Forbidden Knowledge (5 page)

She sealed the shipsuit; located her boots in the san. Because of the nature of her panic, she went back to the berth and retrieved the zone implant control. She didn’t want to be separated from it.

But then she stopped herself. The part of her which had been shaped by Angus Thermopyle responded to fear in ways which were new to her. Mere physical possession of the control was dangerous. If she carried it with her, anybody who searched her or simply bumped against her could find it.

Her cabin was the only simulacrum of privacy available to her. She had to conceal the control somewhere here.

Under the mattress was convenient, but too easy. With the right tools, she would have preferred to open either the door’s panel or the intercom and bury the black box among their circuit boards and wiring. Unfortunately she only had the mending kit to work with.

Inside her the tremble built so that every movement felt unsteady as she went back to the san, to the mending kit. She tossed some of the patches and velcro into the disposal to make room; then she put the control in the bottom of the kit and covered it with the remaining supplies.

That would have to do. If she stood where she was and tried to imagine the perfect hiding place, the trembling would break down her defenses, and she would panic.

Almost in a rush, she left the cabin.

Exploring, that’s what she would do, she would go exploring. Nick hadn’t told her to stay where she was. And anybody would understand her desire to familiarize herself with a new ship. As long as she didn’t accidentally gain the bridge.

In part to keep her hands from shaking, and in part to make the action habitual, so that no one would consider it unusual, she shoved her fists deep into her pockets. Then she started hurrying along the passage in the opposite direction from the lift Vasaczk had used to take her to her cabin.

No, she shouldn’t hurry. She couldn’t afford to be caught hurrying. That would lead to questions.

She could feel her willpower fraying under the strain, but she forced herself to slow down, attempt a more casual stride.

She passed four or five doors, all of them identical to hers; presumably
Captain’s Fancy
had that much accommodation for passengers. Then she reached another lift.

There was no way to leave this section of the ship without using a lift. Bulkheads sealed both ends of the passage. And the movement of all the lifts would be monitored and controlled by
Captain’s Fancy
’s maintenance computer. She couldn’t use one without the risk of attracting attention.

She didn’t want to be noticed.

Her shaking grew more violent. Without realizing it, she pulled her hands out of her pockets and covered her face. For several moments she stood frozen in front of the lift with her palms clamped over her eyes while her shoulders quivered.

She couldn’t do it. Angus hadn’t left her enough courage. Nothing was safe enough. She should have stayed in her cabin and worked with the zone implant control until she found a cure for her fear.

But in this state she might not have been able to make her fingers hit the buttons she chose. And, in any case, the computers could watch her door as easily as the lifts. She’d already put herself in jeopardy by leaving her cabin.

Slowly she pulled her hands down from her face. When she’d succeeded at pushing one of them back into a pocket, she used the other to key the lift.

If the different levels served by the lift had been labeled, she might have been able to make a neutral choice. If she’d been able to think clearly, she might have been able to reason out some of the ship’s internal structure. Since she didn’t have anything else to go by, she took the lift down one level and got out to look around.

Almost at once she smelled coffee. By good fortune she’d arrived near the galley. At a guess, this level was the crew’s: it contained the galley and mess, wardrooms and cabins, used by Nick’s people. It might also hold the sickbay—a possibility she set aside for future exploration. As soon as she smelled the coffee, she realized that something as simple and ordinary as hot, black caffeine might be what she needed to steady her.

She followed the smell away from the lift without pausing to consider the likelihood that the galley was already in use.

She could smell coffee because the galley had no door: it was essentially a large niche in one of the interior bulkheads, with equipment built into the three walls and a round, easily reached table. She noticed a particularly luxurious foodvend, quite a few storage cabinets for staples and special supplies, and, of course, a coffee maker. The pot steamed richly in the ship’s dry atmosphere.

She also noticed a man sitting at the table.

At the sight, she froze again. She didn’t know whether to retreat or move forward. Everything was dangerous, and she didn’t know which risk was preferable.

But she remembered to keep her fists in her pockets.

