"Andrew J. Offutt - Spaceways 08 - Under Twin Suns" - читать интересную книгу автора (Offutt Andrew J)

couldn't explain satisfactorily to a six-year-old. And the two Stillwells."
"Right," Trafalgar said. "We're as vulnerable as bare balls in a kick-fight. Will you two please, please do
what I ask?"
40
Janja studied his face, glanced at Cinnabar. The Jarp shrugged.
"Falgo, you're the most resourceful and probably knowledgeable among us," it said, translation helmet turning the
whistle-speech of Jarpi into the Galactic language, Erts.
"Do not, repeat not, Cinnabar, call me that," Trafalgar said.
His manner and tone were so strong that Cinnabar blinked and nodded, looking as apologetic as possible. Just a
joke, calling the Outreacher by the name the Knormen had given him. It was a stupid thing to do, the Jarp thought.
After all, the stump-legged little bastards called me just ''orange thing!''
"Look," Trafalgar said. "If I'm right and they're taking the captain right now or about to, we'll never make it to the
shuttle with those bags-or without! We can't bring Graborn and Laleemis off Satana. We can hold out onboard,
though, resisting a boarding with everything we can think of except violence."
"And we're not even going to think about leaving without Hellfire," Janja said, just in case he might be considering
such a step. She was not wild about Hellfire, now that she knew the captain's dangerously severe limitations. Janja's
sense of honor, though, was Janja's, and it was a strong code.
Trafalgar merely shot her a look. "Of course not. What I want you two to do is forget what we were going to do-for
now. Go back onboard. Tell Quindy everything that's happened, plus what I suspect. Then wait. I swear, I'll find a
way, and work something out."
The way he got us off Copperdock, maybe, Cinnabar thought. By pretending he was a TGO agent, and
con-vincing Copperdock Control! Unless he really is with TGO, and not the subdeep-cover agent for TMSMCo he
told us only after Hellfire "persuaded" him!
Janja gazed steadily at him. "Trafalgar, you always
41
do. I would not follow you into Hell, but I would hand you my baby, if I had one."
That was a major statement of trust on Aglaya, Janja's so-called (not by the natives!) "Barbarian" planet.
Trafalgar Cuw did not know that, but knew that this strange pale woman, so young and so serious, was not
inclined to indulge herself in idle mournings. That was preferable to the so-called "civilized" way of the
spaceways, Trafalgar thought.
"Janja, I'll bet I just received a high compliment from an Aglayan or anybody else, and I appreciate it. I
don't want your baby if you had one and I wouldn't know how to hold it besides. And we've already been to
Hell together. It's called Knor, and it's past. Mean-while . . . do it, then. Take the satchels! Tend Stillwell
and Stillwell Junior! Secure ship. If someone comes along, tell it via comm that someone onboard has Black
Plague or terminal crotch-itch or something."
Neither the Jarp nor the Aglayan-who only the Jarp knew was not quite human, not really a Galactic, any
more than the orange hermaphrodites of its own planet- smiled. Both nodded.
"And . . . you?"
"I'm going along to the hub and see a few people and see what develops," Trafalgar said easily.
"I get the impression that if I ask any more questions I'll get the same sort of new vague answers,"
Cinnabar said.
Trafalgar put a deep-tan hand on a brown, bony, and very orange shoulder.
"Ah, Cinnabar, how thou dost know me."
They both told him to be careful. Trafalgar saw the concern in their eyes. He said something flip, and
waved a hand airily (with foudroyant flamboyance). Then he turned away and redshifted at the trot . . .
toward Spoke G, not H.
They looked after him.
"You know what, Cinnabar? I'll bet that once he's
42
out of our sight he tries for a new sprinting record, and I'll bet he beats the securers to the hub, too."