Jinx on a Terran Inheritance (12 page)

"Yes?
And
?" Amarok said expectantly.

Alacrity intervened. "Um, Ho, is this your idea? Your
whole
idea?"

Floyt was jumping more confidently now, getting the rhythm and the feel of the rope. "Actually, I'd like file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20kruis...aley%20-%20Jinx%20on%20a%20Terran%20Inheritance.htm (59 of 320)19-2-2006 17:12:29

[Fitzhugh 2]-JINX ON A TERRAN INHERITANCE

to see either one of you do this for just fifteen minutes." The rope slapped the deck; Floyt skipped lightly, changing his lead foot.

"But if you can, you might give this a try."

Floyt began doing matador crosses so fast that he feared for a moment that he might get tangled up. But the skill he'd picked up as a kid came back quickly. He did some cross-jumps for them, and a few 180-degree turns. Despite the chill, he was sweating.

"Hmmm," Amarok said, reconsidering.

"I didn't know you could do that," Alacrity told him admiringly. "Let me try that."

"In a minute," Floyt answered blithely. He did a few cancan steps, some side taps, and went into double jumps. He was getting a little winded and his timing became ragged. The rope snagged on his feet.

Alacrity wanted to be next, but Amarok exercised captain's prerogative. It took a couple of seconds for him to discover it was tougher than it looked.

"On Quaanaaq-Thule the children sometimes do this in big groups, with long ropes, several at a time.

Someone never heard of doing it solo in a starship for exercise."

He tried again, catching himself in the shins on the second jump.

"C'mon, Rok; give somebody else a turn."

"Be patient, be patient." Amarok panted, trying not to fall over as he tangled his legs again.

"Is that a joke, or what? You'll never get it." '

"Would you care to make a wager, Master Fitzhugh?"

"Sure. You make fifteen jumps without a miss and I pass on my next two turns."

Amarok considered. "And if This One loses?"

Alacrity thought it over. "You lose, you have to start using first-person singular pronouns."

Jumping rope in the power section and Alacrity's cooking, what he called the "bombs away" school of cuisine—livened by things like Red Shift Chili Peppers and Core Explosion Hotsauce—became fixtures of the voyage.

Alacrity and Amarok picked up jump rope skills quickly, coming to appreciate what Floyt had said about fifteen minutes' solid jumping. Amarok fitted the rope with revolving handles, built to Floyt's description of the ones used on Earth.

In the meantime, Floyt learned about running a monitor. He received instruction from both Alacrity and file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20kruis...aley%20-%20Jinx%20on%20a%20Terran%20Inheritance.htm (60 of 320)19-2-2006 17:12:29

[Fitzhugh 2]-JINX ON A TERRAN INHERITANCE

Amarok, who warmed to his passengers as he got to know them.

But one thing on which the trader was adamant was the temperature at which he kept most of the
Pihoquiaq.
He maintained that the dry chill was good for the cargo and ship's systems and beneficial to health. Alacrity disagreed, but not in their host's presence. Though the minuscule cuddy was warm, the rest of the ship was uncomfortable to the two friends if they weren't exercising or warmly dressed.

And so they dug out shawls that Dorraine had pressed on them, fringed ceremonial garments from Dunrovin', of rich twill-weave and patterned in eye-grabbing colors with stylized DNA chains and fractal diagrams. A shawl was much more convenient than a jacket or sweater, Floyt discovered; very comfortable, especially when standing watch—in an acceleration chair—in the coolness of the bridge. It was, like Alacrity's umbrella and the big bandannas he wore, more practical than it first appeared to Floyt.

The Terran became proficient as watch-stander, in that he knew in general what the indicators meant and when they said something was wrong. As an information accessor from the Earthservice bureaucracy, he showed skill at pinpointing something Amarok or Alacrity wanted to know. He absorbed just enough to be able to guess at how very much more there was to know.

"Alacrity, is there really any reason for me to stand watch? Or you either? Other than as backup in case all the automatics fail?"

"Affirmative; Rok's entering your time in the ship's log, Ho. That and the help you give during maintenance and repair work."

