Jinx on a Terran Inheritance (10 page)

Amarok took the plunge with a completely believable smile pasted across his wide face, Alacrity had to grant him that.

"Ooo! An idea occurs! This One can transport these two intimates of the Weir Domain to the Grapple in the
Pihoquiaq,
and be their advisor and guardian!"

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[Fitzhugh 2]-JINX ON A TERRAN INHERITANCE

Redlock contrived to look surprised. "That is truly a noble gesture, Amarok," Dorraine said elatedly.

"We'll have to remember to mention it to Deputy Minister Nightweather."

There was a little more of the same, then Amarok begged leave to go make ready to depart. He was scheduled to get underway in a little over an hour.

Before the trader left, Alacrity managed to get in, "What kind of ship is the
Pho
—the
Phio
—"

"Pihoquiaq"
Amarok supplied. "It means
Ever-wandering one.
That is what Someone's ancestors called the white bear on old Earth.
Pihoquiaq
is a converted monitor."

Alacrity's face fell. "Real fine. Looking forward to it."

When Amarok was gone, Redlock said, "I take it you've shipped in a monitor?"

Alacrity sighed. "Uh-huh. But don't get me wrong! We've got a ship and a destination now; wouldn't have either, or any money, if it wasn't for you."

"Yes, and I don't quite see how we can ever hope to pay you back," Floyt put in.

"Don't mention it." Redlock waved a hand. "Belt-favors come in assorted forms, from pulling a few strings to, oh, lending a hand in a landing party, for instance."

That wasn't the first time Floyt had heard the Inheritor's belts referred to that way. "What is a belt-favor?" Perplexed, he fingered the ring of plaques around his middle.

"We wanted to make sure you understood the custom surrounding Inheritors—that they can call on one another in time of need," Dorraine said.

"No one bothered to tell me about that," Floyt said slowly. "Thanks."

"I thought that Tiajo might neglect telling you," Redlock added. "Hang on to that belt, Citizen Floyt."

Alacrity was already running down the list of other Inheritors in his mind. They were spread all across that part of human space, and in many places beyond.

Who might be willing to do us a favor if we
—
Ho
—
needed it? Stare Skill and Kid Risk, I'll bet. And
Maska, if we ever run into him again. Sir John? Seven Wars and Sortie-Wolf, for certain.

"I hate to seem abrupt," Redlock said briskly, "but you two haven't much time."

"I am bound by the same proscriptions as my husband," Dorraine announced, "but they wouldn't apply to a few going-away presents. Perhaps something to make a long voyage in a monitor more bearable?"

"Alacrity," Redlock said, "surely you can think of a few things. Speak up; don't make us drag it out of you."

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[Fitzhugh 2]-JINX ON A TERRAN INHERITANCE

"Books," Alacrity replied promptly. "Vitamins and diet supplements. Some recreational substances.

Soap and air fresheners; spices, condiments, and sauces. A few games and diversions would be nice, and snacks and a supply of potables. Oh, yeah: and a hammock or sleepsling; the bunks in the cuddy are always short in those monitors—every time."

Dorraine had started laughing halfway through the shopping list. "You really have shipped in them, haven't you? What about you, Hobart?"

Floyt was looking thoughtfully after the departed Amarok. "He comes from a cold climate, and he'll be in charge of the thermostat. Um, is there any chance of getting some warm underwear?"

CHAPTER 5—GUESTS OF THE EVER-WANDERING ONE

"The secret to cutting it as a breakabout, Ho—a
real
breakabout, that is, not a trained flea on a yacht or a liner—isn't resourcefulness or job proficiency. Or I.Q. or even wanderlust. Watch your head now."

"What is the secret, Alacrity?" Floyt asked, playing audience amiably. The inner hatch of the
Pihoquiaq's
main airlock began to open.

"Putting up with shipboard life. Boredom, routine, and especially—"

The inner hatch swung away and they were looking into a passageway.

"—cramped quarters," Alacrity finished.

