TEXT: JODY LYNN NYE - [The Ship Who Sang Series - 06] The Ship Errant
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  THE SHIP ERRANT
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  JODY LYNN NYE - [The Ship Who Sang Series - 06] The Ship Errant
  JODY LYNN NYE
  the ship who sang series - 06
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  JODY LYNN NYE - [The Ship Who Sang Series - 06] The Ship Errant
  EBook Design Group digital back-up edition v1 HTML
  December 7, 2002
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  JODY LYNN NYE - [The Ship Who Sang Series - 06] The Ship Errant
  Contents
  ^
  PREFACE
  CHAPTER 1
  CHAPTER 2
  CHAPTER 3
  CHAPTER 4
  CHAPTER 5
  CHAPTER 6
  CHAPTER 7
  CHAPTER 8
  CHAPTER 9
  CHAPTER 10
  CHAPTER 11
  CHAPTER 12
  CHAPTER 13
  CHAPTER 14
  CHAPTER 15
  CHAPTER 16
  CHAPTER 17
  CHAPTER 18
  CHAPTER 19
  CHAPTER 20
  CHAPTER 21
  POPULAR LIBRARY EDITION
  Copyright © 1996 by Jody Lynn Nye
  All rights reserved.
  Cover illustration by Steven Hickman
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  JODY LYNN NYE - [The Ship Who Sang Series - 06] The Ship Errant
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  JODY LYNN NYE - [The Ship Who Sang Series - 06] The Ship Errant
  To Val and Rick with love
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  JODY LYNN NYE - [The Ship Who Sang Series - 06] The Ship Errant
  PREFACE
  ^ »
  To: Dr. Sennet Maxwell-Corey 
  Inspector General
  Central Worlds Administration
  From: Commander Lavon Muller-Danes Alien Outreach Department
  A transmission has been received by this office from RNJ-599, known locally as 
  Ozran, requesting transportation of representatives of its government to its homeworld.
  I have before me your memo asking me to inform you if such an eventuality arose. 
  While the CK-963 brain/brawn team is, to say the least, unorthodox in its methods, it 
  is effective. Furthermore, they did discover the "globe-frogs," as they call the aliens, 
  and they speak the local language, which none of our other personnel do. Though the 
  CK-963 would not have been my personal choice to undertake this mission, I bow to 
  pressures from above that dictate we should not antagonize the Ozranians in any way, 
  lest that jeopardize future cooperation.
  Furthermore, the Ozranians have particularly requested that the same scoutship team 
  convey them to their homeworld. Unfortunately, due to discovery of the Ryxi species 
  a few months later, and the press of budget and time considerations since then, the 
  Ozran file was placed at the bottom of Alien Outreach's agenda. As a result, no 
  secondary contact team had been dispatched to the colony world to make further 
  contact with the amphibioid population as was originally planned. The Ozranians 
  prefer to deal only with humans who are familiar to them, and insist on Carialle and 
  Keff.
  I gave orders that the team be pulled from its current assignment. It was a routine 
  courier mission that did not specifically call for the talents of a brainship, and has been 
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  reassigned to another available crew:
  In reply to your insistence that we immediately remove CK-963 from the Ozran return 
  mission I am taking the opportunity to acquaint you with the details of the original 
  mission. In view of the outstanding success of the first contact, it is AODs opinion 
  that there is no apparent need to take this action. While I have reviewed the 
  voluminous file you forwarded, there is no event among the forty-six incidents listed 
  that would warrant an immediate recall of the brain/ brawn team. If at some future 
  date you produce evidence of instability on a level as to interfere with the mission, we 
  will then follow your recommendation and replace the CK-963 with the group of 
  experts now being assembled for the follow-up mission to Ozran. Those specialists 
  should be on the station designated SSS-900-C within a month. I have simplified the 
  technical material so as to make it understandable by the members of your department.
  AGO Mission CK-963 5458.89 OZ0001
  Initial observation two years ago of indigenous life an planet RNJ-599 revealed that 
  there were two, possibly three, species of tool-using beings resident there. All three 
  groups were soft-skinned, bilaterally symmetrical upright bipeds. Two of them, very 
  humanoid in appearance, had skin colors in the beige to dark-brown range. One group 
  of these appeared more intelligent and advanced than the others. Their manipulative 
  extremities had five digits, arranged as a humans would be, with four fingers and an 
  opposable thumb. They used a sophisticated system of power manipulation that was 
  so advanced in its technology that it could be used to make the user fly, teleport solid 
  objects, or even change the weather. The second species of humanoid bipeds had only 
  four digits on each manipulative extremity, and had hairy pelts. These beings served 
  as the first group's trainable workforce. The Ozran "mages and magesses" (gender 
  specific reference) had an extremely complex social hierarchy, and used without 
  comprehension the scientific technology they possessed.
  Because it was so easy to use by beings with a high level of telempathy, certain "mage
  (sse)s" were able to access an amulets power more readily than others, hence the 
  stratification of society. Because it was easier to use the conductor units than to 
  accomplish a task by hand, over time the humans pushed the gigantic generator almost 
  to destruction. By the time Keff and Carialle landed, the system was disintegrating 
  dangerously, and Ozran society was in a downward spiral.
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  The third species, observed only casually, was a race of much smaller bipeds with 
  skins in the green part of the spectrum. These lived a marginal existence in the meager 
  swamps and marshlands of the arid continents.
  Further observation revealed that both of the larger species were of the same race, and 
  not native to Ozran. In fact, they were human beings. The four-fingered hands of the 
  workforce were not the result of mutation, but mutilation. These mages and magesses 
  mutilated the others to prevent the system being used by anyone not considered to 
  belong to the intellectual elite.
  The servitors were kept tractable with the use of drugs by the five-fingered controllers.
  Upon investigation, the humans proved to be a colony of the Central Worlds, who had 
  landed on Ozran ten centuries ago. Ancient records of the initial overfly of the planet 
  showed it to be a plum for settlers, with a fortunate climate, arable land and potable 
  water, nitrox-mix atmosphere, suitably balanced gravity, moons to produce tides, and 
  generally non-toxic plant life. Over time, they entirely lost contact with the 
  Colonization Department. These humans had not invented the power system, but 
  rather had inherited it from a race that had temporarily inhabited the planet. It was this 
  unknown race of aliens that had stolen the power system from its inventors. They 
  passed it on to the human settlers, then died out without telling them its source.
  The contact team discovered that the creators of the fabulous power control system 
  turned out to be the small, green creatures (called by the scout team "globe-frogs"), 
  also found not to be native to Ozran. The humans had dismissed the globe-frogs as 
  mere swamp animals, failing to observe the signs of intelligence and civilization the 
  beings displayed. It took special intervention by the brainship team to restore the 
  technology to its inventors before the neglect of centuries caused a planetary 
  cataclysm. Access to the power conductor units was sharply restricted, although not 
  entirely removed from use by the mages and magesses. Before the team left they saw 
  the beginnings of an attempt to establish a system of government shared equally by 
  humans and globe-frogs.
  This amphibioid species, while not indigenous to Ozran, is of unusual interest to many 
  sections of the Central Worlds government, not the least of which is this one. Such 
  interest centers mainly around this scientific breakthrough reported by the initial 
  contact team: the device which makes possible the remote manipulation of matter. 
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  Empirical observation suggests that those humans who use it have inbred a tendency 
  toward telempathy which is necessary to operate the system. Science Research seems 
  to think that it is possible to develop a variation of the power amulet that will allow 
  anyone to make use of the Ozranian generators. As a result, we are all anxious to 
  cooperate in any way the Ozrans require, to retain access to this important scientific 
  breakthrough. Other departments that have requested more information are Science 
  Research, Linguistics, and Economic Development.
  The location of the Cridi (globe-frog) homeworld has been pinpointed as closely as 
  possible by Exploration's astronavigators. Assisted by Carialle, who also translated the 
  globe-frogs' extant charts, a program was designed to roll back celestial movement to 
  where the stars lay a thousand years ago, approximately the time the globe-frogs lost 
  touch with their homeworld. Two possibilities have emerged: two dwarf yellow stars 
  in binary combination. The CK-963 team is to try the nearer star first.
  We have complied as promptly as possible with the amphibioids' request for the CK-
  963 to escort them to their homeworld. Central Worlds Administration pictures the 
  globe-frogs as partners not only on the colony world of Ozran, but in the greater task 
  of exploring the universe at large. We regret that the preliminary diplomatic and fact-
  finding mission to the globe-frogs' homeworld of Cridi also failed to materialize, but it 
  is now too late either for regrets or a hasty dispatch of seasoned ambassadors. We are 
  having to settle for Carialle and Keff going in cold.
  I would like to assure you that both Carialle and Keff have been thoroughly briefed on 
  the importance of this assignment, and have been cautioned under penalty to keep the 
  contact on an absolutely professional level.
  I again thank you for your interest in this department's function, and suggest that since 
  we have come to terms with the immutable situation you should do so as well. I feel it 
  is unwise to anticipate failure.
  Sincerely,
  Lavon Muller-Danes, Commander Alien Outreach
  En Route to the Cridi System
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  JODY LYNN NYE - [The Ship Who Sang Series - 06] The Ship Errant
  CHAPTER 1
  « ^ »
  "What say you, good Sir Frog?" Keff asked, peering over the head of the small, 
  green, bipedal amphibioid at the pieces of the three-dimensional puzzle spinning in 
  midair at the entrance of the great hall of Castle Aaargh. The green being glanced up 
  at him. He gestured toward the conundrum then flicked the tip of his unnaturally long 
  forefinger against his knobby temple.
  "Not difficult," Tall Eyebrow signed. Swiftly, he pointed from one piece to another, 
  indicating which edges fit against one another. As he made each match, the pieces 
  flew together until there was only one object spinning before them. Keff studied it.
  "The Mask of Mulhavey," he said, awed.
  "What is this Mask of Mulhavey?" the globe-frog asked, combining sign language 
  with the unfamiliar Standard words voiced in the high-pitched peep of his kind. "Is 
  this an important artifact in your culture?"
  "Just a pretend artifact, TE," Keff said, as a quick aside. "Carialle made it up for the 
  game. Stay with it."
  "Ah, make-believe." Tall Eyebrow nodded, and threw a self-deprecating gesture 
  toward his host. "Forgive me. I forget this is but Myths and Legends." His signs grew 
  more theatrical, in imitation of the human male. "What does this mean?"
  "I know not, my lord," Keff said, replying in both frog sign language and Standard. 
  "Perhaps if we looked through the eyeholes we would see a wonder."
  "He's altogether too good at theoretical and combination spatial relations," Carialle 
  said over the central room speaker as the two "adventurers" bent to see through the 
  apertures of her creation. They made a curious picture. The man, of medium height for 
  a human, had a broad chest, muscular arms and legs. He was dressed in a garment that 
  reached to mid-thigh, not unlike a medieval tunic, over trousers and boots. His usual 
  gentle countenance wore a watchful, inquiring scowl. Around his waist, a sword belt 
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  held a glow-tipped epee ready to hand. His companion stood less than a meter high, 
  had shiny green skin, a short, narrow body and beady black eyes. His hands and feet 
  were almost as large as those of the human beside him, the fingers of almost equal 
  length to one another. He wore a beret, a short cape, and a belt around his small 
  middle, its buckle a large, gold boss with five indentations in it that looked made for 
  the fingertips to slide into.
  "Better than I am, my lady," Keff laughed, shaking his head. "I give up, TE. You tell 
  me what you think we need to do with it."
  The game they were playing was Myths and Legends. Among the grounders, who 
  occupied the safe and settled planets, it was a children's game. Keff had learned it in 
  primary school, and had introduced it to his brain partner, Carialle, as a means of 
  occupying the infinitely long intervals of space travel. To Keff it gave life a certain 
  special meaning, to accomplish points of honor, to lay successes at the feet of his 
  Lady Fair. He was a born knight errant. His private aim, ever since he had been a 
  child, had been to do good, a goal that had gotten him into more than a few 
  playground fights with schoolmates who lacked his natural devotion to the greater 
  concept of truth. To Carialle, it provided an outlet for the creative bent that was so 
  often lacking in the technical jobs given to shellpeople, even brainships. And it was 
  fun. Over time, it had simply worked its way into their everyday lifestyle, to the 
  despair of the Exploration arm of Central Worlds. To Exploration and Alien Outreach, 
  Keffs globe-frog playmate was Tall Eyebrow, ambassador and representative from a 
  shared colony world known to the humans who lived there as Ozran. To the knight 
  and his lady, he was also occasionally the Frog Prince.
  Tall Eyebrow gestured to Keff to look through the eyeholes. Carialle was amused 
  when her brawn had to crouch down on the floor to put his head at the same level as 
  the globe-frog's.
  "It should have taken longer for him to solve that jigsaw," she said. "I'm going to have 
  to make the puzzles harder. These little chappies have surprisingly deep minds. I am 
  continually having to reevaluate my judgement of their ability to learn."
  "Well, you've already surpassed my understanding, Cari," Keff said cheerfully, rising 
  from his haunches with his hands on his thighs. He turned toward the titanium pillar 
  that contained and protected her physical body, and winked. The two years that had 
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  passed since they had first met the globe-frogs had lightened a few more hairs on his 
  curly head, and possibly slowed down his reactions by milliseconds, but hadn't taken a 
  whit off his boundless good nature or enthusiasm. His muscle tone continued to be 
  excellent, Carialle was pleased to note, and the bright blue eyes in his mild, bull-like 
  face were clear and alert. Respiration and pulse, up a little, but that had to do with 
  excitement over the game rather than exertion. He stretched his arms out and rotated 
  his broad torso from side to side to ease his back. "Actually, I'm enjoying being TE's 
  sidekick, if I allow the truth to be known. After adventuring on my own for so many 
  years, a change is nice."
  "I, too, am enjoying it," Tall Eyebrow signed quickly. "Too much reality for so long, 
  to strive without fear is high fun."
  Keff grinned. "Well, that's why we do it — Yoicks!"
  Carialle had chosen that moment to activate the next peril in the ongoing game. The 
  human jumped back as the holographic "stone wall" beside them slid back to reveal 
  four villains, armed with chains and machetes. He felt for the light-tipped sword at his 
  side, and was soon engaged in healthy battle with his computer-generated adversaries.
  The enemy was only a holograph, but Carialle made them look utterly real, using a 
  combination of projective cameras like the ones that drove her navigation screentank. 
  The setting, complete with cobwebs and rats, could have been any pre-industrial 
  village, instead of the cabin of a sophisticated starship. The brain behind it was as 
  clever as the swordplay of the villain facing him.
  Completely into his part once again, Keff slashed his blade overhand and thwacked 
  the scarred villain in the arm. The man dropped his guard, giving Keff a chance to 
  fling himself forward with a thrust to quarte. The glowing cursor went home, and the 
  villain collapsed to the floor with a wail. Keff threw back his head with a feral laugh. 
  "Come on! Who's next? Together we cannot be beaten!" Another adversary stepped 
  forward over the body of his fallen chief, saber flashing in the candlelight.
  The globe-frog emitted an alarmed squeak. "What are those?" he signed, pointing at 
  the sparks, like fireflies, that poured out of the dark hall after the human villains.
  "Some foul, unknown peril," Keff called over his shoulder, not taking time to sign. 
  "Catch them!"
  The sparks flitted all over the room. Keff ducked a squadron of the small glows, then 
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  skillfully parried a chop from one of the hoods wielding a machete.
  The globe-frog took a moment, translating Standard human language to his own, then 
  his small brow rose in comprehension. He bounded up to clap his hand against the 
  wall next to Keffs head, trapping a "firefly."
  "That's one," Carialle said. "Fifteen to go."
  "You're letting them get away!" Keff cried. He was cornered between two of the foe, 
  who stood tossing their weapons from hand to hand. One of them feinted, and Keff 
  parried, sweating. Tall Eyebrow ran toward another elusive spark.
  "I will assist!" cried Small Spot. He was the more impetuous of the two aides who had 
  accompanied Tall Eyebrow from Ozran. Small Spot, in spite of his diminutive 
  sounding name, was large, as the amphibioids went. The "spot" was a lighter greenish 
  patch in the center of his forehead. Unlike most of his species, his hide had a smooth 
  color all over but for that. He sprang up from where he had been sitting on Keffs 
  weight bench to aid his prince. The fingers of one hand slid into the five long grooves 
  of his power amulet, and he rose five meters in the air to capture a "firefly" that had 
  slipped Tall Eyebrow's grasp.
  He floated down from the ceiling, looking sheepishly at his empty palm. He glanced 
  up at the others shyly.
  "I forget, there is nothing there to touch."
  His companion, Long Hand, an older and more cautious female, perched out of the 
  way of the action on the console, emitting the high-pitched creaking that meant one of 
  their species was laughing. Small Spot returned to his place, skinny knees bent to 
  show embarrassment.
  "I do not understand human games," he admitted, small face set in a self-deprecatory 
  grimace. "It is one more cultural oddity to which we must adapt."
  "Relax, Small Spot," Carialle said. She made the image of a globe-frog appear on the 
  wall at their level, and addressed him in sign. "There's no disgrace in being fooled by 
  a good illusion. One of my better ones, I must say."
  "She… gets… better… all the time," Keff panted, dancing away from an enemy 
  whose skill matched his own.
  "I had not been observing properly," Small Spot said.
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  In shame, he flapped one of his big flat hands away from his face, not looking at her 
  simulacrum. To distract him, Carialle showed him a different hologram, a piece of 
  technological schematic she had adapted from her observation of the Core of Ozran, 
  the gigantic power complex that supplied the amphibioids' amulets. The mechanism 
  connected each user to the Core by means of high frequency transmission. For the 
  journey to the globe-frogs' homeworld, Carialle had installed a similar but much 
  smaller system to serve their needs while they were aboard. Their delicate skins 
  needed to be kept moist. With the amulets they could maintain an electrostatic charge 
  that clothed them with a film of water all over except the palms of their hands and the 
  soles of their feet. It put a tremendous strain on her engines, but she and Keff felt it 
  was necessary to allow them to have freedom of movement and so not everything on 
  this ground-breaking trip would be strange. It was enough that they were the first of 
  their kind to leave their planet for the first time in a thousand years. Carialle felt it was 
  her duty to put the nervous amphibioids at their ease.
  "Maybe you can help me," she said to Small Spot. "I felt another odd surge, another 
  sonic feedback, when you used your amulet just now. If I've adjusted the receptors 
  correctly you should be able to draw power from my engines without this much signal 
  noise. I think the problem comes from here." A portion of the diagram enlarged, 
  bulging out from the rest as if under a magnifying glass.
  "Let me see," Small Spot signed, gesturing it closer, clearly grateful for the chance to 
  save face. Long Hand bounded down from the console with leggy grace, and trotted 
  over to help. In no time at all, the two were signing away energetically over the faulty 
  circuit diagram. At the other end of the room, Keff and Tall Eyebrow had moved on to 
  the next part of the game, where they had to figure out the mystery that the Mask of 
  Mulhavey was concealing, in spite of other pretend perils that occasionally distracted 
  them. Tall Eyebrow grinned as Carialle responded to his questions, showing some of 
  the hidden map and key as he answered each one correctly. Though make-believe was 
  an unfamiliar concept to his species, Tall Eyebrow was embracing it as if he'd been 
  brought up to it. In fact, the small aliens had adapted with remarkable speed to space 
  travel, too.
  The amphibioids, whom Keff and Carialle had dubbed "globe-frogs," for their mode 
  of transportation (clear plastic bubbles partly filled with water) and their resemblance 
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  to Earth amphibians, had a very flexible outlook indeed. To ascend as they had from a 
  marginal, swamp-bound existence where computer technology and particle science 
  were taught in theory on clay tablets for lack of equipment in the lonely dream that 
  one day they'd be able to use their handed-down education, to an equal partnership 
  with technically capable but theoretically ignorant humans was a certifiable miracle. 
  To then bring their shared planet forward centuries in only two Standard years was a 
  more than respectable achievement. A human autocracy had been replaced by a 
  republic governed by representatives of both races, human and globe-frog. When 
  conditions had improved to a point where Tall Eyebrow and his conclave decided that 
  the combined society would prosper without constant supervision, they sent a message 
  to the Central Worlds, and asked for transportation to their native planet, Cridi, 
  particularly requesting the CK-963 as their escort.
  The team had been called home with a message coded urgent. They were briefed and 
  rebriefed and re-rebriefed as to what to say and how to behave to the homeworld 
  amphibioids. Carialle knew they weren't Alien Outreach Department's favorite team. 
  The upper brass considered them too odd, too idiosyncratic to be good representatives 
  of humanity and the Central Worlds. Still, it had been the CK-963, and not a more 
  traditional team, that had discovered and reinstated the globe-frogs, and it was the CK-
  963 who must convey the visiting party from Ozran to Cridi. Carialle preferred to call 
  their peculiarity "imagination" rather than "idiosyncracy," but looking at it from the 
  perspective of people who ate pureed mush of unreconstructed proteins and carbs for 
  lunch lest they be troubled by form, color, and texture, she supposed she and Keff 
  must be as strange as… well, another alien race.
  Several departments of CW had carefully examined all the tapes Keff and Carialle had 
  made, and they wanted the power control technology. The team had warned that a 
  high level of telepathic ability was necessary to operate it, and that unlimited use was 
  destructive to the environment, but all the brass could see was effortless, remote 
  manipulation of solid objects. Credit balances of high digits followed by endless 
  zeroes danced before their eyes. Whatever obstacles needed to be overcome would be 
  examined after the power control system was in their hands. Surely the Central 
  Worlds had much they could offer in exchange. Carialle and Keff were to bend over 
  backward and whistle if that was what was needed to ensure diplomatic ties with this 
  fully mature, space-ready race of intelligent beings. Nothing must come between 
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  humanity and the Cridi, and the Cridi's wonderful scientific advances. The diplomatic 
  arm warned the team to behave themselves, and put dozens of strictures upon them, 
  punishable by fines and penalties too horrible to name. The brass weren't going to be 
  best pleased that the "Odd Couple" had polluted the minds of the visiting party of 
  frogs, teaching them their fantasy game to while away the long voyages. The slack cut 
  for the CK-963 because of their big discovery would only go so far. Silly folderol 
  would not be tolerated.
  Carialle didn't care, and she knew Keff didn't, either. All they wanted was the 
  opportunity to revisit Ozran, and they got it. They had been amazed at the difference 
  after only a two-year absence. The almost-desert world of Ozran had become lush. 
  Verdant cropland burgeoned, thousands of young trees sprouted, and the skies rained, 
  rained, rained. Keff had found it dreary, but all Ozrans, shades of green and brown 
  alike, stared up at the gray thunderclouds with expressions of bliss. It all depended 
  upon your outlook, Carialle thought.
