by Brian Daley
Alacrity drew a sharp breath in pain, rubbing his sides. "Circe, we got you into something a lot more dangerous than we—"
"Ferget it," she said flatly. "Ah need a little voltage every now and then, or ah git bored and borin'. Let's git goin'."
Floyt gestured to Standing Bear, whose eyes were wide and childlike. "What about the Golem?"
Circe, fists on hips, looked Standing Bear over. "Fearsome little runt, h'ain't he? Y'know, think ah'll jes' bring him along."
"That'll confuse somebody," Alacrity said. "Okay, go get your stuff and we'll take the limo."
"Haven't got much; didn't bring much important junk along with me. Ah'll be right back."
But when Circe returned with a tote bag over her shoulder, she found Alacrity in front of the commo terminal and Floyt looking worried. "The limo's locked down with some code that this fellow is in no condition to tell us," Floyt said, meaning Standing Bear. "And the hotel sounds like it's in on it; they won't permit any more vehicles to land here."
A severe-looking woman in police-brass uniform was gazing out at Alacrity from the commo display. "And since your vessel, the Lightning Whelk, has turned up on the Wants and Warrants Network, I'm afraid we'll need to speak to you in some detail before we can allow you to move her."
"But I'm an Interested Party, and the board meeting's been called! And you know that! You have no right to hold me!" The set-jaw tone was clear in Alacrity's voice.
Her smile wasn't very merry. "But we're not holding you. We are merely impounding your vessel, although"—her mouth gave a tug—"you may have a little trouble getting up to the White Ship. And, of course, your problems with your hotel bill are your own affair. Besides, I'm not at all convinced the holder of a single share is any great shakes as an Interested Party, are you? But be that as it may, I'm sure we can have all this straightened out in a few days."
"Days!" Alacrity hammered his fist to cut the link and whirled on Floyt and Circe. "By that time the meeting'll be over and the cops'll be able to arrest me!"
"Us," Floyt corrected mildly. He closed the reloaded Webley—six full chambers this time—with a loud snap of the barrel catch. "And if we try to go through the lobby we run into the opposition?"
Alacrity nodded. "Bet on it." He'd recovered the Captain's Sidearm and was buckling it on.
"And how'd the law come to know how many shares you own?" Circe asked him. "That's supposed to be confidential company info, no?"
"It is unless somebody's got it in for you," Alacrity said despondently.
"Well, I'll jes' call another limo on my terminal and we'll get you up to that White Ship in my yacht, the Tramp-Royal," she said.
But hotel service wouldn't cooperate with her any more than it had with Alacrity. The excuse this time wasn't credit problems but rather difficulties with the hotel's defensive systems; the management was terribly sorry, but anything that flew close to the Imperial Domain tower—and, by implication, from it—was liable to be shot down.
Circe cut the link with a curse. "They want to make sure you don't get out of here no way 'cept down. That lobby must be covered."
Not the cops. Alacrity thought, chin on fist. They'll most likely stand back and let Langstretch do the dirty work.
"What about the service transport systems, or the utility shafts?" Floyt proposed.
"Uh-uh," Circe vetoed. "How many times d'you think somebody's tried 'em over the years? I expect they're covered, besides which they'd be a little cramped for me, and you're gonna need me to get Tramp-Royal into the air. Shoot! Damfino gals're s'posed to be able to look after their men by theirselves, but … What about if I hire us some private security to come get us?"
"I'm not sure who we could trust," Alacrity decided. "Langstretch has an awful lot of pull. They might co-opt or scare away hired muscle from some other—hey! Lemme at that commo terminal! We'll give 'em a crowd scene they won't forget!"
"Could be tapped," Circe cautioned about the terminal. "But I've got a scramble relay link. Use that." Circe opened the link and handed over the ornate proteus she carried in armlet configuration.
Alacrity took it. "If this works, get ready for some jostling."
* * * *
The three stepped out of the lift from Circe's suite right on the dot, Alacrity resettling his warbag and brolly. In an effort to spread the enemy thin and by dint of a lot of last-second dashing around, they'd managed to dispatch or summon various service carriers, chute skids, and cargo whisks from both suites at just about the time they started down.
