"Andrew J. Offutt - Spaceways 09 - In Quest of Qalara" - читать интересную книгу автора (Offutt Andrew J)

drifted for a moment, then fell leisurely. Trafalgar's smile became a
grin. "I'll go to con and get us patched through to Outreach," he said. "My
cousin Saratoga Jee." "To Outreach! That'll cost a fortune!" "We have a
fortune, my dears! So-Janjaglaya Wye and Kalahari Cuw?" Hellfire smiled a
little. "I like it. Unless . . . Janjy wants to be sisters." The orange
non-human looked from short, pale-skinned blond with bluegray eyes to tall,
lean, deeply tan Hellfire with the mahogany-hued eyes. 50 "I don't think you'd
pass," Cinnabar said, and both Janjaglaya and Kalahari broke up. Trafalgar
grinned, made a sleeve-flutteringly deep bow, and headed for the con. He moved
like a breeze; like lazily trickling water. Easily, unself-consciously. That
was Trafalgar Cuw of Outreach, who was both enigma and hero and who blithely
denied both. The others gazed after him, each wondering, none voicing its
thoughts and emotions about him. "Trafalgar," Janja called when he was in the
hatchway called doorway, "the head of government on Outreach is called an
'Insarch.' Why Insarch?" He looked back at her, eyebrows up. He blinked, then
spread both hands. "Who wants to be governed by an Outsarch?" And he
left. "Fascinating," Janja said in an unfascinated voice. "Logical, too,"
Cinnabar said, and they exchanged a glance and chuckled. "Well," Hellfire
a.k.a. Kalahari said, "I guess that's that. Please to try to call me by my new
name. And . . . with Traf and Quindy in the con-cabin, let's be kind and leave
them alone for an hour." "Shall we synchronize chrons for this operation?"
Cinnabar asked, and they chuckled, all three. Maybe it was a giggle. The ship
fled past a triad of stars that took no note. A family of suns, sullen ruby
and flaring golden topaz and tired old slate-blue, strung all about with their
little satellites that flashed in the fiery light of the triple primaries like
jewels hung upon space. Six planets, all to close; three, little more than
cinders. All were baked and lifeless and their shining glory was reflection,
like the dead eyes of those who knew they were mere chattel. The only life was
on the passing spacecraft. One bubbled and belched; it was a stiglul and its
name was Stillwell. 51 Three sat in the captain's cabin, researching the
planet named Outreach. Another sat at con, idly playing at working out the
complicated pattern the three stars wove about each other. She was one of the
best ship-handlers and creators of guidance control cassettes along the
spaceways, fleet-trained and piracy-experienced, long Captain Hellfire's First
Mate/Second, friend, sometime lover, stabilizing influence when possible, and
right hand. Her name was or had been Quindaridi something-or-other and she had
held the rank of lieutenant on spacer Poulander, but for some years she had
been simply Quindy. Disgraced and self-exiled Quindy, who seldom left the
ship. "Pee-yeep," a ridiculous travesty of a ship's whistle came from behind
her; "Permission to come onto the con, First. Pee-yeeep." Seated in the
captain's chair, she smiled without turning to peer around its tall back.
"Hello, handsome. Your bosun's whistle needs fixing." He whistled two perfect
notes as he moved into the cabin and between the two chairs before the console
with its multicolored panels, toggles, keys, and lighted displays, readouts,
and telits. "Just to prove I can do it," he said. "Show-off," she said, and
lifted her face as he bent, beside her. He kissed her and eased his butt down
onto the arm of the Mate's chair. "H'lo sexy lady. Wanna drink? Wanna play
games?" "Hmp. Did you get laid on Jorinne?" "Firm," he said, which was the
same as saying "sure." "Hmp. At least you're honest-about that, I
mean." "Whew-you sound rough. Jealous?" "No, I'm not. Maybe I'm delighted.