by Zach Hughes
"All right," he said, as he handed her her mug."I was told that you would be a perfectly legalpassenger, that there'd be no hassle getting you offTaratwo. We seem to be in the clear now, but Iwould like to know, since I'm rather attached tothis ship and its main cargo, me, if I can expectany more surprises."
Her emerald eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and sheworried her lower lip with her perfect teeth for a moment. "I suppose the cruisers can follow us tothe point of emergence of the last blink."
"Let me worry about the technicalities," he said, his voice unnecessarily brusque. "What I want toknow is why they came after us and if we can,possibly, expect them to make another try, perhaps with knowledge of our destination so thatthey can intercept us as we come onto the chartedblink routes leading to Zede II."
"I don't think they'd dare use force in UP space,"she said.
"You're not being very informative," he said.
"I don't know why," she said. Her voice was full,vibrant.
"The Man didn't want you to leave?"
"He was away, in the outback." "But he was, ah, fond of you?" She smiled broadly. "Quite," she said. He realized that to get any information out ofher he was going to have to be persistent. "Whywere you
on Taratwo?" Was that a quick look of relief which crossed herface? "Brenden is a very good customer of the Zedeian conglomerate which produces my pictures," she said. "He was a great fan. He keptasking that I be sent
out to Taratwo on a publicity tour, and apparently his arms business wasdesirable enough that my producer put pressureon me to go." Pat felt revulsion. "So you went," he said flatly."There were no other producers of pictures in thegalaxy,
so you obeyed." He had dirty little pictures of his own running through his mind.
Her eyes hardened as she stared directly at him."I made public appearances in the major cities, and I was a guest in Brenden's manor house. Ienjoy my work, but I don't prostitute myself forit." "Sorry," he said, thinking, yeah, yeah. "I'm justtrying for a scenario to explain why Brenden'smen were
willing to kill rather than let you go." "It doesn't occur to you that it was you theywere trying to stop?" "Hey, no sale on that idea. I'm just a free trader. They had no reason to want to stop me. If they'd
wanted to take back the gemstones I traded forthey had a perfect opportunity before you boarded." "Oh?" she asked. So why was he the one who was giving outinformation? He grinned at himself. He wanted tobelieve her,
believe that she had not been, as the men said in the space port's restaurant, Brenden'swhore. She was, by far, the most beautiful womanhe'd ever seen, and he was going to be alone with her onSkimmer for a couple of weeks,
"The security police killed a man who was prowling around my ship," he said. Her hand went to her lips and her eyes widened."Oh, no," she said. "I—" Then she recoveredquickly. "You know something about that? Did you knowan old man named Murphy?" "Poor John," she whispered. "They killed him?" "Very, very dead." "But you have the diamond. I watched on thescreens as you took Murphy's bag out of a thrustertube." Pat tried to hide his surprise by lifting his coffeecup, hiding behind it for a moment, taking too biga gulp
so that it burned his mouth.
"He wasn't lying to you," she said. "We weregoing to give you half."
"We?" he asked.
"All right," she said. "I guess it's time to put itall up front and be honest."
"I'd deeply appreciate that," he said.
"Murphy knew that I'd be leaving Taratwo. Hegot my attention by sending me dozens of expensive bouquets, adoring fan letters, and finally Iagreed to see him. He had the diamond right therewith him in that same leather bag. He said that ifthe government or the government gem monopolyfound out that he had it they'd take it from him.
I felt sorry for him. He'd spent his life on variousout-planets and that was his first big strike. Healmost lost his life getting it, digging a diamondpipe that was quite near an active volcano, always in danger of being buried alive by an earthquakecollapsing his shaft. I guess I'm soft, but I thoughthe should enjoy the fruits of his luck and labor. Itold him I'd help, notify him when I was leaving,arrange a sale for the diamond when we were backon Zede II."
"You didn't have to help much," Pat said. "Hedid it all himself, contacted me, came to the shiphimself."
"But I told him about you, told him when youwould arrive and when you'd be leaving." A smalltear came to her right eye and fell, rolling downher cheek. "I thought he was aboard, hiding. I keptwaiting for you to tell me that there was another passenger."
