Skeen's Return

by Clayton, Jo;

  Henry O slapped out a knotty tentacle, caught the glass, sniffed at it. “Hiding out on us, B’sss.” He winked at Lipitero, fanning his long curly lashes at her. “Bribe me. A glass o’ me own and an introduction.”

  Buzzard raised his brows. When Lipitero nodded, he said, “Consider yourself bribed.”

  The Virgin and Hopeless looked like identical twins except that the Virgin was a hair over one meter tall and Hopeless was two meters and then some. They had polished glowing skin the color of bitter chocolate, elegant chiseled features, high cheekbones, long oval faces, knife-blade noses with small tight nostrils, generous mouths, large black eyes (true black, not just a very dark brown), nubbly black hair a little over a centimeter long. They had dressed themselves for the party in festoons of gold chains about neck, arms, legs, some of them set with large emeralds, but were otherwise quite bare, not even body hair. Skeen took Timka over to them and introduced her.

  Hopeless bowed with regal grace, but the Virgin’s eyes passed over Timka as if she were empty air, eyes that were as shallow as a beast’s with no awareness in them, either of self or other; abruptly her face lit up. She smiled and nodded at the emptiness beside Timka; she angled her head slightly as if listening with care to something she found fascinating. After a moment of this, she turned away to twitter incomprehensible syllables at another invisibility. She finished that as suddenly, turned to Hopeless and spoke at length in a liquid language that seemed more like vocalized music than words. Hopeless listened, nodded. Then the Virgin swung away again and began murmuring quietly to a third of her unseen companions.

  Hopeless smiled lazily. “Virgin says it’s a wild and wonderful story. She says they say we should do it. She says do it. I say do it. We’re in. We should talk over details some place secure.”

  “Picarefy or the Abode?”

  “The Abode. Virgin’s Eye has a clearer focus there, more to talk to. Fifteen thirty tomorrow.”

  A while later.

  Timka drifted over to Lipitero, the Buzzard and Henry O. She nodded at the Virgin who was curled up on the floor asleep. “Is she crazy?”

  “There’s a couple of ways of looking at that,” Henry said. He rocked onto his hooves, awkward as a new-born colt with something of the same felicity, making room for her to sit beside Lipitero. “Now there’s no denying the Virgin talks to lots of things that aren’t there. On the other hand, they tell her things she couldn’t find out any other way.” He folded his tentacles across his broad chest and grinned at her. “Crazy, not-crazy, who cares. She makes out just fine. Fact, some say she’s a luck pole. There’s not a casino in Sundari that’ll let her in the door.”

  Across the room, Hopeless flung her head back and let out a crack of laughter that drowned for the moment the muted roar of conversation. Skeen had her flute out and a lacertilian named Wolfman Leonard was beating a hard fast rhythm on the bottom of an icebucket. Chains flying, Hopeless began a stamping, whirling dance.

  Timka patted Henry’s nearside tentacle (he’d collapsed beside her as soon as she was down). “Hopeless,” she said. “I never heard a name less fitting. What’s the story?”

  “Hopeless is what she said to call her, so that’s what we call her.”

  “No one ever asked?”

  “Didn’t seem like a good idea.”

  “Ah.”

  I DON’T LIKE YOUR GIRLFRIEND, SHE’S A TROUBLEMAKER, SHE’S GOING TO GET YOU KILLED IF YOU DON’T BACK OFF.

  or

  TEAPARTY WITH MUM WITH REPORT ON ROSTICO BURN, WITH SIDEBAR ON CAUTION.

  Henrietta shadow-silent moved among them filling bowls, passing around tea cakes, faded out through a curtained doorway.

  Mamarana sipped at her tea, bright blue eyes moving slowly from face to face. Skeen, lean and sharp and amused. Lipitero, hieratic serenity and scarred, austere alien beauty. Timka, fragile, deceptive, green eyes, long black hair, exuberantly curly, small pointed face. Knowing her cat shape, Mamarana sought and found a kitten look in her face. She gazed at Timka longest, trying to find in her the lethal steel that dispatched a tried and proven fighter like Hested Vanker in something like thirty seconds. She cupped her tea bowl in both hands, relishing the gentle warmth that flowed up her arms. “Thirty seconds?”

  Timka wrinkled her nose. “I should try playing with him? He was a fool. I’m not.”

