Rebel's Quest, page 24
part #6 of The Long View Series
"I wasn't crazy about yours, either? So?"
"I am not certain, Tregare, if I like you or not—or whether anyone should—but you are important to me. I wish you survival and success. "
"Same to you and many of 'em. Anything else?"
"Yes. Tregare, will you sleep with me tonight?"
For some time he hadn't touched her; what moved her now, he couldn't guess. But in the big bed—once, and then again later—she showed him skills she'd never before displayed. Nor, in his personal experience, had anyone else. He didn't know why and he couldn't ask, but he felt deeply grateful.
In the dim light he saw, at the corner of one eye, a tear forming. "What's wrong?"
"This time—this time, Tregare, I truly wanted you. But my body would not believe that want. "
There was nothing he could say and not much he could do. But he went to sleep holding her.
When the landing woke him, though—M'tana had the con— he and Tari were disarranged, lying spraddled all over the bed. He worked one leg free from under hers, disengaged other minor entanglements, and pulled the spread up to cover her when he left.
First he stopped by the galley and assembled a snack, which he took with him to Control; if a captain couldn't break his own rules, who could? Deverel was relieving M'tana at the watch. Tregare said, "Good landing, Zelde. If I hadn't been half- awake already I'd've slept right through it. " On her way out, the tall woman grinned and threw him a sketchy salute.
The log and instruments were all shipshape Bran told Hain Deverel, "Except for the usual airlock guards for screening, we don't need Alert procedures here. I think you know what kind of items to handle by the routines, and what to call me for or record for me. " Deverel nodded, Tregare took his empty tray back to the galley and went down to the main airlock foyer, where he expected—and found—a group of traders and brokers, all ready to haggle and smiling about it. But it didn't take long for the smiles to vanish and the voices to raise; Bran remembered that Number One was a place for loud and profane dickering.
So, whole-heartedly he entered into the spirit of the occasion.
Some of the dealings went easily, some harder, and some not at all. Meanwhile Tregare heard the fueling pumps start, and made a sort of nod to himself that there was one worry covered. Then he put his mind back to arguing with a rather cadaverous elderly man, mostly bald but sporting a thin, grey goatee. The man's nasal whine was irritating, but Alsen Bleeker held the handle on some categories of foodstuffs Tregare didn't want to have to pick up in dribs and drabs from smaller suppliers, so it made sense to make the extra effort. Suddenly the name and appearance clicked, Bleeker was the man who had tried to get cute with his prices on Tregares earlier visit here. So watch him. He'd been on the young side of middle age then, but that was the Long View for you....
A voice broke his concentration; over by the exit ramp, Tari Obrigo was calling to him. His hand waved the argument to a halt. "A few moments, gentlemen. A farewell to say, here. " He went to her, gave her a one-arm hug around the shoulders. "So you're getting off. All done with me now. "
"Done? Will that not depend on our travels, yours and mine? If I settle here, I may be old before you next return. "
The idea hurt him. He looked away, but said, "I might like that. We'd go to bed and you'd be the grateful one. "
She laughed; a thumb and knuckle nipped his earlobe. "Do not bet on it. But stay in communication when you can, and I shall, too. Good luck, Tregare. "
He watched her, luggage-laden, walk to the ramp and down it, out of sight. Then he returned to the dickering. But
somehow found it hard to keep his mind to it.
* * *
When he'd settled as many of his dealings as could be managed at this point, Tregare hosted a few of the traders— those who accepted his invitation—to lunch in the galley. Then, he decided, it was time to go visiting. Because the ship that sat down the port a way, easy walking distance, was Pell Quinlans Red Dog.
The ramp guard was officious but not unfriendly. Going by protocol, Bran gave his name and that of his ship, then said of the woman beside him, "This is Zelde M'tana, my Second Hat. " Zelde had told him about meeting with Quinlan on Fair Ball and declining his offer of a supercargo passage; in this case, though, there was no reason for her dodging the man.
