Jinx on a Terran Inheritance (15 page)

Alacrity and Amarok, straining to raise their heads a bit, saw Hoyt posed on the carved boulder, the sinking sun outlining him. He pointed to the High Meddler, trying to recall what he could of
Casablanca,
the only thing he'd been able to bring to mind (and that rather dimly). Thrusting a forefinger toward the heavens, he extemporized:

Yet beautiful and bright he stood,

as born to rule the storm,

Of limbs he had more, many,

than the common human norm.

Caut'Karr gasped. The other Terranglish-speaking Croi understood, too, that this was an elegy to their own High Meddler. Even the nonlinguists had caught the reference to their species. It was little short of miraculous to them that Floyt was composing on the spot.

They listened to his rolling recitation and the alien precision of rhythm and rhyme. The pressure restraining Alacrity and Amarok let up a bit. There were thrilled shivers among the creatures.

Floyt, having come to the end of what he could force to mind from
Casablanca,
took the gamble that the Croi couldn't tell poetic meter from a camel auction or, for that matter, really catch much of what he was saying. He spread his arms to the awestruck crowd:

He led and inspired the nation,

this praiseworthy Son of Creation,

but although we'll all miss him,

it's time to off-kiss him,

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in the int'rests of good sanitation!

The Croi were rustling and making noises like a flock of pigeons now, straining to hear, belaboring the Terranglish speakers for a running translation. They were missing almost all of it, but they were rapt.

Amarok and Alacrity were released, lying on their backs on the smaller rock, all but ignored. Alacrity felt sick from the knock on the head, the champagne, and the dizziness of being held head-down over the ocean. His stomach tossed in time with the waves.

Floyt had gone down on one knee, palms out to the High Meddler in a beatific gesture.

The High Meddler stands nigh the cliff,

that splendid, beloved old stiff,

and so, out of love,

let us give 'im a shove,

and end this ridiculous tiff!

The Croi were rhapsodic, returning Floyt's gesture.—Some had caught just enough of the last part to get the general idea. Willing limbs raised up the High Meddler and heaved his statuesque carcass out into the air.

Just then Alacrity, unable to fight off nausea any longer, crouched on all fours and vomited off the sea side of the rock after the High Meddler's plummeting form, thankful that the prevailing wind was behind him.

A great sound, like a universal grating of metal files, went up from the Croi.

Oh, Sweet Spirit of Terra!
Floyt groaned to himself, dread stealing the breath from him and stopping his pulse for an instant.

"Imbecile!
We've had it
!" Amarok snarled at the pathetic, heaving Alacrity and began looking around for a way to save himself.

"You, you—" strained Caut'Karr as Floyt tried hysterically to come up with some viable excuse.

"You gave the High Meddler the
Grand Encomium
!" Caut'Karr went on. "Eversion of the epigastrian breadbasket, in the Return of Gifts! The Foregoing of the Eatable Gift-Victual Presents!
Zut
!"

He and a bunch of other Croi helped Alacrity up, patting and stroking his arms, making sounds of acclaim. The remains of the High Meddler, and Alacrity's lunch, were gone beneath the waves.

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"That was rather actually above the limits," Caut'Karr remarked. "We were ignorant of any idea that you were thinking about planning such an intention. Er, I suppose internal damage will suffer your innards to expire to death, as is usually the case of things?"

"Um, no." Alacrity grinned feebly. "I'm just as surprised about this as you are, you understand, but it looks like I'm gonna pull through."

"What a wonderfully pleasing, out of the ordinary rarity! How unflinchingly plucky! Ah, I trust you'll forgive our confused misunderstanding … "

"Oh, please, forget to remember it."

Amarok was next to Alacrity now, helping him soothe Caut'Karr's distress. Other Croi had helped Floyt down off the great stone; he rejoined his companions.

Caut'Karr paused to chastise several rash young Croi who were apparently considering imitating Alacrity in rendering the Grand Encomium.

