right, otherwise Dincrist wouldn't have promised that she would attend the meeting, isn't that logical? That's where we have to go, Alacrity." Floyt was fond of Heart too and owed her a lot; she'd risked her life to save him as well as Alacrity.
"I don't know; if he's hurt her I'll tear his head off, and shit into it." But he stopped the dataflow and left the Lightning Whelk on course.
"I guess you're right, Ho. And to get into the board meeting I have to claim my share from Marcus.
Right, we go to Windfall, as planned."
Floyt had found himself enjoying traveling with Alacrity in the Bruja and Pihoquiaq. Misery and peril, interspersed with some matchless good times, had gotten the two used to one another: Alacrity knew that Floyt disapproved of hearing the punchline of a joke repeated; Floyt had learned that breakabouts, like ancient submariners, should not have the habit of whistling or humming. The trip in the Whelk was something Floyt greeted as a welcome chance to rest, collect his thoughts, and increase his readiness to venture through the Third Breath.
But now Floyt dreaded the voyage, fearing it would be like sharing a cage with an angry tiger. Floyt had another preoccupation aside from the one for Heart's safety though, a gnawing apprehension about the shadowy occupant of that giant, reinforced bunk.
Alacrity backed up the recording and projected the scene again.
"Backing me all the way." Dincrist beamed smugly.
The Lunar port supervisor sweated a bit before repeating his lie. He glanced aside to make sure the file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20kruis...y%20-%20Fall%20of%20the%20White%20Ship%20Avatar.htm (32 of 242)23-2-2006 17:03:12
[Fitzhugh 3]-FALL OF THE WHITE SHIP AVATAR
guards in the outer office were keeping an eye on the situation; they were watchful and stonefaced, intimidated.
"All I can tell you is, they had the proper documents and they had the code-key for the Lightning Whelk ," the supervisor said again. "So they had every right to receive clearance and lift-off, sir."
The man-mountain on the other side of the desk didn't move or speak. The night-black eyes bored into the official, who thought, Hell, would even gunfire stop this ogre ?
His ID gave his name as Gentry Standing Bear. He was from the largely Amerind planet called Four Smokes and had an unsurpassed history in mayhem, crime, combat, bounty hunting, and frequently insane excess of all kinds. The sullen goliath had left a trail of carnage across the Third Breath, gouging eyes from gene-engineered champ gladiators, smashing in the ribs of giant, neutered Spican death-guards, tearing tongues from huge Sumo wrestlers on Fukuoka. The two liters of Old Four Smokes Wallop he'd drunk had him in an evil temper.
The port official and even the tough guards betrayed the fear he aroused in just about anyone he met.
Gentry Standing Bear was too big for most doorways, networked with scars, calluses, puckered blasterburns. He had thick, horn-hard fingernails, gargantuan fists. The lumps under the skin of his chest were shotgun pellets he'd never bothered having removed. The end of his nose had been bitten off, with it not mattering to him enough to have it repaired. His gaze made it clear that he enjoyed violence, and no preamble required.
"Honestly," the supervisor said, licking his lips. "Look, maybe I can find out something for you—their flight plan, or something."
He damned himself for accepting the very considerable bribe—just about everything the two had, he'd assured himself—for letting Floyt and Alacrity board the Whelk and depart despite inadequate documentation. The vessel had arrived on someone else's shift, and if the supervisor had known this creature was part of her compliment, he'd have told the Earther and the breakabout to go suck vacuum.
Standing Bear offhandedly considered caving in the supervisor's face and, if necessary, wringing the guards' necks. But there were more important things to do. He held out a
"I don't know; if he's hurt her I'll tear his head off, and shit into it." But he stopped the dataflow and left the Lightning Whelk on course.
"I guess you're right, Ho. And to get into the board meeting I have to claim my share from Marcus.
Right, we go to Windfall, as planned."
Floyt had found himself enjoying traveling with Alacrity in the Bruja and Pihoquiaq. Misery and peril, interspersed with some matchless good times, had gotten the two used to one another: Alacrity knew that Floyt disapproved of hearing the punchline of a joke repeated; Floyt had learned that breakabouts, like ancient submariners, should not have the habit of whistling or humming. The trip in the Whelk was something Floyt greeted as a welcome chance to rest, collect his thoughts, and increase his readiness to venture through the Third Breath.
But now Floyt dreaded the voyage, fearing it would be like sharing a cage with an angry tiger. Floyt had another preoccupation aside from the one for Heart's safety though, a gnawing apprehension about the shadowy occupant of that giant, reinforced bunk.
Alacrity backed up the recording and projected the scene again.
"Backing me all the way." Dincrist beamed smugly.
The Lunar port supervisor sweated a bit before repeating his lie. He glanced aside to make sure the file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20kruis...y%20-%20Fall%20of%20the%20White%20Ship%20Avatar.htm (32 of 242)23-2-2006 17:03:12
[Fitzhugh 3]-FALL OF THE WHITE SHIP AVATAR
guards in the outer office were keeping an eye on the situation; they were watchful and stonefaced, intimidated.
"All I can tell you is, they had the proper documents and they had the code-key for the Lightning Whelk ," the supervisor said again. "So they had every right to receive clearance and lift-off, sir."
The man-mountain on the other side of the desk didn't move or speak. The night-black eyes bored into the official, who thought, Hell, would even gunfire stop this ogre ?
His ID gave his name as Gentry Standing Bear. He was from the largely Amerind planet called Four Smokes and had an unsurpassed history in mayhem, crime, combat, bounty hunting, and frequently insane excess of all kinds. The sullen goliath had left a trail of carnage across the Third Breath, gouging eyes from gene-engineered champ gladiators, smashing in the ribs of giant, neutered Spican death-guards, tearing tongues from huge Sumo wrestlers on Fukuoka. The two liters of Old Four Smokes Wallop he'd drunk had him in an evil temper.
The port official and even the tough guards betrayed the fear he aroused in just about anyone he met.
Gentry Standing Bear was too big for most doorways, networked with scars, calluses, puckered blasterburns. He had thick, horn-hard fingernails, gargantuan fists. The lumps under the skin of his chest were shotgun pellets he'd never bothered having removed. The end of his nose had been bitten off, with it not mattering to him enough to have it repaired. His gaze made it clear that he enjoyed violence, and no preamble required.
"Honestly," the supervisor said, licking his lips. "Look, maybe I can find out something for you—their flight plan, or something."
He damned himself for accepting the very considerable bribe—just about everything the two had, he'd assured himself—for letting Floyt and Alacrity board the Whelk and depart despite inadequate documentation. The vessel had arrived on someone else's shift, and if the supervisor had known this creature was part of her compliment, he'd have told the Earther and the breakabout to go suck vacuum.
Standing Bear offhandedly considered caving in the supervisor's face and, if necessary, wringing the guards' necks. But there were more important things to do. He held out a
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