Fall of the White Ship Avatar (4 page)

"But surely somebody could find some good use for the place."

"The Lunies already did: they're letting all the trash pile up in one place. You heard Inspector Grissom; Luna's booming and that means a shortage of space. A big new boxtown eases the strain. You evict the riffraff, they come here, and you rerent your property for three times what you were getting. Yeah, I bet New Upsie's a real popular idea."

"Not around here. Listen, what are you hunting for?"

Alacrity had stopped by a hatchway. "Forager cues."

With the light spill from a nearby viewbleb to search by, Alacrity scanned the bulkhead by Sim's door, past pathetic scrawlings and retarded vileness left there by the looters. He went past something, then came back, bending close. There were simple code-runes, hidden in among the other clutter.

"What do they say, Alacrity?"

Alacrity chuckled, reaching out to pat Floyt's shoulder. "Everything's fine. They
heard
!"

"Heard what? Come, come now! I don't hold out on
you,
do I?"

Alacrity turned to him with a sober look. "No, that's true, you don't. Sorry, Ho."

Floyt suddenly wanted to bite his own tongue. He fought the impulse to make a clean breast of the White Ship matter; boxtown was no place for it and, more importantly, he couldn't face the idea of devastating his friend.

"The Sockwallets heard about us, and the Camarilla, and how the conspirators are being sniffed out,"

Alacrity was saying. "Sim says they're satisfied with the revenge."

"To be honest with you, I'd almost forgotten about that."

Two Camarilla assassins had made their way into the lashup to get Floyt and Alacrity, only to be killed themselves. But the sanctity of the lashup was violated and a number of Sockwallets injured. Gunny Readyknob and the other Foragers stressed that Alacrity and Floyt were obligated to let the Sockwallets file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20kruis...y%20-%20Fall%20of%20the%20White%20Ship%20Avatar.htm (16 of 242)23-2-2006 17:03:12

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know to whom they owed revenge.

"I'm glad they saw it that way," Floyt admitted. One less thing to worry about. "Do the cues say anything else?"

Alacrity was bent to them again. "They're headed for Gaeltacht to start a new lashup. We're welcome anytime, as adopted Sockwallets, for an hour or forever."

"That makes me feel good," Floyt began as they started back the way they'd come. "But I'm not sure staying here is such a good idea, even if you do know your way around boxtowns."

"I'll go along with that," Alacrity declared. "We've drawn too much attention to ourselves. And anyway, the main thing I had in mind was finding those cues."

"Fine."

"There's something else, Ho. You're right about not holding things back."

"Forget I said that," Floyt said quickly, conscience squirming. "I had no right to, you see, because—"

"What I want to say is, you've got a right to know what's coming. Y'see, I have to make my way to a planet called Windfall, because I'm old enough now to vote the one share of stock in the White Ship that my folks left me. And that means I can finally get into a meeting of the Board of Interested Parties of the White Ship."

"And that's good?"

"It's step number one of getting control of the Ship. So, our next move is finding a way to get to Windfall. I figure we'll make the rounds, get ourselves a couple of berths as able-bodied breakabouts in a ship bound out that way."

"And then on to Spica, where the White Ship is, right?"

"Yessir. On Windfall there's this guy, Lord Marcus Perlez. He was my father's, oh, godfather, I guess you could say, or mentor. Anyway, he's got my share in trust. With some luck, maybe he'll help us get to Spica."

"That would be wonderful."

"So now you know most of what I do. Tell you the rest as we go."

Floyt writhed inwardly, but as he had in
Mindframe,
he held back when he might have blurted the truth.

Alacrity's whole life was focused on becoming Master of the White Ship, on recovering his family's heritage. It was what kept him going and saved him from the terminal despair that claimed his father.

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How do I tell him that I know, know for
sure,
that it will never be
—
that he'll fail?
the question pounded in Floyt's head.

He couldn't. So he said, "Alacrity, you may be able to land a billet as a breakabout-able, but there's not much chance of my doing it."

