The VMR Theory (v1.1) (23 page)

“It may just be sprained. Do you have to be such a stickler for authenticity?”

“Never hurts.”

“Speak for yourself.” I looked at her thoughtfully. “I hope you’re not going to use this as a precedent for settling future arguments.”

She kissed me on the nose. “Promise.”

“Are you going to win this fight?”

“No, but hold the gestures of affection and really stupid comments anyway.”

“Got it.”

While Bunkie finished checking me out, Muffy and Catarina experimented with technique. A minute later Rosalee reported that Xhia’s skiff was docking, and Bunkie went to the airlock to meet him.

Catarina looked at me. “Ken—”

“Yeah, I know. The next time I feel like doing something for Gwen, send her a nice Christmas present instead.”

She grinned and blew a kiss at me. “It was the honorable thing to do.”

Escorted by Bunkie, Xhia appeared wearing black— black cape, black boots, black tunic, and black coalscuttle helmet—which contrasted well with my silver-sequined bodysuit. Behind him was an honor guard of fourteen, Gwen, a couple of camera crews, and a few hangers-on.

“Xhia! Nice to see you.” I held up my arm. “Unfortunately, I had a minor accident, so there’s been a slight change in plan. Excuse me for a second. You, there— please get that camera out of my face
right now\
Thank you. I’m back. Ah, instead of turning me into chopped meat, you get to go up against my partner, Commander Lindquist, instead.”

“What farce is t’is?” Xhia opened the faceplate on his helmet and scowled. “A warrior bom, fighting against a woman?”

Catarina smiled for the cameras. “What’s wrong?” she asked with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Think you’ll have trouble hacking it?”

Xhia gestured violently. “A woman has to obey and find a dept’ for her surface, for her nature is surface, a changeable, stormy film upon shallow waters. But a warrior’s nature is deep, his torrent roars in subterranean caves: a woman senses his power but does not comprehend it. For t’is reason, a woman hates a warrior as iron speaks to a magnet, ‘I hate you most because you attract me but are not strong enough to draw me to you.’ “

At this point Muffy stepped forward with a blistering barrage of comments in Sklo’kotax.

“She just told him to go soak his head,” Trixie reported.

Xhia stiffened. “One can be silent and sit still only when one is armed. You say t’at a good cause hallows any war, but I say t’at a good war hallows any cause! Yet a warrior may have enemies whom he hates, but not enemies whom he despises. You must be proud of your enemy: t’en tee success of your enemy will be your success, too!”

Catarina grinned lazily while these remarks were being translated for broadcast back on Alt Bauernhof. “But I’m a vamp, and that should count for something. If you can’t defeat a vamp who happens to be a woman, well, tsk tsk tsk.”

“Pardon me,” the translator interrupted, “but what is tee best definition of ‘tsk’?”

“Xhia, let me put it to you this way,” Catarina said, ignoring the translator. “We’ve got an audience. The show must go on! Light-sabers with shields?”

Xhia nodded abruptly, a curiously human gesture. “Tee being consummating his life dies triumphantly surrounded by warriors full of hope and making solemn vows; t’at is tee best demise, but tee second best is to die in battle and squander a great soul.” He motioned, and a little robotic wastebasket wheeled up and spit out two light-sabers and two shields. “I believe it is customary for you to choose a weapon first.”

Muffy picked out a saber and shield for Catarina, and then we broke for commercials. A professional to her fingertips, Gwen immediately gathered the technical staff around her to work on their camera angles. I was touched, and wondered how I could have ever grown up this stupid.

“I t’ink it is a natural talent,” Trixie said, reading my mind.

When we came back live, one of the honor guard stepped forward, blew something that looked like a pregnant tuba, and shouted, “Let tee battle begin!” A petite female Macdonald carried a sign around that my beat-up dictionary translated as “Round One.”

Xhia and Catarina flicked on their light-sabers and circled each other warily while a Macdonald in a loud polyester suit did color commentary. Then Xhia moved in fast, and he was very, very good, which meant that my original estimate that I would have lasted at least ten seconds was hopelessly optimistic. Catarina was fast, but not fast enough.

She gave ground steadily. Xhia talked steadily as he forced her back toward the wall. “A warrior does not like fruit which is too sweet. T’erefore, a warrior likes women, for even tee sweetest woman is still bitter.”

