“Orfeo—the poor creature suffers!” She spoke English with an accent that made it sound like music.
He moved her around behind him. “He might be dangerous. Now do be a good child and toddle off.”
“I’m . . . not dangerous,” I managed to get the words out. The smile was less successful. I felt sick. But I wasn’t going to come unfed in front of her. I got my back against the pile of furs and tried to stand up straight.
“So you can talk,” the man said. He was frowning at me. “Damn me if I know what to do with you.” He seemed to be talking to himself.
“Just . . . let me rest a few minutes . . . and I’ll be on my way . . .” I could hear my pulse thudding in my ears like bongo drums.
“Why did you come aboard?” The man snapped the question at me. “What did you think you’d find here?”
“I was cold,” I said. “It was warm here—”
He snorted. “Letting yourself in for a devilish change of scene, weren’t you?”
His first words were beginning to filter through. “What is this place?” I asked him.
“You’re aboard Lord Desroy’s yacht. He’s not keen on contraband holed up in the aft lazaret—”
“A boat?” I felt I’d missed something somewhere. The last I remembered was a farmhouse, in the middle of nowhere. “You must be fooling me.” I tried to show him a smile to let him know I got the joke. “I don’t feel any waves.”
“She’s a converted ketch, stressed-field primaries, ion-pulse auxiliaries, fitted with full antiac and variable G gear, four years out of Zeridajh on a private expedition. Every square inch of her is allocated to items in specific support of her mission in life, which brings us back to you. What’s your name?” He asked that last in a businesslike tone.
“Billy Danger. I don’t understand all that about a catch . . .”
“Just think of her as a small spaceship.” He sounded impatient. “Now, Billy Danger, it’s up to me to—”
“Spaceship? You mean like they shoot astronauts off in?”
Orfeo laughed. “Astronauts, eh? Couple of natives paddling about the shallows in a dugout canoe. No, Billy Danger, this is a deep-space yacht, capable of cruising for many centuries at multiple-light velocities. At the moment, she’s on course for a world very distant from your native Earth.”
“Walt a minute,” I said; I wanted everything to slow down for just a second while I got caught up with it. “I don’t want to go to any star. I just want out of here.” I tried a step and had to lean against the bale beside me. “Just let me off, and I’ll disappear so quick you’ll think you dreamed me—”
“I’m afraid that’s not practical.” Orfeo cut me off short. “Now you’re here, the question is what to do with you. As you doubtless heard, Lord Desroy’s in favor of putting you out the lock. As for myself, I have hopes of making use of you. Know anything about weapons? Hunted much?”
“Just let me off,” I said. “Anywhere at all. I’ll walk home.”
“You must answer my questions promptly, Billy Danger! What becomes of you depends on how well you answer them.”
“I never hunted,” I said. My breath was short, as if I’d run a long way.
“That’s all right. Nothing to unlearn. How old are you?”
“Nineteen, next April.”
“Amazing. You look younger. Are you quick to learn, Billy Danger?”
“It’s kidnaping,” I said. “You can’t just kidnap a man. There’s laws—”
“Mind your tongue, Billy Danger! I’ll tolerate no insolence, you’d best understand that at the outset! As for law, Lord Desroy makes the law here. This is his vessel; with the exception of the Lady Raire and myself, he owns every atom aboard her, including stowaways.”
A sudden thought occurred to me, like an icepick through the heart. “You’re not . . . Earthmen, are you?”
“Happily, no.”
“But you look human; you speak English.”
“Of course we’re human; much older stock than your own unfortunate branch. We’ve spent a year on your drab little world, going after walrus, elephant, that sort of thing. Now, that’s enough chatter, Billy Danger. Do you think you can learn to be a proper gunbearer?”
“How long—before we go back?”
“To Earth? Never, I trust. Now, see here! Don’t fret about matters out of your control! Your job is to keep me happy with you. If you can do that, you’ll stay alive and well. If not . . .” He let the rest hang. “But then, I’m sure you’ll try your best, eh, Billy Danger?”
It was crazy, but the way he said it, I believed every word of it. The thing I had to do right now was stay alive. Then, later, I could worry about getting home.
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll try.”
“Right. That’s settled, then.” Orfeo looked relieved, as if he’d just found an excuse to put off a mean chore. “You were lucky, you know. You took eight gravities, unprotected. A wonder you didn’t break a few bones.”
I was still holding my left arm by the wrist; I eased it around front, and felt the sharp point poking out through my sleeve.
“Who said I didn’t?” I asked him, and felt myself folding like a windblown newspaper.
CHAPTER TWO
I woke up feeling different. At first, I couldn’t quite dope out what it was; then I got it: I was clean, fresh-shaved, sweet-smelling, tucked in between sheets as crisp as new dollar bills. And I felt good; I tingled all over, as if I’d just had a needle shower and a rubdown.
The room I was in was a little low-ceilinged cubbyhole with nothing much in it but the pallet I was lying on. I remembered the arm then, and pulled back a loose yellow sleeve somebody had put on me. Outside of a little swelling and a bright pink scar under a clear plastic patch, it was as good as new.
Something clicked and a little door in the wall slid back. The man named Orfeo stuck his head in.
“Good; you’re awake. About time. I’m about to field-strip the Z-guns. You’ll watch.”
I got up and discovered that my knees didn’t wobble anymore. I felt strong enough to run up a wall. And hungry. Just thinking about ham and eggs made my jaws ache. Orfeo tossed me a set of yellow coveralls from a closet back of a sliding panel.
“Try these; I cut them down from Jongo’s old cape.”
I pulled them on. The cloth was tough and light and smooth as glove silk.
“How are you feeling?” Orfeo was looking me up and down.
“Fine,” I said. “How long did I sleep?”
“Ninety-six hours. I doped you up a bit.”
I ran a finger over my new scar. “I don’t understand about the arm. I remember it as being broken; broken bad—”
“A hunter has to know a little field medicine,” he said. “While I was about it, I gave you a good worming and balanced up your body chemistry.” He shook his head. “Bloody wonder you could walk, the rot that boiled out of you. Bloody microbe culture. How’s your vision?”
I blinked at the wall. If there’d been a fly there, I could have counted his whiskers. “Good,” I said. “Better than it’s ever been.”
“Well, you’re no good to me sick,” he said, as if he had to apologize.
“Thanks,” I said. “For the arm, and the bath and the pretty yellow pajamas, too.”
“Don’t thank me. The Lady Raire took care of that part.”
“You mean . . . the girl?”
“She’s the Lady Raire, Jongo! And I’m Sir Orfeo. As for the wash-up and the kit, someone had to do it. You stank to high heaven. Now come along. We’ve a great deal to cover if you’re to be of any use to me on the hunt.”
2
The armory was a small room lined with racks full of guns that weren’t like any guns I’d ever seen before. There were handguns, rifles, rocket-throwers, some with short barrels, some with just a bundle of glass rods, some with fancy telescopic sights, one that looked like a flare pistol with a red glass thermometer on the side; and there were a few big elephant guns of Earth manufacture. The whole room glittered like Tiffany’s front window. I ran a finger along a stock made of polished purple wood, with fittings that looked like solid gold. “It looks like Mister Desroy goes first class.”
“Keep your hands off the weapons until you know how to service them.” Sir Orfeo poked buttons and a table tilted up out of the floor and a section of ceiling over it glared up brighter than before. He flipped a switch and the lock-bar on a rack snapped up, and he lifted out a heavy-looking, black-stocked item with a drum magazine and three triggers and a flared shoulder plate, chrome-plated.