Lucas examined his own sword. “Arrogant of him to allow us these,” he said. “Of course, the others all had pistols, did you notice?”
Ned Land looked completely in his element in the pirate clothing. His short-sleeved shirt revealed his new tattoo, with which he was quite pleased. Shiro had adorned him with a shark upon his upper arm, to commemorate his having saved Drakov’s life.
“I’ve had a chance to speak with Drakov,” Ned said. “He’s being careful, but I think I’ve convinced him of how bad I want to join his crew.”
“Did you tell him we were planning to search his cabin?” Lucas said.
Land nodded. “He just laughed. He told me not to concern myself, but to keep him informed.”
“Well, if the disc isn’t in his cabin, it could be in any of a hundred places aboard that sub,” said Finn. “Maybe we should try searching the reactor room, only how are we going to manage that with crewmen constantly stationed there?”
“We’d better try searching Drakov’s cabin anyway,” said Lucas, “just to give Ned’s story credibility.”
Martingale entered the cabin, surprising them. For a big man he moved so silently. “If you’re going to try searching Drakov’s cabin,” he said, “make sure Shiro doesn’t catch you at it. Grigori’s dangerous enough, but when it comes to protecting Drakov, Shiro can be difficult to control.”
They stared at him. “I guess you got an earful,” Finn said in disgust.
“I guess I did,” Martingale drawled, giving them a half smile. “Drakov wants you people up on top soon as you’re changed, so he can brief you on Lafitte. Verne’s already up there with him, looking like some damn silly New Orleans dandy in a long green coat and pantaloons. Drakov wanted to make sure he looked all right, which is just as well. I’m not sure where he stands. I wasn’t too sure about the Canuck, either, until what I just heard. Here, take this.”
He handed Lucas a small plastic box.
Lucas frowned. “Martingale, what’s this-”
“Open it.”
He opened the box and removed a tiny plastic envelope. “A plastiskin graft? I don’t get it. What did you mean just now when you said-”
“I’m in the Underground, soldier,” said Martingale. “Have been for about ten years now. I deserted during an arbitration conflict in 20th-century Southeast Asia. Drakov has the Underground worried, too. I’ll explain more later, when I get the chance. Right now I want you to slap that graft on. Under the arm’s a good place.”
“Just hold on a second, Martingale,” said Finn. “You-”
“I haven’t got time to get into this right now,” said Martingale. “ I need to get topside before Drakov starts wondering what’s taking me so long. There’s a particle level device molded into that graft. It’s a little like a warp disc, only different. Don’t ask me to explain, it’s too damn complicated. If you want to stop Drakov, you’ll have to trust me. Our best chance lies with the Doctor.”
“Who?”
“Later. Slap the graft on and get up on deck.”
“Wait a minute,” Finn said, but Martingale left without another word.
“What was he talking about?” said Land. “Who’s the Doctor?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” said Finn. He glanced at Lucas. “You think he’s on the level about being Temporal Underground?”
“I don’t know,” said Lucas. “How would a 20th-century mercenary know about the Underground?”
“Maybe he wouldn’t,” said Andre. “That doesn’t mean Drakov couldn’t have told him.”
“Let me see that,” Finn said.
Lucas handed him the envelope.
“What’s this Underground?” said Land.
“It would take too long to explain now, Ned,” said Lucas. “It’ll have to wait.”
“It looks like a perfectly ordinary graft patch from a field medical kit,” said Andre.
“With something like a warp disc in it, only on the particle level,” Finn said.
“Really? There’s no such thing as a warp disc that small. I don’t buy it.”
“There’s only one way to find out,” Lucas said, reaching for the envelope.
Finn gave it to him. “You’re going to chance it? It’s not smart.”
Lucas shrugged. “What do we have to lose? If Martingale’s not lying, I can’t afford not to chance it. Things can’t get much worse.”
“The last time you said that, things got a whole lot worse,” said Finn. “What if it’s a bug?”
“I’ll risk it,” Lucas said. “We can always cut it off. What’s a little pain?”
He ripped open the envelope and carefully removed the graft patch. Using two fingers, he spread the exceedingly thin square of plastiskin on the palm of his right hand. On contact with the skin, it began to grow warm. He put his hand inside his shirt and pressed the graft patch against the skin of his underarm. As it started to adhere, he smoothed it out with his fingers, spreading the softened patch evenly as it became part of his skin.
“It’s hot,” he said. “They aren’t supposed to get that hot.” He bit his lower lip. “Jesus, it’s really starting to burn!”
Finn came over to him quickly, pulled off his coat and raised his shirt. “Lift your arm,” he said. He examined the skin there closely.”It’s taken. I can’t see it anymore. The skin’s red in that area, but that’s normal.”
“Are you all right?” said Andre.
“I think so,” Lucas said. “It’s fading now. But it feels strange. A tingling sensation, like tiny needlepricks. It’s not supposed to do that, either.”
Land stood by, his brow furrowed with concern, wishing he could understand what was going on.
“Well, whatever it is, it’s part of me now,” said Lucas.
“I don’t like it,” Finn said. “I’m going to get that bastard Martingale and make him tell us-”
“It’s too late now,” said Lucas. “One way or another, we’ll find out what it’s all about eventually. What the hell, we’re not paid to play it safe. Let’s get topside before Drakov starts getting nervous.”
“Ah, there you are,” said Drakov, when they joined him on deck. “I was about to send Martingale back down to see what was keeping you.”
“Finn had some trouble finding clothes to fit,” said Lucas.
“You look splendid,” Drakov said. “The very image of corsairs. That is what you are, by the way. Corsairs, or privateers. I should caution you not to use the term ‘pirate’ in the presence of Lafitte. He has a nasty temper. He makes a great point of the fact his ships sail under letters of marque, with the official standing of privateers. It may be a small distinction, which he interprets rather loosely, but it is important to him.”
“What are we supposed to do in Barataria?” said Andre.
“Anything you like,” said Drakov. “You may even attempt to escape if you should choose to. No one will stop you. But you won’t do that. That would be dereliction of duty, wouldn’t it?” He gave them a mocking look. “Besides, without your warp discs, your chances of making it to the mainland would be very poor. Barataria Bay is located at the mouth of the Mississippi Delta, in marsh country. The coast of Louisiana is a vast, wet plain composed of hundreds of bayous, swampland veined with winding streams and overgrown with vegetation. You could easily become lost in it forever.”
“But Lafitte and his men know their way around?” said Land.
“Lafitte could find his way through the bayous blindfolded,” Drakov said. “He makes his headquarters on Grand Terre Island. He leads a commune of contrebandiers, smugglers who enjoy the sanction of the New Orleans citizenry by providing them with cheap, duty-free goods, especially Negroes. They are called Negroes in this time period, where racial distinctions are so fine. New Orleans is predominantly French, though quite cosmopolitan. The people of the bayou country are largely Creole, of Spanish-French ancestry. There is also a racial category known as quadroon, descendents of white fathers and black mothers. Such distinctions are important here.
“Lafitte is extremely wealthy. He has made much of his fortune smuggling slaves. Due to the ban on slave importation, there is a shortage. Lafitte takes advantage of it by raiding Spanish ships and bringing their slave cargoes to America, to sell. He has vast connections in this market, reaching as far as Memphis, where his principal buyers are the Bowie brothers. In Barataria, he is the law. It is a kingdom unto itself. Smugglers and corsairs are always made welcome.”