John Maddox Roberts - Spacer: Window of Mind Read online

Nope," said Ham succinctly. "Michelle, you think Kiril might be a sensitive?"

  I wouldn't be surprised. If she has even a latent capability, living where she did would bring it out as a survival mechanism."

  Excellent," said K'Stin, hearing every Viver's favorite word.

  "Let's hope she has the talent," said the skipper. "Michelle, I want you to give her the best test series you can come up with. Kiril, from now on I want you with me whenever 1 have dealings with any of those people."

  "Sure," Kiril said, confused, "but what's all this business with Izquierda? Why do you all hate him?"

  "Back before he became one of the richest and most powerful men in known space," said the skipper, grim-faced, "he was a navy officer, at one time holding the position of commodore of a heavy squadron. He had the task of evacuating the trade station on Delta Orion Five. There were ten thousand civilians working that station, and a couple of thousand POW's in a camp. There were also seven big Satsuma freighters in port at the time."

  "He was a stockholder in Satsuma even then," said Ham, taking up the tale. "Under navy regs. he was supposed to dump the cargoes of those freighters and use the cargo space to evacuate the civilians and prisoners. When a Triumvirate force was spotted heading for D.O. Five, he split the squadron and sent half to deal with the enemy. He kept the rest to act as convoy. The full squadron might have forced them to head for home, but Izquierda wasn't taking any chances. He let them be annihilated to buy him enough time to get those Satsuma ships off-planet, with their cargoes. He left the noncombatants to be wiped out by the Triumvirate ships. They sterilized the planet with torch bombs."

  "He was court-martialed and Cashiered from the service," continued the skipper. "He had great wealth and influence even then, or he would have been shot. Of course, Satsuma Line was agitating for him all the way. As it was, the trial was hushed up. Bad for civilian morale, the Council thought. He even bought enough influence with the government in the years after the War to have the dishonorable expulsion revoked. He even tried to have the trial records destroyed, but they were already in the Archives and even he couldn't touch them. I still have friends who keep me informed about him. He hates me with a real passion."

  "Why?" Kiril asked.

  "Because it was me that turned him in."

  3

  Kiril fretted as Nancy and Michelle stitched her into a dress of Nancy's that was not so large as to be out of the question. In the places where Kiril failed to fill out the dress, Michelle artfully took out the wrinkles with surgical plastiflesh.

  "1 want you to remember," cautioned Michelle, "this is a formal dinner, so be on your best behavior."

  "Why? We weren't trying to be formal with those marines."

  "That was different," Michelle said. "Martinets and bureaucrats have to be put firmly in their place. At an affair like this we have to be presentable, because they'll be expecting us to act like slobs. You understand?"

  "I guess so," said Kiril doubtfully.

  "The women will be paired with men," Michelle continued, "it's customary. The skipper with Ham, Torwald with me, Nancy with Finn, and you're paired with Lafayette. When we go into the dining room, he'll have to take your arm, so try to remember not to knife him."

  "I don't know," said Kiril. "Old habits are hard to break."

  "Give it a try, anyway," said Michelle.

  When the dress fit to everyone's satisfaction, Nancy and Michelle set about applying Kiril's makeup. There was no way to make her face seem less hollow-cheeked, so it was decided to make that feature an asset. Kiril's face was dominated by her huge eyes, and Nancy cleverly accented the lids and lashes to make ihem even more dramatic. Her short hair had now grown long enough to set in a cap of tight ringlets.

  When they were finished, Kiril surveyed the effect in a full-length holoviewer. She was stunned. Her face had changed from that of a Civis Astra guttersnipe to that of a civilized lady. The long, high-necked dress clung closely to her (occasionally artificial) contours, and its billowy sleeves concealed the twin daggers she still refused to part with. She was utterly changed, transfigured. Now, if she could just remember not to stab Lafayette when he touched her!

  At the lock they met the others. Finn, Torwald, and Lafayette were wearing formal suits; short jackets with high standing collars heavily embroidered with gold and with matching embroidery on the sleeves, skintight trousers stuffed into high, shiny boots. Finn's outfit was black, Torwald's silvery gray, and Lafayette's bright scarlet. They all wore broad sashes and waist-length capes, and the two older men wore small, discreet copies of their military decorations pinned to their jackets, as was permitted for a diplomatic function.