“I don’t mean to criticize,” she said gently, probing at him. “But has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?”

For an answer, he made a sudden slash at her left leg. She managed to get her shield down to block it, but not completely. I could see the pain on her face, and her coveralls smoldered where the light-saber had touched them.

“What good is long life to a warrior?” He hit her with a sudden flurry of blows, the beam of light from his saber bending against her shield and miraculously springing erect. It was all very Freudian, and I could see why light-saber fighting was so popular on Alt Bauemhof.

“What is any being but a heap of festering diseases reaching out into tee universe t’rough tee spirit, a knot of savage serpents devoid of inner peace which seek out prey alone?” He launched a vicious head cut at her. “Knowing t’is, what warrior wants to be spared?”

Catarina remained silent, retreating steadily and occasionally chopping at Xhia as she tried to find an opening.

“Yes, I find you wort’y,” Xhia said, his eyes smiling behind the black metal of his helmet. “Yet tee unwort’y will hold t’is against you and never forgive, for tee higher you climb, tee smaller you appear in envious eyes; and we who fly highest are hated most of all. Life is a fountain of delight, but where rabble also drinks, all wells are poisoned. Flame is unwilling to burn where t’ey have put t’eir damp hearts. Fruit trees grow wit’ered and bend where t’ey gaze. For tee rabble were bom to be yoked. T’ey fling away t’eir true wort’ when t’ey cast aside t’eir bondage! But you are free, and for what are you free? Can you furnish yourself wit’ your own good and evil and hang up your own will above yourself as a law? Can you be judge of yourself and avenger of your own law? It is like being a star tossed into empty space and tee icy breat’ of solitude. And so it is fated t’at for you life must end!”

So saying, he leaped forward, and even my untutored eye saw Catarina’s mistake; she was holding her shield too low, wide open for a downward stroke.

“Catarina, no!” I shouted just as Xhia’s light-saber came over his head and began descending, only to intersect with a fire sprinkler that Catarina had thoughtfully stationed herself a meter or so behind.

When the retardant chemicals connected with Xhia’s saber, it was like they always say on TV—children, do not attempt this at home. Xhia’s blade shorted itself out in a moderately spectacular fashion as Xhia himself became the center of a mounting pile of white foam.

Catarina grinned and flicked off her light-saber.

“We’re on TV. No puns about ice cream,” I told her severely.

She nodded. “Xhia, can we agree that you lost?”

Xhia wiped some of the foam out of his eyes before it hardened and stared at the two of us. “You have one hour, after which my ships will hunt you down t’roughout tee whole of time and space.” Then he told his honor guard to work him free before he adhered to the floor.

I shut my eyes, knowing what was about to come next.

In a clear voice Catarina explained to the viewing public on Alt Bauernhof that moving Xhia under the fire sprinkler was her plan from the beginning. “That’s my story,” she told them, “and I’m sticking to it.”

There really ought to be a law about this sort of thing.

Six members of Xhia’s honor guard placed him on a stretcher and carried him back to the airlock. After the camera crews did a final wrap, I grabbed the medical kit from Bunkie and went over to check Catarina’s leg. Then I remembered about Gwen. “Oh, Gwen, I hope you brought your things.”

Gwen smiled and stole a quick glance at her sapphire-studded watch. “Oh, I really wish I could stay, but I’ve got work to do, and rime is money, you know. See you! It’s been real!”

I looked at her in disbelief. “What do you mean? Where are you going?”

“Back to the ship there. I’m under contract, you know.” She winked. “You always did have trouble remembering things.”

Catarina and I exchanged looks. “Wait!” I shook my head violently. “You can’t go back there! Xhia promised to execute you if I didn’t surrender.”

“Oh, Ken.” She came over and pecked at my cheek, with one eye on Catarina, which was a very good move because Catarina was still holding her light-saber. “Xhia and I had a good laugh over that. You’re so cute when you’re trusting. Why, if they executed me, the association would blacklist them.” She shook her head. “You talk about a major image problem with no cure in sight.”

“But Xhia said—”

“Nice man, but no actor. I just hate having to work with nonprofessionals.” Gwen shook her head ruefully. “I practically had to hold the cue cards under his nose, and his delivery was
so
flat. I can’t believe you fell for it. When Lord Fowl explained the problem and offered me a three-year exclusive deal, I said I’d give it my best shot, but knowing how stubborn you are, I told him that I didn’t hold out much hope.”