There seemed to be a fair amount of bustle in the lobby—deliveries and early-morning check-ins, and the coming and going. But there were also more bellhops and service staff than usual; Alacrity and Floyt spotted at least two members of the security crew from the day before.
The threesome stepped out of the rotunda carefully. Heads turned to them, but that was only natural; Floyt and Alacrity stood in their distinctive outfits alongside Circe Minx, who was decked out in a high-fashion traveling ensemble and a battle jacket. Behind them, vacant looking but frightening, obedient as a robot, came Standing Bear. They'd cleaned him up as best they could, dressing his wounded hand and the forehead gash. Several bystanders, seeing him, exchanged troubled glances.
It was Alacrity's theory that the Langstretch people and hotel security would be disinclined to shoot in the lobby. He was also hoping that they would presume, at least for a while, that Gentry Standing Bear, as the giant's I.D. gave his name, had the situation under control. Besides, the opposition was under the impression that Alacrity and company had been isolated.
The lobby was a long, long way across, and the ambushers would have insured that escape routes were all dead ends. The enemy could afford to wait a bit before making its move, do things as nonviolently as possible. At least, that was the way Alacrity had things figured, and Circe agreed. If the stunguns, dazzle beads, blitzgas, and whatnot came into play, there'd be nothing to do but fight, and most likely lose.
As they moved across the lobby, the three, followed by Gentry Standing Bear, registered the various crews—opposition disguised as guests, servants, and the rest. Floyt found himself sweating, and his mouth was dry.
C'mon, c'mon, Alacrity urged silently, praying the timing was right. Then he saw it.
A shrouded neo-Coptic Elder, his wives and harem guards and family and votaries, all on their way to register, suddenly threw open their robes. Their rich luggage was opened to reveal some kind of gleaming hardware.
It was sophisticated recording and transmitting gear, portable lighting and such. One of the "wives" was the little scandalhawk from the day before, Salome Price.
Chattering a running commentary, Salome rushed up aiming an aud-vid pickup as lights converged on them. "This is your Uncensored Network correspondent, Salome Price, coming to you live from the lobby of the hotel Sceptered Isle, with an exclusive scoop on the newest twist in the troubled and tormented love life of the undisputed sex goddess of the Third Breath, Circe Minx!
"Circe! Mistress Minx! Do you have any comment to the hundreds of millions of fans who are watching you at this moment? Can you tell us your feelings about your sudden elopement with these two firing studs, Citizen Hobart Floyt of Terra and Master Alacrity Fitzhugh? Does this mean you recant your denunciation of lifelong relationships?"
"That's how it looks, doesn't it, sugah?" Circe responded, batting lashes eight centimeters long and tossing her rainbow-shimmering hair.
"Citizen Floyt, can you tell our viewers how long you've been intimate with Circe? Where did you meet? And would you tell us, please, when you knew that it was going to be love forever?"
"Er, that is, urn, it was all rather abrupt, but I've been an ardent admirer of Miss Minx's—uh, Circe's—for some time now, I would say—"
The three, flanked by Standing Bear, were in the middle of a growing crowd of gossipghouls, tech crews, and support personnel, augmented by gaping bystanders who were only beginning to realize something extraordinar
y was going on. Security crews and Langstretch field ops were gazing at one another in confusion, not sure what action to take in the middle of a live broadcast being watched by hundreds of millions of fans.
Salome pounced again, "Master Fitzhugh, what will you say to Heart Dincrist, the so-called Nonpareil, with whom you were reputed to be engaged in a torrid love affair?"
"Something real brief and truncated, I bet."
More media teams had come out from under wraps and disguises: a portly woman who turned out to be an aud-vid director and whose children were actually commo-link specialists. A hotel security woman and her partner made a tentative move to stop the interview, but two large Utopian business moguls suddenly reverted to a pair of strongarm men from the network's own security department. A strangely silent scuffle broke out, neither team wanting to attract attention.
