Space Opera by Jack Vance Read Free Book Online Page A

second time before the trays, cried out jocularly, “Here’s a man with a good appetite! Eat like this, you’ll soon be fat!”
    Roger flushed. “I happen to be hungry,” he said rather shortly, and went off with the tray.
    “Touchy chap,” the mess-steward told George Jameson, the percussionist. “Hope there’s not too many like him aboard.”
    “That’s Dame Isabel’s nephew,” said Jameson. “She keeps him on a pretty short leash; no surprise if he’s a bit peevish.”
    “I can’t see where he stows all that grub,” said the steward. “He doesn’t have the look of a big eater.”
    At the next meal Roger’s voracity was once again noted. “Look,” said the bus-boy. “That chap is taking a tray out of the saloon! Do you think he’s some kind of a food hoarder?”
    The next meal or two Roger was circumspect, but it was not long before the mess-steward noticed Roger dropping morsels of food into a sack.
    Two hours later an obsequious bus-boy informed Roger that Dame Isabel wished to speak to him at once.
    With leaden steps Roger went to Dame Isabel’s cabin. Her face, the color of oatmeal from the effects of space-sickness, was stern. “Sit down, Roger,” she said. “I have several things to say to you. I preface them by a remark to the effect that of all human failings I find ingratitude among the most despicable. Do I make myself clear?”
    “If you are speaking in a general sense, yes.”
    “To particularize, I allude to the presence of your ‘fiancée’ aboard the ship.” She held up her hand. “Do not interrupt. I have in the past held you in affection, and when I ended my days I had planned to bequeath to you a not inconsiderable proportion of my estate. The disclosures of this last hour force me completely to alter my intentions. I will say no more, except that our first port of call is Sirius Planet, and there you and that woman will be put ashore.”
    “Aunt Isabel,” cried Roger in anguish, “things are not the way you think they are! Let me explain!”
    “The facts speak for themselves. Your paramour is in Captain Gondar’s custody, and I believe he has improvised a brig in a storage locker. You are lucky that you are not treated likewise. And now leave me. It is a shame that together with this dreadful space-sickness I must be burdened with the impudicities of my nephew.”
    “One last remark,” said Roger sternly. “She is not my paramour, she is my fiancée! And not for lack of trying either. But she has absolutely refused to let me more than kiss her cheek until we are married — which I hope will be soon. Put us off at Sirius Planet if you so choose, but spare me your hypocrisy; I have heard tales about you when you were fifty years younger, and if they’re true, Miss Roswyn’s stowing away is absolutely trivial.”
    “Get out of here, you impudent whelp,” exclaimed Dame Isabel, in the deep nasal hoarseness which signaled her most vehement feelings.
    Roger departed the cabin. Head hanging, he wandered down the passageway. Disowned! Disinherited! In disgrace! He sighed. What matter? Madoc Roswyn’s affection was ample recompense. He went to the bridge to confer with Captain Gondar and to his surprise found Madoc Roswyn sitting quietly on a bench. She looked up as he entered, then looked down at her hands. She seemed so helpless, so despairing, so forlorn, that Roger could barely restrain himself from running across the room to console her. But he turned to Captain Gondar, who in his dark uniform seemed more brooding and saturnine than ever. “I understand that my aunt has placed Miss Roswyn in your custody.”
    “That is correct, Mr. Wool.”
    “Will you allow me to have a few private words with her?”
    Captain Gondar’s reply came as something of a surprise to Roger: “Haven’t you done enough damage already?” And Roger saw that the long spare face was taut and angry. Then Gondar shrugged. “If Miss Roswyn is willing to talk with you, it’s certainly