Soothsayer (19 page)

"A Democracy that
you
loot and plunder,” noted the Mouse.

"Well, I
do
have my disagreements with them,” he replied easily, “but I'm glad to say that we do see eye-to-eye on the subject of fine tobaccos.” He paused. “Would you believe that I used to work for them?"

"Them?” repeated the Mouse. “You mean the Antarrean tobacco farms?"

He chuckled. “No—the Democracy. I spent more than a decade as a part of its bureaucracy."

"In the Navy?"

"Why should you think so?"

"Well, you
do
command a ship,” answered the Mouse.

"Anyone can command this ship,” he replied. “You just activate the Captain's computer and say, ‘Go here’ or ‘Go there’ or ‘Destroy such-and-such a vessel.’ One hardly needs any training to be a ship's captain.” He paused and smiled again. “I prefer to own the entire fleet, and let my subordinates worry about how to get it from one point to another."

"What kind of job prepared you for that?” asked the Mouse.

"None,” answered the Yankee Clipper, noticing that his cigar had gone out and relighting it. “Actually, I was a tax collector. I worked my way up through the ranks until I was in charge of the entire Taxation Bureau on Nilander IV. Then I decided that I'd much rather be an entrepreneur than a wage slave, so I appropriated a few million credits and began contemplating various new enterprises.” He took a sip of his brandy, then turned to Penelope, who had been sitting perfectly still. “I'm sure we must be boring you. You're at liberty to inspect the entire ship, as long as you ask permission before touching anything."

"I'll stay with my friend,” said Penelope, reaching out and holding the Mouse's hand.

The Yankee Clipper shrugged. “As you wish.” He turned back to the Mouse. “It took them almost two years to discover what I had done, during which time I had ample opportunity to consider my options."

"They took that long to find out you had robbed the treasury?” asked the Mouse.

"I'm surprised they found out so quickly,” he replied. “I was quite good at fixing the records, and they were trying to administer some 50,000 worlds from Deluros VIII, which was half a galaxy away.” He put his cigar down in a crystal ashtray and picked up his brandy glass. “At first I simply planned to rob the planetary treasury on a regular basis, but Nilander IV is a poor planet when all is said and done, and I decided that I could never satisfy my financial ambitions in such a situation. So I purchased a ship—not this one, to be sure—and took my leave of the Nilander System.” He paused, smiling pleasantly at the recollection. “I was in a totally liquid financial position, so I began to look around to see where I might receive the best return on my investment. My, ah, shall we say, questionable status, seemed to dictate a profession beyond the physical limits of the Democracy. I've never liked the Outer Frontier—the Rim was always such a desolate place—and the Spiral Arm is too sparsely populated, so I decided upon the Inner Frontier. I spent some time in the Binder system, reviewing my options, and I finally decided to become what you refer to as a pirate. After careful consideration I even acquired a piratical name, as seemed to be the custom out here.” He paused. “I took it right after that regretable incident near New Botswana."

"You were the one who destroyed the Navy convoy?"

"Most regretable,” he said with obvious insincerity. “But they had posted a reward for me. I viewed it as an object lesson."

"An object lesson during which more than 4,000 men lost their lives,” she said.

"Oh, I very much doubt that the total came to much more than 2,500,” he said, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. “Still,” he added thoughtfully, “that was the day I officially became a pirate in the eyes of the Democracy. Prior to that I was merely a thief."

"You must admit they had some justification for the term,” said the Mouse.

"I suppose so,” sighed the Yankee Clipper. “But there's such an unsavory connotation to it. Most pirates are such low, vulgar types. I decided from the start to run my enterprise like a business, to assess each risk coldly and rationally, to never allow pride or emotion to influence me.” He paused and took another puff of his cigar. “And I must admit that I'm wealthier than even I had anticipated."

"I thought
all
pirates were rich,” remarked the Mouse. “Or dead."

