"There you go," Uncle Thurgood said cheerfully as he wiped away a smear of blood. "You'll look like a beauty tomorrow—a couple of black eyes guaranteed—and you might get some pain when the spray wears off. I'll give you a pill for it. But your nose will set as good as new. Maybe better. I think a broken nose adds a bit of character to a man's face. Now, are you ready to tell me who did it and why he hit you?"
"I told you before, I don't know."
"Very well. That's up to you. Everything else in working order?"
"Sore middle. But I'll be all right."
"Off you go, then." Thurgood Trask seemed almost ashamed of his gentle handling of Shelby's injury, because he waved his hand and added gruffly, "Get out of here and let me clean up. Don't go back to the Confluence Center, though, if you have a brain in your head—which people your age seldom do. You're in no shape for brawling. No, and not for dancing neither."
"I'm never going to that place again in my life."
"Aye. And haven't I heard that before, too? You'll go straight to bed, if you've any sense. Which I doubt."
In a night that had offered few pleasures, bed sounded to Shelby like the best idea yet. He thanked Thurgood Trask, who seemed more offended than pleased, and limped away to his cabin. Once inside he stripped off his clothing and dropped it in a heap in the corner. He didn't bother to consign it to the laundry machine. If anything could clean and repair that bloodstained, ripped, and crumpled mess, he would be much surprised.
He lay down gratefully on his bunk. There was a faint throbbing behind his eyes, gradually decreasing as Thurgood's pill took effect. His belly was definitely bruised. He was very tired, and it would take more than minor discomfort to keep him awake. As he fell asleep, Thurgood Trask's question came back to perplex him: Who hit you, and why?
Who, he could guess. But why? He didn't know. He did know that he had never been struck before in anger in his whole life.
He didn't like it at all.
If Shelby had been looking for an excuse not to go to the next Confluence Center meeting, he could hardly have picked a better one. The next morning when he got up he didn't feel too bad but he looked a Technicolor mess. His nose was twice the usual size behind its white plaster. Blood had pooled below his swollen eyes, turning the skin to a purplish red. The rest of his face, by contrast, was paler than usual.
The odd thing was that he felt hunger rather than pain. He looked at the clock and saw why. No one had awakened him, although it was now three hours past the ship's regular rising time. He took from a laundry machine the casual suit that Grace had specified and headed for the galley. He didn't want company, at least until he had eaten and made himself a hot drink, so it was good to find the place deserted. He saw evidence that everyone else had already been and gone.
He had almost finished eating when Grace looked in on him. He waved, expecting her to come in and commiserate, or at the very least to ask him what had happened. Instead she stared, her mouth an open O of surprise or horror, and turned to run off along the corridor.
Shelby was left alone again, to think with irritation that he didn't look that bad. And even if he did, he deserved sympathy. Was she angry with him because he hadn't returned for her stupid dance? Anyone in her right mind would see that he had had the best reason in the world for vanishing without notice from the Confluence Center.
He moved so that his back was to the doorway and sat there fuming, convinced that for once Constance Cheever had been right. Although you might get occasional kindness here, like that from Thurgood Trask last night, it was an exception. The low-class louts who populated the Kuiper Belt and the Messina Cloud didn't know what real civilization was. He couldn't wait to get back home and tell his mother how much he agreed with her.
A noise from behind made him think that Grace must have reappeared. He turned and found Lana Trask eyeing him calmly.
"It could be worse." She moved to sit across the table from him. "Give it a few days and you'll be right back to normal. Now that you have Grace at your absolute mercy, I want to ask you not to take too much advantage of her."
"She's not at my mercy. She wouldn't even come in and say good morning to me."
"Was she here already?"
"For about a second." Shelby spoke with bitter resentment. "She ran away."
Lana Trask studied him for a few seconds. "I don't think you know what's going on. Do you?"
"I know I did nothing wrong. And some maniac started in on me and hit me for no reason at all, without giving me any chance to defend myself. And I've had no explanations, from Grace or anyone else."
"So I was right. You have no idea what was happening. And of course, Grace didn't want to tell you. I can see that." Lana sighed. "You know, Shel, there are maniacs in the Cloud, as there are anywhere else. I don't deny it. But it wasn't a maniac who hit you. It was Nick Rasmussen."
Shelby had already reached that conclusion for himself. It made everything no less baffling. While he sat and stared, Lana Trask went on, "You never met Nick before, and he never met you. But Grace knows him well. For the past couple of years, at Confluence, Grace and Nick have been regular partners. When Grace and I went over to the Coruscation, after the loss of the Witch of Agnesi, Grace apparently told Nick that she didn't want to be his partner this year. I wasn't there when she told him, and I only learned of it yesterday. But apparently he took it pretty hard. He didn't accept it. He still thought he could talk her round and they would be partners again this year.
"Until last night—when Grace refused to take the flowers that he had bought for her. Next thing, he saw Grace dancing with you. He knew who you were, because everyone in the fleet does. You can guess what he thought."
