“You’re probably right.” She got up, still grinning, arranged herself briefly in a provocative pose, and moved aft, out of his line of view. Peters shook his head, stared at stars and the planet a moment to recover his composure, and turned to the navigation instrument.
Every zifthkakik had a unique identifier—call it a serial number—and a portion of that sequence was used by the detectors for nav guidance. Gell had insisted that he memorize the sequences for Llapaaloapalla and the smaller dli, and he had, if he could remember all of it under these conditions. The controls on this instrument were different, of course, and they hadn’t studied the ones on the pirate ship very closely, assuming that details like that could wait.
He was still puzzling over the gadget when Ander Korwits returned to stand at his elbow, dressed fully if still less than modestly in the skintight suit. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Do you intend to land on the planet?”
“I’m entering the navigation identifier for Llapaaloapalla. No, I don’t intend to land on the planet. There are only two places upon it, both essentially points, where I might receive assistance, and I have no notion where they are or how to find them.”
“That’s a pity. I’ve never seen the surface of a planet,” she said a little wistfully. “I understand that it’s wild and very, very large.”
“Yes, that’s correct as far as it goes.” He finished entering the sequence, and observed with satisfaction that the instrument was active. The indicator was a ball painted in quarters of white and black instead of a pair of orthagonal pointers; he rotated the ship until the intersection was under the circle in the center and looked. Nothing. He inspected the instrument more closely. If those were numbers along the black-white boundaries, these were large… he rotated the ship a hundred and eighty degrees. There was a bright spark in about the right place, and he nodded. Then he looked up at Ander. “You’ve never been Down?”
“I’ve never been off the ship.” When he looked at her in incredulity she corrected, “Well, once before, of course. I was born on a different ship, and when I reached the age of bleeding I was traded to this one. So, yes, I’ve been off the ship before, but only once, and never to a planetary surface.”
“Isn’t this exciting?” said Alper as she took the right-hand seat again. “Just like Belsar Flen escaping Ptarne Keep, with the Jewel of Ropta and his first tuwe.”
“Details intrude,” Ander objected. “Belsar Flen had his loyal retainer Kuniss and a stalwart crew of andar to help him, as I recall. And we hardly constitute a valid tuwe; there are only two of us, and we are far too old.”
“You have no imagination,” Alper Gor said cheerfully. “He even looks a little like I imagine Belsar Flen to look: dark-haired, tall, at the height of his vigor, with noble features.”
Ander considered her—captor?—sidelong. She had long beautiful lashes. “I can’t quite visualize Belsar Flen in an airsuit, though.”
The blonde girl waved that off. “Of course not. But he was wearing the uniform of the Keep guardsmen at the time; that’s how he got access to the jewel in the first place. The situation is exactly parallel.”
“What are you two talking about?” Peters asked.
Ander was smiling. “Alper refers to a book of history, or to be more accurate, historical romance. Belsar Flen was one of the early figures in our history. There are squares of stories about his exploits, each less credible than the one before it.” She held out a hand as if in presentation. “In the incident she refers to, he coerced the Jewel into providing him with great wealth, and used that to essentially found our society.”
“Bah. To the extent I understand your society, I would be more likely to destroy it than found another. It could certainly use a few innovations.”
“And if you did so, you would become a figure of romance for later generations,” Alper pointed out. “Just think, Ander, here we are at the beginning… ”
Wham! came from aft, the vibrations transmitted through the fabric of the boat. Peters twisted the sidestick at random; the craft swerved and tumbled. The compensator was obviously not set correctly, because the rapid motion almost pushed them out of their seats. They caught sight of a bright spark. It flared green, and simultaneously another jolt tingled their feet. “What was that?” Ander asked in alarm.
“I would suppose it’s your relatives, come to object to my making free with their possessions,” Peters said drily. “I should have been taking precautions, but I was distracted.”
A crackling voice emanated from somewhere on the control panel, saying something demanding. Peters jumped. “It seems you are correct,” Ander Korwits remarked.
“What did he say?”
“Shorn of the imprecations, he demands that you return to the ship,” said Ander.
Peters eyed the panel. “I wasn’t aware this craft had a communicator. Do you know how to operate it?”
Ander shrugged. “Only in theory. If the books have it right, the mechanism should be on the panel in front of Alper.”
“Yes. Here.” The blonde girl handed him an object that trailed a long cord. “Speak into the grille, there. You have to push or activate something, all the stories are clear on that, but I don’t know what.”
His fingers found a smooth lever on the side of the object. He pressed it, felt a click, and said, “Do you hear me? This is John Peters.”
“I hear you,” said the voice. “Return to the ship. You cannot escape.”
Peters couldn’t help himself. “Don’t be trite.”
“I fail to understand.”
“Never mind,” he said to the front transparency, and pressed the key. “I propose that you let me go. I have nothing but my own property and two individuals who seem to be of little or no value to you. The smallcraft is valuable, but you may have it back once I reach Llapaaloapalla if you will refrain from damaging your own property.”
“Return to the ship. We require your information, and we cannot accept your exposing us. Return to the ship.”
“I won’t return voluntarily,” Peters told the microphone. “You will have to destroy me, so the information is lost in any case. Why should I expose you? What profit would I gain?”
“Traders,” the voice said, sounding disgusted. “Return to the ship, Peters. Otherwise we will destroy you.”
“You have no imagination,” Peters responded, and lowered the mike. “Ander, if Alper’s panel has the communicator, yours very likely controls the weapons. What do we have? I can’t read the legends on the controls.”
“Here are activators and level controls for four breakbeams,” she said, pointing.
“I have no confidence in my ability to hit anything with a breakbeam,” Peters said. “Where are the controls for the—” Shit. He didn’t know the word. “There are weapons which are self-directing. Fredik Fers told me about them. Are the controls there?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Wham! and another lurch. “Here are a row of activator switches, but the legends are covered with a sign that says ‘do not use’.”
“Can you remove the cover?” Wham! “Quickly. Your relatives are becoming insistent.”
“Not while the ship is jerking about.”
“I’ll try to buy some time.” He spoke into the mike. “Stop shooting, stop shooting. What treatment will I receive if I return?”
“That hasn’t been decided. Return to the ship; we will discuss it. There is no alternative.”
“I cannot return directly,” he pointed out. “The energy cost is prohibitive. I propose to loop the planet in order to redirect my velocity.”