Starfishers Volume 3: Stars End (9 page)

“Farewell, Moyshe man-friend.” BenRabi could feel the sadness in the starfish.

“Go softly, golden dragon,” he whispered. “My heart flies with you down the long dark journey.”

Chub’s sadness welled up. Moyshe could not stand it. He pounded the switch beneath his left hand.

There was very little pain. He had not been under long. “I don’t need it, Clara.” He pushed the needle away.

“Moyshe. You’re crying.”

“No.”

“But . . . ”

“No. Just leave me alone.”

“All right.”

He heard the hurt in her voice. He struggled off of the couch, pulled her to him. “I’m sorry. Clara, I haven’t known you very long. But you’ve been a good friend. I’ll miss you. And Hans, too. Tell him to behave.”

“I see that he does. He’s my grandson.”

“Oh. I didn’t know.” What had he heard about Hans’s sister? Or was it mother? She had been lost with
Jariel.
Clara had never let on.

“There’re a lot of things you don’t know, Moyshe benRabi. About people. Because you never get around to asking.”

“Clara . . . Clara, come visit. Will you?”

“Yes.”

“Promise? Amy would love to meet you.”

“I promise. Now get out of here before somebody calls the boss and wants to know what the hell’s going on up here.”

“Thanks, Clara. Thanks a lot. For everything.”

His return trip was less precipitous. He was not eager to get home. Amy was bound to be waiting with some unimaginative new approach to the subject of marriage.

Seven: 3049 AD
The Main Sequence

“What’s the occasion?” benRabi asked. He had come home to find Amy clad only in a negligee. She had been playing body games all week. He supposed she was holding out in hopes lust would make him propose. She was going to be disappointed. He was not seventeen.

The tactic did not bode well for their relationship. There was no future in any relationship where one party practiced extortion upon the other. No one endured that for long. And benRabi had had his fill of it from Alyce, way back when.

Was this why he was so reluctant? Because Amy came on like a spoiled child?

Why
did
he resist it? If he was to make a life here he had to surrender to the culture. This one had scant tolerance for prolonged bachelorhoods.

Older singles tended to get shoved beyond the social fringes. He was out there now. And Mouse, for all the charm he exuded, was slipping too. The ladies were not buzzing round so much anymore. He had made it too clear that he was available for good times only, not for long times and old-style fidelity.

If Amy was the best available, why not?

Part of it was habit. He had been a loner for too long, caught up in a profession where responsibilities to anyone else made a deadly liability. That was why, through mission after mission, he had fought his growing friendship for Mouse.

He had failed at that, and Mouse had too. They saw so little of one another nowadays . . . That was a pity. Just when they had given in to it, life had taken a twist and spun them along separate paths.

That would end with his transfer to Security, wouldn’t it?

“There’s a bright side to everything, I guess,” he murmured.

Thinking about Mouse, he remembered their last evening together. He could have sworn Mouse had been hinting that he should do something about Amy. It was a damned conspiracy!

Why the hell would Mouse want him married? Mouse did not believe in the institution.

He should take the plunge. But not too soon. He could not let Amy get the idea that she could manipulate him.

He sat with his head in his hands, scurrying around the slot-tracks of an uncertain mind. The tracks did not always follow sane routes. There were moments when he did not know who or where he was. Sometimes he did not understand what was happening, or why. Sometimes he woke up thinking he was back on The Broken Wings, or in Luna Command. There had been a night when he had called Amy Max while they were making love . . . And a time when he had thought she was Greta . . . Frightening though they were, those had been isolated incidents. So far.

He and Amy made love fiercely, desperately.

She started getting dressed immediately afterward. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“You forgot? We’re supposed to have supper with the Sheik and his harem.”

“One thing I’m going to tell you right now, woman. And you better understand it. That man’s my friend. Learn to fly with it.” He had forgotten the dinner. Completely. There wasn’t a ghost of memory to be found anywhere in his head.

They joined Mouse and his shrinking clutch of dollies an hour later. BenRabi found his eye roving. Mouse had several honeys he would not mind topping himself. He dared not let Amy notice him looking. Any woman who got that jealous of a male friend . . . 

This affair is headed for trouble, he thought.

Kindervoort appeared suddenly.

