Ararat was only one jump from New Chin, which pleased Cale. There would be less time for word to spread.
Ararat was a regional banking center. Ararat letters of credit were accepted without question throughout the sector, and the secrecy of their transactions legendary. While Ararat was not the gem-trading center that New Chin was, it was an open secret that the larger gem traders were backed by the large banking houses. Cale was hoping to dispose of his largest sunstone, a 15-millimeter monster. According to the latest valuations he had seen, a 15-millimeter sunstone would be worth well over fifty thousand carats of diamonds. There were few places a sunstone that large could be traded, due to its immense value. Ararat was one of those few places, but Cale wanted a quick in-and-out deal. He didn't want to wait around while the wheeler-dealers dithered. He expected to ask 30,000 carats; a comparative bargain.
Ararat's jump point was not picketed, and local traffic seemed rather light. Cale boosted L'rak 's acceleration and approached Ararat in only twenty-two hours.
Ararat did not permit starships to ground, no matter their size. All ships were required to dock at the small moon that had been converted into a space station. Regular shuttle service was provided to the capital, Yahweh. Ararat was the only one of the "glory worlds" on which religion had remained a potent force. The excesses of the repressive 'Mission for the Greater Glory of God' had initiated violent rejection on the other six inhabited worlds the 'Glory' had ruled with an iron fist. Cale had made it a point to study the rigid morality and manners of Ararat.
Being forced to leave L'rak on the moon station didn't bother Cale as much as it might. Ararat had virtually no crime for profit, due to effective law enforcement and draconian punishments. They were not so meticulous when it came to customers. Quite a few of the better-known pirates, including Emo Arror, the infamous Terror, had numbered bank accounts on Ararat. Of course, Cale wouldn't access that account if he could. He was trying to avoid attention, not attract it. No, Cale would play it rigidly straight here.
He strolled casually down Yahweh's quiet streets, occasionally stopping to look in a shop window and make sure he had not attracted any attention or followers. He turned into a grilled doorway bearing a discreet sign "Gems."
"May Lordsman's be of assistance, sire?" asked an obviously robotic voice.
Cale smiled into the red eye of the camera. "I hope so; I have a gem to sell."
"Very well, sire," came the reply. "Please step in front of the scanner."
Cale stepped to the indicated place, and in only seconds, there was a click as the heavy grilled door unlocked. Law enforcement and draconian punishments were not the only reasons for Ararat's lack of crime.
"Thank you sire," the robotic voice accompanied the click. "Please be welcome to Lordsman's, and may God's grace shine upon you."
Cale pushed through the door. Ararat was one of the few places where beards were favored, thanks to the residents' religious beliefs. Here, his beard made him more typical, not less. Only his offworld clothing had marked him as an outsider. However, the gem shop had not been Cale's first stop. He now wore the same dark knee-length coat and drab trousers and tunic that were nearly a uniform on Ararat.
"A good morning, noble sire," he was greeted by a plump young woman. "May I have the honor of serving you?" Her ankle-length dark blue skirt was unrelieved by color or pattern. A loose gray long-sleeved blouse that buttoned tightly at the neck topped it. Her blond hair was tucked into a white cap. But her smile was genuine and warm as she rendered a pretty curtsey. Not a single gem was displayed in the shop, which more closely resembled a study in the home of a tasteful wealthy man. Four rich, overstuffed armchairs surrounded a round table near the center of the room. The table's clear plas top was lighted so that the gems carried through the rooms only other door could be conveniently examined.
Cale bowed. "The honor would be mine, mistress," he replied, "but sadly, I fear the transaction will require the attention of the owner."
An expression of irritation flashed across her face, quickly replaced by a smile that was neither warm nor genuine. "I assure you, sire, that I am licensed to appraise virtually any gemstone." Her tone had sharpened.
Cale bowed again. "I beg your pardon, mistress. I did not intend to impugn your skills. However, since the stone in question is a sunstone…"
Her eyes widened in surprise. "A sunstone!" The surprise faded quickly, replaced by an impassivity betrayed only by the excited gleam in her eyes. "Of course, noble sire. If you will but abide a moment.." She ushered him to one of the overstuffed armchairs, and hurried out.
She returned a moment later, accompanied by a short, thin, middle-aged man in the black jacket that was a business suit on Ararat. Even his bushy brown beard could not conceal the sincerity of the man's broad grin. He bowed, then stepped forward and proffered his hand. "A great good day to you, most noble sire," he boomed. "I am Se Lordsman. 'Need a gem? Se Lordsman'" he quoted jovially.
Cale returned the bow, and shook the hand with a genuine smile of his own. This was no Peng. He began to feel better about his mission. "And a good morning to you, sire Lordsman. I am Rolf Amedon. I find myself in need of capital, and would like to sell my prized family heirloom." He pulled the folded velvet from one of his coat's capacious pockets, and carefully set the sunstone on the lighted table. Suddenly the entire room was bathed in multihued beauty. The girl gasped. The stone seemed to come alive on the light table. Its brilliance overwhelmed the subdued lighting of the store with a glorious burst of color that shifted as the stone moved on the table.
