“What’s the occasion?” benRabi asked. He had
come home to find Amy clad only in a negligee. She had been playing
body games all week. He supposed she was holding out in hopes lust
would make him propose. She was going to be disappointed. He was
not seventeen.
The tactic did not bode well for their relationship. There was
no future in any relationship where one party practiced extortion
upon the other. No one endured that for long. And benRabi had had
his fill of it from Alyce, way back when.
Was this why he was so reluctant? Because Amy came on like a
spoiled child?
Why did he resist it? If he was to make a life here he
had to surrender to the culture. This one had scant tolerance for
prolonged bachelorhoods.
Older singles tended to get shoved beyond the social fringes. He
was out there now. And Mouse, for all the charm he exuded, was
slipping too. The ladies were not buzzing round so much anymore. He
had made it too clear that he was available for good times only,
not for long times and old-style fidelity.
If Amy was the best available, why not?
Part of it was habit. He had been a loner for too long, caught
up in a profession where responsibilities to anyone else made a
deadly liability. That was why, through mission after mission, he
had fought his growing friendship for Mouse.
He had failed at that, and Mouse had too. They saw so little of
one another nowadays . . . That was a pity.
Just when they had given in to it, life had taken a twist and spun
them along separate paths.
That would end with his transfer to Security, wouldn’t
it?
“There’s a bright side to everything, I
guess,” he murmured.
Thinking about Mouse, he remembered their last evening together.
He could have sworn Mouse had been hinting that he should do
something about Amy. It was a damned conspiracy!
Why the hell would Mouse want him married? Mouse did not believe
in the institution.
He should take the plunge. But not too soon. He could not let
Amy get the idea that she could manipulate him.
He sat with his head in his hands, scurrying around the
slot-tracks of an uncertain mind. The tracks did not always follow
sane routes. There were moments when he did not know who or where
he was. Sometimes he did not understand what was happening, or why.
Sometimes he woke up thinking he was back on The Broken Wings, or
in Luna Command. There had been a night when he had called Amy Max
while they were making love . . . And a time
when he had thought she was
Greta . . . Frightening though they were, those
had been isolated incidents. So far.
He and Amy made love fiercely, desperately.
She started getting dressed immediately afterward.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“You forgot? We’re supposed to have supper with the
Sheik and his harem.”
“One thing I’m going to tell you right now, woman.
And you better understand it. That man’s my friend. Learn to
fly with it.” He had forgotten the dinner. Completely. There
wasn’t a ghost of memory to be found anywhere in his
head.
They joined Mouse and his shrinking clutch of dollies an hour
later. BenRabi found his eye roving. Mouse had several honeys he
would not mind topping himself. He dared not let Amy notice him
looking. Any woman who got that jealous of a male
friend . . .
This affair is headed for trouble, he thought.
Kindervoort appeared suddenly.
Jarl Kindervoort was a tall, lean man who reminded benRabi of
Don Quixote, or the Pale Imperator in Czyzewski’s novel,
His Banners Bright And Golden. Like Amy, and most
Danion Seiners, he was pale, blond, and blue-eyed. BenRabi
liked him as a person and found him physically repulsive. It was a
combination he did not comprehend.
He did not quite understand Kindervoort’s position in the
Danion scheme either. Kindervoort was, apparently,
Amy’s immediate superior. Amy was only a Lieutenant, a
low-grade officer, yet her boss seemed to speak for
Danion’s whole Security force. The ship had a
population matching that of a fair-sized city. Could the police
force be that small?
Kindervoort had high cheekbones and a lantern jaw. They gave him
a death’s head look. His pale eyes were seldom happy. He
could have given Mouse lessons in cold stares. Yet he was a
genuinely warm and caring person. He asked, “May I join
you?”
“Sure, Jarl,” Mouse said. “Glad to
have you.” Amy and benRabi nodded. Kindervoort settled down,
plunged into his meal tray. He did not join the table banter.
Neither did benRabi, though Amy brightened for a while and kept up
with Mouse in a thrust and parry duel of the risqué and outré.
During his dessert Kindervoort asked, “You told him
yet?”
“What? Oh. I forgot,” Amy replied.
“Told me
what?” benRabi asked.
“We’re moving you to
Security. Starting tomorrow. For the auction project.”
“Oh. That. I know.”
