Starliner(79)

Nor did Ran.

At the last moment, it occurred to Ran that the relative size of genitalia can vary widely between species of similar total mass. If that was a problem, though, it was her problem and she was in control. Lady Scour gripped Ran with two pairs of arms and the heels of her feet locked behind his buttocks. Her remaining hands guided him within an orifice that seemed tight but slid smoothly.

All the Szgranian's muscles tightened. She screamed, not in pain but in sheer ecstatic triumph.

Part of Ran's mind wondered what the couple in the room below thought. But he didn't much care.

* * *

The Embarkation Hall was lighted at thirty percent of Earth daytime norm—more than adequate to see by, but dim compared to the brilliance of the Empress's exterior floods scattered in through the open hatchway.

"Good evening, Mr. Streseman," Commander Kneale said from the angle of a pilaster as the Grantholm passenger moped past with his eyes lowered.

"Oh!" said Streseman. He was alone. An hour after the Empress of Earth landed, stewards had carried his train of static-supported cases across the starport to the Grantholm combination vessel Thornburg, He must have paid off the staff at that time, because no little folk from New Sarawak pursued the young Grantholmer now for their tips.

"I regret that you had to be transshipped to reach your destination," the commander said. "I've heard good reports regarding passenger accommodations on the Thornburg, though. I don't think you'll find her too uncomfortable for a short hop."

"No, no, of course not," Streseman said. "You couldn't possibly be expected to land on a planet in the middle of war. A ship as valuable as this . . ."

He looked out the hatchway toward the alien city beyond. Betaniche was a dark mass. Occasional lamps glowed through the paper walls like will-o'-the-wisps over the surface of a marsh. Without turning back toward Kneale, the youth asked, "Has there been any word of the Brasil, sir?"

"No sir," the commander said. "Nothing at all since she entered sponge space in the Tblisi system. At this point, we can only hope that her passengers and crew are safe somewhere."

Streseman grimaced. "You think she's been hijacked, I suppose," he said. He met Kneale's eyes. "Well, that's the only reasonable possibility, isn't it? First-class starliners don't simply go missing."

"Not often, no," Kneale agreed. "But I don't intend to make unnecessary assumptions without data."

The commander smiled tightly. "Nor," he added, because Franz Streseman ceased to be simply a passenger on Calicheman, "do I intend to let up my guard."

The young man laughed without humor. "I imagine you're glad to get rid of all us Grantholmers here. Well, you've got a right to feel that way—but don't forget that you loaded quite a number of passengers on Nevasa, too. Some of them may just have been getting off a potential bomb target—but you're bound to have taken intelligence personnel aboard too."

The Empress's ventilation system kept up positive pressure, as always on a planet, but the stink of the fires ringing the field still crept into the Embarkation Hall. Streseman's nose wrinkled as he looked out into the night, though the disgust he felt had little to do with the odor.

"I'm not unaware of that, Mr. Streseman," Kneale said quietly. "I hope you don't feel that Trident Starlines has discriminated against one or the other party in the conflict."

"No, of course not," Streseman agreed. "I'm—"He shook his head. "I'm not—in a good mood tonight, sir. I suppose I'd better get over to the Thornburg if I'm going."

There was a series of pops and crackles from the night. Commander Kneale visibly stiffened.

The rating stationed on the gangway leaned back within the hatch and called, "It's just fireworks, sir. A bunch of the—"

He looked at Streseman and recognized the youth as a Grantholmer.

"—passengers we disembarked here, they've took over a couple dockside bars and they're having a party. Patriotic songs and as much hell-raising as the locals let 'em get away with."

"Thank you, Rossignol," Kneale replied. When the crewman had returned to his post, Kneale said in a low voice, "You don't have to leave the Empress, you know, sir. We have empty berths."

He cleared his throat and added, "Mr. Streseman, I'd find you a berth in my cabin if I had to, after what you did on Calicheman."

Franz Streseman stepped forward and clasped the Trident officer by both hands. "Sir," he said, "I have to go. You understand duty. But I thank you from the bottom of my heart."

He turned his head very quickly, but Kneale could hear tears in the youth's voice as he went on, "She doesn't understand, though. I told her that I would come back to her as soon as the war was over, but I had to report to my unit. I'm a Streseman. She says if I loved her, I'd stay with her and we'd—we'd build a new life on Tellichery or somewhere.