 

When she was ready to leave, she carried all her gear. Chira said, “Tregare wants to see you, say good-bye before you get off.”
 

“All right, I will.” Laden, no hands free, she smiled goodbye as she left Chira to whatever destiny the girl could manage.
 

She looked for Zelde M'tana, then remembered the watch schedule; the woman would be sleeping. Near the main airlock she found Tregare arguing loudly with persons she had never seen — groundsiders here, she thought.
 

She waited briefly, then spoke. “Tregare — before I leave, do you have a moment?” Against the others' words his arm swung like a scythe; he came to her.
 

“So you're getting off. All done with me.” His arm went round her shoulders.
 

“Getting off — yes. Done with you, Tregare? Will that not depend on our travels, yours and mine? If I settle here, I might be old before you next return.”
 

He looked away from her. “You know, I could like that. I'd take you to bed and
you ‘d
be the grateful one.”
 

She laughed and nipped his earlobe. “Do not bet on it. But stay in communication when you can. I shall when
I
can. And good luck, Tregare.”
 

She left the ship and walked out into Number One's hot morning sunlight.
 

 

At ground level an armed woman, an albino, met her. Rissa judged her insignia at officer grade. The woman said, “Identity check — get it all out, and tell me your reasons for coming here.”
 

Rissa produced Tari Obrigo's papers. “Here are my bona fides.” She paused and decided to chance it.
At the least, I may gain information.
“My presence on Number One concerns the Hulzein Establishment.”
 

The pink eyes looked at her. “You're a Hulzein employee?”
 

“A . . . representative, you might say. I bring word from Earth and from the Far Corner connection.”
 

The woman nodded; her white hair swung. “That's good enough. I'll advise the Provost that you're coming, and arrage your transport there and beyond.”
 

 

A large radius and low density gave Number One a gravity pull slightly less than Earth's. From the clumsy, jerky groundcar, Rissa watched scudding masses of purple cloud cover and uncover the sun. The ride was short. The driver — a burly man who had not spoken — led her into a windowless gray building, past a bank of elevators and up one flight of stairs, to a door labeled “Provost.”
 

“In there,” he said, and turned to leave.
 

She said, “Thank you.” He did not answer. She took one deep breath, opened the door, entered, and closed the door behind her.
 

The walls simulated a jungle scene; play of shadows on moving foliage had a hypnotic quality. Three persons were in the room but her attention went to the big dark-bearded man behind the largest desk — with the marker “Stagon dal Nardo: Provost.” Even sitting, he loomed.
 

He cleared his throat and said, “Anyone can push the Hulzein name this far. Now let's see you back it up.” He looked through the papers she handed him. “Tari Obrigo, eh?” He pronounced it AHB-riggo.
 

“Oh-BREEgo.”
 

“Whatever . . .” He frowned. “Are you Hulzein-connected by blood? By marriage?”
 

“Neither.”
 

“Then which Hulzein do you represent?”
 

She said, “None directly, Provost dal Nardo. I — ”
 

“None directly, you say?” He tugged at his short, full beard. “That poses problems.”
 

“I know Erika and Frieda. You have heard of them?”
 

“They're on Earth; you're here.” He placed his hands flat on his desk, fingers spread. “Obrigo, so far you haven't convinced me you're more valuable alive than as fertilizer. Your status puts you under my jurisdiction — and we're very short of fertilizer.”
 

She nodded; push had come to shove. “You are long on bullshit, if that helps. I pose problems? Then refer me to someone who understands them. You waste your time as well as mine — and I would like to get on with my business here.”
 

He sneered. “Yours? I thought it was the Hulzeins'. The more you talk, the more I smell fertilizer.”
 

She hadn't wanted this conflict —
damn the man!
— but now there was no evading it. Thinking quickly, she said, “It annoys me, having to deal in threats — but you leave no choice. Dal Nardo — are you immunized against zombie gas?”
 

His eyes widened. “I never heard of it. What — ?”
 

She nodded. “I am not surprised. But in that case, I suggest you do not threaten me again.” He said nothing. “Now, may we stop niggling and get on with it?”
 

“A moment.” He glared at a subordinate. “I'll have to call and ask.”
 

“Yes,” she said. “That is the difference between us.”
 

He spoke into a hushphone.
Zombie gas
, she thought —
I will have to remember that one!
But the fear she saw, plain on the faces of dal Nardo's aides, disturbed her.
 

 

Dal Nardo escorted her downstairs; outside, an aircar waited. Her previous escorts had helped with her luggage; he did not. He pointed to the car and walked away. Then he turned back briefly, to say, “You won't be around long, Hulzeins or no Hulzeins. That mouth of yours will have you dead on the dueling grounds. Perhaps by me.” He entered the building, and Rissa moved to the aircar.
 

The pilot was a tall girl, Rissa's age or perhaps younger. Short, tousled hair showed fair around the edges of her jaunty cap. She smiled and said, “What's snicking the Provost? Wouldn't you spread for him?”
 

Despite her mood, Rissa smiled back. “He did not ask me — and just as well, too. No — do not get out — I can hoist these things in well enough.” She did, and climbed in also — standing for a moment, wondering which seat to take.
 

“Here — come sit alongside me. You'll have a better view.” Rissa joined her and fastened the safety harness, puzzled briefly by its unfamiliar design. The aircar took off and gained altitude rapidly. Its propulsion system made only a heavy soft hissing sound.
 

Rissa said, “You know dal Nardo, I take it.”
 

The girl shook her head. “Only by reputation — and that's snooky with me.”
 

Snooky? Local slang, of course. “I would prefer that for myself also, I think — uh . . .”
 

The girl looked at her sidelong. “Oh — my name? Felcie — Felcie Parager. Dumb name, huh? What got the Provost knucking at you, anyway? Or can you say? And what's
your
name? Where are you from?”
 

In her mind Rissa ordered the stream of questions. “I am Tari Obrigo. From Far Corner, most recently. Any name is fine unless you yourself dislike it — if you do, then change it. Yes, I can say how I offended dal Nardo. He began our interview by threatening my life, and I topped his threat; that is all.”
 

Felcie laughed without restraint, then sobered. “I hope nobody else was there!”
 

“There were. Two of his aides.”
 

“Then I'm afraid you've made a dangerous enemy. What did you snick him with, anyway?”
 

“Now, that I
cannot
tell you — sorry, Felcie.”
 

The girl nodded. “Nothing shaken — we all have our secrets, don't we?” She pointed ahead. “Hill country coming up. We go alongside the first ridge maybe half an hour, then cross it at the Gap.”
 

Rissa looked. At first the rolling, wooded hills seemed familiar, Earthlike — then she saw their gigantic scale. “On Earth, these would be called mountains.”
 

“I know — I've heard. The Big Hills are oversize, like Number One itself.”
 

“Were you born here, Felcie?”
 

“If you call it that. I'm one of the zoom-womb babies, hatched out of sperm and ova from a hijacked UET ship.”
 

“I have heard of that episode — but I thought it was longer ago.”
 

The girl laughed again. “Well, they couldn't hatch us all at once, you know. I'm from the last batch.” Her face and voice turned serious. “Tari — what's it like to have parents — your own, I mean, instead of maybe one grownup to fifty or sixty kids?” After a silence she turned to look at Rissa.