Finally, Cale thought, an opening. "If you're really going to abandon this place, do you mind if I do a bit of scavenging, myself?"
Nabel laughed aloud. "Son, you find anything here or in orbit you want, you can have it as the price of L'rak. I got a few operable ships left, if you want one. Tell ya what. I'll just transfer the title to the whole shebang to you. Oh, I expect once I leave these people will come in an’ steal anythin' down here not welded down. But there's still plenty a' good stuff in orbit."
Cale thought hard. No one would be able to track him to Torlon, and if they did, no one here except Nabel had really had contact with him. It might be useful to have a cache of ships and parts in orbit here. Call it a "bolt hole," a safe refuge in case the hounds got close. Nothing deteriorates in the vacuum of space, except radioactives, of course. Nabel had already posted a beacon proclaiming ownership of the orbiting junk and warning off trespassers. But chances are he could come back in fifty years, and that Beta-class liner would still be there to welcome him. Call it a private space station and space fleet. All for the price of two bars of gold.
"Done," he said, "but there're two things I'll need you to do for me. One is to help me ferry any operable ships here on-planet up to the orbital yard. Second, do you have papers on all your ships here? I'm particularly interested in that Stinger-class courier in the yard."
"That? Sure, I got all the papers on it. Had to keep 'em, in case somebody claimed it was theirs. I got papers on all of 'em."
Cale nodded. "Good. I want you to transfer ownership of that ship to me, officially, on the ship's papers. I also want you to cut out the hull plate with the ident info cast into it. We'll be welding it into place on my ship, once I bring it down. We'll hide the rest of the papers on one of the hulks in orbit. You never know what you might need some day."
Nabel's smile turned suspicious. Then his face cleared, and he waved a hand. "No, I don't want to know. Fer two bars a gold, I ain't askin' no questions.”
They wrestled a large file cabinet out of the depths of the old ship, and Nabel finally found the papers for Cheetah, the Stinger-class in the yard. They completed the formalities transferring Cheetah and the entire scrapyard business to Cale, and L'rak back to Nabel. They put the file cabinet full of ship's papers on an antigrav skid and moved it to the port landing pad, near the tramp they'd used, and Cale triggered the recall beacon for Scorpion, soon to be Cheetah.
Nabel's tramp was the only operable ship planetside, so no ferrying was required. Cale offered to help Nabel gather valuables and load the tramp, but Nabel declined. "Naw, I'm retired now. Got nothin' but time. They's no hurry. Might take a week, might take a month. It don't matter. I got nowhere to go, an' all the time in the world t'get there. Right now, I think I'll get started cuttin' out that hull plate."
Cale frowned. "Ber, are you sure about this? I mean, you just signed your life's work over to a stranger because of a broken leg."
Nabel smiled. "Yep, I'm sure. 'Sides, it ain't my 'life's work'. It's been more of a life than you think!"
Cale wished him well, and the old man returned to the yard.
By the time Scorpion grounded, the new hull plate was ready. Cale had Tess ground Scorpion at the entrance to the yard. Nabel simply commented on her similarity to the Stinger-class ships, and the differences. Then he began expertly cutting the ident hull plate out. Some six hours later, the hull plate was in place. Only a slight newness in the antirad coating over the new plate revealed the deception, and a few weeks in space would take care of that. Cale inspected the work carefully. After all, Cheetah was a space-to-ground vehicle, and aerodynamics was important. However, Nabel was an expert. The new welds were blended flawlessly. Cheetah would pass even the closest inspection.
Tess, the ship's AI, took the identity change in stride. Evidently, she accepted it as part of the 'secret agent' story with which she had been programmed.
It was not so easy with Ruth. Ever since he had introduced the subject, Ruth had been cold and distant. "I will not ask why you feel it necessary to perpetrate this hoax. I understand that lying and cheating are the offworlder's way." was her only comment.
Cale sighed in exasperation. "I told you when you came aboard that I was being chased," he replied in an irritated tone. "With luck, this will be the last of the deceptions necessary." Anger flared. "Damn it, I'm trying to save our lives!"
She was unruffled. "At the cost of your honor and your immortal soul."
"I don't believe in souls, and I lost my honor a long time ago." he shot back. "About the time I was made a slave and sent to the mines! All I have left is my life. I'm very fond of my life. It's the only one I've got!"
She stiffened in astonishment. "You do not believe in the soul? And what of God?"
"Which one? There are thousands throughout the galaxy. One of the nastiest tyrannies in history was a theocracy. You, of all people, should know. Ararat was a Glory world!"
"Of course I know of the Mission. They were seduced by false prophets, but they sought only to bring mankind to the Lord. Their intentions were good."
Cale laughed, a grating, derisive sound. "Good intentions have caused more misery throughout mankind's history than anything else." He became aware of a growing anger, and clamped down on it. "You see? We have to work out an arrangement, at least for the time we're together. Can we agree that your moral standards differ from those of most man-settled planets?"
"Yes!" she replied heatedly, "They're better!"
Cale suppressed an equally heated reply. A quarrel would not settle their differences; indeed, it would only drive each of them toward the extremes. "Very well," he said in a reasonable tone, "They're 'better'. But they are not the same, and unless you want to provoke quarrels wherever you go, I suggest you follow them if you wish, but not try to impose them on others or lecture others about them."
Ruth looked troubled, but did not reply.
"Also," he continued after a moment, "While your exaggerated courtesy and piety fit the culture of Ararat, you will find that they will only irritate and annoy most others."
"You prefer rudeness and impiety?" she shot back sarcastically.
"Of course not," he replied quietly. "I suggest only that you restrain yourself from using the extravagant courtesies of Ararat. No, don't interrupt," he added, to forestall her heated response. "You're not stupid. You know exactly what I mean. You've seen me interact with you and with Nabel. You know the level of courtesy I mean. And if you still don't, just keep quiet until you do know."
"Of course I understand," she replied in a surly tone. "But just because others lack courtesy is no reason for me to forego it."
He shook his head. "Of course it is. Look. I'm not from Ararat. But I was taught that the real essence of courtesy, the reason for its existence, was to make others feel at home and comfortable around you."
She nodded. "Of course."
"Good. Can't you accept that we are more casual than those on Ararat, but we can still make others feel comfortable? That your frequent references to beliefs they do not share might make them uncomfortable? And that the high-flown verbiage and flowery courtesies would only embarrass or even offend these more casual people? That they might think you are mocking or ridiculing them?"
Her eyes widened. "Would they really think that I would do such?"
He shrugged. "Very possibly. You find some of our mannerisms offensive, don't you?"
Ruth frowned. "I certainly do!"
He smiled a genuine smile this time. "Of course. Essentially," he continued, "you have two choices. You can force yourself to adapt to the ways of most of the galaxy, or you can try to insist that it adapt itself to your Ararat ways. Since you won't be returning to Ararat soon, if at all, I'd suggest you do the adapting."