  Tall Eyebrow had succeeded in trapping all the dragonflies, and Keff was out of 
  swordsmen to kill, so Carialle slowly shifted the holographic view forward, engulfing 
  them in the darkness of "the great hall."
  "Great suns, the lights are disappearing," Keff complained. Worried cheeps erupted 
  from the two globe-frogs at the far side of the cabin, whose sole light source now was 
  the hovering circuit diagram.
  "Mulhavey," a tiny voice peeped.
  Carialle smiled to herself. Tall Eyebrow had amazing powers of observation. On 
  infrared, she watched his skinny form lope towards the spinning mask. He bent to look 
  through it. It allowed you to see in the dark. He followed the floating hologram, 
  grabbing Keff on the way, to three doors concealed behind a tapestry at the end of the 
  room.
  "Bend down," TE chirped in Standard, since his sign language was useless in the dark. 
  He prodded Keff to look through the eyeholes at the three doors. They started a low 
  discussion about which door to choose. Carialle left them to it, and made a crosscheck 
  of her systems, and took a look at the long-range monitors. Hmm, number three 
  engine was running a trifle too hot. She damped down the carburetion filter until all 
  five engines were running in harmony.
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  Tall Eyebrow and his people had been out of touch with their homeworld, ever since 
  the advent of the second alien race. Carialle reviewed the combination sign the Ozran 
  globe-frogs had for these others, one hand with two ringers pointed downward like 
  legs, but with the knees facing backward, and the other stretching the eyelids of one 
  eye wide. No verbal name existed. The Crook-knees learned how the power system 
  worked, commandeered all the power units in one single lightning grab, then moved 
  their population base into the mountains, far out of reach of the Cridi. Without their 
  devices, the globe-frogs were helpless. They couldn't range far from water, and had 
  grown too dependent upon using the amulets to know how to survive without them. 
  But a thousand years of subsistence living had taught them everything there was to 
  know about making use of natural resources. Vulnerable to every hazard and large 
  animal on the planet, sensitive to the atmosphere, and deprived of even basic luxuries 
  they were forced to use the only resource left to them: their intellect. They lived 
  virtually without waste, made use of all available resources, and appreciated every 
  benefit that came their way. Carialle thought that such an admirable attitude would be 
  a better import for the Central Worlds than the amulets.
  The adventurers in her cabin passed through the correct doorway, and found 
  themselves in a torchlit corridor, which in normal use was the passageway that led to 
  Keffs quarters, the spare cabin, and the lift down to the storage bay. TE, letting the 
  mask hologram float off, put his hand up flat to his face with the three middle fingers 
  bunched together, and the long pinkie and almost equally long thumb slightly apart 
  from the others so his round black eyes could peep through. It was his symbol for 
  Carialle, "the One Who Watches From Behind the Wall."
  "Yes?" Carialle asked at once.
  "We have succeeded to the next stage. Food and water now?" the globe-frog asked, 
  his small face plaintive.
  "How thoughtless of me! Keff, you can go on for days without sustenance, and I have 
  my own feeding systems, of course. Certainly, TE!" To keep within the context of the 
  game, she had a floating globe appear that led the two adventurers toward the food 
  synthesizer at the end of the cabin near the weight bench and the other two globe-
  frogs.
  "I'd have just left the castle and gone to find a pub," Keff said apologetically. "Sorry, 
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  TE. You're not familiar with the conventions."
  The hatch opened to disgorge in succession a bowl of succulent marsh greens, a glass 
  of water, a glass of beer, some amorphous proteins shaped like Ozran grubs, and a 
  plate containing one of Keffs favorite set lunches. Traveling with the globe-frogs was 
  good not only for Keff, but for her as well. She had a chance to stretch her 
  synthesizers repertoire.
  "There is not a strong enough resistor here," Small Spot said, pointing to the 
  schematic. Carialle, distracted from her musings, noted his correction, tested it, found 
  it good, and directed her internal mechanisms to make the adjustment.
  "All right, try floating again," she instructed Small Spot. Obediently, the amphibioid 
  put his fingertips into the niches on his amulet and took to the air.
  But monitoring the game, meals, and the schematic took only a small portion of 
  Carialle's attention. She had an oil painting in process, a globe-frog paddling its way 
  across the dusty fields of Ozran, the way they were when she and Keff had first seen 
  them, two years earlier. The canvas was meant to be a gift to the new joint 
  government, to remind them of what they had left behind them. Her custom painting 
  equipment took up as much space at one end of the cabin as Keffs exerciser did at the 
  other. Critically, she examined each pixel she had done so far of the special 
  microfiber-cell canvas, and with the greatest of care, flooded ten more cells of the 
  thin, porous surface with medium green, and five with dark green, creating a minute 
  stripe and highlight along a globe-frog's back. The result looked like a brush-stroke 
  with a very fine sable brush, exactly as she wanted it to. She ought to be finished with 
  the painting by the time they returned to Ozran. Carialle also gave her own hardware a 
  good going over, to make certain the boffins in the repair bay at SSS-900-C, the last 
  space station they had visited, hadn't left any screws untightened when they had 
  examined her innards to install a ton of new memory. It appeared nothing had shaken 
  loose since her last diagnostic. Their friend Simeon, the shellperson station manager, 
  ran a tight ship. But Carialle liked to look after her own innards. It was a wonder that 
  the human race hadn't met the amphibioid race at least in passing. The coordinates that 
  TE had given Carialle for his homeworld weren't far from P-sector, where Carialle 
  herself had traveled many years before. Had no bored scientist with a radio-digital 
  telescope ever swung it toward that system and picked up the traces of RF 
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  transmission? There could be a thousand explanations for failing to spot Cridi, but the 
  result was, Carialle thought smugly, that she and Keff would be the first to meet the 
  frogs, and the credit would be all theirs. Score two for the screwball crew, Carialle 
  thought, her attention passing lightly over a cluster of unused memory cells. Alien 
  Outreach didn't want a byte of possibly useful information about humankind's newest 
  neighbor sacrificed for lack of space. They'd loaded her with new chips and 
  controllers along every available circuit. Carialle felt that if she coughed she would 
  rattle.
  She scanned space around her. P-sector had only begun to be opened up in the last 
  thirty years or so by exploration teams. It contained numerous spatial anomalies that 
  frightened commercial shippers as much as it intrigued them as to what salable 
  wonders might lie upon some of those as yet undiscovered planets circling the only 
  just charted stars. When she herself had visited part of P-sector years ago, it was in the 
  course of an investigation, with her first brawn, Fanine Takajima-Morrow, the mission 
  had ended disastrously. A bomb planted by saboteurs in Carialle's fuel tank exploded, 
  killing Fanine Takajima-Morrow, and leaving Carialle floating derelict, to wait weeks 
  for rescue. She had survived, only narrowly avoiding the madness that haunts sensory 
  deprivation.
  It was right near here, in fact. Something long buried in her memory nudged her that 
  she was passing within a few hundred thousand klicks of the exact spot. She did not 
  even need to check the coordinates to know that that was true — how could she not 
  have taken that into her calculations when she was planning the course to the Cridi 
  system? Her thought processes must have been taken up with other things.
  Still, her navigation program must have observed details about their route. 
  Undoubtedly, her subconscious had told her she had old business to deal with, and 
  steered her this way. Keff would have warned her to avoid the spot, if he had known. 
  Bad luck, or some other softshell notion. But she wasn't superstitious — shellpeople 
  weren't. Luck had little bearing on their situations. Considerable thought went into 
  every facet of their lives, from prenatal survival to the last hookup in their shells. 
  Carialle's own disability had been diagnosed while she was still in her mother's womb, 
  and she had been enshelled at once to save her life. So why did she feel, as they said 
  in the old saw Keff had once dug up in his linguistical research, as if a goose had 
  walked over her grave? Could there be leftover psychic vibration in a place where a 
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  trauma had occurred? That had to be a myth, and yet she began to experience the 
  anxieties she had suffered when she was marooned here. These — yes, these were the 
  last stars she had seen before the bomb in her fuel tank exploded, destroying her first 
  ship and killing Fanine. Adrenaline surged through her system. Frozen, Carialle felt 
  panic rise, not stopping it as it turned her nerves to barbed wire. It could happen again! 
  Frantically, she ran a safety check on the fuel mix in her tanks, measuring carbon 
  levels, looking for the telltales that might indicate the presence of foreign substances.
  "Cari!"
  A millisecond passed before she recognized the voice, and responded.
  "Keff?"
  "Cari, what happened? The game holos are gone. Why did you fire off a message 
  probe? What's wrong?"
  That question brought her immediately back to the present. The cabin had indeed lost 
  its veneer of medieval neglect. Keff and Tall Eyebrow stood in the center of the plain, 
  enamel-painted room looking incongruous in tunics and swordbelts. Keff stared at her 
  pillar.
  "Are you all right?"
  "What message probe?" she demanded, then checked her own telemetry. Sure enough, 
  one of her small emergency rockets was streaking away into endless night, following a 
  vector that would take it toward their last point of contact with the Central Worlds. 
  Carialle searched the chips which supplied her with hard drive storage, found nothing, 
  and extended the search to her other components.
  "I didn't do that on purpose," Carialle said, crossly. "It must have been a malfunction 
  caused by a bad connection. Darn it, and I was certain they'd checked everything in 
  dry-dock!" Frantically she traced the circuits leading back from the controller in the 
  rocket port.
  "No, wait… Somebody planted a post-hypnotic suggestion on me."
  Keff shook his head. "You can't be hypnotized, Cari."
  "It's the shellperson equivalent," Carialle said, her voice becoming crisp and cold. 
  "Programming has been inserted into my circuits to respond to certain stimuli under 
  certain very precise conditions, with the result you have just observed. There are 
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  microfilaments inserted into my nutrient storage tanks. They are probably there to 
  monitor unusual demand for brain chemicals and carbos in a combination that 
  approximates paranoid hysteria with pseudo-psychotic overtones, a condition that I 
  admit I submitted to momentarily just now."
  "Who?" Keff asked, his face setting into a grim mask.
  "Who do you think?" Carialle countered. "Who's been trying to Section-Eight me for 
  the last twenty years? Who thinks I'm a flying emotional time bomb who should be 
  relegated to controlling traffic on a Central Worlds ground station? Maxwell-Corey, of 
  course. That afterburning, fardling collection of random neural firings Inspector 
  General!"
  "Are you sure?" Keff asked.
  "Who else would Rube-Goldberg me without my knowledge?" Her blood pressure 
  rose, so she adjusted slightly her intake of saline and gave herself five micro-grams of 
  a mood leveler. The panic attack had left behind its debris of epinephrines and excess 
  gastric acids that were fast disappearing down the blood-cleansing apparatus. "He 
  doesn't trust me. He never has."
  "This is harassment," Keff said, all his protective tendencies coming out at once. "We 
  should report it to SPRIM and MM." SPRIM was the Society for the Protection of the 
  Rights of Intelligent Minorities, and MM, Mutant Minorities, two agencies that spoke 
  up on behalf of shellpeople who ran into difficulties with unshelled bureaucracy. Dr. 
  Sennet Maxwell-Corey, a psychiatrist by training and a nuisance by avocation, was a 
  particular bugbear to both of them, but he had a special animus toward Carialle. He 
  had never been convinced she had recovered from being marooned. The fact that she 
  and Keff took a lighthearted view toward the naming of the indigenous species they 
  encountered on their missions for Exploration, and their devotion to playing Myths 
  and Legends, made her sanity all the more suspect to the unimaginative bureaucrat.
  "I am composing something scathing right now," Carialle said, "while I destroy the 
  implant with extreme prejudice." Her self-repair facilities, micromachines of various 
  designs, crawled along the electronic neural extenders and yanked the filaments out of 
  her tanks and filled in the drillmarks. Others traced down the filaments to the control 
  boxes carefully hidden in deadware like the bottom of her waste tanks.
  "Don't send the message without my input," Keff insisted. He got up from his chair 
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  and paced back and forth in front of her pillar. "I have something to say about 
  imperiling my partner's well-being. And I want to tell them just what I think of his big-
  brotherism." He smacked one fist into the other palm. Tall Eyebrow and the other two 
  globe-frogs jumped away from him. He was sorry to frighten them, but he was 
  unspeakably angry.
  "Why did it happen?" he asked, stopping short and looking up into her nearest camera 
  eye.
  "We're in P-sector," Carialle said flatly.
  Keffs eyes went wide. He knew all about her history, and always had been extremely 
  supportive in helping her heal from her traumatic experience. "Are we… there?"
  "Yes."
  Keff noticed the emergency lights on the console board, and went to shut off the 
  alarms. "Are you all right now?"
  "Yes." Carialle's voice was thin with anger. "Damn him! I passed my last six psych 
  tests, two of them — two! — since our trip to Ozran. I feel violated. There's a message 
  box in my memory, with all kinds of circumventions to make certain I couldn't detect 
  it. Planted among the microdiodes at the same time as the uninitialized chips. 
  Nowhere near the new stuff, which the wily bastard knew would be the first things I'd 
  suspect. It's a custom job, too…"
  Keff interrupted. "But why would you have reacted like that? Why would you have set 
  it off at all?"
  "I know every inch of this parsec," Carialle said unhappily. "I spent an eternity here, 
  Keff. Not that far from here is where my fuel tanks blew up. There." A holoview of 
  the sector appeared, with their path indicated in blue. A red X blossomed at a distance 
  from their present location and floated toward them, crossing the blue line and passing 
  toward a cluster of stars to their starboard stern. She squared up their current location 
  on the tank, and Keff looked at it solemnly. "I was disabled here for weeks. And just 
  for a moment, I was reliving that experience. I was counting, counting the seconds to 
  keep from going insane. Then I remember feeling those footsteps on my hull, feeling 
  those hands dismembering my components, stripping what they must have thought 
  was a wreck, and hearing myself screaming. "Who are you?'" she wailed.
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  Keff shuddered and covered his ears. "But it's been almost twenty years, Cari."
  "You know what my memory is capable of. The sensation is as clear and intense as if 
  it was just this minute for me! I was desperately afraid those unknowns would break 
  open my shell and leave me to die in space. I was helpless! It affected me so deeply 
  that no matter how well I think I am, subconsciously I have never gotten over it. I 
  never found out who was performing salvage on my skin. The headshrinkers still don't 
  believe that there was anyone there. M-C still must think I had a psychotic episode, 
  dreamed the whole thing. That's why he's has been dogging me all these years. He's 
  been so sure I would flip out. And he made doubly sure I would launch a message 
  probe to him if ever I did, so he could drag me out of my ship and lock me in a padded 
  room. I wonder what else is buried in there," she added bitterly.
  "Nothing," Keff said, firmly. "He's not that imaginative. There won't even be a backup 
  mechanism in case that failed. Look, Lady Fair." Sheathing his light sword, he stepped 
  forward to plant both palms earnestly on her pillar. He looked up at the nearest camera 
  eye. "When this is over, we'll find an independent, trustworthy memory doctor and 
  have you scoped for other intruders. I'll stay there the whole time, if you want. I 
  promise."
  "I thank you for your courtesy, good Sir Knight."
  The lady's face appeared and smiled at him, but the image wavered slightly. Carialle's 
  heart wasn't in it. Keff's insides twisted with sympathy.
  "We'll find those bastards one day," he promised her.
  "Game is ended?" Tall Eyebrow piped up from behind him. "Enjoy games. 
  Interruptedness?" The little alien stood in the passage opening, looking disappointed. 
  Keff gave his forgotten playmate a rueful grin.
  "Sorry, TE," Keff said. He moved away from the pillar, but kept an eye on it, wishing 
  there was something he could do for her.
  "I apologize," Carialle said contritely. "I didn't mean to let everything drop. Computer 
  malfunction. Minor. It won't happen again." In a moment, the castle corridor rose 
  around Keff again, and a three-dimensional letter puzzle appeared between them. Tall 
  Eyebrow happily waddled over to it. As he moved his finger through the image of 
  each two- or three-letter piece, it enunciated its sound. Some of them were syllables, 
  and some were just noises, thrown in by Carialle for fun. With a delighted chuckle, the 
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  globe-frog began to construct Standard words out of the assorted noises, touching 
  them again and again.
  "Ook." "Hind." "Honk!" "Eeuu." "Be." "Aaa-OOO-ga!" "Be." "Loo." "Ding!" "Ook." 
  "Loo-ook," emerged from the audible babble as Tall Eyebrow found a match. Keff 
  grinned.
  "When all this is over, let's go find the parasites who were hacking you up, Cari," Keff 
  said, making use of the sublingual implant in his jaw so the others couldn't hear him. 
  "What with the bonuses from Ozran still in the bank, and the booty from this trip, we 
  can afford to take even a year off."
  "I hope the answers are still there to find," Carialle said in his aural implant.
  "Look-be-hind-you," Tall Eyebrow spelled out aloud. "Look behind you," he signed 
  suddenly to Keff. He spun in a circle, clutching his amulet in his long fingers.
  "He's good," Carialle said. 'Twenty-eight seconds, and it's not his native language."
  More villains began to pour into the newly reconstructed great hall. Some were 
  humans, brandishing weapons at Keff. Some were waist-high foes, snarling as they 
  sought to surround Tall Eyebrow. Keff drew his sword, then hesitated, blade in 
  midair. TE stood, gazing curiously at Keff, wondering why the man wasn't charging. 
  The brawn looked at him, feeling as if he had seen them just now for the first time.
  "I just had a horrible thought," Keff said, subvocally to Carialle. "What if it was TE's 
  people, the Cridi, who were the ones stealing your components?"
  "Don't think it hasn't occurred to me," Carialle said, her voice crisp in his ear. "I hope 
  not. I'm going to be watching them like a bank guard every minute. But I so hope not."
  "I hope not, too. I wouldn't be able to behave the same towards them if they almost 
  killed you, inadvertently or not."
  "I refuse to theorize in advance of the facts, as someone once said," Carialle stated 
  firmly. "Right now the important thing is to get TE and his party safely to Cridi. When 
  this is over, we'll go and find out the truth."
  "When you will and where you will, my lady," Keff said, swallowing his concern. His 
  partner was under control again. If he pushed for more details he might risk making 
  her relive her ordeal. He raised his sword before his face in salute and, with a gallant 
  bow toward her holographic image, charged into the fray.
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  "Well, come on, TE!" he shouted at the surprised globe-frog. "You're on the threshold 
  of your first big battle. Hop to it!"
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  CHAPTER 2
  « ^ »
  A few days later, Carialle interrupted the game and darkened the room to fill all the 
  walls with views from her external sensors. The bright yellow-white, blue-white, and 
  dull red dots of stars glimmered into view. Subtly, a white grid of low intensity 
  divided the blackness into cubes.
  "Gentleman and amphibians," she announced brightly. "Best visuals coming up. You 
  see overhead on Y-vector the border between Sectors P and R. Imaginary, of course, 
  visible only on benchmarking programs, but enhanced for your viewing pleasure. 
  Beside us to starboard is a pentary of five stars known to Central Worlds as The Ring, 
  a source of infernal radio interference to all space travelers hereabout. Below and to 
  port, other constellations, brought in at treeemendous expense to the management. No 
  shoving, please move along in an orderly fashion. And the entity ahead of us, frogs 
  and sir, is star PLE-329-JK5, half of a binary otherwise known as your home system. 
  And there, in that spot," she highlighted a single, dim yellow dot, two-thirds of the 
  way around the ecliptic from them, "is your first real view of the planet Cridi. 
  Welcome home, my friends."
  "Hallelu!" Keff carolled, picking up datasheets and throwing them in the air.
  Tall Eyebrow and Long Hand did a joyous dance together in midair around Keffs 
  head. Small Spot bounded lightly from weight bench to wall to console and to 
  Carialle's rack of paintings and back again, narrowly missing everyone else. They 
  were all laughing in their shrill voices.
  "How long until we make planetfall, Cari?" Keff called. He couldn't force himself to 
  stop grinning. The corners of his mouth stayed glued up near his ears. He slapped his 
  small friends on the back and shook their hands.
  "A while yet," Carialle said. "I'm dumping velocity so I can drop into orbit at under 
  1,000 kilometers per hour. In the meantime, take a good look, folks. We made it."
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  The globe-frogs peeped and chirped to one another in high excitement, gesturing 
  frantically at the holographic display.
  "It is different from Ozran," Long Hand signed. "Orbit much wider. Cold?"
  "Not recorded. We shall cope," Small Spot said. "See how warm the sun is! How 
  lovely gold red."
  "Who shall we meet?"
  "Who indeed?"
  Tall Eyebrow looked up at Keff in despair.
  "What shall we say to one another? How different will we be from them?" he signed. 
  "How will we interact?"
  "Well," Carialle said, thoughtfully, "you've had a very small and limited gene pool to 
  work with for ten centuries. I wouldn't be surprised if there hasn't been the beginnings 
  of genetic shift, but it's unlikely to make any real difference. At worst you might need 
  artificial assistance to interbreed with the majority population. We could offer Central 
  Worlds' expertise in that department. Our scientists have no trouble fitting tab A into 
  slot B, particularly with our knowledge of the confluent species that resembles yours 
  in our biosphere. On the other hand, if you're just worried about your past experiences 
  differing, I'd suggest you just be yourselves. They won't be expecting identical lines of 
  development."
  "Carialle!" Keff said in exasperation. Once a scientist, always a scientist. He turned to 
  the aliens. "They'll just be glad to see you, TE."
  "I do not know," Tall Eyebrow said, seeming dazed, staring at the tank. "It was not 
  real until now."
  "Well, it certainly is real," Keff said. He spotted an artifact ahead of them in the 
  holoview. Its surface was too smooth to be natural. "What's that, Can? Tracking 
  stations? Signal beacon?"
  "A little of each, I'd say. I'm getting a scan from it. Lots of subspace transmissions. I 
  am recording them and attempting to translate."
  "Feed it to me when you get something, please."
  Keff sat down in the crash seat before the console and stared at the screen. He 
  drummed his fingers on the console and tapped his toes in anticipation, feeling 
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  perfectly happy. This was a bonus, on top of the payoff for finding the civilizations on 
  Ozran. To be able to observe an anthropological phenomenon heretofore unknown in 
  human history: the first meeting of two different groups of the same race, divided for 
  over a millenium. The linguistic diversity alone would provide him with the material 
  for at least one blockbuster academic paper. Tall Eyebrow waddled over and hopped 
  up to perch on the chair arm to watch with him.
  "Anything yet?" Keff asked Carialle. "How about particle scans? How much activity 
  is their spaceport seeing?"
  "Patience, please. All I am seeing out there is a little debris, and some very old ion 
  trails," Carialle said. The screen lit up with an overlay of green dust streaks that were 
  scattered and stretched by the orbits of the planets in between. "I'd say no one's come 
  through here in a long while."
