Free The Kruton Interface by John Dechancie Page A

Speaking of which, I’m pretty bushed myself. I’ve traveled the length and breadth of this galaxy. The length was fine, but I’m here to tell you that the breadth was pretty bad,”
    Wanker looked about the bridge. “Did I walk into a night club?”
    “You look like you walked into a lamppost.”
    “Look, Dr. Strangefinger… I presume you are the famed Dr. Rufus T. Strangefinger?”
    “Famed? That’s a laugh. I’ve worked and I’ve slaved and look where it’s got me. I can’t get arrested. Except for last night. They nabbed me for frequenting a house of ill repute. I got off, though. Turned out I was on the wrong frequency.”
    “What does that have to do with anything?” Wanker demanded.
    “It will all be made clear in the fullness of time. You say you’re the captain of this garbage scow?”
    Wanker folded his arms imperiously. “I did.”
    “Well, you ought to be arrested,” Dr. Strangefinger said, jabbing the cigar at the captain. “On second thought, you ought to walk the plank. Or walk the dog.”
    “We don’t have a mascot,” Rhodes said.
    The cigar jabbed at the captain again. “You have him, don’t you? Somebody should take better care of him. You know how much a veterinarian charges these days? More than a lawyer. There ought to be a law about that. Have my lawyers call your lawyers. Then they can all call my stockbroker and well take a meeting and do lunch.”
    “See here—”
    “Or do a meeting and take our lunch. Or we could all stay home and have a nice home-cooked meal.” The stranger’s bushy eyebrows went up and down in a suggestive manner.
    Wanker was losing patience. “Are you or are you not Dr. Rufus T. Strangefinger?”
    “My name is legion. Matter of fact, when I was in the Foreign Legion, I had a number of names. One of them was ‘Filthy Pierre.’”
    “Are you or aren’t you Strangefinger?”
    “Suh, ah have been called many things in mah time,” the man said in an accent that was a burlesque of Mr. Rhodes’.”
    “Yes or no?”
    “Suh, it simply is not that simple. Suh.”
    “YES OR NO?” Wanker exploded.
    “Well, since you put it that way—yes.”
    Wanker exhaled. “Thank you. Now, just what the devil is this thing of yours, this new drive—what the hell was the name again?”
    “You’re being coy, sir. Coy, very coy.” The eyebrows wiggled again.
    “Look, Strangefinger, can we dispense with all this foolishness?”
    At a brisk pace, Strangefinger began a spot inspection of the bridge, shoulders hunched forward, cigar pointing the way. “I always try to keep dispenses down. Speaking of money, can you lend me a hundred credits till payday?”
    “Certainly not.”
    “Then can you spare a coin for a poor orphan?”  
    “You’re an orphan?
    “My father died before his time. The hangman showed up early. Hello, my dear.”  
    “Hello,” Darvona said with a smile.  
    “And you are dear to me, very dear.” Strangefinger sat in her lap.  
    “You’re very forward, sir.”
    “Well, I’ll go forward and you go aft, and ne’er the twain shall meet. Except in the wee hours, at the full of the moon, when the wolfbane blooms.”
    “Huh?”
    Strangefinger slid off and dropped to his knees. “Oh, can’t you see what I’m trying to say? I love you.”
    Darvona blushed.  
    “No, don’t say it. We’re from two different worlds. Your parents don’t approve of me. My dear, I’m afraid we’re doomed … doomed!’’  
    “No, we’re not.”
    “Sure we are. Got any hemlock?”  
    “You’d die for me?” Darvona asked.  
    “No, but I’m willing to get very ill.”
    Darvona suddenly shouted, “I LOVE YOU! TAKE ME NOW, NOW!” She dove on him.
    They tussled on the deck before Strangefinger got the upper hand and pinned her.
    “Boy, did I get a wrong number!” Strangefinger exclaimed.
    “You said ‘I love you’ to the wrong person,” Sven Svensen told him. “Here, I’ll hold her till she calms down.”
    “It’s all right, I’m