“Aye, Captain. — I’ll just say we bought the sets by chance, though, if you don’t mind. We’re doing this to settle potential questions, not raise more.”
“Handle it however you think best. If I want more or something different, I’ll tell you when I see the report.”
The four dispersed. Dane and Van Rycke hurried to be about their work.
Cofort moved quickly as well to get on with her assignment, but Miceal stopped her at the door. “How about some jakek?”
“Fine. I always enjoy a cup,” the Medic responded, silently adding a mental reservation about quality. Jellico would never rival Mr. Mura in a galley,
Hael Cofort entered her commander’s office first, automatically activating the cabin lights as she did so. Queex gave a delighted whistle at the sight of her but did not forget the duties of a hoobat for all his pleasure at this particular human’s visit. He glared suspiciously at the door to see who else might be invading his territory.
Since only its rightful occupant followed, he satisfied himself with a single, decidedly unmusical call and grasped the bars with four of his legs, ready to leap out as soon as the door opened.
The woman did not disappoint him. She laughed softly and slid into Jellico’s chair so that she could comfortably reach the hoobat’s cage, then slipped the latch and swung the barrier back. In that instant, Queex was airborne in a spring that carried him to her upper arm. From there, he scurried to her shoulder.
Cofort braced her hand against the edge of the desk. At that signal, Queex descended to her forearm and draped himself across it, three appendages dangling on each side.
She began to rub the area between and around the protuberant eyes until he relaxed into a limp image of ecstasy.
The Captain watched them a moment and shook his head, “Are you sure you’re not working some sort of spell on him?”
“Haven’t you ever had a really good massage?” she countered. “Besides, he’s such a sweetheart. It’s easy to please him. — Isn’t it, little pet?”
As if in answer, the odd creature started to emit a quiet, purring whistle.
Miceal said nothing. Any response he might have made—in any one of several languages—would have been appropriate only in very different company. He was fond of Queex himself, considerably more than he would publicly admit, but Rael Cofort was the only person he had ever met, human or xeno, who could call a hoobat a sweetheart and little pet.
He rolled the chair and its two occupants aside and opened the bottom drawer of the desk. Jellico took a big thermos from it. This he held to his ear and shook briskly.
The resulting sloshing sound told him it was still about half full, so he stood it upright in the space he cleared for it between two stacks of papers and set the controls for reheat. That done, he retrieved two cups from the same drawer and put one before the Medic, the other beside himself as he casually dropped into the visitor’s chair. “It’ll be ready in a couple of minutes.”
When a buzz announced that the jakek was hot, he filled his guest’s cup and his own.
Rael sipped the dark liquid, concealing her grimace behind the thick rim. Jakek was making great headway all along the starlanes, threatening to supplant the caffeine-laden Terran coffee as the Federation’s all-around beverage of choice. The crew of the Solar Queen, though, with the exception of herself and the Captain, remained staunchly loyal to the traditional brew despite the fact that it was available only in synthetic or concentrate form to space hounds plying the rim. Jellico appreciated too well how much the Steward had to do to demand special luxuries for himself. He usually prepared his own in the thermos, rather to the detriment of its flavor. For the four-hundredth time, she vowed to get up early some morning soon and wheedle or pummel Frank Mura into letting her loose in his precious galley, Jakek was heavily used on the Roving Star, and she could program a range …
She felt the man’s eyes on her and looked up. His expression was somber. “Do you doubt my story?”
“I’m just sorry we put you through that inquisition in there.”
“You had to ask, didn’t you?”
“Aye, but we seem to make a habit of tearing your wounds. I don’t enjoy tormenting you.”
She looked into the steaming liquid. “There’s no disgrace in my ancestry, and I don’t mind speaking about my mother. She was respected and greatly liked as well as loved. All the crew who knew her told me that. Father was the only one who’d never talk about her.”
“He blamed you?” Jellico asked gently.
“No, but he held himself responsible. I think it must have been with him all the time. He loved her, you see.”
She sighed. “None of us knew how much until he was dying. He never called for me or Teague or Teague’s mother. Just for her. I believe he was glad to be joining her.”
The man nodded slowly. His younger comrades would not have understood that, but he had lived long enough, experienced enough, that he could comprehend it somewhat.
Another thought struck him suddenly. “Your mother was a Medic, too?” he ventured.
“Among her own people, aye, or so we believed. She never actually admitted to it, or to much else about her past. She apparently had buried that completely when she came with my father. It is one of the reasons I was drawn to the profession, I suppose. She fought so hard for me, battled to remain alive long enough that I could live without her. I felt I owed it to her to do something positive with myself, to try to make some return for that struggle.”
“Apart from being happy?”
Rael looked closely at him. “I don’t knock that goal, friend, but medicine is in me, rising from several springs. This is undoubtedly one of them, and to my mind, it’s as valid as any of the others.”
“No doubt it is.” He smiled. “You’re a strong-willed woman, Rael Cofort, for all your quiet manner. I have trouble envisioning you being stampeded into any major course unsuited to you.”
When they had finished the jakek, Jellico came to his feet and took the empty cups. He would drop them off in the galley on his way out. “You can keep Queex company and work in here if you want. Take your time, but if you do finish soon enough, see if you can’t give Thorson a hand. Bear in mind, though, that he’s boss with respect to Cargo when Van’s away.” ,
“I was born a Free Trader,” the woman responded irritably. “I think I know the protocol.”
“Aye, but you’ve also managed to establish yourself as something of an authority in the kinds of goods he’ll be cataloging. — Dane’s good. I don’t want him overawed into surrendering either his authority or his duties.”
“He won’t be,” she promised.
Miceal studied her somberly. He was not quite sure that he believed her, or, rather, that he should believe her. That mixed-blood story was an old standby for gaining sympathy, although in this case there was a considerable body of apparent evidence to support the Medic’s assertions. He could not press her further, either, not yet. Her frankness— or seeming frankness—had tied him. He had no facts or so much as a solid suspicion to lay against her, and if he pushed Rael now, it would have to be in a serious challenge that could only result in the termination of her association with the Solar Queen. He was not ready to force that. He did not want to force it.
Morally, he could not do so without significant cause.
Canuche Town was not Trewsworld, and it was most assuredly no place to abandon this particular woman. She had done extremely well for Deke Tatarcoff out there in the market, but the method by which she accomplished that service might well have bought her a passage straight into disaster.
Jellico hesitated. More than restraint from initiating a clash between them was required of him. As long as Cofort remained part of the Queen’s company, it was his duty to see to her safety, but apart from the two services, the Navy and Patrol, a starship’s Captain could exert only so much control over the surplanetary off-duty activities of his crew.
Damn it, there was danger! It might be only potential, but it was quite real. “I don’t know your plans for tonight, but I don’t want you, or any of the others for that matter, wandering about Canuche Town alone or even in pairs. Go in at least fours or not at all, which is what I would prefer.”
He braced himself. No independent-minded Free Trader, particularly one not even bound long-term to his ship, was likely to accept that remark or the imperious tone in which it had been uttered with any semblance of good grace.