Jinx on a Terran Inheritance (44 page)

Praxis was chairman of the race committee, Alacrity recalled Floyt's having told him. And Sile had this kind of thing on him. Alacrity let the scenes flow again. "God … "

"It's even worse than it looks at first," she said. "Don't you see his victim's face? The resemblance?"

A son? No.
"A clone of himself."

"Yes; and there were others. The Avatar of the Spirit of the Irreducible I; the holyman of self-understanding and forgiveness. He's insane, Alacrity, or at least part of him is."

Alacrity shut off the reader. "And so your father gets to sail in his race."

"If he's still alive and the Blackguard trouble blows over. But I'll tell you something: if I had any doubts about what I'm doing, they're gone. My father knows about that, what you saw, and all he can think to do is take advantage from it. Well, I'm going to stop him doing that kind of thing."

She started tidying aimlessly. "There are—things that have to be protected from him."

He heard her sniffing, thought of leaving her be for a while, but took her wrist instead. "You're not alone. I love you, and I'll back you."

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[Fitzhugh 2]-JINX ON A TERRAN INHERITANCE

Later, they lay on the deck carpeting and their clothes. She toyed with the deep V of slate-gray hair that burgeoned like a mane down his spine.

He rolled over, laying one hand on her white hip. "Let's mate for life, like swans."

CHAPTER 20—COMMANDING LEAD

"What you inherited here," Alacrity said, flashing Floyt a grin as he caught up with the Earther in
Astraea Imprimatur's
control room, "is a starship that can't do any one thing preeminently well, but
can
do just about anything you can think of, at least half-assed."

"Which means you approve?" Janusz asked from the pilot's poz—Floyt near his shoulder, Sintilla poised on the arm of his chair—where he had been explaining the instrumentation.

"It means I'm envious as hell." Alacrity beamed. "A starship with lots of guts and guns and ears
and
decorated in Bordello
Robotique
!"

"I think you mean Shangri-La Ultramax, Alacrity," Sintilla corrected.

"Whatever. Anyway, she's too damn good for those cutworms at Earthservice, that's for sure. Doesn't this just take the bark off your bole?"

The trio from Old Raffles had shown them specs, 3-D displays, and original blueprints, but those were nothing compared to the real thing. She'd originally been raised off the ways as a
Jaguar
-class corvette, the
Copperhead,
during the Calendar Wars out by Crossroads. She'd been through various incarnations as patrol craft, rescue/survey vessel, and other things, including being rigged out as a privateer by a lesser son of a Grand Presidium member, for the Agoran Turmoils. The kid had spent even more money on luxuries and decor than on her new Hawking, weapons, and computers; and that was a lot.

She'd been adapted, retrofitted, and reretrofitted, and her hull altered. The
Stray
had an archaic yet backswept and fleet look to her. Alacrity pronounced her splendid; Floyt took his word.

"Well, if things go right, Earthservice won't get its hands on her," Sintilla said. She didn't seem too troubled by the point, though. She didn't seem too troubled by anything. Her eyes had begun glazing over from time to time, her face going blank as she worked out details of the story of the century, or perhaps the millennium.

"You're not just chopping your grinders, they won't," Alacrity agreed. "Ho, d'you know what she's packing port and starboard? Two missile tubes with a pair of Animus Vs in 'em, in perfect condition and ready to fire."

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"Oh. Is that good?"

"Annie Vs? They built them for use by capital ships and O'Neills. That pair's probably worth almost as much as the Stray. They're damn near as big."

"According to the log, the tubes were fitted when
Copperhead
was part of the Last Ditch Armada,"

Janusz explained. "But she never got to fire them. That young Grand Presidium noble liked the idea of having them, so he incorporated the tubes in the revised design when she was being refurbished as a privateer."

"With two Annie Vs in his pocket, how'd he lose?" Alacrity asked.

Janusz gave him a fey smile. "He was surrounded by three ships, and he loved his life too much. He surrendered."

"Mmph. Probably didn't want the decor messed up either."