  "Always underfunded," Tall Eyebrow offered, with his hands turned slightly upward 
  to show apology. "It is in the records. Resources small offered. Metal scarce. 
  Volunteer work never enough, raw materials always short. Mission to Ozran one of 
  three major projects to be funded in ten revolutions around the sun when my many-
  times ancestors had prepared for the journey to Ozran."
  "Bureaucracy never changes anywhere," said Keff, sympathetically. Then he sat up 
  straighter. "You don't mean you have memos dating from a thousand years back?"
  "For every day," said the Frog Prince, with a satisfied gesture. "In all our troubles, that 
  was never neglected. We have brought them with us for the perusal of the Cridi 
  government."
  Keff felt his jaw drop. The globe-frogs had loaded only a few containers into the cargo 
  hold, and most had contained gifts. "In those little boxes you have a thousand years of 
  records?"
  "Communication system is kept frugally," Tall Eyebrow signed.
  "I'm impressed with your systems," Carialle said.
  "So am I," Keff said, with a whistle, promising himself a good rootle through the 
  boxes when they were offloaded. "Talk about microstorage."
  "Aha," Carialle announced. "It's sensed us. I'm receiving a hail from the orbiters."
  She ran the data patterns through digital analysis, dividing the sum of on/not-on pulses 
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  by a range of prime numbers, formulae and logarithms, until she came up with a 
  coherent 1028-unit wide digital signal. It wasn't a computer program, but a video 
  transmission of an amphibioid wearing a glittering silver collar.
  'Take a look at this," she said, and relayed it to the cabin screens. Keff was fascinated, 
  but the three Ozranian globe-frogs were dumb with amazement.
  "Not much obvious genetic difference, Cari," Keff said, staring at the image, looking 
  at every detail. "Thank goodness for that."
  The camera was centered on the Cridi's hands, rather than its face, which remained 
  expressionless and still, staring at the video pickup with fixed, black eyes. The long 
  hands snapped out signs in a quick sequence, then repeated it over and over again.
  "I can read that. 'Identify yourself,'" Keff translated. '"Do not proceed further.'"
  "There's a spoken language, too," Carialle said. "Transmitted on either sideband of 
  each copy of this signal on every frequency I tune into: wide band, narrow band, 
  microwave, datasquirt, even a form of tight-beam. Very thorough. They want to make 
  certain you don't miss it. Very musical, too. Listen." She put the sound over the cabin 
  speakers. A pattern of peeps, creaks, chirps, and trills repeated over and over again. 
  Keff squinted with concentration as he listened to the rhythmic squeaking.
  "I bet it says exactly the same thing as the hand-jive." Keffs eyes gleamed. "Record it, 
  please, Cari, and run it through the IT."
  Keffs Intentional Translator program had been of assistance in learning the Cridi's 
  sign language back on Ozran. He was constantly updating the system, which 
  theoretically contained full grammar and vocabulary for every alien language that the 
  Central Worlds had yet discovered. The program functioned with indifferent success 
  most of the time. It rarely provided them with the key to an alien language when an 
  explorer needed it. More often, someone found a key first, then used IT to build up a 
  translation system from collected data. The IT was still full of bugs, Carialle thought 
  cynically, but Keff never seemed to be bothered by them. Still, he had been improving 
  its interpretation of the Cridi signs.
  "Ah," Tall Eyebrow signed, his black eyes shining, "the language of science! We have 
  all but forgone its use in the arid atmosphere of Ozran. The waters and the globes 
  prevent sound from carrying, and we have had no amulets to broadcast it, so we let it 
  drop except infrequently, in conclave."
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  "Interesting cultural redundancy," said Keff.
  "Not at all. It makes sense for a technologically advanced race to develop some kind 
  of oral language," Carialle said, thoughtfully. "Having to manipulate star-ship controls 
  while signing home to mission control seemed to me Wee a difficult combination."
  "But they had created remote power control," Keff protested.
  Carialle's voice was sugared with sweet and insufferable reason. "What did they do 
  before the amulets came along?"
  "Sign is older," Long Hand explained, waving her hands for attention and interrupting 
  the argument. "It was our first true trait of civilization. The small voice," here her 
  hands went to her throat, and indicated diminuition with a finger and thumb, "does not 
  carry as well as long sight. It came useful when science reached us, but not during our 
  earliest years. Silence was essential to hunting together in the earliest days. We have 
  good eyes and poorer ears. The wild food animals had good ears, but bad eyes. We 
  must show silently to one another our intent. To us it meant survival."
  "To which condition we were reduced on Ozran," put in Tall Eyebrow. "It has been so 
  many generations since we did anything but survive. I am glad to see in the last year 
  we have not forgotten how to think, how to invent with our hands. I shall not be 
  ashamed to face my ancestors' other descendants." But the Frog Prince looked nervous 
  all the same.
  "But can you translate it?" Keff asked, almost bouncing with excitement. He gestured 
  toward the screen where the silver-torqued amphibioid was still signing his message.
  "If it has not changed since the mission to settle Ozran," Tall Eyebrow signed, "we 
  may be able to." His hand waggled sideways to show uncertainty.
  "This is a job for my all-purpose, handy dandy translating program." Keff flew to his 
  console and opened the file. He sat listening avidly to the excerpt, keying in notes.
  "But that trick never works," Carialle protested.
  "Sure it does," Keff said with high good humor, purposefully ignoring her insult. 
  "Especially, because this time I can cheat. I have a native speaker with me. TE, will 
  you tell me what each of these sounds means?" He touched a control. "I'll slow it 
  down, and you tell me where each phrase starts and stops, and then translate it for me."
  "If I can," TE signed nervously. He slid his hand into his amulet to hover at the 
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  humans eye level.
  They went through the recorded message together. Keff listened with his teeth 
  clenched as the slowed-down chirrups grated through the speakers like chains being 
  dragged up a gravel road. At the Frog Prince's signal, he tapped a computer key, 
  designating the end of a word or phrase.
  "It seems to be linear," he said to Carialle. 'The IT is already beginning to crossmatch 
  similarities between phrases on the tape. Multiple overlay of meaning beyond tense or 
  gender would be more difficult to distinguish. Now, TE, what do they mean?"
  Tall Eyebrow tried to translate each phrase into sign for them. He listened carefully, 
  signing to Keff to replay each several times.
  "The first is formula for diminishing forward velocity to zero, or 'halt,'" he said, 
  holding up a skinny palm. "These next four I do not know. Some familiarity, but not 
  enough. The first three are in command tense, but with certainty I cannot tell you their 
  meanings."
  "So there has been some linguistic shift," Keff said, nodding to Carialle's Lady Fair 
  image on the wall. "It moves a lot faster than genetic or geographic alterations. Your 
  ancestors might have used a more complex, extended phrase to mean whatever these 
  do."
  The globe-frog nodded, and tilted his head again to listen to the tape. "This is X=N, 
  Identify.' Three unknowns. This is the formula for no forward motion, 'not-proceed,' a 
  command. More unknowns." Keff watched the small aliens hopefully as the tape ran 
  out.
  "Well, that's enough to go on," Carialle said. "It's very much what I comprehended 
  from the visual portion of the signal. 'Stop, tell us who you are before you proceed.' 
  Precisely what you'd expect from one of our own security beacons."
  "Expressed entirely in mathematical concepts," Keff said. "Very interesting. TE, will 
  you sing me the numerical sequence, and all the variables for IT?"
  "With pleasure," the amphibioid said, still bobbing lightly on the air, "but what to do 
  now about message heard?"
  "Well, then, we reply as best we can," Keff said. 'TE, do you want to do the honors?" 
  He made way before the communications console, and courteously bowed the globe-
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  frog into his own chair. "It's your home."
  "I do not know what to do," the small alien said, looking up at Keff uncertainly. 
  "What does one say to one's cousins after a thousand years?"
  "Take one step at a time," Keff said. 'Tell them who you are, where you're coming 
  from, and ask permission to land. Mention us as your friends and allies. We don't want 
  to have to explain anything more complicated than that at these long-distance rates. I'll 
  stand behind you so they can see me. We'll answer their other questions when we 
  arrive."
  Following Keff's instructions, Tall Eyebrow made a brief translation. Carialle could 
  see on close magnification that the small green male's hands were trembling, but his 
  signing was perfectly clear and precise as he identified himself. The long part, the 
  explanation of his people's long absence from Cridi, he alluded to with some quick 
  symbols and a few chirps, mentioning Keff and Carialle as their rescuers and allies. At 
  the end, he asked for instructions.
  "Good, TE, good," Keff said soothingly, patting the globe-frog on the shoulder as 
  soon as the camera went off. Tall Eyebrow's shoulders collapsed inward with relief. 
  His two companions crowded in to comfort him.
  "It is difficult," he signed.
  "Good job. It's going to be a big day for you," Carialle said, signing through her globe-
  frog image. "That was just fine."
  "And now, what?" Tall Eyebrow asked, stepping out into the air from Keff's chair, 
  which was a meter too high for him.
  "And now, we wait," Keff said, reclaiming his seat and throwing himself back with 
  his hands behind his head. "Remember, they said, 'halt and not-proceed.' In the 
  meantime you can sing me the symbols for each number, sign, and modifier."
  They didn't have long to wait. Within a few hours, Carialle picked up a new 
  transmission from the beacon. A harried-looking frog, not the silver-torqued one, 
  appeared with a new message, which consisted of a single, short trill, and the screen 
  went blank.
  "What was that?" Carialle asked, replaying the transmission. "Welcome? Go away?"
  Tall Eyebrow's hands flew. "It means 'proceed to the second planet from the sun, 
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  listen on this frequency for beacon, and follow in great-circle, equatorial orbit or 
  landing procedure.' It would seem procedure does not change."
  "That little ding-a-lingle meant all that?" Keff laughed.
  "No stranger than the 'beep-a, beep-a'," Carialle imitated the communication-line busy 
  signal, "which means,'the party to whom you wished to speak is engaged on the line. 
  Please disconnect and try again later.'"
  'True," Keff said, his eyebrows raised in amusement.
  "It is an abbreviation," TE acknowledged. "Such a sign is phonetically recorded in our 
  archives. I am surprised to hear that it really does sound like it is written."
  "It's a pity you didn't continue the use of your verbal language on Ozran," Carialle 
  said. "Humans are geared toward spoken dialects. The mages might have realized 
  sooner that you were sentient."
  "Things might have gone faster with us, too," Keff agreed. "My IT program is geared 
  more toward aural reception and translation."
  "Yet inside our globes," Tall Eyebrow said gravely, "no one could have heard us cry 
  out."
  The second planet from the sun, behind a scorched clay rock and an insignificant 
  asteroid belt where an unstable planet used to be, was large and beautiful and wet. As 
  she swept into orbit above the equator, Carialle read her spectroanalysis monitors and 
  discovered high relative humidity, due to a respectably thick and variable cloud cover 
  in a nitrogen/oxygen atmosphere.
  "I'll have mold galore, and possibly rust in my drawers when I lift off."
  "Don't worry, lady," Keff said, cheerfully. "If TE's cousins have the magic technology, 
  they can keep you as dry as you want."
  "Oh, I want, I want," Carialle said. "That's one application of the technology I would 
  look forward to using."
  Within minutes, Carialle had picked up the signal from the landing beacon on the 
  largest landmass in the planetary-northern hemisphere. She oriented herself to it, 
  following a great circular route that would pass directly over it.
  Beneath them, peeping through the cloud cover, half a dozen small continents floated 
  on the surface of a vast, blue-green ocean. Small, blue ice caps appeared, then fell off 
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  to either side of the globe as Carialle descended. As the clouds parted, they could see 
  how very green the low-lying lands were. Small Spot and Long Hand looked 
  positively awed. They had never imagined the existence of so much water. Hazel-
  brown islands dotted the seas like freckles. Carialle opened megachip memory to 
  record every detail and gave full visuals to those in the control room.
  There was some minor particulate matter in the atmosphere, probably a sign of 
  industrial activity, that created a beautiful sunset half a world behind them. She caught 
  the occasional sunspark as tiny airborne craft speeding below her reflected the yellow 
  star's light. The whole scene reminded her of any one of hundreds of the Central 
  Worlds, but everything was in such small scale compared to those in a human 
  settlement. Her sensors told her that the flyers were only a meter square by less than 
  two meters in length.
  "How could we not have known they were here?" she wondered aloud.
  Keff, never moving his eyes from the screen, shook his head slowly from side to side 
  and clicked his tongue in agreement.
  "This is the race, all right," Keff said, happily.
  The partners' dream had always been to discover a sentient race equal to humanity in 
  technological advancement and social development. There was no doubt about the 
  well-established civilization below them, and their guests were living proof of the 
  culture's prowess in space exploration.
  The globe-frogs became agitated as the ship neared the stratosphere. Carialle picked 
  up signals that were almost certainly what was arousing their senses.
  'Take a look at the readings for the enormous power source down there," she told 
  Keff. "Much larger than the Core of Ozran. The frequency hash is even greater. I'm 
  reading controller codes in tiny bandwidths that I doubt could sustain what's necessary 
  for one of the older amulets. Your machines will undoubtedly need tuning," she told 
  Tall Eyebrow.
  "It is true," he said, placing his long fingers on his belt buckle. "I can feel the great 
  power source, but I cannot focus in on it to draw from it. My amulet frequency is 
  already in use here."
  "Well, you can stay on my engines for the time being," Carialle said. "Our hosts 
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  should give you a guest frequency when we land."
  "But where are we going to land?" Keff asked. 'The instructions didn't give a location."
  As if in answer, the ship shuddered. Carialle felt a forcefield surround her firmly, but 
  gently, like a velvet envelope. She tried to accelerate out of its grasp, but it was 
  everywhere. It swept her out of her orbital path and rerouted her, drawing her into a 
  side-to-side sine-curve path that led toward the surface. Her passengers were thrown 
  off their feet. The surprised globe-frogs missed slamming into the wall only by swift 
  use of their amulets. Keff, without technological assistance, was knocked to the floor. 
  He grabbed for the base of the control chair as he slid towards the bulkhead, and 
  hoisted himself up toward the seat. The three hovering amphibioids looked down at 
  him sympathetically.
  "That's why," Carialle said simply. "They're going to put us down on the landing pad 
  themselves. Damn it!
  I hate being manhandled — I mean, froghandled, when I'm perfectly capable of doing 
  this myself."
  "Do you mean you didn't make that course adjustment?" Keff asked, hauling himself 
  up to his feet by grasping the arms of his crash couch. He sat down and pulled the 
  impact straps around his body.
  "Look, ma, no hands!" Carialle said, feeling somewhat bitter, but at the same time 
  admiring the expertise and technology required to take over her landing. "You know I 
  don't drive that badly. They've taken complete control of my vector and speed. I could 
  shut off my engines right now and probably land very nicely, thank you, but I don't 
  trust strangers that easily."
  "They're holding us like an egg," Keff said, looking at the exterior pressure monitors. 
  "It doesn't hurt, does it?"
  "No," Carialle admitted, with the sound she used for a sigh. "However much I despise 
  it, I have to admit they're doing a competent job. The Cridi are light-years beyond the 
  skills of the mages of Ozran. It's more like a pillow than pincers. Chaumel the Silver 
  and the other mages could only pin me down with their controllers. They couldn't 
  catch me in flight."
  "Lucky for us," Keff said, with a nod.
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  "And for us," Tall Eyebrow added, staring at the screen that monitored the continents 
  over which they were flying. "Else we would not be returning home now."
  "I'm shutting down thrusters," Carialle informed them.
  At the same time the force was guiding her downward through the troposphere, 
  Carialle had the sense she was being probed. The "mind" penetrated her hull, through 
  her shielding, into and around her engines, her memory banks, the cabins and cargo 
  hold, and into the shell which held her body. She stilled all life support activity except 
  for respiration, wondering if she would be interfered with by curious technicians, but 
  the touch passed on and out of her ship. She forced her circulatory system to excrete 
  the unnecessary adrenaline produced by her anxiety, and added nutrients and serotonin 
  from her protein and carbohydrate tanks. She disliked being out of control of her 
  functions, but at least this time she could see everything and, to a minor extent, move 
  herself slightly in the soft, invisible grasp.
  "I will not panic," she told herself firmly. "I will not panic. I am in control. I can veer 
  upward out of here at any time. I can. I can."
  Of all the softshells in her cabin, only Keff was unaware of the scan. The frogs, 
  whether through latent telempathic sensitivity or the offices of their amulets, knew 
  someone was examining them. Tall Eyebrow put his hand to his face with his fingers 
  parted: a question to her.
  "Yes, I feel it," she said, verbally and with sign through her frog image. "We're being 
  given the look-see to find out who we really are."
  "We come in peace," Tall Eyebrow said, worriedly.
  They must know that," Carialle commented, "or they could have dashed us all over the 
  scenery by now."
  "They may still," said Long Hand, cynically. "Are they waiting until we are over a 
  certain point to pull us down?"
  The velvet envelope absorbed the inertia as it slowed Carialles velocity down to about 
  a third. Gradually, she dumped more speed as her course destination became more 
  evident. The northern continent appeared over the rim of the planet. The ship was 
  whisked over jungles and rivers and a network of small cities, all looming larger and 
  larger as they dropped. Carialle focused in tightly on the terrain, judging by the angle 
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  of descent and speed where the invisible hand would eventually set them down. The 
  datafile she'd gathered of Cridi geography during her spiral told her that ahead on the 
  eastern edge was a broad, flat plain. Most likely the spaceport lay there.
  Traveling at only a few thousand kilometers per hour Carialle had time to record more 
  detail of the land below as well as speculate on the welcoming committee. Most 
  definitely the Cridi held all the reins on access and communication. Keff was looking 
  forward to airing his sign language and the smatterings he'd already picked up of 
  cheeps and twitters. Carialle just hoped that she wouldn't have to face one of her worst 
  fears: seeing parts of her original hull being used by humanity's newest allies as chip 
  and dip trays.
  The land dished upward into low, rounded, green-backed mountain ranges as a broad 
  river valley spread out beneath her. Carialles aesthetic sense was pleased by the cities 
  she could see now in greater detail, integrated fully with the rainforests that covered 
  most of the continent. Blue and bronze-metal skyscrapers poked up through clumps of 
  trees that were like giant date palms. Tributaries that eventually led to the great river 
  wound among residential areas, passing under innumerable small bridges. Much of the 
  broad, green plains were uninhabited. Carialle guessed that the Cridi preferred to live 
  in a jungle environment, and leave the open spaces to the ruminants. It was all 
  unimaginably pretty.
  "Brace yourselves!" Carialle announced, feeling the restraint around her tighten. Tall 
  Eyebrow and his two companions buckled themselves into the second crash couch, 
  their staring eyes grim as the ship seemed to skim right over the tops of the trees. 
  Carialle widened the view out to give them an accurate picture of their descent. They 
  were actually still hundreds of kilometers above the ground.
  Now she could see a landing strip appearing in the extreme range of her sensors. The 
  huge, open field was lined with rows of low buildings. Ragged heaps of 
  undifferentiated junk, half-grown over with vegetation, lay at the edges of the field, 
  but two nearly complete spacecraft stood proudly on the wide, green plain. Perfect 
  miniatures, the graceful spires measured about a sixth of Carialles height.
  "Not much current use," Keff commented. "I guess what Tall Eyebrow said about 
  sparse government funding holds true even ten centuries later."
  Their speed lessened again, this time sharply. The passengers surged forward in their 
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  crash seats. Keff clutched the arms of his couch and ground his molars together. 
  Forward propulsion was down to a few hundred kilometers per minute, then a few 
  tens, then diminished entirely. Keff had an uncomfortable feeling of weightlessness 
  for a moment.
  "I'm upending," Carialle said. And she began to drop. Keff felt his heart slide upward 
  to his throat. He gulped. The frogs, lifted momentarily upward against their straps, 
  exchanged nervous glances among themselves, but none made a sound. The ship fell 
  like a stone.
  "If they drop us now, we're scattered components," Carialle said. "I couldn't ignite to 
  full burners in time to save us."
  Groaning against the gravity-force upthrust, Keff huddled back in his impact couch 
  against the thrust, his heart racing.
  'The question of the day," Carialle said in Keffs ear, her voice sounding sharp with 
  panic regardless of her calm choice of words. "Would a culture with a technology this 
  advanced be reduced to performing manual salvage on a space-marooned hulk?"
  "Doubt it," Keff gritted, trying to keep his stomach from forcing its way up his throat 
  and out of his mouth. His heart was in the way, and they'd all come out at once. He 
  tried to sound definite. "Hope not." He closed his eyes and clutched harder, his fingers 
  denting the upholstery of his crash couch, hoping the chair wouldn't have to live up to 
  its name.
  The red-painted ship descended gracelessly from high atmosphere onto the junk-
  strewn Thelerian plain. It landed with a boom that echoed into the surrounding 
  mountains like a bark of divine laughter and sent yellow dust swirling up toward the 
  hot, golden-white sun. Thunderstorm and Sunset waited until the roar of the engines 
  died away, then approached the cylindrical tower.
  "Almost a temple," Sunset said, unable to keep the awe out of his voice. He was very 
  young. Thunderstorm smiled, his bifurcated upper lip parting to show the upper row 
  of his fiercely pointed teeth.
  "But the godhead is served by strange priests, Sunset," he warned. "Remember that."
  A final deafening blast of fire spread out from under the tail of the red ship, making 
  Sunset jump, then the engines shut down. Heat haze spread out from the hull, 
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  obscuring the tall cylinder in a shimmer. A tongue-shaped portion of the ship's wall 
  separated and swung down on hinges until the tip touched the ground. A ramp, Sunset 
  thought, trying out the human's word in his mind. Figures appeared in the opening. 
  Sunset would have run ahead to meet the descending aliens, but Thunderstorm rattled 
  a wingtip at him.
  "With dignity, youngster!"
  Chastened, Sunset dropped behind to follow his elder. Three upright figures walked 
  down the ramp. Two of them stopped a half dozen body-lengths short, but the tallest 
  one came up within a single length.
  "Greetings, honored ones," Thunderstorm said. He bowed low, then introduced 
  himself, his assistants, and Sunset. "As always, we are pleased to have you here, 
  Fisman. To what do we owe the pleasure?"
  So these were humans! Sunset thought, very excited.
  The tallest alien, whose V-shaped torso lacked mammary protuberances, meaning that 
  it was a male, grinned, meaning the comers of its mouth lifted, but me lip did not part 
  in the center. What hair it had was mixed black and white. Its bare face was a narrow 
  wedge, point down. Its mouth showed flat, white teeth like those of a rodent. He wore 
  a smooth, slightly shiny tunic over thin covers that concealed his abdomen and limbs. 