"I was worried about that too, even though you picked up a lot while we were shipping in the
Pihoquiaq
and
Astraea Imprimatur.
But I took a look at some of the shipping newsblurbs at Lunaport. Didn't you notice how busy the place was?"

"I wasn't really paying much attention."

"Luna's economy's going straight up, and there're more ships making port all the time. And when there're fortunes being made right and left, that means people are jumping ship, salivating for their share. I'm betting there'll be a couple of berths for us, bound offworld and in the right direction."

"So be it," Floyt seconded. "Even if we end up shoehorned into the cuddy of another
Monitor
-class."

Alacrity slapped his back. "We'll blow up that bridge when we come to it!"

Floyt laughed, and postponed the truthtelling, unwilling to mar the good feelings of the moment, to rob Alacrity of soaring hope. They wended back through the warren. There weren't as many people around as there had been; Alacrity became guarded and watchful. He tucked his brolly into carrying loops on his pack and pulled the Captain's Sidearm.

Floyt drew the Webley.

"If you shoot, be real careful," Alacrity muttered.

"I remember, I remember," Floyt said nervously, recalling the Foragers' draconian rules against using firearms inside the lashup. For all their ingenious work, it was still a makeshift place. One shot in the wrong spot and a seal or hatch or dome might go, and perhaps kill every soul in it. "Where do we go from here?"

"There're a few different routes to the entrance, but there's only one way out."

When they neared the pressure-quonset they found Quirk, the young beggar, still on the pile of plundered carpeting. Now, though, he sat tailor fashion, wrists resting on his knees, watching for their approach.

"Another showed up in boxtown, another outsider," Quirk informed them with a yawn.

"Looking for us?" Floyt demanded as they stopped short. Alacrity swung his gaze this way and that.

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"Who else?"

"Where is he? Did he say anything?" Floyt asked.

Quirk was silent, giving Floyt a languid smile, making the fingertip-rubbing gesture again. "Play 'im, pay 'im," Alacrity said. "This isn't begging; it's a business expense."

Floyt gave Quirk a one-oval piece, then hesitated, wondering if he should dicker. Alacrity made an impatient, boiling sound and snatched another coin out of his friend's palm, slapping it onto the kid's.

"Is he coming this way?" Alacrity narrowed his eyes at the boy; the alley runner nodded and pointed to a passageway.

"You're sure it's only one? He's alone?" Quirk nodded as if Alacrity were a halfwit. "So what's our best route back to the main airlock?"

Quirk explained quickly, showing that he knew every turn and cranny in New Upsie. All the two had to do was cross through a lesser dome, use the length of water conduit that had been fitted out as a passageway for a shortcut, and make their way through a prefab hangar that the Sockwallets had turned into a rec center.

"Good, good." Alacrity nodded. "And which hatch do we take?"

But when Quirk turned to indicate, Alacrity grabbed him in a choke hold, dragged him down from his perch, and put the muzzle of his pistol to the kid's head.

"You're so sure it's safe, you little pustule, you go first." Quirk fought for a moment then relaxed, knowing he couldn't break free. Floyt was still gaping. Alacrity half carried, half frog-hopped the kid to the hatch he'd pointed out, not difficult in the low gravity.

"Okay, Ho; stand to one side and hit the control. I'm going to shove Mr. Information, here, through first."

Quirk began struggling wildly again, even though it was hopeless. "All right, leave it closed," Alacrity grated. "Secure it if you can do it without making noise!" He slammed Quirk on the floor in a heap and knelt on him, clamping the boy's wrists together with one big, knob-knuckled hand.

The Captain's Sidearm had a long, heavy rib running from its muzzle to the base of its handshield, a deflector for defense against edged or blunt weapons in hand-to-hand combat. Alacrity did something to the pistol one-handed; a glittering pistol-bayonet sprang forth from the deflector. Alacrity put the point against the base of the kid's right eye, with the weight of his shoulder hovering over it.

"Last chance, alley runner. How many are there?"

"Three, with guns," the kid said woodenly. "Two in a crossfire on the other side of that hatch, the other file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20kruis...y%20-%20Fall%20of%20the%20White%20Ship%20Avatar.htm (19 of 242)23-2-2006 17:03:12

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keeping watch on the back route, to the far side of the main dome."