  "And I thought 1 looked changed!" Kiril commented.

  "You'd be surprised what you'll find, rummaging through a spacer's bag," said Torwald. "And, may I add, Lafayette is going to be a much-envied man tonight." Kiril refused to blush: it wasn't her style.

  Ham and the skipper arrived, both in full naval dress with the Reserve collar insignia. "What do you know?" said Finn. "It still fits after all these years." She favored him with a look that boded ill for his future duties.

  "Where are Bert and Achmed?" Michelle asked.

  "They've elected not to attend," said Torwald. "They're going to a party being thrown for the rest of the crews and the lower-ranking scientists. It'll probably be a lot more fun, and it's a good place to pick up rumors."

  "Fine," said the skipper. "They'll probably learn a lot more than we will."

  "Do you think those Satsuma people will give them any trouble?" asked Michelle.

  "B'Shant's going with them," answered Finn.

  "No trouble, then," said the skipper.

  "And here comes K'Stin," said Torwald, "the belle of the ball."

  The Viver entered. He wore a weapon harness studded with medallions and awards and hung with a variety of daggers and swords. He had painted himself from head to foot with stripes of red and green.

  "Why the stripes, K'Stin?" asked Ham.

  "The colors of the glorious Clan T'Chak. One must honor the Clan, even among inferior beings."

  "You'll be the envy of everybody there," said Torwald.

  "I know," said K'Stin complacently. "Yet do not feel too humiliated, for comparing the beauty of a Viver with that of you soft persons is as absurd as comparing the brilliance of a star with that of a luminous fungus." Kiril worked hard to keep a straight face. The Viver was almost supernaturally ugly, and the paint only increased the effect. But then, she reflected, the Vivers had their own standards of beauty, and they were far better equipped to enforce their opinions than were standard humans.

  When Homer arrived, they left the ship. They found a somewhat smaller honor guard waiting for them. This guard was led by an officer older than the first, whose manner was far more congenial. It was plain that Pierce the diplomat was making a few adjustments.

  The reception was being held in a vast room fitted with a lavish buffet and bar. All around the floor low-ranking servicemen were dancing attendance on the guests. Conversation stopped and all eyes turned their way when the doorkeeper announced the arrival of the personnel of the Space Angel. They were, indeed, celebrities. Pierce immediately rushed to greet them, and he steered Ham and the skipper off on a round of introductions, leaving the others to fend for themselves. They headed for the bar first. Torwald and Finn ordered drinks for their ladies.

  "Would you like anything?" asked Lafayette.

  "No, thanks," said Kiril. She knew that alcohol clouded one's judgment and slowed one's reflexes. In her experience, people with such afflictions ended up dead. Kiril had an almost Viver like aversion to being dead. Lafayette signaled for the bartender.

  "Have anything without alcohol?"

  The bartender eyed Lafayette's nonmilitary dress with some disdain. "Admiral says no dope allowed on this voyage."

  "That's not what I asked," Lafayette said, his face and neck going red. "The lady would like something nonalcoholic."

&n
bsp; "Well, I'll see what I've got," said the bartender, looking about with insolent slowness.

  Kirjl had been studying the man's eyes closely. Now she leaned across the bar and said sweetly: "Hey, sailor, how would you like it if I told your commander what you've been smoking lately?" The bartender stared at her wide-eyed, swallowed hard, and quickly poured a glass full of something that was most definitely nonalcoholic.

  Lafayette chuckled as they walked away. "Good stunt, Kiril." They found Torwald and Michelle, and Lafayette told them of their run in with the bartender.

  "Bad blood already," said Torwald. "Well it's not surprising, with one tiny merchant crew in the middle of a big navy and line expedition."

  "If that man's on drugs," Michelle said, "it means the med officer in charge of his section is taking bribes."

  "That information is worth something," Torwald said.

  "Navy standards must've fallen off since we were in," said Michelle. "Kiril, how did you know what that man was taking?"

  "Anybody could see he was on Hyper," she said. "It's in the eyes."

  "I couldn't see it," Michelle said, "and I'm a doctor."