  Around his neck was a chain bearing many strange devices, among them a curly piece 
  of metal with a sharpened point mounted at a perpendicular angle on a short stick, a 
  bulbous construction mainly consisting of white glass with a shiny gray metal screw-
  shaped end, and a rectangular plate with characters on it in the human tongue. Sunset 
  leaned a little closer to read it, and jumped back when the tall male made an impatient 
  sign with his manipulative extremity — his hand.
  "It's Bisman, damn it, Thunder, but after all these years I ought to know you still can't 
  say your b's. Sunset, glad to meet you. This is Minna and Zonzalo Don, brother and 
  sister. My partner and her younger sibling. We bring you more parts, Thunder. Is this 
  the apprentice you promised us?"
  "Yes, sir."
  The younger male approached only a few paces and looked down at Sunset haughtily. 
  "Does he know his stuff?" Zonzalo asked.
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  Thunderstorm nudged Sunset forward.
  He answered in the biped's language, carefully rehearsed for this moment. "I've 
  memorized every component in the manuals. I know how to repair each one according 
  to its rite. I obey orders."
  "Very good," Mirina said, with a smile for Sunset. She was slightly wider in frame 
  than her brother, and she had the proper protruberances, both front and side, of a 
  human female. Sunset was glad. He'd been afraid he wouldn't be able to tell, and 
  Thunderstorm had been firm about the etiquette of addressing humans correctly.
  "Thank you, ma'am," Sunset said, which won him another smile from Mirina. Sunset 
  noticed with a shock that the human had eyes of two colors arranged concentrically, 
  with the pupil a round dot in the center. How incredibly strange. Yet, her eyes were 
  the color of loamy soil: a warm, light brown, with a black ring separating the tan from 
  the white; and her teeth, though flat, were very white. Sunset ducked his head to keep 
  from staring. Humans were not so unattractive after all, even though they lacked 
  proper haunches, tails, and wings.
  "Has he taken the Oath?" the younger male asked.
  He had. Thunderstorm had adminstered it himself. Sunset remembered all the grand-
  sounding phrases. They came to his mind as he stood, waiting as his elders discussed 
  him over his head: obedience, silence, competence, humility, striving towards 
  perfection in all things, and always keeping oriented to the Center of Thelerie.
  "Yes," he piped up, realizing that Zonzalo expected him to say something.
  "Do you know what it means to be a member of the Melange?" Bisman asked Sunset, 
  for the first time looking him square in the eyes. That strange round stare was 
  disconcerting. The younger Thelerie nodded several times to recover himself.
  "I do. Humans and Thelerie together form the basis of trust. Since we are different, we 
  may blend together only those things sacred and invisible such as trust and 
  knowledge. But in that partnership we are indissoluble, and must remain loyal to one 
  another throughout all time. Where our travels may lead us is a test of that trust."
  It was practically quoting the Manuals, but the human didn't seem to mind. He 
  nodded, bobbing his small round head up and down.
  "Good. Well, there's no time like the present. Come on, lad," Bisman said.
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  "Now?"
  Bisman glanced at Thunderstorm with an expression that Sunset could not translate. 
  'Yes, now. We haven't got all day. My people are ready to unload and go as soon as 
  we're refueled. Do you want a chance to serve, or not?"
  "Of course I do," Sunset said, realizing he had made a mistake. "I am eager to serve. 
  My skills are ready, and my center is sure."
  That must have been the appropriate response, because the adults turned away from 
  him then and chatted low among themselves. Bisman tapped himself on the 
  manipulative extremity and spoke into his wrist. From the red ship, a crew of bipeds 
  emerged. Part of the hull peeled away to reveal a huge storage bay full of containers.
  At Thunderstorm's signal, many Thelerie came forward with the heavy lifting 
  equipment they brought from the capital city. The human crew unloaded all the goods 
  onto the pad, well away from where the fire would lick out and consume them when it 
  departed. The cargo consisted of spaceship parts, and Sunset recognized all of them. 
  Only the largest one, which had to be hoisted by derrick onto a flat car, he had never 
  seen except in the manuals. It was a primary space drive, probably the first one on 
  Thelerie in many years. Each one was numbered, he had been told, in over a hundred 
  places, on each of its many components. So interested was he that he didn't hear the 
  final transaction between the elders, Thunderstorm on behalf of the Thelerie, and 
  Bisman, the spokeshuman.
  "Come on, lad," Bisman said, coming over to tap Sunset on the wingjoint above his 
  vestigial hand. "As a member of the Melange you've got to prove yourself now. This 
  is your quest. We're looking at another opportunity to build onto your peoples space 
  fleet, but it takes time to get to where we're going to get more parts. Can't spend time 
  jawing." He looked at the Thelerie and their wide faces. "You've got plenty of that."
  It seemed to be a joke. At least, all the humans laughed. Sunset attempted to emulate 
  the grin, keeping the centers of his lip together. He followed his new captains toward 
  the ship. Sunset stared at it in fascination, seeing the joints of each part interlocked 
  with the ones on every side. And within, the components working together in harmony 
  like… like the Melange. All was as he had studied for the last three years.
  On the side of the great, red ship were hieroglyphs of the human tongue. Sunset 
  couldn't quite make out all of them, but he recognized the word "Central."He extended 
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  his wingtip to Thunderstorm, to ask him what they were, and touched no one. Startled, 
  he looked back over his shoulder to see his elder standing at the side of the field, not 
  moving. Sunset opened his great wings and glided back. It was almost the last time 
  he'd be able to do that for a while, so he enjoyed the sensation of air under his pinions.
  "Come on," he urged his mentor.
  "I am not coming, youngster," Thunderstorm said, with a shake of his great head.
  "Why not?"
  The older Thelerie reared back onto his muscular haunches and touched Sunset with a 
  foreclaw. "My reiving days are over, lad. Go with good grace. Come back with honor."
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  CHAPTER 3
  « ^ »
  "In ten, everybody. Ten, nine, eight…"
  When Carialle's tailfins touched the ground, the passengers and Keff felt hardly a 
  bump.
  "… Two, one. Welcome to Cridi. And thank you for flying Air Carialle. Please wait 
  until the captain has turned off the 'fasten seatbelts' sign before debarking."
  Keff, who had been worried about her mental state when the Cridi took control of 
  their flight path, was relieved at her flippancy. He took off his crash straps and 
  stretched.
  "Completely painless," Keff said to Tall Eyebrow, who timidly followed his hosts lead 
  "No wonder your people have such a successful space program. No chance of breakup 
  on reentry."
  "No chance of missing the launch pad, either," Carialle said, activating one of her 
  exterior cameras and tilting it downward. She had landed exactly in the middle of a 
  round pavement surrounded by a pattern of lights laid out on the ground like a 
  snowflake, illumination marching inward from the points.
  Tall Eyebrow saluted Carialle for the safe landing.
  "None of my doing, TE," she said. She noticed that his thin hands were still shaking, 
  and made her frog image appear on the wall opposite him.
  "Don't worry," she signed to him. "They'll be glad to see you."
  "If only I can be certain," the Frog Prince signed back. He shook his head, a gesture of 
  uncertainty that his people shared with humans.
  "Here comes security," Keff said. "The party's beginning."
  The first sight Keff had of the inhabitants of Tall Eyebrows homeworld was the tops 
  of helmeted and visored heads sticking out of an open vehicle that was plainly meant 
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  as field security. The flattened, molded, bulbous shape of the craft would force any 
  missile, from thrown rocks to laser beams, to bounce upward or outward away from it. 
  If there was anything aloft that looked more like the ancient myth of the flying saucer, 
  Keff had yet to see it. How appropriate when the inhabitants were, verily, little green 
  men. The thin pipes protruding from sockets in the vehicles upper shell had to be 
  weapons. He couldn't focus quickly enough on the moving craft to estimate whether 
  the pipes shot solid projectiles or some other deterrent.
  "I wish we could tell them we're unarmed," Keff said worriedly.
  "They know," Carialle said, feeling the light sensation fluttering over all her sensors 
  once more, this time lingering at the ends of her neural synapses. "We're being 
  scanned again. Whew! That was thorough. Good thing I'm not ticklish. They probably 
  also know your age, your shoe size, and how much you weigh."
  "If they can do that, then why the heavy armament?" Keff wondered.
  Through her audio monitors Carialle also received the frequency signatures of half a 
  dozen frog devices, plus the quasi-telepathic communications that the system both 
  required and made possible. Since the messages were in high-pitched cheeps and 
  arpeggios, she couldn't understand until the IT got more data on the language of Cridi 
  science, but at least she understood the drill. It was carried out on every planet, 
  spaceport and asteroid in the civilized galaxy.
  "Trust, but verify," Carialle replied.
  Another burst of high-pitched music issued from the speakers, a mathematical 
  sequence that Tall Eyebrow quickly translated for them.
  "Sigma is greater than zero. X equals zero. Y equals zero. XY equals infinity."
  "Very interesting," Carialle said. "To the rest of us folks, it means, 'Come to a stop; 
  don't move; don't attempt to lift off. Any efforts will result in disintegration into 
  uncountable particles.' Not that I can move. They've got me held as tightly as a fly in 
  amber."
  The frustration in her voice was not lost on Keff. "Give them a moment to get to know 
  us, Cari. We haven't sent out a herald yet."
  Carialle's Lady Fair image appeared on the wall beside him and made a face. Keff 
  grinned.
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  The security vehicle made one more sweep, zooming close to Carialle's dorsal hull, 
  then there was a hash of static as several controller-based broadcasts collided in mid-
  frequency. Tall Eyebrow looked at Keff and shook his head. He couldn't translate any 
  of that, either. IT's vocabulary base gathered dozens of new syllables and put them on 
  a hold in the datastream.
  From the buildings at the field's edge, a party of frogs emerged and began to make 
  their way across the field. Instead of walking, they glided a few centimeters over most 
  of the beautiful, green sward. Suspicious, Carialle did a scan of her own.
  "Do you realize that these landing pads are almost the only dry land in sight?" she 
  said, showing them a map of her soundings. "That bright verdure covers either mud or 
  marsh, depending on where you step."
  "I bet only the poor folks on this planet live on dry land," Keff said. "Water is riches 
  around here."
  "Then everyone's rich," Carialle said.
  The welcoming committee came within half a kilometer and stopped. Keff counted 
  eight frogs he would classify as dignitaries, and twice that many who were hangers-
  on, aides, and, to judge by the number of devices hovering in the air near them, 
  reporters. Around them and the ship, the hovering security vehicles described slow 
  circles. The three Ozranians stared at the images of their long-lost cousins, hands 
  flying as they speculated on relationships.
  "They are just like us," Long Hand said, with great interest.
  "That's as far as they're going to come to meet us. You three had better make an 
  appearance," Keff said.
  "If… " Long Hand said, hands twitching nervously. She held onto her usual 
  composure. "If they do not disapprove our coming."
  "You won't know until you try," Carialle said, trying to lighten the situation. "But I 
  know that our government would be thrilled beyond words to rediscover a long-lost 
  colony. Go on."
  At once, all three started to make a hasty toilette. Tall Eyebrow divested himself of his 
  beret, sword belt, and cape. Small Spot checked his immaculate hide for dust or 
  smudges. Long Hand dashed for the sonic shower and cleaned herself all over. They 
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  resumed their controller units on elastic belts around their chests. Tall Eyebrow 
  already had his on from the game. Keff thought that they did it more for moral support 
  than for use. Once out of the range of Carialle's engines, the ancient amulets would be 
  of little use, even for keeping the skin of water around their bodies. The leader must 
  have sensed Keffs thoughts, for even as he was fitting his long fingers into the five 
  depressions on the bronzed surface of what once had been a lady's belt buckle, he 
  gave a nervous smile.
  "For luck only," he signed, crossing his two first fingers, "since they cannot work 
  here. We must go without globes as well as the protective slip of water. I will return to 
  our people's birthplace standing tall and with dignity, ignoring inconvenience and 
  discomfort."
  Small Spot looked unhappy about his leaders last statement, but he too stood tall, and 
  strode with what dignity he had toward the airlock.
  "If we can do it without losing our pride," Long Hand said, more practically, "I will 
  ask our cousins how to adapt the amulets to their system."
  Carialle opened a tiny panel in her outer hull. A balloon pump took a fifteen cubic 
  centimeter sample of the oxygen, which she ran through a barrage of tests for gas 
  density, humidity, and chemical impurities. It confirmed what she had already guessed.
  "The atmosphere's safe for all of you," she said. "Good, healthy nitrox mix, few 
  harmful impurities, apart from a trace of predictable industrial pollution. More 
  particulates than you three are used to, but not bad. If you want breathing filters, just 
  ask."
  Tall Eyebrow signed a polite refusal. He stared straight ahead of him as Keff moved to 
  the controls for the airlock.
  Keff stayed behind and out of sight as the ramp lowered and grounded with a squish. 
  The Ozranians hung back a moment, reluctant to leave the surroundings that were, if 
  not home, then safe and familiar.
  "Go on," Keff urged them. "I'll be right behind you."
  The amphibioids looked out across the field. Keff tried to picture himself in their 
  place, to be the first to bridge the gap of a thousand years' silence, and was 
  overwhelmed by the urgency of explaining, the enormity of understanding. Keff 
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  realized he had forgotten to breathe for a moment. Their feelings must have been 
  shared by the party of dignitaries. The small party of dignitaries had pushed forward 
  ahead of the crowd, and were looking expectantly at the ship's hatch. There was no 
  perceptible physical difference between them and the three Ozran-born Cridi. Seeing 
  no movement, the party surged forward again.
  "It's your turn," Keff said, straightening up. "Are you ready?"
  "No," Tall Eyebrow signed, "but, yes. Come."
  With dignity, the small alien turned and walked out of the main cabin. Long Hand and 
  Small Spot followed his example, straightening their spines and tilting their heads 
  slightly upward. Together, they marched through the corridor and into the airlock. 
  Carialle slid the inner door shut, and the outer door open.
  Keff, right behind them in the shadows, heard shrill cheers as the crowd caught the 
  first glimpse of the three Ozranians in the starship's airlock. In silhouette against the 
  bright daylight outside, Keff could see Tall Eyebrow's knees begin to tremble. Small 
  Spot, overwhelmed by the sound, edged backward until he bumped into Keffs legs.
  "You can do it," he urged them. "Go on. Take that one last step. Just march forward. 
  Count to a hundred. Don't think about anything but the numbers. Go on."
  "One," TE counted out loud in Standard. "Two, three, four…" The other two marched 
  behind them, out of the airlock, down the ramp, and into the sunshine. The crowd 
  went wild, throwing flowers and sheaves of green plants into the air. Keff stayed 
  behind to watch. He counted their footsteps. A hundred paces took the three visitors 
  about half the way to the party of dignitaries on the edge of the field. There they 
  hesitated, and the Cridi government officials took their cue at once. Dignified but 
  clearly excited, they glided across the swampy ground, to alight in front of Tall 
  Eyebrow and his companions.
  "Go get 'em, frogs! Yeah!" he whispered.
  "I'm all choked up," Carialle said in his ear.
  Keff squinted, bringing the magnifying lens in his left eye to full telescopy, and 
  listened to Carialle's amplified audio. He could see the expressions on the faces of the 
  dignitaries: bemusement, kindness, curiosity, but no hostility. The globe-frogs had 
  come home.
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  "Who are you?" signed the leader of the Cridi delegation, an elderly male whose once-
  smooth skin wrinkled into a million tiny folds around his wide mouth. A narrow cape 
  of ornately braided strips hung to the ground from the nape of his neck. It was held 
  there by a hammered bronze band that stretched across the top of his back and 
  sprouted into filigree coils over his shoulders. "Where do you come from? We have 
  seen the message sent to the beacon, and we do not know what to think."
  Another Cridi, a slender female wearing a slim silver tore with matching bracelets and 
  anklets piped an enthusiastic, "B equals B," and signed, "We agree! Since we received 
  your transmission, all has been a flurry of excitement. Where do you come from?"
  Tall Eyebrow identified himself and his companions. "We return to you from a colony 
  world known as Ozran." The final name emerged as a buzz and a honk.
  "Ozran?" one self-important frog repeated, bellying up to stand before the landing 
  party. Of all the Cridi present, he was the largest: broad, round, and tall. His yellow 
  green skin was mottled, reflecting a choleric nature. "What is this name Ozran?" he 
  peeped indignantly. "Not a Cridi name." Keff chuckled to himself. It wasn't easy for a 
  whistle to sound dignified.
  "Big Voice is impatient, but he asks a question all of the Conclave have," said the 
  elder. He brushed the palm of one hand lightly over the other and touched a delicate 
  fingertip to his chest. "I am Smooth Hand," he said.
  "In our ancestors' records our world is designated as Sky Clear." Tall Eyebrow 
  executed two symbols quickly, and vocalized a long, complex trill. Keffs aural 
  implant barked out a long string of numbers punctuated with signs and symbols. He 
  recognized the resultant formula as spatial coordinates, though naturally not those 
  used by the Central Worlds.
  Without changing expression the self-important frog leaned back on his heels and 
  waved a single ringer. One of the aides came running up to the leaders with a flat 
  board to show them his notation. The eight leaders gathered around, emitting 
  exclamations of disbelief and amazement. The aide moved back into the crowd, 
  signing in an apparent aside to a friend. Everyone within range observed the gist of his 
  statement, and passed it on. Word went around, catching fire within the group, until 
  everyone was speculating about the data on the screen.
  "How is this possible?" the senior Cridi said, looking up from the small board with 
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  delight. "We thought that colony had died. It was mourned many hundreds of years 
  past. So many of our world's offshoots have failed, we thought that Sky Clear was just 
  one more."
  "We lost touch with Cridi through no fault of our own," Tall Eyebrow said. "It is a 
  story of treachery, survival and, lastly, friendship, with beings like Keff." He turned to 
  look expectantly back at the ship.
  "My cue," Keff said, pulling down his tunic hem to make certain it was straight.
  "I should say so," Carialle said. "Final subvocal check, please."
  "If the folks back at SSS-900-C could see me now," Keff pronounced, into his oral 
  implant as he stepped out into the airlock and walked down the ramp.
  "You'd be the handsome prince from the fairy tale," Carialle said, amused. "Don't let 
  anyone kiss you, or you'll turn back into a frog, too. Watch your step."
  The high humidity of the air outside slapped him in the face like a wet fish. Keff felt 
  almost as if he were walking through a curtain of water, and highly unsavory swamp 
  water at that. Phew. What he'd imaged looked like smooth, rolling fields was a level 
  and endless pool of watery mud with petal-like plants growing on top, giving only an 
  impression of solidity. He'd .go floundering if he chanced to step off the solid base of 
  the landing pad. No wonder nothing was ever built out on these open spaces. The 
  atmosphere was breathable and flavored with smelly esters from abundant plant 
  decay. Good photosynthesis action, that meant, resulting in the cyclic exchange of 
  carbon dioxide. No wonder their explorers had chosen Ozran. The Cridi wanted the 
  same things humans did in a colony. The xenobiologists were going to have a picnic 
  here. As long as they didn't spread their cloth out on the green.
  Keff moved slowly and cautiously, holding his hands away from his body to show that 
  he was harmless, but there was no way to lessen the impact of his appearance on the 
  crowd. As soon as they saw him, some of the Cridi scattered and ran away, shrieking. 
  The rest stood rigid, staring and pointing, rows upon rows of pairs of beady black 
  eyes, and long, green digits like accusatory asparagus.
  He raised his arms to his waist to sign, "We come in peace."
  His hands fluttered through the motions, then froze in the air by his belly. He tugged, 
  trying to free himself from the invisible force. Nothing doing. The shock of his 
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  appearance had delayed security's reaction, but they were in command again. Cridi 
  amulet power surrounded him with a rock-hard shell of invisible force, clamping him 
  in place and forcing his arms down against his sides. He gasped, but not because of 
  the jungle heat. The forcefield was just a little too tight around his chest. If it closed 
  down any harder, he'd pass out. Giddily, he wondered if he would remain erect.
  A host of helmeted frogs all but materialized at his side, preparing to defend against 
  him should he move at all — as if he could.
  "TE, tell them I'm your friend!" Keff gritted, willing his lips to move. Black spots 
  danced in front of his eyes at the strain.
  He wasn't sure if he could be heard over the screaming, but TE was a superlative lip 
  reader. The Ozranian turned to sign at his hosts.
  "Release him! Please!" Tall Eyebrow said, making energetic gestures at the eight 
  leaders. 'These are my friends, and the representatives of a great government, here to 
  be our friends." He trotted back across the field and placed himself between Keff and 
  the guards. "You must not treat them like animals or enemies."
  The members of the conclave peered at Keff from a safe distance and Keff could feel 
  his restraints ease off slightly. The youngest one took a step forward, thought better of 
  it, and retreated to the far side of the solid platform. Smooth Hand, he of the ribbon 
  cape, tilted his head to one side.
  "Well, they are strange to us," he said, apologetically. "So large. Such an odd color in 
  the face. And there is another one onboard the ship. Why will it not come out and 
  show itself?"
  "Because she cannot," TE said, emphasizing the feminine pronoun. "She lives within 
  the walls, and never moves. Keff and Carialle are my friends and have been our 
  defenders on the colony world of Ozran."
  "Sky Clear!" the self-important one corrected him imperiously. "Why have you 
  changed the name?"
  "It is the name by which the joined colony of people like Keff and our own race is 
  known," Long Hand added. "Humans live on the world with us."
  "When the homeworld lost touch with Sky Clear there were none but Cridi there," 
  Smooth Hand said, referring to the data pad, which was held for him by a female in a 
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  red cloak.
  "It would take long to explain by hand," TE said, looking back at his own aides. "We 
  have archives to give you."
  Small Spot, smiting himself in the head to show abashment for his forgetfulness, ran 
  back into the ship to get the boxes of records.
  Carialle, guessing what he wanted, had thoughtfully rolled out one of her small servo 
  drones, and the excited globe-frog loaded the boxes aboard its flat back. The boxy 
  robot followed him out to the wailing crowd, trundling stoutly over the soggy ground.
  "We present to you the complete records for the life of our colony," Tall Eyebrow 
  signed proudly. He stood back from the drone and allowed some of the guards to 
  remove the boxes from its platform. Carialle recalled her robot, ordering it to spin its 
  treads at the bottom of the ramp to avoid trudging mud over her decks.
  "A magnificent gift," said the female in silver bangles. She pried open one of the 
  containers and lifted out one of the tightly wound spools of plastic inside. "Unlooked-
  for treasure. It will make interesting reading. Scholars will vie for the honor of 
  transcribing."
  The elder statesman held up his hands to get the attention of the whole crowd. "We 
  welcome you home, cousins, and look forward to writing joint history from now on," 
  said Smooth Hand. "Perhaps together we will discover the well-being of other lost 
  children of Cridi."
