The Privateer (19 page)

The monarchy itself had existed for over 800 years. As Tess had mentioned, Early on, the royal family had established procedures to insure that only competent, well-trained monarchs ruled Angeles, and they had presided over the development of a prosperous system with a surprising level of personal freedom.

Even in the four hundred years since the Fall, Angeles was one of very few worlds to remain vibrant and prosperous. In self-defense, Angeles had established a sizable defense establishment, and had established a patrolled “security zone” stretching for one jump in every direction. The pirate that chased them, Cale decided, must have been very desperate or very foolish to risk an attack in the Angeles ‘security zone’. This also explained the excitement and action that had followed his report; the Kingdom’s defense forces considered the attack to have taken place in the Kingdom itself.

Cale pushed back from the terminal. Angeles looked like a very nice place. In fact, if Dee decided to debark here, Cale would be hard put to marshal arguments against it. Except for his own strong desires, of course.

But what about his own desires? He was certain he had eluded his pursuers. Oh, he would still have to take precautions, of course. Still, he felt secure enough now to consider settling here.

Could he really settle down? What would he do? He sighed. Suddenly the quiet of the room bothered him. He needed some people around him and a drink in his hand.

He stood up and stretched, realizing he had been on the terminal for over an hour. A sound from the delivery chute announced the arrival of the clothing he had ordered. Male styles on Angeles ran mostly to bright colors and a bewildering array of styles. His wine-red kilt blended well with the muted blue tunic and matched the color of his beret, and was actually rather drab, for Angeles. He was more accustomed to tubular trousers, but decided that the kilt, with its decorative holster and bright-plated blaster, had a rakish air. He examined the blaster and found that as he’d suspected, it was not a real weapon. Cale frowned. Angeles was confusing him more by the minute. Most places he’d been, carrying a fake weapon was riskier than carrying none at all; if someone got into a confrontation with someone he thought was armed, he might feel threatened enough to use a real weapon of his own.

He rode the drop shaft to the hotel’s lobby, and strode into the bar. The dimly lit bar was occupied by a few guests even at this early hour. He slid onto a stool and ordered a penurian glark.

The human waiter poured the thimble-sized glass and the usual beer chaser, accepted Cale’s scrip, and retreated to the corner of the bar.

“Wow! You’re really going native all the way.”

Cale turned at the voice as a pudgy man with a wide face and a wide grin took the adjoining stool. “Your indulgence, sire?” Cale replied politely.

The man waved a ring-laden hand. “Oh, I meant nothing, sire, nothing at all. It’s just that it’s unusual to see a kilt in a hotel that serves off-worlders.” He proffered a hand. “Name’s Jer Ner-Trel, from Trellia.”

Cale took the hand and smiled. “Cale Rankin from Warden’s World.” Ner-Trel should not talk about others’ clothing, Cale decided. The man was wearing a peach-colored jacket that barely buttoned over the paunch covered by a blue shirt and bright pink trousers. The styles that emerged on some planets never ceased to amaze him.

“You’re a long way from home,” Ner-Trel replied. “Warden’s is in the Sirius Sector, isn’t it?”

Cale nodded. “I haven’t been home in years. I travel a lot, now.”

The Trellian laughed. “I know what you mean. There’re a lot of folks traveling around, these days. Pretty much have to, if you want to make a credit. I’m a wholesaler of Trellian regel nuts.” He shook his head and sighed. “I’ve been away from home for more than a year, now. So, what’s your line?”

Cale was prepared for this one. “I run a small courier ship. Mostly high-value shipments, urgent documents, and occasionally passengers.”

Ner-Trel looked interested. “Yeah? It’d better be a fast ship, with all the pirate trouble around here.”

Cale’s eyebrows rose. “Really? I had some pirate trouble on the way here. I got away, but it sure scared me spitless!”

The pudgy man shook his head, his green-tinted gray hair whirling about. “They’re gettin’ more brazen every day.” He leaned closer to Cale. “If I was you,” he said in a low tone, “I’d climb in that fast courier and get away from here. The rumor is that some pirate gang called the Terror is movin’ this way. I hear they’re big enough and tough enough to take on whole planets. In fact, Angeles is building up its fleet because they expect to have to fight.” He looked around guiltily. “I came here because wartime economies are good for business. My deals are made now. I’ll be heading out tomorrow for Trellia. From now on, I’ll be sending shipments here, but all my travel is gonna be inward, toward the Old Empire planets. Those animals mostly stay out toward the rim.”