After a brief talk on his hushphone the guard passed them, and at the airlock another took over, ushering them to the captains digs. There Quinlan—still lean and tall, wearing a pointed, tawny beard—gave welcome. Handshakes, offer of drinks, then while busy at the pouring, "A long time, Tregare. And you, M'tana—I see you found your way off Fair Ball without help from me. "
So they talked, exchanged info and anecdotes, until Tregare decided it was time to make his pitch: the fleet to take Stronghold, then wait and collect successive fleets sent out from Earth, and then—
Quinlan was shaking his head. "It might work—I wish you luck. But I operate solo, always have—and can't imagine doing it any other way. " He raised his glass. "I'm sorry. Tregare. "
Bran shrugged. "I knew it already. Had to ask, was all. But now—" He leaned forward. "Where you headed next? And how much filled up, with cargo?" The answers suited Tregare quite well. So then he made his real pitch.
"I lucked out fine, Zelde. " He'd dickered with Quinlan for nearly an hour but now he and M'tana were walking back to
Inconnu. "Farmer's Dell isn't too far off the course he was planning, and he can free enough space for the women to be comfortable. Well, reasonably. " He looked at her. "You handle the workgang that moves the bunks over to Red Dog, will you?" She nodded. "I'm glad Pell can take care of the plumbing in a hurry, using his own people to do it. "
She cleared her throat. "The women, now. You out to tell
'em the news, or me?"
"Let's do it together. I know you're worried about how it'll I work, at Farmers Dell, but the colony administration has a fund set up; it pays passage rates for any women brought in on the cuff. "
"And then? I know, you said they're free, but—"
"Everything I've heard documents it that way. " He smiled. "Ol' Pell, though. That fake log and ship's ID he worked up. I wish I had time to talk him out of a readout on that. It sounds better than anything I've ever done, along those lines. " He shrugged. "Well, I remember enough to give me some good ideas. "
"Too bad he's so much a one-man show, Tregare. " "Yeah. I could sure use him on the project. He's just not a man to take orders. Never was. But he'll cut himself some notches. "
Upship and in quarters, first Tregare showered and changed clothes. Then he had a drink and told Chira about his latest deal. "So that saves me some worries. And without gouging Quinlan I netted about ten percent over expenses, on the operation. He'll make three times what I did, but I don't have to sidetrack to Farmers Dell!"
He knew the financial side meant nothing to her, so her frown puzzled him. She said, "I go there, too. With them. "
"But—" He shook his head. "Maybe you forgot. Those women down there—last I heard, they didn't like you pretty much. "
"Not now, that way. Food runs, I been helping. Talk some. First on here, I didn't know. Told 'em, sorry. Nobody mad, now. " Her face had a pleading look. "You good to me. But on here—" She spread her hands. "No wind. No rain. No sky. "
So he said, "All right. You come downship with us when Zelde and I announce the latest development, and we'll see how it goes. Okay?"
So they went down to Hold Portside Upper, and first Zelde and then Tregare explained the situation. The woman Cherisse Frisco looked maybe a decade younger than when she'd been brought aboard Inconnu; there was something to be said for decent food and adequate sanitation. She asked questions, and so did others, but eventually they seemed reasonably satisfied. "I wish there were a way you could get us to a Hidden World, not a UET colony, " Frisco said, "but I know economics. It cost you, to buy us out of that shitbox, and your ship's resources are finite. Besides, Farmers Dell doesn't sound too bad. "
"The place does have a good name, " said Bran. "Now one more thing. " He motioned toward Chira. "This young woman was yanked out of a backslid savage culture and came aboard here without much in the way of manners. First thing, she got a bunch of you killing-mad. She thinks she's cleared that up, since, and wants to ride with you to Farmers Dell. Tell me honestly, Frisco—is that a good idea? For her?"
Cherisse Frisco smiled. "Sure it is. So she did act like a rotten little savage, then. Thinking back on it, the rest of us weren't too much better. Don't worry; there'll be no problems. "
Zelde's work crew was beginning to disassemble bunks, with the women's help. Tregare took Chira back upship to pack the few belongings she'd accumulated. Briefly he wondered why he hadn't suggested simply turning her loose here on Number One, then he realized she couldn't handle herself, alone on a strange world. But as part of a group, she'd be all right.
She went in for a shower. He thought she'd come out dressed and ready to go downship and join the others, but she didn't. Unclothed, she tossed her garments onto a chair, and said, "I told you, you been fine, Tregare. Now I go, fuck you a good one first. For to remember. "
This time he was pretty sure she didn't fake her climax.