Chauffeurs and guests and valets revealed themselves to be Uncensored Network people, numbering dozens. A protective ring was formed around Salome, Circe, Floyt, Alacrity, and Standing Bear as they were convoyed across the lobby, Salome keeping up a constant barrage of questions. All around them, muted, furious engagements were being fought, with everyone trying to avoid involving innocent guests.
Salome was trotting to keep up. "Circe, do you plan to repeat the kind of formal, planet-mobilizing celebration you had for your bonding to Blix and Frix and Strix Bledsoe?"
"Darlin', ah'm jes' a country girl at heart, so ah think we'll keep it simple!"
Salome's face clouded. "But as I've been telling our viewers, the Uncensored Network has rights to exclusive coverage of this romantic surprise story of the year, isn't that right?"
The lobby doors were getting closer. Circe's smile was frozen and staplegunned into place. "Why, hon, y'all kin come to the consummation if you h'ain't doin' nothin' more interestin' that evenin'!"
"And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen! Proof once again that the Uncensored Network brings you the biggest stories first, best, and at their most intimate! Citizen Floyt! Do you plan to have children right away?"
"If we don't get out of this lobby soon, it's more likely to be kittens," Floyt confided.
The ambushers no doubt thought they had the main landing stage covered, in that no cab or hire-flier was there to help the group escape. But the erstwhile Coptic Elder's skycraft caravan was suddenly in place, doors open, guarded by burly men who'd discarded their robes. Langstretch backup people, taken by surprise, had no time to get blocking vehicles into position and suffered much attrition in some very spirited knuckle jousts.
Alacrity, Floyt, and Circe reached the truck-size saloon flier in one sustained rush from the doors, Circe still mother-henning the dazed Standing Bear. One overexcited Langstretch backup-crew leader dove headlong, bulling his way through the Uncensored ranks, hand going under his jacket. Floyt was tugging at the Webley and Alacrity fighting to get the Captain's Sidearm free, both of them hampered by the press.
Standing Bear's mouth was open again, his eyes apparently unfocused. Yet he reached out and closed his left fist unerringly around the op's handgun and hand as it swung in Circe Minx's direction. Standing Bear had the weapon away from the op in a move that left the man nursing a separated wrist and several fractured fingers. Gentry offered the pistol to Circe with doglike devotion; the Langstretch muscle began to break contact.
Back at the doors, the Uncensored strongarm teams were making sure the opposition kept at bay. Floyt saw one of the men who'd grabbed Salome the day before, the square-jawed killer type, his right arm hanging limp and looking broken.
"Don't worry," Salome had said when Alacrity warned her, during his call, that there would likely be trouble. "Those hotel goons've messed up quite a few of our people over the years, and gals and guys on our scuffling crews'd like nothing better than a chance to get even. Besides, the press has to break a few heads every so often, so folks know we're not punching bags."
Someone was pushing Floyt into the saloon flier behind Circe and the others. The luxurious flier was big enough for Circe to sit upright. In no time Salome was practically in their laps, pickups were in place, and the interview was in progress again.
"Now, Citizen Floyt," Salome cooed, "can you give our audience a quick rundown on the sexual practices you three are looking forward to?"
Chapter 18
If You Cant Join 'Em
Circe made loud and colorful protests, but Alacrity wouldn't yield the point. He and Floyt would make their connection to the White Ship in the Tramp-Royal's gig, Circe herself standing away and making for her vast estate on Eden.
"We don't want you getting any more involved in this, Circe!" Alacrity shouted, the blood vessels standing out in his neck and his face growing dark, because that was what it took to get something across to her.
"I expect things to go my way at this meeting, but if they don't, there'll be a lot of badges up here real soon! And if the board decides it wants a little revenge, you'll think you've been run over by a posthole drilling machine! And unlawful trespass is something they could make stick, at the very least; Interested Parties are only allowed one companion apiece at meetings, and Ho's mine."
"Hellfar," Circe Minx pronounced. "Ah got a Chinese Obligation to y'all now." She sighed. "And this's been more fun than ah've had since ah don't know when. But if that's the way y'all want it, darlin' … "
They were in the cockpit of the yacht Tramp-Royal, a swift, handy, and responsive starship with disproportionate headroom by most standards—sufficient for Circe throughout. She was in the outsize pilot's chair, Alacrity in the more conventional copilot's. Gentry Standing Bear was belted, uncomplaining and inert, into the weather bridge's Circe-size pilot's poz, aft. Floyt stood between Alacrity and Circe, taking in the view.
