“Why, the fact that four ships from planets within thirty lightyears of here headed for Marglot, and not one came back.”
“How were their navigators?”
“Lousy. Nothing near as good as I am.”
“Well, then.” Nenda swung his chair to face the control console. “I’ll give you the right of final decision. If we make a Bose transition and you don’t like the look of what you see, you take us out of there. I like to make money, but I’m not such a fool as to put my skin and my ship in danger to do it. What do you say? Half of anything we get, and if you’re edgy and want to jump away, we do it with no questions asked.”
The big eye lost its focus, and its smaller scanning companion slowed in its travel. Claudius stood as still and silent as a twisted spiral of green marble.
At last he nodded. “We put all this in writing, and post copies at Central Records on Pleasureworld. I’ve got an idea, you see. There’s more than one Bose network approach to Marglot. The other ships, for a bet, took the shortest and easiest route. We’ll wriggle around a bit for a back way in. How’s your power supply for multiple Bose transitions?”
“Ample. Why?”
“It doesn’t take longer in travel time, but my alternate route will burn up a whole lot more energy. Let me head over to my own ship and bring my stuff. Then we’ll sign the deal. Oh, and there’s one other thing.”
“I can’t give you terms any better than the ones I offered.”
“It’s not that. It’s your friend out there.” Claudius jerked five thumbs in unison toward the cargo bay door. “I know you say he’s just a growing lad, but I can’t do my best navigating when he’s close by. My first suggestion is that you dump him in the freak show at Carnival. They’d take him in a hot minute. But if you won’t go for that, at the very least you keep your Zardalu away from me—and the farther away, the better.”
While the Have-It-All’s communications center transmitted the written agreement to Central Records on Pleasureworld and awaited confirmation of its receipt and filing, Louis Nenda strolled back to join Atvar H’sial.
“Well?” The Cecropian’s silent question drifted across to him.
“Nothing to it. All tied up and confirmed. Claudius will be our pilot to Marglot.”
“As simple as that? No special agreements were necessary?”
“Not really. Except I had to offer him fifty percent of whatever we get.”
“Fifty! That is quite outrageous. It is twice what each of us will receive.”
“It is. But here’s a question, At. What exactly do you expect to receive on Marglot? Not hope, now. Expect.”
“I follow your logic.” The Cecropian folded its proboscis into the pleated region on its chin. As the tube inflated, words in near-human speech emerged. “Anundra’rsnt fe’wns’st.”
“A hundred percent if he wants it? My thoughts exactly. Claudius may collect more than he bargains for. But you’re gettin’ better, At. I mean, better at speaking human. The sooner we’re to Marglot and away again, the sooner you’ll be able to have more lessons from Glenna Omar.”
“Indeed.” The Cecropian returned to her normal pheromonal speech. “Glenna was the best.”
“I have to agree. The best.” Nenda scratched thoughtfully at his crotch. “Not that I’ve had any recent chance for comparisons.”
“You are considering language lessons?”
“Not really.”
“Then what?”
“Nothing.” Nenda was hurrying out of the chamber even before he spoke. He closed the door quickly. No point in getting Atvar H’sial excited over involuntary pheromonal signals.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
A history lesson
To Hans Rebka, sustained free-fall implied one of only two things. Either you were in orbit around some body in open space, where you might remain with no feeling of a gravity field for an indefinite period; or you were dropping, pulled down steadily toward some center of force. In that case you most definitely could not fall for an indefinite period. The drop would end suddenly, unpleasantly, and probably fatally. And since you had started out on the surface of Iceworld, the chance that you were now orbiting some planet when all around you was nothing but total and stygian darkness seemed too slight to take seriously.
Hans saw nothing and felt no forces on his body. The only tangible thing in his universe was the suited figure of Ben Blesh. He clutched it tighter to him and was reassured by a protesting groan.
“Where are we. What’s happening? Oh God, I think my arm and ribs are broken.”
“Hang on, Ben. I’ll get your suit’s painkillers into you as soon as I can.” Hans turned on the headlight of his own suit, but still he saw nothing. Either the headlight was not working, or he was in some place where light declined to travel. “You’ll have to wait a bit longer until I can see what I’m doing.”
“Lara. I thought I saw—or I dreamed I saw—Lara—”
“It was no dream. I’m sorry about Lara, but we can’t do anything for her. Concentrate on yourself. How do you feel?”
“We must be in space. I’m in free-fall.”
“Yes.” But I don’t think this particular free-fall is likely to last much longer. “I know you’re hurting, but try to think objectively. Decide the parts of you that you think we will need to attend to first.”
And where was Darya? Dropping invisible at their side, or spun away to some other dimension entirely? Had she already landed somewhere, crushed and shapeless, while he dropped forever?
That worry ended in mid-thought with a bone-jarring thump. His boots had hit a solid surface. Ben’s body was wrenched from his arms, and Hans heard a cry of agony as brightness grew around him.
He stood upright within a closed room. The nearest wall, without doors or windows, rose to a ceiling at least fifteen meters above. Hans turned back his head, and saw that a uniform glow came from the ceiling. The light had not been present when he first hit the floor. It was still slowly brightening. He and Ben must have dropped right through the ceiling, but there was no sign of it of their passage.
Ben’s body lay face down on the floor a few meters in front of Hans. He had to be at least partly conscious, because as Hans watched he made an attempt to raise himself on his left arm. He groaned with the effort and fell forward again. His helmet clattered against the hard floor.
Hans started forward, but someone was ahead of him.
“Darya!”
She turned, and the face behind the suit’s visor glowed with excitement. “We did it, Hans. We’re inside Iceworld, just as I said we would be! But we have to look after Ben.” She was cradling the body in her arms, gently turning it over. “Can you get at the external controls?”
“I will do it for myself.” Ben spoke slowly. His face was white and sweating, but his next words were clear and rational. “Drugs first. The suit will know what to give me. When it hurts less, I will see if I can walk.”
“Not until I’ve had a good look at you.” Hans heard a hiss of gases inside the other’s suit and saw the white fog inside the faceplate. In thirty more seconds, Ben should feel no pain. “You may think you feel all right, but you could do bad damage to yourself if you move. We have to get your suit off, examine you, and pad and splint you.”
“While I suffocate in hard vacuum? No thanks.”
Ben was right, of course. Hans glanced at the monitor in his own suit to confirm the pressure reading. A few moments ago it had been a flat zero. To his surprise the suit readout now showed a small positive value. As he watched, it flickered higher. The suit’s sensor, tasting the composition of what lay outside, indicated a mixture of oxygen and nitrogen, plus a couple of percent of inert gases, helium and argon.