Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Legacy by James H. Schmitz (graded readers txt) 📖
- Author: James H. Schmitz
Book online «Legacy by James H. Schmitz (graded readers txt) 📖». Author James H. Schmitz
"What would she be doing, going to Manon?"
"I'd like to know," Quillan said. "The Ermetyne's a lady of many interests. Now—see the plump elderly man just behind her?"
"The ugly one with the big head who sort of keeps blinking?"
"That one. He's Belchik Pluly and—"
"Pluly?" Trigger interrupted. "The Pluly Lines?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Oh—nothing really. I heard—a friend of mine—Pluly's got a yacht out in the Manon System. And a daughter."
Quillan nodded. "Nelauk."
"How did you know?"
"I've met her. Quite a girl, that Nelauk. Only child of Pluly's old age, and he dotes on her. Anyway, he's been on the verge of being black-listed by Grand Commerce off and on through the past three decades. But nobody's ever been able to pin anything more culpable on him than that he keeps skimming extremely close to the limits of a large number of laws."
"He's very rich, I imagine?" Trigger said thoughtfully.
"Very. He'd be much richer even if it weren't for his hobby."
"What's that?"
"Harems. The Pluly harems rate among the most intriguing and best educated in the Hub."
Trigger looked at Pluly again. "Ugh!" she said faintly.
Quillan laughed. "The Pluly salaries are correspondingly high. Viewer's dropping the group now, so there's just one more I'd like you to notice. The tall girl with black hair, in orange."
Trigger nodded. "Yes. I see her. She's beautiful."
"So she is. She's also Space Scout Intelligence. Gaya. Comes from Farnhart where they use the single name system. A noted horsewoman, very wealthy, socially established. Which is why we like to use her in situations like this."
Trigger was silent a moment. Then she said, "What kind of situation is it? I mean, what's she doing with Lyad Ermetyne and the others?"
"She probably attached herself to the group as soon as she discovered Lyad had come on board. Which," Quillan said, "is exactly what I would have told Gaya to do if I'd spotted Lyad first."
Trigger was silent a little longer this time. "Were you thinking this Lyad could be...."
"One of our suspects? Well," said Quillan judiciously, "let's say Lyad has all the basic qualifications. Since she's come on board, we'd better consider her. When something's going on that looks more than usually tricky, Lyad is always worth considering. And there's one point that looks even more interesting to me now than it did at first."
"What's that?"
"Those two little old ladies I eased out of their rightful cabin."
Trigger looked at him. "What about them?"
"This about them. The Askab of Elfkund is, you might way, one of the branch managers of the Ermetyne interests in the Hub. He is also a hard-working heel in his own right. But he's not the right size to be one of the people we're thinking about. Lyad is. He might have been doing a job for her."
"Job?" she asked. She laughed. "Not with those odd little grannies?"
"We know the odd little grannies. They're the Askab's poisoners and pretty slick at it. They were sizing you up while you were having that little chat, doll. Probably not for a coffin this time. You were just getting the equivalent of a pretty thorough medical check-up. Presumably, though, for some sinister ultimate purpose."
"How do you know?" Trigger asked, very uncomfortably.
"One of those little suitcases in their cabin was a diagnostic recorder. It would have been standing fairly close to the door while you were there. If they didn't take your recordings out before I got there, they're still inside. They're being watched and they know it. It seemed like a good idea to keep the Askab feeling fairly nervous until we found out whether those sweethearts of his had been parked next door to you on purpose."
"Apparently they were," Trigger admitted. "Nice bunch of people!"
"Oh, they're not all bad. Lyad has her points. And old Belchik, for example, isn't really a heel. He just had no ethics. Or morals. And revolting habits. Anyway, all this brings up the matter of what we should do with you now."
Trigger set her glass down on the table.
"Refill?" Quillan inquired. He reached for the iced crystal pitcher between them.
"No," she said. "I just want to make a statement."
"State away." He refilled his own glass.
"For some reason," said Trigger, "I've been acting lately—the last two days—in a remarkably stupid manner."
