Young Rissa (11 page)

 

Liftoff caught Rissa unaware. She had expected a warning announcement and a period of heavy acceleration; instead the process was unheralded, noisy and relatively gentle. Around her the ship vibrated, then slowly quieted.
 

“Out of atmosphere now,” said Chira. Rissa nodded. A silent pause lengthened. Then Tregare entered.
 

“Inspection time.” He gestured toward Rissa's luggage. “Open ‘em up.”
Is this the time to defy him? No — not yet.
She complied. He searched skillfully, she thought — but did not discover any of the built-in hiding places. He held up the lock box Osallin had obtained for her. “Open it.”
 

Now was the time; she shook her head. “That is private — Hulzein business.”
 

“All the more reason. I'm in on a lot of Hulzein business, myself.”
 

“Not on this; I have my instructions. Why,
I
cannot open the thing.”
 

He looked at the box, then back to her. “You almost lie like a Hulzein — but not quite.”
 

She shrugged. “Believe what you wish. I cannot oblige you.”
 

He turned the box over in his hands. “Photolock, isn't it? An old trick.” He put one hand to her nape, holding her, and brought the box to her eyes. “Keep ‘em open!” She did; the scanner, seeing the plastic-aided patterns of Tari Obrigo, did not respond. Tregare released her. “Somebody else's pattern, then,” he said. “Well, I've opened photolocks before.”
 

“If you try to open this one, do it somewhere else. Or let me out of here — and Chira, also.”
 

“Booby-trapped, is it? That's fine; you can tell me how.”
 

Rissa evaded his reach. “You know Erika better than that. Would she allow me to be a possible weak link? I have no idea what the protection is. It could be any of fifty ways — you know that, if you stop to think.”
 

“Yeah.” He scratched his head. “All right — if it's set up that tricky, maybe it's out of my league anyway. And if you can't open it yourself, I don't have to worry you've got a weapon in there.”
 

She laughed. “Is that what you were afraid of?”
 

His lips twitched; he raised a hand but lowered it without striking her. “Afraid? Don't use that word to me, you bitch!”
 

His reaction shocked her.
Has he so much fear that he cannot stand even to hear the word?
But she said, “Why not, you bastard?”
 

This time he did slap her. Trained, she moved enough to take the sting out. “I see,” she said. “You can call names but I cannot? This is hardly a good beginning for a friendly relationship.”
 

His face relaxed; then came his lopsided grin. “Friendly, eh? All right — let's see you be friendly.”
 

Without answering, she stood and removed her clothing. “You see? No weapons on my person, either.” She lay supine on the larger of the two beds and slowly, deliberately, flexed her knees to raise and spread her legs.
 

“Very well,” she said, “let us get on with it. What are you waiting for?”
 

His mouth opened; he licked his lips. “You know something? You're not a very
feminine
woman, are you?”
 

“I did not have a very feminine upbringing. I am as I am.”
 

“Yeah — well, we'll see.” He stripped — the scars on limbs and body startled her — and was ready immediately. Without preliminary, so that briefly she felt pain, he plunged at her like a bull — no finesse or technique, only a rhythmic pounding. Angered, she had impulse to use words and motions she knew to deflate his potency. Then she thought better of it and began to move so as to slow him, to vary his movements and prolong the act. When he climaxed, bellowing like that same bull, he lay spent.
 

Eventually he pushed himself up and sat. “You didn't come?”
 

“I seldom do.”
 

“You didn't even fake it — try to make me feel good.”
 

“That, I
never
do.”
I would not give you the satisfaction.
 

“Chira does. She does it real good — don't you, Chira?”
 

The girl pouted. “I do better than her. Anytime, Tregare.”
 

“Yeah? Well, not right now. Go get us all something to eat.”
 

“
You
, sure, Tregare. She can get her own.”
 

Even tired, he moved like a cat. His slap knocked Chira skidding. “You forgetting how to take orders?” He stalked toward her.
 

Rissa leaped and caught his arm. “No, Tregare! She is upset, that is all. Wait, Chira — I will clothe myself and come with you, to help. We must share these chores; I may as well start learning.”
 

The man looked at her. “Ms. High-and-Mighty Paying Passenger wants to help with the scutwork?”
 

“If you call it scutwork to accommodate one another in these small matters — then yes.”
 

“Oh, get the hell out of here. And hurry it up — I'm hungry.”
 

She returned his gaze. “It would serve you right if we ate in the galley and
then
brought your food. Cold.”
 

His mouth began a snarl — then he laughed. “Talk all you want, Obrigo. You know better than to do it.”
 

Dinner relaxed them all. Afterward, over wine, Tregare became talkative. “What all did Osallin tell you about me?”
 

Rissa shrugged. “What is there to tell? So far as we know, you command the only armed ship ever to Escape. It is said that sometimes you use your armaments as threat to bilk your suppliers, groundside. And that your command came not as consequence of Escape, but afterward. And — ”
 

He interrupted. “That old mutiny story, is it? Well, it wasn't how you think.”
 

Her brows raised. “So? Then how was it, Tregare?”
 

He drained his glass, poured another and leaned forward. His face showed strain. “Obrigo? You know how ships Escape? You risk death, is how. People — officers, especially — who want out of UET — they talk, feel each other out. You think you have enough on the right side, you make your move. . . .”
 

His eyes narrowed; Rissa saw that they looked beyond her. Tregare said, “It's better if the captain's with you, but old Rigueres was UET all the way — not a chance. So Monteffial — he was First Hat, I was Third — he cut Rigueres' throat and we had the ship. But we'd made some bad guesses; there were more against us than we thought. And Farnsworth — Second Hat — he was playing double agent, pretending he was with us and planning to hang us with UET.
 