“Who told you?”
“I’m not stupid, Jarl. I may act it, but I’m a
trained professional. I can see the signs and add the
numbers.”
“Ah. Exactly. That’s why we want you on the auction
thing. You’re a professional. And you know The Broken Wings.
Payne’s Fleet has gotten the shove into the barrel this time.
Payne thinks Danion should provide the protection for our
auction crew. Off the record, I’d guess we get the auction
because Gruber doesn’t want any Payne people with him at
Stars’ End.”
“What? Stars’ End? Christ! I’m starting to
hope a rogue singularity comes romping around and gobbles up that
goddamned gun-runner’s pyramid like a big fat chocolate
cherry.”
“Moyshe! What in the name
of . . . ”
“Jarl, you people are crazy. Every last one of you. I
won’t stand around on the steps of the Senate screaming
‘Beware the Ides of March!’ but only because none of
you whackos have got the sense to listen. It’s going to kill
you. Can’t you get that through your thick heads? But what do
I care? You’re only taking me down with you. All right. What
do you want me on The Broken Whigs for?”
“Security shift leader down in Angel City. Night shift. I
picked your men already. I want you to start drilling them
tomorrow. The feedback we get says it might get hairy.”
“What’d I tell you?” benRabi told Amy. To
Kindervoort, “At the risk of sounding inane, why
me?”
“You and Mouse both. Because you know the city.”
“Yeah. And he gets stuck with the other shift? Twelve
hours at a crack. Wait. It’s only nine on The Broken Wings,
but that’s bad enough, watch and watch with some guy around
every corner waiting to burn you. You know what you’re asking
us to walk into?”
“What?” Kindervoort would not meet his eye. He
knew.
“Mouse killed her kids. I shot her here. And you let her
get away. She’ll be there if she has to walk halfway across
the galaxy. When she hears our fleet is going to handle
it . . . It won’t matter if she can get
her people’s okay. She’ll come, Kindervoort. With every
goddamned thing she can lay hands on. Come to think of it, the
Heads will probably back her even if they don’t like it.
They’re going to be damned hot about what happened to the
raidfleet at Stars’ End.”
“Anything else bothering you, Moyshe?”
“What?”
“I’d like to hear all your objections now. So we can
get them out of the way ahead of time.”
“All right. Why trust me? I’m the man you caught
leading Navy ships to your herd, remember?”
“Three points. One, you’re a convert. I saw your
test results. Two, the Ship’s Commander recommended you. And
the third I’d rather keep to myself.”
BenRabi tried to remember all the tests he had taken,
both before and after deciding to remain with the Starfishers.
They had seemed standard, but he might have missed something.
“Typical security-type job? Three hours’ sleep and ten
minutes for personals every day? Need them or not?”
“Probably.” Kindervoort smiled.
His smile did not have the desired effect on benRabi. Moyshe saw
it as grim, not friendly.
“Then I’d better settle my affairs. Because I
don’t expect to get through this one alive. I was going to
put this off a few days. Mouse, want to be best man? Jarl, you can
stand witness. Everybody’s invited. I’ll put on a party
in my room afterwards. If we can come up with anything
drinkable.”
Nobody said anything for several seconds. Mouse stared blankly.
Kindervoort managed to appear both surprised and amused.
Mouse’s girls just looked puzzled.
Amy showed a half dozen quick reactions. Lack of comprehension.
Stunned disbelief. Shock. Distress that threatened to become anger.
“It isn’t fair,” she murmured. She wanted a
pompous, ostentatious Archaicist affair with all the splendor of
old-time royal weddings. “You’re making fun of
me.” Their friends knew how badly she wanted him to
propose.
He had to reassure her quickly.
“Jarl, can we get it done now?”
“We could start in ten minutes if you’re
serious.”
“Go ahead.”
“Moyshe, that isn’t fair!” Amy cried.
“You never even asked me! And I’m not dressed for it
and I haven’t got anything to wear
and . . . ” She had a whole list of ands
and buts. BenRabi and Kindervoort waited till she got them out of
her system.
“Do I call or not, Amy?” Kindervoort asked.
“Oh!” She hit the table with her fists. “Yes!
Yes, dammit! Call him. Moyshe benRabi, you are the meanest,
connivingest man I’ve ever known. How can you do this to
me?”
