Poul Anderson - A Knight of Ghosts and Shadows

The Hooligan sprang from Terra, pierced the sky, and lined out for deep space. A steady standard gravity maintained by her interior fields gave no hint of furious acceleration toward regions sufficiently distant that she could go into hyperdrive and outpace light. Nor did her engine energies speak above an almost subliminal whisper and quiver through the hull. But standing in the saloon before its big viewscreen, Kossara watched the planet shrink, ever faster, a cloudy vastness, a gibbous globe of intricate blue and white, an agate in a diamondful jewel box.

At the back of her mind she wished she could appreciate this sight for which she had left the stateroom assigned her. Terra, Manhome, Maykasviyet; and sheer loveliness—But her heart knocked, her nails bit into wet palms though her tongue was dry and thick, she smelled her harsh sweat.

Yet when her owner entered, calm crystallized in her. By nature and training she met crises coolly, and here was the worst since—As far as she knew, nobody else was aboard but him and his servant. If she could, somehow, kill them—or hogtie the funny, kindly Shalmuan—maybe before he took her—

No. Not unless he grew altogether slack; and she sensed alertness beneath his relaxed manner. He was tall and well built and moved like a hunting vilya. Handsome too, she admitted to herself; then scorn added that anybody could be handsome who bought a biosculpture. A loose lace-trimmed blouse and flowing trousers gathered above sandals matched, in their sheen of expensive fabric, the knee-length gown she had chosen out of the wardrobe she found in her quarters.

“Good day, Donna Vymezal,” the man said, and bowed.

What to do? She jerked a nod.

“Permit self-introduction,” he went on. “Hardly to your surprise, I am Captain Sir Dominic Flandry, Intelligence Corps of his Majesty’s Navy.” He gestured at a bench curved around two sides of a table. “Won’t you be seated?”

She stood her ground.

Flandry smiled, placed hands on hips, and drawled: “Please listen. I have no intention of compelling you. None. Not that you don’t inspire certain daydreams, Donna. And not that I couldn’t make you like it. Drugs, you know. But vanity forbids. I’ve never needed force or pharmacopoeia, even on those few young ladies I had occasion to buy in the past. Have you noticed your cabin door locks on the inside?”

Strength went from Kossara. She stumbled backward, fell to the bench, rested head in hands while whirling and darkness passed through her.

Presently she grew aware that Flandry stood above. His fingers kneaded her neck and shoulders. As she looked up, he stroked her hair. She gasped and drew aside.

He stepped back. “No offense, Donna.” Sternly: “See here, we’ve a bundle to discuss, none of it very amusing. Do you want a stim pill—or what, to make you operational?”

She shook her head. After two tries, she husked forth, “Nothing, thank you. I am all right now.”

“Drink? The liquor cabinet is reasonably well stocked. I’m for Scotch.”

“Nothing,” she whispered, dreading in spite of his words what might be in a glass he gave her.

He seemed to guess that, for he said, “You’ll have to take from my galley in due course if not sooner. We’ve a long trip ahead of us.”

“What? … Well, a little wine, please.”

He got busy, while she worked to loosen muscles and nerves. When he sat down, not too close, she could meet his eyes. She declined the cigarette he offered, but the claret was marvelous. He streamed smoke from his nostrils before saying, deliberately:

“You might recollect who else was bidding on you.” She felt her face blaze. “And I didn’t spend quite a lot of beer money out of chivalry. Your virtue is safe as long as you want it to be—while I’m your owner. But I need your cooperation in some rather larger matters. Understood?”

She gulped. “If I can … help you, sir—”

“In exchange for manumission and a ticket to Dennitza? Maybe. I haven’t the legal right to free you, seeing what you were convicted of. I’d have to petition for a decree. Or I could simply order you to go back where you came from and enjoy yourself.” He saw her glance fall to the slave bracelet. “Yes, now we’re clear of Terra, I’m permitted to take that off you. But I haven’t a key for it, and my tools would damage it, which’d put us through a certain amount of bureaucratic rain dance if we return there. Never mind. Beyond range of the comnet, it’s inert.” Flandry grinned. “If I were indeed a monster of lust, rather than a staid and hardworking monster, I’d still have taken you into space before commencing. The idea of an audience at any arbitrary time doesn’t appeal. Let them invent their own techniques.”

Loathing tightened Kossara’s throat. “The Terran way of life.”

Flandry regarded her quizzically. “You don’t have a high opinion of the Empire, do you?”

“I hate it. I would die—be tortured—yes, go into a brothel, if I could pull the rotten thing down around me.” Kossara tossed off her wine.

Flandry refilled the glass. “Better be less outspoken,” he advised. “I don’t mind, but various of my fellow Imperialists might.”

She stared. The real horror of her situation shocked home. “ Where are we bound?”

“Diomedes, for openers at any rate.” He nodded. “Yes, I’m investigating what went on, what is going on, whether it threatens the Empire, and how to prevent same.”

Kossara rallied. “You have the records of my … arrest and interrogation, then,” she said fast. “I have no further information. Less, actually, because the hypnoprobe blanked out related memories, including those from Dennitza. What’s left is bits, blurry and jumbled together, like barely remembered dreams. So how can I help you—supposing I wanted to?”

“Oh, background and such.” Flandry’s tone was casual. “Give me the rest of your biography. Explain what your people have against the Imperium. I’ll listen. Who knows, you may convert me. I won’t hurry you. There’s an unsanctified amount of information pumped into the data banks aboard, which I need to study en route. And we’ve time. Seventeen standard days to destination.”

“No more?” In spite of everything, astonishment touched her.

“This boat has legs, albeit not as well turned as yours. Do ease off, Donna. Your culture has a soldierly orientation, right? Consider me your honorable enemy, if nothing else, and the pair of us conducting a parley.”

She found little to say. He talked for two, mostly appealing to her xenological interests with tales of sophonts he had met. All were fascinating. A few eventually made her laugh.

Books, musical pieces, shows were available by the thousands, in playback or printout. Kossara grew restless anyhow. Flandry had withdrawn immediately after the first breakfast of the voyage (following a nightwatch wherein she slept unexpectedly well) to concentrate on his briefing material. Interstellar space, seen in the optical-compensating screens, was utter splendor; but however fast the Hooligan drove, those immensities changed too slowly for perception. She exercised, prowled around, tried out different hobby kits, at last sought Chives. He was in the galley fixing lunch. “Can I help you?” she offered.

“I regret not, Donna,” the Shalmuan answered. “While I have no wish to deprecate your culinary gifts, you can see that Sir Dominic does not willingly trust this excellent chef-machine to prepare his meals, let alone comparative strangers.”

She stared at the open-faced sandwiches growing beneath his fingers. Anchovies and pimientos lay across slices of hard-boiled egg on fresh-made mayonnaise, caviar and lemon peel complemented pate de foie gras, cucumber and alfalfa sprouts revitalized cheddar cheese in the dignity of its age … “No, I couldn’t do that,” she admitted. “You must be a genius.”