Lordsman snatched the stone from the table. The light show faded as though it were a vivid dream. The jeweler looked distressed. "Such displays are decadent and unseemly," he said in a stern tone. His eyes darted around before he relaxed into an easy grin. "But the lord has made sunstones magnificent, has he not?"
Cale nodded and smiled. "My sincere apologies, Sire Lordsman. I am from off-world, and failed to consider Ararat proprieties."
Lordsman waved a hand dismissively. "It is of no consequence, noble sire. Had you not said so, I would not have taken you for an outworlder. Your undoubted efforts to adapt your manners and dress to accommodate our customs do you great honor and are appreciated.
"Now," he continued, "To business. This stone is remarkable. Are you certain you wish to sell it? Perhaps a loan might be arranged, with the stone for collateral…"
But Cale was shaking his head. "I regret, sire Lordsman, that I need the funds for off-planet transactions, and so a loan would sadly not suffice. However, I greatly admire your willingness to make the offer. Few would make such to a stranger, especially an offworlder."
Lordsman's only reply was an absent smile. His attention was riveted to the stone he cradled in his palm. "Magnificent," he murmured. He dragged his eyes to Cale's face. "It is incredibly large for a sunstone. How did you come by it?" His tone was casual, but his shoulders tightened slightly. He was asking if the stone was stolen, and Cale knew Lordsman would refuse to deal if it were. He smiled slightly at his own surprise at encountering an honest businessman.
"As I mentioned, sire Lordsman, it is the last of my family's inheritance. The Amedons were once a prominent family on Warden's World. But since the Fall…" He shrugged as his voice trailed off.
Lordsman's grin was back. It was not an uncommon story throughout the Old Empire, as the fortunes of many noble, wealthy, and powerful families had fallen with the empire. "It must have been a noble family indeed, to possess a sunstone of such size. Fourteen millimeters?"
"Fifteen, noble sire," Cale replied. The niceties and social graces had been observed. They were getting down to business.
"Indeed." Lordsman took a caliper from a jacket pocket. After a moment, he straightened. "Indeed," he repeated. "Fifteen it is. And of course, there is no doubt of its authenticity after that display earlier. I almost fear to ask your price. I can only hope it is within the means of my poor shop."
"Sire Lordsman," Cale began, "You have honored me with your welcome and your obvious honesty. I shall be likewise honest. As I mentioned, I have obligations off world, where even Ararat ducats would suffer a severe discount. If you will consent to payment in diamonds, I will be willing to accept thirty thousand carats. Unfortunately, my obligations will not permit me to accept less."
Behind him, the young woman's gasp testified to the immense values being discussed.
Lordsman was unsurprised, however. "A mighty price," he murmured as though to himself, "A mighty price indeed. But for fifteen millimeters…" He paused, apparently lost in thought. Suddenly a slow smile spread over his face. Cale suspected he had just thought of a possible market for the sunstone. "Yes," Lordsman continued, in a louder, conversational tone. "For a fifteen millimeter stone it might just be done."
He straightened and smiled at Cale. "Sire Amedon, I believe it can be done. However, I'm sure you will not be surprised to hear that I do not maintain that large an inventory. I fear it will take several hours to assemble thirty thousand carats. Are there any special requirements?"
Cale nodded. "I fear so, sire Lordsman. I would prefer flawless white stones in sizes from two to five carats, I will, of course, wish to inspect the stones before accepting them."
Lordsman's smile spread into a genuine grin. "I would expect no less from such a cultured gentleman."
The young woman moved to her father's side. "In the meantime, sire Amedon, if you would like a meal, a fine choice may be had one block down the street at the sign of the angel." She stopped suddenly, and her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh! My apologies, sire Amedon, for failing to ask. Do you have ducats? "
Lordsman rose, sunstone in hand. "I shall leave those details to my daughter, sire Amedon, and with your permission begin gathering your diamonds. Will you trust me with the stone? I am uncomfortable with the idea of you walking the streets with such a treasure."
Cale also stood. "Thank you, sire Lordsman. I'm sure the stone is safer with you. When shall I return?"
Lordsman glanced at his ring watch. "I should say all will be in order in two hours or so. Shall we say at a quarter past fifteen?" At Cale's answering nod, he bustled off.
Cale turned to the woman. "My apologies for the interruption, mistress."
She smiled sweetly. "Not at all, sire, not at all. Business first, always."
"Thank you," he replied. "In response to your earlier question, I'm afraid I have few Ararat ducats. Do you think the inn will accept New Chin wen?"
"Oh, dear," she responded. "I doubt it. It is just a family inn, after all. Of course, any of the banks would exchange the currencies for you."
Cale chuckled. "Of course. How stupid of me. Where is the nearest bank?"