  The old one stretched out his arms toward Tall Eyebrow, palms out. The Ozranian 
  stepped forward, and laid his large hands against those of the elder. The crowd 
  cheered again, and surrounded the three travelers. The senior Cridi beckoned.
  "We all have much to discuss. But come, you are our honored guests. You shall have 
  the finest accommodations, sample the best foods, visit sites of our history and of our 
  future." He put an arm around Tall Eyebrows back and led him toward the spaceport 
  buildings surrounded by the chirping horde. Suddenly he looked back, an afterthought 
  occurring to him. "Oh, bring the giant, too." A guard waved his hand, and Keff 
  stumbled forward.
  "Depot in range," said Glashton, the pilot, over his shoulder. "I'm keeping that string 
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  of asteroids between us and their sensors."
  "Good." Minna Don paced back and forth behind the pilots' couches, peering at the 
  computer construction of the asteroid-bound repair facility. Old, but well-supplied, if 
  their scout's report was anything to go by. And they'd recently had a delivery that 
  interested the Melange. "Notify Bisman."
  The young Thelerie in the co-pilot's seat threw off his straps and arose, prepared to 
  run aft. Mirina caught him by a wing-joint and turned him back. "No, Sunset. Use the 
  intercom."
  "Yes, madam," he said, his slit-like pupils wide. He scrambled back into his padded 
  couch and reached out one skinny wing-hand to activate the communications channel, 
  at the same time keeping track of the ship's progress. He lay rather than sat in the 
  couch, his mighty haunches curled up behind, leaving free clawed forelegs and wing-
  fingers so that his head was between two agile pairs of hands. The boffins told her that 
  with their long eyes they could watch both sets at once. He glanced back at her 
  eagerly. "He is on his way."
  Mirina shook her head. So young. So heartbreakingly anxious to please. Some of the 
  Thelerie never got over their initial awe of humans, never stopped seeing them as 
  benevolent gods, whose bidding must be done no matter how perilous. Not even after 
  their first missions, when the humans proved themselves to be thieves and pirates. The 
  Thelerie just kept on trusting them, even against the evidence. Their ethical culture 
  told them that a person was what he said he was, even if he wasn't. That made them 
  jam for the dishonest beings in the galaxy like the Melange.
  Mirina felt responsible for all the Thelerie they enrolled. She suffered nightmares 
  when one of them got injured or killed, and still dreamed about the first time she had 
  had to take the body of an apprentice back to its homeworld. As guilty as she was, the 
  alien family didn't blame her. They trusted humans, not realizing that they were as 
  mortal as Thelerie, with no special powers to save anyone, or any special wisdom to 
  keep them from falling into danger. They thought everything humans did was 
  wonderful. It never occurred to them that the ships the humans flew were old, cobbled 
  together out of spare parts and baling wire. They never saw that the couches had been 
  mended a dozen times, nor that the equipment in the control room came from a dozen 
  different derelict ships, and failed as often as it worked.
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  She'd once been told by a suitor that she had fine eyes. The mirror in her cramped 
  little cabin let her know that the strain of the last years had put a hard quality into 
  them that frightened her, and would have put off that long-gone beau. That tough shell 
  protected what was left of her soul, because business was business. The presence of 
  the Thelerie was essential to the success of her venture. There'd have been far more 
  bloodshed, and much more loss of life if she couldn't rely upon their unique talent. 
  Even to herself she admitted that she minimized the danger in every way possible. She 
  didn't want anyone else to die. Anyone.
  "Close in," she said, leaning over Glashton's shoulder. "Plot us in, staying as close to 
  the asteroids as possible till the last minute. I don't want them to have time to push the 
  panic button. Can you see the parts depot?"
  "Aye, sir."
  Bisman came striding up. He had on an armored pressure suit, the helmet held under 
  one arm. His grizzled hair was hidden under the protective hood, and his sharp, dark 
  eyes were calm.
  "Boarding party ready," he said shortly.
  "Stand by," Mirina said, turning back to the viewtank. "How long to the drop?"
  Sunset ran through one of those instantaneous mental calculations that seemed so 
  effortless for his people.
  "Eight minutes, madam."
  "Don't call me madam," Mirina snapped, yanked back with annoyance from her 
  planning.
  "Sorry again," he said, contritely. "Thunderstorm told me always to use titles of 
  respect."
  Mirina felt the corners of her mouth start to turn upward in an unwilling smile. "My 
  name will do. Thank you. Stand by."
  "At least he isn't calling you 'holy one,' any more," her brother called from the 
  engineers seat, where he was waiting to operate the airlock and grapple controls.
  Sunset glanced up at the human male, then hastily ducked his head. Bisman smirked at 
  the young Thelerie, his narrow jaws drawn upward. Mirina glared at her co-leader.
  "Isn't anyone else here thinking of business?"
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  "On my way," he said, fending off the evil eye with an uplifted hand.
  "Wait a minute, Aldon," Mirina said, as he turned to go. "Remember, just grab those 
  containers and go. No killing."
  "That's the idea, lady," he said, offhandedly, holding his helmet up over his head and 
  shaking it to free the hanging tabs. "Strike hard so they don't know where you're 
  coming from, then move out. But I'm not going to stand helpless and let them tickle 
  me. My people will use self-defense as needed." Mirina moved to place herself in his 
  path.
  "Disarm and disable only. Those are my orders. Just take the stuff and go!"
  He paid no attention as he clamped the headpiece into place. The seals whistled a 
  diminishing scale as he sidestepped her and stalked away down the corridor toward 
  the airlock.
  Mirina stared after him, feeling fury rising fit to choke her. There wasn't time to 
  lecture him again, and she was beginning to feel like she was losing control of him. 
  She'd turned this operation around into a profit-making enterprise. He and his 
  miserable little group had only three pathetically archaic ships when she met him eight 
  years ago. Now they had sixty, and more under construction. She'd been confirmed as 
  the leader by a majority of the vote. But there were some people who couldn't take 
  direction from anyone, especially not from a former government spacer like her. 
  Bisman had been raiding for thirty years, had started under his father, who'd owned 
  the original three ships. Anyone who'd survived that long deserved respect, just for 
  sheer longevity, but damn it, it was bad for crew morale to have him defy her every 
  single order. She snatched up her remote communications headset and clamped it 
  down on her head.
  Zonzalo sat in the engineers seat snickering. Mirina rounded on him.
  "What are you laughing at? You couldn't survive in a planetside shopping center."
  "Hey," he held up helpless hands. "I didn't say anything. It just reminds me of Mom 
  and Dad, how you two carry on."
  "I suppose I asked for that," Mirina said, feeling her cheeks burn. "But I want him to 
  remember what I say."
  "It won't help," Zonzalo said, "It never does. I don't know why you keep trying."
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  Mirina shook her head. She and Bisman had had an affair when she first shipped with 
  them eight Standard years before. He was twenty years older than she. She was 
  attracted by his maturity, by his long, lean looks, daredevil attitude, and hard-driving 
  determination. He liked her clear-sighted organizational bent, and he complimented 
  her on her figure, saying he liked a curvy armful. They'd broken off the physical side 
  of their relationship when they found they couldn't work together and be lovers. He 
  thought she was compulsive. She hated his collections of little knicknacks and his 
  untidy way of thinking. He'd said she was too bossy. She'd known his recklessness 
  would get them all killed. At almost any cost Mirina wanted" to stay in space, but 
  serving under a hot dog who thought he was Jean Lafitte or Xak Milliane Ya was just 
  out of her price range. Bisman was too casual about killing. Mirina wasn't a complete 
  innocent. She had been involved with, or rather felt responsible for, the death of one 
  so dear to her she'd never recovered from it. Mirina never wanted to feel like that 
  again, but she was exposed to the possibility over and over every time their ship went 
  reiving. So, at risk of having Bisman mutiny and strand her and Zonzalo somewhere 
  out of frustration, she kept on his back about safety and minimum use of force.
  "You are just like my teacher, Thunderstorm," Sunset said, in his resonant voice, 
  glancing up as his four hands performed his tasks. "He tells and tells, but I make my 
  mistakes all the same."
  Zonzalo laughed. He'd become friends with the Thelerie, partly because they were the 
  youngest beings on board and partly because he thought Sunsets innocent 
  pronouncements hilarious.
  "She is just exactly like a thunderstorm in space, isn't she?" Zonzalo said. "Uh-oh, the 
  clouds are moving toward me." Mirina advanced upon him and glared down. Zonzalo 
  pretended to cower, his shoulders hunched. Mirina swatted him lightly across the back.
  "Act like adults," she snapped. "In case you weren't listening, some of our spacers are 
  going down there. Their safety depends on you, too. Pay attention to your boards." 
  The two young males exchanged humorous glances, then concentrated on their 
  screens.
  "Approach final. Attacking speed," Glashton said, not looking up from his console. 
  "Grapples away!"
  On the main tank, the background of stars shimmered as the forcefields locked onto 
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  five points surrounding the space station. The engines filled the ship with the scream 
  of abused metal as the reiver dumped velocity, using the grapple anchors to halt 
  forward momentum. On external camera, Mirina watched as the flexible white tube 
  shot outward from the side of her ship to cover the airlock of the repair port and 
  sucked closed. Bulbous-headed shadows inside it — Bisman's raiders in armor — 
  bounded downward. There was an actinic Sash, from which everyone in the cockpit 
  automatically shielded his or her eyes, then Glashton switched video and audio input 
  to a suit-mounted cam on the uniform of one of the raiders.
  The crew plunged ahead into the darkness of the landing bay. Narrow beams of light 
  slashed through the black tunnel, picking out steel-riveted walls, signs and directions 
  etched in enamel next to huge louvered doors and at intersections. Two raiders found 
  a communications circuit box and blasted it with slugs and energy weapons. That 
  should have cut off external communications, but it also caused the inhabitants of the 
  station to take notice. Sirens wailed in the distance. Blurred figures, bleached white by 
  the raiders' searchlights, cannoned into view, weapons leveled. Bisman's people were 
  ready. Mirina watched arms being raised, saw the spark of muzzle-flash. The 
  defenders fell, arms splayed. A few of the raiders ran forward to collect their guns.
  Bisman's voice barked hoarsely. "They'll only be out for about twenty minutes. Find 
  the control room. Find the lights! Move it!"
  Mirina held her breath as the camera eye followed the bobbing forms deeper into the 
  repair facility. Someone found the control for the lights. The white blurs coalesced 
  into armored backs and armloads of equipment. The siren's discordance chewed away 
  at her nerves until she was tapping her foot with impatience, mentally urging Bisman 
  to hurry and get out of there.
  The louvered doors flapped up one by one, revealing empty bays. Suddenly, a door 
  rolled up, and the hoped-for containers were right in front of the video pickup. The 
  inventory numbers for ion-drive engine parts were printed on the side and top of each 
  case. Zonzalo and Glashton cheered. Mirina pointed at the corral of heavy-loaders in 
  the foreground of the screen, and snapped an order into the headset mike. Bisman had 
  seen them, too. His hand appeared in the lens, making an "OK" symbol.
  "All right, children, start loading 'em up!" The triumph in Bisman's voice came 
  through the plasteel bubble helmet. Mirina felt smug, too. Even if they only sold half 
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  and kept the rest for running repairs and trade with the Thelerie, those engine parts 
  should bring in enough to keep her fleet in space for another six months, at least.
  "Hold it! Drop your weapons!" A commanding voice boomed out of the walls. The 
  raiders looked around. His arms held up from the elbows, Mirinas video-carrier turned 
  slowly to face a squad of guards in dark blue uniforms. At their head was a tall, thin 
  woman with silver hair. Her tunic was trimmed with more silver, including rows of 
  medal flashes. From the confident manner with which she held her long-barreled 
  slugthrower, Mirina guessed that some of the medals were for marksmanship. Some of 
  Bisman's crew began to comply, bending over to set their guns on the ground. The 
  raiders were outnumbered at least two to one. Mirina bit her lip. She dreaded what 
  would surely follow.
  "Slowly…" the woman said, in a calm voice. "Slowly. Good. Now, hands above your 
  heads."
  "Now!" Bisman shouted. As one, the raiders dropped flat on the floor. The screen 
  went blank. "Fire!" Mirina could tell by the sounds, they were spraying the defenders 
  with energy bolts. Shouts, then screams erupted, followed by the noise of scuffling. 
  Individual cries rose above the noise.
  "What's happening?" Zonzalo asked. He had joined his sister to hang over the 
  viewscreen. Mirina felt her blood drain away toward her feet. She swayed a little.
  "It's all going wrong," she said, and turned to Glashton. "Shake 'em up. Give Bisman 
  and the others a chance to get out."
  The pilot nodded sharply, the muscles in his jaw twitching. He clawed at a series of 
  controls, activating their secret weapon, the Slime Ball. The ship shuddered under 
  their feet as it lit thrusters and pulled against the grapples. Always steering outward, 
  so the return motion wouldn't yank the asteroid into their hull, Glashton zigzagged 
  from one thruster to another.
  The effect as seen on the screen was frightening. The raider wearing the camera was 
  now lying on his back. The ceiling shook, and the giant plates seemed to rub against 
  one another. Mirina wondered if they would crack apart and fall.
  The crates of parts were vibrating, too, with every thrust of the ship. Inside their 
  padding, the components were undoubtedly safe from impact damage even if they fell 
  over, but if one landed on a human, there was nothing left to do but hold the funeral.
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  While those in the ship had suffered a temporary loss of visuals, Bisman and his crew 
  had regained their weapons. Between surges, the raiders managed to round up most of 
  the defenders. A few blue-shirts lay, heads a-loll, on the floor; unconscious, Mirina 
  hoped. Bisman and two of the others, kneeling, held the rest at gunpoint while the 
  raiders mounted heavy-loaders and lifted stacks of the valuable crates. The 
  stationmaster made one attempt to protest. Bisman nodded to one of his gunners, who 
  ratcheted her weapon to a higher setting, and with one sweep slagged the metal floor 
  in front of the silver-haired woman. The others gasped as the woman nearly stumbled 
  forward into the red-hot mass. She stopped protesting, her hands in the air, but her 
  eyes flashed hatred at Bisman. The loaders trundled out of the storeroom.
  Zonzalo ran to his station to open the cargo bay to receive the coming crates. He 
  cackled to himself over each load as it passed the cameras.
  "Thruster modules," he said over his shoulder to the others. "Energy rebumer pods! 
  My God, do you know what those are worth? One new fuel tank, two, three — too bad 
  there aren't a few more."
  "They'll all put oxygen in the tanks," Mirina said distantly. She was watching Bisman, 
  worrying whether he would make some violent gesture at the end to keep the 
  defenders from following. Glashton spoke over the helmet communication link, letting 
  the raiders know that the violent jerking was over. The ship still swayed lightly from 
  side to side from inertia, but everyone could stand up again.
  "Mi — Mirina, do not those boxes belong to the humans of the station-asteroid?"
  "They did," Mirina said tersely. "Now they are ours. We need them more. Your people 
  need them to keep your space program running. Those humans would have refused to 
  give them to us. This was the only way." But she had the picture in her mind of the 
  uniformed men and women on the floor. Something about the ragdoll quality of the 
  way they lay shouted at her that they were not unconscious, but dead, Bisman had 
  overdone it again. Instead of a simple snatch and grab, they had more murders on their 
  souls, not to mention their growing rap sheets in the Central Worlds computer bank.
  Glashton, responding to a triumphant cry from Zonzalo that the last of the heavy-
  loaders was on board and the raiding crew with it, sealed airlocks and blasted away. 
  He gave an OK to Mirina, who yanked off her headset and squeezed herself with 
  difficulty between the pilots' couches against the thrust of the engines. Her flesh 
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  flattened against her bones, and she shut her eyes.
  God, who'd ever have thought I'd come to this? she mused, wriggling her body down 
  farther to avoid somersaulting out into the corridor. Fairhaired child of the corps, ace 
  pilot, partner of… Damn it, stop thinking of him! She turned her concentration to the 
  star tank, drilling the hologram with her gaze. The star, around which the asteroid 
  circled, shrank swiftly until it was another undistinguished dot of light on the scope. 
  Just like all the other stars around which orbited facilities, planets, and ships they'd 
  robbed for goods to keep them going.
  "Shall I not go out there some day on a gathering mission?" Sunset asked Mirina, once 
  they were clear of the heliopause.
  "No," she said shortly, pulling her attention away from the star tank. "Never. You 
  must be kept safe in the ship."
  "But…"
  "But nothing," Mirina interrupted him. She leveled a finger at his weird, striped eyes. 
  "You don't understand your place in the schematic. You're the backup we count on in 
  case of emergency. If we lose every system but drives and life support, you can get us 
  home again, even if our navicomp is a slagged ruin. You're the last line of defense we 
  have. I'm not letting you go out there and risk your neck, not when thirty other lives 
  are depending on you."
  "Oh." The young Thelerie pulled himself up, looking important and nervous and 
  proud all at the same time. Mirina bit her tongue at having to tell him a lie, since 
  sooner or later he'd meet up with others of his race who had joined the raiding parties 
  after they'd apprenticed on the navigation board. But he was too young now. He'd be a 
  liability to himself and the raiding crew.
  "My center is sure," he told her.
  "Good," Mirina sighed. "Keep it that way."
  Bisman handed his way into the control room. His armored suit, now dusty, bore the 
  black streak of a laser shot that impacted over the sternum and skidded upward toward 
  his left ear. He grinned triumphantly.
  "A megacredit run, at least," he crowed.
  "Is everyone back on board?" Mirina asked.
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  "Yeah. Simborne and Mdeng bought it. They're cooling in the cargo bay with the 
  containers."
  "How many injured?"
  "Not too many," Bisman said, offhandedly. "Fewer than the blue-shirts, that's for sure."
  "How many?" Mirina asked, and she knew he knew she wasn't asking for the list of 
  wounded. Bisman pursed his lips and shrugged. "How many?"
  "Five? Six or seven at the most."
  "What?" she gasped. "What were you doing? Why did there have to be casualties?"
  Sunset glanced up, then hurriedly ducked his head behind his wing to avoid the 
  leader's glare. He was shocked at how angry she was.
  "But you wanted those parts," Bisman complained. 'They wouldn't give them up. 
  What were we supposed to do?"
  "That electroshock weapon of yours has more than one setting, doesn't it?" Minna 
  asked nastily, stepping up to the big male. Bisman retreated a pace out of surprise.
  "He was going to pull an alarm! I had to stop him, quick! Damn, I'm tired of your 
  jawing, Miri. We're partners, right? I make some of the decisions, right?"
  Mirinas brown-in-white eyes filled with water — tears — and she said huskily, "I had 
  a partner once. He died. I don't want to hear about partners. We're co-leaders. They 
  owe us the stuff, right;*' she said, mocking him. "They owe us, but they don't owe us 
  their lives."
  What she said made sense to Sunset, but Bisman appeared ready to disagree with her. 
  Humans' flat faces were full of emotion, easy to read. Bisman's cheeks turned red, and 
  his eyes stood out. Sunset thought for a moment he would strike Mirina, but he 
  clenched his hands and left the room. Mirina's round face was set. She stared after the 
  male, then closed her eyes. Sunset could see a slight vibration shake her body.
  "There's enough in this shipment, Miri," Zonzalo spoke up softly from his station. 
  "We could settle down somewhere on our share. CW would never find us. How about 
  the nice place we stopped before we were on Base Fifteen the last time? We're 
  heading back that way. We could scope out a place, buy some land?"
  "No," Mirina said, opening her eyes. "I can't settle. I hate being groundbound. I prefer 
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  to be out here, in the blackness, away from people."
  Sunset spread the shoulder pinions of his wings in acknowledgment. He had caught 
  her many times just staring out into the void, communing. Space spoke to her in a way 
  he had always believed it did to the blessed ones. That was no doubt why she was so 
  cross when he interrupted her. Zonzalo was easier to befriend. Mirina turned suddenly 
  to him, and the young Thelerie jumped, wondering if she could read his thoughts.
  "Which ways your world, Sunset?" she asked. Without hesitation, he pointed toward 
  his Center, and she sighted along his wing-finger.
  "We count on you, you know that," she said, wearily. Sunset nodded. "Good. Go take 
  a rest."
  "You should, too, ma — Mirina." Then he dropped on all fours and hurried out of the 
  control room, surprised by his own boldness. The woman stared after him.
  Zonzalo waved at his sister, and pointed at a light on his control board.
  "Message coming in," he said. Mirina stood over his shoulder and watched the brief 
  transmission.
  "Route it to Bisman," she said at once. "He has to hear this."
  The co-leader was in the control room almost at once.
  "A ship penetrated the other P-sector system near Base Eight? We have to send word 
  to have the others destroy it!"
  "We can't," Mirina said. "It's landed on the second planet. It's protected. Listen to this 
  all the way through." She signalled to Zonzalo to play it back again.
  "The reptiles," Bisman said, exasperated. "The Slime. Damn it, I thought we had them 
  bottled." He recorded a return message to their base. "Keep an eye out. If anything 
  else happens, take appropriate action and notify us at once. Appropriate action," he 
  repeated, with heavy emphasis, and one eye on Mirina. She glared at him, but held her 
  tongue.
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  CHAPTER 4
  « ^ »
  For an interminable third day, Keff sat crosslegged on the floor of the Cridi assembly 
  hall. He sat with his chin braced on one palm, elbow on knee, his wrist held to one 
  side so Carialle could see everything that was going on from the miniaturized video 
  pickup on his shirt front.
  "Another day of flapping lips and hands in the Main Bog," Keff murmured behind his 
  hand. "I feel like Gulliver in Lilliput."
  The humidity was so uncomfortable that in direct countermand of orders from Central 
  Worlds, Keff had stopped wearing uniforms. Instead, he was clad in his least 
  disreputable exercise clothes, fabric made for sweating in. His hair had wound itself 
  into curls, as it always did when it was damp, and he smelled musty. No one else 
  seemed to notice the odor; perhaps his hosts simply couldn't distinguish it in the 
  swamp miasma that hung over everything on this soggy world. Nor did the Cridi pay 
  any attention to the drops running down his face. Like Tall Eyebrow and the others in 
  the ship, some of them made a practice of wearing a film of water to keep their 
  delicate skins from drying out. Others just counted on the ambient humidity, which, 
  Keff thought, was more than sufficient.
  The room's decor reflected the possibility of wet delegates. The ceiling rolled back as 
  easily to allow a passing downpour into the chamber as the view of a sunset or a 
  rainbow. Low, comfortable seats shaped for either sitting upright, crouching, or 
  lounging had soft, water-repellent covers; bright white light came from thick, enclosed 
  bubbles hanging overhead; wooden tables were sealed in plastic, or perhaps made of a 
  naturally resinous wood — Keff hadn't had a chance yet to examine one closely. 