  “And I shouldn’t make the same mistake?”

  “Why fuss over me? You’ve nothing riding on my head.”

  “Might have.”

  “Only if you’re more fool than you look.”

  Skeen chuckled. “Ware the claws, Mamarana.”

  The blue gaze switched to her, cooled several degrees. “I could say the same to you, I hear you’re tying up with the Virgin and Hopeless.”

  “The Virgin said Yes before I asked. Tell me how to cross that.”

  “The Virgin’s Eye works for her and Hopeless. What’s good for them could be lousy for you.”

  “True. But the Eye SAW.”

  Mamarana made a sucking sound, tongue against teeth, but she didn’t push on with an argument she couldn’t win. She turned instead to Tibo. “You have worms in your head, my Tib. You should wiggle loose while you have your skin.” When Tibo shook his head, she sighed, eyes gone bitter with defeat. She rocked in her chair a moment, saying nothing; when she spoke again she ignored Skeen and focused on Tibo. “Rostico Burn. He came out of the Cluster. Rumor says somewhere around the Veil.”

  Tibo glanced at Skeen but said nothing.

  Mamarana ignored that also. “He arrive to Sundari Pit seven year standard ago working by himself a Empire cruiser which he didn’t say how he got that had a bellyful of uniques he sold Buzzard which credit he use mostly to have the ship worked over in Luo’s shipyards into something a singleton could handle with more than hope and luck. He shut his mouth about where he got his cargo though there was pressure put. Zald and Zabeeda ’bushed him when he nosed over to Riddle in the Lop. He turned up half a year later in Stridor’s Whistle. He sold the cruiser and registered Zald/Zabeeda in his own name. Had Zald’s name on a quitclaim. Haven’t seen Zald and Zabeeda since. People backed off some. Next thing he went in with Roman the Fly on a Rooning, did pretty well on that. Got involved with a woman in Whistle Pit, hung around there for some months. Disappeared for a year. Not many know this, but he spent that time on University studying and poking about in the Library. One of the things he spent some time on was that study Scholar Kettel did on the Rooners. You’re in there, Skeen, the Rooning of Kyapol, though I wouldn’t be one to scratch that vanity of yours. Came back to Stridor’s Whistle, but the woman had moved on by then. Took up with Seraph and his Pets, went over to the Herren worlds and got off with a load of technies that he peddled through Pincher in the Whistle. Came back to Sundari a couple months after you went for Kildun Aalda, Tib.” She raised her brows, lifted a corner of her generous mouth, shifting the map of wrinkles her face had fallen into, velvety curtains of pale flesh, as she looked from one carefully blank face to the next. “He played around a bit, took off again. Alone this time. Which was a bad idea because the Herren had snagships waiting for him. As soon as he cleared Pit Space, they fished him up from the insplit and went off with him. Either he hadn’t covered himself enough or Seraph got high and breathed into the wrong ear. Bad judgment picking on Seraph and the Herren worlds at the same time. Young. Time would cure that if he could find some. The Herren bought him space on Pillory.”

  Tibo slapped his hand against his thigh, clamped his mouth on what he wanted to say but would not in his mum’s presence.

  Skeen rubbed at her nose. “The woman?”

  “Word is Cidder got her.”

  “The Buzzard’s fairly sure Rallen is somewhere around the Veil because that’s where Rostico Burn came out of the Cluster.” Skeen set her tea bowl down, brushed crumbs off her thighs. “Maybe so, maybe not. If it was me with the load, I’d have backed and filled a lot before I popped loose, used the Veil as a last trap
to suck the snagships off me. I’d say a lot depended on how hard he was being pressed.”