And next day she and the others were off to Farmers Dell.
With a few things off his mind, Bran got around to checking the Port's computer for messages; maybe his growing data net had some good news for him, or maybe not.
Only a little, was the answer. Jimar Peralta had been here once; his comment was, "You picked the right world, Tregare, for your staging base. I didn't venture to inspect your own private spaceport in person, but on hi-mag it looks shipshape, and having it out away from the civilians is a good idea. " And after a brief pause, "I'm off, now, on what you might call a raiding tour of UET colonies; the more they're shaken up, the better. My planned schedule will have No Return back here during your rendezvous period. " Another pause. "I still feel we need to restructure the administrative side a bit, but I'm sure it can all be worked out. " And Tregare thought, he's still after part of command, Peralta is....
In the next few messages Tregare found nothing important. Then came a voice he barely remembered and at first couldn't place. But before she spoke it, he remembered the name of Erdis Blaine. "... a job in Port Admin, the greeting and querying of ships, before and since your son was born. He's Bran Leon Blaine, by the way. " So she'd commemorated Leon Monteffial, her lover killed in Farnsworths countermutiny. Tregare nodded; the man deserved as much. "... leaving now on Keath Farrell's Spark Plug, and I hope our destination is a place where Bran Leon can grow up peacefully. Blaine out. " Well, he hoped she got her wish.
Alsen Bleeker didn't seem to be a quick learner. Some days later, when Inconnu's loading neared completion, the man suddenly tried to change his terms. "Some of that electronics gear you bought, " he said. "You have it priced higher than I can sell it. " That, Tregare thought, was probably an outright lie, but when he tried to check with Port Admin's computer, the data came out garbled. Cute trick! So the hell with it; Tregare left the trader standing there groundside, went upship and sent an armed squad down to safeguard the rest of the loading.
Only when that was done did he lift the ramp and close ship. And that's when he learned that Junior Lee had found a bug in the Drive; Inconnu couldn't lift right away.
Well, all right. He put his downside screens to showing the area around the ship, and opened communications on groundside frequencies to Bleeker. When the man answered, Tregare said, "I'm checking the computations, but I'm having a little computer trouble. Would you have Admin feed me the manifest figures again?" Seemingly relieved, Bleeker agreed, and this time the data came through clearly. Bran wasn't surprised to find most of Bleeker's prices raised considerably from the terms previously set. Well, the best thing, for now, was just plain stalling. Tregare did a rather artful job of it.
Meanwhile he eavesdropped on Bleeker's shorthaul talkset. The man was rounding up an unofficial army, claiming that Tregare had cheated him and possibly several others. "After all, he is known as a pirate. " Tregare made a face—if he was a pirate, what did that make Alsen Bleeker? But, not to give away his advantage in overhearing, he said nothing.
By the time Junior Lee announced readiness for liftoff, armed groundsliders ringed the safety perimeter around
Inconnu. "Normal" safety perimeter, that was; if Tregare made a max lift he'd probably kill no one but he could sure bounce a few around. The groups weapons didn't bother him much; besides a couple of two-hands energy guns that might scar the hull at that range, all he saw was standard handguns. They'd make pretty sparks but nothing more.
What did worry him some was eavesdropping on Bleeker's pitch to interdict Inconnu with the Port's defense missiles.
Only one side of that argument, Tregare got; whatever frequencies the Port was answering on, Bran's comm-tech couldn't find them. So when Bleeker said, "Thirty minutes?
Can't you get faster authorization? Well, I guess it'll have to do. And thanks—" When Bran heard that much, he told Junior
Lee to lift in fifteen unless delayed by Tregare's personal countermanding. And at max.
"Right y'all purely are, cap'n. Thisyere ship, she gonna show
'em sump'n, you bet my tired ol' tailend. "
Before Bran could finish giving Beauregard the usual supportive thanks, Gonnelson pointed at the forward screen.
"Aircar!"
The comm-tech hit a switch; Tregare yelled, "You up there!
What you trying to pull? Clear off or get shot down. " Then to groundside: "You, Bleeker—I thought you had better sense.
Call off your pipsqueak Air Force—and damned fast!"
