She bridled a trifle. "Are you thinking I've not dealt with pain and death, and me a paramedic? Nor ever sat contemplating a fossil and-" She broke off. A crewman came through the door.
The rest were close behind. Brodersen shook hands, introduced Caitlin to those who had not met her earlier, exchanged "How've you been?" with each, urged beer or soft drinks from the cooler upon them, and at length got them seated in a row before him, his girl demure at its end. He hitched himself up onto the pool table, swung his legs, unlimbered pipe and tobacco.
"Okay," he began in English, which his fellows used as a mutual tongue oftener than Spanish. "First off, let me say I can't figure how to thank you, and better not try. We shouldn't be too hard on those who didn't elect to come along. There probably aren't any absolute rights or wrongs in this affair. A person has to choose; and could be, when the chips come down, we here 'll wish we'd chosen different. I think not. But regardless of what happens, may I sing high soprano in the Grand Khan's harem if ever I forget your loyalty today."
Not simple loyalty, he thought. They're too smart and free to be any man's dogs. I'd not've signed them on if they weren't what they are. Only, what are they? Do they themselves know? Risking your neck against hostile stars is not the same thing as risking your honor against duly constituted public authorities. Nine out of fourteen refused. I don't suppose among these five I'd find two identical motivations. Can I guess what the drives are? I can't flat-out ask. No telling what that might provoke. However, the information is almighty important, no es verdad, old son? His gaze raked them.
Stefan Dozsa, mate and electronics officer. Cocky as usual.
Philip Weisenberg, engineer. Calmly watchful.
Martti Leino, assistant engineer. Glowering from Caitlin to Brodersen and back again.
Susanne Granville, computerman. Intent, hunched forward in her chair, look never leaving the captain.
Sergei Nikolayevitch Zarubayev, gunner and principal boat pilot. His usual sober mien had lightened when Caitlin gave him an energetic hello kiss; they happened to be friends of old.
Stop dithering. Bend on the spinnaker!
"My wife's explained to you what kind of a chowder kettle we're in," Brodersen proceeded, "but under the circumstances-. written communication and fake chatter, right? -probably she couldn't go into much detail. I'll quack on about the subject as long and as tee-jusly as you want, the bunch of you today or individually later on. For now, though, let me just summarize."
He ticked points off on thick fingers. "The robot observer at the gate, that you know about, reported what I swear has got to've been Emissary coming back. She was escorted on to the Solar System -where else?- and hasn't been heard from since. A couple of you who chanced to be around heard me grumble out my suspicions. Afterward some elementary research pretty well confirmed them. When I braced the governor, she fed me a steaming dish of moose turds, raisined with hints about awful things rampaging through the galaxy, and ended by slapping a house arrest on me and a gag rule on Lis. Well, I snuck out, and here we are.
"This is not exactly what you had in mind, when you volunteered to train for Chinook and then stand by in your regular jobs for me, hoping you'd get a crack at going to the stars. My compliments to your brains. You've seen the route we've got to go beforehand, and that if we don't, nobody will.
"I suppose Lis made clear to you what I suspect. This isn't the Union government as a whole acting, it's a faction within. Simple publicity should blow the conspirators out of the sky, if we don't allow `em time to armorplate their arrangements.
"I aim to go to Earth and contact various people I know, mainly the Rueda tribe. That'll be under wraps, to avoid touching off possible alarms. Meanwhile you can take it easy aboard ship; officially you're nothing but a crew ferrying Chinook to her charterers. And maybe that'll be the whole game, far's we're concerned. Maybe my contact can take it from there. I'd sure like that.
"If not, though-well, my wife warned you, didn't she? I've no notion of what'll happen. I'll play the cards as they fall, and if I make a bad bet, you go broke too." He jabbed the stem of his pipe toward them before filling the bowl. "I dunno if laws are left on the books about piracy. We could be forced to that.
"Listen, if this is more than you bargained for, do me a last favor and tell me, will you? I'll give you a formal discharge, I'll enter in the log that you protested, I'll keep you under the very mildest restriction, and I'll let you off at the first place safe for everybody concerned. Okay? Speak."
He tamped down tobacco and got it lit while he waited. Silence stretched.
"I didn't figure you would," he said in due course. "The offer stays open while we travel peaceful. Once action commences, if any does, that'll be too late to resign. Understood?"
Will I shoot whoever gives way under fire. . . out of these, my friends? Yes, I'd have to, and invoke space law at my trial, unless it turned out this whole safari sprang from a terrible mistake of mine. In that case, I'd rate the treatment my fathers handed out to bandits.
Ventilation whirred. The smoke gave his tongue a soothing love-bite. "End of speech," he finished. "Questions? Comments? Catcalls?"
"Yes." Martti Leino leaned forward, a motion that splashed beer from the mug he gripped. Harshly: "What is . . . Miz Mulryan doing aboard?"