Cale nodded seriously. “I’ll think about that. I sure don’t want any more pirate trouble.” They chatted for a while, until Cale realized it was almost time to meet Dee for dinner. He made his excuses and headed for the lift shaft.

He touched the pad outside her door, and almost before he could release it, the door flew open.

He stood, gaping. The vision in the doorway was Dee. But it was not the Dee he had expected. Multiple layers of filmy, translucent material in various colors swirled about her with every movement. The result was a constantly shifting rainbow revealing just tantalizing hints of the body beneath. Her eyes and lips somehow seemed larger, more sensual, and her hair was piled high on her head, supported by a golden net that sparkled with gemstones.

The effect was wildly spectacular, particularly given her previously conservative dress. It was somewhat spoiled, however, by the expression on her face. She was red with embarrassment, and her eyes darted from side to side as though seeking escape. However, the lips were tight with determination. Cale restrained a smile. She was embarrassed to wear such glamour, but was determined to see it through.

“Wow!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t know I'd be meeting a member of the royal family! You look like why the riot started.”

The pink in her face darkened slightly, then lightened as a brilliant smile lit her face. She gave a formal curtsey. “Thank you, kind sir! I’ve been shopping all afternoon. It appears I’m quite a wealthy lady here.” She stepped through the door, teetering slightly on the unaccustomed elevated heels. “Shall we go?”

Cale bowed. “By all means, my lady. But I’m hardly dressed to accompany a princess.”

She waved airily. “Never mind,” she grinned. “A princess should always outshine her courtiers.”

He escorted her to the most exclusive restaurant a hurried consultation with the desk had revealed. Wherever they went, heads turned. The pink that tinted her cheeks now was pleasure and excitement rather than embarrassment.

Over their meal, though, their talk became more serious. Her pleased smile faded to a resentful frown as she explained, “I’ve been excommunicated by my church, rejected by my own father, and exiled by my entire planet. I see no reason to continue to conform to their standards of dress and behavior. I’m now a free woman, and a rich one. I’m going to enjoy it!” Her frown turned to a challenging glare.

Cale smiled. “A little rebellion is often a good thing,” he said, “It can open the mind to new experience. Just don’t let it get out of hand. Too much of it can also destroy you.”

Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and he realized she’d been expecting criticism. A relieved smile lit that familiar yet unfamiliar countenance. “This outfit is my declaration of independence,” she replied quietly. “It took me hours to work up the courage to actually wear this thing. And even longer to decide to wear makeup. I’m still Dee, with my rather conservative tastes. But I’m going to keep this dress, this outfit. Whenever I find myself homesick or moping over my fate, I’ll break it out and put it on, to remind myself of the freedom I’ve gained!”

Cale grinned. “Good! You’re too beautiful not to have at least one glamorous costume. In fact, I’d suggest you get a few more, less formal dresses. Faith styles are considered pretty severe in most places. A beautiful woman has certain natural advantages when dealing with others. It seems silly to not take advantage of them.”

She flushed and her eyes dropped. “You think I’m beautiful?”

“Of course! Uh, er, I mean . . .” It was his face’s turn to darken.

The evening passed in a happy haze, and they parted only reluctantly. At her door, Cale restrained himself from taking her into his arms and kissing her. On Faith, he knew, kissing was restricted to engaged couples. But he thought he detected an expression of disappointment on her face as the door closed.

The days became a wonderful blur of color and activity, all spiced by the presence of Dee. Without the enforced closeness of a ship, with the freedom of a city, inhibitions could fade, and nature began to take its course. Cale awoke every morning in anticipation of spending the day with Dee, and parted from her in the evenings only reluctantly. Their “city arrest” had become more of a vacation than a coerced stay.

More than a week had passed, and they were walking comfortably back to the hotel from their new favorite restaurant, hand in hand.