"And so I've learned which dial to watch and which tool to hand you two. But what of it?"

They were in the cuddy, relaxed as much as room allowed. Strangely enough, it was beginning to feel like home. Floyt's fingertips were a bit shriveled; it had been his turn to do their laundry, which involved stripping down and tackling it in the head stall.

Alacrity had pulled out the onyx kidney bean again. Most of the maintenance and repair work was caught up, and Amarok wanted to take watch for the next ten hours or so to double check everything personally.

Alacrity wasn't exactly ecstatic over the labyrinth of automated equipment Amarok had installed in order to crew
Pihoquiaq
alone. But having satisfied himself that it seemed to be working, he had made his peace with it. So, to stave off what he referred to as "an imminent attack of bulkhead fever," Alacrity convinced Floyt to join him in a time-honored breakabout tradition known as the Eight Hour Vacation.

Now he tapped out two shimmering granules of nirvanitol, rolling them in his palm.

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"Look, m'friend, we'll get a certified abstract from the log, proving you've put in time in crewmember capacity. After all, you
do
know your way around; in a monitor, anyway. We still might have to deadhead or work for passage before we're through; this would count in your favor."

"But what do I really know? Which dial to oggle, is what."

Alacrity shook his head. "Will you please get a good attitude? You proved you can get along in confined space, cooperate, take orders, leave the bridge before you break wind—"

"I see; a passing grade in deportment."

"If you like, yes. Listen, nobody's saying you're a certified crewman yet, but you already know more about starships than most people in the galaxy are ever going to learn in their life. Here."

He gave Floyt one of the granules and popped the other. Floyt let his dissolve slowly on the end of his tongue. It tasted sweet and sharp. "How soon will I feel something?"

"A minute or two. Look, Ho: if you don't want to play breakabout, you sure don't have to. I know it could make things tougher when we get back to Terra. But it might come in handy for a variety of reasons. It sure as Shiva looks like we're not going to be able to hire a crew."

"In fact, we haven't really talked about this at all. Even if
Astraea Imprimatur
is spaceworthy, mightn't it cost a great deal to get her home?" Floyt asked.

"Home" suddenly summoned up a recollection of the unique blue-and-white ball of Earth as he'd last seen her; it set off an unlooked-for longing and homesickness in him, an attack such as he hadn't had since his trip out, in the
Bruja.
It wasn't so much distress as a poignant and almost infinite yearning, ill-defined, all-consuming. Then he realized he could feel the steady, dependable beat of the blood in his veins and a connectedness between who he was, the things that had happened to him, and what he must do—and the greater universe around him.

Alacrity was chuckling. "Cost? We don't know if there's money owed for docking fees or defaults, or if she's been impounded—and there's no point worrying about that now. We'll just have to deal with what we find when we get to Blackguard, but … "

"But?"

"But two breakabouts would improve our chances over a breakabout and a groundling—no offense."

"None taken. All right; what's next?"

"Well, I was thinking we could check out the airlock and at least teach you how to get into a suit. Then maybe run through escape capsule procedures."

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Alacrity was sprawled in the hammock belly down, like a large, sedated cat.

"Very well." Floyt looked around the cuddy, feeling a calm, quiet sense of energy and inner reserve, and of tranquility. "Alacrity, did they move the bulkheads back, or, um … "

"Classic nirvanitol reaction. All that elbowroom is a nice feeling, isn't it?"

"It is indeed; it is indeed." And the harsh cuddy lighting seemed more benign too. The gnawing of the Earthservice conditioning that was usually at the back of Floyt's awareness like a trickle-current was now distant and dim. He could recall all the details of his problems; he'd simply relaxed before the fact that there was nothing more he could do about them right then and there.

Alacrity reached under his hammock and came up with a square, blue glass bottle. The cap unscrewed and popped off when he set his thumb against it. He took a very small sip and passed it to Floyt.

