Part 4 (1/2)
The tests had been lengthy-and rather odd. Among the standardized examinations had been random lists of words to define; questions regarding her personal tastes in books, music, sports, and art; and surveys soliciting her opinion on a surprising range of topics.
Priscilla sighed and sipped her coffee appreciatively. She was tired, her thoughts moving in hazy slow motion. Soon it would be time to look again at the map she had been given and puzzle out the route to her cabin. But having come to rest at last, with no immediate task before her, she was content to simply sit and sip, letting her eyes randomly scan the vast, nearly empty dining hall. She had gathered from the cook on duty that First Hour was not the usual time for people to be fed. He had laughed her apology aside and heaped a plate high, setting it on a tray with a steaming white mug.
”Start on that,” he had told her, grinning broadly. ”If you're still hungry when you're done, come on back and say so.””Thank you,” Priscilla said, blinking in confusion at the tray. It seemed to hold more food than she had seen at one time in months. The man laughed again and returned to his duties.
Her eyes were drooping closed. Odd, she thought drowsily, that I should feel so comfortable.
She sat up straight and drank the last of her coffee in a snap. After all, tomorrow's interview with the captain could end with her back on Jankalim, no better off-with the exception of a few good meals-than she had been this afternoon. So much depended on the tests, and on the captain. Did he believe her?
Why should he? she asked herself fiercely. She sighed and looked up.
A midsized Terran was standing across from her, coffee mug in hand, an expression of admiration on his round face.
Priscilla felt her stomach sink. Here we go again, she thought.
”Hi,” the man said easily enough. ”You must be the only person onboard who hasn't had a message to send this trip.”
”That's because I'm not onboard,” Priscilla told him, then grinned and shook her head. ”No, that doesn't make sense. I mean that I'm only visiting...”
”Yeah?” he said interestedly, and extended a soft-palmed hand. ”Rusty Morgenstem, radio tech. Pleased to meet you, Ms.-”
”Mendoza.” She took the hand and shook lightly; she was agreeably surprised when he did not try to prolong the contact. ”Priscilla Mendoza. Sit down?”
”Thanks.” He slouched down and put his elbows on the table, fingers curled loosely about the mug.
”Who're you visiting, if that's not too nosy? And how come they left you to eat by yourself?”
”I'm not explaining things too well. What I'm doing is applying for a job. I took some tests earlier, and I'm to see the captain at Seventh Hour to find out how I did.” She sighed. ”The whole thing seems pointless, though. Mr. Saunderson-the agent on Jankalim-said the s.h.i.+p's fully staffed.”
”Well, that's true.” He paused to swallow coffee. ”What's your line?”
”I was cargo master on my last s.h.i.+p.”
Rusty shook his head. ”Got a h.e.l.l of a cargo master-old Ken Rik. Forty years older'n Satan and twice as slippery. Don't play cards with him.” He drank more coffee. ”But that doesn't mean much. If the cap'n figures you'll work out, there's bound to be something for you to do.”
Priscilla blinked at him. ”I'm sorry?”
”Well, it's like-” He pointed a finger at her. ”Cabin boy. You met Gordy?”
She grinned. ”He met me when I came on.”
”Nice kid. Point is, we've had a couple different cabin boys. One was backup astrogator. 'Nother spent more time helping Ken Rik figure distributions than she did fetchin' wine. Last guy-seemed like all he did was play chess with the cap'n. Gordy-he's teaching the cap'n-aah, what is it? Restructured Gaelic? Some d.a.m.n thing-old Terran dialect. Happens to be the everyday parley where Gordy's from.””The captain's learning Old Terran from Gordy Arbuthnot?” Priscilla picked up her cup and frowned into it. ”Why?”
Rusty shrugged. ”Cap'n likes to talk.”
”I noticed. But-Old Terran? And an obscure dialect, at that?”
”Better ask him-I don't know. But to get back-if the tests check out okay, you're in. And you'll work.” He grinned. ”Everybody works.”
”But it seems that cabin boy is filled,” Priscilla pointed out.
”Cap'n'll think of something,” Rusty said with decision. ”More coffee?”
She smiled. ”Thanks.”
”No problem. How you like it? Black? Back in a sec.”
He was back almost immediately, handing her a mug; he remained standing, eyeing her consideringly.
Priscilla took a gingerly sip and hoped he wasn't about to say anything unfortunate.
”If you got a minute,” he began as she clamped her jaw, ”let's go 'round to the lounge. There's a screen there. We can call up the spec freight and you can give me lots of ideas for making money. Ought to be interesting, since you've been a cargo master and all.”
Priscilla let out her breath and stood with a smile. ”Okay.”
”Right this way.”
Matching his stride, Priscilla asked, ”What's the spec freight?”
”Speculation,” Rusty explained, and grinned at her blank look. ”See, every crew member who wants to pledges a certain percentage each trip for speculation. Wood, say-that's what I'm interested in. Or perfume-that's pretty chancy, but Lina seems to do okay with it. Musical instruments-I don't know.
Little while back we had some Grestwellin caviar-one of Gordy's finds. Sold out next port we put in.”
He shook his head. ”That kid's gonna be one h.e.l.l of a Trader. Knows what's gonna be hot next port, even if we don't know where next port is-here we are.”
The door slid open at their approach, and Priscilla followed him over the threshold into comfortable dimness and subdued chatter. There was a card game going on in a bright corner-Rusty waved in that direction and got two or three absent responses-and a few other people were scattered about, some in conversational cl.u.s.ters, some alone, with books or handwork.
”There's Lina,” Rusty said, and made a detour toward a single chair where a brown-haired Liaden woman was reading a bound book.
She glanced up and smiled. ”Rah Stee. They let you from your cage so soon?”
”It's later than you think,” he told her, waving Priscilla forward, ”This is Priscilla Mendoza. She's a guest onboard this s.h.i.+ft. Got an interview with the cap'n next. Priscilla, this is Lina Faaldom, chief librarian.”
Honey-colored eyes considered her gravely. Prompted by an impulse she could not name, Priscilla did what she had never done to Sav Rid Olanek or any of the Daxflan's crew-she performed the bow between equals, exactly as Fin Ton had shown her. ”I am happy to meet you, Lina Faaldom,” she said, with a careful ear to her accent.The woman clapped her hands. ”She speaks Liaden! See, now, Rah Stee, are you not ashamed?” She stood and returned the bow gracefully. ”No happier than I am to meet you, Priscilla Mendoza.” She straightened and added in Terran, ”Perhaps you will prevail upon this lazy Rah Stee to learn, as well.”
”Nag,” Rusty said without heat. ”I was going to call up the spec for Priscilla. Want to kibitz?”
”I do not know. What is it-kibitz?”
”It means to look over our shoulders,” Priscilla explained. ”Rusty wants me to give him ideas to make money.”
”Money, money. Already Rah Stee has more money than he can gamble away. Why does he need more? But yes, I would like to kibitz. Thank you.”
The screen was in the corner opposite the card game. Rusty waved his hand at the lightplate and entered his code. Lina perched on the arm of his chair, and Priscilla sat on the ha.s.sock to the left, legs curled under her.
”Here we are. Contents, Hold Six: twenty kilos mahogany; ten kilos yellow pine; fifty-eight gallons Endless l.u.s.t perfume-Endless l.u.s.t! Rusty turned a pained face to the woman beside him.
”It is the smell,” Lina told him with dignity, ”not the name.”
”You're the expert. Four hundred bushels raw cotton; and thirty-two dozen bottles Essence of Themngo.” He shook his head. ”That kid better be right this time... What do you think, Priscilla?”