Poul Anderson: The Man-Kzin Wars 09

“Whoof!” Raden laughed. “Congratulations and thanks. You gave me a good one.”

“The same to you,” Tyra answered. Her tone was warmer toward him than hitherto. It had been fun. And, she must admit to herself, the sight of him was fun too—medium-tall, slim and supple but well-muscled, features Roman-nosed and regular, with bright hazel eyes, beneath wavy brown hair. That doesn't mean I have to fall over you—or under you , said defensiveness.

“Frankly, I didn't expect it from a person of your origins.”

Then why did you invite me to play? she flared inwardly. An approach? Likely. They say you're quite a tomcat . “We're healthy,” she snapped.

“Oh, absolutely. Normal adaptation to a lower gravity. No offense intended, please believe.” Raden shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Foolish of me. I should have given more thought to what I saw, besides enjoying the view.”

He made no pretense of doing otherwise. Tyra's height equaled his, which was not surprising in a Wunderlander woman, but damp T-shirt and shorts clung to a figure as full and robust as that of any Earthling female in good condition. Flaxen hair in a pageboy cut framed a face strong-boned and blunt, where little save a few fine lines at the blue eyes hinted at an age of about forty terrestrial years, perhaps three more than his. “You'd be unusually athletic on any planet,” he added.

She shrugged. “I'm not obsessed with aerobics. I just enjoy some activities.”

“Which especially, if I may ask?”

“Swimming, wingsailing, hiking, mountaineering, that sort of thing.”

“Tastes we share, then. The results do come in useful occasionally, don't you agree? I understand you too have spent a fair amount of time on different worlds, and not merely in their tourist resorts.”

“My work. Gathering material, getting ideas.” He's pushing familiarity pretty fast, isn't he? “You're an astrophysicist.” Put him in his place. Imply that his travels were a gadding about .

Raden's smile faded, his voice went amicably earnest. “Look here, Fräulein Nordbo, may I suggest we become better acquainted? We've a rather long haul before us, and then a time about which we can predict nothing other than that it will be busy, till we've done whatever we can. Let's go as friends.”

“Have I seemed unfriendly?” she asked with caution.

“No, no. A bit aloof, perhaps.”

“We're barely into the voyage.”

“Why not start it on the right foot? Suppose after we've washed and changed clothes, we meet in the wardroom. I'd be honored to stand you a drink or two before dinner.”

“Honored? You?” She spoke coldly, to make clear that she didn't like being patronized.

He caught on at once. “I'm sorry. I truly am. What I wanted to say was ‘delighted,’ but I was afraid of seeming too forward. You're known as a formidable sort.”

That's hard to resist , Tyra confessed. Damn him, he can turn on the charm like a light. Anyhow, it's true, we need to become comrades, all of us on board. There's unknownness waiting yonder, and kzinti.

“Not intentionally.” She didn't have to force her smile. “Thank you, I'd be delighted myself. In half an hour?”

Command and competence were as vital as in any spacecraft, but an explorer did best without social distinctions between ranks off duty. The wardroom was open to anyone who wanted sociability. Nobody chanced to be present but steward Marcus Hauptmann and planetologist Kees Verwoort, pushing chessmen. Already at ease with Tyra, they nodded as she came in. Nattily attired, Raden jumped from a chair and strode to meet her. “Ah, jolly good,” he said. “What would you like?”

“Draft Solborg.” She sat down at the little table where he had been. Several more were spaced around the room with their chairs, plus a few loungers. Underneath each was the magnetic inductor that would secure it to the deck in case of untoward acceleration or free fall.

“Forthcoming. Hm, not too early in the daywatch for a glass of wine. They've shipped a reasonably decent dry Riesling.” Raden got them from the dispenser, which debited his personal ration, and brought them over. He took his place opposite her and lifted his goblet. “ Skaal .”

So he's remembered , Tyra thought, or he's taken the trouble to find out, things about me like my hailing from Skogarna, and that this is our toast there instead of “ Prosit .”

She didn't know how to feel about that. Well, pay him in kind. “Here's how,” she responded.

Glasyl clinked against stein. The beer was a welcome tartness in mouth and throat.

“Ah-ha. Then you know I'm American, Fräulein Nordbo?” Raden said genially. “Most people off Earth seem under the impression I'm a Brit.”

“Next time I'll say ‘Cheers' if you prefer.” Was she parrying something?

He laughed. “ Touché! Yes, I admit to certain affectations. And I did study for a while at Cambridge.” He sipped and went on in a philosophical tone. “Such details are apt to look vanishingly small across a few light-years, aren't they? Consider how societies diverged when only subluminal transit was available. They've not had much time or opportunity thus far to catch up, have they? Rather amazing, how knowledgeable you are.”

Is he showing off his serious, intellectual side? wondered Tyra. Or do quantum jumps come naturally to him? “No surprise, Dr. Raden. Writers collect oddments like glitterfowl. You know that.”

“Well, yes, I am a writer too, of sorts. But secondarily. Not a rival of yours on this mission or, I hope, ever.”

“I've seen your popular science works, those of them that have reached us, and your ‘Multiverse' show.” Be honest , she told herself. “I've enjoyed them, in fact admired them.”

“Thank you. I look forward to seeing what you've done.”

“Nothing like yours. Mainly travel pieces, some assorted journalism, some fiction, a couple of things for children.”

“I'll doubtless write up this expedition and its findings myself, elsewhere than in the scientific databases. But I don't imagine I'll overlap what you do in the least.”

And my audience won't be ten percent of yours, even if my accounts get distribution on Earth , Tyra realized. The famous young scientist, popularizer, lecturer, sportsman, yes, licensed spaceboat pilot and bronze medalist in the Saturnian Ring Run—all very well publicized—showman—Unfair? Am I being nasty and jealous? Or just shy? I'm not sure. I'm not used to either of those feelings .

“I have in mind telling about the people with us and what happens to them personally,” she said. “But you will do that too, along with explaining the discoveries, same as always, won't you?”

“Mostly incidentally, trying to get across that science isn't a revelation handed down from on high, it's something that intelligent creatures do. You'll concentrate on the human story. We are not in competition. We may well prove to be in cooperation.”

“M-m, maybe. You're kind to say so, Dr. Raden.”

“Please,” he replied gently, “must we continue formal? I'm Craig to my friends.”

Impulse grabbed Tyra. “And I'm not properly ‘Fräulein.' I've resumed my family name, but I was married twice.”

His gaze searched her. “To what kind of man, that they'd give up one like you?”

She flushed, but stiffened less than she probably should have. “Things simply didn't work out. If I'm not mistaken, you've had similar experiences.”

“True. And I'm not self-righteous about them, either… Tyra.” Quickly: “Yes, I'm trying to cultivate your acquaintance, not entirely for its own sake. I hope we can talk about your adventures at the black hole.”