"That's crazy. I've never so much as touched Grace."
"I believe you. Or if I'm going to be totally honest, I believe my daughter. She says she likes you, but she insists that nothing has ever happened between you."
"Of course it hasn't. It wasn't even my idea to go to the stupid dance. It was yours. You made me do it. And Grace made me dance with her—she told me what a lousy job I did of it, too."
"I know all that. Nick didn't know any of it. But I had no idea what had happened between Grace and Nick. Even Grace didn't realize that he'd lose control the way he did when he saw you together—though maybe she should have shown a bit more imagination and seen that it was possible."
Lana Trask leaned back as though she was finished, but Shelby knew better. He was learning to read her. When she was really done, she left. There was more to come.
"Anyway," she went on. "Now you know. You have every right to be angry, but I hope you won't be too hard on Grace. As for Nick, his father is proposing to send him over to the Harvest Moon today and make you a formal apology. I told them I wanted to talk about it with you first. Do you want an apology?"
"I want to smash his face in." Shelby could feel the rage surging inside him.
"I'm sure you do. Very natural. That wasn't my question, though. We're not savages out here in the Cloud, and we don't believe in the eye-for-an-eye-and-a-tooth-for-a-tooth system of justice. But do you want an apology? That much we can do."
Of course he did. He wanted to see Nick Rasmussen grovel and stammer and crawl. Shelby opened his mouth to say yes and found second thoughts creeping in.
He shook his head. "It's pointless. You can make him apologize all you like, but it won't change his mind. He'll hate my guts anyway. He'll think I took something away from him, even though I didn't. Don't you agree?"
"I'm not sure I like to hear my daughter referred to as something, as though you two can swap her around any time you choose. But I agree with you. Nick will still hate you. You would have to find another way to sort that one out. On the other hand, I think Nick should apologize."
"I don't need it and I don't want it. What would it do for me?"
"Not a thing. I don't think he ought to apologize for your sake—or for Grace's, either. He should apologize for his sake. What Uncle Thur
good would refer to as 'the good of his soul.' "
"So why pretend it's my decision?"
"Because it is. If you say no, I won't insist."
"He'll think I want him to do it just to humiliate him."
"He may. But you'll know better—won't you?" Shelby was no longer sure what he knew. He thought, hesitated, and finally shook his head. "I don't want him to come over here and apologize. Even though you think we ought to make him do it, I don't want it."
"All right." This time Lana stood up. "As I said, it was your decision. He won't come. Just one more thing. I'm sure that revenge is on your mind. I want you to know that I won't stand for it. I don't want you hitting him when he's not expecting it or defending himself—even though that's what he did to you."
And she was gone. Shelby was left to wonder if he had done the right thing.
But not for long. Jilter Clute came wandering in. He nodded to Shelby as though a broken nose was the most natural thing in the world and said, "Lana asked me to drop in and have a word with you."
"I'm not going to change my mind."
"I don't know what that means, but I feel sure it's not my department. Lana was wondering if you have had any training in self-defense. Have you?"
"Where I come from, that sort of thing isn't necessary."
"You're not where you come from. I guess that's a no. Soon as you feel up to it, I'll teach you a few moves. Shouldn't take more than a few hours to pick up the rudiments."
"I don't want to learn."
"Suit yourself. "Jilter nodded. "Fine by me. But what are you going to do for the rest of Confluence? Hide away? Or wonder who'll whack you one next if you go to the Center? Think about it."
Jilter left the galley. A few minutes later Shelby followed suit and headed for his cabin. Too many people wanted him to do what he had no interest in doing. It was the last straw to open his cabin door and find it occupied.
Grace was lying on her stomach on his bed, a long red case at her side. She was reading, as though she had been there for some time.
"What do you want?" His words were cold, although he felt anything but. She was more to blame for what had happened to him than anyone.
She laid the book on the bed. He noticed that her hands were trembling.
"I wanted to say that I'm sorry about last night. And I want to ask if you'll come to the Confluence dance with me tonight."
"Looking l-like—like this?" Shelby pointed to his face. He was so angry at the nerve of the girl that he could hardly speak. "You want me to go to the dance again, so everybody can have a good laugh at me? To prove that I'm an idiot twice over?" His anger turned to bitterness. "You say you're sorry. Sure, I'll bet you're sorry. Did your mother order you to come and tell me that?"
"Muv has no idea that I'm here." Grace scrambled off the bed and stood in front of him with her fists clenched. "And no one will think you're an idiot if you go to the dance. They'll think you've got class. Mooks and Nick's kid brother Skip saw the whole thing last night, and they've talked. If anyone ought to be scared to go to the dance, it's Nick."
"I'm not scared!"
"You could take a swing at him, you know, when he wasn't expecting it."
"Don't kid yourself. Go and talk to your mother if you think I could do that. As for dancing, what do you want me to do? Go to the Confluence Center wearing that?"
