Read Online Conflict Of Honors by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Steve Miller, Sharon Lee
Tags: Science-Fiction
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one's own odor. Thus, if you are attracted primarily, you will be more so when the perfume is used. Harmless, old friend, I assure you."
"I," the Captain said in Terran, "am not convinced. There are laws on certain worlds about perfumes and substances that—what is the official phrasing?—'take away volition and make pliable the will'? Something more or less pompous." He took a drink and drifted away yet another step. "Do me the favor of submitting what is left of your vial to Chemistry, Lina. I would so hate to break the law."
"It is harmless." She frowned. "It does not take away volition—no more than a Healer might, encouraging one to embrace joy . . . ."
Shan grinned. "I believe you may be splitting hairs. Are you going to a party? I would like to accompany you—purely scientific, you understand. It might be very interesting to observe the effect of this perfume of yours on a roomful of unsuspecting persons."
"I," Lina said dampingly, "am going to watch a Ping-Pong match between Priscilla and Rah Stee. You may come, if you like. Though if you persist in backing away from me in that insulting manner. . ."
He laughed and offered an arm. "I have myself in hand now. Let us by all means inflict ourselves upon the Ping-Pong match."
* * *
Rusty was sweating and puffing with exertion, the expression on his round face one of harried doggedness.
In contrast, Priscilla was coolly serene, parrying his shots with absent smoothness, barely regarding the ball at all. Yet time after time she fractured his frenzied guard and piled up the points in her favor.
"Twenty-one," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "I don't believe it."
"No, Rah Stee, it is twenty-one for Priscilla," Lina said helpfully. "I counted also."
"That's what I don't believe." Rusty leaned heavily on the table, directing a sodden head shake at his opponent. "You're blowing me away! I don't get it. Half the time I don't even see the ball coming."
"That's because you have the reactions of a dead cow," Shan explained, not to be outdone in helpfulness.
The other man turned to glare at him. "Thanks a lot."
"Always of service . . . ."
"Maybe," Priscilla offered, cutting off a scorching reply, "it's because you look for the ball. I almost never do that."
"Then how do you know where it is?" He ran a sleeve across his forehead and sighed hugely. "Dammit, 'Cilla, I'm good at Ping-Pong. Been playing for years!"
"But not against pilots," the captain said, sipping wine.
"What's that got to do with it?"
"A great deal, don't you think, Rusty? Your reaction time's slow; you move in a series of jerks rather than a smooth flow; you fail to apprehend where an object will be." He raised his glass. "Don't feel too bad, my friend. We all have our niche to fill. After all, I could hardly fill your place in the tower, or operate the—"
"Like hell you can't," the other muttered, spinning his paddle clumsily on the table.
"I beg your pardon, Rusty?"
"Never mind." He turned suddenly and flipped the paddle to Shan, who caught it left-handed, lazily. "You play her."
The captain blinked. "Why?"
"You're a pilot. She's a pilot. Maybe I'll pick up some pointers." Grinning, Rusty retired from the field and flung himself into a sideline seat. "Besides, I need a break. You don't want me to keel over dead from exertion, do you?"
"Now, that would be a tragedy. So young, so handsome, so wealthy—he had all to live for . . . Ms. Mendoza? Are you interested in a game? Observe that you have the advantage of youth over dissipated old age."
Priscilla swallowed a laugh. Lina frowned.
"Certainly, Captain. I'll be happy to play with you. Will you offer me a handicap?"
"You should offer one to me," he said, setting his glass aside and wandering toward the table. "Remember that I'm frail, please, and easily bruised. You'll serve?"
She nodded, and the ball was even then skimming smoothly over the net . . . to be returned with casual force,
"I," the Captain said in Terran, "am not convinced. There are laws on certain worlds about perfumes and substances that—what is the official phrasing?—'take away volition and make pliable the will'? Something more or less pompous." He took a drink and drifted away yet another step. "Do me the favor of submitting what is left of your vial to Chemistry, Lina. I would so hate to break the law."
"It is harmless." She frowned. "It does not take away volition—no more than a Healer might, encouraging one to embrace joy . . . ."
Shan grinned. "I believe you may be splitting hairs. Are you going to a party? I would like to accompany you—purely scientific, you understand. It might be very interesting to observe the effect of this perfume of yours on a roomful of unsuspecting persons."
"I," Lina said dampingly, "am going to watch a Ping-Pong match between Priscilla and Rah Stee. You may come, if you like. Though if you persist in backing away from me in that insulting manner. . ."
He laughed and offered an arm. "I have myself in hand now. Let us by all means inflict ourselves upon the Ping-Pong match."
* * *
Rusty was sweating and puffing with exertion, the expression on his round face one of harried doggedness.
In contrast, Priscilla was coolly serene, parrying his shots with absent smoothness, barely regarding the ball at all. Yet time after time she fractured his frenzied guard and piled up the points in her favor.
"Twenty-one," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "I don't believe it."
"No, Rah Stee, it is twenty-one for Priscilla," Lina said helpfully. "I counted also."
"That's what I don't believe." Rusty leaned heavily on the table, directing a sodden head shake at his opponent. "You're blowing me away! I don't get it. Half the time I don't even see the ball coming."
"That's because you have the reactions of a dead cow," Shan explained, not to be outdone in helpfulness.
The other man turned to glare at him. "Thanks a lot."
"Always of service . . . ."
"Maybe," Priscilla offered, cutting off a scorching reply, "it's because you look for the ball. I almost never do that."
"Then how do you know where it is?" He ran a sleeve across his forehead and sighed hugely. "Dammit, 'Cilla, I'm good at Ping-Pong. Been playing for years!"
"But not against pilots," the captain said, sipping wine.
"What's that got to do with it?"
"A great deal, don't you think, Rusty? Your reaction time's slow; you move in a series of jerks rather than a smooth flow; you fail to apprehend where an object will be." He raised his glass. "Don't feel too bad, my friend. We all have our niche to fill. After all, I could hardly fill your place in the tower, or operate the—"
"Like hell you can't," the other muttered, spinning his paddle clumsily on the table.
"I beg your pardon, Rusty?"
"Never mind." He turned suddenly and flipped the paddle to Shan, who caught it left-handed, lazily. "You play her."
The captain blinked. "Why?"
"You're a pilot. She's a pilot. Maybe I'll pick up some pointers." Grinning, Rusty retired from the field and flung himself into a sideline seat. "Besides, I need a break. You don't want me to keel over dead from exertion, do you?"
"Now, that would be a tragedy. So young, so handsome, so wealthy—he had all to live for . . . Ms. Mendoza? Are you interested in a game? Observe that you have the advantage of youth over dissipated old age."
Priscilla swallowed a laugh. Lina frowned.
"Certainly, Captain. I'll be happy to play with you. Will you offer me a handicap?"
"You should offer one to me," he said, setting his glass aside and wandering toward the table. "Remember that I'm frail, please, and easily bruised. You'll serve?"
She nodded, and the ball was even then skimming smoothly over the net . . . to be returned with casual force,
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