  Every time he approached a sitting group, perforce on hands and knees in the low-
  ceilinged room, stone-faced security frogs came out of the woodwork and herded him 
  back to his spot.
  "At least they're allowing you to stay," Carialle said. "It's a foot in the door. You could 
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  be stuck out here with me, watching the swamp gurgle, and listening to the security 
  guards babble formulae at each other."
  "I'm getting no forrader in advancing the cause of the Central Worlds," Keff said, 
  forlornly watching Tall Eyebrow and the others, separated among three huge groups 
  of Cridi, answering questions. Long Hand was perched in one of the chairs, waving 
  her hands to get the attention of a pair of natives who were squabbling in high-pitched 
  voices. "All during that muddy tour yesterday and the day before, I kept trying to tell 
  them about the Central Worlds, but Big Voice over there kept saying the conclave 
  hadn't yet discussed whether to allow input from an outworlder that would result in 
  any kind of social engineering, when they've never met an outworlder before. Once 
  they've discussed the topic, we have to wait until they've had input from every other 
  city on the planet before proceeding. The final decision rests with the Council of 
  Eight. I'm not allowed to influence anyone, particularly not with the fact of my being 
  an alien. It's a bureaucracy. Our mission, to encounter strange new holdups and 
  fascinating new ways to tie red tape where no frog has gone before."
  "Isn't anyone talking to you?"
  "Oh, yes, on and off, but more out of curiosity than diplomatic interest. I think," Keff 
  said, smiling and making a seated bow to a passing delegate, "I'm serving a function 
  all the same. The Cridi are learning not to be afraid of us. That's good. If they see me 
  as a clown, I just have to coddle my own ego. The problem is they treat me rather like 
  a talking dog, a non-sentient that is a wonder because it can pronounce recognizable 
  words. J would be most concerned that they wouldn't take the Central Worlds 
  seriously enough. There's no future alliance possible without respect."
  "Respect comes with knowledge. They are getting used to you. They've never seen 
  anything like you — or me. As with humans, it sounds like they've run into very few, 
  if any, sentient species beside their own. It would be like one of their dogs starting to 
  talk, if they have dogs. So far I've only seen those blobbies and lizardings they keep 
  for pets. In time, they'll get used to the idea that you do think for yourself. Be thankful 
  that they don't think you're a monster. I was a little worried after that first group took 
  off screaming. They could have burned out Frankenstein and his castle with Core 
  power."
  "So they could." Keff shifted uncomfortably, pulling the folds of his sweatshirt away 
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  from his back. "I'd just prefer to be in the midst of things instead of merely observing. 
  It looks like Tall Eyebrow could use my help." He glanced over at the group 
  surrounding the Ozranian Frog Prince.
  "Tch, greedy. Look, they're friendly. You're getting an unprecedented privilege to 
  have the first peep at an entirely new world, something anyone in Xeno would kill 
  for."
  Keff brightened, sitting up straighter, ignoring the smell and the sog. 'That's true. 
  Alien Outreach chose us. It's us, partner, first and foremost, no matter what. I want to 
  see everything. And I need to look sharp. I keep missing details."
  "Well, that's what I'm here for," Carialle said complacently. "My drives haven't 
  stopped humming for the last eighty hours. Just ask your friendly neighborhood 
  shellperson for a free, money-back guaranteed review."
  Keff grinned. "If only it was that easy. It has to be in my head, too. I wish I had 
  extended memory banks." There was so much that was different in the way the Cridi 
  lived on their homeworld than on Ozran. Isolated as he was, he felt as if he was only 
  one more fact away from sensory overload.
  At first he had wondered if the Cridian amphibioids had abandoned their amulet 
  power system, since no amulets were in evidence. Carialle had been the first to point 
  out the circuits, like fine gold filigree, that were either worn on, or bonded to the ends 
  of the Cridi's long ringers. It was a tremendous advancement in the technology. To 
  access Core power, the user merely positioned his or her hand, as if inserting the 
  fingertips into the niches on a device, the way humans would use a virtual-reality 
  glove, and they were in touch, so to speak, with the Core. Keff knew that Tall 
  Eyebrow and the other Ozranian visitors were uncomfortable using their antique 
  amulets in front of the homeworlders, but he'd assured them that they should be proud 
  to display them, as symbols, if nothing else. The amulets represented hard^won 
  equality after years of deprivation. Besides, their race had a natural predilection for 
  telekinesis, unlike their newfound allies, the humans. That was an advantage that no 
  archaic equipment could devalue. It didn't dispel the Ozranians' discomfort entirely, 
  but it helped. Keff would have given anything to be able to use an amulet, archaic or 
  no, to be dry just for an hour. His boots were beginning to smell moldy. He considered 
  hiking back to the ship through the rain to get a pair of sandals.
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  Carialle broke into his reverie.
  "Oh, look. Company's coming. One of the 'eight great.'"
  Keff glanced up. One of the dignitaries from the Cridi delegation made her way 
  through the crowd and stopped before Keff. She wore a red cloak that was secured at 
  her throat and wrists with gold bands instead of the silver bangles she had worn to 
  meet the ship. Keff guessed from his limited knowledge of Cridi biology that she was 
  fairly young, but still considered an adult. He tried to straighten the crumples out of 
  his shirt.
  The hands moved swiftly. "Can your mind reach me?"
  Keff responded, "I sign your language, gentle-female."
  She gestured a little impatiently. "Why you here?"
  "To make a bridge between your world and ours. To make friends with another race 
  who has its own science, its own space system. We have met many new peoples, but 
  have always had to help them develop…"
  He would have gone on, but he sensed that the female was getting bored. "What's 
  wrong?" he asked.
  'Too long," she replied, emphatically. "Old. Like three." She swung around to point at 
  the Ozranian delegates in turn, lingering briefly on Tall Eyebrow. She turned again 
  and fixed her beady gaze on him. "Old."
  "Old? How would she know how old I…" Keff repeated, bewildered, then was 
  enlightened. "Ah! You mean the language we are using is old. Antiquated." The 
  concept was just out of the reach of his Cridi hand-vocabulary, so he had to reach for 
  it. Encouragingly, the female frog watched him struggle with his explanation, nodding 
  when he made sense to her. "We sound like ancestors to you?"
  She tipped her little face up and stretched her neck slightly three times, like she was 
  bobbing her head against something from underneath.
  "Yes."
  "Whew! So that's the problem," Keff said, running his hand back through his hair, and 
  remembering just in time that the gesture wasn't going to offend the Cridi, having a 
  neutral meaning like "low ceiling."
  "Hey, Cari, that's wonderful!"
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  "Ah," she said, sardonically. "You're not a monster. You're just dull."
  "Yes, but think of it. This would be just the same as if I went back to Old Earth and 
  addressed them in Latin. But you see," he continued, dropping back into Cridi for the 
  female, "that is what I learned from Tall Eyebrow, and his society has had none of the 
  global changes of your people. You must help us to learn the new way of speaking. 
  We are willing."
  His visitor launched into a flurry of hand signals that Keff could tell had been 
  abbreviated from the ones he knew, plus complicated overtones in the language of 
  science. He was glad he'd learned the long form first, or he'd never have recognized 
  some of the subtleties. He prayed that his translation program was picking up all of 
  her spoken words. Later he'd commune with the Intentional Translator and see what it 
  would make of all the murmurs, squeaks, chirps and trills.
  "Ah. See," she signed in her clipped style. The trills translated to a formula for 
  condensing large numbers into small. "I apologize, but it boring watch the long forms. 
  That is why none speaks you."
  "That tells me something," Carialle said quietly in his ear. "It means that the Cridi 
  weren't as dependent upon the power controller system when TE's progenitors left for 
  Ozran. Otherwise they'd have had more voice and less hands then, too, the easier to 
  communicate over remote frequencies. I predict that in another thousand years their 
  language will be all verbal. Hand-sign will just be a topic for some doctoral 
  dissertation."
  "I'd love to take you up on a bet, Lady Fair," Keff said, wryly. "You'll just have to 
  remember to check in another millenium for me."
  "Ah, Sir Knight, I shall." Carialle's voice was tender.
  "Who speak to?" Big Eyes asked.
  "To Carialle," he said. "She's my partner. She lives in the ship that brought us here."
  "Curious," she said. "Have scanned. Life support absolute?"
  "Yes. Very efficient, too."
  "Interested in engineering. Degreed."
  "Really? What branch?" Keff was starting to get the hang of her abbreviated 
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  conversation.
  "Aerospace," said her hands, and she added a long vocal trill. IT translated it as a 
  complex navigation formula.
  "There's luck," Carialle said in Keff's ear.
  "I'll say. You must be the person we've been waiting for. Tell me about Cridi's space 
  program," Keff said eagerly. Big Eyes waved away his request nonchalantly.
  "None talk right now," she said.
  "Won't she talk about it, or isn't there anything going on?" Carialle asked.
  "I don't know," Keff said. "Listen to IT babbling about two potential meanings. Could 
  it be another one of those 'don't tell the alien' subjects?" He broached this suggestion 
  gently to Big Eyes, who openly ignored the question. In fact, she seemed impatient.
  "Not now. I worst tell. Father. Much else to see now I know." She pointed at Long 
  Hand, who was giving a dissertation on the farming techniques used on Ozran. 
  "Observe. You asked. I help. Cut middles," she signed to him, lifting an imaginary 
  section out of something with her flattened hands held parallel. Big Eyes repeated key 
  phrases with sign language, and interspersed them with verbal signs that tightened up 
  the long strings of symbolism to the few necessary. Keff had thought the Ozranian 
  version of Cridi sign language was terse and to the point. Big Eyes reduced it still 
  further, to the essence of meaning.
  "Very efficient," Keff said, trying to match her gestures. "Cari, I can reprogram IT to 
  give me two choices of expression — dialects, if you will, depending on which planet 
  I'm on, Cridi or Ozran, This is worth at least one paper for Scientific Galactican or 
  Linguistics Today."
  "If Xeno will let you declassify this data so soon. Remember we're the diplomatic 
  advance scout. You'll probably have to teach the combination languages to the reps 
  yet to come."
  "All part of the service." He glanced over at Tall Eyebrow again, who was trying to 
  answer questions from three delegates at once, all of whom were clamoring for his 
  sole attention. "He looks as confused as I feel." He turned to Big Eyes. "Excuse me. 
  Talk to my friend."
  "Stay," she said, with an urgent gesture and a high-pitched peep that indicated an 
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  exponent of urgency. "Elders."
  Keff looked around. Two more of the eight, Smooth Hand and Big Voice, were 
  making their way toward him, followed by the usual entourage of aides and flunkeys. 
  Like Big Eyes, they wore modified capes of various colors and lengths attached at 
  throat and wrists.
  "You are here already," Smooth Hand said to Big Eyes. "Have you broached 
  discussion with him yet?"
  "No," Big Eyes said briefly. "We acquaint."
  "Good," Smooth Hand signed. "Here are six of the eight members of the conclave 
  council representatives, so our discussion may be of significance."
  "Now's your big chance to impress them," Carialle said.
  "Maybe they've made a decision on joining Central Worlds," Keff said, wishing he'd 
  sacrificed comfort for dignity and worn the uniform after all. "How serve, gentle-
  ones?" he asked, keeping the signs as short as he could. The young female up-nodded 
  encouragingly toward him.
  Always a quick study, but unwilling to sacrifice courtesy for speed, Keff tried to 
  incorporate his new friends lessons in his handspeech. Working from discussions he 
  had had with Tall Eyebrow about traditional protocol, he gave Smooth Hand the 
  respect due the oldest member of the conclave, then greeted the others, ending with 
  Big Eyes. She gave him a quick gesture of approval with joined thumb and long 
  forefinger.
  'That was a hash," Keff murmured to Carialle without moving his lips. "The Minute 
  Waltz in eight seconds."
  "Looked fine from here," Carialle said. "And they seem happy."
  "In return," Smooth Hand said, "we greet you." Keff bowed his head as deeply as he 
  could, and waited.
  As usual, Big Voice took the lead in the discussion. The stout amphibioid pushed 
  forward to the center of the group and glared at Keff, who glanced at Smooth Hand 
  for direction. Instead of attempting to overbear the pompous councillor, the old one 
  stood back with an air of indulgence. Keff assumed an air of respectful attention that 
  made Big Eyes' eponymous features twinkle with amusement. Big Voice began his 
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  dissertation with exaggerated movements of his elbows designed to clear away anyone 
  standing within half a meter of him. Everyone edged away. Keff carefully pulled in 
  his knees.
  "Stranger to this world, we are grateful that you return to us lost descendants of our 
  ancestors," Big Voice gestured hugely. "From the far reaches of the void they come, 
  never thought to have been seen again…" The language of diplomacy appeared to be 
  rooted in both the new and old forms, comprising more sign than was used by Big 
  Eyes — which bored her and the other young members of the council — and more 
  verbiage than Keffs version, which confused the brawn. Keff paused and nodded and 
  smiled in between the flowery statements, waiting for IT to cycle back translations to 
  him utilizing the growing catalog it was picking up of the spoken language. Keff 
  hoped that he would look thoughtful, rather than lost. His brief and polite replies, 
  made when Big Voice stopped for breath, seemed to please his audience.
  "… And that is how our cousins' journey ended, here on beautiful Cridi."
  "We are grateful for your welcome of us."
  "You say that you did not know of the Cridi who inhabited Sky Clear?"
  "No," Keff said. "We had lost track of some of our own people many hundreds of 
  years ago. They settled on, er, Sky Clear, and thereafter dropped out of 
  communication with us. As it was with your ancestors."
  "So, they have been self-governing all this time?' Big Voice asked. "Without the 
  approval of your Central Worlds?"
  "Well, not without the approval of the government, but certainly without its 
  knowledge. We lost touch, you see." Keff tried the phrase a couple of ways and hoped 
  they understood.
  "So, it is not your Central Worlds who holds the half of Sky Clear?" Big Voice asked.
  "Not precisely," Keff said carefully, settling in for a long explanation. "Our people, 
  descendants of my ancestors who set out many hundreds of years ago, settled the 
  world alongside yours. To encounter them, we — and they — were as surprised to see 
  one another as you are to meet Tall Eyebrow and his companions."
  "But they did not set down upon this world at the same time, nor before the Cridi?"
  "He's going somewhere," Carialle said, in between sound bites from IT in Keff's aural 
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  implant. "I don't like what I think he's getting at."
  "Neither do I. Not to my knowledge," Keff said out loud, sensing he was treading on 
  tricky ground. "The humans who live on Oz — Sky Clear were not as good 
  recordkeepers as the Cridi." Mentally he crossed his fingers, knowing he was eliding 
  the truth. The early settlers had kept good tape archives of their settlement, and none 
  of it included references to the Cridi except as a curious life-form they thought was 
  indigenous to Ozran.
  "Are we to understand that you came to our world only to convey our lost children?" 
  Smooth Hand inquired, interrupting Big Voice by standing in front of him.
  Keff was grateful to have a respite from Big Voice's pointed questioning. "That and to 
  ask your people to join the great conclave of planets and beings we call the Central 
  Worlds." Keff had worked out a set of handsigns he found symbolic of those concepts 
  of unity and cooperation. The elder picked it up without a demur, and repeated it to 
  the others. "This organization boasts members from many species besides humanity. 
  We are proud of our diversity. I am instructed to convey the compliments of our 
  government and say that they, and we, would be delighted if you would join."
  "Beginning to think no intelligent life existed outside our own," Smooth Hand said, 
  with dry humor. "How many are there?"
  "Thousands of inhabited planets, hundreds of intelligent species with uncounted 
  subgroups, millions of non-sentient protected species in various stages of 
  development," Keff said, hoping he was placing the exponents correctly in his voiced 
  phrases.
  "Most impressive," Smooth Hand gestured, thoughtfully.
  The other councillors chattered formulae at one another, speculating on the size of 
  Central Worlds' sphere. Keff waved politely for attention.
  "I can give you star charts, if you want."
  "Yes! Occasional talk of ships passing through our system," Big Eyes said, describing 
  the decline of an arc across the sky. "Believed to be myths. Not know. You?"
  "Maybe," Keff said. "Maybe another race. There are countless others out there that 
  we've never met. You might even have neighbors and not know it."
  "Maybe the salvage squad," Carialle sputtered in his ear.
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  "Not in system," Big Voice protested. "That known of old."
  "Meteors or myths," the elder said, indulgently. "If not myths, why not land before 
  now? Why were they not curious? All ground control has ever retrieved is rocks. Fly-
  by saucers are mythical. System has very strange and strong anomalies."
  "You can say that again," Carialle said. "That trash heap at the binary end of the 
  heliopause, whew!"
  "Shh, Cari," Keff said softly, nodding and smiling at the delegates.
  Big Voice hovered above everyone's head and waved for attention. "The presence of 
  so many other worlds containing humans shall then pose no difficulty in moving those 
  off Sky Clear in favor of Cridi."
  "Aha!" Carialle said.
  "What?" Keff sputtered. "This is a long-established society, sir. It might have been 
  different if you had made such a demand within say, three years of the discovery. Not 
  after a thousand years. That's like saying that dinosaurs have a permanent claim on 
  Burbank, California, on Old Earth just because some of their relatives are buried in the 
  La Brea tar pits."
  Big Voice paid no attention to his simile.
  "Yes, after a thousand years. If you want the approval of the conclave to join your 
  Central Worlds, you will cede Sky Clear to the Cridi. We have prior landing rights. 
  You have said so yourself." Keff wouldn't have believed it, but Big Voices shrill 
  cheeping did manage to sound menacing. Two of the six council members present, 
  and a few among the entourage bobbed up their heads in agreement.
  'That's blackmail," Carialle said. "I wonder how much power he really holds in the 
  conclave. Smooth Hand looks a little shocked at the tactics."
  "We can't afford to find out," Keff said sublingually. "If, good sir, you would care to 
  examine the records, you would see that when humans landed on Ozran — or Sky 
  Clear, if you prefer," he corrected himself, seeing that Big Voice was swelling fit to 
  pop, "they were unaware of the presence of the Cridi, owing to the subterfuge of the 
  Others. See here. Do not ask only me. Tall Eyebrow himself will explain that the 
  current generation of Cridi have no objections to sharing the planet with humans. 
  Small Spot is the archivist. He can direct you to the correct records."
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  Another male, wearing a green cape, pushed forward to get the conclave council's 
  attention. "I withhold approval because I still do not believe in this story of a lost 
  colony. These three Cridi must come from another part of our own world. This is a 
  hoax. A ship built in secret." A chorus of agreement, plus wild signing came from a 
  portion of the group, obviously this male's supporters.
  "Uh-oh," Carialle said. "Shades of Ozran."
  "Snap Fingers, your data is faulty," Smooth Hand said patiently, shaking his head.
  "I would suggest," Keff signed patiently, "that the internal evidence in the archives, 
  added to the fact that we humans are here with the Sky Clear delegation, will prove 
  otherwise."
  "Fabricated!"
  "But the aliens…?" Smooth Hand began, with a glance at Keff.
  "Random chance met!"
  "But where?" Big Eyes asked, innocently, "when no whole ship has come in or out of 
  atmosphere for fifty years?"
  Big Voice glared fiercely at her.
  "Fifty years?" Carialle repeated. "Why hasn't their space program been active for fifty 
  years?"
  Keff tried to interrupt the argument to ask, but no one was paying attention to him. 
  The air was full of Cridi. The male in the green cape tapped Smooth Hand's shoulder 
  and flung angry gestures in the old one's face. Big Voice addressed Big Eyes and Snap 
  Fingers alternately, spinning to confront each of them in turn. Creaking broke out all 
  over, making the group sound like a marsh pond in mating season. In spite of the 
  seriousness of the subject, Keff had to try hard not to smile. He hoped fervently that 
  the recording mechanism in IT would be able to distinguish between thirty different 
  Cridi voices when it tried to translate this mess.
  Big Voice interrupted with a shrill whistle ordering them to diminish volume. "No 
  decision can be made now! It will take much time for all the archives to be read," he 
  signed.
  "Then, please read them," Keff said, sitting up very tall so they had to look up at him. 
  "No decision of any importance should be made in haste."
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  There was general approval for such a wise suggestion. Big Voice looked upset, as if 
  Keff had stolen his thunder by being reasonable. "We shall read them, you may be 
  assured," he signed, his face grim. "In the meantime, no assurances can be made for or 
  against membership. I shall withhold approval until then myself."
  "As you will, gentle-male," Keff said, describing a sitting bow with the flourishes 
  born of long practice.
  "Whew!" said Carialle. "At once thrust into the fire and pulled out of it again by the 
  same frog."
  "Hot air," signed Big Eyes, merrily. "I am in favor of membership. Many advantages."
  "Brash youngster," Smooth Hand said fondly. "Do not decide without all facts."
  "Facts dull," Big Eyes said. "Still, should like to see Ozran." She glanced over toward 
  Tall Eyebrow with an approving look. Keff made a mental note to mention the young 
  female's interest to his friend. Then she stood up on her toes and whistled a shrill 
  signal as a tall, thin frog with a mottled skin of a pleasant brownish green entered the 
  big chamber. Keff could tell that he was very old, but he still walked upright. He saw 
  Big Eyes and waved back.
  "My father," Big Eyes signed, as the male joined the group. "Narrow Leg I, seventh 
  offspring," Big Eyes offered, presenting the human and the Cridi to one another.
  "Seventieth?" Keff asked, singing the number carefully in the highest voice he could 
  muster.
  "No," she gestured, and repeated the fluting snatch of song, making sure he saw and 
  heard no decimal multiplier.
  "Oops!" Keff exclaimed. 'This is an old, thin lad, Big Eyes' dad," he said, playfully to 
  Carialle, noticing the twinkle in the elderly Cridi's eye and deciding at once that he 
  liked him. "No, tad. Tad Pole."
  "Oh, Keff," Carialle groaned. Keff snickered. Big Eyes explained Keff to her father 
  with a few gestures, then turned to the human.
  "Narrow Leg is head of current space program. Answer questions."
  "At last," Keff said, happily. "How do you do, sir?"
  "Pleased to meet you," said Narrow Leg. "Wanting to converse on spaceships." He 
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  described with a few graceful signs the contours of craft much like Carialles.
  Keff stared. Even for a race that had unusually large and long hands, Tad Pole's were 
  extraordinary. When his hand was closed the tips of the fingers seemed to reach 
  partway down the wrist. The gold filigree amulet circuitry looked like an ancient 
  Chinese aristocrats fingernail stalls. "May I hope for some increment of your time?"
  "At some point, I would love to compare our programs with yours," Keff said. "I 
  expect that we'll be discussing the possibility of Cridi joining the Central Worlds for a 
  while longer."
  "Ah!" Narrow Leg squeaked. "A unity of many peoples. Will there be a vote?' he 
  asked the councillors.
