Part 4 (1/2)

”Firm, Mate.” It watched her secure the cabin door and test the new lock on its outside.

”Firm,” she echoed. ”Will I need to come with you to keep you from-”

”Neg, Mate. We Jarps are not as rapacious as Galac-tics say. I'll bet you don't, though. I like you, Mate Najendra. You're a nice Galactic. You a Sunflower?”

Her little chuckle and nod admitted that Najendra did indeed fit that bigots' term for Jarp-lover-usually meaning merely Jarp-tolerator. They headed along the tunnel to the con-cabin, the Galactic in her blousy baggies and the Jarp two dozen centimeters taller, in cerise halter and trunks.

Once again Captain Lortice sat asprawl in his own cabin. He felt better about the captive. A Most n.o.ble Lady should be treated as such, even when she was kidnapped, and never mind her s.e.xually predatory predilections. She'd had no business being locked up in that hole with her witling guardian. Him I'd be happy to keep sedated, as insurance . . . or kill, Lortice thought, sipping an (undoctored) a.s.sinibasca and carbonated water.

He knew about Intaglio, and the girls on Man- 57.janungo's yacht. He also knew that on Ghanj, Manjanungo had been taken by a TGO agent. A woman. One of Manjanungo's people had been killed in breaking that up-another woman-but now the agent of The Gray Organization was Manjanungo's captive.

Unless he's deep-s.p.a.ced her by now, Lortice thought. Who'd want to keep one of their agents around, female or not? What the vug sort of fun could a man have with one of them? And why in the name of anything at all would he want to keep a TGO agent on his s.h.i.+p, anyhow?

The dinnng sound was not loud, but in the silence of his cabin and his thoughts, Lortice jerked. He pounced to the commbox and swiftly set it to the special frequency. Out went his coded signal, automatically tracking back on the incoming one that had tripped the alarm.

Very soon Lortice was smiling. He felt like cheering. The two-only modulations that had come in meant: ”Manjanungo here. Not in position but coming. Towing new s.h.i.+p. All's well. Proceed without haste.”

Reason enough to have another drink, a celebratory one! He'd tell the others later.

By now a clean Juggernaut/Boroboodhi was again locked alone in the small hold, and Najendra was oncon with the Jarp she had chosen for the duty. Another would be awaiting Seerava's awakening and would . . . console her.

And Manjanungo was coming, towing a s.h.i.+p, a new acquisition. Onboard News Service had already carried the word that the ”legendary” Captain Manjanungo had accomplished the impossible: he had attacked, taken, and sacked the liner Starqueenl He'll be all full of himself, Lortice thought, worrying his lip with his teeth. She is his cousin . . . I hope he 58.doesn 't decide to be angry about my locking her in the hold-hole that way. I should have left her alone, d.a.m.n it.

He hadn't been thinking clearly when he sent Karmal Pak to tap on her cabin door and invite her down the cargo tunnel, to a surprise.

That was a mistake. I fouled it. Should have left her in her own cabin, with the lock s.h.i.+fted outside the way it is now. Who'd have guessed that drudge Najendra would be so resourceful? d.a.m.n. I've got to fight this- got to improve. Manjanungo's competent and he's harsh. I've got to do better! You can do it, Lortice! You can be valuable to him. Do! Just work on the old thinking, Lortice. Decisions aren't that hard, and Man-janungo isn 't known for patience with foul-its!

5.

Vampy, Vermillion, and Serendip made no complaint about the extending of their s.h.i.+pboard duties to include serving Lady Seerava. As a matter of fact none of the three tall and very lean hermaphrodites considered it duty. Nor did the Most n.o.ble Lady complain. Neither did Karmal Pak-but after eight s.h.i.+p-days-eleven since Seera had been made prisoner-Pak realized that Najendra was starting to look appealing, which was appalling. He realized that he had been celibate long enough, and he was not about to wait until the mate looked even better.

After grooming himself and struggling into his tightest s.h.i.+mmer-pants, he went to visit the prisoner. He was sure that she would be happy to have human company after a steady diet of those orange leano-weirdos.

She did not stop screaming and throwing things until he had vacated the cabin and Captain Lortice put it off-limits to the steward. Since the cabin contained little that could be thrown save the lady's clothing, she must have occupied herself for the next half-hour just picking up hurled garments.

Pak did his best to maintain a low image after that, knowing that the captain was not happy with him and worse, that the mate and all three Jarps must be snickering at him behind his back.

59.60.A day later, while Najendra had the con duty, he expressed interest in the console. Soon he was behind her chair, leaning over her with an arm on either side. She spoke so quietly that for a moment he froze, unable to believe he'd really heard what she said: ”Listen, you wh.o.r.e with your glued-on pants, touch me and I'll dismember you.”

After a moment he registered all that, and straightened. He stood Behind her, blinking, staring down at the top of her head.

”Now what?” she said, still quietly and without turning. ”Shall I take the words out of your mouth? 'Na-jen-drahh ... I merely thought that anyone so frumpy as you would welcome the attentions of an ex-con smuggler and wh.o.r.e with glued-on pants.' ”

Again he was silent, staring, while once more he a.s.similated words that shocked and astounded him. From herl At last he got himself together enough to try the rather obvious expostulatory explanation: ”I a.s.sure you, s.h.i.+p's Mate, I was merely interested in-”

”Ri-i-ight,” she said, dragging it out. Still quietly, and as if addressing the console. It occurred to him that she might well be seeing his reflection on the blank simulation screen.

