Privateers (11 page)

After they had each sipped the scaldingly hot tea, Yamagata said, “Nobo has been working for the past year as a deep-space pilot. But there is little for him to do at Yamagata Station.”

“I’ve flown our orbital ferries,” Nobo said. His voice was a clear, pleasant tenor, full of energy and eagerness.

“But the Russians won’t let you handle any of the lunar craft, will they?”

“No, they won’t allow anyone to pilot a spacecraft between geosynchronous orbit and the Moon. They handle all those missions themselves.”

“I thought,” his father said slowly, “that perhaps you might find useful employment for Nobo at Nueva Venezuela.”

Dan glanced at his friend. The old fox is making his son part of our deal, he realized. Is he doing it to keep an eye on me, or does he just want to get a rambunctious son out of his hair for a while? Probably some of both, he decided.

Aloud, he asked Nobuhiko, “Are you qualified to pilot a shuttle?”

Nobo’s nod turned into a small bow. “Hai!” In his excitement, he lapsed into Japanese to tell Dan of his various professional pilot’s ratings.

“Excellent,” Dan replied in Japanese. Turning to Saito, he said, “I am certain that we can find interesting work for your worthy son at Astro Manufacturing. Perhaps there will even be an opportunity for him to pilot a deep-space vehicle even farther than the Moon, one day.”

Nobuhiko hissed with pleasure and gratitude. His father merely smiled and said, “We should prepare for dinner now.”

Lucita looked doubtfully at the little wooden tray placed on the table before her. It held half a dozen small pieces of what looked suspiciously like raw fish. She glanced at Teresa and saw that she was hesitating, also.

No one had warned her about the rigors of a Japanese dinner. Both she and Teresa had dressed in their usual informal evening wear. Lucita wore a simple but elegant full-skirted chiffon dress of soft lavender with beautifully embroidered sleeves. Teresa had wanted to wear something equally eye-catching, but Lucita had insisted that her chaperon should not compete against her for attention. So Teresa wore a plain white outfit with a pleated skirt and high mandarin collar, and a gold rope belt that twined around her waist twice. It was attractive enough, Lucita thought.

But she had not expected to sit on the floor! Dan had not warned her. In fact, he had paid her no attention whatsoever since they had taken off from Caracas. Lucita and Teresa had found themselves in the care of Japanese house servants, about evenly divided between squat bulky robots and equally short roundish women who wore sky-blue kimonos and spent most of their time bowing and hissing.

Teresa was Lucita’s aunt by virtue of being the youngest daughter in a family of thirteen children. Lucita’s father had been the oldest son. Grandmother Hernandez had dutifully borne her husband this baker’s dozen of offspring, and died while pregnant with a fourteenth. The fetus died with her. Everyone in the family had thought it quite an unlucky omen to die after thirteen children.

Lucita’s mother had not made that mistake. She had been a modern woman, the daughter of one of the new oil millionaires who had made his fortune when the once mighty OPEC had raised the world price for petroleum. Mama had been educated in the United States, where she learned of feminism and equal rights for women before returning to Caracas to be married off to the rising young politician, Rafael Hernandez. She had borne one child and then killed herself in an automobile accident. But not before she had instilled in her five-year-old daughter a fierce thirst for independence and freedom from the strictures of Latin American family politics. Hernandez had genuinely loved his headstrong wife, even though she had failed to bear him a son. He loved Lucita, too, and she knew it. But it was the love of an owner for a possession, and Lucita knew that her father was perfectly capable of using his possession to further his own ambition.

Lucita had declared her independence by fleeing Caracas in the company of the dashing American billionaire. What better way to show her father that she would not be cowed by him, or allow him to sacrifice her life on the altar of his political ambition? But she had been careful to bring Teresa along; no one could say that she had failed to observe the proprieties. She was independent but not a wanton. Teresa, like Hernandez’s many other sisters and brothers, had not shared in the wealth he had acquired through his marriage. They lived modestly, either jealous of their brother’s good fortune or subservient to it, as their individual natures dictated. Teresa, the youngest, was of the subservient kind. She made a good chaperon: compliant and discreet. This was not the first time the two of them had gone off adventuring.