Jarl Kindervoort was a tall, lean man who reminded benRabi of Don Quixote, or the Pale Imperator in Czyzewski’s novel,
His Banners Bright And Golden.
Like Amy, and most
Danion
Seiners, he was pale, blond, and blue-eyed. BenRabi liked him as a person and found him physically repulsive. It was a combination he did not comprehend.

He did not quite understand Kindervoort’s position in the
Danion
scheme either. Kindervoort was, apparently, Amy’s immediate superior. Amy was only a Lieutenant, a low-grade officer, yet her boss seemed to speak for
Danion’s
whole Security force. The ship had a population matching that of a fair-sized city. Could the police force be that small?

Kindervoort had high cheekbones and a lantern jaw. They gave him a death’s head look. His pale eyes were seldom happy. He could have given Mouse lessons in cold stares. Yet he was a genuinely warm and caring person. He asked, “May I join you?”

“Sure, Jarl,” Mouse said. “Glad to have you.” Amy and benRabi nodded. Kindervoort settled down, plunged into his meal tray. He did not join the table banter. Neither did benRabi, though Amy brightened for a while and kept up with Mouse in a thrust and parry duel of the risqué and outré.

During his dessert Kindervoort asked, “You told him yet?”

“What? Oh. I forgot,” Amy replied.

“Told me what?” benRabi asked.

“We’re moving you to Security. Starting tomorrow. For the auction project.”

“Oh. That. I know.”

“Who told you?”

“I’m not stupid, Jarl. I may act it, but I’m a trained professional. I can see the signs and add the numbers.”

“Ah. Exactly. That’s why we want you on the auction thing. You’re a professional. And you know The Broken Wings. Payne’s Fleet has gotten the shove into the barrel this time. Payne thinks
Danion
should provide the protection for our auction crew. Off the record, I’d guess we get the auction because Gruber doesn’t want any Payne people with him at Stars’ End.”

“What? Stars’ End? Christ! I’m starting to hope a rogue singularity comes romping around and gobbles up that goddamned gun-runner’s pyramid like a big fat chocolate cherry.”

“Moyshe! What in the name of . . . ”

“Jarl, you people are crazy. Every last one of you. I won’t stand around on the steps of the Senate screaming ‘Beware the Ides of March!’ but only because none of you whackos have got the sense to listen. It’s going to kill you. Can’t you get that through your thick heads? But what do I care? You’re only taking me down with you. All right. What do you want me on The Broken Whigs for?”

“Security shift leader down in Angel City. Night shift. I picked your men already. I want you to start drilling them tomorrow. The feedback we get says it might get hairy.”

“What’d I tell you?” benRabi told Amy. To Kindervoort, “At the risk of sounding inane, why me?”

“You and Mouse both. Because you know the city.”

“Yeah. And he gets stuck with the other shift? Twelve hours at a crack. Wait. It’s only nine on The Broken Wings, but that’s bad enough, watch and watch with some guy around every corner waiting to burn you. You know what you’re asking us to walk into?”

“What?” Kindervoort would not meet his eye. He knew.

“Mouse killed her kids. I shot her here. And you let her get away. She’ll be there if she has to walk halfway across the galaxy. When she hears our fleet is going to handle it . . . It won’t matter if she can get her people’s okay. She’ll come, Kindervoort. With every goddamned thing she can lay hands on. Come to think of it, the Heads will probably back her even if they don’t like it. They’re going to be damned hot about what happened to the raidfleet at Stars’ End.”

“Anything else bothering you, Moyshe?”

“What?”

“I’d like to hear all your objections now. So we can get them out of the way ahead of time.”

“All right. Why trust me? I’m the man you caught leading Navy ships to your herd, remember?”

“Three points. One, you’re a convert. I saw your test results. Two, the Ship’s Commander recommended you. And the third I’d rather keep to myself.”

BenRabi tried to remember all the tests he had taken, both before and after deciding to remain with the Starfishers. They had seemed standard, but he might have missed something. “Typical security-type job? Three hours’ sleep and ten minutes for personals every day? Need them or not?”

“Probably.” Kindervoort smiled.

His smile did not have the desired effect on benRabi. Moyshe saw it as grim, not friendly.