"But you, you and Murphy, were going to giveme half of the sales value? How much was in it foryou?"
Her lips tensed in quick anger, then she shookher head. "Well, I don't really blame you for thinking that."
"So what do we do now? Do we split it fifty-fifty?" He didn't know why, but there was something in him that seemed to be driving him to beharsh with her when what he wanted to do was exactly 180 degrees away from harshness.
She drew herself up proudly. "If that's the wayyou want it."
"We might wonder if Murphy had children, awife back in the UP somewhere," Pat said.
"Oh? And you'd be generous and honorable aridgive the diamond to them?"
"Would you?"
She rose and walked away, and when she spoke,her face turned away from him, her voice wasstrained. "You won't believe it, I'm sure, but that'sexactly what I would do. As it happens, however,he was alone, no close kin, an old man who wantedonly to spend his last years in comfort on somenice planet."
He wanted to go to her, put his arms aroundher, tell her that he was sorry. "Hey," he said."OK. I'm sorry. I believe you would do that. Ididn't know the old man well, but I'm sorry he's dead." She turned to face him. The computer waspurring and clicking as it built a nice, three-dimensional map on the screens, working withsmooth efficiency to find one, just one, point ofreference.
"Could the security police have been after thediamond?" he asked.
"I don't think so. I don't see how they couldhave known." "They had to have a reason. If not the diamond,you. Maybe Brenden wasn't ready for you to leave." "He wouldn't have tried to kill me," she said,her voice strong, sure. "All right. It's going to take the old man a while to get a fix. Are you hungry?" She nodded withalmost
childish eagerness. "Care to check the menu,or shall I just give youSkimmer's best?" "Please," she said, coming to sit on the paddedbench again. Skimmerwasn't a luxury liner. They ate on thebridge, and as they ate, she demonstrated that shehad
people skills, diverting his questions with charmingly asked questions of her own, drawingPat out of his shell of suspicion. He found himselftalking his head off, telling her about his youthfullove of words and languages, of his pride at beinggiven the chair at Xanthos University which hadbeen endowed by the man who had first translatedthe one alien language which man had encountered. She was familiar with the sad, frighteningstory of the Artunee civilization, the story of Miaree.She had, in fact, played the part of Miaree in a Zedeian production of the tale.
"I want a copy of that," he said. "I think you'dlook great with Artunee wings and those cute littleantennae
coming out of your forehead." "And I'll bet you charmed all the coeds atXanthos U," she said, turning the conversationagain. "Audrey Patricia Howe." She was reading from the ship's license, mounted over the console.
Pat rolled his eyes. "You're asking?" "Shouldn't I?" "My mother was a certified nut." "Poor baby," she said, pursing her lips. "No, really, Audrey is an old family name. Mother's grandfather, Fleet Admiral Alexander P. Audrey."
He rose and programmed a course change.The ship was still moving along at a small fraction of the speed of light on flux thrusters. Somewhere back there were two well-armed light cruisers, andhe was making it as difficult as possible for themto track him. "Her name was Patricia, and she wanted a girl."
"Cruel," she said. "You had fights in first schoolbecause other boys teased you." "Had to learn to fight." "Do you also always fight with ladies?" She wasswa
mping him, foundering him, with those greeneyes. All
of her attention was focused on him, onhis face, his eyes. "The last thing I want to do with you is fight,"he said, smiling. "Good." When she smiled her mouth seemed to double in size, a true east-west smile, a glory of asmile
which changed every aspect of her lovelyface, made her look quite young. "How long doyou estimate before the computer locates us?"
He shrugged. "The old man has already gonethrough a few hundred possibilities, using a gradually increasing data base."
"Sorry, I'm just an actress. I don't understandthat technical talk."
"Well, he builds a model of the visible star fields,then rotates the model, trying to match the stars with a known point of reference. For example, ifyou looked up at the night sky and saw the Bellconstellation, you'd know that you were lookinginto space from the area of Zede II. If you were afew parsecs away from Zede II, at right anglesfrom the plane of the Bell as seen from the planet,the Bell would be unrecognizable. Build a holomodel and rotate it and soon you'd see the Bell, andfrom that known position, in the area of Zede II,you could figure out where you were."