Alacrity yanked Quirk to his feet, bayonet at his throat. "And how much did they pay you?"

"Hundred lunars."

Alacrity was impressed. "In advance?"

"Ten in advance, the rest later. I figure ten's better'n nothing."

Alacrity shook Quirk angrily, flopping him around easily. "You gullible asswipe! Can't you see they were going to shoot you, too?"

He looked around, then lugged Quirk off in the direction of a looted machine shop they'd passed. Floyt caught up as Alacrity bounce-shuffled Quirk along. "That hatch has a manual lock, Alacrity, but it would've been louder than Marley's ghost, and I couldn't figure out how it worked." He was almost whispering.

Alacrity was used enough to Floyt's obscure Terran references to understand what he meant about noise.

He nodded again. "That's okay; cover our backs." Floyt did, skate-hopping sideways, bringing up the rear with the Webley pointed back the way they'd come,

Alacrity came to the machine shop, which he recalled from their previous visit. There were storage lockers built into the wall. He opened one and jammed Quirk inside, then slammed it shut and made sure it latched securely.

Floyt was surprised the boy hadn't put up more of a struggle until Alacrity said through the locker door's little vent grating, "We should kill you and you know you have it coming. If either of us gets hurt, the other's gonna come back here and shoot a few more holes in this locker door. In the meantime, think about what a screwup you are."

Back in the passageway, Floyt said, "How did you know? That he was lying, I mean?"

Alacrity smiled evily. "He's satisfied with just two ovals, especially when he sees you've got more right there in your hand?"

"Too eager, hm?"

"Let it be a lesson to 'im, He'll be older and wiser by the time his gangmates locate him.
If.
Look, how much do you recall about the layout of this dump?"

"Enough to know we haven't got too many options. How long do we have before those triggermen come after us?"

"Not long. I think if we can go through that aeroponics shed—remember, the one made out of the file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20kruis...y%20-%20Fall%20of%20the%20White%20Ship%20Avatar.htm (20 of 242)23-2-2006 17:03:12

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booster tank? We can outflank them."

The aeroponics shed had been stripped of all but its bulkiest fixtures. As the two skimmed carefully through the echoing darkness, Floyt found himself whispering, "There's just one thing, Alacrity."

"What's that?"

"What if they lied to Quirk, too? What if there're more of them and they aren't all waiting back there where they told him they'd be?"

The sudden tension of that thought might have been the edge that had Alacrity alert enough to hear movement. Or it may have been that the other ambushers overheard Floyt's remark and opted to move before their prey became spooked, even though the pair was still some distance away. In any case, Alacrity caught the sounds and threw himself and Floyt behind a holding reservoir.

A second later the shed was lit, its air cooked by sniper volleys. The assassins were using scatterbeams and pulsed lasers; there was little Floyt and Alacrity could do except keep their heads down, sweating from the heat and from fear.

"All right, Firing Studs!" someone yelled. "Come out now and we take you alive. Elsewise, we do it the hard way!" Floyt made to take a quick peek, but Alacrity pulled him back,

"Your choice, Fitzhugh; Floyt!" The firing began again. The two ducked molten globs from structural members that had been hit, and intense heatwaves. The massive reservoir provided adequate cover for the moment, but Alacrity feared for bulkhead and seal integrity, especially now that there were no fearless Sockwallets dedicated to protecting their lashup at all costs.

One shooter's angle of fire changed. "They're trying for position," Alacrity murmured grimly, perspiration beading his face and dripping from his nose.

Without leaving cover, Floyt angled his gun barrel up and fired away, ricocheting off the heavy-gauge metal ceiling, sending spanging composite fragments whining through the shed. It was a horrible risk, but it worked; the assassins' fire halted and the advance was stopped for the time being.

Alacrity gathered his nerve and edged his pistol around a corner to let fly, risking having his hand burned off or the Captain's Sidearm blown up. The monster handgun's blast pounded their ears; by design, it gave off light and muzzle blast like a cannon, for shock effect.