"Their tender young internal stomachs would never put up with enduring it, of naturally," Caut'Karr explained to the humans. "Even we adults seldomly live through survival of it. Ah, but you humanity folks are creatures of ferrous iron, eh? No self-effacing modesty, now! Here; you have earned your payment sums!"

With that the three were given not one but
two
amber Perfect novaseeds each; not four azure Primes, but
eight.

"Thanks!" Alacrity beamed. "Now we can get our mother that much-needed operation!"

"Never has there been so joyously sad of a funereal bash!" trumpeted Caut'Karr. "May I please have leave to declare the announcement that you
Homo sapiens
species types are hereby declared
winning
champions of the bereaved mourning
!"

The three were borne aloft by deliriously happy mourners. They were carried back down the hill in triumph, through the slanting rays of the sunset, thinking how good it would feel to be back inside the
Pihoquiaq
once more.

CHAPTER 7—THE GRAPPLE

They fell back into a shipboard routine quickly and comfortably, on friendlier terms after the debacle on Way 'Long.

Floyt had come to understand how Alacrity, who claimed to have been raised in spacecraft for much of file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20kruis...aley%20-%20Jinx%20on%20a%20Terran%20Inheritance.htm (78 of 320)19-2-2006 17:12:29

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his life, could've received a comprehensive education: there was plenty of time for it. Floyt learned to cook a bit, and Alacrity taught him some tradeslang without benefit of teaching tapes or mnemonic devices, Amarok came up with a new and better length of line to replace the jumprope, which the trio had managed to wear out. They bided their way across the gulf.

This time, when Amarok appeared to let them know they were nearing their destination, he had a holster on his hip. It was a splitfront, forward-throw model, and his sidearm a bulky hammergun with a stirrup grip. He was dressed in shiny indigo tights and a high-collared top that left his midriff bare, displaying the physique of a Hellenic wrestler.

The trader made no comment when, shortly thereafter, the two companions armed themselves as well.

Floyt removed his Inheritor's belt and Amarok stashed it in the
Pihoquiaq's
safe. The Terran substituted a webbed belt for it, tucking the Webley therein.

"Will everybody be carrying guns?" Floyt asked Alacrity. "Even with vacuum all around?"

"Guess so. It's a little risky, but most of the types who come to a Grapple wouldn't, if it meant going unarmed."

When the
Pihoquiaq's
Breakers cut out and she resumed residence in normal space, the only celestial body nearby was an archetypical orange-red gas giant known only by an obscure catalog reference. The spot was of little interest to anyone, perfect for a Grapple and the cagey sorts who would gravitate to it: outlaws and contrabandists, underground leaders and
condottieres,
along with organized crime figures and fences, and all those who trafficked with them.

Floyt stared at the bizarre patchwork of the Grapple, which floated in space like a maze of mismatched plumbing. Vessels of all sorts were mated lock to lock or joined by tubes or other connectors, branching in all directions, moored by seals and tractor beams, cables, and magnetic anchors. At the approximate center was a titanic, much-repaired old attack transport.

Pihoquiaq's
instruments registered commo signals—voice only, no visual—and weapons guidance systems coming to bear on her. Amarok was quick to transmit recognition codes. He was granted permission to approach.

Alacrity had explained that Turnouts, Rendezvous, and most other law-abiding versions of this sort of thing were usually open to all, or at least not overtly hostile, but the people involved in a Grapple were more particular about whom they admitted, and ill-disposed to interlopers.

Alacrity was crammed in the back of the bridge, yielding the copilot's seat to Floyt. Floyt used Amarok's electroimager to study the improvised labyrinth that was the Grapple. The aggregation included old and file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20kruis...aley%20-%20Jinx%20on%20a%20Terran%20Inheritance.htm (79 of 320)19-2-2006 17:12:29

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new craft, from disparate and divergent technologies. One ship reminded him of a pinecone, another a beautiful old samovar. He could see a ship—at least he assumed it was a ship—that looked as if someone had halved a geode, faced it with some transparent substance, and set up the interior as a terrarium. The craft next to it could have passed for a Franklin stove. Most of the ships were ablaze with flashing signal lights and holos.