The Yankee Clipper shook his head. “Most of them are destitute on any given day.” A note of contempt came into his voice. “They waste what they plunder and then have to go out and do it all over again. I decided that there had to be a better way. So I assembled my crew, hiring ex-Navy men whenever I could—men who understood discipline and could execute orders without arguing—and paid them exorbitantly. Half of the profits from our little ventures are divided among my crew and myself, and the other half goes into what I think I shall term capital expansion."

"More ships?” suggested the Mouse.

"And more men."

"It sounds very businesslike."

"It is. I run it more efficiently than the Democracy runs its government or Navy, and we have an exceptionally high return on investment, all things considered.” He paused as an officer entered the room, presented him with a pair of papers requiring his signature, and then saluted and departed. “I realize that this does not fit your preconceptions about piracy, but it's the wave of the future. Even my competitors—those who are still alive and at large—are borrowing my methods."

"When you describe it like that, it makes it very hard for me to remember that your business is killing and looting,” said the Mouse.

"Only when absolutely necessary,” said the Clipper. “We much prefer to sell our protection to isolated worlds on the Frontier. After all,” he added, “once you've killed a man, you can never make a profit from him again. But if you enter into a long-term business relationship...” He smiled and let his voice trail off.

"And just what kind of business relationship do you think you've entered into with
us
?” asked the Mouse as an intercom light began pulsating on the pirate's wrist radio and he deactivated it without paying it any apparent attention.

"The very best kind,” answered the Yankee Clipper. “A profitable one."

"You freed me from that ship, and you helped Penelope and me get away from King Tout and his friends, and we're very grateful,” said the Mouse. “But as I see it, you were paid in advance."

"Have I asked for more money?” said the Yankee Clipper.

"No,” said the Mouse. She paused and stared at him. “That's what puzzles me."

"Well, put your mind at ease,” said the Yankee Clipper. “You are my guests, not my prisoners, and you have free run of the ship. Your quarters are spacious and luxurious, and contain all the amenities. We possess a galley equal to that of any cruise ship, and there is even a small fitness room filled with the very finest equipment."

"And that's it?” said the Mouse suspiciously. “Now we're even?"

"Certainly. You are free agents, and you will not be charged a single credit during your stay here as my personal guests.” He paused. “We have a small commissary on the fourth level. Select anything you like from it, gratis."

"Gratis?” repeated the Mouse suspiciously.

"I repeat: you are my guests."

"Where are we bound for?” asked the Mouse.

"The Quinellus Cluster,” said Penelope.

The Yankee Clipper looked down at the little girl and smiled. “You're absolutely right, my dear.” He turned his attention back to the Mouse. “The Quinellus Cluster is my base of operations, and we'll all be much safer back there. I've made some discreet inqueries since we left the Starboat, and it seems that quite a lot of people have an interest in your lovely little traveling companion.” He smiled at Penelope. “You haven't a thing to worry about, my dear. You're perfectly safe as long as you remain with me."

"We appreciate your hospitality,” said the Mouse, “but I think we'd like to be let off on the first colony planet we come to as soon as you reach the Cluster. We have arrangements to make, and a friend to contact."

"I won't hear of it,” said the Yankee Clipper. “My subspace radio is at your disposal. Contact your friend right from the ship."

"I think as long as all our accounts are even, we'd rather not trouble you any further."

"It's no trouble at all,” insisted the pirate.

"Just the same, we'd rather be let off as soon as you reach the Cluster."

"Well, of course, if you insist,” said the Yankee Clipper with an eloquent shrug.

"Let's say that we strongly request it,” answered the Mouse.

"Your wish is my command,” said the Yankee Clipper. He paused. “Five million."

"Five million what?"

"Five million credits, of course."

"All right,” said the Mouse. “What about five million credits?"

"That's my fee for letting you off the ship."

"You said we didn't owe you anything."

"You don't."

"And that we were your guests."

"Indeed you are,” he replied, finally draining his brandy glass and setting it down on a polished chrome surface. “But of course, once you decline my hospitality and leave the comfort and safety of my ship, you're no longer my guests, are you?” He smiled. “You know and I know that young Penelope here is worth millions to various interested parties. I'm perfectly willing to play host to you so long as her value continues to appreciate—but if I'm to part with that potential profit, then I'll have to charge you a minimum fee of five million credits."

