John Maddox Roberts - Spacer: Window of Mind (2 page)

"We'll be in trouble now," said the pilot. "The skipper's not going to like accounting to the authorities for a bunch of corpses."

"Nobody killed," said one of the Vivers. "Skipper says no killing, being a soft and irrational spoilsport. We did not use our talons or spurs." By way of demonstration, the Viver spread his lingers under Kiril's face and unsheathed five razor-edged, two-inch claws from their tips. From a bump on the back of his leg, just above the ankle and resembling a horse's fetlock, a seven-inch spur shot out. Kiril's stomach contracted at the sight, and she was not easily intimidated. For his entire seven-foot length the Viver was concentrated death.

At the field the pilot cut his speed. No one would follow them here. A spaceport was a planet's lifeline to the rest of the settled worlds. On many planets, spaceports and their occupants enjoyed a status of near-immunity. They flew past a line of tall ships owned by major companies, then slowed as they reached a small, battered freighter. The pilot eased the AC into its port, and Kiril's stomach did a flip-flop as the ship's grav field took hold and "vertical" became "horizontal."

A woman in an old, braided jacket and peaked cap glared at them as she chewed on an unlit Sirius V cigar.

"What have you done this time, Torwald? I send you into town to see about some supplies, and next thing I know you've got a riot going and you're calling for reinforcements."

"I was in the Gambler's Warren and—"

"Just what were you doing in the Warren? Can't I send you on a simple job without you exercising your taste for low company?"

"The Warren's a good place to pick up gear cheap. Anyway, I stepped out of a shed and this kid ran right into me. She was being chased by a goon with a thump gun. I couldn't just let her be killed—"

"Is this a girl?" The speaker was a tall, slender man who had entered the port through a door behind the skipper. His skin was pale but his hair and eyes were black as space. He leaned down and examined Kiril with his hands on his knees. "Faith, I believe you're right, though it's hard to tell, the kid being so skinny and all, and carrying so much dirt."

"You're looking for glamor, you gotta go uptown for it, you dumb
schturpterl"
Kiril spat.

"Such language," said the black-haired man, shaking his head in mock dismay, "and after we saved your life and all."

"Stow it, Finn," said the skipper. "Let's assemble all hands and figure out what kind of jam we're in." She touched a button on her belt and a quiet beeping sounded through the ship.

The spacer called Torwald guided Kiril out of the dock and into a passageway, then forward, toward the ship's nose. The passageway became a catwalk through a cavernous, empty hold. Then it became a floor once more as they entered another passage in the forward part of the ship. They went up a companionway to an upper deck and entered a large room with a long table in its center. Around the table sat a motley collection of crew members. The skipper gestured for Kiril to take an empty chair. Kiril sat and surveyed the company.

"First off," said the skipper, "I'm Captain HaLevy, skipper of the
Space Angel.
What's your name?"

"Kiril." She said it sullenly, as if this were a police interrogation.

"Why were you being chased?"

"Pao Lin wants me dead."

"You seem very young to have earned such antipathy," said an elderly, bright-eyed man. "Oh, excuse me, I'm Bert Sims, cargo chief."

She shrugged. "Young or old, it's all the same to Pao Lin. Cross him and you die."

"What did you do to him?" The questioner was a huge black man, as wide and heavy as Khan. He wore a mate's insignia on his collar.

"I was supposed to deliver a day's takings from a dope house to his collector. 1 kept half."

"Why'd you do that, knowing you'd be killed for it?" asked Torwald.

"I thought 1 could buy a passage out of this hole before Pao I.in caught on to the shortage. I picked the wrong time for it. Pao Lin was running a check on his collector and found out what I'd done. He posted men at all the ticket offices and put out the word on me. Just to make sure, he sent Khan. I gave the money to a pusher to give back, but that meant nothing. I stole from Pao Lin, so I have to be chopped."

"Do you have a family?" asked the skipper.

"No. I was brought here with a shipload of war refugees when I was little. They dumped me here in a camp, then the state got tired of paying for the camp and closed it down. I guess I was about nine then."

"Where were you before that?" asked Bert.

"Mao Zedong, but it was just another camp there. Before that ..." She tried to remember, but she had not thought about this in a long time. All she could call back was a vague memory of a huge ship's hold packed with people. There was a terrible stench and screams of pain. "I don't know, another ship. I sort of remember somebody dying. Maybe it was my mother. I'm not sure."

"And what have you been doing since?" Bert asked.

"Picking up a living, scavenging, running errands for people."

"Thieving?" asked Torwald.

"Like I said, picking up a living. I'd steer marks to the gambling joints, watch for the police on other people's jobs, things like that."

"Rough life for a kid," said the black-haired man. "Oh, I'm Finn Cavanaugh, the navigator."

"How long since you've eaten?" asked a stunningly beautiful, blond woman.

"A couple of days, I guess. I think I had some soup the day before the trouble started." She could feel that their suspicion was dropping away as they iooked at one another grimly.

"God. what the War's done," the skipper muttered to herself, shaking her head.

"Tor," said the blond woman, "fix Kiril something to eat. Make it light, her stomach probably won't tolerate much. Meanwhile, I'm going to give her a med exam. Nancy, bring some of your clothes. You're the only one close to her size." This last was addressed to a tiny, almond-eyed woman who had been sitting as still as a bronze statue throughout the meeting. She signified assent with a tiny nod. "Come along with me, dear," said the blond woman. She took
Kiril's
hand and led her out of the mess room. Kiril was a little shaky and lightheaded with fatigue, hunger, and relief. She was still on her guard, but beginning to feel a feint glimmering of hope, and hope was something she thought she had suppressed years ago.