"Where do we plug in?" Alacrity asked Amarok.

"That remains to be seen. There are protocols about these things; it can be a bit tricky. After all, One will be using someone else's ship as a passageway."

Floyt handed the electroimager back to Amarok. "Do the authorities ever raid the Grapples?"

"Very seldom," Alacrity answered. "First, they're fairly tough to find. Second, there's a lot of firepower when this many rugged individualists get together, more than some governments could match. Besides, whose jurisdiction are we in right now? Nobody's, really."

"Granted, but surely there are fugitives here."

"At a Grapple you cannot take a deep breath without bumping one," Amarok agreed. "But then, you cannot really rely on a particular person or group to show up, so attacking a get-together like this to nail a certain target can be very counterproductive. Then too"—he lowered the images with a fey smile

—"there are usually some semihonest folks attending. Killing them could raise repercussions and bad blood."

"They've sure got the party beacons lit," Alacrity enthused.

Floyt said, "I see just about every visual signal except for distress, right?"

"Very good, Hobart," Amarok answered. "Even here, nobody shows a distress signal unless they mean it."

He got back on the transmitter. "
Caveat Emptor,
this is
Pihoquiaq.
This One seeks docking arrangements. Is the
Rolling Bones
there, by chance, or the
Wotan
?"

"Bones
is expected,
Pihoquiaq"
a voice responded. "Nobody here ever heard of the
Wotan.
There's still one lock available here in
Caveat Emptor
."

"There's always one left," Amarok muttered. "And they always want your dangles for a docking fee."

To the transmitter he replied, "Thank you anyway,
Caveat,
but This One was looking forward to seeing old friends. Have you had word of the
Magus
?"

Floyt was pointing out a large, openwork ship with other, smaller vessels fastened within her, inquiring file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20kruis...aley%20-%20Jinx%20on%20a%20Terran%20Inheritance.htm (80 of 320)19-2-2006 17:12:29

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what she was.

"That's a ferry," Alacrity answered. "Sublight tubs sometimes go from one system to another in 'em, and they transport damaged starships too, but it's chancy. The rates are stiff, and if you miss a connection, you're probably stranded. Then, sometimes you
can
go broke and starve, even if you have your own ship."

"Attention,
Pihoquiaq
," the commo was saying. "
Magus
is grappled to us, aftmost boatlock, portside.

She has granted permission for you to make fast."

Amarok beamed, thanking
Caveat Emptor
and signing off. Easing his ship around the haphazard protrusions of the Grapple, he said, "Captain Merrywell of the
Magus
is a close friend to Someone's family; This One can simply chip in on his docking fee."

They closed slowly on a vessel several times the size of the old monitor.
Magus
appeared to be a frigate refitted as a swift, formidable merchantman, which was also a good configuration for a blockade runner, smuggler, or pirate.

Amarok deftly matched his ship to the
Magus's
portside lock. As the three were making fast and shutting down, though, a polished, languid voice hailed the
Pihoquaiq.

"Captain Sile, here, of the
Lamia.
How pleasant to hear your voice once more, Amarok my young entrepreneur!"

Amarok was scowling as he replied. "
Pihoquiaq
here. What is your message,
Lamia
?"

The reply was mellifluous. "I notice you're sealed to the
Magus
, so if you don' t mind, I'll just make fast to your portside. It's very nearly the only spot left. I was just telling my associates how fortunate it is that we're old acquaintances, you and I."

Amarok thumbed the sender angrily. "Negative, Sile. Docking permission refused.
I say again,
docking permission refused! Stand away!"

There was a brief silence at the other end. Tension in the bridge made the air fairly crackle.

"Someone would rather not have offended him," Amarok admitted quietly, "but One will not give Sile and his pack of cutthroats access to this ship."

"There're other docking spots anyway, Rok," Alacrity said quietly.