This time she laughed aloud before clapping her hand over her mouth. "Yahweh is a city of banks, sire Amedon. There is one on nearly every street corner. I believe there is one on the same block as the inn."
"Excellent," Cale smiled. "I'll also need to purchase a bag large enough to carry thirty thousand carats of diamonds without being conspicuous. Where might I obtain such a bag?
She led him to the door, nodding as it opened. "Godssons. One block down, two blocks right."
Cale bade her goodbye, and strode off
The bank exchanged his wen at a reasonable discount. The food at the sign of the angel was simple, but very well prepared and presented. The meat, called 'cabra', passed well for beef, and a large array of accompanying vegetables left Cale feeling stuffed.
Despite the austerity their religious beliefs imposed, Cale found the citizens of Yahweh to be bluff, hearty, cheerful, and honest, for the most part. He liked them, and enjoyed wandering the downtown area until the allotted time.
Promptly at a quarter past fifteen, Cale returned to the gem shop. This time the door swept open at his approach. The young woman was just inside to greet him warmly, and Lordsman himself bustled from the rear of the shop with a bag of diamonds even larger than the one he had taken from Peng.
Lordsman seated him at the light table and, after making sure a cup and a carafe of hot tea were available, left him to examine each diamond with a scanner.
It was nearly three hours later that Cale stood stretched stiff muscles, and smiled at Lordsman. "Excellent quality stones, sire Lordsman, and at least a full measure of carats. It is an honor to deal with a man of such integrity"
Lordsman nodded. "Thank you, gracious sir. It has been a rare pleasure to deal with so mannerly an off-worlder." His eyes twinkled and he leaned close "I would have paid thirty-five!" he murmured with a wide smile.
Cale smiled conspiratorially. "I'd have taken twenty-five." Both men laughed aloud as Cale left the shop. Cale hailed one of the rare animal-drawn cabs and headed for the shuttle port.
Both his transactions had been successful, and Cale now had over fifty thousand carats in diamonds of easily negotiable size. He could afford to live a luxurious life anywhere in man-settled space. In fact, on many planets, he would be the world's richest private citizen. It was time to do some serious planning. Did he really want to retire? Did he want to study law on Ilocan and settle in as a prominent attorney, able to pick and choose his clients? Or perhaps try to sneak into the Alliance, with its peacefulness and high living standard? He was surprised to find that he was reluctant to leave Scorpion. It would be hard to smuggle her into the Alliance with her weapons intact. And he still might need those weapons. He knew better than to underestimate Townley and his pirates.
Of course, there was his "plan B"; travel the Old Empire as a courier, offering high-speed transport of high value passengers and freight. It was tempting, but Cale knew that eventually one of those high value shipments would attract pirates. And successfully fighting one off would be almost as bad as being taken. Rumors circulate quickly in the interstellar underworld, and the last thing he needed would be to draw attention in pirate circles!
As L’rak pulled away from the orbiting station and headed for the jump point, Cale began to worry. Was Yan right? Did he really need a "plan C"?
He had to admit that retirement held no attraction for him. In his mid-thirties, he was far too young to just sit in one place and vegetate. Besides, people his age living luxuriously with no visible means of support attract the attention of tax and law enforcement authorities. Yan was right about one thing. He was not a businessman. Twice he had failed miserably at trade. He was not tempted to try a third time.
Cale had still reached no conclusions as he jumped. As the violent inside out, twisting sensations of entering jump faded, he heard a strangled retch from the tiny "cabin" behind his head. Astonished, he yanked the door open and a figure tumbled to the deck, retching and covered with vomit.
At first, it looked like just a bundle of rags, but as he drew his belt knife, it resolved itself into a girl or young woman, buried in a mass of petticoats and a huge overcoat.
She lay half on her side, still retching, though now vomit was no longer being produced.
Slowly the spasms faded, replaced by moans of misery. Despite his anger, Cale had to smile. He was very familiar with the effects a jump could have on the unprepared. He waited patiently as the retching turned to moans and finally to sobs.
Finally, he grabbed a reasonably clean wrist and jerked the girl to her feet. From Ararat, obviously. The white cap was askew, revealing coal-black hair. Most of the petticoats had settled, though her skirt seemed to be tangled in an Ararat man's greatcoat. Cale got the impression that the tear and vomit-stained face might be reasonably attractive, but in her current condition, he couldn't be sure.
Stowaways are nearly unheard of in space. For one thing, ship's ladings are calculated for mass to the last gram. So, they are usually detected long before liftoff. For another, even the stupidest groundhog should know that ship's provisions and air are calculated as closely as cargo. A stowaway could kill himself and everyone else aboard by using up their air while in jump.
Nothing and no one could leave a ship in jump space. For one thing, who or whatever was ejected would theoretically drift forever in jump space, a total nothingness that no one had ever been able to locate or identify. For another, the change in the ship's mass would mean she would never reach her target jump point. The ship, too, would drift forever in jump space, her crew presumably slowly dying as the air and food ran out.
