Long View - Zelde M'Tana Part 20

"Right. And do you know-Ragir, you'll appreciate this-Korbeith's still complaining that he should have s.p.a.ced that man off the old MacArthur when he had the chance!" Again the visitor's eyes narrowed. What was he fis.h.i.+ng for?

Peralta, Zelde decided, probably couldn't see past Par-nell's relaxed pose. If you didn't watch close, the shrug looked easy. "No one guesses right every time, Jimar."

"What do you think, Ragir? Did you know Tregare?" And Parnell explained why his knowledge was at second hand, through Kickem Bernardez. Peralta hadn't met Ber-nardez. "He'd have been only a snotty, I think, my last year before s.p.a.cing."

As Peralta poured a second round of brandy, the men sorted out the timing of various s.p.a.ce careers-Parnell was two years behind Peralta, Tregare three and Bernardez four. They talked of others-Limmer, Quinlan, Hoptowit, Ressider, Malloy-and Zelde recognized only the last by name. Then, not heeding the words much, she concentrated on the sound of Peralta's voice, and the ways he moved.

Whatever he wanted here, he was taking his own sweet time about it.

After three rounds, his gift bottle was empty. Again Parnell suggested Earth whiskey, but Peralta shook his head. "If you don't mind, I'd like another go at- what's the name of that green explosive you brought us?" He laughed, but his voice held an edge.

"Trair?" said Zelde. Peralta nodded, so she got a bottle and poured all around.

Then jash, too, in larger gla.s.ses. Seeing Peralta's steady look on her, she said, "Just so n.o.body expects me to keep up with you two, on trair. It takes practice I don't have." And as if he'd spoken, she knew he took her words as a challenge.

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Favoring the milder jash, she nursed her trair along. Per-alta didn't, and Parnell's drinking ran about midway between the two. The way he held the small gla.s.s, Zelde couldn't see its level-and neither could Peralta. When he glanced sidelong at her, she took it as a sign to pour refills-and noticed he was taking trair about half as fast as Peraita was. Good enough.

Now Peralta did the talking-telling of his own travels and exploits along the way.

He sounded a little drunk, but Zelde guessed he was putting it on. When the bottle of trair was gone, she said, "Afraid that's all we got here. Have to send down to the hold, for more. Maybe some bourbon now?" Peralta nodded; she poured him a fresh gla.s.s and added ice. She and Parnell weren't dry yet; she set the bottle on his desk.

The intercom sounded; she took the call-Carlo Maura-gin, on watch. "Summit Bay's questioning a cargo discrepancy, and / can't find it. Could somebody come talk to these people?"

Draining his gla.s.s, Parnell nodded to Zelde; she said, "I'll be right up." Before she left, she poured another round.

In Control, on viewscreen she faced a whiny man with sagging cheeks. This, it seemed, was listed and shouldn't be-while this was missing from the vouchers and Saggy Cheeks was certain that . . .

"All right, just a minute. Flash those items on visual and I'll check against our readout." The man was no expert; two minutes pa.s.sed before the listings showed.

Without needing to check the computer, Zelde recognized them.

She tried not to sound mad but she knew it showed, anyway. "Somebody at your end hasn't caught up with Appendix E yet. That one makes these changes-and another one. I think. Hold it." She punched for the data, and nodded. "Yeah. Line- item twelve-seventeen, too. So when you come to it, be braced. That all, for now?"

The man looked half scared and half angry; anger won out. "Well-you could be a little more respectful of proper authority."

Careful? No-h.e.l.l with it! "When it is, I am."

"What kind of answer is that?"

"It made sense to me." She put her hand to the switch.

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"For the Great Khan, signing over and out!" She cut the circuit and turned to Mauragin; his mouth hung open a little. Her laugh caught in her throat. "Peace up a pipe! Can't find his a.s.s with both hands, and he wants respect!"

His throat moved, swallowing. "Weren't you a little rough?"

"Maybe." Starting to walk away, she turned back. "And you, Carlo-why'n h.e.l.l didn't you check that out yourself?"

"But-all that listing-I didn't know where to look. I-"

"Code the line numbers in and set up to scan. You should know-"

His face went sullen. "So it's that way again, is it? Only this time, you outrank me, too."

"I-" She caught herself. "Sorry, Carlo. I've been working with that stuff and I guess you haven't." She touched his shoulder. "It's just-right now you interrupted something, might be tricky as all h.e.l.l. And I got to get back to it. But jumping you like I did-cancel that, will you?"

After a moment his sulky look cleared. "All right, Zelde." She squeezed the shoulder once, then walked out fast, toward quarters.

As she went in, Peralta was talking, but stopped before she could make words into sense. Both men looked at her; Parnell said, "Sit down, Zelde. Jimar, here, has an interesting idea."