  "No. Nothing will be settled today," Smooth Hand signed.
  "Why not?" Narrow Leg asked.
  His daughter made an impatient gesture. "They say reading of archives takes time, 
  then the conclave must discuss everything to death. We and Keff shall be hauled back 
  here again and again. Negotiations held up because there are factions who don't 
  believe Tall Eyebrow and Keff are who they say they are. Non-ex-planetary."
  "Nonsense!" Narrow Leg gestured definitely. "Of course they are! To what purpose, to 
  what end to create an elaborate charade of this nature? Do you think such a creature as 
  this," he indicated Keff, "arose from primordial ooze without us noticing? He is from 
  beyond atmosphere, and, if you will believe your beacons — and you should — from 
  beyond our system. Human," he turned to the brawn. "Will you take me to your 
  spaceship? I would like to see it."
  "I should be honored, gentle-male," Keff replied.
  "Bring him," Carialle said. "He's one of the few so far who is making sense."
  "And my partner will welcome you, also," Keff added. Narrow Leg looked gratified.
  "Not settled yet the questioning about sharing Sky Clear," Big Voice interrupted with 
  an alarming shriek meant to regain the floor. "Do you not realize the offense given by 
  involuntary sharing of Sky Clear?"
  "Offense?" Keff asked. "Hadn't you better ask Tall Eyebrow about the cooperative 
  colony? Right now humans and Cridi are coexisting rather well. And without much 
  consultation you could abort an experiment that has the possibility of breaking new 
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  ground in interspecies cooperation."
  Big Voice wasn't interested. "We explored that sector. It is the first of our colonies we 
  have heard from for fifty years. We want it to revert to Cridi, with no interference."
  "Fifty years again," Carialle said urgently. "Ask why it's been so long since there's 
  been contact outside the system."
  "Yes," said Keff. "Why isn't space program running?"
  All the elders except Narrow Leg turned to glare at Big Eyes.
  "I have told nothing," she signed indignantly. "He is not stupid. He sees negative 
  indications."
  Smooth Hand shook his head, and turned to Keff. 'Too many problems, too little 
  funding."
  "Too many natural resources are used up," Snap Fingers added. "We have few heavy 
  metals. Send to colonies in centuries past, get no return." He chattered a complex 
  series of descending notes which Keff didn't need ITs help to translate as a losing 
  program. There were outcries of protest, and the brawn kept turning his head to see 
  everyone who wanted his attention.
  "Don't think of it in terms of immediate return," Tad Pole complained, pursing his 
  wide lips distastefully. He turned to the crowd. "See here, my friends, you have no 
  respect for the world as it was fifty years ago, when we had a working program. 
  You're ignorant of your own history. So many strides forward were made as a result 
  over hundreds of years of space study! You forget your past!"
  "You do not look to the real future! Program failed. Bad use of funds, of the best 
  minds!" signed Snap Fingers. "I and other members of Cridi Inward see no reason to 
  continue burying good food under the swamp. It's a waste of time. Equipment doesn't 
  work properly."
  Big Voice took immediate umbrage. 'The equipment is properly made and 
  maintained!"
  "Well, we keep seeing anomalies on scopes, like other spacecraft," Snap Fingers said, 
  seeing that he had offended the blustering councillor.
  "Well, now we know that those could be true," Smooth Hand signed, with a polite nod 
  to Keff.
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  "That is true. Yet it does not change facts." With less bombastic gestures, Snap 
  Fingers continued. "Our economy could not support any more failures."
  "Yes!" Smooth Hand said. "We would like to recoup losses from space program."
  "And that is why laying sole claim to Sky Clear is important to Big Voice," Narrow 
  Leg's daughter said, making a distasteful moue. Big Voice emitted his shriek of 
  protest once again, this time with a five-times multiplier attached. Keff winced.
  "There is nothing wrong with honest profit!" Big Voice said.
  "If profit does not come at the expense of lives," Snap Fingers retorted.
  "Gentles, gentles," Keff said, and held up his hands, "please. Facts? I know nothing of 
  your recent history."
  Through the confused mixture of Cridi music and gesture, Keff managed to discover 
  that the last successful launch of a spacecraft had been fifty years past. Several tries 
  had been made thereafter, but no vehicle had managed to clear the system since then.
  "Have received no messages, no artifacts from other colonies," Narrow Leg added, 
  spreading his hands at shoulder level. "Abandoned? Destroyed? Technological 
  setbacks like Sky Clear? We do not know."
  Three launches, three expensive disasters," indicated Snap Fingers. "I blame the 
  equipment."
  "As do I," Narrow Leg said.
  "No," Big Voice said emphatically. "Not in the last one! It must be because of 
  radiation or ion storms or some unknown natural menace!"
  Narrow Leg turned to Keff. "Our space program is crippled. There is something 
  wrong with the drives, or the shielding, that it cannot carry a craft swiftly enough out 
  of the way of space storms, or protect them well. Once out of range of the Core of 
  Cridi, have to rely upon actual machinery, and it has been shoddy."
  "How dare you?" Big Voice demanded, embarrassed.
  Narrow Leg pointedly turned his back on the other. "The technicians who built can 
  ignore small faults, like badly fitting seals or insufficiently tightened components. 
  Astronauts don't know about them, can't guard using their own devices because range 
  of power is limited to atmosphere of Cridi. Fault — boom! Again and again, just out 
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  of atmosphere."
  "Storms have become more virulent," Snap Fingers said. "Can we trade with the 
  humans for better technology? We have much to offer."
  "There is nothing wrong with the technology!" Big Voice said furiously.
  "No," Narrow Leg said, coolly, watching the yellow-brown Cridi swell until he looked 
  as if he might pop. "Only with the construction management."
  Keff, ever the diplomat, wanted to follow upon Snap Fingers's suggestion. This was 
  much more of what he hoped would happen in council. "Yes, of course we'd be happy 
  to offer machinery or advice, or whatever you need. I know we'd love to exchange 
  goods and ideas with you. We are fascinated with your power control system. We've 
  never seen anything like it. Our, er, brothers and sisters on Ozran have learned to use 
  it, and I know our government has shown an interest in what we've told them."
  "And you?" Big Eyes asked.
  "Well, at present I can't use it," Keff said, trying to explain his lack of the necessary 
  telekinetic spark.
  "Modification?" One frog signed quickly to another. The topic spread around the 
  room, even superseding the discussions in which the three Ozranians were involved.
  The room filled with the cheeping of formulae and wild signing of hands.
  There is virtue in the notion of trade, Core technology for superior Central Worlds 
  spacecraft," Smooth Hand said, stroking his jaw with his long fingers.
  Big Voice protested once more, but his argument was losing ferocity as he was 
  ignored by everyone around him. "No, not superior! I tell you, it is the ion storms!"
  "Sounds unlikely to me," Carialle told Keff, after running her telemetry. "I didn't 
  notice any undue amounts of radiation, or that much floating debris on the outskirts of 
  this system. I'll contact Central Worlds about ion storms in this area. Warn the council 
  I'm about to launch a message probe. Ask them to let it out of atmosphere. I don't want 
  it returned to sender."
  Keff conveyed Carialle's information. At once, there was a fresh flurry of argument, 
  which Smooth Hand quickly put down.
  "Of course you may communicate with your government," he said genially. "Convey 
  our compliments, and thank them for their assistance."
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  Tad Pole perked up. "I should still like to witness the launch of your message rocket," 
  he said. "In fact, may I not have a tour of your ship?"
  'Tell him he's very welcome," Carialle said. I'll tidy up. I might even bake a cake."
  "I'll tell him," Keff said. "Cari, do you know what it means that the Cridi have lacked 
  a space program for the last fifty years?"
  "Yes," Carialle said with such gusto that Keff winced. "Nothing out of system in all 
  that time. It means the Cridi weren't my salvage squad. I can't tell you how glad that 
  makes me. That only leaves me wondering all the more who they were."
  "Don't worry about that now, Cari. We're doing so well with the Cridi. Let's tackle one 
  problem at a time. When this is all shipshape and Bristol fashion, to everyone's 
  satisfaction, I still say we should go out looking for your boojums."
  "You bet we will," Carialle said. "But I'm so relieved about the Cridi, I love them all, 
  even that squeaking blowhard, Big Voice."
  "I'll tell him so, although I don't think he'll appreciate your description very much."
  "Well, think of some diplomatic way to tell him. I'm recording the message to CW 
  now. See you in a few nanos."
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  CHAPTER 5
  « ^ »
  Before he left for the ship with Narrow Leg, Keff collected Tall Eyebrow and the 
  others. Smooth Hand, seeing that all were now on fire to discuss exchanges with the 
  Central Worlds, adjourned the meeting. Tall Eyebrow seemed as if he welcomed the 
  rescue. All four outworlders were grateful to leave, but had to promise to appear in the 
  great hall again in the morning to continue the discussion on citizenship. Narrow Leg 
  led Keff and the Ozranians out of the damp hall and into what was left of the day. It 
  had been raining hard. The air still smelled like a gym locker, but Keff took a deep 
  breath, glad to expand his lungs.
  Sunshine glittered on the ornamental paving surrounding the Main Bog building, 
  picking up light from bright specks of mica or quartz. The sculpted, multicolored 
  granitelike rock felt rough and uneven under his boot soles, but the visual effect was 
  one of undulating ocean waves, most soothing to the eye. Design was important to the 
  Cridi. Keff appreciated their painstaking attention to detail. Plants sprouted out of 
  pillar tops and along the guardrails of ramps. Tall buildings containing hundreds of 
  apartment flats poked up through the thick trees, looking as though they had evolved 
  organically themselves. Since all Cridi had access to Core power and therefore could 
  fly, entrances to the flats were as likely to be up as down: on protruding ledges of 
  smooth stone, in sculpted baskets like giant nests, carved like a child's slide through a 
  miniature waterfall. Mosaics seemed to have been formed by stratification in the rock 
  walls instead of being imposed upon them by artistic hands. Huge golden insects with 
  multiple wings like living jewels hovered over V-shaped blossoms in the many 
  planters, sipping nectar. Keff half-expected one of the Cridi to dart out a long tongue 
  and devour one.
  Long Hand looked around her, nodding approvingly. Small Spot just sat down on the 
  sidewalk with his long legs collapsing under him, turning his amulet, a long, thin 
  fingertrap, between his hands. Tall Eyebrow seemed drawn and tired. His skin looked 
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  dull amid all the bright stonework.
  "How has it been going?" Keff asked him in Standard, once they were out of earshot 
  of the other delegates. Clusters of Cridi hung around the pillared entrance, signing to 
  one another, but more than one cast a curious eye toward the strangers.
  "I feel lost," the Frog Prince replied in the human tongue, with a glance at Narrow 
  Leg. The elder Cridi up-nodded politely, after understanding that they were having a 
  private conversation, and turned his head the other way. Keff blessed the old one's tact.
  "Why?" Keff asked Tall Eyebrow.
  "Technology so far beyond ours," he replied, his small face screwed up, searching for 
  the correct words. "I am at disadvantage to show what my people have done."
  "Technology isn't everything," Keff said, soothingly. "You have experience and 
  intelligence. You have overcome incredible obstacles to survive. You've rejuvenated a 
  planet."
  "And what is that here?" Tall Eyebrow turned his palms upward. "Nothing."
  He paused at the edge of the pavement and looked up and down the main thoroughfare 
  passing the Main Bog of Greedeek, the Cridi capital city. It had been raining again, 
  and the lanes ran with multiple streams of muddy water. Around him, delegates were 
  taking leave of one another, gliding out or upward toward their homes. Keff could tell 
  that the Frog Prince wished he wasn't groundbound. The taste of power over the last 
  two years on Ozran had spoiled the globe-frog. On the other hand, the mudflow was 
  daunting even to a human. Keff looked down and took a deep breath before raising a 
  foot over the ooze. Tall Eyebrow, too, paused, reaching for his amulet. When he 
  realized it wouldn't work, he glanced up at Keff with a shamefaced expression. 
  Neither of them wanted to test the depth of the viscous goo.
  "Here goes anyhow," he said. "I'd better go first."
  "Power surge coming up in your direction," Carialle said. At the same time, Keff felt 
  his feet arrested before they sank into the greeny-black mud. His right foot hovered, 
  supported a few centimeters above the surface. He drew his left foot forward. The 
  invisible floor beneath him held.
  A shrill whistle of laughter came from behind them. Big Eyes was Ming them and 
  herself, using her power circuitry.
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  "Technology is something," Tall Eyebrow said, gloomily.
  "Go on, go on," the female gestured. "Wish to come to ship."
  Her father, who had halted when he found that the others had dropped behind, turned 
  to see what was going on.
  "How rude of you, daughter," he said. His enormously long fingers folded together.
  "I apologize," Narrow Leg signed quickly. "I forgot. I have not met outworlders 
  before. I forgot you," and he indicated Keff, mainly to save Tall Eyebrow 
  embarrassment, "would not have our advantages."
  "Quite all right," Keff said, politely. 'Tour daughter has resc — offered her kind 
  hospitality."
  "You mean she has made herself the center of attention," Narrow Leg signed, with a 
  humorous sigh. "Do you think it is easy, after seven children, to find one who stands 
  out so?"
  "I think she would stand out," Tall Eyebrow signed, without looking at either of them, 
  "if there were a million children."
  The female let out a tinkling laugh, and put her long fingertips on Tall Eyebrows arm.
  "Gallant one," she said, when he raised his head. They looked deeply at one another 
  for a long moment. Grinning fit to pop his jaw, Keff held his breath. Big Eyes tented 
  her fingertips and thumbtips together and dipped her chin toward them. "You're very 
  kind. I am glad you came home to Cridi. Come, let us see the spaceship."
  Tall Eyebrow, buoyed on borrowed power and love, strode proudly in the direction of 
  the landing field with Big Eyes beside him.
  "This is most impressive," Tad Pole said over and over again, as he stumped about the 
  main cabin of Carialle's ship. "Most impressive."
  Possessed of great height for a Cridi, he was able to see over the edges of the consoles 
  from the floor. When he had paced from the food processor to the view tank about a 
  dozen times, he raised himself on a surge of power and floated. Carialle noted the 
  slight surges of power that rose around the old frog's form as he levitated. The 
  homeworld Cridi had such a subtle command of their power system: as different from 
  the Core of Ozran as a scalpel to a sledgehammer. The Cridi generators were, Carialle 
  estimated, as much as five times more powerful. Yet with all the use the locals made 
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  of the system, the local environment seemed to show no signs of deterioration or other 
  ill effects. She would have to question Narrow Leg on the technology when he was 
  finished with his tour. She manifested her frog image next to him over the navigation 
  station to describe what he was looking at.
  "Thank you for the compliments, gentle-male. This indicates the benchmarking codes 
  for this sector," she said, activating the screen to show Cridi's star in relation to the 
  nearest blue lines. "Sector A is considered galactic center, and the others radiate 
  outward from it."
  Tad Pole had accepted the holograph without question, even addressing it directly as if 
  it was a new acquaintance. He pointed at the numerals in the corner of the image.
  "So this is where Cridi lies in your reckoning? What does this designation mean?" he 
  asked.
  Keff, with the help of IT, tried to render the musical notes for the X, Y, and Z axes. 
  Then he whistled it, and shook his head at himself.
  "Oh, fuss and bother," he said. "I can't make an accurate tone when it's important. 
  Well, that's what IT is for." He rummaged around in an instrument locker and came 
  out with the small external speaker that he wore when translation of an alien language 
  was beyond his vocal capabilities. He hooked it into the IT module he wore on his 
  chest next to Carialle's camera eye. "In Sector P, X=248.9, Y=1630.23, Z=876."
  "This means nine-tenths?" Narrow Leg asked, pointing to one of the characters, and 
  voiced a very high minor that indicated the negative logarithm.
  That led to a quick lesson in Standard decimal notation, and the explanation of Arabic 
  versus Roman numerals, which more closely approximated the Cridi system of written 
  notation. Tad Pole, a quick learner, nodded his head several times appreciatively.
  "It is quick and less cumbersome for a screen of formulae," he said. "Very neat. It may 
  serve as your first import to our world. Although I do not want my spacers to become 
  lazy, having an easy way to express formulae."
  "None find it easy to serve Narrow Leg," Big Eyes said, from the weight bench, where 
  she sat curled up with her hands around her thin knees, drawing her red cloak closely 
  against her body. Tall Eyebrow hunched beside her, eyes wide like a wary animal. 
  "He works everyone too hard. Himself, too."
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  "I do nothing unnecessary," the lean, old male admonished his unruly child. "Should 
  like to have documents on numeric system."
  "Gladly," Keff signed.
  "I will recommend partnership between human organization and Cridi," Narrow Leg 
  continued. "Among those who are of sense, I carry weight." He thumped his chest 
  proudly.
  Turning to Tall Eyebrow, he asked, "What do you call the other?" He circled a 
  forefinger uncertainly. The Ozranian sat up very straight and put his hand before his 
  face.
  "The One Who Watches From Behind the Walls," Tall Eyebrow signed, and spoke her 
  name, "Carialle."
  "Carialle," Narrow Leg said. "I thank you for my tour. Now we are curious about you. 
  You do not really look like one of us, do you, in spite of this flat Cridi which follows 
  me like a friend?"
  "No," Carialle said, signing through the image. "I resemble Keff, but I am a female of 
  our species." The white wall beside the visitor displayed images of men and women 
  from infancy to old age. She erased all the others and let the adult female image 
  remain, clothing it in the usual garb worn by her Lady Fair holo. "This is how I 
  usually represent myself, but I am not mobile on two legs as Keff is." Another series 
  of images followed, beginning with a human body, surrounding it in a protective shell, 
  then circuitry and life support tubes, moving outward through every layer until the 
  viewers eye was outside the titanium pillar beside which Keff was standing. "This 
  ship is my body. I see what is outside with video eyes," she showed some examples of 
  cameras, "and hear with many different kinds of ears." The visitors blinked through a 
  series of images of audio transmitters and receivers, down to the miniaturized implant 
  that Keff wore.
  "So different. So very different," Narrow Leg said, awed. "I am glad you have come to 
  our world."
  "But you came here for a purpose," Carialle said, resuming her frog image. "I'm 
  sending for data regarding observations on storms and other anomalies in space with 
  special attention to this sector. Keff, I'm piggybacking a message to Simeon to pick up 
  gossip from other ships that have been in this area recently. He'll give us the unofficial 
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  scuttle if there's nothing in the records. Watch now."
  On the holoview over the main console, Carialle showed the view from the camera 
  over the hatch following the second of her four message rockets. Keff urged Narrow 
  Leg to float as closely as he wanted to the holographic image. The ships skin peeled 
  back, and the bracket levered the little rocket back, then upright like a child sitting up 
  in bed. An inner hatch closed underneath its tailfins, protecting the other probes from 
  backfire. Carialle sent a command, and the small ring of engines ignited, forming a 
  cushion of fire that elongated into a red tongue as the probe lifted skyward. Carialle 
  changed to another camera view that followed the white-hot dot up through the sky as 
  it gained velocity. It was soon lost from sight.
  "It will take a few weeks for the message to get to the outpost of the Central Worlds," 
  Carialle said. "I hope you can put up with us that long."
  "It would be our honor, gentle-female. I enjoyed that very much," Narrow Leg said, 
  nodding thoughtfully. "Very much indeed. And now," he said, recovering his good 
  humor and energy. "You must come to see my ship."
  "I felt long ago that we must not lose the heritage of ages," Narrow Leg said as he 
  pointed out features of the slender ship on the launch pad. "Space is important. I am 
  old. I remember when the failures began. No one thought anything of it, but when they 
  continued, most gave up all hope. Some saw it as a sign to cease travel into space. Our 
  planets children, the colonies, had forsaken us, and no project could succeed. Others 
  did not agree. We launched, but the ships exploded just beyond atmosphere, or 
  disappeared before passing the beacons at the edge of our system. I was part of those 
  projects, and I said we should not stop. It has taken me twelve years to achieve 
  funding for this ship, and I will not let anything stop us. The fourth time shall be 
  fortunate."
  Keff whistled at the sleek lines of the small ship. As Carialle had said, all the Cridi 
  craft seemed to be about one-sixth to one-third scale to human ships, yet personal 
  quarters were much larger in proportion. Cridi seemed to like a fair bit of headroom. 
  Keff found he was slouching to pass in and out of hatchways, but not actually 
  stooping. Narrow Leg's technology was based upon modular replacements, a notion 
  handed down through the generations to preserve the precious metals and radioactives. 
  Stacks of identical bulkhead panels, numbered in the Cridi way, lay in heaps around 
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  the finished craft.
  "You have enough here to make another couple of ships," Keff said, kicking one skid.
  "One and half," Narrow Leg said. 'These plates are designed to fit in over 120 
  different positions on the craft, both inside and outside. Similar care has been taken 
  with many other components. All circuit boards are the same size, and all plugs, too."
  "Are you getting this, Cari?" Keff asked, turning around in a full circle and aiming his 
  transmitter up and down to cover everything.
  "Sure am," Carialle said. "It is beautiful. If this is everything it looks like, all hopes 
  Central Worlds has always had for a precisely equal race are achieved. This is as 
  advanced as any CW ship, and it sounds like they've been splitting space for as long as 
  we have, but they've evolved independently. I feel vindicated, and I'm even more glad 
  we were the ones to see this. The diplomacy wonks wouldn't give us due credit when 
  they got back from the initial contact mission. When will she be ready to launch?"
  Keff relayed the question. Narrow Leg let out a piping laugh.
  "When the bureaucrats let me," he said. "They are still arguing about who gets credit 
  for what."
  The party reentered the hydroponics section, the first part they had visited upon 
  entering the ship. Small Spot had taken a great fancy to the room, arranged like a 
  jungle garden around a large central bath, and decided he needed to see no more than 
  that. He stood up when Tall Eyebrow appeared.
  "How quiet it is in here," Long Hand said, coming in behind. Keff listened. She was 
  right. The incessant peeping and chirping of the technicians could not be heard once 
  the enameled hatch slid shut.
  'This is worth recording, senior," Small Spot signed enthusiastically. "Someday, when 
  we are traveling the stars, I should like a room of plants with a pool at its heart."
  'Thank you for compliment," Big Eyes signed. "This is my design." Touching Tall 
  Eyebrow's hand, she drew him over to see special details. "It is meant to be quiet 
  during travel. Engine noise absorbed through three layers of paneling. Vibration cut 
  up to 88 percent. Gives mental peace."
  "Very impressive," Keff said.
  "One has far to go," Narrow Leg added, shaking his old head. "One must be sane 
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  when arriving."
  "Keff must tell you of the game," Tall Eyebrow said, with enthusiasm. "How humans 
  keep spirit in long transit."