"Great Suffering Martyrs!" Floyt cried. He'd assumed the ship's interior would be a bit close, having seen her through a viewpane. Monitor-class vessels, named by some history buff of long ago, had been aptly tagged.
Pihoquiaq
did indeed suggest, in a streamlined, sweptback way, the cheesebox-on-a-raft federal ironclad of the American Civil War.

She wasn't very big, some forty-five meters long, if a bit beamy. Floyt had figured that all available cargo space would be used; running a starship was very, very dear but the profit to be realized equally high. But he hadn't expected that most of the living space would be usurped too.

The main passageway had become a low tunnel, its sides lined with packed storage shelving, its dropped ceiling of tranverse metal lathes holding cases and boxes, bales and crates. There was barely room to crawl and duck walk along.

"Does this mean there won't be a Welcome-Aboard Cotillion?" Floyt wondered aloud.

Amarok showed up just then, stylus behind his ear, a readout in his right hand and another tucked in his belt.

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[Fitzhugh 2]-JINX ON A TERRAN INHERITANCE

"Welcome aboard, gentlemen. This One has shifted most of the cargo out of the cuddy." Alacrity gave a stifled groan. "So you can bunk in there.
Is all that ballast yours?"
he cried, staring at their luggage—

Alacrity's warbag and attached umbrella case, Floyt's travel bag, and the parting gifts from Dorraine and Redlock, a not-excessive pile of this and that bulging in a large backpack. Amarok made it sound as if they'd lugged along an engine block collection and a wet bar.

"That's right," Alacrity answered. "Redlock said if there wasn't enough room, the—what'd he call her, Ho?—oh yeah, the
Munificent
is a roomy little tub and we could hang around Palladium until she shows up."

Redlock had said no such thing, but Amarok didn't know that. With considerable worming effort, he turned around in the narrow passageway and led them forward.

"The man's part squirrel." Floyt snorted, grabbing his stuff.

"Just be glad he's not a midget," Alacrity advised.

As they made their way aft, Floyt noticed that the ship was chilly.

If Amarok had cleared the cuddy, a tiny compartment below and abaft the round deckhouselike structure, it must formerly have been packed solid. He didn't try to enter with them, but squeezed beyond the hatch and ushered them in. It was noticeably warmer than the rest of the
Pihoquiaq.
Sure enough, the bunks were short.

Alacrity, his worst fears realized, entered first, obliged to stoop, shoving all his gear onto the upper bunk. He wedged himself in after, in a sort of modified fetal position. Floyt followed awkwardly, pushing his luggage into the lower bunk, which had less than fifty centimeters' clearance from the top.

There wasn't quite enough room in the space between the bunks and the opposite bulkhead to scratch.

The trader hastened off to finish restowing cargo and make final preparations, saying they'd be leaving shortly. Floyt turned his head and met Alacrity's gaze, since turning his whole body would've been too laborious.

"Let's hear it, Ho; what d'you think?"

"I was trying to make up my mind if it would be better to wait until we're in Hawking before we mutiny and shove him out the lock."

Alacrity chortled. "He's probably thinking more or less the same thing about us. Every little widget and thingie you can cram into a ship can mean a boodle, if your luck's right. And we're taking up the equivalent space of an awful lot of widgets."

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[Fitzhugh 2]-JINX ON A TERRAN INHERITANCE

"What's our next move?"

"Stow our stuff in those lockers; that'll give us a little more breathing room. Check 'em, would you?"

But every locker was tightly packed, not with Amarok's precious cargo, but with oddments of ship's gear, spare parts, tools, repair materials, and so forth.

"Alacrity, if we hurry, we can get back out of this thing before this packrat casts off from the
King's
Ransom.
We'll wait for the
Munificent.
I don't care if my conditioning kills me."

Alacrity was shaking his head. "The
Munificent
is from Dlyria, in the first place. That means the ship's complement is an extended polymorphous pansexual menage."

"So?"

"So anyone else is obliged to participate,
de rigueur
."

"But we can't live under these conditions! We'll never make it!"

"Easy, shipmate, easy. Here—" Struggling and grunting, Alacrity dug something out of the backpack.