“Then I’d better settle my affairs. Because I don’t expect to get through this one alive. I was going to put this off a few days. Mouse, want to be best man? Jarl, you can stand witness. Everybody’s invited. I’ll put on a party in my room afterwards. If we can come up with anything drinkable.”

Nobody said anything for several seconds. Mouse stared blankly. Kindervoort managed to appear both surprised and amused. Mouse’s girls just looked puzzled.

Amy showed a half dozen quick reactions. Lack of comprehension. Stunned disbelief. Shock. Distress that threatened to become anger. “It isn’t fair,” she murmured. She wanted a pompous, ostentatious Archaicist affair with all the splendor of old-time royal weddings. “You’re making fun of me.” Their friends knew how badly she wanted him to propose.

He had to reassure her quickly.

“Jarl, can we get it done now?”

“We could start in ten minutes if you’re serious.”

“Go ahead.”

“Moyshe, that isn’t fair!” Amy cried. “You never even asked me! And I’m not dressed for it and I haven’t got anything to wear and . . . ” She had a whole list of ands and buts. BenRabi and Kindervoort waited till she got them out of her system.

“Do I call or not, Amy?” Kindervoort asked.

“Oh!” She hit the table with her fists. “Yes! Yes, dammit! Call him. Moyshe benRabi, you are the meanest, connivingest man I’ve ever known. How can you do this to me?”

“Hey! You’ve been all over me about it . . . ”

“Isn’t love wonderful?” Mouse asked the air. Amy stopped bitching. Mouse had given her a look which warned her that she was pushing her luck.

The ceremony was not what she wanted. Moyshe kissed her and whispered, “If I get out alive, you’ll have the real thing. The big one you want. That’s a promise.”

After the reception began, Kindervoort pulled Mouse and benRabi aside. “Finally got some word on that failsafer.”

Back when the landside contractees had been boarding the service ship for return to Confederation a man had tried to kill them when it had become obvious that they were staying behind. He had suicided after missing. They had assumed he was a Bureau agent failsafing them.

“The autopsy finally got done,” Kindervoort said. “He was Sangaree.”

“Sangaree!” Mouse said it as if it were a swear word.

“Yes. And he did commit suicide. He was wearing a poison ring.”

“Nobody killed him? There wasn’t a second failsafer?” BenRabi shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“It didn’t make sense when we thought there were two of them, and one got away,” Mouse said. “Looks to me like he was Strehltsweiter’s man, not the Admiral’s. Makes sense in that context. She wanted us pretty bad.”

“That’s the way I figured it,” Kindervoort said. “Till now I halfway thought it might have been a setup. To make you look more palatable. It doesn’t look that obvious anymore. I’m confused, though. She was in intensive care all the time. Isolated. How did she make contact? How did she relay the order, even assuming the failsafer was pre-programed? If you come up with any theories, let me know. I’d hate to think my own people helped her.”

“Uhm.” BenRabi glanced at Mouse.

Mouse shrugged. “I was sure he was Beckhart’s.”

“Ever heard of a Sangaree suiciding?”

“It happens. Borroway.”

“Those were kids. They didn’t have any other way out, and they knew too much.”

“He had to be programed.”

“What’s going on?” Amy demanded. “Consoling the victim, Mouse? You look like your best friend just died.”

“We’ll talk it out later, Mouse. No, we were just talking about something Jarl brought up. Sort of a puzzle. Let’s dance, honey.”

It was a zestless party. It did not last long. Neither did the honeymoon. Mouse dragged benRabi out early next morning.

“Hey. I’m supposed to be a newlywed.”

“Come on. You been tapping it for eight months. Getting married didn’t make it new. Jarl wants us. Time to go into training.”

BenRabi spent the next fourteen hours talking about Angel City, studying maps, teaching the use of small arms in a coliseum cube that had been commandeered for the purpose.

His group consisted of twenty-five people. Mouse had another the same size. Mouse drilled his mercilessly in unarmed combat. His was the easier task. His students at least had some idea of what he was talking about.

BenRabi worked at it, but thought the Seiners were taking everything too damned seriously—despite his own admonition about how rough it could get.

He vacillated between a belief that they would find The Broken Wings hip deep in Sangaree and the opposing view, that Navy Security would be so tight that not one unfriendly would get through.