and got the illumination down to something like a low nightlight. By that time Floyt was asleep.
Floyt dozed a little fitfully. Alacrity half sat in his hammock when Amarok cut in the Breakers, activating the Hawking Effect generator. Hearing nothing amiss, Alacrity went back to sleep without even realizing he'd wakened.
Floyt came around much later, tried to edge around Alacrity in order to visit the head. Alacrity woke up in the course of the struggle. They both felt famished and were beginning the battle to collect their clothes when Amarok showed up.
He brought two trays of ship's rations straight from the warming unit, explaining that they'd have to eat in the cuddy, the passageway, or the head.
Alacrity waved a hand around the cuddy. "This just isn't going to do, Amarok, and you know that. How long before we get to our next stop? Fifty hours? A hundred?"
"More on the order of one hundred twenty."
" Merde alors ! You don't expect us to sit in this coffin that whole time, do you, shipmate? Better not."
Amarok bridled. On someone his size, it was rather scary.
"This is Someone's ship. He doesn't care who got you two inboard, or how important you are; nobody tells One how to run His ship."
"Ah, but nobody helps you run it either, right? You've got this whole crate automated and you're a one-man crew. Well, we can bear a hand. Stand watch in the control room. Turn to in the power section. Run standard maintenance. All we want is a chance to stretch; you look like you know what that means."
The flush was leaving the Innuit's cheeks. He motioned to Floyt. "He's not a high-mover." Like "go-blood," it was another name for a career spacer, a breakabout.
"I'll keep an eye on him. But listen, there's something else: prepackaged food isn't this bad by immutable natural law. There're things that can be done with it."
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20kruis...aley%20-%20Jinx%20on%20a%20Terran%20Inheritance.htm (53 of 320)19-2-2006 17:12:29
[Fitzhugh 2]-JINX ON A TERRAN INHERITANCE
Amarok's face looked like a displeased graven idol. "Men of Quaanaaq-Thule don't cook, freeloader."
"Keep your boxtop on! I didn't mean you; I mean me ! Redlock gave us flavorings, spices, mixes—lots of stuff. You won't be sorry. I've cooked before."
Amarok's anger left him. "One has no objection to that. But stay out of Someone's way. And neither of you enters the bridge or power section unless This One is there, do you understand, Fitzhugh?"
"Aye, sir," Alacrity responded, dead on the level, without a trace of sarcasm.
When Amarok was gone, Alacrity beamed at Floyt, who still wore a sour look. Nodding toward the departed Amarok,
Alacrity said, "Don't let him get to you. He's a skipper with lots on his mind, and a real young one at that."
"How could you be so—genial?"
"It works better this way. You should start seeing things from his side. After all, you're a starship owner now."
"Don't remind me." Floyt sighed, opening the meal tray and sniffing dispiritedly at the contents. "On Earth it's bad form to show any interest in offworld things. An offworld print on your wall would make you a pariah. Do you have the slightest idea what owning a starship will mean? A child molester with the plague would be more popular. Uh, do you really think anything can make this goo taste better?"
Alacrity dug into the pack, fetching out a large plastic bottle shaped like a grinning Buddha. Its metal-foil label glowed and pulsed in primary colors, seeming to project characters into the air—EPICUREAN
MYSTERY SAUCE—FINEST CONDIMENT IN THE KNOWN UNIVERSE! !!
"You could feast on compost with this stuff," Alacrity proclaimed. "Try it."
Floyt put his thumb on the bottle's trigger and tentatively sprayed a fine mist over a small section of his food.
"That's the way! Goom it over, goom it over, Ho."
Floyt tasted charily. His cheeks inflated and his eyes bulged out. "Tell them back on Earth that I went out gamely." He collapsed.
Alacrity
Floyt dozed a little fitfully. Alacrity half sat in his hammock when Amarok cut in the Breakers, activating the Hawking Effect generator. Hearing nothing amiss, Alacrity went back to sleep without even realizing he'd wakened.
Floyt came around much later, tried to edge around Alacrity in order to visit the head. Alacrity woke up in the course of the struggle. They both felt famished and were beginning the battle to collect their clothes when Amarok showed up.
He brought two trays of ship's rations straight from the warming unit, explaining that they'd have to eat in the cuddy, the passageway, or the head.
Alacrity waved a hand around the cuddy. "This just isn't going to do, Amarok, and you know that. How long before we get to our next stop? Fifty hours? A hundred?"
"More on the order of one hundred twenty."
" Merde alors ! You don't expect us to sit in this coffin that whole time, do you, shipmate? Better not."
Amarok bridled. On someone his size, it was rather scary.
"This is Someone's ship. He doesn't care who got you two inboard, or how important you are; nobody tells One how to run His ship."
"Ah, but nobody helps you run it either, right? You've got this whole crate automated and you're a one-man crew. Well, we can bear a hand. Stand watch in the control room. Turn to in the power section. Run standard maintenance. All we want is a chance to stretch; you look like you know what that means."
The flush was leaving the Innuit's cheeks. He motioned to Floyt. "He's not a high-mover." Like "go-blood," it was another name for a career spacer, a breakabout.
"I'll keep an eye on him. But listen, there's something else: prepackaged food isn't this bad by immutable natural law. There're things that can be done with it."
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20kruis...aley%20-%20Jinx%20on%20a%20Terran%20Inheritance.htm (53 of 320)19-2-2006 17:12:29
[Fitzhugh 2]-JINX ON A TERRAN INHERITANCE
Amarok's face looked like a displeased graven idol. "Men of Quaanaaq-Thule don't cook, freeloader."
"Keep your boxtop on! I didn't mean you; I mean me ! Redlock gave us flavorings, spices, mixes—lots of stuff. You won't be sorry. I've cooked before."
Amarok's anger left him. "One has no objection to that. But stay out of Someone's way. And neither of you enters the bridge or power section unless This One is there, do you understand, Fitzhugh?"
"Aye, sir," Alacrity responded, dead on the level, without a trace of sarcasm.
When Amarok was gone, Alacrity beamed at Floyt, who still wore a sour look. Nodding toward the departed Amarok,
Alacrity said, "Don't let him get to you. He's a skipper with lots on his mind, and a real young one at that."
"How could you be so—genial?"
"It works better this way. You should start seeing things from his side. After all, you're a starship owner now."
"Don't remind me." Floyt sighed, opening the meal tray and sniffing dispiritedly at the contents. "On Earth it's bad form to show any interest in offworld things. An offworld print on your wall would make you a pariah. Do you have the slightest idea what owning a starship will mean? A child molester with the plague would be more popular. Uh, do you really think anything can make this goo taste better?"
Alacrity dug into the pack, fetching out a large plastic bottle shaped like a grinning Buddha. Its metal-foil label glowed and pulsed in primary colors, seeming to project characters into the air—EPICUREAN
MYSTERY SAUCE—FINEST CONDIMENT IN THE KNOWN UNIVERSE! !!
"You could feast on compost with this stuff," Alacrity proclaimed. "Try it."
Floyt put his thumb on the bottle's trigger and tentatively sprayed a fine mist over a small section of his food.
"That's the way! Goom it over, goom it over, Ho."
Floyt tasted charily. His cheeks inflated and his eyes bulged out. "Tell them back on Earth that I went out gamely." He collapsed.
Alacrity
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