Alan Foster: The Icerigger Trilogy

The other gunman was a huge chunk of brown with flat face, rainbow-hued teeth, and formidable biceps. Right now he was trying to control his laser and subdue a package of squalling, scratching femininity that was apparently human. Apparently, because it seemed to have eight legs and twelve arms, all pinwheeling at once. The curses that issued from somewhere within the bundle, though, were undeniably Terranglo.

Ethan caught a few and blushed. Her handler was cursing also, a basso profundo—or profano—counterpoint to the girl. Ethan wondered what she looked like. She was moving so much he couldn’t tell.

His attention was drawn back to weasel-face, who was talking to the older man.

“I’m not going to tell you again, du Kane! You want us to knock you out?” The hand holding the beamer was shaking slightly. “Get in that boat, now!” A nervous glance at one wrist. Both gunmen ignored their other prisoner.

“Well, now, I don’t know… I’d like to oblige you, but it’s so hard to remember what the right thing to do is, anymore. Maybe I’d better wait…”

Weasel-face threw up his hands and looked to heaven for help—not caring that its position in the universe was only relevant to the temporary set of the ship.

The big man said “Ow!”, in no uncertain terms. He promptly dumped the girl to the floor. She rolled over from the ungentle landing and sat up slowly. Her curses diminished in volume but not originality. Ethan slumped a little. She weighed at least two hundred pounds and she was not especially tall.

“Bit me,” said the big man unnecessarily. He sucked at the injured member. “Listen now, du Kane. We’re running out of time. It’s out of our hands, see? First this shrimp shows up,” he indicated mousey, still watching attentively, “and now you’ve got to be obstinate. Won’t do you any good.”

“Well, I don’t know…” du Kane said hesitantly. His eyes moved to the girl.

“You stay put, father.” She looked up at the big man and Ethan noticed that that plump face had two startlingly green eyes peering out of it. “If you hit my father, you’ll likely kill him… he’s an old man. Give this idiocy up. I’ll see to it that you’re not shot out of hand, at least. And father won’t press charges. He’s too busy to bother with your variety of scum.”

Du Kane! Well, that placed him and the girl… mighty calculating type, her… gambling on her father’s frailty like that. Hellespont du Kane was chairman of the Board of Kurita-Kinoshita Ltd. Among other things, they made the drives for interstellar ships. To say he was wealthy was to say the planet below tended away from the tropic. No doubt here was a man of whom it could be said, he really was made of money.

A good salesman, Ethan rapidly summarized the situation by categorizing the players. Two kidnappers, two kidnappees, and one trapped innocent bystander. He wondered why they didn’t shoot the little fellow.

The question was now of more than academic concern because the big man with the sore thumb was staring right at him. It occurred to Ethan as he stared down the muzzle of the beamer that he’d spent a little too much time gaping and far too little in disappearing. He took a step backward.

“Just on my way to luggage bay three… sorry to interr—”

“Hold it right there, flotsam.” The big man turned to his partner. “What now, Walther?”

“Rama, not another one! Is everyone on this ship nocturnal?” Another glance wristward. “We’ve got to get out of here! Take him along, for now. Whitting expressly said not to leave any scraps, Kotabit.”

Ethan didn’t like being referred to as a “scrap.” It sounded downright threatening. Right now, however, he was stuck.

“Get over there, you,” ordered Walther, gesturing toward the other captives with his beamer.

“Listen, really, I can’t join you. I’ve got a very important sales conference in half an hour and…”

Walther melted a small hole in the deck between Ethan’s feet. Ethan promptly walked fast, stood next to the little man on du Kane’s left. The man seemed to be adjusting a contact lens.

“Is this really a kidnapping?” he whispered as the two gunmen conferred among themselves.

“I’m afraid so, friend.” His accent was soft, the words precise. “We are now technically accessories to a capital crime.” He sounded very like a schoolteacher instructing his students.

“I’m afraid you’ve got things confused,” Ethan corrected. “An accessory is someone who aids or abets the crime. You and I are victims, not accessories.”

“It’s all a matter of viewpoint, you know.”

“Everyone, get in the boat!” Walther bawled, not caring anymore if anyone heard.

“Why not just knock ’em all out?” queried Kotabit.

“You heard, fatso… dangerous. Especially goin’ down.”

Colette du Kane was staring at Ethan. Maybe that name fitted her as a child, but now… well, something like “Hilda” might have been more apropos. Those remarkable eyes chilled him. She didn’t smile.

“Why didn’t you go for help, whoever you are?”

“I just walked in and I wasn’t sure right away what…”

“You weren’t sure? Oh, never mind.” She sighed and looked resigned. “I suppose I shouldn’t have expected otherwise.”

He would have given her an argument except for the awkward fact that she was absolutely right. He’d really overdone his watch.

“Why aren’t you beautiful?” he said idiotically. “Damsels in distress are always beautiful.” He smiled, intending it as a joke, but she saw it otherwise. Those eyes came around sharply, then the whole body sagged, quivering, bloated.

“Now you listen,” growled Kotabit. His voice was steadier, more self-assured than that of his companion, even though the smaller man seemed to be in charge.

“If I were to cut off your daughter’s legs, say, starting at the big toe and working slowly upward, I don’t think it would inconvenience our plans. Does that convince you?”

“Ignore him, father,” said Colette. “He’s bluffing.”

“Dear me…!” The old man, for all his billions, was a pitiful aged sack of indecision. Then something seemed to rise out of his mind and into his tone. He stood straighter and spat once at Kotabit. The big man dodged it easily, his watchfulness undiminished. Du Kane seemed pleased with himself. He turned and entered the tiny flexible lock leading into the lifeboat.

Ethan thought of taking a swipe at Walther’s gun, but Kotabit showed no signs of the other’s jerkiness. While his death might complicate their scheme, Ethan entertained no illusions about what the other would do if he charged either of them. He followed the small man with the contacts into the boat.

“My name’s Williams, by the way… Milliken Williams,” offered the latter conversationally, as he entered the lock ahead of Ethan. “I teach school. Upper matriculation.”

“Ethan Fortune. I’m a salesman.” He glanced back at the girl. She was followed too closely by the two gunmen. Thoughts of shutting the lifeboat door in their faces had occurred to him, but they pressed too close.

It was dark in the lifeboat. The only light came from the fore instrument panel, which was always kept on. Neither of the two gunmen made any effort to turn on the boat lights. Obviously they were afraid of triggering a telltale in the control bubble. He considered hitting the switch regardless of consequences, but was balked by one fact. He’d never been on a lifeboat except during drill and wouldn’t know the interior light toggle from the self-destruct switch.

So they stumbled around in near-night, strapping themselves into the couches at threatening words from the gunmen. There were twenty seats, in addition to the two pilots’ couches forward. Walther was already in one, doing unseen things to the main console. Kotabit was lazily strapping himself into the other. He’d swiveled his couch around to watch the rest of them. Ethan didn’t feel like testing the other’s night vision.