He didn't say what it was. She sipped from her gla.s.s, still full but pale from melted ice, and he said to Peralta, "What makes you think so?" Suddenly alert, Zelde waited for the answer.

It didn't come right away. Then the man set his gla.s.s down. "It's simple, Ragir.

You have to be Escaped- because it's not possible that Czerner was promoted as your log claims." Almost forgetting to breathe, Zelde watched Peralta.

He waited, but Parnell said nothing. "All right. You were on Earth about three years after I was last there." He talked fast, sounding less drunk now, but maybe too wrapped up in his argument to keep his act straight. So some of the drunk part was real. All right-he waved a . finger. '"I have connections, Ragir-everywhere I go. I keep track of seniorities, and who's in favor and who's 169.

out-to know where's the place to move, to be ready for a proper jump some day. I once thought the Bonaparte was it-but Haiglund's hanging onto that s.h.i.+p until he dies on it." Peralta coughed, and took more drink.

Parnell smiled. "Both eyes, always, on the main chance-eh, Jimar? I expected no less of you. But-about my s.h.i.+p-you say . . . ?"

Mouth full, Peralta laughed; his nose dribbled whiskey, and he went into a coughing spasm. Oh, he's drunk, all right! Finally, wiping his eyes and speaking hoa.r.s.ely, he said, "My look-in at the records, last time on Earth, said Czerner was close to being eased out of the Service-that he'd be lucky to hold his rank, let alone get promoted. So-"

Parnell leaned forward. "But that, of course, was before we had completed our previous mission, before Captain Czerner's achievements on that mission went onto his record. You admit, Jimar, that despite your inside contacts you're still missing that vital later information?"

Peralta wiped the last tears from his cheeks, and cleared his throat. "No, Ragir-it won't lift. You're good, I grant you-best poker player in your cla.s.s, I remember. But you forget-I've seen your log transcript. It doesn't show Czer-ner doing anything special on the previous jaunt. You should have shown him grounded-not for incompetence, exactly, but-without prejudice; that's the way they'd put it. And that story, I might have bought. I've got you cold, Ragir-and if we were on Earth, I could prove it."

Parnell looked worried; maybe this was time to push some. Zelde caught Peralta's gaze. "We're not on Earth."

Gesturing, Parnell shook his head. "Wait, Zelde. We don't know Jimar's thinking yet." And we don't trust it, either. He smiled at his guest, but Zelde saw the pain lines mark his face. "Just for the sake of discussion-supposing you were right, why would you tell me this?"

Yeah. The man came alone; if he had a talk-set hidden on him, it wouldn't work through the s.h.i.+p's hull. No-he'd have to be making a tape and get out with it. Zelde s.h.i.+fted her seating. Slowed by drink, Peralta was; no matter what Parnell said, she was faster now. Her knife. . . .

But Peralta said, "It's the only way I can get your help."

Parnell gestured for refills. Surprised, Zelde got up and obliged, and still stood when Peralta said, "I want a s.h.i.+p; I 170.

deserve one. At least that much-and later more, with any luck. But on the Bonaparte, Haiglund has me stymied- and I don't have enough trustworthy people to take the s.h.i.+p, in s.p.a.ce. But here, if you provide me a boarding party-"

Zelde saw what it cost Parnell to laugh. "Jimar-I'd suspected a trap, but you've convinced me that you're sincere. Because if you've guessed wrong, what's to stop us from turning you in to Cort Verrane?"

Peralta sat up straight; his eyes widened, and Zelde saw they were bloodshot.

"Then I am right!"

Zelde moved between Peralta and the door. "Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, none of it goes off this s.h.i.+p, without we let it."

"Easy, easy!" Parnell pushed a hand at air. "Let us talk a little, Zelde." She nodded, but stayed where she was. "All right, Jimar. Without prejudice-your own phrase-here's why your idea couldn't work, in either case."

"This had better be good. Good, h.e.l.l-perfect!"

Parnell gulped more drink than Zelde liked to see. "Be reasonable. We're suspect here, ourselves. If you're guessing, then so is Cort Verrane, Summit Bay, the Police- all of it. The only way we get off this planet is by keeping our noses clean." He balled a fist and slammed it on his desk. "And that's exactly what we're going to do." Before Peralta could interrupt: "We're shorthanded, Jimar. Oh, we've enough, weapons-trained, to defend this s.h.i.+p-I've seen to that. But not trained in a.s.sault tactics. I saw no possible need, and usually it's a rather suicidal move."

Peralta shook his head; he was losing ground, Zelde thought, to the trair. Not tracking too well. "But I'd-I'd get Haiglund as hostage. He's popular-a stuffed s.h.i.+rt but a fair man. n.o.body wants him dead." He smiled, and for the first time Zelde saw a side of him she liked. "h.e.l.l, I don't want him dead. But you see-with that threat I could take the heart out of loyalist resistance."

