Cecelia Holland - Floating Worlds

“We can arrange contracts for them too. They can all get rich.” She put her head back against the couch and shut her eyes.

He grunted. “I don’t know if I want that. But it makes it easier. Except that everybody’s going to ask why we should supply you with crystal so you can fill the Council Fleet with ships that are as good as ours.”

“The Council Fleet has about eight ships. The people you are fighting is the Martian Army.”

“Is there a difference?”

Sril appeared in the doorway, made a salute to his master, and knelt down to look at the foot of the door. He opened a little roll of tools across the floor. The Akellar said, in his own language, “Where is Tanuojin?”

“Back in the trap.”

The Akellar turned back toward Paula. “I can’t promise anything. If you take me to the Earth, I’ll try to arrange this contract.” He put his feet on the floor and rose. “That’s fair, isn’t it?”

“Whatever you say, Akellar.”

“You come down to my place at seven and have dinner with me and we’ll talk about the fine points. There’s somebody you have to meet.” He stepped wide past Sril and out the door.

Paula was holding her breath. She let it out in a little sigh. Sril stood up, lifted the door, and set it down carefully, watching the foot. With one hand he pushed it in and out of the wall. He stooped to put his tools back into the roll.

“Who do I have to meet?” she asked.

He made a vague gesture. “I no—I know not.” When he struggled with the Common Speech his voice was pitched higher than when he spoke his own tongue. He said, “That you did, in the—the feed place—you are brave, Mendoz’.”

“Your boss didn’t think so.”

“He thinked so,” Sril said. “Good leave.” He went.

It was Tanuojin she was supposed to meet. When she went into the Akellar’s bedroom his length was arranged across an oversized inflated chair, his back to the window, and his legs reaching halfway across the room. The Akellar gestured at him.

“That’s my lyo.”

“Hello,” she said, and got no answer. The room was freezing cold. She was glad she had worn her jacket. The other Styth’s yellow eyes stared at her, unfriendly. The balloon chair looked too small for him. The Akellar took her by the arm and maneuvered her to another chair.

She sat down. “I just spent half an hour on the videone with my boss. When do you want to go to the Earth?”

The two men exchanged a quick look, and the Akellar smiled. “We have a rendezvous to make first. Where are you taking us?”

Ketac and another young man brought in a hotel cart full of bottles and glasses. She said, “Anywhere you want. New York is as much of a capital as we have.”

Tanuojin said, “What about the ship?” He wore the same long gray shirt, the boots and leggings and slot-buckled belt as the Akellar. He had no order medal. One of the young men took him a glass of ice-water.

Paula said, “You’ll have to leave the ship parked in orbit around Luna. That’s going to be a kind of a problem. The government of Luna—”

The Akellar’s head flew up. “I thought you didn’t have governments.”

“Not on the Earth. Luna is ruled by a military clique. They’re paranoid about their security.”

The two men looked at each other once again. Ketac brought her a glass full of sparkling cider. He avoided her eyes. Although she was tempted to make some remark to him about their previous meeting, she did not want to embarrass him in front of his father. The cider was cold and delicious and she drank half of it before she put it down.

“What about when we’re in your Planet?” the Akellar said. “What about security there? It must be a pretty damn dangerous place, all you people doing whatever comes into your heads all the time.”

She crossed her legs at the ankles and folded her hands on her stomach. “You’ll be safe as babies, believe me.”

“How can you promise that? You’ve seen what’s happened here. Like that boy in the restaurant.”

“He was a Martian.” Now the two young men were bringing in a cart of steaming food. She said, “The Martians admire force, so do you, naturally you’d get in trouble.”

“But you don’t use force,” Tanuojin said.

“No. We’re very peaceful people.”

Behind the drooping strings of his mustaches his mouth curled into a sneer. “I don’t believe you.”

“If you knew anything about it, you wouldn’t have to rely on faith, would you?”

That made him angry; his off-color eyes glittered. The Akellar was watching him, amused. Ketac brought his father a dish, and he picked through it, eating neatly with his claws. Tanuojin said, “If you won’t use force, you can’t defend yourselves. You’d be slaves. And you would deserve it.”

“We don’t use force, we don’t submit to it, either. It isn’t easy, living on the Earth. Most people can’t do it.” Now Ketac was serving Tanuojin, or trying to serve him, but the tall man ignored the dish offered to him.

He said to her, “If it’s true, then it’s vile.”

“No,” she said. “If it’s true, then you’re wrong, and that’s vile. To you.”

“Are you trying to offend me?”

“I’m just talking.” Ketac brought her the dish. She shook her head at him. She did not want to look stupid trying to eat like a Styth. Tanuojin’s face was rigid with bad temper. Abruptly he got up and walked out of the room.

The Akellar sent the boys away with a gesture. Fishing a spoon out of the cart, he brought her a dish of lamb and sat on the floor beside her chair with another dish. He said, “I knew that would happen. He hates women.”

“I’m glad it’s not personal.”

He laughed. They ate in silence; when she had done, he took her bowl, still half-full, and finished it, and went back to the cart for more. She watched him eat that, amazed at his appetite.

“He isn’t married? Your lyo.”

“No. His wife is dead. Actually I think he hates everybody, except me. But he’s brilliant, he’s read all kinds of books.” He chuckled under his breath. “And he hates to be wrong.”

She watched the big man chew his way through another bowl of the lamb. He had enjoyed setting her against Tanuojin. Finally he put the bowl down and belched and patted his stomach.

“Give me one hundred fifty watches between now and when we come to the Earth.”

She divided in her head. “All right. That’s about six weeks, our time.”

“I promise I won’t shoot anybody in the meanwhile.” He went over to the serving cart for a towel to wash his hands. “Sleep with me,” he said.

“I have to work,” she said to the cart. She followed him and drank the last of the cider from the bottle.

“Do it next watch.”

“I don’t have the time.”

He pushed her away. “Go.”

Her door was open. Heavy synthetic music blared through into the hall. She stopped in the doorway. Sril was cross-legged on the floor, inhaling smoke through a tube from a small bowl on the floor in front of him. Ketac sat on the couch. The air was sweet with opium. Ketac looked asleep; his cheeks fluttered. She took her clothes off in the bathroom and went into the shower.

The Styths’ taste in music was distinct and narrow. When the synthesizer gave way to something more complex, they hunted through the radio and found some hard rock. The music reached her clearly even in the washroom. While she was drying off, the music stopped and a shocked Martian voice said, “What’s going on in here?”

Pulling on her robe, she went to the threshold of the front room. The music blasted on again. The big scarred man was standing in front of the videone, protecting it from the Nineveh’s manager. The Martian’s face was furred with a night’s beard. He looked about him, aghast. Paula wrapped her belt around her waist and tied it. The booming music hurt her ears. Sril and Ketac stooped over the opium heater. The Martian wheeled on Paula.