“Hey! You’ve been all over me about
it . . . ”
“Isn’t love wonderful?” Mouse asked the air.
Amy stopped bitching. Mouse had given her a look which warned her
that she was pushing her luck.
The ceremony was not what she wanted. Moyshe kissed her and
whispered, “If I get out alive, you’ll have the real
thing. The big one you want. That’s a promise.”
After the reception began, Kindervoort pulled Mouse and benRabi
aside. “Finally got some word on that failsafer.”
Back when the landside contractees had been boarding the service
ship for return to Confederation a man had tried to kill them when
it had become obvious that they were staying behind. He had
suicided after missing. They had assumed he was a Bureau agent
failsafing them.
“The autopsy finally got done,” Kindervoort said.
“He was Sangaree.”
“Sangaree!” Mouse said it as if it were a swear
word.
“Yes. And he did commit suicide. He was wearing a poison
ring.”
“Nobody killed him? There wasn’t a second
failsafer?” BenRabi shook his head. “That doesn’t
make sense.”
“It didn’t make sense when we thought there were two
of them, and one got away,” Mouse said. “Looks to me
like he was Strehltsweiter’s man, not the Admiral’s.
Makes sense in that context. She wanted us pretty bad.”
“That’s the way I figured it,” Kindervoort
said. “Till now I halfway thought it might have been a
setup. To make you look more palatable. It doesn’t look that
obvious anymore. I’m confused, though. She was in intensive
care all the time. Isolated. How did she make contact? How did she
relay the order, even assuming the failsafer was pre-programed? If
you come up with any theories, let me know. I’d hate to think
my own people helped her.”
“Uhm.” BenRabi glanced at Mouse.
Mouse shrugged. “I was sure he was
Beckhart’s.”
“Ever heard of a Sangaree suiciding?”
“It happens. Borroway.”
“Those were kids. They didn’t have any other way
out, and they knew too much.”
“He had to be programed.”
“What’s going on?” Amy demanded.
“Consoling the victim, Mouse? You look like your best friend
just died.”
“We’ll talk it out later, Mouse. No, we were just
talking about something Jarl brought up. Sort of a puzzle.
Let’s dance, honey.”
It was a zestless party. It did not last long. Neither did the
honeymoon. Mouse dragged benRabi out early next morning.
“Hey. I’m supposed to be a newlywed.”
“Come on. You been tapping it for eight months. Getting
married didn’t make it new. Jarl wants us. Time to go into
training.”
BenRabi spent the next fourteen hours talking about Angel City,
studying maps, teaching the use of small arms in a coliseum cube
that had been commandeered for the purpose.
His group consisted of twenty-five people. Mouse had another the
same size. Mouse drilled his mercilessly in unarmed combat. His was
the easier task. His students at least had some idea of what he was
talking about.
BenRabi worked at it, but thought the Seiners were taking
everything too damned seriously—despite his own admonition
about how rough it could get.
He vacillated between a belief that they would find The Broken
Wings hip deep in Sangaree and the opposing view, that Navy
Security would be so tight that not one unfriendly would get
through.
His fourth morning of teaching was interrupted by Kindervoort.
“Moyshe. Sorry. Got to take you off this today. They’ve
got a tour planned for citizenship applicants.”
“Can’t it wait? This auction won’t, and these
clowns are so bad they couldn’t hurt themselves.”
“I argued. I got shouted down. I guess they think
it’s important that you know what you’re fighting
for.”
“Yeah? I never did before, and I did my
job . . . ”
“Oh. You’re bitter today.”
“Just frustrated. The more I see, the worse it looks.
We’re going to get hurt if this thing goes Roman candle,
Jarl. We won’t be ready.”
“Do the best you can. That’s all you can ever do,
Moyshe.”
“Sometimes that’s not enough, Jarl. I want to do
enough.”
“Make a vacation out of today. Just relax. I don’t
think it’s that important. They’re supposed to show you
what life’s like for Starfishers who don’t live on
harvestships. Probably do you good to get away from Amy, too. I
don’t know what’s the matter with her. She’s even
bitchy around the office anymore.”
“You’ve known her longer than I have. You figure it
out. You tell me.”
Mouse stalked in. “You ready, Moyshe? I scrounged a
scooter. Let’s go before somebody liberates it
back.”