  “Hmm.” Mamarana’s hands twitched, but she made no direct comment on Skeen’s musings. “Smart boy, kept his mouth shut. Chanidi Bli, that’s the woman, she probably did some prying, but I doubt she learned anything important. I happen to know Waygoz the Nose went to University for a few days, trying for cross-matches on Rallen. Got nothing, came back more than half convinced Burn made up the name.” Again she scanned the faces, grunted as they told her nothing. “Cream took his slider into the Cluster and poked about the Veil, one of the working girls from the Nymph’s Navel got that much out of him, you know Cream, he’s slipp’rier than a ghost’s shadow, but he beat it out of there, his tail on fire. Old Bones the Undying has tightened his grip some more. He’s got the Cluster divided into sectors and any traffic between them has cruiser escort; legit trade’s down to a trickle, the other kind’s been near squeezed out, but the Cluster’s a big place and there’s more sliding around the rules than you’d expect. Especially near the Veil. Cream said it did peculiar things to his instruments and he couldn’t stay in the Insplit very long, he was popping his head up like a dog running through high grass. He come out of the Cluster with two snagships on his tail and a mauler pooting along behind them; he said it was Bona Fortuna and vortex that broke him loose. And he come out empty. Lot of stars in the Veil, he said, he sampled a few of them hoping he’d stumble across Rallen, but when he got low on fuel he had to give up.”

  Skeen sighed. “That means we have to get Burn off Pillory.” She tried to look rueful but wasn’t very convincing; she was excited, aching to try it.

  “No!” Mamarana slapped her hand down on the chair arm, knocking her tea bowl onto the carpet. “I forbid it, no!” She scowled at Tibo, but got no help from him; the wildness in him had leaped to meet the fire in Skeen. He was gazing at her, holding in laughter. Mamarana couldn’t be sure he even heard her protest; she felt her strength flaking away and for the first time in a long time regretted her dying and felt the helplessness of great age. She gathered herself, put force in her voice. “Redeem him,” she said. “Pay Pillory’s price.”

  Skeen relaxed, stretched out her long legs. “I’ll think about it, supposing I can come up with the sum and can work a way of doing it without calling Cidder down on me. Provided the Kliu Berej don’t have him on a no ransom contract. Provided it doesn’t take too long to arrange, we’ve got a deadline that can’t be shifted.”

  Tension slipped out of Mamarana. She closed her eyes. “Pour me some tea, Tib,” she said and let a quaver into her voice. When he tapped her hand to tell her the bowl was there, she smiled fondly up at him, then began working at Timka and Lipitero, trying to tease their histories out of them.

  “Djabo’s toes!” Skeen burst out. “We’ll be hanging round here forever if we don’t start moving. If I knew where Cidder was, I’d drop-kick him into the nearest sun. Mamarana, would you find out how much it’ll take to ransom Burn and how long? Do it through about three other mouths, ah! what am I doing telling you your business?”

  “Finally come to you, eh?” Mamarana said dryly. “I’ll have it say two days, Tib. Come see me.”

  It was a dismissal. With murmured polite insincerities Skeen and the other women left. Tibo stayed behind. He went to her, stroked her cheek. “Don’t worry about me, Mum.”

  She caught his hand. “That Skeen. Crazy, skinny, not even pretty, but you spend your stash pulling her out of a mess she made herself. Let me give you a ship, Tib. I want you loose from her. She’ll get you killed.”

  He hesitated, felt his face get hot and tight. He was glib, a word or phrase for anything, he could tell a story, bare bits of his soul when he was high enough, but cold sober in the cool white light of day, it was hard. And she was losing her edge, the wrinkles were getting to her brain. He could see Death eating her little by little, stripping slowly away what made her the woman he loved and admired. Mum was somewhere inside Mamarana, he thought, then changed his mind. A caricature of Mum with most of her subleties worn away. He could say to her: I love Skeen. I like Skeen. I could have left her long ago if all I wanted was a ship. Skeen and I fit together. I know she isn’t easy, I know she’s a little crazy, maybe a lot crazy, but so am I, Mum, and these two crazinesses, they fit together comfortably. Aloud, all he said was, “She suits me, Mum.” He freed his hand gently but firmly, patted her cheek. “Find out about Pillory for us, Mum. I’ll be by.”

  Skeen was waiting for him outside, she looked at him closely, said nothing for several turns of the walkway. When they reached Starlong Way, she touched his arm. “Want a raincheck?”

  “No.” He caught hold of her hand, his fingers tightening until he was hurting her but she made no sound, made no attempt to pull away. “No. Sitting around and watching her rot. No!”

  “We might be back before she goes.”

  Ignoring the walkers moving about them, Tibo lifted her hand to his face, held it against him a moment, kissed the palm and let it fall. “I’d like to be there when she goes, but I won’t mind a Jot if it doesn’t work out.”

  “What about telling her why?”