Cale felt stupid. How did he ever miss an extra fifty-or-so kilos when the station reported L'rak 's departing mass readings? Well, at least the astrogation comp had included the extra mass in its figures. Hopefully. He'd know in about… eighty-four hours, when L'rak was supposed to emerge into normal space.
Cale shook the wrist he was holding, furious at this fool of a girl. "Are you insane?" he shouted.
The girl shrank from his anger. "Yes." she replied in a tone muffled in greatcoat.
That was the one response Cale had not been expecting. "What?" She pulled on her wrist, and in his surprise, Cale let go. She overbalanced and fell to the deck again. This time she struggled back to her feet, red-faced and flailing as she fought to remove the oversized coat.
She threw the coat to the deck and stood, hands on hips, face angry. "I said, 'yes'," she spit out. "At least everyone on Ararat thinks I am!"
Cale was regaining his mental balance. "I think so, too," he replied in a sarcastic tone. "Don't you know that every gram of mass aboard a ship must be accounted? Every cubic centimeter of air? You may have killed us both!"
Her red face whitened and she looked stunned. "What? What?"
"If your mass wasn't included in the ship's jump calculations, we'll never emerge from jump space," Cale shouted, emphasizing his words with punches of his index finger against her breastbone. "Not to mention the fact that we may not have enough air to even make it to the emergence jump point. L'rak may emerge with only two corpses aboard! If we weren't already in jump, I'd push you out the airlock!"
Cale had thought he was prepared for any reaction, but he was wrong. The girl fell to her knees, bowed her head, pressed her palms together in front of her face, eyes closed, and began to murmur softly.
Cale stood mouth gaping, speechless as the girl continued with what was obviously a prayer. After a moment, he rolled his eyes in disgust and returned to the pilot's seat, shaking his head, and trying desperately to remember how to make L'rak 's astrogation comp recall the mass figures it had used in the jump. If the comp had used the station figures, and those figures were accurate, they could still emerge in the right galaxy.
He finally succeeded, and the comp had used the station's figures. He breathed a huge sigh of relief, just as he heard a stirring behind him as the girl rose to her feet. She squeezed herself between the two seats, and large, dark eyes regarded him with an unnatural calmness.
"I'm ready," she said quietly.
Cale rolled his eyes again. "Ready for what?"
"Ready to be put out the airlock," she replied quietly. "I have made my peace with our Lord, and I apologize most humbly, noble sire, for my actions and my lack of manners before. Now, having made my peace with you as well as the Lord, I am prepared for my fate."
Rolling his eyes seemed to be becoming a habit. "Nobody is going out the airlock!" Cale exclaimed. He swiveled the pilot's chair to face the small open area that passed for a cabin. He waved irritably. "Get over there and let's get a look at you."
She said nothing, but moved into the small clear space and stood quietly. The bulky Ararat clothing revealed little of her shape, but she was about 155 cems tall, and seemed to mass about 55 kilos. She seemed quite young, though it was difficult to tell under the vomit staining her face and clothing.
Speaking of the vomit, the sour smell was beginning to permeate the tiny ship.
Cale heaved a gusty sigh. "I don't suppose you know how to use a shipboard 'fresher? No? I thought not." He squeezed past her and opened the door to the rudimentary 'fresher. He showed her how to stand and let the sonics loosen dirt and dead skin, and then showed her how to don the air mask and seal herself inside the transparent bag while a brief soapy shower washed away what the sonics had loosened. He then demonstrated how the bag deflated itself, squeezing out the water for recycling before packing itself away to reveal a spacer's toilet (He'd show her how to use that later — when the stench wasn't so strong!) and a basin that could hold about two cups of water for other ablutions.
"Your pardon, noble sire," she protested, "But there is no room! Where am I to disrobe?"
Cale forcibly suppressed another eye roll. "Here. This is a very small ship. There is no provision for privacy."
She looked stunned. "But sire, it is…"
He waved a hand. "Unseemly, scandalous, indecent, immoral… any other words you'd care to add? As you may have noticed, we left Ararat some time ago, and it is by now light-years away. I'm afraid you're about to learn that the rest of the universe does not subscribe to Ararat morality."
Her head jerked from side to side, obviously seeking an escape. Finally, she asked, "Uh, noble sire, may I disrobe in the sleeping accommodation in which I was hiding?"
Cale chuckled. "You can try. But even if you close the bunk, the floor is covered with slimy vomit. You'll be cleaning that up later, by the way."
She frowned. "Perhaps I should clean the, uh, bink? And floor before bathing, noble sire."
"It's 'bunk', not 'bink'," Cale replied. "And do so if you wish. But go easy on the water. A ship this size doesn't really run to a full recycler, and the tanks are limited.