"I'm Michelle LeBlanc, med officer," said the blonde. "Call me Michelle. Except for the skipper, we're on a first-name basis in this ship." Just forward of the hold Michelle stopped her at a door which bore a stylized emblem of a serpent wound around a staff. Inside were an examining table and a profusion of instruments, and Kiril could only guess at their function.

"First I'll have to give you a physical exam," Michelle said. "Go ahead and take off your clothes."

"Hey, what is this?" Kiril asked suspiciously.

"Don't you know it's all right to undress for a doctor?" Michelle said, amused.

"I've never seen a doctor before."

"Well, I can't examine you unless you do." The woman smiled winningly, but Kiril didn't trust smiles. The feeling she always had about such things told Kiril that the woman meant her well, but life had taught her to pay more attention to feelings of threat than to those of benevolence.

"Okay," she said at last, "I guess it's your ship." Just now she was willing to do almost anything to avoid leaving the ship. Almost. She unfastened her ragged coverall and slid out of it, sitting on a low table and pulling the filthy garment off over her bare feet. She was wearing the thin daggers strapped to both forearms.

"You'll have to take those off before I can take readings," said Michelle, as if such accoutrements were the most ordinary thing in the world. "You're safe here, Kiril," she added gently.

Kiril took off the knives and placed them on a shelf. Michelle attached tiny instruments to Kiril's wrists, chest, back, and forehead. She then proceeded to poke, prod, and pry with a businesslike forthrightness.

"Hey, what's that for? What are you doing?" Kiril was indignant. Michelle was examining her in places she was not used to having handled.

"Almost through," said Michelle. She began to unfasten her devices. "Now, step into that booth." She pointed to a iransparent door in a wall. Kiril slid the door open and stepped inside. The chamber was barely large enough to turn around in.

"Don't be frightened," said Michelle, sliding the door shut. "It's just a medicinal bath. I know it's something different in your experience, but it's good for you."

Kiril started as a thick foam began rising in the booth. It had a harsh, astringent sting to it, and it kept rising. She was beginning to panic when it stopped short at her chin.

"Duck your head under and stay down as long as you can. Keep your eyes shut while you're under. Do that several times."

Kiril held her breath and closed her eyes. Screwing up her courage, she ducked. Immediately, she could feel the foamy stuff scrubbing at her scalp. "Different" was no adequate word for it. A bucket of cold water had been her only experience of bathing in Civis Astra. The stinging stopped and she could feel her pores opening. It began to feel good. Eventually the foam receded and she stepped from the booth. Michelle wrapped her in a huge, heated towel. It was the softest fabric she had ever felt. There was a knocking at the door.

"It's me, Nancy." The door opened and the woman entered, carrying a pile of clothes.

"This is Nancy Wu," said Michelle, "communications officer."

"How's the patient?" Nancy asked.

"Poor condition, physically. She's sixteen, but her physical development is that of a thirteen-year-old. That's mainly a result of malnutrition. Good food will clear it up, plus I'll put her on a hormone treatment. She's got enough problems to keep me busy for quite a while, but nothing that won't respond totreatment. Actually, it's kind of nice having a patient again I don't have enough to do around here anyway "

The comm officer left and Kiril tried on the clothes. The coverall was baggy on her thin frame. She studied Michelle with curiosity.

"Why are you looking at me?" asked Michelle.

"I can't figure you. In Civis Astra a woman with your looks would belong to a big K'ang leader, or maybe some polit. Same with that other woman, Nancy. You two
work
on this ship, just like the rest?"

"That's right. Nancy handles communications, though she's not very communicative personally. I handle the medical department and see to everybody's health. Plus, Torwald and I take turns as ship's cook."

"You mean that big
schturtzl
with the gun cooks?" The idea strained Kiril's credulity.

"He's a man of many talents. His official capacity is quartermaster—he sees to equipment and supplies, but he's also a gourmet chef." Kiril didn't understand this. Food to her was fuel, nothing more. "Speaking of which," Michelle continued, "let's see if that food's ready." She guided Kiril back to the mess room again. Kiril sat at the table and Torwald put a tray in front of her. There was a soup and a few light, solid items.

"Eat this slowly, beginning with the soup," said Torwald. "We'll have to increase your intake gradually. I was a POW in the quarries on Signet during the War. I didn't look much better than you when I got liberated. The navy gave us as much as we could eat, and we all got sick, so take it slow."

Kiril began to spoon up the soup. It was delicious, and she had to fight the urge to bolt it and the rest. Food had always been something to eat as fast as possible, before someone else took it away from her.

"You all act as if I was going to stay here." She looked at them suspiciously. "Why's that?"

"Well," said Torwald, "you can't go back there, you'd just be killed. So, you stay with the ship."

"But I told you, I don't have the money anymore. 1 can't pay for a passage."

"Then you can work for it," Michelle said. "It happens that our last ship's boy left us a while back. He outgrew the job, so we have an empty berth. How would you like to be ship's girl?"

Kiril looked at her incredulously. "You mean I can stay until you reach another planet?"

"You can stay as long as you like," said Torwald. "Stay until you outgrow it, as long as you do your job. How about it?"

"Are you kidding? I'd do anything to get out of this sink." She paused. "Well, almost anything," she amended.

The skipper came in, carrying a flimsy printout sheet. "I've been talking with Port Authority. Seems a local 'businessman' named Pao Lin claims we're harboring a fugitive."

Kiril sat in her chair, paralyzed. The fear she had almost discarded came rushing back in full force. "Are you gonna let I hem take me?" Her words were edged with panic.

"No, of course not," said the skipper. "Just finish eating. The port people said that it'd take days for him to process enough red tape to extradite Kiril from the port area. They also say that Pao Lin is the biggest crook in the city and it's a pity we didn't let the Vivers kill all his men."

"Told you," said K'Stin, the taller of the two Vivers. The skipper looked at him with disgust.