He stepped back a pace. ”You rotten cold frumpy b.i.t.c.h! I ought to knock your a.s.s off-if you have one, in those baggy do-”

He broke off because she came out of the mate's chair faster than he'd have thought anyone could, and furthermore turned as she did. Her eyes fixed their pale stare on him and she stood ready, not quite in a combative crouch. It was all Pak could do not to back another pace or two.

”I suppose that since I called you a nasty name, I 61.shouldn't object to your calling me one,” she said, even more quietly now that she faced him. ”But what an unimaginative one! b.i.t.c.h, b.i.t.c.h, b.i.t.c.h,” she said, p.r.o.nouncing the word dully. ”Just about any woman has heard that at one time or another, especially from a man whose sense of manhood she has put in jeopardy. Why not call me 'baggy-pantsed grat's a.s.s,' Pak? Or 'mop-topped Sister Shapeless,' maybe. That's what you see, and you know as well as I do that you wouldn't have developed an interest in the console if you weren't feeling h.o.r.n.y and Lady Seerava weren't justifiably . . . perturbed at you.”

They stared at each other long enough to hear the tiny snik of the console chron as it flipped up a new number. Then she astounded him still again: the corners of her mouth edged up a little in an unmistakable, however restrained, smile.

”I apologize for calling you that name, s.h.i.+p's Steward.”

Another one! The succession of surprises was very nearly too much for Karmal Pak (smuggler, ex-con, and spray-pantsed wh.o.r.e). He wrestled with the newest shock. He considered her words, their situation on Lewuvul and the length of time they might have to remain together-waiting, waiting-and the tiny seedling of a smile she showed him.

Abruptly he let himself chuckle.

” 'Baggy-pantsed grat's a.s.s,' isn't bad,” he said, and abruptly his chuckle was as real as hers. He even saw sparkle in those eyes she had dyed too pale. Eyes about the color of the chlorinated water in a planetside swimming pool.

” 'Mop-top,' maybe,” he went on. ”But 'Sister Shapeless'-hahaha, I'd never have thought of that one! Besides-it may not be true. Who knows, with you 62.in those baggy-a.s.s pants and tunics with clas.h.i.+ng colors that hurt the eyes! No one can be sure whether you're shapeless or not.”

She was smiling openly now, and it looked good on her. ”Makes you wonder, doesn't it?” she said, and he said ”Not really,” and she broke up. Then she looked down at herself-opnge tunic, medium blue baggy-pants; not too ghastly, this time.

”What colors am I wearing?” she asked. ”Ever hear of the chromatically disadvantaged?”

And it was his turn to break up.

At last he was able to settle himself down enough to say, ”But you're just joccin' me about that-color blindness is just something in books about ancient people. It was genengineered out of all of us longer ago than the tendency to baldness or hair on women's faces.”

No longer in her pre-crouch, she sighed and made a small gesture of helpless resignation. ”Genetic engineering or not, I have a problem. Never felt I had enough cred to have it fixed. Maybe it's the eyes-almost colorless eyes maybe can't see colors?”

Now he was sure she was putting him on, because he was sure that she had had her eyes cosmetically chro-madyed; no one had eyes like those. Well-Glyans did, but any experienced s.p.a.cefarer or planetbound slaveholder knew that Glyans were pale all over, with hair almost-white, too. ”Blond,” it was called.

”I saw a Glyan with eyes like yours once. A slave,” he told her, not even noticing that he was leaning comfortable against the third chair, having his first real conversation with Najendra and not at all unhappy about it. ”I don't think he was color-blind, though.”

”Maybe not blind but just disadvantaged, color-disrupted?” she suggested, smiling, her head a little on 63.one side to make it obvious that she was teasing. ”A Glyan-oh! You mean Aglayan, from that Protected world?-Aglaya?”

”Right. Aglayan. Anyhow, uh . . . ”

She lifted her right hand in a swearing gesture. He noticed that she merely bent it up at the elbow, without stretching either her arm or the cloth of her tunic. He was never going to know, he decided, whether she had anything womanly in there or not. Why would a woman remain so, he wondered, a man to whom appearances were so important. She could so easily have herself reshaped, implanted, even genengineered. He had often thought that if he were a woman he'd make sure he had the trimmest little waist and the most outthrustingly firm, stiff cones of b.r.e.a.s.t.s any cover artist had ever dreamed of.

She was saying, ”I do solemnly swear, Steward Pak, to cease wearing mismatched clothing. If not forever, then for the duration of this voyage at least.” Then she looked down at herself again. ”Would a green tunic be better with these pants?”

Again he laughed aloud. ”Eminently!”

”Nice word. And green and orange, you think, shouldn't be worn together?”

”Never. Emphatically never.”

”Hmmm.” She met his black-eyed gaze again. ”I sure wish you'd make a vow in return. That you'll quit wearing those skintight-b.u.t.ted pants, Pak. Makes a poor girl have h.o.r.n.y thoughts, you know.”