There were no utensils on the low table except chopsticks. One of the woman servants showed Lucita and Teresa how to hold them. It was less difficult than Lucita had thought it would be. Somehow she choked down a few morsels of the raw fish. She felt better as the meal progressed to more palatable dishes of sliced steak, steamed vegetables and rice. She was surprised that the sake poured into their tiny cups was warm; at home wine was almost always served chilled.

Dan Hamilton and his host were joined at the table by a younger Japanese, introduced as their host’s son. She had expected the natives to wear ‘splendid oriental robes, but they were both dressed in ordinary business suits, just as Dan was. None of the men paid much attention to Lucita or Teresa. They talked among themselves, ignoring the women. Somewhere in the back of her mind Lucita recalled reading that Japanese men usually ate by themselves, served by their women, who ate afterward. She seethed with sullen anger at the thought.

Kimono-clad women served the table, and kept the sake cups full. Lucita saw that the father and son, and even Dan, slurped the rice wine noisily. She thought that disgusting and made it a point to sip hers with great dignity.

It was a great surprise to her when, after the meal was concluded, she needed help to get back onto her feet.

“My legs …”

Nobuhiko was at her side almost instantly, while two of the women servants assisted Teresa.

Dan grinned apishly at her. “Too much sake,” he said, the first words he had aimed her way since the dinner had begun. “It melts the bones.”

“Perhaps,” said the elder Japanese, “the lady is not accustomed to our way of sitting. I apologize, sefiorita. It was thoughtless of me to force you to endure such discomfort.”

It took an effort of will for Lucita to realize that they were speaking in English. “I’m all right,” she said slowly. “My legs seem to have fallen asleep.”

“I’ll help you,” said the younger Japanese. He held Lucita’s arm and placed his other hand at her waist.

She began to protest, but noticed that Dan had already turned his attention back to their host.

“Oh, thank you,” she said to the young man. “If you could show me to my room …”

“Of course,” he said.

Dan watched Nobuhiko assisting Lucita out of the dining room, followed by Teresa-who was walking without aid, although one of the women servants followed her at a respectful few paces.

“She is very beautiful,” Yamagata said, raising his cup for more sake to be poured into it.

“A child,” replied Dan.

“Nobo seems quite taken with her. He seldom reacts so gallantly with women his own age.”

His own age echoed in Dan’s head. Tearing his gaze away from the now closed screen where Lucita had departed, he saw that his own cup had been refilled again. He drained it with one swift gulp. The servant, blank-faced as always, poured still more wine for him.

“Now that I have you properly dazed with food and wine,” Yamagata said with a good-natured grin, “we should discuss the terms of our agreement.”

Dan looked back at the translucent screen and realized that Nobo was one of those terms. The kid would come to Caracas for an indefinite stay. Now that he’d met Lucita he would probably come to Caracas even if he had to swim the entire distance.

“The terms?” Yamagata repeated gently.

Dan snapped his attention to his old friend. “Yes, the terms,” he muttered. He had never felt less like discussing business in his life.

Yamagata produced a miniature tape recorder from his suit jacket and placed it on the lacquered table as the women cleared away the dishes. Once they had left, he and Dan swiftly worked out the financial arrangements for the asteroid mission. Dan could keep no more than half his mind focused on their negotiation. He kept wondering what Lucita and Nobo were doing. She’s got her aunt with her, he told himself. She’ll be okay. She’s chaperoned. She’ll be all right.

Yamagata clicked the tape recorder off, then got to his feet. “I will have my computer make hard copies of this agreement for our signatures.”

“Sure,” Dan said absently. “Of course.” He slowly got up and followed Yamagata as the Japanese slid back one of the shoji screens and led him down a narrow corridor. Their getas flapped softly on the bare polished wood floor. Yamagata pushed another screen back, and they stepped into a modern office, furnished in Western style with a richly carved teak desk and comfortable cushioned chairs.