The man had his hands wrapped around a hot mug as if he wanted the warmth. His fingers looked fat because they were stubby, and his face looked fat because it was almost perfectly round; nevertheless he was only compact, not overweight. Like his face, his eyes were circles. They were a gentle shade of blue Morn had never seen before. Combined with his fine, sandy hair and steady smile, they made him look friendly.

He glanced up as soon as she appeared. When he saw her, his eyes and his smile showed mild surprise. She obviously didn’t disconcert him, however. He gave her a moment to move if she could. Then he said, “You look like what you need most is sleep, but you’re too scared to get it.” His voice was mild, too. “Come have a cup of coffee. It’s fresh. Maybe I can give you a reason or two to be less scared.”

Morn stared at him. She wasn’t prepared to trust anything aboard
Captain’s Fancy
—especially not mildness from a total stranger. It might be camouflage, like Nick’s air of relaxation. She stood where she was, with her elbows locked and her hands buried.

Controlling her voice as well as she could, she said, “You know who I am.”

The man’s smile held. “I should,” he replied without sarcasm. “I saw you in Mallorys often enough. And you’re the only passenger Nick invited to go with us this time.

“That’s one reason you’re scared. We all know who you are—we know that much about you. You don’t know any of us. You only know Nick, and that may seem like it’s not much help.”

He paused, giving her a chance to say something or move. When she didn’t do either, he resumed.

“Well, let me introduce myself, at any rate. I’m Vector Shaheed. Ship’s engineer. Off duty at the moment. My second is a pup off Valdor Industrial, where they don’t teach you anything, but he’s competent to keep us going under this much thrust. So I’ve got time to exercise my only real talent, which is making coffee.”

Morn continued staring at him. Her hands were damp with sweat, but she kept them curled in her pockets.

Stiffly, as if all his joints hurt—but still smiling—Vector Shaheed stood up to get a mug from one of the cabinets. He filled it at the steaming pot and set it on the table for her. Then he seated himself again.

“That’s not a reason to trust me, of course,” he continued. “We’re all illegals, and you’re UMCP. You would have to be crazy to trust any of us. But we’re alone here, and I’m willing to talk. You really can’t afford to miss an opportunity like this.”

That made sense. Morn shook her head—not rejecting what he said, just trying to break herself out of her paralysis. She felt a visceral desire to pull away from him. His mildness was seductive: he was a trap. But she was trapped anyway; and whatever he chose to reveal might be useful.

With a stiffness of her own, she entered the galley.

She didn’t take her fists out of her pockets until she was sitting at the table. Then, abruptly, she pulled up both hands and cupped them around the coffee mug. She needed something to steady her so that she could think. The coffee was seductive, too, but she was prepared to trust it.

He was right about one thing, anyway: he had a talent for coffee. A couple of hot sips made her feel almost instantly stronger. In simple gratitude, she said through the steam, “Thanks.” Then she sipped again.

“That’s better.” To all appearances, Vector Shaheed’s approval was genuine. “I don’t like to see anybody scared—especially not a woman like you. Out here, there’s many an old spacer who thinks women are worth dying for. I myself”—his smile became rueful for a moment—“am gratified just to have you sit here and drink my coffee.”

“What would you like to know about us?”

Without thinking, Morn asked, “Where are we going?”

Vector’s smile lost none of its soft ease, but the muscles around his eyes tightened. He drank some of his coffee before he replied, “You can probably guess that that’s not one of the subjects I’m prepared to talk about.”

She shook her head again, chagrined by her own weakness. She shouldn’t have asked that question: it exposed too much. And she certainly couldn’t ask what exigency had called Nick to the bridge. Groping for some sense of poise, of being in control of herself, she tried again.

“How bad is the gap drive?”

His eyes relaxed. “Bad enough. Bad enough so I can’t fix it myself, anyway. If I had to stake my reputation on it, I would say we can get into tach and out again one more time. If I had to stake my
life
on it”—he chuckled gently—“I would say it’s too dangerous.”

“How long can you last without it?”

“At least a year. We’ve got that much food and stores. Not to mention plenty of fuel. At the rate we’re traveling, we’ll starve before we run out of fuel.”

