Resurgence

“I am not!”

“But hoping to, eh?” The leer on the wide mouth broadened. “In that case, I’ll bide my time. Once you’ve had her a few times, you’ll likely be glad to be rid of her. Then we can come to an arrangement.”

“It’s a possibility. But let’s leave that for the future. One deal at a time. What would you require to come with us, and serve as our pilot?”

“Using whose ship? Yours, or mine?”

“Mine. But does it matter?”

“Could matter a great deal. You don’t get ships from the Orion Arm in these parts. Different basic principles, different technology. If we went in my ship, then you could leave yours here—”

“Forget it. It took years to get the Have-It-All the way I like. I’ll not have anybody else’s paws on it.”

“First the female, now the ship. Bit touchy, aren’t you? But if it’s to be your vessel I’m piloting, that ups my price—and I’ll need to have a good look-see before we talk terms. Some of the clapped-out bits of junk that people bring you, and ask you to fly! You’d not believe it.”

“The Have-It-All is in perfect shape.”

“I’ll need to see that for myself. Where’s your ship?”

“Synchronous equatorial orbit. We’re beaconed, easy to find.”

“Then I’ll be up to visit. Tomorrow.” Claudius nodded, and bobbed on his springy tail toward the exit. “I’m going to catch me a few rays.” He sniffed. “Good luck with the female. Whatever good luck might mean in this case, you’d know that better than I would.”

As Claudius was leaving he passed Sinara on the way in. She had heard his final remark, and was frowning.

She snapped at Nenda, “Good luck with the female? What did that disgusting object mean by that remark?”

“I have no idea.”

But Louis thought of lost opportunities, and wondered how far it was to Carnival.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Claudius

Louis decided within fifteen minutes of Claudius’s arrival aboard the Have-It-All that the Polypheme must be a uniquely competent pilot; otherwise, no one in the universe would employ an individual so rude, insulting, and cantankerous.

Claudius had arrived in his own vessel, a stuttering wreck with failing engines and a body so dilapidated and rusted that Nenda would have hesitated to take it in for salvage had he found the hulk in open space.

The fittings of the Have-It-All were magnificent, gathered with a true collector’s eye that Louis Nenda did not realize he possessed. He just knew what he liked, and he had assembled those through the years from all over the Orion Arm. Claudius had no nose to turn up, but his sneering contempt for all that he saw showed on his other features.

“Vegetables? How can anything that calls itself civilized try to make a ship out of bits of vegetation?” Claudius ran the fingers of his five hands over a polished rail of rare Styx blackwood, “borrowed” from a rich vessel of the Fourth Alliance. Nenda, at the Polypheme’s request, was giving Claudius a stem-to-stern inspection of the Have-It-All—omitting, of course, the concealed weapons ports and their well-hidden controls.

Claudius went on, “Do you lack metal, so that you must resort to such primitive materials?”

“We have metal.” Nenda had a sharp and lethal sample tucked away in his boot.

“Then apparently you don’t know what to do with it.”

Nenda knew exactly what he would like to do with it. He put that thought to one side. Claudius was pretending to an equal disdain for the occupants of the ship, but his eye movements betrayed a different level of interest.

“They belong to you, do they?” Claudius’s main eye was staring at Kallik, J’merlia, and Atvar H’sial. “You know, these would also be of interest at Carnival. Especially the big and ugliest one. There’s nothing like them there. Might they be available?”

“Certainly—but not until our other business is concluded.”

Nenda had been providing pheromonal translation for Atvar H’sial’s benefit. Now a message came wafting across to him containing overtones of both amusement and warning.

“Louis, I detect in your emanations an element of treachery. I approve—provided that it is directed at the correct individual.”

“At, you know me better than that. I wouldn’t dream of selling you out to old blubberguts here.”

“Very wise. It leaves unanswered the question, to whom would you dream of selling me out?”

But Louis was moving on, beyond the range at which his augment could pick up and read the Cecropian’s signals. Atvar H’sial had much more sensitive apparatus. When doors were open she could track and read Louis at fifty meters.

They passed into the next chamber, which normally served as the main cargo hold but which had been modified for special accommodation.