Starrigger

'No, a predigestive sac. Fiona's got two of these and twelve stomachs, but we don't like to use those unless we have to.

Have to spray 'em down with gastric inhibitors ? and they smell bad.'

'Fiona? It's a female?'

'Hard to say one way or the other.'

'Huh? Oh…'

'Is that it?'

'That's it, except to ask if all the deckhands are as good-looking as you.'

'Ah, shut up.' She turned on her heel and stalked away.

'Hey! One more thing.'

'What?' she answered impatiently.

'How do we get topside?'

'Elevator!'

'Elevator?'

Elevator.

And there it was, a circular metal-framed shaft rising through a hole in the roof. The juncture of frame and roof was sealed by a white spongy collar that seemed to be there to protect the surrounding organ-tissue. The elevator car was bullet-shaped and transparent, suspended by thick metal cables.

'Any construction you'd do inside this beastie,' Roland said as we boarded the car, 'would be more like a surgical procedure.'

'Yeah, but the patient's sturdy enough to withstand it,' I said, then added sotto voce, 'Did you plant that transponder?'

'Yes, at the base of the frame.'

'You agree it'll shoot Sam's signal up this shaft?'

'Don't see why not. But how do you get it out of the shaft and through the doors? ? if there're doors.'

'We put another one up top, of course.'

The car was filling up, and we got scrunched to the back. A tall, blue, webfooted alien trod on my instep as he backed up, then turned his piscine head and wheezed something that sounded apologetic.

The trip up was a long one. The outer door at the top of the shaft was an ornate gilt folding gate which opened onto what looked like the plush lobby of an ancient Terran hotel. There were red leather settees and armchairs, matching ottomans, coffee tables, freestanding ashtrays, and potted plants. The walls were done up in red and gold fabric. It was a scene out of the past ? tastefully done too, nothing like the usual quickie/functional decor you see back in the Maze. It was a big place, packed with sentient flesh.

'Ah, atmosphere,' John said.

I turned to Darla. 'Spot anybody?'

She took a long look around the place. 'No.'

'Yeah, but they're here, or will be. Everybody who was chasing us. Maybe even Wilkes.'

'He'll be here,' she said, as if she knew. Maybe she did.

Another long wait, this time to get a cabin, and that was after standing in line at the purser's office. I gave Darla back her coins and traded about a quarter of my gold stash for consols, paid C-38.5 for the fare, and gave John some cash in partial payment for the hospital bill he'd picked up back on Goliath. When it came time to register for the cabin, I had my fake ID in hand, but the clerk waved it off.

'Don't need your ID, sir, just your name. This is a free society.'

I looked at the plasticard, which stated that I was one T. Boggston Fisk, Esq., and I thought, there's a time to run and a time to stop running. Time for the fox to turn and face the dogs, come what may. I put the card away.

'Jake McGraw, and friends.'

He bent over the keyboard, then straightened up quickly and looked at me. 'Did you say… Jake McGraw?'

'That's right.'

'Glad to have you aboard the Laputa, sir.'

'Glad to be anywhere right now. Tell me, when do we get where we're going? And where are we going?'

'We should make Seahome by tomorrow afternoon, sir. That's the biggest town here on Splash.'

'Splash? That's what the planet's called?'

'Well, it isn't really called anything officially, and every language group seems to have its own name, but in Intersystem it's called Akwaterra.'

'Straightforward enough. I take it there are large land masses then?'

'Big enough, but not continent-size.'

Welcome to Splash, but don't go near the water.

The Laputa?

Carrying my bag only (Darla had opted to keep hers), a steward led us to another elevator. We went up to B Deck, where we followed him through a maze of corridors. Roland lagged behind, planting more transponders at various strategic and inconspicuous locations.

Our adjoining staterooms were lavish, the crappers positively palatial, with sunken tubs made of a gold- veined stone that looked something like marble. There were few modern conveniences, but the charm more than made up for the lack. I tried to think of the last time I'd used a bathtub.

John knocked on the connecting hatch and stepped in. 'I haven't seen plumbing like that since I lived in London,' he said.

'Really?' I said, distracted. I still wasn't sure whether I liked having the Teelies next door, for their sake more than mine. Time for them to start disassociating themselves from me. I had wanted at least half a ship between us, but Roland had insisted on keeping nearby.

'Don't want to lose you now, Jake. You're our ticket home.' 'Home? Where's that?'

He acknowledged the point. 'You have me there. But our people are still important to us. We must get back somehow.'

'Sorry. I understand.' Maybe Roland was right. They'd be more vulnerable away from me.

Susan walked in, looking depressed. She had her shirt back on and was wearing her tan bush pants, but she was barefooted, having left her sandals in the Chevy.

'There are shops on board, Susan,' I told her. 'You should pick up some footwear. John has money.'

'Yes, I will,' she answered dully and slumped into a velvet armchair.

John went over to her. 'What's wrong, Suzie?' he asked, massaging her shoulders.

'Oh, I was just thinking of Sten back there in the hospital. He's probably worried sick, wondering what happened to us.' She looked at me. 'We were on the way to the hospital when you…' She lowered her head and began crying softly.

It made me feel just great. Darla took her by the hand, led her to the other room, and closed the hatch.

'Does she have these mood swings often?' I asked John. 'Suzie's emotional and changeable, it's true. But you must realize, Jake, this whole affair's been a nasty shock for all of us.'

'Sorry, sorry….' It struck me that I'd been apologizing a lot lately. I had to reach down deep into my resources to remind myself that I had done nothing to deserve any of this, nor was any of it my fault. A sense of guilt for unspecified and probably imaginary offenses is a load that gets dumped on you early on. Most people spends lifetime looking for a place to set it down.

'John, would you excuse me for a moment? I want to talk to Sam.'

'Of course.' He went to the hatch and opened it, turned to say something, but thought better of it. 'We'll talk later,' he said, then went out and closed the hatch. He had his own guilt to deal with.

Winnie was on the couch, huddled up with her arms wrapped around her knees, looking at me with wet, questioning eyes. I winked at her, and she gave me a grimace-grin in return. Funny that she responded to a wink. I couldn't remember ever seeing her eyelids close except in sleep; she never blinked them.

'I'm copying you fine,' Sam said when I keyed him. 'How'd you do it?'