"It's as clear as a Taratwo ashfall," she said,laughing.
"The computer starts with a few stars in themodel, and then begins to add in more and morewhen rotation fails to produce any known patterns.With millions of stars to work with, he might haveto
construct quite a few models before he hits paydirt."
"So we could be here for afew days?"
"Or weeks."
"We'll just have to find a way to entertain ourselves, won't we?" she asked, then she flushed hotlyas he
grinned.
"I won't make the obvious suggestion," he said.
"Please don't."
Not yet, he was thinking. Not yet.
For the next meal she tried her hand at makingup a menu, learning the operation of the nutritionservo
quickly. She went through theSkimmer'sfilm library, picked out a few of her old favorites,and with her
comments, her inside knowledge offilmmaking, the often-seen pictures took on newinterest for Pat.
On the third ship's day, he kissed her. Her mouth tasted of lipstick and cherries. It was just after the evening meal, and he kissed her without preliminary, rising and lifting her from the padded bench into his arms. Her mouth went soft and pliant andher arms tightened around him, and when he lookedinto her face she was weeping quietly, the tearswelling up in those huge, blazing green eyes to wether lashes and slip silently down onto her cheeks.
"That bad?" he asked, his voice husky with desire, which had been building, building, building.
"Please don't," she whispered.
He drew her to him again and lost himself in theglory of the feel of her, the warmth of her.
"Please don't," she repeated.
What the hell? Even though she was a Zedeian,that business of saying yes yes with the lips and nono
with the tongue was passe. A woman did, orshe didn't, and it was her choice, and, althoughthe old morality was strong, the family unit thebasic building block of civilization, women hadlong since been free, as men were, to do as theypleased."You're confusing me," he said, leaning toward her lips again.
"You're a nice man—" "Just nice.?" "Please, Pat." He released her with a sigh. "All right," he said. "Oh," she said, in a small, hurt way. The old man was chuckling, enjoying the demanding work, building ever more complex andcomplete
models. Pat glanced at the screen andsaw a solid glow, a mass of millions of stars, in themodel now, so
closely packed as to be indistinguishable from the overall mass of brightness. "I could get very serious about you," he whispered, and felt a small shock, realizing that eventhough he'd made a statement which, on the surface, was not binding, he'd made a commitment.
Pat, my boy, he told himself, you've gone and done it. You're in love with this one. "Pat, listen to me," she said. "I'm not sure I want to. I don't think I want to hear what you're going to say." "I can't. I just can't. I can't have that complication in my life right now. Please understand." "Give me somethingto understand." "I want to go to bed with you," she said, notlooking at him. "That's what I want." "But not like this. Not so casually, just as if wehave to because we're alone, lost in space, time onour
hands." "What better time?" "When you're sure. When we're back home onZede II." "I'm sure." "Pat, there's time." "I have a preliminary three-point identification,"the old man said, in his slightly mechanical voice. "Great timing," Pat said.
Corinne looked at him inquiringly.
"It'll take a few minutes for him to cross-check,"Pat said. "Then we'll be going home?" "Yes." She came to him, lifting herself high on tiptoes,kissed him quickly. "Pat, let's talk when we'reback home." "Yeah, OK," Pat said. "I know when I'm beingrejected." "No. You're not being rejected. Please. I enjoyevery minute with you, Pat. I think I'm falling inlove with
you, but I must be sure." She turned away. "Please understand. I've never made a commitment, not with anyone."
He felt his heart race. He wanted to believe.
"I don't want to commit under these emotionalcircumstances, relief at our escape from death,being alone, lost in space. Humor me?"
"Do I have a choice?"
She turned to face him. "Yes. I'll give you thechoice. After all, I'm indebted to you. If you want—"
Oh, hell, he thought. That tore it. Now she wastelling him she'd sleep with him out of gratitude.
A small bell rang and the computerlitup greenwith pride. "Position location," he said. "Positionlocation."