One entire wall of Yamagata’s office was made of garasushoji, sliding screens fitted with glass panels rather than opaque paper. Dan saw that the ski slopes off in the distance were ablaze with lights. The sky was dark and featureless; no moon in sight, not even the steady bright gleam of a space station visible. Too far north. Dan thought. Still …

“If 1 recall correctly.” Yamagata said, “you prefer Armagnac to cognac.”

“That’s right,” Dan said, making himself smile.

Yamagata bobbed his head once in a nod that was almost a bow. It made his fleshy face produce several chins, and Dan realized anew that his old friend had allowed his body to get sadly out of shape. With a surprised pang of regret, he recalled how the wiry young Yamagata could scamper among the spiderwork beams and cables of the first solar power station back in the days when they were constructing it.

So we’ll go no more a-roving

So late into the night,

Though the heart be still as loving,

And the moon be still as bright.

“This Hernandez woman,” Yamagata said, handing Dan a snifter with a splash of dark amber liqueur swirling in it. “Whatever possessed you to bring her with you?”

“She wanted to get away from Caracas,” Dan said lightly.

“Are there no commercial flights? Or private planes to charter?” Yamagata went to his desk as he spoke, put down his own tumbler of unblended Scotch and inserted their tape cassette into the computer terminal sitting on an L-extension of the desk. He flicked his fingers over the keyboard for a moment, and the computer hummed and buzzed in response.

“Her father would have prevented her from using the regular flights or a charter.”

Yamagata’s eyes narrowed. “Then she is the Technology Minister’s daughter. Is it wise to antagonize a man who is so crucial to your operations?”

The computer printer sprang to life, chugging frenetically as it typed out the taped agreement at an inhumanly mad pace.

Dan sipped at his Armagnac before replying, “Hernandez wants his daughter to marry the new head of the Russian space program. She wants no part of it.”

“So she fled to your arms for protection.” Yamagata smiled crookedly.

“No, it isn’t like that,” Dan said. “She’s just a kid.”

“You have no romantic interest in her?”

“No, I’m just a convenient source of transportation for her. I’m old enough to be her … well, her older brother, I guess.”

“I think you must return her to her father,” Yamagata said.

“She’ll go back when she’s ready to. She’s just a child who’s having an argument with her father.”

Yamagata studied Dan’s face for a long moment. “I have never known you to place yourself in the middle of a family argument.”

With a relaxed grin, Dan explained, “The Russian’s involved, too. Don’t forget him. He’s altogether too self-confident. This ought to take a little of the wind out of his sails.”

The Japanese industrialist shook his head. “Ah, Daniel, my old friend, the years have not changed you in the slightest. You are still as impetuous and foolhardy as ever.”

Dan felt his brows knit into a frown. “I haven’t done so badly,” he said.

“It is we Japanese who are supposed to be rushing toward death, yet that is what you have been doing all your life.”

“You get philosophical when you’re drunk, you know that, Sai?”

Raising a stubby finger, Yamagata insisted, “1 remember the chances you would take on the construction in orbit. And on the Moon. Now you are willing to attack the Russians-and antagonize your friends in Caracas at the same time.”

“I don’t have any friends in Caracas.” Dan muttered. “Just politicians who’re getting rich off what I’m doing.”

“You are a man who is seeking his true destiny,” Yamagata said. “I hope you find it before the quest kills you.”

Dan gave him a long look, then broke into a grin. “Getting there is half the fun, Sai.”

The printer stopped, beeped once, then fell silent. Yamagata put his drink down and lifted the sheets of paper from the printer’s tray. He held them at arm’s length, squinting in the light from the desk lamp as he read them over. Dan saw that they were in English. Later they would be automatically translated, he knew, into Japanese. And eventually into Russian.

“I believe this states our agreement accurately.” He handed the papers to Dan, who read them swiftly and nodded. He saw that the computer had printed two copies. Pulling the pen from his jacket pocket, Dan rested the papers on the desktop and signed them. Yamagata took a felt-tip pen from his desk and signed his name both in roman script and Japanese hiragana characters.

“Dan,” said Yamagata as he handed over one set of the signed papers, “you cannot afford to antagonize the Minister of Technology. How far do you think this asteroid mission will go if Hernandez decides to oppose you?”