Chapter Two
The Inspector General's angry voice pounded out of the audio pickup on Simeon's private frequency.
«CK-963, respond!»
«Discovered!» Keff cried, slapping the arm of his couch. The next burst of harsh sound made him yelp with mock alarm. «Catch us if you can, you cockatrice!»
«Hush!» Carialle answered the hail in an innocent voice, purposely made audible for her brawns sake. «S . . . S-nine . . . dred. H . . . ving trou—» Keff was helpless with laughter. «Pl . . . s repeat mes . . . g?»
«I said get back here! You have an appointment with me as of ten hundred hours prime meridian time, and it is now ten fifteen.» Carialle could almost picture his plump, mustachioed face turning red with apoplexy. «How dare you blast out of here without my permission? I want to see you!»
«Sorr . . .» Carialle said, «br . . . king up. Will send back mission reports, General.»
«That was clear as a bell, Carialle!» the angry voice hammered at the speaker diaphragm. «There is no static interference on your transmission. You make a one-eighty and get back here. I expect to see you in ninety minutes. Maxwell-Corey out.»
«Oops,» said Keff, cheerfully. He tilted his head out of his impact couch toward her pillar and winked. His deep-set blue eyes twinkled. «M-C won't believe that last phrase was a fluke of clear space, will he?»
«He'll have to,» Carialle said firmly. «I'm not going back to have my cerebellum cased, not a chance. Bureaucratic time-waster! I know I'm fine. You know you're fine. Why do we always have to go bend over and cough every time we make planetfall and explore a new world? I landed, got steam-cleaned and decontaminated, made our report with words and pictures to Xeno and Exploration. I refuse to have another mental going-over just because of my past experiences.»
«Good of Simeon to tip us off,» Keff said, running down the ship status report on his personal screen. «I hope he won't catch too much flak for it. But look at this! Thirty percent food and fuel?»
«I know,» Carialle said contritely, «but what else could I do?»
«Not a blessed, or unblessed thing,» Keff agreed. «Frankly, I prefer the odds as opposed to what we'd have to go through to wait for Simeon's next shipments. Full tanks and complete commissary do not, in my book, equate with peace of mind if M-C's about. Eventually we will have to go back, you know.»
«Yes, if only to make certain Simeon's coped with the man. Before we do though, I'll just send Simeon a microsquirt to be sure Maxwell-Corey's left for D sector . . .»
«Or someplace else equally distant from us. It isn't as if we can't hang out in space for a while on iron rations until Sime sends you an all-clear burst,» Keff offered bravely, although Carialle could see he didn't look forward to the notion.
«If the IG is sneaky enough . . .»
». . . And he is if anyone deserves that adjective . . .»
». . . to scan message files he'll know when Simeon knows where we are, and he could put a tag on us so no station will supply the 963.»
«We shall not come to that sorry pass, my lady fair,» Keff said, lapsing into his Sir Galahad pose. «In the meantime, let us fly on toward R sector and whatever may await us there.» He made an enthusiastic and elaborate flourish and ended up pointing toward the bow.
Carialle had to laugh.
«Oh, yes,» she said. «Now, where were we?» The Wizard was back on the wall, and he spoke in the creaking tenor of an old, old man. «Good sir knight, thou hast fairly won this scroll. Hast anything thou wish to ask me?»
Grinning, Keff buckled on his epee and went to face him.
While Keff chased men-at-arms all over her main cabin, Carialle devoted most of her attention to eluding the Inspector General s attempts to follow her vector.
As soon as she cut off Maxwell-Corey's angry message, she detected the launch of a message drone from the SSS-900, undoubtedly containing an official summons. As plenty of traffic was always flying into the stations space, it took no great skill to divert the heat-seeking flyer onto the trail of another outgoing vessel. Nothing, and certainly not an unbrained droid, could outmaneuver a brainship. By the time the mistake was discovered, she'd be out of this sector entirely, and on her way to an unknown quadrant of the galaxy.
Later, when she felt less threatened by him, she'd compose a message complaining of what was really becoming harassing behavior to SPRIM. She'd had that old nuisance on her tail long enough. Running free, in full control of her engines and her faculties, was one of the most important things in her life. Every time that right was threatened, Carialle reacted in a way that probably justified the IG's claim of dangerous excitability.
In the distance, she picked up indications of two small ships following her initial vector. All right, score one up for the IG: he'd known she'd resist his orders and had ordered a couple of scouts to chase her down. That could also mean that he might have even put out an alarm that she was a danger to herself and her brawn, and must be brought back willingly or unwillingly. Would the small scouts have picked up her power emissions? She ought to have been one jump ahead of old Sennet and expected this sort of antic. She ought to have lain quiescent. Oh well. She really couldn't contest the fact that proximity to the IG did put her in a state of confusion. She adjusted her adrenals. Calm down, girl. Calm down. Think!
Quick perusal of her starchart showed the migration of an ion storm only a couple of thousand klicks away. Carialle made for it. She skimmed the storm's margin. Then, letting her computers plot the greatest possible radiation her shields could take without buckling, she slid nimbly over the surface, a surfer riding dangerous waters. The sensation was glorious! Ordinary pilots, unable to feel the pressures on their ships' skins as she did, would hesitate to follow. Nor could their scopes detect her in the wash of ion static. Shortly, Carialle was certain she had shaken off her tails. She turned a sharp perpendicular from the ion storm, and watched its opalescent halos recede behind her as she kicked her engines up to full speed.
Returning to the game, she found Keff studying the floating map holograph over a cold one at the «village pub.» He glanced up at her pillar when she hailed him.
«I take it we're free of unwanted company?»
«With a sprinkling of luck and the invincibility of our radiation proof panels,» Carialle said, «we've evaded the minions of the evil wizard. Now its time for a brew.» She tested herself for adrenaline fatigue, and allowed herself a brief feed of protein and vitamin B-complex.
Keff tipped his glass up to her. Quick analysis told her that though the golden beverage looked like beer, it was the non-alcoholic electrolyte-replenisher Keff used after workouts. «Here's to your swift feet and clever ways, my lovely, and confusion to our enemies. Er, did my coffee come aboard?»
«Yes, sir,» she replied, flashing the image of a saluting marine on the wall. 'The storesmaster just had time to break out a little of the good stuff when Simeon passed the word down. I even got you a small quantity of chocolate. Best Demubian.» Keff beamed.
«Ah, Cari, now I know the ways you love me. Did you have time to load any of my special orders?» he asked, with a quirk of his head.
«Now that you mention it, there were two boxes in the cargo hold with your name on them,» Carialle said.
Clang. BUMP! Clang. BUMP!
The shining contraption of steel that was the Roto-flex had taken little time to put together, still less to watch the instructional video on how to use it. Keff sat on the leatherette-covered, modified saddle with a stirrup- shaped, metal pulley in each outstretched hand. His broad face red from the effort, Keff slowly brought one fist around until it touched his collarbone, then let it out again. The heavy cables sang as they strained against the