Alacrity had a point. Stray had lipstick-red runners in the passageways, Persian carpets in the cabins, and rather fanciful erotic frescoes on the curved overhead of the main compartment-salon.

Control levers had been replaced with great, scrimshawed tusks, handgrips plated with rare horn and ivory; gemstone chess pieces had been substituted for mere switches, touchpad buttons discarded in favor of crystals intagliated with technical symbols.

Tasseled crimson damask and silk abounded. The heads boasted the latest word in creature comforts.

There were delicate porcelain figurines and stippled gold trim; there were brocaded draperies that cost more than the average breakout made in a month's work.
Astraea Imprimatur's
supplies of food, drink, and other consumables made Sile's provisions in the
Harpy
look like bread and water. There was a sensedep tank and a multimedia sensorium.

"With this tub you could dust crops or survey a planet, Ho, including taking core samples. Or you could get a fast-hop postal franchise, I bet."

"Or throw one helluva fund-raiser," Sintilla put in.

"The only drawback is that she's got a real small payload," Alacrity said. "But she's all yours, and I'm very impressed."

"I'd give her to you if I could," Floyt said.

"I know; thanks. Maybe some other time."

"I'm just wondering," Sintilla went on. "Are we sure nobody else knows this Cleopatra's barge is here?"

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"We're more than careful about that," Janusz told her. "No one aside from us knows, be assured. We have been very cautious; you saw the sensors and security drones yourself."

"But where do we go? After the raid, I mean?" Sintilla asked.

"To Srilla, and Corva's uncle," Janusz said. "Lord Admiral Maska."

"
Maska
?" Floyt and Alacrity yelled at once. "
Maska
?"

"Their favorite humanoid," Sintilla commented tartly.

Just then Heart and Victoria came forward from running a systems check. "Everything proofs out okay at the weather bridge and the tech pozzes," Heart said, smoothing out her utility coveralls. The midships control station, known as the weather bridge, was for conning the
Stray
if she sustained damage to her main control room.

"And we contacted Corva; everything's quiet at the chateau," Victoria added. "She's as ready as she can be." Saying this, she took in the starship with a sweep of her hand.

"That's it, then," Janusz said, rising. "Corva will be expecting us."

Floyt almost spoke but didn't. Alacrity piped up for him. "Do we have to go so soon? I'd sort of like to spend a little more time here and, uh, so would some of the rest of us, I think."

Floyt shrugged and nodded, blushing. Every time he touched the ship's brightwork or learned something new about her he fell a little more in love with her. It had started the moment he'd set eyes on her and increased drastically when Janusz officially noted his ownership in the vessel's log.

"If it wouldn't be putting anyone out, I'd like to stay here for a while longer at least," Floyt said.

Victoria brightened. "Why not? I think that would be fun."

Janusz yielded indifferently; the others grew festive. They turned the evening into a last respite; it was less than seven days' time to the scheduled raid on the Repository.

Alacrity insisted on cooking, while Sintilla tended bar. They played loud music and programmed all the salon's screens and projectors to flash planetary and celestial scenes. They ate and drank, swapped stories and recollections, laughed and worried a bit.

Alacrity and Heart danced, then Sintilla got Floyt to his feet. Victoria cut in on Sintilla, so Sintilla cajoled Janusz into dancing; he gave in with staid good humor. When he took Victoria in his arms to waltz, Alacrity looked for the tension between the two to crackle or even discharge. But it didn't, and he couldn't read what was passing in those fierce, probing gazes.

Floyt enjoyed himself more than he had since the Foragers' party on Luna. He couldn't pin down file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20kruis...aley%20-%20Jinx%20on%20a%20Terran%20Inheritance.htm (235 of 320)19-2-2006 17:12:30

[Fitzhugh 2]-JINX ON A TERRAN INHERITANCE

whether that was in spite of the fact that the raid was coming up or, in some strange way, because of it.

Alacrity and Heart were the first to disappear, diplomatically passing by the master's cabin and availing themselves of the first officer's quarters. Alacrity suspected that deep down, Victoria and Janusz still regarded
Astraea Imprimatur
as theirs.