  Tibo started walking again. “No. Can’t trust her now. She got it in her head you’re bad for me. She’d blow the whole to Cidder if she could arrange to keep me loose and she’s getting soft enough to believe his promises. Sorry, Skeen.”

  “You didn’t know. Besides, according to the Buzzard it’s clear to Riddler’s Pit by now that Skeen’s prowling after Rostico Burn and Rallen.”

  He reached round her waist, pulled her close. “Ah, the drawbacks of fame.”

  “You ought to know, you pirate, seeing what happened when Tibo’s Streak ran out.”

  Both laughing, they pulled apart and moved to the slideway in the center of the Way, riding it from the Suburbs to the Bubble where Angy Darling ran her multiverse.

  SCENE:

  garden room on the ABODE OF WHISPERS. Hopeless lies on her back on pseudo-moss beside a narrow stream.

  Dwarf trees, piles of artfully weathered stone, a stepping stone path that wound between patches of lawn, bamboo, ornamental shrubs, flower beds. Overhead, a patch of daylight glow crawling across the ceiling like a miniature sun.

  The Ship has three sections. Garden Room for living and sleeping; Cargo Bay, which is about twice the size of this garden room; Bridge, which shifts about, tiny bubble inside this large bubble. Except in emergencies, the Abode flies herself.

  Skeen sits beside Hopeless.

  Timka cat-weasel is prowling restlessly under the trees, the subtle shifting of her coloration making her difficult to see. She fits with the half-wild look of this garden tucked into the belly of a star ship.

  Skeen rubbed at her knee. “It’d be handy if the Eye would tell us where Rallen lies.”

  Hopeless stretched and yawned, scratched at her stomach. “Eye tells what Eye wants.” She smiled vaguely in Skeen’s direction, went back to watching Timka prowl. “Give her to us,” she said.

  “Ask her. She’s no slave of mine. She’ll do what she pleases.”

  Ti-cat came gliding into the small glade, crossed to Hopeless. She made a sound like a cross between a purr and a hiss, set a foot just above Hopeless’ navel, extruded her claws enough to prick, then went stalking away, tail switching in whip snaps back and forth.

  Skeen chuckled. “You’ve just been turned down.”

  “Hylattis! she understood me.” Hopeless sat up, wrapped her arms about her legs. “I keep forgetting she’s more than beast.”

  “The body might change, the mind doesn’t.” Skeen looked after Ti-cat, frowned. “I’m not sure that’s right; degree of intelligence doesn’t change, but I think the nature of the beast influences her outlook. Hmm.”

  “Where is your other strange one?”

  “Petro?” In the workshop making more modifications on Picarefy. The two of them, you can’t pry them apart.” She sighed. “I’m divorced, Hopeless, that’s what
it is.”

  “To be saving a species.” Hopeless sighed with pleasure. “If we manage this, Skeen, if we really can do it, maybe I’ll think about another name.” She looked ecstatic and just for an instant madder than the Virgin. The look faded, she couldn’t sustain the effort. “You’re going to pull Rostico Burn out of Pillory.”

  “Looks like I have to.” Skeen sighed. “Otherwise I could hunt the Veil for a century and come up empty.”

  “Virgin has found a transport. Needs some fiddling, we’ll take it round to Chanix and have Maskin run his tentacles over it; he works fast. Where should we meet?” She thought a moment. “And when?”

  “Rallen’s somewhere in the Cluster, not much question of that, and there’s Abel Cidder to think about. Picarefy ran a plot for me when I managed to get her attention,” Skeen chuckled, “and came up with three Pits that won’t mean too big a swerve from the Pillory/Cluster line. Nymph’s Navel, The Orphanage, Revelation. I know the Navel, I never got to Revelation and made The Orphanage just once. I’ve got no preference. Pick one.”

  Hopeless thought a moment. “No,” she said, “no reason I can think of to choose one over the others. VIRGIN!”

  A Disembodied Voice whispered beside them: “Revelation.”

  “Skeen?”

  “Fine. Anything I should know about the place?”

  “It’s more a pimple than a Pit. Not much there. A small multiverse, some trading posts, a fuel dump. And the Hermit. Virgin and him have had some long loud arguments, you’d swear they’re ready to chew each other into hamburger, but they enjoy it. Fun to watch.”

  Better you than me, Skeen thought. “How long will the fiddling take?”

  “Maybe a month standard. What about you?”