Was Parnell wavering? The s.h.i.+p comes first. "You heard the captain, Peralta. We can't do it."

She watched him. Now? Tension, a beginning-then he slumped back. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. "I'll hear final decision from Ragir Parnell, M'tana-if you don't mind."

"I don't mind."

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Parnell pushed up to sit straight. "And you're hearing it-the same as before.

Regardless of your ideas about this s.h.i.+p-if you want to take your own, you'll have to do so by your own resources." Peralta started to get up; Parnell said, "Not to go just yet, Jimar. We need to know your intentions-considering your unfounded beliefs, you see."

Peralta's smile turned to giggle. The trair's got him. "Unfounded! All right, Parnell-don't worry. In UET, one s.h.i.+p's all I'd ever get. But Outside, maybe more-so that's where I have to go. Still think we could work it, right here-talk some more tomorrow, maybe-but someday I will, you wait and see. And then I'll want you there, too- on my side. Y'understand?"

Parnell frowned; Zelde moved to whisper to him. "Not lying-too drunk."

Peralta took the last of his drink; some ran down his chin. Parnell said, low, "Too drunk to go talking on his own s.h.i.+p, I'd say, at the moment. Have you thought of that?"

Peralta was slumped in his chair. Zelde whispered, "Keep him here tonight? Feed him a pill? What you think?"

Shaking his head, Parnell said, "Even drunk, no one dopes Jimar-unless the pill were dissolved in liquor, and I have nothing that would vanish in a hurry. So-"

All right. "He stays, then. Ragir, go someplace."

"But-"

"I don't think he's able. But it can't matter."

"Yes. I see." Parnell poured a drink and carried it out the door.

Zelde took bottle and gla.s.s, and went to sit on the arm of Peralta's chair. "Drink, Jimar? I'm having me one." She poured, and guided his hand to the gla.s.s.

"Where Parnell?" He got gla.s.s to mouth, and swallowed twice.

"Where he sleeps. We're alone now." Briefly, his face had purpose; he reached for her. She gave him the gla.s.s instead; he drained it and reached again; this time she took his kiss.

Drunk or not, he knows how.

He was urgent now; she dimmed the lights and walked him to the bed. Getting rid of clothes took a time-she 172.

remembered, in time, to hide her knife safely under the bed.

Now, want it or not, she began to arouse-and she mustn't try to stop him. But then, all a-ready, the trair took him-still moving gently, to no goal at all, he began to snore.

She woke alert and turned to see; Peralta lay curled away from her and breathing heavily. Good start. Being quiet about it, she got up and dressed, and left quarters.

In the galley she nodded to various ones, got a cup of coffee and went ups.h.i.+p, to Control.

Parnell wasn't there, either; Lera Tzane had the duty. She hadn't seen Parnell and seemed surprised at Zelde's question. Zelde touched the other's shoulder.

"Things happening, Lera-we had to be different places. But I need to know, where is he?"

At Tzane's headshake, Zelde said, "No problem," and squeezed the shoulder.

"Don't call captain's quarters, is all, until Parnell or I call you from there first. Got it?"

"Not really-but I'll do as you say."

"Good enough." Zelde left-where the h.e.l.l had Ragir got to? The Third Hat quarters she didn't use, maybe? And when she got there, she found him. up and dressing.

Tired, he looked, but not hurt ing especially. He said, "How's Peralta? What do we need to do now?"

After a moment he quit fending her off and let her hug him, then kiss him. "Last night he c.r.a.pped out-no action. Ai l right? Still asleep when 1 left , too. Want to go wake him up with a load of breakfast? I'm hungry enough."

He grinned. "So am I. Yes-let's do break in on Jimar's hangover-as good Samaritans, of course."

Wearing trousers only, combing his wet hair, Peralta came out of the bathroom.

His arms and torso showed the scars of UET's Slaughterhouse. Aside from dark smudges under his eyes, the man looked well enough, but he moved gingerly.

Zelde smiled. "Sit down, Jimar, and eat with us." She sat with her own tray; Parnell offered one of the two he carried. Peralta gulped some coffee, sipped his juice, and took a bite of scrambled eggs.

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Chewing slowly, he looked at them. "Where do we stand?"

Parnell spoke. "How much do you remember?"

Peralta's gaze moved to Zelde. "I-that is-"

He don't know. What was the best move? Parnell said nothing, so Zelde went with her hunch. "Then it don't matter-right? Either way."

Tension seemed to help his queasy appet.i.te. For a moment he ate rapidly, then paused. "This much I remember. You're Escaped-you admitted it." Whatever Parnell started to say, he waved it off. "The exact words aren't important-don't split hairs. You're Escaped, but won't help me do the same."

Parnell frowned. "I told you, Jimar-"

"You did-and I have to accept it. But now you're worried about me, aren't you?"

Again he gave Parnell no chance to talk. "Well, you don't have to be. I'll tell you why."