Janusz and Victoria stayed awhile longer, chatting with Floyt and Sintilla and dancing a few more numbers. They were all a little drunk when Sintilla took the outlaw's hand and solemnly promised him that she would never, no, never betray his confidence by writing anything about him.

Then she thought a moment and added, "Unless I cut a
really
good deal."

Victoria burst out laughing, spraying part of her drink. Floyt roared and even Janusz cracked a smile.

Victoria gave his hand a caress. The two soon retired to the master's cabin.

The music was lower now, and slower. Floyt decided blearily that he'd had enough tonsil oil and other treats. "There are—what—two crew compartments left? Which one d'you prefer, Tilla?"

She looked at him rather soberly for someone who'd put away so much vodka. "D'you think we ought to pick one out together, Hobart?" She put an arm around his neck, kissing his cheek before he could get over his surprise, keeping her lips close by his ear. "Do you think we ought to do that?"

He was astonished and a little dismayed, but he was also recalling how she'd looked in the costume at the Central Complex and realizing how much he delighted in her smile, how fond he was of her. He owed her his life, too, and, more to the point, found himself wanting her very much.

But the moment that went by before he answered was too long. "Tilla, I, I'm—"

She covered his lips with her fingers. "Don't. Don't say anything. Hobart, please forget I brought it up.

Wrong time. It's just that everybody else—I was feeling a bit scared, and low, and lonely."

He would have put his arms around her, but she tousled his hair instead and slipped away. "See you in the morning, Hobart. That wife of yours—she's a lucky dame."

And her husband's an insensitive clod.
Floyt sighed as he went to lay him down for the night.

Alacrity woke to the minute sounds of the
Stray's
life-support systems and power units, and the pleasant smells of a space-going vessel that even the expensive systems couldn't mask or remove completely.

His mouth was dry and brackish from the alcohol; he was halfway between tipsiness and a light hangover. Heart was lying with her spun-snow hair pillowed on one bent arm, the curve of her breast showing above the cover, the nipple alluring and rosy against flesh so pale. He got up as quietly as he could.

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The cabin had a minilarder, but it was unstocked. As he crossed to the hatch, she said softly, "Bring back something for me to drink too, darling? And put something on; I don't want Victoria or Tilla tying a blue ribbon around it."

He found a wrap of some sort, couldn't figure it out, and ended up winding it around his middle like a towel. "Will some ice water do?"

"You're a love."

"Let's mate for life, like swans."

"Mmmm … "

He found a cold squeezebag of fruit juice in the pantry just aft the salon, opened it and drank deeply.

The lights were low. Someone had straightened up a bit before retiring.

He padded to the main lock, opening the inner and outer hatches, using the code phrases Janusz had divulged to them all. The hangar was quiet and still except for floating security drones and traversing surveillance pickups on the hangar walls and
Astraea Imprimaturs
hull.

He was troubled; he'd never intended to take a lifetime mate. There were still things he had to do, even if the
Astraea Imprimatur
business worked out all right, things that were grave and dangerous. He found it all worrisome, and yet when he thought of Heart he found himself chuckling and sighing, shaking his head.

He went back inboard for a moment, taking up Constance's pistol and putting on some slippers. Then he strolled across the hangar, the drones and security pickups tracking and recording him but refraining from putting in an alarm or opening fire. He found a small people-hatch in the giant roller-door and opened it.

The spacefield was fairly quiet most of the time, even more so now. He listened to the cicada song of a tame tractor beam being used to move some heavy burden. Yelling and laughter carried faintly across the flight surface from another tribal enclave. Somewhere an engine was tested briefly, booming for a few moments then falling silent. He thought back over other ports and other years, other boxtowns and planets. Other companions and loved ones; another life.

Footsteps sounded behind him and he turned, the pistol hanging in his hand. Victoria came toward him, a man's bathrobe held tight around her, its hem blowing a little in the breeze. Her hair fanned out like gossamer. "Aren't you freezing out here?"