Vector’s manner didn’t give the words any special importance. Nevertheless Morn knew they were important. As long as
Captain’s Fancy
used only this gentle thrust, there was only one destination Nick could reach in a year: the belt. And of course there was no place in the belt to get a gap drive repaired. But even at much higher velocities,
Captain’s Fancy
had nowhere else to go in human space.

Forbidden space was another matter. Its proximity to the belt and Com-Mine Station was a large part of what made them so crucial to the UMC—and to all humankind. Running hard, the ship could probably get there in a few months. But then what? The possibility that Nick might be headed for forbidden space was too complex for Morn to evaluate. In any case, Com-Mine Center would never have authorized a departure trajectory in that direction.

Vector watched her think for a while. Then he started talking again. “I offered you a reason or two to be less scared. I can see that wasn’t one of them. Let me try again.

“There are twenty of us aboard, and from your point of view we probably all look like reasons to be scared. But that isn’t true. I don’t mean you can trust us. I mean you don’t need to worry about whether you can trust us. The only one of us you need to worry about is Nick. You see”—Vector spread his hands—“he isn’t just the captain here. He’s the center, the law. None of us is a threat to you, as long as he’s happy.

“And I’ll tell you something else about him. He never gives away his castoffs. You don’t need to worry that he’ll get tired of you and pass you off to one of us. You’re his. On this ship, you’re either his or you’re nothing.

“That’s why it doesn’t matter whether you can trust any of us. We’re no danger to you. We never will be. All you have to worry about is Nick. Everything else will take care of itself.”

Morn was stunned. Hearing her dilemma stated so nakedly made her brain go blank.
He’s the law. He never
gives away his castoffs. It doesn’t matter whether you can trust any of us.
But because Vector was smiling at her, and she knew she couldn’t afford to be paralyzed, she forced herself to ask, “Is that supposed to help me feel better?”

“It should,” he replied promptly. “It simplifies your situation.”

Her mind was practically useless. “I guess you’re right,” she said slowly, struggling to think, to articulate her incomprehension in some way. “But it would help me more if I understood it. Why—” Why are you so loyal to him? “Why is he my only problem? You’re all illegals, you said that yourself. I don’t know why you do it, but you all want to get away from law somehow. That’s got to be true.” The only pirate she knew personally, Angus Thermopyle, would have committed any conceivable atrocity to make sure nobody else had power over him. “You don’t want rules, you want opportunities. So why is he the law? Why do you let him do that? Why does what he want take precedence over what the rest of you want?”

Vector Shaheed seemed to consider that a good question. His eyes appeared inordinately blue and clear as he answered, “Because he never loses.”

Then he grinned like a man with a secret joke. “Besides, it’s axiomatic that nobody likes law more than us illegals do. It’s a love-hate relationship. The more we hate the UMCP, the more we love Nick Succorso.”

Morn blinked at him. “That doesn’t make sense.”

Vector lifted his shoulders in a mild, humorous shrug.

A moment passed before she noticed just how smoothly he’d distracted her from his idea that Nick never lost.

While she was still trying to collect her thoughts, however, the intercom in the galley chimed. The same neutral voice she’d heard earlier said, “Morn Hyland, come to the bridge.”

A moment later Vasaczk added, “Acknowledge.”

Morn didn’t move. She was frozen again; taken by surprise and snared in fright.

Vector’s stiffness seemed constant. His movements gave such an impression of resistance in his ioints that Morn expected him to wince as he got up from his chair and went over to the intercom. Nevertheless his expression remained as calm as blue water: any pain he may have felt remained far below the surface.

Keying the intercom, he responded, “She’s with me. I’ll make sure she doesn’t get lost.” Then he clicked off the pickup.

By way of explanation, he told Morn, “This will give me an excuse to be on the bridge. I want to know what’s going on myself.”

She hardly heard him. No, she insisted to herself, no, don’t panic, not now. Any risk she failed to face might kill her: she could only hope to survive if she met each danger as it came. Don’t panic now.