"I hear you," Pat said. He took Corinne's handsin his. "OK, the old man has found us and we can be off for Zede II. I'm going to play it your way.You said you think you are falling in love with me.OK. I think I'm falling in love with you. I won'tpush. I'll just pester you night and day when we'reback on Zede II until we're both sure."
"Deal," she said. "Let's drink to it."
He punched up her favorite, a mild, tasty fruitthing developed by a bartender whose mother musthave been frightened by a fruit wagon. He hadTigian brandy. As he handed Corinne her glass sheseemed to stumble, and the contents of the glassspilled onto the deck. He grabbed for a towel, bentto clean up the spill, then drew her another as sheapologized for her clumsiness. He killed his brandyin two gulps, wondering why the damned computer had to pickthis time to be efficient andquick.
He checked the charge in the blink generator. Full. Ran a security check of theSkimmer. Allsystems were perfect. He made the rounds. Thegenerator room was prickly with charge, causinghis hair to want to stand up, the huge generatorgiving out a sense of being almost alive.
He stumbled going back to the bridge, felt anodd sensation at the base of his skull, shook hishead to dispel a feeling of dizziness. The computerhad pinpointed the nearest blink route and hadthe coordinates for a beacon at the ready.
"Off we go," he said as the ship blinked and thefeeling of sliding merged with the dizziness in hishead and blackness rushed at him from a far, glaring horizon to enfold him. A battle line of warships rushed out of the darkness, cannon blazing,and he tried to yell a warning, his hand reachingfor the fire-control helmet as
he fell.
There were times when he felt as if he existed ina vacuum, all blankness and darkness and not onefeature for the eyes, ears, touch to discover, andthen wild, frightful, nightmarish things came at him from all directions with deadly intent as hetried to scream and run in a medium which clung,held back, swallowed. Once or twice he felt warmth,soft hands on his forehead. He saw Corinne as sheappeared in the film, in period costume, and shewas alternately welcoming him and rejecting him.And there were strange suns with square planetspeopled by the monsters of his childhood nightmares and sweet fields of wild flowers scentedwith Corinne's perfume, and once a big, ancient derelict of a starship alone in black space with thenearby star fields close and glowing.
Corinne, in his fevered, tossing delirium, leanedover him, whisp
ering his name as she held a cupof soup to his lips.
"Corinne?" he croaked, having to struggle tofind enough voice to say that one word.
"It's all right," she said. "Drink this."
"Corinne?"
"Yes, I'm here."
"What—happened?"
"Ah," she said, and her hand on his foreheadwas very, very real. "I do think you're back withus."
"Sick?"
"Very," she said. "You've been very, very ill. Ithink you must have picked up mindheat fever on Taratwo."
"Gggggg," he said, trying to say something thathe forgot as blackness came again.
The next time he came alive he stayed awake longer. She fed him chunky things with a spoon,and he
chewed, not being able to taste, but knowing he needed food.
"How long?" he croaked.
"Five days."
"That long?"
"It's rarely fatal, but sometimes the victim wishesit was."
"Where—"
"You passed out as we blinked onto the routethe computer discovered. We're standing by theblink
beacon."
"Got to get—" He tried to raise himself and fell back weakly. It was two more days before he couldget
out of bed and totter, a thousand years old, tothe bridge. The computer had the route workedout. He
took the ship through five blinks before hehad to go back to bed to rest.
Corinne nursed him lovingly. She forced him toeat, to drink liquids. Gradually, as he guided theship back onto more heavily traveled blink routes,each jump putting them closer and closer to Zede II, he began to get his strength back. He wouldn'thave to worry about exercise. He'd lost fifteenpounds.
They orbited Zede II, and he checked into Control. There was a wait of one hour for Zede City Space Port.
"There is one thing," Corinne said.
"There are a lot of things," he said. "I'll need aplace to stay, near you, so that I can see youoften."
"The diamond," she said.
"What about it?"
"If you don't object, I'll keep it in my possession."
He loved her. But he was the trader. He knewthat the best place to market that hunk of glorywas on Xanthos, richest of the planets, center ofthe UP. The museums of the UP would vie witheach other, bidding against private interests."I canget a better price," he said.