Charles Sheffield - The Spheres of Heaven

The inner hatch of the lock opened. After a few seconds, a fat little animal with thick brown fur and a bulging pointed head emerged. It trotted forward and paused in front of Dag Korin. As he bent creakily forward to grab for it, the creature scurried between his legs and vanished underneath a tangle of pipes.

Korin straightened up to glare at the man who came strolling out of the lock. “Is that beast yours?”

“As much as she belongs to anybody, and as much as she’s a beast, yes.” The newcomer was very black, very broad, and very tall. His height was enhanced by the bright red fez on top of his head.

“You can’t bring a dog onto a navy ship.”

“It isn’t a navy ship.”

“A former navy ship, then. You can’t bring a dog aboard.”

“It isn’t a dog. It’s a modded ferret. Her name’s Scruffy.” The man smiled amiably at Korin. “And mine is Hanson, Tarboosh Hanson. Reporting to Chan Dalton.”

“Get that filthy animal off my ship.”

“Sorry. Can’t do that.” Tarboosh Hanson felt in the pockets of his blue jacket and produced a slip of paper. He came closer and handed it over. As the general studied it, he said, “See. Approved for accommodation aboard the Hero’s Return , Tarboosh Hanson and job-related equipment, the latter not to exceed fifty kilos in mass . Scruffy weighs a lot less than fifty, she’s as smart as I am, and for me she’s essential job-related equipment. If you’re going to talk to animals, you have to keep in practice. Anyway, I’m supposed to report to Chan Dalton. Where do I find him?”

“He hasn’t arrived yet. He’s on the next transit vehicle.”

“Good enough. I’ll wait for him on board.” Tarboosh Hanson nodded agreeably. He whistled to the ferret, who came promptly from its hiding place, and walked past Dag Korin. The General, turning and ready to explode, was diverted by something new. Another arrival had appeared from the lock and stood watching.

She was a short, trim woman in her early forties, dressed in a white sleeveless blouse, white pants, and long white boots. She had blond hair and a smooth china-doll face. Normal enough, except for the white headband that held back her long hair and hid most of her forehead. Across it, in black letters that became steadily smaller, ran the words:

You are now close enough for me to steal your wallet .

As soon as she saw that she had been noticed, the woman walked toward Dag Korin. He squinted at the headband as she approached, until when she was still two feet away she threw up her right arm in a snappy military salute. Guileless blue eyes stared up into his.

“Chrissie Winger, reporting for duty to General Korin.”

Seven decades of experience made the General’s return of salute a reflex action. His hand was not yet back to his side when hers was lifting toward him.

“Here, sir. I feel sure that you will need this.”

She was holding a slim black folder. Korin clapped his hand to the empty pocket at the back of his pants.

“That’s mine. How the devil did you do that? You were never closer to me than half a meter.”

“Professional secret.” A small card appeared from nowhere next to the black folder. “It’s my stock in trade. You can’t expect a lady to give it away.”

Kubo Flammarion, watching from a distance, expected Korin to explode again. Instead, the old General laughed and took both the wallet and the card.

“You’ve got a nerve, Chrissie Winger. I’ve always liked that in a woman. Magic and deception, eh? If we’re not allowed violence in the Geyser Swirl, maybe they’ll come in useful. I’ll make you a trade. Tell me how you managed to get your hands on my wallet two seconds after leaving the transit vessel, without ever coming near me, and I’ll guarantee you the best living quarters on this ship.”

She put a finger to her chin, considering. “Include Tarboosh Hanson in the deal, and you’re on. We’ve been together a long time and we’re kind of used to sharing quarters.”

“All right. Now tell me, how did you steal my wallet?”

“I didn’t. The Tarbush took it when you turned around and threw it to me.”

“Well damn my eyes.” Korin shook his head. “I should have known. That sort of trick was old when I was a lad. But I didn’t feel or see a thing.”

“You’re not supposed to. If you did, it wouldn’t be much of an act, would it? Now, what about these fancy quarters you promised?”

“Later. The Hero’s Return is scheduled for midnight departure to an Asteroid Belt Link entry point, and your group is still four members short. Including your team leader.” Korin pointed to the status display. It indicated that another vessel was arriving, this one from Europa via Earth. “If that doesn’t have Chan Dalton aboard, we’re in trouble. You go ahead — Captain Flammarion will show you the layout of crew quarters — and I’ll catch you later.”

“Yes, sir.” Chrissie Winger saluted again. She walked across to Flammarion, who took a couple of steps back and looked at her warily.

“You’re not going to do any of your fancy wallet-stealing stuff with me, are you?”

“Not a chance.” She beamed at him, in a way that made Flammarion feel that he was an immensely entertaining and interesting fellow. “Does a brewer give away beer? It’s as I told General Korin, I don’t do that sort of thing for free. But I wanted to impress him, so Tarb and I arranged that little stunt.”

“He likes you, you know. If he didn’t he’d have gutted you for pulling something like that.”

“Well, I like him, too — what I’ve seen of him. I expected an old fossil, but he’s not like that. There’s still plenty of firepower in him.”

“There is. And you don’t want it directed your way.” Flammarion, leading Chrissie down the ship’s main corridor, noticed an odd tightness in his jacket. He opened it as he walked and felt a bulge in his undershirt. And inside that -

He reached in and pulled out a bottle. “This is impossible. My jacket was closed, my shirt is tight at the neck.” He stopped dead and stared at the label. “Is it really beer?”

“I’m not a brewer, so I can give it away, and there are a few things I would never do. One of them is deceive a man with a gift of fake beer.”

“But how did you get it there?”

“Ah, now as to that, I am willing to deceive. Or at least, not to reveal.” Chrissie Winger had not been told where to go, and since she had not stopped walking Flammarion was now behind her; but she unhesitatingly made the turn to the unmarked corridor leading to the crew’s quarters. “I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you,” she said over her shoulder. “A girl has to have her little secrets.”

She walked confidently forward. Flammarion trailed along behind. He didn’t know quite what kind of team was assembling for this expedition, but he was sure it was unlike anything he had met before.

Fifteen minutes ago, Chan Dalton had been relaxing for the first time in ten days. It had been a desperate, sleepless dash around the solar system, but against the odds he had done everything. Chrissie Winger and Tarboosh Hanson had jumped at the idea of a new stellar expedition, almost before he could tell them about it. Apparently life in the Oort Cloud was too dull and easy. They had taken the first available inbound ship and should already be on board the Hero’s Return , waiting for him.

He had spoken with Deb Bisson two hours ago, and although she was as cold as ever she swore that she, too, would arrive before the deadline. She was bringing Tully O’Toole with her. He was shaky and feverish with Paradox withdrawal and occasionally hallucinating, but with guidance and encouragement he was somehow hanging on.