Expected. Brodersen studied him before replying. Lis' youngest brother did not resemble her, showing more of the Ladogan side of their descent: short, broad, snubnosed, a slightly Asian outline to his face, with sleek black hair and tilted blue eyes. His normal cheerfulness was quite gone.
"She hid me after I'd escaped," Brodersen said. "Without her, I'd've had to stay someplace inhabited, and might've been recognized. Mainly, she's to be our medical officer."
"Her?" It was an open sneer.
"She's on the staff of St. Enoch's-well qualified to treat anything that might hit us, like injuries. Also, she'll double as quartermaster." Brodersen nodded. "Oh, she'll have her work cut out for her."
Leino glared at Caitlin, who sat hands crossed in lap and gave him a small, conciliatory smile. "Yes, you'll find plenty for her to do, won't you?" he snapped.
"Hey, easy," Weisenberg advised him.
Brodersen straightened and put the soldier-aristocrat's whipcrack into his words: "That will be enough, Mr. Leino. If you have a complaint against a person, including the captain, enter it formally. Otherwise accord your shipmate the respect she's entitled to."
The young man bent back in his chair as if slugged in the stomach. I came down on him pretty hard, didn't I? Brodersen realized. Even if I did get mad on Pegeen's account, I shouldn't've.
"Easy, easy," Weisenberg repeated. "No harsh words from anybody, please. We can't afford them. Miz Muiryan, you are welcome among us." Furrows sprang forth around his smile. "I wasn't looking forward to taking a share of the quartermaster's job."
"I thank you kindly, sir," she breathed, and let her glance rest on him a second more, aglow. He was medium tall, gaunt, craggy-featured, his Adam's apple large, his eyes small and brown under tufted brows. By habit, he wore a Scotch bonnet on his close-cropped white hair, maintaining to those who inquired that he did hold the rating of ship's chief engineer.
I thank you too, Phil, the captain tried to project. It was probably unnecessary. The Weisenbergs and Brodersens were old friends.
Susanne Granville patted Caitlin's shoulder. "Yes, welcome," she said in her French-accented English. "You will understand, spacemen `ave a `orror of untrained personnel-true, Martti? But these duties, I am sure you can learn to `andle them. If I can `elp, tell me, I pray you."
That's damn good of Su, when she's so homely and Pegeen's so gorgeous, passed through Brodersen. He checked himself. What the hell am I thinking? Su's good people, that's all.
Zarubayev raised his hand. The gunner was a big man, strongly built in a rawboned fashion; shoulder-length blond hair and a beard, both unfashionable on Demeter except in his Novy Mir home region, surrounded a Tolstoy countenance. "What about combat drill?" he demanded.
"Huh?" Brodersen grunted.
"You have said we should be prepared to fight if we go to the stars. `Just in case' was what you said. Therefore we have built-in weapons like Emissary's plus a stock of small arms. Now you speak of a possible clash. Piracy was what you said."
"Wait a minute," protested Stefan Dozsa.
"No, let him go on," Brodersen told the mate.
"Skipper," Dozsa replied in his own accent, "I did not object to the idea, simply to the language. I learned as a boy, government is the natural enemy of the people. If we accept its semantics, we have lost half the battle. We are not pirates, we are liberators."
Caitlin stirred. Alarm tinged her voice: "It's fanaticism you are talking, sir. My country remembers too well, too well."
Dozsa laughed. He was a stocky dark man with almond eyes in a wide and rather flat face. "Call us private police, then. Or evangelists. Or lunatics; that is most likely the best. But not pirates. Pirates hope to make money."
"Speak your piece, Sergei," Brodersen urged.
"I think we should have instruction and practice with small arms," Zarubayev stated. "Doubtless everybody aboard can shoot, but only you and I, Captain, have served in the Peace Command and know techniques of combat-space combat, too. We can instruct. There will be days to the T machine ahead, days more from the Solar gate to Earth, and who can tell how much beyond? Time to drill in a few basics, a little doctrine."
"Well. . . um-m-m-" Brodersen shifted his haunches around on the pool table. "We are not looking for trouble."
"Some training can do no harm," Dozsa said. "On this trip, most of us will not have much occupation. I would be happy for a thing to help fill my offwatches. What of the rest of you?" He cast a look toward Leino, who sat frozen. "Perhaps it helps unify us better?"
Discussion broke loose. After agreement to the proposal and details thereof, more matters arose. Two hours bad passed when Brodersen dismissed the crew. Those not on duty could have stayed in the common room, but none did. On his way out, Weisenberg murmured, "I'll see what I can do about Martti, Dan, but it's really up to you; right?"
"Whoof!" said Brodersen when he and Caitlin were alone.
She took both his hands. "Poor dear. Sure, and it's no sport being a captain, is it, now?"