They found a small plas bag that was watertight, and she began her smelly task. He returned to the pilot's seat and tried without success to concentrate on a novel he had been reading.
Ruth set to her task. Cleaning up vomit didn't bother her; she had five younger brothers and sisters, and had cleaned up after them more than once. Actually, she was grateful for the task. Ruth was terrified. Pastor Goodman had once told her to be careful what she wished for — she might get it. It had sounded important, but she really didn't understand it then. Now, though, it seemed very wise, indeed!
Ever since she'd found that cache of condemned books when she was twelve, she had dreamed of escaping the drab world of her birth to explore the universe. To actually sail between God's stars and survey His handiwork! Her father, Pastor Goodman, even her teachers in school had tried to dissuade her, to tell her of the horrible and unnatural ways of the offworlders. Depravity, rape, and murder were casual occurrences on other worlds, and she would be in danger of losing her immortal soul!
However, Ruth did not believe them. Offworlders were God's creatures, too, weren't they? Well, Pastor Goodman had told her that the offworlders had turned away from God, and embraced the evil ways of Shaitan. He said that Ararat was an outpost of godliness and civilization in a veritable sea of depravity. That's why all interstellar traffic, even those ships capable of landing, was forbidden to touch the soil of Ararat. Ararat needed their trade, but feared contamination.
Yes, there had been evil characters in the books, and smoking, drinking, drugs, and even dancing were portrayed as casual activities. Even sexual contact between men and women had been portrayed. But there were evil people and sinners on Ararat, too, weren't there? What about that man two villages over who'd murdered his entire family? And what about Patience Godslove from their own village? Hadn't she been whipped out of the village for being found in the arms of a man?
It had taken her weeks of effort to convince her parents, her pastor, and the board governing the space station that she could hold down a cleaner's job there. She suspected that her parents felt that once she was exposed to the offworld scum, she would flee back to their welcoming arms. Once on the station, she had been caught once trying to stow away. The spacer that had found her had been gruff and impolite, and used the most scandalous language, but he had agreed not to notify the station authorities, claiming she reminded him of his daughter.
Finally, the little ship came in, and she knew her chance had come. The Proctor said it was the smallest ship ever to visit Ararat, and that it carried only one man. A whole ship for one man! Surely, there would be room for a small girl, as well!
At first it had been exciting, sneaking aboard when the work crew was servicing the air and water supplies, though she had been surprised at how small everything was. Then she felt the ship moving, and knew she was actually in the space between the Lord's stars! She had prayed, of course. Where better? But then the time had dragged. The most horrible wrenching feeling had awakened her, as though the whole universe had suddenly gone mad. And in the midst of her agony, she had been discovered. Too sick to apologize, too sick to plead, too sick to even speak her carefully rehearsed speech. And then that hard, strong hand had seized her wrist, and the man she had thought had a kind look had shouted at her, told her that she might have killed them both! All she could do was make her peace with God and the man, and offer up her life in expiation.
And what now? How was she to wash the filth from her body? The complicated mechanism she had been shown intimidated her. There were few machines in the village, and though there were many on the space station, there were special caretakers for them. What if she couldn't figure out how to use the thing? Dear Lord, even if she disrobed in the bink… uh 'bunk', how was she to get to the 'fresher? She had to strip. Her clothes were filthy and fouled. She would be completely naked, and he would be there! He would see her! Even husbands were not permitted to see their wives naked, except in cases of emergency or serious illness. Maybe she could keep her underwear. No, he had told her they would interfere with the 'sonics', whatever they were. And if she couldn't remember how to use the complicated 'fresher, she would be forced to invite him to see her as he helped her. She felt tears begin to well up.
NO! She would not cry. The man would think her a child. She swallowed, and took her courage in both hands. The man had said that the morals of Ararat were not the morals of the universe, though she did not understand how that could be. Wouldn't the Lord make certain that His rules were followed throughout the universe He created? But the man had sounded sincere. And it seemed the authorities on Ararat agreed. Wasn't that what they had really been warning her about? That other places had different ideas of right and wrong? Could there really be different customs and beliefs, like the ones in those books?
She steeled herself. Yes, there obviously could. This man and those books proved it. She had not believed it at the time, but one of those books maintained that there were places where people truly did not believe in the Lord of All. How could they then discern right from wrong, good from evil?
Apparently, she was about to find out. If they survived this 'jump', the man had mentioned. Suddenly, she was looking forward to it. She knew right from wrong. She had studied the holy word since she would walk. Yes. She would walk through the valley of the shadow of sin and she would fear no evil! And she would fear no man, either!
Finished with the cleaning, she approached the man. "Noble sire, my clothing is fouled. Is there fresh clothing aboard that I may wear?"
Cale turned to her with a smile. “There is clothing, but I'm not sure you'll have the courage to wear it. In the locker in that stateroom, you will find several shipsuits. Those are coveralls that are normally worn by both sexes while in space."
"Coverall?"