He pointed at the heap of bloodied and filthy clothing, still lying in the corner where he had thrown it the previous night.
"No. Go with me—wearing this." Grace picked up the red case and opened it. She took out a complete set of clothing, a modified version of what he had worn the previous night. "I got up really early this morning to work on this. You looked good last night, but I thought I could improve it in a couple of places. And I thought black would look better."
"Sure. It wouldn't show the blood so much. Forget it. I came here for a rest. And even if nothing had happened last night, the last thing I want is to go to another stupid dance."
"I guess that's it, then." Grace would not look at him. She picked up her book and hurried out without another word.
She had left behind the black outfit and the red case. Shelby picked it up, sat on his bed, and stared at the clothes for a long time. An amazing amount of work had gone into the new design. It must have taken Grace hours and hours.
He stretched out on his bed and lay there for a long time, until he realized that there was no chance at all that he might fall asleep. At last he rose, left his cabin, and went off to see if Jilter Clute was busy.
Chapter Eleven
CONFLUENCE was a time for optimism and renewal. It was a guarantee of meeting old friends and a chance to make new ones. Even the crew of a ship that had done poorly on the voyage out could tell themselves, and everyone else, that the second half would be different. The transuranics would never run out, they would be there for the taking forever, and there was always the possibility that lightning would strike in the form of a find of shwartzgeld or starfires. Before they returned Sol-side through the node, they would surely make a fortune.
Confluence was a time for celebration, for courtship, for commitment.
But some commitments are different from others.
Pearl Mossman and Knute Crispin were sitting together at a small table one level higher than the main floor of the Confluence Center. They were watching the young people of the fleet as they formed their tentative pairs. Some of those matches would last only for the length of a single dance; others would endure for a lifetime.
One particular couple, not dancing but standing together at the edge of the dance floor, had Pearl's special attention.
"Trust me," she was saying. "I know it sounds ridiculous, but every word he said was true. I'm sure of it."
"All of it?" Knute was a thick-built powerhouse, whose heavy eyebrows and close-set eyes had made a hundred people underestimate him. "What about the underwater sea villas, and the airborne casinos, and the Antarctic resort? Everybody says that Earth is poor."
"Earth has fourteen billion people. Most of them have nothing. A few tens of thousands have a great deal; and a few hundred have so much it's hard to measure it. Jerome Prescott Cheever is in the top ten of the whole planet for individual wealth—maybe he's at the very top. Shelby Cheever"—she gestured to the dance floor below them— "says that he is J. P. Cheever's only child. I believe him. No matter how rich he is today, it's nothing compared with how rich he's going to be. The villas and casinos and resorts are just frosting. The real wealth comes from the industrial power base."
"Then what's he doing out here?" Knute studied the black-clad figure at the edge of the dance floor. "Why didn't he demand to be taken straight home, and say he'd pay for it?"
"He did. Lana Trask is usually a clever woman, but this time she blew it. Nobody on the Harvest Moon believed Cheever's story. Nobody in the fleet believes it now. You didn't. But even Shelby Cheever misses the real point."
"What's that?"
"How valuable he could be." Pearl drew her chair closer and dropped her voice. "Suppose the Harvest Moon takes him back home. J. P. Cheever is grateful, and almost certainly he gives the Trasks a reward. But even if it's a big reward, it's not a real fortune. I can suggest a different scenario. The Harvest Moon keeps Cheever here, out in the Cloud. They don't tell J.P. where his only son is, but they take proof back Sol-side that Shelby is alive. How much do you think J. P. Cheever and Constance Cheever would give to get their kid back in one piece?"
"Ransom?" Knute stared again at Shelby, seeing him in a new light. "Billions. But it won't happen, not 'til hell freezes over. The crew of the Harvest Moon wouldn't go along with it. Thurgood Trask would say no, for a start. And he's the most obstinate man in the Cloud."
"Agreed. They would never do such a thing."
"So that's the end of it. The Harvest Moon found Shelby. He belongs to them."
"True. As long as the Harvest Moon has him, no one else can do a thing. But if Shelby Cheever were to
get lost in space again and be picked up by another harvester . . ." Pearl put down her drink and leaned back in her chair. "That would make all the difference, wouldn't it?"
Knute did not answer at once. He had turned away and was watching the dance floor, with its colorful swirling couples. "Agreed," he said at last. "But it would be almost impossible to arrange. Lana Trask is very cautious. You could never do anything to a whole harvester."
"You wouldn't need to. An accident could happen to a corry. That would be enough, if it had the right person in it."
"Even that would be difficult."
"Did I ever suggest that it would be easy?"
"Difficult, and dangerous."
"Once-in-a-lifetime opportunities tend to be that."
Knute stared again over the crowded dance floor. "It's been a bad season for us," he said at last. "I took a look this morning. Our holds are emptier than you realize."
The Billion Dollar Boy Page 15