As the aircar turned away, still circling the ship but at a more civil distance now, Bleeker spoke high-pitched and fast. It wasn't his, he swore. He knew nothing about it; he'd been right here ever since Tregare closed ship. "All I want is my money, you pirate!"
"You got it—exactly as agreed, beforehand. " Bleeker whined that it wasn't his fault if prices went up. Tregare snorted. "Your prices always go up; that's an old groundhog trick. And like it or not, most ships pay. But not Inconnu!"
Incredibly, Bleeker didn't know the ship was refueled, and tried to use fuel as leverage. Bran laughed and corrected his ignorance. "That's an old spacer trick. " Then he signed off, and called the aircar again. "Who are you? What's your business?"
* * *
The answering voice came low and sounded concerned, not excited. "Tregare! It is I—Tari Obrigo. I must talk with you. "
He shook his head. What—? "Too late; no time. Bleeker'll be programming the defense missiles on me; I've got to lift. " He paused. "Glad you came, though. See you someday. "
"Wait! Your father is here. He brought me. "
"Hawkman? Sorry, but for him it's years too late—ever since they left me in that UET hellhole. "
"They could not help it; they had no choice! And they—they love you—they want to see you. "
"The pirate, the mutineer, in Hulzein Lodge? I doubt it. "
"Bran Tregare, the girl speaks truth. " Hawkman! "And she cares enough that she would have come here against Liesel's command. "
Obrigo would have defied Liesel Hulzein? Somehow Tre- gare wasn't too surprised. He said, "She's quite somebody, Hawkman. See that you treat her right. "
He missed a word or two, then "... we miss you. Are we never to see you again?"
For a moment, his guts wrenching, Tregare couldn't speak. Then he said, slowly, "I'll think about it. Next time, maybe. "
"And how long? Will your mother live to see that time?"
"I—I hope so. " Then, hearing what Bleeker was saying on the other channel, he called down to Junior Lee. "Liftoff coming; sixty seconds and counting. " Then to the aircar again, "Scoot hard and fast, Hawkman; this lift is going to make waves. Not like the time with you, Tari. " The car sheered away as Tregare got confirmation from Junior Lee. He said a few more words to Tari and to his father, then Inconnu lifted.
Before dust hid groundside, Bran saw the armed posse rolled away like rag dolls by the mere blast-outskirt pressures. Then they began to get up and run away.
If Bleeker got any missiles aloft, he wasted them; the ship's backscreens showed no sign. Tregare set course, cutting back to less than half-max accel, and called council. "We've talked all this over, but I want a last-minute check, to see if anybody has improvements to offer. " So, in no hurry, they kicked the plan around.
Basically, Inconnu was going to be on a combination of listening-post and patrol duty. Number One's sun had a very large planet—practically a grey dwarf—that rolled suddenly around its primary at roughly two weeks' ship-distance from Number One. And for a number of years that world, Big Icecude (though actually it had considerable internal heat), had been and would be in a position to monitor most ship traffic between Number One and other inhabited places. So for the period during which Tregare was hoping other ships would make the rendezvous he'd spent years trying to arrange, Inconnu would stay in energy-saving orbit around Big Icecube. Relaying data from incoming ships long before groundside gear could have detected the signals, for one thing. All right? So far, so good.
"Now then. " Tregare waited while Gonnelson, the one-drink man, saw to fillups for the others, who weren't being too thirsty, themselves. When the First Hat was done, Bran said, "Soon as we pass the range a scout could be detected from groundside, I take our scoutship back to Number One, going in on a blindside spiral. The gear's loaded and the work crew's picked, for what we need to do at my bases, across the Big Hills from One Point One. "
Zelde M'tana spoke. "Crew's picked, you said. Not all, though. Who's to strawboss for you? That ain't said yet. "
"You want the job?"
She shook her head; at her left earlobe the heavy gold ring swung. "Makes me no mind. I'll do it or ride here, either one. "
Tregare smiled. "It happens I think I need you on here— you and Gonnelson. Pick a couple of bright ratings to help out on the watches. " She nodded as Bran looked to his Third Hat. "Hain, I'd like you to help handle things at the bases. " And before Deverel's reaction could develop past looking startled, "You and Anse, that is. " Then the officer relaxed, and a little later the council convened.