Bunkie gently took the burn ointment from my nerveless hand and finished dressing Catarina’s cut as I sat back on my haunches, completely dumbfounded.

Gwen stroked my chin. “You know how these things go. Well, got to get back! I have a campaign to run, and they tell me that if you succeed in whatever it is you’re doing, there’ll be some
major
bad press to counteract. I wish we had some time to
be
together, but you know how that goes.” The rest of Xhia’s honor guard followed her to the airlock.

“It’s little intimate moments like these that remind me what life was like when I was married.” I looked away. “Right now, it would be nice if the ground swallowed me up. Of course, that’s pretty hard to arrange aboard a spaceship. I always hate to try to defend Gwen, but I think that underneath her shallow, amoral exterior is a very different human being.”

“Probably Snow White’s stepmother.” Catarina rubbed her leg and smiled sweetly. “Ken, aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Oh! Yes!” I tapped the intercom. “Rosalee, get us out of here!”

Rosalee said, “We’re on our way,” and another voice said, “Roger, wilco that, captain, sir!”

I looked at Catarina in utter horror. “The main computer was pretty well fried, so we had to improvise,” she said calmly. “Swervin’ Irvin was the closest thing we could find to a backup.” I was now captain of a pilfered battle cruiser being navigated by Swervin’ Irvin. Some days, I just don’t live right.

We passed through our black hole and headed for Confederation space, with Xhia’s warfleet hot on our vapor trail, although we gained a slight lead during the transition.

Even apart from the absence of armament, the
Snark
had a number of major deficiencies. By the second day I decided that hell is going to have millions of women and only one working bathroom. To make matters worse, the dockyard crews hadn’t gotten around to installing dryers. By the time we ran out of quarters for the washers, we had frilly things hanging from improvised clotheslines all over the ship. I decreed an end to the practice. Catarina, of course, explained that we’d reached the end of our rope.

Minnie, Mickey, Bunkie, and Clyde helped Blok with system repairs, leaving Catarina, Wyma Jean, Rosalee, and me to split the watch schedule, although Catarina made me rest up for a few days before she allowed me to certify myself as fit for duty. Trixie came up to keep me company during my first watch.

“Hello, Trixie.” I paused to double check the unfamiliar displays. “Would you like to pull up a seat and join me?”

She sat in the copilot’s chair. “Do you promise not to utter speeches about women’s reproductive rights?”

“Right. What are Muffy and her friends doing these days?”

“Miss Spooner is telling t’em about men.”

My hand twitched, so that I nearly spilled my cocoa. “Will we reach Confederation space?” she asked quietly. “Our chances are pretty good if nothing else breaks. We emerged from our jump point with a four-hour lead, and Xhia’s ships don’t appear to be closing the gap.” I pointed to the display. “We’re approaching Brasilia Nuevo. Most of our sensors are down, but you can see Confederation warships scrambling into formation except for one fast patrol craft coming out to meet us. As soon as we get close, we’ll tell them who we are, and Xhia will have to break off or start the war here and now.”

“Is MisS Lindquist still mad at you for risking tee safety of tee Confederation to rescue your ex-wife, who you don’t even like?”

“No.”

“Is a lie anyt’ing like bearing false witness?”

I thought for a moment. “Trixie, normal social interaction around here is becoming difficult. Is there some way to arrange things so that you
can’t
read my mind?”

She patted my good arm. “Alt’ough it is an arduous task, it is possible for a nontelepathic person to develop a mind block.”

“Can you show me?”

“First, you must empty your mind and focus your awareness on tee oneness of all in tee universe, turning away from t’inking to nont’inking to achieve a blankness of purpose.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Pretend you’re watching TV.”

We worked on it for two or three hours. Swervin’ Irvin had a complete tape library of shows he enjoyed watching, which was a big help. Daytime soaps were okay, and so were old sitcoms. After a little practice, whistling a theme song was enough to make me one with the universe and mentally opaque, although I walked into several bulkheads practicing my technique. With Harry and Wyma Jean publicly feuding, Muffy’s feminists practicing close order drill in the corridors, and me bumping into objects singing “a skipper brave and sure,” Clyde very sensibly spent his free time locked in his cabin writing verse.