Quillan choked. He set his glass down hastily, reached over and patted her hand. "Doll," he said, touched, "it's come to you! At last."
She scowled at him. "I don't usually act that way."
"That," said Quillan, "was what had me so baffled. According to the Commissioner and others, you're as bright in the head as a diamond, usually. And frankly—"
"I know it," Trigger said dangerously. "Don't rub it in!"
"I apologize," said Quillan. He patted her other hand.
"At any rate," Trigger said, drawing her hands back, "now that I've realized it, I'm going to make up for it. From here on out, I'll cooperate."
"To the hilt?"
She nodded. "To the hilt! Whatever that is."
"You can't imagine," said Quillan, "how much that relieves me." He filled her glass, giving her a relieved look. "I had definite instructions, of course, not to do anything like grabbing you by the back of the neck, flinging you into a rest cubicle and sitting on it, guns drawn, until we'd berthed in Precol Port. But I was tempted, I can tell you."
He paused and thought. "You know," he began again, "that really would be the best."
"No!" Trigger said indignantly. "When I said cooperate, I meant actively. Mihul said I'm considered one of the gang in this project. From now on I'll behave like one. And I'll also expect to be treated like one."
"Hm," said Quillan. "Well, there is something you can do, all right."
"What's that?"
"Go on display here, now."
"What for?" she asked.
"As bait, you sweet ninny! If the boss grabber is on this ship, we should draw a new nibble from him." He appraised the green dress in the mirror again. His expression grew absent. It might be best, Trigger suspected, a trifle uneasily, to keep Major Quillan's thoughts turned away from things like nibbling.
"All right," she said briskly. "Let's do that. But you'll have to brief me."
She had felt somewhat self-conscious for the first two or three minutes. But it helped when she caught a glimpse of their own table drifting by among the others and realized that the smiling red-headed viewer image over there looked completely at her ease.
It helped, too, that Major Quillan turned suddenly into the light-but-ardent-conversation type of companion. In the short preceding briefing he had pointed out that a bit of flirting, etc., was a necessary, or at least nearly necessary, part of the act. Trigger was going along with the flirting; he could be right about that. She intended to stay on the alert for the etc.
They got nibbles very promptly. But not quite the right kind.
The concealed table ComWeb murmured, "A caller requests to be connected with Major Quillan. Is it permitted?"
"Oho!" Quillan said poisonously. "I suspected we should have stayed off circuit! Who's the caller?"
"The name given is Keth Deboll."
Quillan laughed. "Give the little wolf Major Quillan's regards and tell him it was a good try. I'll look him up tomorrow."
He gave Trigger gentle wink. "Let 'em pant," he said. "At a distance!"
She smiled uncertainly. If he had a mustache, she thought, he'd be twirling it.
There were two more calls in the next few minutes, of similar nature. Quillan rebuffed them cheerfully. It was rather flattering in a way. She wondered how so many people in the cocktail lounge happened to know Quillan by name.
When the ComWeb reported the fourth caller, it sounded awed.
"The name given is the Lady Lyad Ermetyne!" it said.
Quillan beamed. "Lyad? Bless her heart! A pleasure. Put her through."
A screen shaped itself on the wall mirror to the right. Lyad Ermetyne's face appeared in it.
"Heslet Quillan!" She smiled. "So you aren't permanently lost to your friends, after all!" It was a light, liquid voice. It suited her appearance perfectly.
"Only to the frivolous ones," Quillan said. His thick black brows went up. His face took on a dedicated look. "I'm headed for Manon on duty."
She nodded. "Still with the Subspace Engineers?"
"And with the rank of major by now," Quillan said.
"Congratulations! But I'd already observed that your fabulous good fortune hasn't deserted you in the least." Lyad's glance switched to Trigger; she smiled again. It was a pleasant, easy smile that showed white teeth. "Would you shield your ComWeb, Quillan?"
"Shield it?" Quillan looked surprised. "Why, certainly!" He reached under the edge of the table. The drifting viewer images vanished. "Go ahead."