The Mouse stared at him without speaking. Suddenly she felt Penelope's hand squeezing her own.

"It's all right,” said the little girl.

The Mouse looked down at her. “You knew he was going to do this, didn't you?"

"We needed him,” said Penelope, ignoring the question.

"But we're virtually prisoners on his ship."

"It's all right,” repeated Penelope. “At least the Iceman didn't catch us."

"The Iceman?” interrupted the Yankee Clipper. “Who's the Iceman."

"A very bad man,” said Penelope. “He wants to hurt me."

"Then you've made a very wise choice, my dear,” said the pirate. “I wouldn't dream of hurting you, or indeed of letting any harm come to you from any source whatsoever."

"I know."

"I am, after all, not without compassion for a child in your situation,” continued the Yankee Clipper. He paused thoughtfully. “Also, I suspect your value would decrease if you were harmed."

The Mouse glared at him. “So we're just going to fly around the Quinellus Cluster with you until you decide that she's worth enough to part with?” she demanded.

"Essentially,” answered the Yankee Clipper. “I've already sent discreet messages to various interested parties."

"They'll blow your ship apart,” said the Mouse.

The pirate smiled. “Not while she's aboard it, they won't.” He paused. “But before I deny myself the pleasure of your company, it seems only reasonable that we establish a fair market value for the little girl. I could hardly do that without informing everyone that she's ... ah ... available for the right price."

"Unless we come up with five million credits first,” said the Mouse.

"Certainly,” agreed the Yankee Clipper. “I'm not an unreasonable man, and a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. This lovely child could contract a fatal disease, or attempt to kill herself, or simply lose her remarkable ability.” He paused and smiled. “Of course, I don't see how you can possibly produce such a sum, given your present situation, but I'm always willing to admit I'm wrong."

"If you'd play cards or roulette, I could help you win five million credits,” said Penelope.

"I hardly think so, my dear,” answered the Yankee Clipper easily. “Everyone knows who and what you are.” He sighed. “And that
does
make it difficult to find volunteers for a game of chance while you're aboard the ship."

Penelope frowned. “You're no better than King Tout was."

"On the contrary, I'm
much
better,” he corrected her. “For one thing, I'm providing you with every comfort at my disposal. For another, I've already given you my word that no physical harm will come to you. But mostly, I'm better than King Tout because I learn from other people's mistakes."

"What are you talking about?” demanded the Mouse.

"I should think that would be obvious. The reason you're here instead of back at the Starboat is because lovely little Penelope here somehow manipulated events so that I would rescue you.” He stared at the little girl, and though his voice remained cordial and conversational, there was a sudden hardness about his eyes. “I must warn you, my dear child, that if I notice any irregularity aboard my ship, any irregularity at all—if I should trip and break a leg, or flinch while shaving, or if this mysterious Iceman should approach too closely—then I will take you to the Deepsleep Chamber and freeze you cryogenically until such time as I have completed my transaction with whoever wants you the most desperately. Deepsleep is absolutely painless—we use it for extended voyages in deep space—but I rather suspect that when your brain is sound asleep and your metabolism is slowed to a crawl, you will be in no position to influence events as you did with King Tout."

Suddenly the Yankee Clipper got to his feet. “But enough about business. You are my honored guests, and I look forward to your company at dinner this evening. In the meantime"—he shot them a final smile as he walked to the door, which slid into a bulkhead—"please do make yourselves comfortable. I expect you'll be staying with me for quite some time."

Then he was gone, and Penelope and the Mouse were left alone in the huge, empty lounge.

"Did you see this coming, back at the Starboat?” asked the Mouse.

"Not exactly,” answered Penelope. “I knew he would rescue us, and I knew that he wouldn't hurt us."

"But you didn't know that he'd sell you to the highest bidder?” she continued.

"It doesn't matter,” said the little girl. “He's taking us in the right direction. That's all that matters."

"The right direction?” repeated the Mouse.

Penelope nodded.