The White Ship, a scant ten kilometers away, wasn't the biggest starship he'd ever seen, but she was in the running. She resembled a sleek, spacegoing iceberg, surprisingly aerodynamic.
Floyt stared at her and wondered what lay ahead. Board meetings were critical to the operation of the White Ship Company because they were just about the only time the far-flung Interested Parties all came together. They were times of power-brokering and machinating; because of travel lags and communications delays, jockeying for leverage and influence was time consuming and frustrating—almost impossible—when conducted across interstellar distances.
As Heart had explained it to Alacrity, the meeting, huddling, and maneuvering went on in marathon fashion; the strategic and tactical situations could change from moment to moment.
Floyt let out a deep breath. And we're going in short on sleep, biffed and bruised by that brute Standing Bear, and wanted by the authorities. The only comforting aspect was that he and Alacrity had been in worse shape and worse jams.
"Uh-oh; warn-off signal from the Ship," Circe said as a holodisplay flashed. "Take us back and hold at minimum distance, hon," she told the Tramp-Royal. The starship came onto a new course. It was best not to provoke the White Ship; AI's in charge of her security were provided with a lot of discretion, but they were also suspicious and not hesitant to defend. There'd been a number of attempts to board and hijack her over the years, some quite bloody, none successful.
"The gig's ready for you," Circe told them. "Hang onto her as long as you need to. I'll be on Eden for a while, I expect."
"What about that Standing Bear creature?" Floyt asked.
Circe gave a high-voltage smile. "Well now, you know, I think I'll jes' hang onto him for awhile. Lordy, he's ugly, but he's got me mighty impressed."
"Yeah, we saw that when you patted him down for weapons," Alacrity observed.
Circe hooted. "I think he's got possibilities, now that the meanness is gone."
Alacrity was climbing out of the copilot's poz. "Sorry we had to tell all those fibs to that gossip ghoul, Circe."
"Don't bother your head about it. A little scandal now and then's good for a gal's career, and anyway, ah'm expected to be licentious. Now, y'all better get movin'
." They kissed her and moved out. Circe honked, blowing her nose, and turned back to her controls.
The Tramp-Royal's gig was like a little bit of the Taj Mahal in a spaceboat, done in a confectionary Erotodynamic-Baroque motif—with meters of headroom, of course.
Alacrity launched and the Tramp peeled off, headed for Eden. The gig received a warn-off, but this time Alacrity responded with his shareholder's code, was voice-I.D.'d, and got a wave-on.
The gig was assigned a boarding lock far forward in the White Ship. A dozen other ships and boats were already there, several of them company VIP shuttles. As Alacrity and Floyt cycled through the lock, they were subjected to detector scans.
The Ship spoke in a serene, precise female voice; the voice and warning displays pointed out that the two men were carrying firearms, contrary to the Ship's rules. An armored storage bin slid open to collect them.
Alacrity tried to keep back the Webley and just surrender the energy pistol; the White Ship wasn't fooled. Guns and holster harnesses went into the bin and were withdrawn from view.
The Ship informed them that her board meeting was due to convene shortly in the Vale. They could drop off their luggage at their quarters and freshen up, but there wasn't a great deal of time.
"Yeah, listen, I want to make one stop first, at a company transactions terminal," Alacrity told the Ship. "You've got 'em up here, right?"
The Ship's voice made Floyt think of some virgin high priestess. "Of course, Shareholder Fitzhugh. Or would you prefer that I refer to you as Shareholder Jordan Bowie?"
"You had it right the first time." He ran a hand along the hatch frame. And before too long you'll be all mine, doll!
A passageway tram was waiting for them just outside the inner hatch. Alacrity threw his bag in the back, joined Floyt up front, and the tram glided forward. "There is a transactions terminal just aft of the Vale," the tram told him in the Ship's voice. "All shareholder business can be conducted at that station."