Lyad's eyes turned back to Trigger. They were off-color eyes, like amber or a light wine, fringed with long black lashes. Very steady, very knowing eyes. Trigger felt herself tensing.
"Forgive me the discourtesy of inquiring directly," the light voice said. "But you are Trigger Argee, aren't you?"
Quillan's hand slapped the table. He looked at Trigger and laughed. "Better give up, Trigger! I told you you were much more widely known than you believed."
"Well, Brule," Trigger muttered moodily to the solidopic propped upright against the pillow before her, "you'd bug those pretty blue eyes out if you knew who's invited me to dinner!"
Brule smiled back winningly. She lay on her cabin's bed, chin on her crossed arms, eyes a dozen inches from the pretty blue ones. She studied Brule's features soberly.
"Major Heslet Quillan," she announced suddenly in cold, even tones, "is a completely impossible character!"
It was no more than the truth. She didn't mind so much that Quillan wouldn't tell her what he thought of Lyad Ermetyne's standing on the suspect list now—there hadn't really been much opportunity for open conversation so far. But he and that unpleasant Belchik Pluly had engaged in some jovial back-slapping and rib-punching when he and Trigger went over to join Lyad's party at her request; and Quillan cried out merrily that he and Belchik had long had one great interest in common—ha-ha-ha! Then those two great buddies vanished together for a full hour to take in some very special, not publicly programmed Sensations Unlimited in the Dawn City's Inferno.
Lyad had smiled after them as they left. "Aren't men disgusting?" she said tolerantly.
That reflected on her, didn't it? She was supposed to be very good friends with somebody like that! Of course Quillan must have some bit of Intelligence business in mind with Pluly, but there should be other ways of going about it. And later, when she'd been just a little stiff with him, Quillan had had the nerve to tell her not to be a prude, doll!
Trigger shoved the solidopic under the pillow. Then she rolled on her side and blinked at the wall.
Naturally, Major Quillan's personal habits were none of her business. It was just that in less than an hour he was to pick her up and take her to the Ermetyne suite for that dinner. She was wondering how she should behave towards him.
Reasonably pleasant but cool, she decided. But again, not too cool, since she'd obligated herself to help him find out what the Tranest tycooness was after. Any obvious lack of friendliness between them might make the job more difficult.
Trigger sighed. Things were getting complicated again.
While Quillan was indulging his baser nature among the questionable attractions of the Inferno, she'd shot three hundred of her Precol credits on a formal black gown ... on what, yesterday, she would have considered a rather unbelievable gown. Even at an Ermetyne dinner she couldn't actually look dowdy in it. And then, accompanied by Gaya, who had turned out to be a very pleasant but not very communicative companion, she'd headed for a gambling room to make back the price of the gown.
It hadn't worked out. The game she'd particularly studied up on turned out to have a five hundred minimum play. Which finished that scheme. The system she'd planned to use looked very sound, but she needed more than one chance to try it in. She and Gaya sat down at another table, with a different game, where you could get in for fifty credits. In eight minutes Trigger lost a hundred and twenty and quit.
Gaya won seventy-five.
It had been an interesting day, but with some unsatisfactory aspects to it.
She hauled the solidopic out from under the pillow again.
"And you," she told Brule warningly, "seem to be playing around with some very bad company, my friend! Just luck I'm coming back to see you don't get into serious trouble!"
She'd showered and was studying the black gown's effect before the mirror when the ComWeb chimed.
"Permission for audio intrusion granted," Trigger said casually without looking around. She was getting used to this sort of thing.
"Thank you, Miss Drellgannoth," said the ComWeb. "A package from the Beldon Shop has been deposited in your mail transmitter." It signed off.
Beldon Shop? Trigger frowned, laid the gown across a chair and went over to the transmitter receptacle. She opened it. A flat small green package, marked "The Styles of Beldon," slid out. A delicate scent came trailing along with it. A small white envelope clung to the package's top.
Inside the envelope was a card. It read:
"A peace offering. Would you wear it to dinner in token of forgiveness? Very humbly, Q."
Trigger found herself smiling and wiped
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