Man of Two Worlds

Prosik nodded.

  “You wanta buddy up? We look out for each other? I’ll teach you the ropes well as I can. You keep an eye on my back.”

  Prosik glanced out the lock where the last of the casualty was being swept off the black inceram.

  “Hicks never wanted to buddy,” Weatherbee said. “Afraid what people might say, I think. Don’t get me wrong, Doughty. I prefer women.”

  Prosik did not really understand this conversation but he nodded positively.

  “What about it?” Weatherbee asked. “If I can keep you alive long enough for you to learn the ropes, we could make a good team.”

  “Yes, I will buddy with you,” Prosik said. “Why was Hicks outside?”

  “I dunno. He left his station without saying. I think someone beckoned him out. A woman, most likely. They probably set him up. What about you? You go for women?”

  “Not ones who lure me to destruction,” Prosik said.

  “You know, you got a funny way of talking but you make sense. I think we’re gonna get along fine, buddy. Look sharp now. That’s the consul himself coming in.”

  Prosik drew himself up to attention as an armored figure came through the lock and marched past them without acknowledging their salute or lifting his helmet. When he was out of earshot, Weatherbee said: “Snooty bastard. Didn’t even ask about Hicks.”

  The words were a long time coming to focus in Prosik’s mind. He was suddenly distracted by a familiar sensation—the twisting awareness that always accompanied access to the Spirals. Someone was opening the pathways of infinity and it had to be nearby. Was it a Storyship? Prosik thought not. The sensation was definite but weak. It had to be that damned Earther and his crude instrumentation!

  “What is in this locality?” he asked Weatherbee.

  “Not much that concerns us. We keep a clear field of fire all around. But if you go over to that port behind you and look to the right you can see the Legion’s flying whorehouse. It came in a few hours ago. Better believe the manual on that place, Lew. That is pure poison.”

  “Poison?”

  “Legionnaires don’t let many outsiders in there. One of our guys saved a Legion captain’s life a few years back. Got two whole days in there as a reward. He came out ga-ga. Said he’d never go into another whorehouse long as he lived. Pure spoiled by this one. Said it was better’n that one on the boat off LA. And I always thought that one was the best. Man! I’d sure like to get me in that Legion cathouse just once.”

  Prosik nodded as though he understood. The Spiral sensation ended. Was it in the Legion place? Cathouse?

  Prom his Earther studies, Prosik knew something of their sexual habits but most of the idiom escaped him. What could cats have to do with that place? He did not dare ask, though. Danger lay in showing too much ignorance. That much he understood well.

  ***

  The arousal of prurient interest by this thinly disguised pornography must be recognized by the courts as meeting the legal definition of obscenity. Nothing about this display can be categorized as news.

  —From a brief seeking an injunction against the Seattle Enquirer

  Lorna Subiyama inspected the exterior of the Legion’s flying bordello with a jaundiced expression, then looked at the armored figure of her companion and guide, Sue Ellen Pratt. Sue Ellen’s cowgirl armor reflected dancing orange light from the clouds that attenuated the tiny spark of the noonday sun. “That’s it?” Subiyama asked. “Pretty fancy, eh?” Sue Ellen said. “I’ve seen fancier in Lubbock. You ever been inside?” “I’m jus’ a civilian employee of the Legion, honey. They don’ let us in there ‘les we wanna go t’ work. B’lieve me, I’ve thought about it. Those gals make beaucoup bucks.”

  “What stopped you?”

  “I see all the Legion schlong I want without tyin’ m’self to that routine. An’ what th’ hell, honey? You see one schlong, you seen ’em all.” “I wish I knew for sure he was in there.” “Lissen, honey, he’s in there. My Legion pals wouldn’t lie to li’l ol’ Sue Ellen ‘bout that.” “He’s gotta come out sometime.” “Mebbe. Depends on what he’s doin’ in there.” “You know anything at all about this Lutt Hanson, Jr.?

  His daddy was capital H Horny but I hear he’s worse. What I’d like to know is how he got in there.”