Cale stood. "This is a shipsuit," he said, indicating his own garment.
Ruth grabbed hold of her panic. Yes, it had trousers. Unthinkable for a woman. On Ararat, she finished. The man had said they were normally worn by both sexes. Very well. The sly grin on the man's face showed that he knew what she was thinking. She would show him!
She composed her face. "Thank you for your kindness, noble sire. Now, if I may beg one more favor?" Cale nodded, and she continued, "It is not our custom to appear unclothed before strangers, noble sire. May I beg your word that you will keep your eyes averted while I bathe?"
Cale grinned, but it was not an evil grin. Rather, it was the grin of one who sees humor in the request. Could it be that these people could even be casual about nakedness? "I understand," he replied, “and I will keep my eyes to myself. You had better know, though, that we're going to be living in very close quarters for several weeks. I'm not sure your modesty is going to survive."
Weeks! She had not thought that far ahead. She looked around her. The kitchen at home was larger than the entire cabin space. The man was right. Even if they tried, there was virtually no chance they would be able to avoid seeing each other's naked bodies. Panic surged, but she clamped down on it, hard. She had brothers. She knew what made a man. And he surely knew the makings of a woman. Regardless, she would survive. A minor sin at worst.
"I understand, noble sire. I suppose we will have to deal with many differences in the weeks ahead. For the moment, however, I crave your indulgence."
Cale shook his head and sighed. "Go ahead. I won't peek, I promise."
She did have to ask for help with the 'fresher, and he studiously kept his eyes averted, though his grin was wide. She ignored the grin. She found she actually enjoyed the sensations created by the 'sonics'. But the water bag distressed her as she realized what it was doing to her hair. Soaked, it fell straight down past her waist. She had always been proud of her silky black hair, and had resented having to keep it wound up under her cap. But once it dried, she wouldn't have enough pins to keep it under control.
However, the shipsuit was fun! It seemed a 'coverall' was a one-piece garment covering from shoulders to ankles. The three available were all too large for her, and she had to roll up the sleeves and trouser legs. Ha! Legs, not 'limbs'. Moreover, it was so freeing to wear trousers! No heavy, ankle-length skirt, no Lord-damned petticoats! She strode up and down the three-step length of the cabin until Cale told her to sit down, they needed to talk.
Cale watched with amusement as his 'guest' reveled in the newfound freedom of a shipsuit. Nevertheless, it was time to find out what was going on, and try to figure out what they could do about it.
The girl cleaned up well. He'd guessed well on the height and weight, about 155 cems and 52–55 kilos. Her black hair was shiny and well cared for. Pity it was so long. Obviously, it was important to her. But she was going to find it almost impossible to live with in space — especially aboard L'rak, with its cramped quarters. She was about 20 standard years old, he guessed. However, raised on Ararat, she would be as naive as a twelve-year-old.
She remained standing. "Are you going to ravish me now?" she asked in a calm tone.
Cale's jaw dropped. "Am I… See here, what do you think I am, some kind of monster?"
Her tone remained calm, her stare level. "You are an offworlder, noble sire. We are warned about your degeneracy and debauchery. Please do not hurt me. I will try not to resist. But please allow me to remove the shipsuit first, so it will not be damaged."
Cale was swept into gales of laughter. I took him several minutes to get himself under control. Finally, the hurt look on her face brought him to calmness. "Don't worry, I've sworn off debauchery for lent. And I'm taking the week off from rape."
"You mock me."
"No. Yes. Well, a little. I'm not mocking you, but the silly ideas Ararat leaves you with. Now sit down," he continued, "and let's talk. I promise not to attack you without at least knowing your name." He shook his head and sighed. "The first things we need to deal with are those damned Ararat manners. They drive normal people crazy!"
Her eyes widened. "But, noble sire, manners are what permit us to live together in harmony, without violence."
"Hmph," he grunted. "Everyone carrying a blaster gets the same benefit, without all the baggage. And it's not "noble sire." My name is Cale Rankin. And no, you will not call me "sire Rankin." You will call me Cale. And you are?"
She started to stand and curtsey, but he pushed her back into the co-pilot's seat. "I am Ruth Lordschild," she replied. "I am from the village of Salvation, some fifty kiloms from Yahweh."
"All right, Ruth Lordschild. Now, what the devil are you doing on my ship?"
Startled, she drew back from the anger that had suddenly entered his tone. "I… I have always wanted to leave Ararat, to see the wonders of the Lord's creation. Since there was only one person on your ship, I thought there might be room for a small girl." she straightened. "I'll work for my passage, nob… uh Cale," she flushed slightly before continuing. "I can keep the ship clean, and cook the meals, and… and…" she stopped as she realized there was very little ship to clean, and she had yet to see anything resembling cooking facilities.
Cale nodded. "I'll call you Ruth. You create real problems for me, Ruth. I'm on the run. People are chasing me, and this is not my ship. Well, actually it is, but only temporarily. I was planning to go to Refuge to trade. But Refuge is a wild place with no laws and free traders and pirates making deals. You'd end up kidnapped and aboard a slaver less than an hour after I dropped you there."