“Behind you!” The shout was sudden, but trained reflexes spun Cale about, arm coming up to block the arm of a large dark-clad man, and deflect the vibroblade intended for his kidney. He continued the spin, slamming his left foot into the outside of the man’s right knee. The man gasped as the knee dislocated, and he slumped to the ground. He struggled to rise, waving the vibroblade. Cale feinted a right kick toward the man’s head, and when the ‘blade came up, delivered the kick to the man’s crotch. The man gurgled and slumped to his side.

Cale whipped around, looking for Dee, just in time to see her stamp a spike heel into her man’s instep. As his grip loosened, she spun and swung her left elbow into his solar plexus. The man released her and grabbed for his chest, gasping, giving Dee the moment she needed to back up a step and slam a kick into his crotch. The man collapsed, and Cale started to smile when he saw two other men struggling alongside her.

He paused, uncertain which man he should help, if either, when the smaller man broke free and ran down the street. Cale heard a groan behind him, and turned to see his man trying to struggle to his feet, hugging his crotch. Cale spun a kick to the man’s head, and he slumped back to the ground. Dee’s man wasn’t even trying to rise. He was curled into a fetal position and vomiting. Cale looked around and found they had attracted an audience. “Would someone call the police?” he asked, and someone replied, “On the way.”

Then, suddenly, Dee was in his arms, clinging desperately to him and trembling. “It’s all right, darling,” he murmured into her hair. “It’s all over.” He kept repeating the two phrases while he reveled in the sweet smell and soft feel of her. Her trembling subsided, and he began to feel another sort of tension arise in both of them.

He cleared his throat, and then looked over Dee’s head at the man who had warned and then helped them. He reluctantly released Dee and stepped toward the man.

“Thank you, sire,” he said. “Your timely help saved us from being robbed or even injured.”

The man looked at him quizzically. “Robbed or injured?” he replied. “Don’t you realize that this wasn’t a simple robbery attempt?”

Tan frowned. “What are you talking about?”

The man toed the still-buzzing vibroblade at Cale’s feet. “Vibroblade’s not a robber’s weapon. A knife is more intimidating. ‘Blades are assassin’s weapons, pure and simple. Somebody wants you dead.”

Cale started. He realized the man was right. Robbers don’t want trouble; they want an easy score. They are rarely killers, and fighting draws attention. No, they prefer to intimidate their victims. They want big, shiny weapons; shiny plated needlers and blasters, or knives with big, shiny blades to scare victims into giving up their valuables quickly and quietly. Vibroblades weren’t intimidating, just deadly. The ‘blade at his feet had a blackened blade only about 10 centimeters long. But the blade of a vibroblade, as its name implies, vibrates at several thousand cycles per second, and is capable of slicing through tissue and bone without slowing. As their rescuer had said, an assassin’s weapon; not intimidating, but deadly,

He began to reply, but suddenly they were inundated by uniforms. The officer that questioned Cale and Dee agreed with their rescuer’s assessment, asking them if they knew of any reason someone would want them dead. At their negative replies, he shrugged. “We’ll get these two down to the station and run their DNA. But we already know they were both carrying 500 crowns in gold. You be very careful. That’s a premium price for a murder here.”

When the police left, Cale, Dee and their rescuer retired to a nearby restaurant. His name was Zant Jenfu, and he was from a planet called Selfa. He was a tall, heavyset man with the leathery look of an outdoorsman. His city-style suit hung on him like a costume; one got the feeling that it wasn’t his usual attire. Cale estimated the suit was ten years out of date and well worn, though clean.

In all, Cale assessed him as being from a rural or frontier area or planet, forced to come to Angeles City for unknown reasons, and possibly stranded here, short of funds.

"So," Dee asked once they were seated, "Do you get to Angeles often?"

Zant shook his head. "Nope. First time. And maybe my last."

"You don't like it?"

He shrugged. "Angeles City's a nice enough town, if you have crowns. It's not nearly as nice if you're broke."

Having just eaten, they just ordered drinks while they introduced themselves and expressed their appreciation. Zant just shrugged it off. “People need help, ya help ‘em,” he said. “Least, that’s how we feel on Selfa.”

As they chatted, Cale began to notice how Zant’s eyes followed the trays of food going by. He insisted on ordering the man a sizable dinner, despite his rather weak protests. “You’re hungry. ‘People need help, you help ‘em’” he mimicked Zant’s tone.