  “Mebbe he rescued a legionnaire. Been a few like that.”

  “The stories didn’t say. Made him out as some kinda hero, though. ‘In the best tradition of journalism,’ my ass!”

  “We can’t jus’ stan’ aroun’ out here an’ gawk, honey.”

  “Anyplace we can keep an eye on this flying cathouse and not be like two chickens in the middle of the road?”

  “Well, they’s one li’l ol’ place in the U.S. Consulate lobby where you can see the ship an’ its main lock. Mebbe if we was t’ cozy up t’ the guards they’d let us stay there awhile.”

  “Let’s give it a try. My editors are kicking ass to get this story, especially after all the Enquirer’s battle pix and that big spread about life in a Legion bordello. Shit! I gotta admit it. That Hanson bastard is good.”

  “Good as you, honey?”

  “Man don’t live who’s good as me, Sue Ellen. I can drink and screw and write and fight with the best of ’em and leave ’em all in my dust.”

  ***

  Osey came running into my room and said, “So much for your meddling! He’s found a woman in that Legion cathouse”

  —Memoirs of the Raj Dood

  On his fifth morning in the bordello, the doctors said Lutt could get into a robe and accompany Nishi to breakfast in a dining room. Lutt thought the doctors and other attendants were treating him oddly, not quite deferential but certainly with a courtesy that went beyond professional demands.

  Nishi, though, still kept her distance and Lutt found himself ever more enamored. Was this because she would not get into his bed? he wondered.

  “I am your negotiator,” she said. “The Legion wishes another demonstration of your communicator. I am determining how that may be conducted. We must control the circumstances.”

  “Shouldn’t I be the one talking to them?”

  He asked this as they sat down at a table near the dining room entrance. Nishi, in the red dress accented by blue and white trim that was standard with Food Service employees, pursed her lips, then: “I think not.”

  Lutt glanced around the sparsely occupied room—three women in black gowns at a corner table, two women in red at a table near the center, and one stocky legionnaire nearby in full battle regalia, helmet thrown back. The legionnaire picked slowly at a plate of chicken and rice.

  “Why shouldn’t I talk to them?” Lutt asked.

  “Important people do not waste time on preliminaries. You notice how well they treat you? D’Assas Anon has ordered that you are a most honored guest. Do not stare at that man.”

  She touched Lutt’s arm to divert him from studying the lone legionnaire.

  “They do not like to be stared at by strangers,” she said. “You notice how he looks at the small woman in black over there?”

  “I . . . uh . . . ”

  “You did not notice. She is available and he wants her. He may even do it in here.”

  Lutt rubbed the pulsing vein on his temple. “In the dining room?”

  “Wherever he wishes. That one woman or all three.”

  “He’d have to take off his armor.”

  “They would help. Sometimes, when the desire comes over a legionnaire, he will knock over the table, the chairs, anything that stands in his way.”

  “Doesn’t anyone object?”

  “Oh, no! They are showmen. Such behavior is for the benefit of other legionnaires. This one most likely will not do that. He is alone. I do not think he would do it for you.”

  “He isn’t looking at you, is he?”

  “He looked at me but they all know I am not available. He wonders about you and me, though.”

  The legionnaire began to eat with angry movements, shoving large morsels of food
into his mouth and gulping them. Presently, he put down his fork and beckoned the smaller of the women in black, a platinum blond with darker eyebrows and gamin features. She responded immediately but with slow, deliberate movements and strolled to the legionnaire’s side. He grabbed her arm and jerked her down until her head was close to his. There he said something to her fiercely. She glanced at Lutt and shook her head. The legionnaire thrust a hand into her hair and shook her head angrily.

  “Oui!” the woman said, “Oui!”

  “What’s he doing?” Lutt whispered.

  “Perhaps he has told her to give herself to you.”

  “No!” And Lutt thought: Can this be me? Would I really turn her down?

  The legionnaire released the woman and she went to the food service counter where she spoke to one of the attendants.

  “Lutt,” Nishi whispered, “I must warn you. He has ordered something for you. Whatever it is you must eat it.”