"I'm not afraid!"
He grinned. "I am, and you should be. But it looks like we are going to come out where I'd planned; at least I hope so. Luckily, I topped off the atmosphere tanks on Ararat, and those tanks are designed for two crewmen. But we're going to be short of water before long. So, when we emerge, I'm going to recalculate our course to skip Refuge, and head straight back to Torlon."
"Then you will leave me there?"
Cale shuddered. "Not a chance. One of the reasons I chose it was that it barely retains spacegoing capability; in fact, when L'rak 's original owner dies, I think spaceflight on Torlon will die with him. I wouldn't leave you on a planet sinking into barbarism."
Ruth frowned. "Then what will you do with me?"
"Lady, I haven't the slightest idea. I have another, larger ship waiting for me at Torlon. However, it doesn't really need a cook or cleaner, either. It has robots to handle those chores. All I can promise is to drop you off on a reasonably developed planet, with maybe some fake papers to make you legal. Then I will leave. You'll be on your own. Hopefully you can avoid the slavers, but you might still starve."
She shook her head. "I will not starve. I am a hard worker, and the Lord will provide."
"I hope so. For right now, though, we have to make it through this jump, and then on to Torlon. In the meantime," he continued, "you might want to consider cutting all that hair. There are reasons that spacer women wear it short."
"They do? Who are 'spacer women'?" Her face clouded up, looked ready to begin crying, then suddenly she straightened. "Do you not like my hair, Cale? I have always thought it my best feature."
"It's beautiful," he replied, "on Ararat, or on any planet. But you are going to find it difficult to care for in the small spaces on L'rak. Especially since we have no water to spare, and will have to be content with a bath a week."
She was shocked. "A week! But did our Lord not command us to bathe daily?"
Cale smiled. "Not that I know of. I know you think the Lord will provide, but until He provides unlimited fresh water, we will be bathing weekly. I suspect you will find your hair becoming oily and matted."
"You are mocking me again. I am sure I will survive."
He found that it was actually rather pleasant to have a companion to talk to. She peppered him with questions about worlds he had visited and all of man-settled space. Of course, she asked him about himself, and he found himself unwilling to lie to her for some reason, so he deflected her questions or simply refused to talk about it.
Finally, the countdown timer clicked down and L'rak emerged into normal space. Cale said nothing, but his relief was easily visible as he verified that they had indeed emerged at the proper recal point. While he struggled to make the computations necessary to change their course with L'rak 's simple astrogation comp, Ruth stared transfixed at the unfamiliar constellations adorning the heavens. For years, she had looked at the stars of Ararat's sky, trying to imagine that each of them was a sun, so far away as to be only a pinprick of light. Now, here was a whole new sky, full of thousands of new stars. Suddenly, she felt very small, very insignificant, and very alone. Her world was gone, a door closed on her past. She was on her way to an unknown future, and depending on a stranger, of whom she knew nothing. Correction. A stranger who refused to tell her anything about himself.
Cale sat back with a satisfied sigh. Ruth's presence was causing only minimal disruption. Oh, he'd had to skip his planned stop at Refuge, but that might be a good thing, not a problem. He had been worried about that stop anyway. Peng was a sneaky bastard, but he was basically a businessman who wasn't above a bit of larceny when the opportunity arose. But Refuge was a lawless haven for the dregs of society. There were people there who would kill you for the change in your pockets, and kick and curse you as you died for not having more. Cale had spent hours debating whether to go there. To be honest, he was relieved that Ruth's presence forced a change of plans. According to the astro comp, the course changes to divert back to Torlon were not significant.
However, the problem of Ruth was significant. What in space was he going to do with her? She was a young, attractive, — okay, very attractive — woman. But she was as innocent as a child. She had zero experience with men or with any cultures but her own insular cocoon.
For a moment, he entertained the idea of returning to Jackson and Yan Carbow. He could trust Yan to look out for her and keep her out of trouble until she learned to survive in galactic civilization, such as it was.
However, it just was not possible. There were too many inconsistencies and risks. By now, the word was out on John Smith, and a bounty on his head. Returning to Jackson would make a waste of all his efforts. Scorpion was known there, might even now be identified with said John Smith alias James Yor-Tarken, and its return would draw attention. It would be in the hands of an apparent stranger. His new description would certainly be noted, as would his new identity. No, he could not return there, at least not without a different ship. He could possibly make it as a passenger on a liner, say, but chances are Yan was now watched. Tempting as it was, he would have to find another solution.
There was an idea that had been percolating in the back of his mind since his visit to Torlon. With old Nabel's help, he might be able to give Scorpion a new name and clean papers — clean enough to enter the Alliance.