“What’s the occasion?” benRabi asked. He had
come home to find Amy clad only in a negligee. She had been playing
body games all week. He supposed she was holding out in hopes lust
would make him propose. She was going to be disappointed. He was
not seventeen.
The tactic did not bode well for their relationship. There was
no future in any relationship where one party practiced extortion
upon the other. No one endured that for long. And benRabi had had
his fill of it from Alyce, way back when.
Was this why he was so reluctant? Because Amy came on like a
spoiled child?
Why did he resist it? If he was to make a life here he
had to surrender to the culture. This one had scant tolerance for
prolonged bachelorhoods.
Older singles tended to get shoved beyond the social fringes. He
was out there now. And Mouse, for all the charm he exuded, was
slipping too. The ladies were not buzzing round so much anymore. He
had made it too clear that he was available for good times only,
not for long times and old-style fidelity.
If Amy was the best available, why not?
Part of it was habit. He had been a loner for too long, caught
up in a profession where responsibilities to anyone else made a
deadly liability. That was why, through mission after mission, he
had fought his growing friendship for Mouse.
He had failed at that, and Mouse had too. They saw so little of
one another nowadays . . . That was a pity.
Just when they had given in to it, life had taken a twist and spun
them along separate paths.
That would end with his transfer to Security, wouldn’t
it?
“There’s a bright side to everything, I
guess,” he murmured.
Thinking about Mouse, he remembered their last evening together.
He could have sworn Mouse had been hinting that he should do
something about Amy. It was a damned conspiracy!
Why the hell would Mouse want him married? Mouse did not believe
in the institution.
He should take the plunge. But not too soon. He could not let
Amy get the idea that she could manipulate him.
He sat with his head in his hands, scurrying around the
slot-tracks of an uncertain mind. The tracks did not always follow
sane routes. There were moments when he did not know who or where
he was. Sometimes he did not understand what was happening, or why.
Sometimes he woke up thinking he was back on The Broken Wings, or
in Luna Command. There had been a night when he had called Amy Max
while they were making love . . . And a time
when he had thought she was
Greta . . . Frightening though they were, those
had been isolated incidents. So far.
He and Amy made love fiercely, desperately.
She started getting dressed immediately afterward.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“You forgot? We’re supposed to have supper with the
Sheik and his harem.”
“One thing I’m going to tell you right now, woman.
And you better understand it. That man’s my friend. Learn to
fly with it.” He had forgotten the dinner. Completely. There
wasn’t a ghost of memory to be found anywhere in his
head.
They joined Mouse and his shrinking clutch of dollies an hour
later. BenRabi found his eye roving. Mouse had several honeys he
would not mind topping himself. He dared not let Amy notice him
looking. Any woman who got that jealous of a male
friend . . .
This affair is headed for trouble, he thought.
Kindervoort appeared suddenly.
Jarl Kindervoort was a tall, lean man who reminded benRabi of
Don Quixote, or the Pale Imperator in Czyzewski’s novel,
His Banners Bright And Golden. Like Amy, and most
Danion Seiners, he was pale, blond, and blue-eyed. BenRabi
liked him as a person and found him physically repulsive. It was a
combination he did not comprehend.
He did not quite understand Kindervoort’s position in the
Danion scheme either. Kindervoort was, apparently,
Amy’s immediate superior. Amy was only a Lieutenant, a
low-grade officer, yet her boss seemed to speak for
Danion’s whole Security force. The ship had a
population matching that of a fair-sized city. Could the police
force be that small?
Kindervoort had high cheekbones and a lantern jaw. They gave him
a death’s head look. His pale eyes were seldom happy. He
could have given Mouse lessons in cold stares. Yet he was a
genuinely warm and caring person. He asked, “May I join
you?”
“Sure, Jarl,” Mouse said. “Glad to
have you.” Amy and benRabi nodded. Kindervoort settled down,
plunged into his meal tray. He did not join the table banter.
Neither did benRabi, though Amy brightened for a while and kept up
with Mouse in a thrust and parry duel of the risqué and outré.
During his dessert Kindervoort asked, “You told him
yet?”
“What? Oh. I forgot,” Amy replied.
“Told me
what?” benRabi asked.
“We’re moving you to
Security. Starting tomorrow. For the auction project.”
“Oh. That. I know.”