  “Why?”

  “I think he is testing you.”

  “What the hell could he order for me?”

  “I think it is fugu.”

  “What’s fugu?”

  “You don’t know? I assumed everyone knew. The samurai warriors of Japan originated the custom. Fugu is Japanese for the blowfish or pufferfish. We hire licensed Japanese fugu chefs.”

  “Why would he order a delicacy for me?”

  “Fugu can be very poisonous if the chef makes a mistake. The poison is in the liver, the ovaries and intestines. The fish must be cleaned and cooked precisely or it will poison you.”

  The platinum blond woman accepted a plate from an attendant at the food service counter and brought it to Lutt’s table. She slapped it in front of Lutt and flounced away without speaking. It was a dark blue plate containing a single small fillet of gray meat adorned with a sprig of green onion.

  Lutt felt a surge of excitement as he looked at it. The feeling was familiar. He had felt the same while hang gliding, while defying death in many ways.

  Don’t eat it, Lutt! Ryll objected.

  That legionnaire will kill me if I don’t.

  No! He may think you a coward but he will not—

  Stay out of this!

  This is insane!

  Hell no! This is really living!

  Lutt took his fork and broke off a large bite of the fugu. Ryll tried to interfere but Lutt forced it, breaking Ryll’s will with the admonition: You want them to discover a Dreen?

  If it kills you, I will idmage my way into another body! Ryll boasted. Privately, he thought: How could I do it? How? Why oh why didn’t I pay closer attention in class? Wait a minute! Yes, maybe. Just maybe . . .

  So you have an out and I don’t. Now shut up!

  Lutt put the bite of fugu in his mouth and chewed it. Bland. He took a bite of the onion, another bite of fugu.

  Nishi stared at Lutt with a look of fascination.

  “Have you ever seen anyone die of this?” Lutt asked.

  “No, but there have been six deaths in our dining rooms. The chefs committed hara-kiri and the new chefs have not yet had any fatalities.”

  “How soon do you know if it’s poison?”

  “It strikes quickly, I’m told. Convulsions and paralysis. Legionnaires consider fugu a test of courage, one more obstacle to overcome. I think you have not been poisoned.”

  “Why didn’t you try to stop me?”

  “I would have killed that legionnaire if the fugu took you from me.”

  Lutt stared at her, sensing a deep thread of fanatical determination in her. What kind of woman was this?

  Abruptly, Nishi stood and took the plate from him. It still contained about half the serving. She carried the plate to the legionnaire and slammed it onto the table in front of him. He looked up, startled.

  “This is safe for you to eat,” she said. “Eat it. And remember this: By the memory of my sainted father and brothers, if this fugu had been poison I would have found a way to kill you!”

  The legionnaire’s face darkened. He started to reach for her and thought better of it.

  Nishi pivoted on one heel and returned to her chair. The legionnaire abruptly pushed himself back and left the room.

  “Lucky for him he did not touch me,” Nishi said. “My friends would have torn his body apart. Better to die in battle.”

  “I’m still hungry,” Lutt said.

  “It would be a gesture to order more fugu,” Nishi said. “Do you wish to do that?”

  “I found it bland,” he said.

  It was delicious! Ryll objected so impulsively he surprised himself. I have been thinking about this. Order more. I think I can save us if it is poison.

  You think?

  Idmage interference with complex proteins is not beyond my capabilities! And he thought privately: Am I really saying this? Have I been contaminated with an Earther’s foolish pride?

  Okay, Ryll baby. But this time we flavor it my way.

  Reading in his thoughts what Lutt intended, Ryll sent a frantic objection: No! I hate that stuff!

  Lutt grinned and said: “Nishi, see if your chefs can fix me more fugu but this time with a pesto sauce on the side.”

  “Pesto?”

  “It is a sauce with fresh basil, parmesan cheese, olive oil, garlic and pine nuts. Delicious with fish.”

  “Fresh basil. I don’t know if we have that.”

