Christopher Stasheff - Starship Troupers 01 by A Company of Stars

Author:A Company of Stars [A Company of Stars]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

I glanced at my ring-watch and felt the stirring of concern. I had invited Ramou to join us for dinner at Blarney’s, an invitation I had been sure he would accept—but dinner was past, and so was the post-prandial liqueur, and there was still no sign of him.

“Surely there is no cause for anxiety, Horace.”

I looked up, startled. “Is it that obvious?”

Barry hadn’t quite been at his most ebullient this evening, himself. He had sat quietly while the laughter and repartee went on about him, only interjecting the occasional comment and giving an amused smile where ordinarily he would have laughed quite loudly. It was the measure of the man that he could notice my anxiety in the midst of his own.

“Obvious only to one who knows you well,” Barry assured me. “It’s the lad, isn’t it? Ramou Lazarian.”

I turned away. “I know—it’s none of my affair.”

“He is a man grown,” Barry agreed, “and from what you told me of your meeting, more than able to take care of himself.”

“True enough,” I agreed.

“But you have this avuncular streak in you,” Barry sighed. “Adopting stray kittens isn’t always good policy, Horace.”

“I know,” I said, “but I can’t stand to see the poor things suffer alone, if I could have prevented it. I never let them come too close, though, Barry. Besides, who are you to speak? I could mention a charity case or two on your own record.”

“True enough,” Barry agreed in his turn, “so I know whereof I speak. Besides, Horace, I had hoped for your company this evening. I have a meeting that I would like you to attend, as my assistant.”

“Oh?” I looked up, surprised. “What meeting would trouble the director after hours?”

“Not the director, but the producer. Those of us with more than a few years’ experience are having a quiet conference tonight.”

I felt the first breath of danger; it enlivened me considerably. “The topic?”

“A response to Rudders.” Barry stood up. “Can you leave word for the young man with one of our friends, Horace?”

“Surely.” I turned to Harry. “Harry, you know that young chap we’ve taken on as assistant?”

“The one who has been going home with you?” Harry gave me a knowing smile.

He would see it that way. “Entirely innocent,” I assured him. “Tell him to have supper and put it on my tab, will you? And to wait for me here.”

“Why, surely,” Harry said easily. “Glad to oblige, old man.”

“Good of you, I’m sure.” I stood up. “And, Harry—don’t offer to take him home yourself. Believe me, he’s not braced for that sort of thing.” I turned to Barry. “Shall we?”

Barry and I stepped through the doors and back into the nineteeth century. The ceiling was low, the beams were blackened with decades of tobacco smoke, and the walls were hung with a vasty collection of clay pipes, varying from short stubby Irish models to long-stemmed Dutch churchwardens. The maitre d’, at least, was live and human. He managed something between a nod and a bow.

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