He was fairly certain he had seen the distinctive outline of a genuine stinger-class courier, the ship Scorpion had been modified to resemble, in Nabel's scrap yard. If he could get Nabel to sell him the ship's identification papers and, most important, the serial number plate embedded into the hull metal, Scorpion could almost certainly pass for a legitimate survivor of the Fall, and his own Rankin identity was certainly good enough as the duly registered owner.
The Alliance was an island of progress in a sea of a former empire declining to barbarism. There were a few successful planets, and even a few groups of systems, but no non-Alliance system in man-settled space was better off now than it was before the Fall. Obviously, millions of the Old Empire's wealthier citizens wanted to immigrate to the Alliance; as a result, the Alliance's immigration policies were strict and tough. The Alliance had annexed a dozen systems, but only one inhabited planet in the last century, and it only admitted a few million immigrants per year. They did not care where you came from, but legal immigration involved investigations, interviews, and tests. Many tests. The Alliance would accept only the smartest, the best educated, those who could contribute to the development of the Alliance.
Nevertheless, if you were careful and lucky, you could sneak into the Alliance illegally. The rumor was that if you were able to sneak in, and your papers passed casual inspection, the Alliance authorities would not devote much energy to catching you. Rumor had it that the Alliance figured that if you were smart enough to break in, you were probably smart enough for the Alliance. Oh, people-smugglers were energetically tracked down and punished with a vengeance. The Alliance only wanted those smart and tough enough to make it on their own. But they didn't make it easy. Borders and nearby jump points were picketed and patrolled relentlessly, and the Alliance Border Patrol's pursuit ships were reputed to be the fastest in space — and the best armed.
Cale had decided it was not worth the risk and effort required to try to sneak into the Alliance in Scorpion. But now…
Naive as she was, Ruth would need a safe, stable environment to live in while she learned to cope with galactic society.
But no, he decided. It simply was not worth the risk and the extraordinary effort it would take. There were over a thousand inhabited worlds in the Old Empire. With Scorpion and his resources, he would surely be able to find a peaceful planet for her. He could drop her off somewhere, perhaps with the rest of Jan's gold in a local bank. Then he could get on with his own plans — without this feeling of guilt and responsibility!
Anger flared. Why should he feel guilty or responsible? She was the one who'd slipped aboard his ship. She was the one naive enough to think that piety gave her security in a hostile world.
He slammed a hand on the chair arm. Damn it! The trouble was that he did feel responsible for her, and yes, even a little guilty about the inevitable hard lessons she was about to get.
By the time they emerged in Torlon's system, the very close quarters, the lack of hygiene, the space rations, and of course the sexual tension, had caused them to really begin to annoy each other.
"Sit down, or get into your bunk," Cale ordered sourly. "I'm going to drive in at 1.5G. You're going to feel very heavy, and if you fall, you could break an arm or leg."
"Do not trouble yourself," she replied coldly. "Does this '1.5G' mean we will get there sooner?"
"Yes. We'll get there in less than 20 hours. But it will be very uncomfortable."
"Then go! Go!"
"Sit Down!" he roared. She dropped into the copilot's seat with a thump. Cale worked out the orbital data and delta vee requirements, entered them into the nav comp. Their bodies pressed back into the padded seats as the acceleration built. It steadied on 1.5G. Cale felt that was enough to get them there sooner, but would still allow them to move around when necessary.
Ruth struggled to breathe against the force compressing her chest. She had never experienced anything but the. 96 gravity of Ararat, and panic was setting in. She gasped for air.
"Relax," Cale said in a gentler tone. "Don't fight it. Concentrate on breathing. That's it. In, out, in, out. That's it. And above all, don't panic!"
For the first time in her life, Ruth regretted not knowing any curse words. She fumed, but the simple act of breathing demanded so much attention that her anger faded. "How… long?" she forced out.
"About… 18 hours." She was pleased to note that his voice also sounded strained.
Several hours later, it took her over a minute to pry herself from the chair and struggle heavily to the 'fresher, moving hand over hand for fear of falling.
Finished, she gathered two of the self-heating space ration packets and worked her way back to the copilot's chair. She dropped into it with a painful grunt.
Cale tried to smile at her, but the acceleration's effect on his face turned it into a horrible rictus.
They traveled on in silence. Cale also made a struggling trip to the 'fresher, but except for the few moments when L'rak flipped over to begin deceleration, they merely sat in mutual discomfort, breathing hard and counting the seconds until that awful weight would lift.
Finally, it did lift, and they approached orbit around Torlon. From his previous visit, Cale knew that the space detection satellites were not functioning. When he hailed ground control, it took almost half an hour for the familiar raspy voice to respond. Since the landing grid also didn't work, calling ground control was mostly a courtesy. Cale simply did it out of habit.
He landed L'rak manually at the edge of Nabel's junkyard. The two tired, dirty travelers climbed out of the tiny cabin and stretched, breathing in huge, gusty sighs and luxuriating in the one G gravity field of the planet.