"Tor's right, though," Jirik put in, "That was a helluva job. I'm kinda glad I brought you along."
The grin got even wider. "Thanks, Skipper. But I hope you don't expect every recal to be as quick. The farther in we get the more crowded space becomes, and the longer it'll take to sort out the next jump. This one was easy, because we're still in rim space, and I can set up longer jumps."
Jirik nodded. "I know, but less than two hours is still record time from jump to jump." He stood, and stretched luxuriously. "Okay, let's stand down from emergency stations. Tor, take the bridge while all us oldtimers grab a nap and a shower. I'll see you all at dinner."
Telson's weary eyes showed her appreciation for this break in routine, but she nodded silently and strode from the bridge, followed by Jirik.
Chapter 8
Dinner that 'evening' was a raucous affair, revealing the extent of the tension that they had felt. Even the usually reserved Bran joined the loud talk and boisterous laughter. It was obvious that Telson had proved her capabilities, and was now universally accepted as one of the crew. They had even begun calling her "Via" instead of "Telson," though doing so tended to send Tor into a blushing, stuttering confusion. Jirik had to keep reminding himself that the woman had to be assumed to be a spy in their midst.
It was Tor who turned the talk to Boondock and its people. Jirik noted with concern that Via's long-lashed eyes grew veiled, face expressionless, and her comments noncommital. Tor seemed surprised that none of the others seemed as interested as he in comparing notes. Finally, he grew desperate as the conversation languished, and began repeating some of the Actionist propaganda with which his newfound friends had primed him.. He rattled on for several minutes before he noticed the universally disapproving expressions on his shipmates' faces, and subsided into confusion.
In the ensuing uncomfortable silence, Via excused herself and strode out of the mess deck. Bran quickly followed, muttering about a drive adjustment he wanted to make.
Tor was confused and hurt. "Did I say something wrong Captain?" he asked mournfully.
"You sure as hell did, son," Jirik replied. He sighed deeply. Time for his patented "Spacer's Survival Guide For Life Among the Groundhogs" lecture. "Look, kid, You're sharp. You're gonna learn a lot, and someday, you're going to be a hell of a spacer. But you'd better start learning some fundamentals right now. Otherwise, you're gonna be found face down in an alley on some dump of a planet." He took a deep breath. "Like I said, you're gonna learn a lot; but nothing that you will learn will be as important to your survival as what I'm about to tell you. Every planet has a culture, and each is different from the other. Spacers have a culture, too. Mostly it's based on keeping our skins intact, and making enough of a profit to keep going; but the Spacer culture is more sophisticated than any planet-bound culture in the galaxy. It has to be, because a planet-bound culture, no matter how sophisticated and cosmopolitan, is insular. Its separateness makes it inevitable. Planet-bound cultures diverge from each other."
Tor was looking bewildered. "I don't understand, Captain. What's this got to do with me comparing notes with my shipmates?"
"A lot, kid," Jirik replied, "A whole lot." He leaned close to the teenager, his intent look highlighting the importance of what he was saying. "The point is, kid, that Spacer culture is based on adapting to and surviving those thousands of different planetary cultures out there. Over the centuries, Spacers have visited thousands of planets, millions of times. A lot of them died. But those that lived, learned. Eventually, they worked out rules that let them survive." Jirik sat back and shrugged. "There aren't many of them, and they aren't complicated. But if you want to survive in space, you'd better learn them.. Learn them now, and obey them, and you'll live to retire. Fail to learn then., and you'll die. Oh, you might get lucky and squeak by for years; but eventually, the odds will catch up with you, and you'll die."
Tor's confusion had changed to seriousness, then intentness, and finally the teen's typical impatience. He was too intimidated by his captain to give free rein to his sarcastic impulse, but his voice sounded surly and impatient. "So, what are these fabulous commandments, Captain? Are they engraved on tablets of stone, or something?"
Jirik sighed resignedly. Kids! "No, kid, they're nothing so formal. Just things that spacers have learned over the last ten thousand years that helped them get along and survive. Rule One: Always try to conform to the local manners and mores. If the natives rub blue mud in their navels, take off your tunic, and make sure that the mud you use isn't red. Most civilized cultures will give a spacer the benefit of doubt if they can see that he's at least trying to conform, but if you start acting superior, or indifferent to their customs and mores, they'll kill you; at least, some of them will; and you never know which ones. On an unfamiliar planet, a spacer's best course is to keep his eyes straight ahead and down, act friendly, and never say or do anything even remotely controversial."
"The problem is," Jirik continued wryly, "You never know what might be controversial. So you try to speak in generalities until you learn enough to stay out of trouble."
Tor fidgeted impatiently as Jirik continued, "Rule two: Never seduce a respectable woman. The problem with that one is that you can never be sure just what constitutes a 'respectable' woman until it's too late. The safest way is to stick to port whores."
Jirik leaned forward again, his intent expression making Tor straighten and abandon his bored expression. "Rule three: Never, ever, get involved in politics or religion. Those are two of the most powerful forces in most peoples' lives, and no matter what stand you take, you're bound to offend someone."
"But, Captain!" Tor protested, "This isn't local politics This is the future of mankind, galaxy-wide, that we're talking about!"
Jirik shook his head grimly. "It doesn't matter. Son, I don't give a damn if you're talking about planetary, sector-wide, Alliance, Empire, or the whole damned galaxy, you're asking for trouble. How well do think a veteran of the Januvian Uprising would receive this Actionist crap? Hell, the Januvians were saving mankind, too!"
Tor snorted. "The Januvians were religious nuts! They thought that the only way to 'save' people was to kill them!"
"Not quite, son," Jirik replied quietly. "I was there. The Januvians were a little more intolerant than most fundamentalist religions, but they were sincere. They were certain that anyone who could not be converted to their beliefs had to be killed to save all the rest of humanity from 'damnation', whatever that means. Even when they started slaughtering off-planet visitors, the Alliance stayed out of it, figuring that their own isolation would solve the problem. But when they began using the ships of those they'd killed to go on killing raids of neighboring planets, the Navy had to step in. When we tried to embargo their planet, their leaders declared a 'holy war', and started building ground-based, nuclear-pumped lasers that could shoot down orbiting ships.
We eventually had to go in and kill every man and woman, and most of the children, on the whole damned planet." His expression became haunted. "A lot of us died throwing up. Burning down a pregnant woman or a ten-year-old carrying an old slug-thrower or even a scythe isn't war. it's slaughter, and it's sickening. "But," Jirik continued bitterly, "We either burned them down or we died. It was that simple. They just wouldn't stop!" He slammed his fist on the table. "They just wouldn't stop." For a moment, he was lost in memory, his stony expression mute testimony to the nature of those memories. Abruptly he shook himself and straightened.
"Now," he continued briskly, "You try to run that Actionist crap by somebody who was on Januvia, and you'll be lucky if he doesn't kill you where you stand, without a word. You see, the Actionists are preaching the same kind of bullshit that the Januvians fell for."