"We shall see," the Frenchman said. He put his hand on her left breast and squeezed gently.
Jill sank a fist into his hard belly. He bent over, and Jill brought her knee up against his chin. He fell heavily.
Firebrass said, "What the hell?" and stared at her.
"How would you react if he felt your crotch to see if you were a man?"
"Simply thrilled, honey," Firebrass said. He whooped with laughter and danced around while the other two men looked at him as if they thought he was crazy.
Cyrano got onto his hands and knees and then onto his feet. His face was red, and he was snarling. Jill wanted to back away, especially after he picked up the rapier. But she did not move, and she said, her voice steady, "Do you always take such familiarities with strange women?"
A shudder went over him. The redness faded away, and the snarl became a smile. He bowed. "No, madame, and my apologies for such inexcusable manners. I do not usually drink, since I do not like to cloud my mind, to become bestial. But tonight we were celebrating the anniversary of the departure of the Riverboat."
"No sweat," Jill said. "Just don't let it happen again."
Though she smiled, she was cursing herself for having begun in such a bad way with a man for whom she had a great admiration. It was not her fault, but she could not expect him to forgive her for having felled him so easily before witnesses. No male ego could survive that.
8
THE MIST THINNED. NOW THEY DID NOT NEED THE FIRELIGHT TO see each other's faces. Below their waists the grey-white coils were still dense, however. The sky was brightening, though it would be some hours before the sun cleared the eastern peaks. The great white gas sheets that covered one-sixth of the sky had faded away with the lesser stars. Thousands of the giants still flamed red, green, white, blue, but their intensity, like gas jets slowly being turned off, was diminishing.
Westward, a dozen structures towered up from the mists. Her eyes widened, though she had heard about these through the grapevine and the drum-telegraph. Some were four-and-five-story-high buildings of sheet-iron and aluminum. Factories. But the colossus was an aluminum building, a hangar.
"It's the biggest I ever saw," she murmured.
"You ain't seen nothing yet," Firebrass said. He paused, then said, wonderingly, "So you have come to sign up?"
"I said that once."
He was The Man. He could hire and fire her. But she'd never been able to conceal irritation at stupidity. Repetition was wasteful and hence stupid. Here was a man who had a Ph.D. in astrophysics and a master's in electronic engineering. And the United States had not sent any dummies into space, though they may not have been brilliant. Maybe it was the liquor that made him seem stupid. As it did every man. And every woman, she hastened to remind herself. Be fair.
He was close, breathing the whiskey fumes up into her face. He was a head shorter than she, his broad shoulders, muscular arms, and deep chest making a curious contrast with long, skinny legs. His large eyes were brown, the balls bloodshot. His head was large, his forehead bulged, his bronze hair was so curly that it was almost kinky, his skin was bronze-red. He was supposed to be a mulatto, but the Caucasian and Onondaga Indian genes seemed to be dominant. He could pass for a Provencal or Catalonian. Or just about anything South European.
He looked her up and down. Was his bold stare supposed to challenge her to knock him down as she had Cyrano?
Jill said, "What are you thinking of? My qualifications for airship officer? Or what kind of body is under these baggy towels?"
Firebrass burst out laughing. When he had recovered, he said, "Both."
Schwartz looked embarrassed. He was short and slight, blue eyed and brown haired. Jill glared at him, and he turned away. Ezekiel Hardy was, like Cyrano, almost as tall as she. He was narrow faced, high cheekboned, black haired. He stared at her with hard pale-blue eyes.
"I'll repeat this because it needs to be stressed," she said. "I'm as good as any man and ready to prove it. And I'm a godsend. I have an engineering degree and I can design an airship from A to Z. I have 8342 hours flight-time in four different types of blimp. I can handle any post, including captain."
"What proof do we have?" Hardy said. "You could be lying."
"Where are your papers?" Jill said. "And even if you were skipper of a whaling ship, so what? What qualification is that for a dirigible man?"
"Now, now," Firebrass said. "Don't let us get our bowels in an uproar. I believe you, Gulbirra. I don't think you're one of the many phonies I've had to put up with.
"But let's get one thing straight. You are a hell of a lot more qualified than I am-as of this moment, anyway-to command the ship. But nevertheless, I am the captain, the boss, the head cheese! I'm running this whole show from start to finish. On the ground and up there. I didn't give up being chief engineer on Clemens' boat so I could take a minor position in this project.
"It's Captain Firebrass, and don't ever forget that. If that's okay, signed and sealed in blood, then I'll be jumping with joy to welcome you aboard. You might even be first mate-no sexual implications involved-though I can't promise that. The roster is a long way from being filled."
He paused, cocked his head, and narrowed his eyes.
"First thing off. You have to swear by your personal honor-and by God, if you believe in one-that you'll obey the laws of Parolando. No ifs, ands, buts."
Gulbifra hesitated. She licked her lips, feeling their dryness. She desired-no, lusted for-the airship. She could visualize it even now. It hovered over them, casting a shadow over her and Firebrass, shining silvery where the imaginary sun struck it.
"I'm not going to sacrifice any of my principles!" she said. She spoke so loudly that she startled the men. "Are men and women equal here? Is there any discrimination in sex, race, nationality, and so forth? Especially in sex?"
"No," Firebrass said. "Theoretically and legally, that is. Actually, that is, personally, there is, of course. And there is, as there has always been everywhere and everytime, discrimination based on competency. We have high standards here. If you're one of those who think that a person should be given a job just because he-or she-belongs to a group that has been discriminated against, forget it. Or move your ass on out of here."
She was silent for a moment. The men looked at her, obviously aware of the struggle inside her.
Firebrass grinned again. "You're not the only one in agony," he said. "I want you in the worst way, just as you want in the worst way, that is, the best way, to be one of the crew. But I've got my principles, just as you have yours."
He jerked a thumb at Schwartz and Hardy. "Look at them. Both nineteenth-century. One's an Austrian; one, a New Englander. But they've not only accepted me as the captain, they're good friends. Maybe they still believe, way deep down, that I'm an uppity nigger, but they'd take a poke at anyone who called me that. Right, men?"
They nodded.
"Thirty-one years on The Riverworld changes a person. If he's capable of being changed. So, what do you say? Want to hear the constitution of Parolando?"
"Of course. I wouldn't make a decision until I knew what I was getting into."
"It was formulated by the great Sam Clemens, who left on his boat, the Mark Twain, almost a year ago."
"The Mark Twain? That's pretty egostistical, isn't it?"
"The name was chosen by popular vote. Sam protested, though not very strongly. Anyway, you interrupted me. There's an unwritten rule that nobody interrupts the captain. So here goes. We, the people of Parolando, do hereby declare ..."