Floyt had just reminded himself that even if by some miracle everything was to work out and they got
Astraea Imprimatur
back to Earth, were deprogrammed, and Floyt avoided radical reorientation, some new set of troubles would arise and run its course in one fashion or another. He knew that wasn't particularly sage, but made a mental note not to worry so much.

"Sufficient to the parsec the evil thereof." He sighed, accepting the bottle. It felt cold.

"Inshallah!" Alacrity seconded, hands behind his head now, staring up at the overhead.

"
Inshallah
!" echoed Floyt, good old Earther word. He took a sip and found that the stuff was heavy, almost sludge, but warming and fragrant. He took a second sip, barely a wetting of the lips, and passed it back.

"Alacrity, all this Precursor business—it's just a variation on everything from Delphi to Jung—trying to get in touch with something that'll answer all questions."

"I guess that's fair enough. So what?"

"So what happened to you up there on the gantry at the causality harp?"

Alacrity gazed at him. "You still have to go through reorientation. If I tell you, it'd be like telling Earthservice, wouldn't it?"

"I hadn't thought about that. You'd better forget I asked." A little time passed. "This is very pleasant, but it isn't Nirvana the way I heard it described."

"Increasing the dosage increases the effect. Believe me, if you want to see the White Light, you can do it right here."

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[Fitzhugh 2]-JINX ON A TERRAN INHERITANCE

"Not necessary; this is fine. Besides, duty might call. Can we
function
on this stuff?"

"Well, I wouldn't want to do any neurosurgery right now."

"What happens if we get hit by a meteorite right now and the space pirates attack?"

"We give them a few granules and a drink and they help us patch the leak."

"Seriously."

"Crisis management isn't too hard; a load of adrenaline makes this stuff go away pretty fast. If you really needed it, I suppose you could take a quarter dose of Engine or something.

Floyt lay fiddling with his proteus. "Just asking. So, it's spacesuits next, eh? D'you want to know the unifying element of everything that's happened to us since we lifted out of Nazca spaceport? The flights and murder attempts and ceremonies and airbikes and all the rest?"

Alacrity brought out a little sound unit Redlock had given them. He picked something roomy, Bledsoe's
Forever Endeavor, Amen,
a piece inspired by Precursor artifacts.

"Yeah, tell me," Alacrity said, securing the unit to a wall clip.

Easing himself out full length, Floyt had found, brought the soles of his feet flat against the end of the bunk. He did so now. "It's that I haven't learned one damn thing that will help me make Earthservice Functionary Second Class."

"Which in turn tells you what?"

"Adventures and career goals seldom mix."

CHAPTER 6—HIRELINGS

Alacrity and Floyt established a busy, absorbing rhythm of shipboard life so quickly and thoroughly that it came as a surprise when, early one watch, Amarok showed up to say that they would soon make planetfall.

They both blinked as if awakening, having immersed themselves in details of life-support systems, basic combat procedures, the monitor's astrogational apparatus, waste disposal drill for the model V-B Clarion EVA suit, and who could do more matador crosses without lassoing his own ankles.

They'd also spent a lot of time resting up and mending. Alacrity's side felt fine, Floyt's nose had only a slight ridge to show where it had been broken, and the Earther's teeth were coming in with amazing speed. They'd also further researched the various substances they'd brought along with them—

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synaptiflake, neurobomb, metajolt, hypnozap—but found that sleep and work often seemed preferable.

Alacrity said it was possible to spend most or all of a voyage in an altered state, but unwise. The unexpected had a lethal way of cropping up.

"Besides," he'd said, "prolonged
anything
takes its toll."

Then too, there was Carbon Dioxide College, a breakabout euphemism for marathon bull sessions. Of course, the bigger the crew, the broader the curriculum, and there were only two of them sharing the cuddy—though Amarok sometimes joined in. A certain amount of mutual aversion had kept the two from talking much on the voyage from Luna to the Halidome system, and they were still catching up.

Alacrity talked about his first encounter with the Foragers and about the time he'd shipped in a freighter where everyone inboard came down with a form of superjardia. Floyt reminisced about growing up in the Terran urbanplexes and recounted chapters from the planet's history.