“Who told you?”
“I’m not stupid, Jarl. I may act it, but I’m a
trained professional. I can see the signs and add the
numbers.”
“Ah. Exactly. That’s why we want you on the auction
thing. You’re a professional. And you know The Broken Wings.
Payne’s Fleet has gotten the shove into the barrel this time.
Payne thinks Danion should provide the protection for our
auction crew. Off the record, I’d guess we get the auction
because Gruber doesn’t want any Payne people with him at
Stars’ End.”
“What? Stars’ End? Christ! I’m starting to
hope a rogue singularity comes romping around and gobbles up that
goddamned gun-runner’s pyramid like a big fat chocolate
cherry.”
“Moyshe! What in the name
of . . . ”
“Jarl, you people are crazy. Every last one of you. I
won’t stand around on the steps of the Senate screaming
‘Beware the Ides of March!’ but only because none of
you whackos have got the sense to listen. It’s going to kill
you. Can’t you get that through your thick heads? But what do
I care? You’re only taking me down with you. All right. What
do you want me on The Broken Whigs for?”
“Security shift leader down in Angel City. Night shift. I
picked your men already. I want you to start drilling them
tomorrow. The feedback we get says it might get hairy.”
“What’d I tell you?” benRabi told Amy. To
Kindervoort, “At the risk of sounding inane, why
me?”
“You and Mouse both. Because you know the city.”
“Yeah. And he gets stuck with the other shift? Twelve
hours at a crack. Wait. It’s only nine on The Broken Wings,
but that’s bad enough, watch and watch with some guy around
every corner waiting to burn you. You know what you’re asking
us to walk into?”
“What?” Kindervoort would not meet his eye. He
knew.
“Mouse killed her kids. I shot her here. And you let her
get away. She’ll be there if she has to walk halfway across
the galaxy. When she hears our fleet is going to handle
it . . . It won’t matter if she can get
her people’s okay. She’ll come, Kindervoort. With every
goddamned thing she can lay hands on. Come to think of it, the
Heads will probably back her even if they don’t like it.
They’re going to be damned hot about what happened to the
raidfleet at Stars’ End.”
“Anything else bothering you, Moyshe?”
“What?”
“I’d like to hear all your objections now. So we can
get them out of the way ahead of time.”
“All right. Why trust me? I’m the man you caught
leading Navy ships to your herd, remember?”
“Three points. One, you’re a convert. I saw your
test results. Two, the Ship’s Commander recommended you. And
the third I’d rather keep to myself.”
BenRabi tried to remember all the tests he had taken,
both before and after deciding to remain with the Starfishers.
They had seemed standard, but he might have missed something.
“Typical security-type job? Three hours’ sleep and ten
minutes for personals every day? Need them or not?”
“Probably.” Kindervoort smiled.
His smile did not have the desired effect on benRabi. Moyshe saw
it as grim, not friendly.
“Then I’d better settle my affairs. Because I
don’t expect to get through this one alive. I was going to
put this off a few days. Mouse, want to be best man? Jarl, you can
stand witness. Everybody’s invited. I’ll put on a party
in my room afterwards. If we can come up with anything
drinkable.”
Nobody said anything for several seconds. Mouse stared blankly.
Kindervoort managed to appear both surprised and amused.
Mouse’s girls just looked puzzled.
Amy showed a half dozen quick reactions. Lack of comprehension.
Stunned disbelief. Shock. Distress that threatened to become anger.
“It isn’t fair,” she murmured. She wanted a
pompous, ostentatious Archaicist affair with all the splendor of
old-time royal weddings. “You’re making fun of
me.” Their friends knew how badly she wanted him to
propose.
He had to reassure her quickly.
“Jarl, can we get it done now?”
“We could start in ten minutes if you’re
serious.”
“Go ahead.”
“Moyshe, that isn’t fair!” Amy cried.
“You never even asked me! And I’m not dressed for it
and I haven’t got anything to wear
and . . . ” She had a whole list of ands
and buts. BenRabi and Kindervoort waited till she got them out of
her system.
“Do I call or not, Amy?” Kindervoort asked.
“Oh!” She hit the table with her fists. “Yes!
Yes, dammit! Call him. Moyshe benRabi, you are the meanest,
connivingest man I’ve ever known. How can you do this to
me?”