  They were interrupted by an officious junior diplomat who was bustling about, trying to introduce everybody to everybody else. "And you people are from the Space Angel, aren't you?" he said. "Have you met the head of the civilian mission?" He stepped aside to bring forward a very tall man who was accompanied by a shorter companion. "May I present Director Ramon Izquierda, of the Satsuma Line, and his nephew, Tomas 1 luerta."

  Kiril held her breath, awaiting her friends' reaction. To her relief, they stayed formally correct, giving dignified nods and hows, accompanied by polite muttered nothings. She noticed that no handshakes were offered. Izquierda topped the tall Torwald and Finn by the better part of a foot. He was rail thin and his face was angular and aquiline, with a high forehead lopped by a great mane of wavy gray hair. A generous mustache softened the harsh thinness of his mouth.

  Huerta was a foot shorter, and a younger version of his uncle. Except for lacking the commanding height, he had to be a near double for the older man thirty years ago. It seemed the facial genes ran strong in the family. Kiril noticed that his eyes lit upon her with more than passing interest.

  "So, you were among the personnel on the famous Space Angel expedition of a while back? Doubtless we would have met earlier, but I was away on an expedition when you returned." Izquierda's tones were suave and polished. "I just met your alien friend, a most remarkable creature. What a pity, though, that he must be a poet. A scientist would have been of far greater use to humanity."

  "I think Homer knows far more of scientific matters than he lets on," said Torwald. "Possibly it's for the benefit of humanity that he keeps quiet about it."

  Kiril felt it was safe to relax now, since the conversation was being confined to small talk. She was a bit disappointed in Izquierda. He was a formidable person, but she had been expecting something with horns and tail, from the way her shipmates had spoken about him. Then she heard the skipper's voice from behind her.

  "Hello, Ramon. It's been a while." Izquierda's gaze passed over Kiril's head, and her spine went rigid. Her assessment of him underwent a radical reevaluation. Compared to this man, Pao Lin was a saint. Unconsciously she squeezed Lafayette's arm tightly, and he looked at her in amazement.

  "Indeed it has been, Gertrude," said Izquierda, his tone still even and mellifluous. He nodded towards Ham. "I see that

  Hamilton is still with you. Who would have thought that peacetime would bring us together again on an expedition?"

  "Good question," said the skipper. "You've come up in the world since I saw you last."

  "Rather the opposite seems true of you. Although I am sure that the independent merchant service has its attractions." '

  "At least I can be among friends," said the skipper. "That's something you can't enjoy on a board of directors."

  "Alas, how true. However, power brings its own comforts."

  The man from the diplomatic section was growing more alarmed by the second, but the conversation was interrupted by the approach of K'Stin. "Lord!" muttered Huerta under his breath. "What a hideous creature!" Kiril winced. The man wouldn't have dared such a remark had he realized the unbelievable sensitivity of a Viver's hearing. K'Stin, however, showed no sign that he had heard.

  "Greetings, squishy ones," he began. "You see before you K'Stin, Free Guardian of the glorious Clan T'Chak."

  "Greetings," said Izquierda. "My, Gertrude, you certainly have a . . . singular sort of crew. The true definition of the word 'motley' never struck me until now. 1 suppose K'Stin, here, would be handy to have along if you decided to take up piracy. I hear that the Vivers are great fighters."

  The skipper flushed at the insult, but K'Stin went on, seemingly oblivious. "Very true. We are the greatest warriors in known space, and we despise only one thing more than a poor fighter or survivor."

  "And what might that be?" asked Izquierda condescendingly.

  "A coward," proclaimed K'Stin. "Especially one who traitorously abandons his own people to their death."

  Izquierda went deathly white. Kiril had never seen such intense desire to murder in a man's eyes. "Do you know to whom you speak?" Each word was pronounced separately in a hissing whisper. Huerta looked at the Viver in horror.

  K'Stin's chitinous lips bent almost into a grin, revealing the multiple rows of sawtoothed plates that served him for teeth. "Does this one wish to threaten me?" he said in his normal, noncommittal tone of voice. All of the Angel's personnel leaped backwards, hauling Kiril with them, to be out of range of the Viver's murderous sword. A Viver had only one method of dealing with a threat. They did not believe in leaving live enemies behind their backs.

