thought. An agent could not afford consistent
crochets. But who was he to criticize?
“I’ve been up and down the passage, but I
haven’t found anybody.”
No doubt he had. Mouse was thorough.
“I play, but badly. And it’s been awhile.” It
had been about four hours. They had almost been late to the
spaceport because of a game. Mouse had been nervous about liftoff.
BenRabi had been holding his own.
Mouse prowled, searching for bugs. BenRabi closed the door.
“I don’t think there are any. Not yet. I didn’t
find anything.”
Mouse shrugged. “What do you think?”
“Broomstick all the way. Strictly from hunger. We’re
riding the mythical nova bomb.”
“The woman? Yeah. Pure trouble. Spotted a couple McGraws,
too. You think she’s teamed?” He dropped onto the extra
bunk.
“I don’t think so. Not by choice. She’s a
loner.”
“It doesn’t look good,” Mouse mused. “We
don’t have enough info. I feel like a blind man in a
funhouse. We’d better fly gentle till we learn the traffic
code.” He stared at the overhead. “And how to con the
natives.”
BenRabi settled onto his own bunk. They remained silent for
minutes, trying to find handles on the future. They would need
every advantage they could seize.
“Three weeks,” Mouse said. “I can handle it.
Then a whole year off. I won’t know what to do.”
“Don’t make your reservations yet.
Marya . . . The Sangaree woman. She’s one
bad omen.
Mouse . . . I don’t think it’s
going to work out.”
“I can handle it. You don’t think I want to spend a
whole damned year here, do you?”
“Remember what that character said down at Blake City? It
could be the rest of our lives. Short lives.”
“Bah. He was blowing smoke.”
“Ready to bet your life on it?”
BenRabi’s head gave him a kick. He was not sure he could
take much more pain. And this compelling
need
. . .
“What’s the matter?”
“Headache. Must be the change in air pressure.”
How the hell was he supposed to work with his body in pain and
his mind half around the bend? There was something to be said for
those old-time sword swingers who did not have to worry about
anything but how sharp their blades were.
“We’d better hedge our bets, Moyshe. Better start
planning for the long haul, just in case.”
“Thought you could handle it.”
Mouse shrugged. “Got to be ready for everything.
I’ve been poking around. These Seiners are as bad as us for
special interests. They’ve got coin clubs and stamp clubs and
Archaicist period groups . . . The whole thing.
They’re crazy to get into the past. What I was thinking was,
why don’t we start a chess club for landsmen? We’d have
a cover for getting together.”
“And you’d have an excuse to play.”
“That too. A lot of Seiners play too, see. Maybe we could
fish a few in so we could pump them socially.” He winked,
smiled.
The Seiners he was interested in hooking were probably
female.
BenRabi could not fathom Mouse. Mouse seemed happy most of the
time. That was disconcerting. The man carried a load of obsessions
heavier than his own. And somebody whose profession was hatchet
work should, in benRabi’s preconceptions, have had a
happiness quotient approaching zero.
BenRabi never had been able to understand people. Everybody else
seemed to live by a different set of rules.
Mouse shrugged. “Fingers crossed? Hope Beckhart will pull
it off? Wouldn’t bet against him.”
BenRabi never knew where he stood in the Admiral’s grand,
tortuous schemes.
“Hey, I’ve been here long enough,” Mouse said.
“No point attracting attention straight off. I saw you get
pills from that girl. What was wrong? Head?”
“Yeah. Might even be my migraine. My head feels like
somebody’s been using it for a soccer ball.”
Mouse went to the door. “A game tonight, then?”
“Sure, as long as you don’t mind playing an
amateur.” BenRabi saw him off, feeling foolish. There had
been no
crochets. But who was he to criticize?
“I’ve been up and down the passage, but I
haven’t found anybody.”
No doubt he had. Mouse was thorough.
“I play, but badly. And it’s been awhile.” It
had been about four hours. They had almost been late to the
spaceport because of a game. Mouse had been nervous about liftoff.
BenRabi had been holding his own.
Mouse prowled, searching for bugs. BenRabi closed the door.
“I don’t think there are any. Not yet. I didn’t
find anything.”
Mouse shrugged. “What do you think?”
“Broomstick all the way. Strictly from hunger. We’re
riding the mythical nova bomb.”
“The woman? Yeah. Pure trouble. Spotted a couple McGraws,
too. You think she’s teamed?” He dropped onto the extra
bunk.
“I don’t think so. Not by choice. She’s a
loner.”
“It doesn’t look good,” Mouse mused. “We
don’t have enough info. I feel like a blind man in a
funhouse. We’d better fly gentle till we learn the traffic
code.” He stared at the overhead. “And how to con the
natives.”
BenRabi settled onto his own bunk. They remained silent for
minutes, trying to find handles on the future. They would need
every advantage they could seize.
“Three weeks,” Mouse said. “I can handle it.
Then a whole year off. I won’t know what to do.”
“Don’t make your reservations yet.
Marya . . . The Sangaree woman. She’s one
bad omen.
Mouse . . . I don’t think it’s
going to work out.”
“I can handle it. You don’t think I want to spend a
whole damned year here, do you?”
“Remember what that character said down at Blake City? It
could be the rest of our lives. Short lives.”
“Bah. He was blowing smoke.”
“Ready to bet your life on it?”
BenRabi’s head gave him a kick. He was not sure he could
take much more pain. And this compelling
need
. . .
“What’s the matter?”
“Headache. Must be the change in air pressure.”
How the hell was he supposed to work with his body in pain and
his mind half around the bend? There was something to be said for
those old-time sword swingers who did not have to worry about
anything but how sharp their blades were.
“We’d better hedge our bets, Moyshe. Better start
planning for the long haul, just in case.”
“Thought you could handle it.”
Mouse shrugged. “Got to be ready for everything.
I’ve been poking around. These Seiners are as bad as us for
special interests. They’ve got coin clubs and stamp clubs and
Archaicist period groups . . . The whole thing.
They’re crazy to get into the past. What I was thinking was,
why don’t we start a chess club for landsmen? We’d have
a cover for getting together.”
“And you’d have an excuse to play.”
“That too. A lot of Seiners play too, see. Maybe we could
fish a few in so we could pump them socially.” He winked,
smiled.
The Seiners he was interested in hooking were probably
female.
BenRabi could not fathom Mouse. Mouse seemed happy most of the
time. That was disconcerting. The man carried a load of obsessions
heavier than his own. And somebody whose profession was hatchet
work should, in benRabi’s preconceptions, have had a
happiness quotient approaching zero.
BenRabi never had been able to understand people. Everybody else
seemed to live by a different set of rules.
Mouse shrugged. “Fingers crossed? Hope Beckhart will pull
it off? Wouldn’t bet against him.”
BenRabi never knew where he stood in the Admiral’s grand,
tortuous schemes.
“Hey, I’ve been here long enough,” Mouse said.
“No point attracting attention straight off. I saw you get
pills from that girl. What was wrong? Head?”
“Yeah. Might even be my migraine. My head feels like
somebody’s been using it for a soccer ball.”
Mouse went to the door. “A game tonight, then?”
“Sure, as long as you don’t mind playing an
amateur.” BenRabi saw him off, feeling foolish. There had
been no
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