  Ryll held himself in cautious mental isolation while Nishi went to the food service counter. Everyone in the room heard her order fugu but the rest of the conversation was in a lower voice. Ryll strained to hear it, torn by deeply ambivalent feelings. A little bazeel would be welcome, more would be dangerous. Lutt was becoming more and more suspicious of its reaction on Dreen flesh.

  She returned presently and shook her head. “I am sorry. No fresh basil. The chef will make you a sauce with tarragon.”

  “Can they get me some basil?” Lutt asked.

  “Why is it so important?”

  “I must have some!”

  “Ahhh, you are the perfectionist even with foods. I, too, am a chef and I should have known. I will speak once more to the chef.”

  When she left the table, Ryll intruded out of desperation. I can change your precious pesto into something more to my liking.

  What do you have against it, Ryll baby?

  You don’t let me choose anything I like!

  I’ll trade you a strawberry sundae for the pesto.

  It’s not a fair exchange.

  It’s the basil, isn’t it, Ryll?

  I find your sauce repugnant.

  Nishi returned to her chair. “He thinks you are a crazy Yankee but he will try. There’s been an inexplicable run on basil. None has been shipped here in almost a year, so it’s not in any of the ordinary channels. But on the black market, who knows?”

  Presently, a signal from the food service area sent Nishi once more away from the table. She returned with another blue plate containing a fugu filet and a side dish of green sauce.

  He ate it quickly, noting how Nishi and the others in the room watched him. Again, there were no signs of poisoning. When he was finished, Lutt sat back.

  “You’re not eating, Nishi.”

  “I eat with the staff at different hours. Now, you will go back to your room. They do not want you fatigued.”

  “I know something that’d restore my energy.”

  “But we have no marriage contract, my sweet goose.”

  “Will you at least stay with me?”

  “Of course. That is what I am supposed to do until the Legion calls me back to the bargaining. They are very interested. Madame says D’Assas Anon will sit in as an observer. They guarantee your safety and your presence.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “No one will harm you but they promise you will be at the final bargaining sessions. Come. It is time to go back to your room.”

  “Is it still free of spy eyes?”

  “I think so.”

  “Where’s my ar
mor?”

  “It is being repaired, but the contents of your inner pockets are with your cameras under house seal.”

  “Bring the stuff from my pockets. I’ve a device there to tell if we’re being spied on.”

  In the corridor outside the dining room, Lutt turned toward his quarters and was immediately brought up short as the legionnaire who had ordered the fugu stepped out of a side passage. A tall brute with mean eyes, the man still wore his armor.

  “So you would dally with our Virgin Chanteuse?” he growled.

  “Go away if you know what’s good for you,” Nishi said.

  The man ignored her. “You hide behind the skirts of a woman, eh?” He lunged at Lutt.

  The special training imposed by Hanson Security dominated Lutt’s reactions, aided by Dreen-amplified muscles and responses. Without thinking, he twisted to one side, leveraged the lunging legionnaire by the man’s own momentum and sent him careening down the hallway into a wall at the end. The legionnaire fell and came up shaking his head. With a bellow, he charged at Lutt, who once more twisted aside and sent the man headlong into the wall at the other end of the hallway.

  Dazed, the legionnaire struggled to his feet, but before he could renew the assault, a door near him opened and a Legion officer emerged. The officer, a stocky, dark-haired man with an aquiline nose and large brown eyes, wore only his trousers. He looked appreciatively at Nishi.

  “What occurs here, my little dove?” the officer asked.

  Nishi pointed at the dazed legionnaire. “That one offended me, General, and my protector has punished him.” She clutched Lutt’s left arm.

  The legionnaire had recovered sufficiently to prepare himself for another attack. The officer stepped forward squarely in front of the angry man. “You! Is it true you have offended our Virgin Chanteuse?”

  For the first time, the legionnaire recognized the newcomer. “Now General! I . . . I . . .”

  “I asked you a question, scum!”

  From a side hall, four men in red uniforms, carrying stunsticks, came into view. They stopped at sight of the general.

  Lutt noted the D’AA insignia on the uniforms and glanced at Nishi. She raised a finger for Lutt to be silent and wait.