  "Easy, K'Stin," said the skipper. "It's a mistake." She lurned to Izquierda. "Ramon, don't misunderstand. He doesn't know you. Until he joined us, he'd never been off his Clan ship before."

  After a tense moment Izquierda regained his color. "I see. K'Stin, I misunderstood. I mean no threat to you." K'Stin regarded him for a moment with the awful grin, then turned and walked away. Kiril watched him go. Had he meant to insult Izquierda? Despite the skipper's words, Kiril remembered that K'Stin had been present when the skipper had told her about Izquierda. And K'Stin must have heard Huerta's whispered comment.

  Pierce came rushing up, worry in his face. "Is anything the matter? We had not wanted to bring your party and Director Izquierda's together in view of your old antipathy." He shot his subordinate a look that promised a royal dressing down. "But," he continued, "let's forget any unpleasantness for the moment. The banquet is about to begin. Please come this way." They trailed off after Pierce into the next room.

  "I can't say Izquierda's my favorite sort of person," Lafayette said, "but I'm a little disappointed. I was expecting a man-eating ogre at least."

  "Are you crazy?" exclaimed Kiril. "That man's the most vicious killer I've ever seen in my life! He had me fooled too, at first, but when he looked at the skipper, I saw through him. Believe me, I know that breed when I see it."

  "Well, if this is your normal reaction, I hope we run into a few more nasty characters." For the first time she noticed she was still clutching Lafayette's arm. She was surprised that it felt so natural. Back in Civis Astra any girl who lived without protection had to provide her own. That meant keeping all men at arm's length or better.

  "Well," she said, "first time for everything."

  They were led into a chamber as vast as the reception room, its walls hung with priceless Taurus IV tapestries and lined with parallel rows of tables. One long table was at right angles to the rest and stood on a slightly raised dais at one end of the room. Grand Admiral Nagamitsu was already seated at this table along with a few other brass-heavy officers and some members of the diplomatic and scientific missions. Izquierda and Huerta were also seated there. The Angel's crew were conducted to their seats at the lower tables. When a waiter tried to seat the skipper and the
mate at a lower table, they brushed past him and went to the higher one.

  "Urn, Captain HaLevy," said Pierce, "this table is reserved for naval officers of commodore standing and above, line officers of comparable rank, senior diplomats, and guests of the scientific mission. I'm afraid . . ." He spread his hands helplessly. Kiril watched the little power play with interest. She caught the glare of triumph that Izquierda shot towards the skipper.

  "I beg to differ, your Excellency," said the skipper. "According to the regs, any retired or reserve officer, at any formal function, is entitled to the privileges pertaining to the highest rank that officer held even temporarily during active service. If you'll check my records, you'll note that at the time of the Li Po invasion, I held the brevet rank of commodore for six weeks. It's all here." She unclasped her spacer's bracelet and tossed it on the table in front of Pierce. "My second officer, that time as now, Hamilton Sylvester, here"—Ham took a bow—"is my escort. I demand to be seated with the perquisites of my rank."

  Pierce looked around for help. This was a situation even he had never run up against.

  "She's quite right," said Nagamitsu. His tone was emotionless but his eyes held a faint twinkle. Ham and the skipper were seated, causing some changes of arrangement. Last of all Homer was ensconced on a specially-made platform.

  "What does your friend drink?" asked Pierce in a whisper. "I fear I've forgotten to find out." He was obviously embarrassed.

  "I guess you can't think of everything," said Ham. "Ol Homer's fond of turpentine, with a little prussic acid. He can eat just about anything."

  "Check quartermaster stores for some turpentine," said

  Nagamitsu, without batting an eyelash. "And the labs should have some prussic acid." The nearest waiter darted away, and Nagamitsu turned to the skipper, grinning. "When a navy vessel runs out of turpentine, she shouldn't be allowed to space."

  Kiril turned her attention from the high table to her own. She was acutely conscious of the beauty of many of the women surrounding her. Many of them were navy officers, some were from the lines. She wondered if they were all born that way or could they just afford high-class surgery? It struck her that she did not come off all that unfavorably by comparison.