"Here's the hammock I got from Redlock. We can rig it and I'll slide in. Then we cram our stuff into the lower bunk, and you get the penthouse. I can stick my feet into the end of the bottom bunk and lay the rest of me in the hammock."

Floyt thought for a moment. "Alacrity—those recreational substances and potables Dorraine gave you

—"

"Yes?"

"Did she give you plenty?"

She did. Once they'd thrashed out a compromise with the laws of mass and space as applied to the confinement of the cuddy, Alacrity brought out a container that looked like a big onyx kidney bean. He hadn't found it necessary to stick his feet into the end of the baggage bunk; rigging the hammock from the side of the hatch frame had given just enough room to sleep as long as he wasn't too active.

Just now he was sitting up, feet hanging off to either side of the squeezed-together hammock. He carefully tapped out onto his palm two tiny granules that glittered like prisms.

"Nirvanitol! Redlock and Dorraine really know how to entertain."

"Is this a good idea in the state we're in, Alacrity? How long is it since we slept? Thirty hours?"

"Something like that."

"What will that stuff do?"

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[Fitzhugh 2]-JINX ON A TERRAN INHERITANCE

"We'll feel awfully nice for a while; quiet, perfectly content to lie right here in this cocoon without moving around."

"And then?"

"Out like a light, probably. It's just as well; Amarok wouldn't mind not having us underfoot for a bit."

"Alacrity, I'm practically out right now. Why waste it?"

"You won't get any argument out of me." He carefully put the nirvanitol back in the kidney bean and reached up with his toes, the most practical way to reach the light controls. He experimented and got the illumination down to something like a low nightlight. By that time Floyt was asleep.

Floyt dozed a little fitfully. Alacrity half sat in his hammock when Amarok cut in the Breakers, activating the Hawking Effect generator. Hearing nothing amiss, Alacrity went back to sleep without even realizing he'd wakened.

Floyt came around much later, tried to edge around Alacrity in order to visit the head. Alacrity woke up in the course of the struggle. They both felt famished and were beginning the battle to collect their clothes when Amarok showed up.

He brought two trays of ship's rations straight from the warming unit, explaining that they'd have to eat in the cuddy, the passageway, or the head.

Alacrity waved a hand around the cuddy. "This just isn't going to do, Amarok, and you know that. How long before we get to our next stop? Fifty hours? A hundred?"

"More on the order of one hundred twenty."

"
Merde alors
! You don't expect us to sit in this coffin that whole time, do you, shipmate? Better not."

Amarok bridled. On someone his size, it was rather scary.

"This is Someone's ship. He doesn't care who got you two inboard, or how important you are; nobody tells One how to run His ship."

"Ah, but nobody
helps
you run it either, right? You've got this whole crate automated and you're a one-man crew. Well, we can bear a hand. Stand watch in the control room. Turn to in the power section. Run standard maintenance. All we want is a chance to stretch; you look like you know what that means."

The flush was leaving the Innuit's cheeks. He motioned to Floyt. "He's not a high-mover." Like "go-blood," it was another name for a career spacer, a breakabout.

"I'll keep an eye on him. But listen, there's something else: prepackaged food isn't this bad by immutable natural law. There're things that can be done with it."

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[Fitzhugh 2]-JINX ON A TERRAN INHERITANCE

Amarok's face looked like a displeased graven idol. "Men of Quaanaaq-Thule don't cook, freeloader."

"Keep your boxtop on! I didn't mean you; I mean
me
! Redlock gave us flavorings, spices, mixes—lots of stuff. You won't be sorry. I've cooked before."

Amarok's anger left him. "One has no objection to that. But stay out of Someone's way. And neither of you enters the bridge or power section unless This One is there, do you understand, Fitzhugh?"

"Aye, sir," Alacrity responded, dead on the level, without a trace of sarcasm.

When Amarok was gone, Alacrity beamed at Floyt, who still wore a sour look. Nodding toward the departed Amarok,

Alacrity said, "Don't let him get to you. He's a skipper with lots on his mind, and a real young one at that."

"How could you be so—genial?"

"It works better this way. You should start seeing things from his side. After all, you're a starship owner now."