Zelde M'Tana by F M Busby

Author:F M Busby [Busby, F M]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

For a moment, Peralta's eyes closed to slits. "Just once-and luckily it wasn't my first trip, so I was relatively safe." He leaned forward. "Do you know whose first trip it was, though?" Parnell shook his head. "Tregare's-Bran Tregare's."

Zelde saw Parnell looking at her. Waiting for her to speak? All right. "Is that the one they call Tregare the pirate?"

"Right. And do you know-Ragir, you'll appreciate this-Korbeith's still complaining that he should have spaced that man off the old MacArthur when he had the chance!" Again the visitor's eyes narrowed. What was he fishing for?

Peralta, Zelde decided, probably couldn't see past Par-nell's relaxed pose. If you didn't watch close, the shrug looked easy. "No one guesses right every time, Jimar."

"What do you think, Ragir? Did you know Tregare?" And Parnell explained why his knowledge was at second hand, through Kickem Bernardez. Peralta hadn't met Ber-nardez. "He'd have been only a snotty, I think, my last year before spacing."

As Peralta poured a second round of brandy, the men sorted out the timing of various space careers-Parnell was two years behind Peralta, Tregare three and Bernardez four. They talked of others-Limmer, Quinlan, Hoptowit, Ressider, Malloy-and Zelde recognized only the last by name. Then, not heeding the words much, she concentrated on the sound of Peralta's voice, and the ways he moved. Whatever he wanted here, he was taking his own sweet time about it.

After three rounds, his gift bottle was empty. Again Parnell suggested Earth whiskey, but Peralta shook his head. "If you don't mind, I'd like another go at-what's the name of that green explosive you brought us?" He laughed, but his voice held an edge.

"Trair?" said Zelde. Peralta nodded, so she got a bottle and poured all around. Then jash, too, in larger glasses. Seeing Peralta's steady look on her, she said, "Just so nobody expects me to keep up with you two, on trair. It takes practice I don't have." And as if he'd spoken, she knew he took her words as a challenge.

Favoring the milder jash, she nursed her trair along. Per-alta didn't, and Parnell's drinking ran about midway between the two. The way he held the small glass, Zelde couldn't see its level-and neither could Peralta. When he glanced sidelong at her, she took it as a sign to pour refills-and noticed he was taking trair about half as fast as Peraita was. Good enough.

Now Peralta did the talking-telling of his own travels and exploits along the way. He sounded a little drunk, but Zelde guessed he was putting it on. When the bottle of trair was gone, she said, "Afraid that's all we got here. Have to send down to the hold, for more. Maybe some bourbon now?" Peralta nodded; she poured him a fresh glass and added ice. She and Parnell weren't dry yet; she set the bottle on his desk.

The intercom sounded; she took the call-Carlo Maura-gin, on watch. "Summit Bay's questioning a cargo discrepancy, and / can't find it. Could somebody come talk to these people?"

Draining his glass, Parnell nodded to Zelde; she said, "I'll be right up.

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