“He had Monteffial killed — didn't have the guts to do it himself — got most of our people locked up and set course for Earth. Where he missed — “ Now Tregare laughed. “Where he missed, was with me. I'd gone outside in a power suit to fix a viewscreen input — communications was my specialty — and hadn't logged the jaunt.
 

“So Farnsworth didn't know I was out, didn't know Deverel was covering for me at the airlock, and told me the scoop when I came in. So I didn't take off the power suit, was all. I walked right through Farnsworth's goons with their knives and such, and caught him and broke his neck. And turned our people loose. The rest — the UET holdouts — went outside without suits. And that's your mutiny. Not against our Escape command — against a UET takeover. And I wrecked the suit doing it.”
 

His face was flushed. He drained his glass and tapped it on the table. Chira refilled it.
 

“That is most interesting, Tregare. It explains a great deal.”
 

“Like what?”
 

“Such as — well, an experience of that sort must not be easy to live with. I will remember and make allowances.”
 

His laugh was half a snort. “Nobody has to make allowances for Tregare. On this ship
I
make the allowances. Don't forget that.”
 

“Very well,” said Rissa. She smiled.
 

She thought he would hit her, but after a moment he laughed, and this time freely. “You're a smart one, aren't you, Obrigo — I'll keep that in mind.”
 

“And I will keep in mind, Tregare, that you are another.”
 

 

Ship's time was measured by Earth days, but Rissa had no need to keep count. In her lock box an isotope-powered watch steadily noted, on its calendar dials, the subjective duration of her passage days. Those days were much alike — she ate, slept, visited various parts of the ship, and feigned lack of interest in the knowledge she eagerly accumulated.
 

She asked no questions; she waited until the answers came unasked, to fill gaps in her growing expertise. At turnover, in the control room, fidgeting and pretending boredom, she learned the location of Number One. Mentally she filed that answer with the rest.
 

 

She had little converse with Tregare's officers and less with the crew. She suspected that he had ordered it so, but did not accuse nor ask him.
 

In the case of First Officer Gonnelsen, no such stricture was needed. Except in line of duty, Rissa never heard him speak. Yet he seemed relaxed and calm; when he did talk, his voice was low and pleasant.
 

Third Officer Hain Deverel always greeted her with a smile. But the short, dark-haired man did not follow the greeting with talk, so neither did Rissa.
 

The one who did speak without constraint was Second Officer Zelde M'tana — a tall, very black woman, large-boned — but with her considerable height, slender in appearance. At first sight the woman startled Rissa — her strongly pronounced features, the tightly curling hair cut to a close-fitting cap, the deep voice when she spoke. From her left ear dangled a large heavy gold ring; on the right side, the lobe was missing.
 

Caught staring, Rissa felt herself flush. The other said, “The ear? Bandits — they used to be bad, in the back alleys of Parleyvoo. That's on Terranova.”
 

“I — I am sorry — I did not intend rudeness. Even though you are very striking, still I — ”
 

The woman laughed. “I've been catching double takes ever since I got my growth. You're Tari Obrigo, aren't you? I'm Zelde M'tana — Second Hat.” Her hand engulfed Rissa's smaller one, but her grip was gentle.
 

“I am pleased to know you, Second Officer M'Tana.”
 

“Make it Zelde, will you?” Rissa nodded. “Those bandits, though — out of the dark, two grabbed me and before I knew it a third one sliced my ear to get the gold. Lucky he didn't get the whole ear — I guess I jerked sideways enough so he missed.”
 

“And then — how did you get away?”
 

“Me?” Zelde laughed. “I didn't get away — and only one of
them
did. Bad luck, the one with the gold and part of my ear. I killed the other two, right enough.”
 

The woman was smiling; Rissa smiled also. “I am glad you did.” “Yeah? Most people don't care for that part of the story. Tari — I think I
like
you.”
 

 

At a later meeting — in the galley and by chance — Zelde asked, “You have any plans for yourself, on the ship here?”
 

“I — what do you mean?”
 

“Just what I said. I started as captain's doxy myself. Not much future in it, I figured, on the long haul — so I learned things, how to help run a ship and all, and now I'm somebody in my own right. You could be, too — so think on it.”
 

“Yes. Thank you. But I will not be on
Inconnu
much longer. My passage is to Number One.”
 

“Passage? You're a
paid
passenger?” Rissa nodded, and the other burst into laughter. “That Tregare! Who else could work it to collect passage money from his bedmate?” She shook her head, then sobered. “I shouldn't make fun, Tari. And from the look of you, you're not beaten down or anything. Maybe I ought to mind my own business.”
 

“No, Zelde — I appreciate your concern. But truly, I am all right.”
 

As time passed, she lay less often with Tregare. Once only, by apparent accident, she destroyed his desire moments short of climax. Thereafter, though obviously she was more skilled than Chira, he approached her seldom — and never without taking pains to soften her mood. She in turn was careful not to allow him to ingratiate himself too easily. Once he looked at her and said, “If I thought you were playing games with me . . .”
 

She laughed. “We all play games — it is our nature.”
 

“I don't.”
 

“Of course you do. You are playing one now. The name of it is ‘I don't play games.'”
 

One side of his mouth smiled. “You should have been a space captain. Or, no — a politician.”
 

“Perhaps I shall be — a politician, I mean. On Number One.”
 

“I ought to put you outside without a suit — and the Hulzeins be hanged.”