“Hey! You’ve been all over me about
it . . . ”
“Isn’t love wonderful?” Mouse asked the air.
Amy stopped bitching. Mouse had given her a look which warned her
that she was pushing her luck.
The ceremony was not what she wanted. Moyshe kissed her and
whispered, “If I get out alive, you’ll have the real
thing. The big one you want. That’s a promise.”
After the reception began, Kindervoort pulled Mouse and benRabi
aside. “Finally got some word on that failsafer.”
Back when the landside contractees had been boarding the service
ship for return to Confederation a man had tried to kill them when
it had become obvious that they were staying behind. He had
suicided after missing. They had assumed he was a Bureau agent
failsafing them.
“The autopsy finally got done,” Kindervoort said.
“He was Sangaree.”
“Sangaree!” Mouse said it as if it were a swear
word.
“Yes. And he did commit suicide. He was wearing a poison
ring.”
“Nobody killed him? There wasn’t a second
failsafer?” BenRabi shook his head. “That doesn’t
make sense.”
“It didn’t make sense when we thought there were two
of them, and one got away,” Mouse said. “Looks to me
like he was Strehltsweiter’s man, not the Admiral’s.
Makes sense in that context. She wanted us pretty bad.”
“That’s the way I figured it,” Kindervoort
said. “Till now I halfway thought it might have been a
setup. To make you look more palatable. It doesn’t look that
obvious anymore. I’m confused, though. She was in intensive
care all the time. Isolated. How did she make contact? How did she
relay the order, even assuming the failsafer was pre-programed? If
you come up with any theories, let me know. I’d hate to think
my own people helped her.”
“Uhm.” BenRabi glanced at Mouse.
Mouse shrugged. “I was sure he was
Beckhart’s.”
“Ever heard of a Sangaree suiciding?”
“It happens. Borroway.”
“Those were kids. They didn’t have any other way
out, and they knew too much.”
“He had to be programed.”
“What’s going on?” Amy demanded.
“Consoling the victim, Mouse? You look like your best friend
just died.”
“We’ll talk it out later, Mouse. No, we were just
talking about something Jarl brought up. Sort of a puzzle.
Let’s dance, honey.”
It was a zestless party. It did not last long. Neither did the
honeymoon. Mouse dragged benRabi out early next morning.
“Hey. I’m supposed to be a newlywed.”
“Come on. You been tapping it for eight months. Getting
married didn’t make it new. Jarl wants us. Time to go into
training.”
BenRabi spent the next fourteen hours talking about Angel City,
studying maps, teaching the use of small arms in a coliseum cube
that had been commandeered for the purpose.
His group consisted of twenty-five people. Mouse had another the
same size. Mouse drilled his mercilessly in unarmed combat. His was
the easier task. His students at least had some idea of what he was
talking about.
BenRabi worked at it, but thought the Seiners were taking
everything too damned seriously—despite his own admonition
about how rough it could get.
He vacillated between a belief that they would find The Broken
Wings hip deep in Sangaree and the opposing view, that Navy
Security would be so tight that not one unfriendly would get
through.
His fourth morning of teaching was interrupted by Kindervoort.
“Moyshe. Sorry. Got to take you off this today. They’ve
got a tour planned for citizenship applicants.”
“Can’t it wait? This auction won’t, and these
clowns are so bad they couldn’t hurt themselves.”
“I argued. I got shouted down. I guess they think
it’s important that you know what you’re fighting
for.”
“Yeah? I never did before, and I did my
job . . . ”
“Oh. You’re bitter today.”
“Just frustrated. The more I see, the worse it looks.
We’re going to get hurt if this thing goes Roman candle,
Jarl. We won’t be ready.”
“Do the best you can. That’s all you can ever do,
Moyshe.”
“Sometimes that’s not enough, Jarl. I want to do
enough.”
“Make a vacation out of today. Just relax. I don’t
think it’s that important. They’re supposed to show you
what life’s like for Starfishers who don’t live on
harvestships. Probably do you good to get away from Amy, too. I
don’t know what’s the matter with her. She’s even
bitchy around the office anymore.”
“You’ve known her longer than I have. You figure it
out. You tell me.”
Mouse stalked in. “You ready, Moyshe? I scrounged a
scooter. Let’s go before somebody liberates it
back.”