  "Uh-oh," Carialle said in Keffs ear. 'This is one part I am excising from the record we 
  are bringing back to Xeno. They'll court-martial us, or something, if we spread Myths 
  and Legends to another species. Probably violates a hundred non-interference 
  directives."
  Keff, smiling fixedly, bowed to Narrow Leg and his daughter. "I'd be happy to talk 
  about it some time. We have other modifications for comfort that I could offer."
  "Gladly received," Narrow Leg said. "I might have forgotten refinements in fifty 
  years."
  "Meanwhile, tell me about your propulsion system."
  "Gladly," the old one said. He led the way out of the silent chamber with Small Spot 
  reluctantly tagging along behind. The engineering section was the farthest aft, behind 
  cargo storage and more crew quarters.
  "I intend this ship to last. It has every fail-safe for survival and ultimate utility. You 
  will see the controls here exactly duplicate those in the command center," he began, 
  but got no farther. A cluster of Cridi security burst into the chamber. Keff froze in 
  place, his muscles held by an invisible suit of armor. Big Voice shouldered his way 
  past the guards and stood with his hands clenched before Narrow Leg.
  "The council does not approve of allowing an outworlder on this ship," he signed 
  furiously, interspersing his gestures with angry cheeps of diminishing value equations.
  "But it is of great worth to have them here," Narrow Leg said, waving a gentle hand. 
  "Until the day we may fly to the Central Worlds in our own ships and show ourselves, 
  this is the only way they can bring back word. Keff is viewing all for Carialle, and she 
  makes a record."
  "He's good," Carialle said.
  "Yep," Keff murmured. "I'm glad he's on our side."
  "Plus," Narrow Leg chirped, having carried on his argument with Big Voice while 
  Keff and Carialle were conferring, "there is undoubtedly little that they do not already 
  know about the theory of space travel. I have requested access to the archives myself. 
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  If we preceded them to Sky Clear it was by a few hundred years, that was all. And," 
  he added with fierce stabbings of his remarkably long forefinger in Big Voice's chest, 
  "they have kept up their space program, while we have allowed setbacks to keep us 
  confined here. All this is in our own people's writing. You would do well to read the 
  documentation."
  "Setbacks?" Big Voice said. "Do you designate the overload of planetary Core 103 
  years ago a setback? Do you call the apocalyptic crash of poorly made colony ship of 
  85x10 years ago a setback?"
  'That was first experiment with portable Cores," Big Eyes whispered to Tall Eyebrow 
  and Keff.
  "Four x 102 years of previously successful space exploration brought to halt by 
  disaster after disaster? Attempts to reconnect with former colonies have only begun in 
  last 102 years!" Big Voice stopped, out of breath, to pant angrily.
  "We now have open space to meet and interact with a people who were not hampered 
  by constant gaps in space research," Narrow Leg said, without heat.
  "This sharing will result in a loss of profit for Cridi industry," Big Voice said, 
  standing his ground. "We will not develop things on our own as we should."
  Narrow Leg turned to Keff. "Do all Central Worlds colonies have space travel?"
  "Well, no," Keff said. "We require a certain technological and social level to be 
  reached before they can have full membership, but they don't necessarily have to have 
  evolved interstellar travel."
  "Don't you see?" Narrow Leg said, turning back to the angry councillor. "This could 
  open up your market to other peoples."
  "You'll have to make things larger, though," Keff said, trying out a little exponent 
  humor using IT to describe the proportions between Cridi and humans.
  Big Voice was not mollified. "The council will discuss this matter thoroughly and 
  give you their answer." He spun on his flat foot and marched out. The guards, 
  uncertainly, lowered their circuit-covered hands and followed.
  "Oh, good," Big Eyes signed behind her fellow councillors departure. "Then we have 
  years to talk about this before he comes back."
  Narrow Leg shook his head wearily. "The fellows a stone — gets set in one place and 
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  never moves again."
  "What have your people done in space without the Core?" Keff asked.
  "Small Core onboard," Narrow Leg said, and his musical whistling described 
  formulae, circuitry, and elemental weights. "It runs on reserve fuel, serves few Cridi 
  intensively for a time until new Core is built on new world. Until then, we walk in 
  mud." His eyes twinkled as a few of the crew-frogs running tests in the engine room 
  caught his signs and shuddered.
  "There, you see?" Carialle said, noting their reactions through Keff's body-camera. 
  "Tell Tall Eyebrow he is a hero in spite of his clunky amulet. None of the homeworld 
  Cridi want to go through what his people did."
  Keff, careful to make certain Big Eyes saw his signs, relayed Carialle's message to the 
  Frog Prince. The praise made him glow and stand up straighter, especially when the 
  female stared at him with open admiration. Narrow Leg caught Keffs eye behind the 
  two younger Cridi's backs, and up-nodded wisely.
  The message rocket streaked out of the system, shedding a burst of glowing electrons 
  as it hurtled through the heliopause. Its passage attracted the attention of a raider ship 
  lying concealed in the asteroid belt just inside the systems invisible barrier.
  "Telemetry?" the ship's captain demanded. She was a lean woman with black hair and 
  a thin nose and chin.
  "From the reptiles," the navigator confirmed. He stretched out a wing-finger to 
  extrapolate the path of the rocket from its source. He adjusted the computer screen to 
  another view. The second planet had moved along its orbit, but the point of origin 
  based on its current velocity was positive. "Confirmed. It came off the Slime planet."
  "Get it," the captain said.
  The pilot glanced over his shoulder nervously at her, but he applied thrust while 
  bringing the cranky old drives on-line. The ship decanted from the hollow asteroid and 
  gave chase.
  Without looking away from the navigation screen, the captain tilted her head toward 
  the copilot, who acted as communications officer and navigator.
  "Send a message to the other ships. Alex is closer, but Autumn's engines are better."
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  The Thelerie officer nodded. The captain leaned closer, as if willing her ship to greater 
  velocity. They couldn't let the probe get away. The small rocket had a good head start. 
  It would be a miracle if they caught up with it, flying on their rackety old engines. The 
  captain felt the vibration through her feet, sensing each time that connections missed. 
  She was frustrated. There was never time to make the repairs correctly. They never 
  had the right parts. Now, when it was vital for the engines to perform perfectly, they'd 
  lose security in the system because no one had done a tune-up. The ship shuddered 
  and groaned. Suddenly, the cabin went black except for the screens. The captain 
  clutched for something solid to hang on to. The internal stabilizers cut out for a 
  moment, and her wrists were twisted painfully.
  "What happened?" she demanded. Her arms hurt, but she didn't let go.
  "Cohiro says he's diverting all nonessential power to thrusters," the Thelerie reported.
  The captain relaxed, glad her face was hidden by the dark. "Maximum speed, then," 
  she said.
  On the screen, the little rocket was a white dot, growing slowly into a dash.
  "Can we get near enough to capture it with the tractor?" she asked.
  "Not unless we slow it down," her pilot said. Over his shoulder, the captain could see 
  the gauges. They were increasing in speed, but so was the probe.
  'Then blast it," the captain said. She braced herself. The whole deck shook as more 
  power was drained away from life support, this time for the weapons.
  The white dash ahead of them shuddered slightly, but kept flying. It had slowed down 
  just a bit. The captain urged her ship forward.
  "Damaged it slightly," the Thelerie said. "We may catch it now."
  The raider homed in on its prey. The captain stared at the streak, feeling her heart 
  pound as it grew larger and larger.
  "We're on it!"she said. "Prepare to activate tractor."
  "Aye, sir," said voices in the dark.
  The ship drew up on the probe. The captain watched her screens, seeing the numbers 
  shrink. Closer. Closer.
  "Now!" the captain cried. The ship groaned again as power diverted to the tractor ball. 
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  "Do you have it?"
  "No, sir," the Thelerie said. "I'm trying again."
  "Maximum velocity," cried the pilots voice. "Steady. Steady." The small streak gained 
  detail. The captain could almost count the probes tail fins.
  "Grab it!" the captain ordered.
  "I have a lock on it!" the Thelerie announced, just as all the lights went down. Loud 
  grinding echoed through the walls. The captain was thrown to the floor against the 
  backs of the pilot couches. Suddenly, the cabin lights came up again, and a siren 
  wailed under the floors.
  "Engines failed," the pilot said apologetically. The crew groaned. The captain pulled 
  herself to her feet.
  "Can we catch it?" she said, staring at the screen. The streak had dimmed to a small 
  spot. It gained velocity as it flew, shrinking out of sight.
  "No, sir. We've blown half a dozen power connections. Can't go anywhere at all until 
  it's fixed."
  "Damn," the captain said, fervently. "Call Alex. Have him come and give us a tow 
  back to the base. Call Autumn to chase… never mind. She'd never catch it. We'll have 
  to put out a general message for any crew on its path to intercept it. Can we at least 
  tell Minna where it's going?"
  "It's definitely heading toward Central Worlds, sir," said the pilot, after a glimpse at 
  the navigators screen. "That's all I can tell you."
  The captain sighed heavily. "Give me an open channel. I'd better send right away. Bad 
  news doesn't improve with waiting."
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  CHAPTER 6
  « ^ »
  "See how easy and less cumbersome this is," Tall Eyebrow said, a couple of weeks 
  later, as he and Keff made a quick breakfast in the ship before joining Narrow Legs 
  and Big Eyes at the spaceship facility. Long Hand and Small Spot had left early for 
  meetings with conclave members who wanted clarification of questions they had 
  regarding the archives. Tall Eyebrow had managed to beg off meetings about 
  minutiae, preferring to save himself for constitutional debate and conversations about 
  trade. He was relieved that the council accepted his excuses, allowing him to devote 
  more attention to gaining insights on current Cridi technology and, not incidentally, to 
  spend more time with Big Eyes.
  With his knees curled up next to him on the round bench seat, he stretched out his 
  hand and closed his fingers. The food synthesizer turned on, and produced a bowl of 
  greens. As the hatch opened, the bowl flew of its own accord to the table and set itself 
  before Tall Eyebrow with a loud clatter. Some of the contents spattered Keff, who 
  jumped up and brushed at his tunic. The Frog Prince grinned sheepishly.
  "Forgive. I am having to refine my heavy touch in order not to crush what I reach for, 
  or send myself flying high up in the air. But, I like it," he said, holding up his hand 
  and turning it so the gold circuitry twinkled in the cabin light. "The council has 
  promised to send sufficient circuitry plus full plans to update the Core of Ozran. It 
  may be possible that all shall have amulets once again, including the mages and 
  magesses."
  "Do you think that's a good idea?" Keff asked. "You know most of them will just use 
  it for selfish purposes." He reached for the last of the toast. Carialle was amused by 
  his food choices. Everything he had eaten on the ship for the last several days had 
  contained some stiff fiber. He complained that he'd had enough mush in the Cridi diet, 
  and if he could avoid eating the live insects which were considered a local delicacy, 
  he'd just as soon do so.
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  "You don't have to give them the new system," Carialle said. "Let the humans keep 
  using the old amulets."
  "No!" Tall Eyebrow threw that suggestion away from him with an outthrust hand. 
  "We will all learn responsibility together."
  "Attaboy," Keff said, "but long-entrenched privilege is hard to give up."
  "True. They have coped well, though further temptation may be hard on them. We 
  will no longer be without oversight from your government, is that not correct?" Tall 
  Eyebrow signed, before picking up his fork. He took one bite, then laid the fork down 
  again to talk. "Nor of mine. I look forward to seeing how well my people can prosper 
  with more Core utility. The transformation of our living quarters will be absolute! 
  More access, more water, better irrigation, less threat from natural pests. We must 
  learn more of the language of science to better communication Ozran-wide. I will give 
  the teachers a current lexicon for teaching the younger generation. We older must pick 
  it up as we go. But we have learned well how to use the amulets. After all these years, 
  our theoretical models proved to be accurate!"
  "Good plans, all," Carialle said.
  "It's nice to be vindicated, after all your hardship," Keff said. "And now that you're in 
  contact with your homeworld again, the transference of technology will be easier."
  "Ah, yes, but what a world we return to! Technology advances beyond our dreams."
  "But even we humans have some of these things they're giving you," Keff pointed out.
  "It isn't the same," TE said. "These beings look like us. We feel they should be more 
  like us, but they are not. It is almost as if we are a different species after so much time. 
  It is confusing that they look like us, but do not think like us. They are more wasteful 
  of resources than we, except in the space program. It is worrying. I do not want our 
  people to become so profligate."
  "It'll take more than one generation to do that," Keff assured him.
  "The Cridi here do not understand why we have not progressed as they have. I am 
  only able to show that, after a long slide backwards, we are regaining our footing. And 
  that does not impress them."
  "It impresses us," Carialle said. "You held on to your culture, even your science, with 
  no possibility of relief in sight. That kind of determination is most admirable. Central 
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  Worlds certainly was bowled over by our reports."
  "But in our own nation we are only country bumpkins," TE said, pronouncing the 
  Standard phrase in his high-pitched squeak. Keff blinked his eyes several times. 
  Carialle could see he was controlling his face to keep from bursting out into 
  understandable but inappropriate laughter.
  "Don't let them get you down," she said. "After all, how often are you going to see any 
  of them ever again when we take you home?"
  "I don't know," TE said. His face was a study in mingled regret and relief. "Big Eyes 
  is…" his hands paused briefly, "an interesting person."
  "She likes you, too," Keff said.
  "But she talks so fast," TE's posture showed despair. "Everyone talks too fast." He 
  settled down dejectedly on the round bench with his legs curled up. "I am a relic."
  "You're not a relic," Keff said. "The Cridi have had it easy, and you've virtually lived 
  in a desert war zone. You can't expect most of them to understand what you've been 
  through."
  "Besides, you're doing an admirable job," Carialle added. "I've been keeping an ear on 
  the transmissions, and watching the other delegate members whenever I can hook into 
  the mass communication signals. The airwaves are full of interviews with the 
  delegates, portions of the transcripts from the archives, footage from the floor of the 
  Main Bog, color commentators — the full-budget extravaganza. The general 
  consensus is that you are an articulate and strong leader, with an admirable mind. 
  Even the council members who don't agree with y®u are very impressed with you."
  TE studied the floor for a minute while his mobile face went through a series of 
  peculiar grimaces: pride, embarrassment, hope, joy, and shyness. To cover the 
  moment, Keff spoke up eagerly.
  "And me?"
  "Well, they still think you're a talking dog."
  "What?" Keffs face fell.
  "I'm joking," Carialle said. "I am joking. You're the flavor of the month. You're the 
  most popular man on Cridi."
  "I'm the only man on Cridi," Keff pointed out.
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  "We're lucky there's a free press here. Force of popular opinion will sway the council 
  members who are against us," Carialle said. "You wait and see."
  As Carialle had predicted, once word had spread around Cridi of their arrival, the 
  public arena had discussed the situation, dissecting it to its very smallest particles of 
  meaning, and had decided that they believed Tall Eyebrow and his party to be truthful 
  about their odyssey from Ozran. Public opinion was split on whether or not to try and 
  reclaim Sky Clear, but all were in favor of trading with the vast human empire which 
  had been their unknown neighbor for centuries.
  As the sole representative of the Central Worlds, Keff was their model. Young Cridi 
  he saw in the streets had begun to wear clothes like his, and adopted his posture, even 
  some of his mannerisms. Some even dyed their skin to match his. The hue was 
  disconcerting on hides normally ranging from yellow-green to brown-green.
  But the human trait that spread the fastest and most generally was a smile. Strange 
  Cridi smiled at him in imitation of his own crinkly-eyed, dimpled-cheek grin. It was 
  all the rage. Keff sat in the evenings with Carialle, watching the news programs, 
  including video of himself, usually shot from the knees up so that his face was 
  telescoped into an isosceles triangle. The commentators discussed, with terse 
  movements and much cheeping of navigational and trigonometry, the location and 
  profusion of Central Worlds systems. One even pointed out, to Keffs surprise, the 
  system settled by humans that lay quite close to them on the other side of the R-sector 
  benchmark. That was the original trading post that had been the site of Carialle's 
  disaster. Keff watched Carialle's reactions closely, but she was too involved in the 
  ongoing negotiations and recording gigabytes of data for Xeno to be troubled by her 
  memories.
  Keff and the Ozranians were invited all over Greedeek and to the other cities on Cridi 
  by homeworlders eager to meet the long-lost travelers and the alien stranger. Every 
  day there were invitations to visit various societies or venues to talk about Sky Clear, 
  or space travel, or the Central Worlds, or humanity in general. Big Eyes assigned 
  herself the task of social secretary for the four, partly as a courtesy service, but partly, 
  too, to be able to spend as much time as possible with Tall Eyebrow. With a humorous 
  eye, she weeded out the frivolous invitations, or those which she said, "would not be 
  useful or fun." The best of the invitations still made for a very full program. Keff and 
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  the three Ozranians spoke to three or more groups per day. He doubted that every 
  civic group wanted to see him or the two junior delegates, but Tall Eyebrow had 
  generously insisted on their inclusion. Privately, Keff thought that the Frog Prince 
  wanted Keff and his two companions nearby for confidence. Tall Eyebrow didn't need 
  anyone to lean on. Once he began speaking about the conditions on Ozran, the 
  agriculture, the people that he led and loved, he was transformed from a nervous, 
  sometimes melancholy figure to a dynamic speaker. Or rather, signer. He stopped 
  asking Keff and Carialle to take him back to Ozran, and began to acknowledge that he 
  deserved his place among his ancestors' people.
  Keff and Tall Eyebrow also made a point to spend much of their free time with 
  Narrow Leg at the Cridi space facility. The elder enjoyed talking space with Keff and, 
  by extension with Carialle, exchanging ideas and techniques.
  "Human technology is good, very good," Narrow Leg asserted. "Refinements we have 
  forgotten, or never known, worth having."
  "There's also a few wiggles that I haven't seen," Carialle said. "I've racked my 
  databases, but I've never before seen a system that allows a planets worth of 
  temporary power supply to be carried in a cargo hold.
  If the Cridi government is willing to share that, it'll assuage a lot of hardships for 
  settlers on primitive colony worlds, giving them a pad to work from until they can 
  establish their own systems. The insurmountable trouble is remote control, that's all."
  Narrow Leg had the foresight to arrange to have a reporter present at most of the 
  conferences between him and Keff so that all Cridi was party to the discussions.
  Over the next weeks, Keff and the others were feted, feasted, and fawned over to 
  exhaustion.
  "I'm almost sorry I'm so popular," he confessed to Carialle, as he sat through yet 
  another luncheon where he hunched crosslegged with his meal balanced on his knees. 
  The wooden plate, either a serving platter or a hastily manufactured piece made in 
  proportion to his size, held an unappetizing mess of greens such as Tall Eyebrow and 
  the Ozranians favored, alongside a small clutch of wiggling larvae.
  Keff, Tall Eyebrow and his retinue were at the main table in the center of the large 
  room. The Frog Prince, between Smooth Hand and Big Eyes, seemed more relaxed 
  than he had before. Occasionally, Keff felt an invisible hand tap his knee. When he 
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  looked up, Tall Eyebrow met his glance, then tilted his head in the direction of this or 
  that conversation. No longer was Sky Clear considered a remote concern. Quite a few 
  local manufacturers and businessfrogs were discussing the possibility of setting up 
  shop on the colony.
  Long Hand was fielding such a question from an increasingly insistent Big Voice, 
  who had spread before her holographic photo displays and sheets full of graphs and 
  text.
  "But all this, exchanges and imports, must wait, gentle-male," Long Hand protested. 
  "We have no hard currency, and our own exports are few and doubtful at present. 
  Wait a few years, until we have more concerns going so we can deal with you on a 
  more equal basis."
  Big Voice was undaunted. "I am eager to secure favorable siting for my 
  manufacturing plants. It means jobs and opportunity for Cridi there. Such things 
  should be settled as quickly as possible. Would you approve of investment from 
  outside, an advance of funds, perhaps, against future interests?"
  Long Hand let out a peal of laughter. "We have nowhere to spend this imaginary 
  money, gentle-male. All we may do is add your name to the roster of those interested, 
  and we will be sure to speak to you early when we have anything to offer. You must 
  wait."
  Keff, missing none of the important details of the conversation because it was all in 
  sign language, smiled to himself. Big Voice wasn't the only one with an eye toward 
  future profit, just the most persistent.
  A female in gold tore and bracelets rose to her feet and clicked insistently in her throat 
  for attention.
  "Gentle-females and gentle-males," she signed in full formal language, "we are 
  privileged to welcome the stranger from the Central Worlds. Please give him your 
  kind attention."
  "Thank you, madam chairfrog," Keff said in Standard, adding the appropriate 
  courtesies in sign language. "I come to you today to offer your people…"
  The Cridi media also clamored for interviews. Keff did his share, but he urged the 
  commentators who came to him to take advantage of the returnees instead.
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  The most important event of all took place several weeks after the CK-963 had made 
  landfall. Ten thousand Cridi were packed into a low room like an amphitheater, 
  hundreds of meters long. The rows of seats were sloped so that the huge audience 
  could see the stage at the bottom, but the ceiling was quite low. Keff lay on his belly 
  to watch, facing downward in one of the side aisles, sweltering in the high humidity. 
  He had been warned to wear his best tunic, and he had done so. To keep from getting 
  it dirty, he'd snaffled a few huge ear-shaped leaves from a handy plant in the lobby, 
  and used them as a ground sheet. Long, reedlike fronds stuck out every which way 
  from the edges of the leaves. Keff had to push them to one side, and finally tuck them 
  under his body to see.
  "Just like it was when we first saw you," Tall Eyebrow said, showing his sharp little 
  fangs in a broad grin, his black eyes glinting, pointing to the waving tendrils. "In the 
  high grass on Ozran."
  "I was more comfortable then," Keff said, grinning back. He had to prop himself on 
  his elbows to sign. "The bloods rushing to my head. Try to make this one brief, won't 
  you?"
  "If I can, friend Keff, if I can."
  Smooth Hand, on his way down with Narrow Leg to take their places at the table on 
  the dais, saw this exchange.
  "Do not be in such a hurry to bring this meeting to an end," he said, pausing beside the 
  human and patting him on the shoulder. "You will enjoy it more than any other 
  meeting you have attended."
  "What do you mean, sir?" Keff asked. But the old amphibioid would say no more. He 
  put his finger to his lips. Keff shook his head, wryly.
  "He's got a secret," Keff said to Narrow Leg. "A human would do exactly the same 
  thing. Interaction between Cridi is so like that of my own people that I'm seeing 
  parallels to our civilization everywhere."
  "Some would not like you to say so," Narrow Leg said, with a twinkle in his eye. "But 
  I see it as natural that two such gregarious spacefaring races should ally." As he saw 
  pleased enlightenment dawn in Keffs, face, he, too, put a finger to his lips and hurried 
  after Smooth Hand.
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  "Did you see that, Cari?" Keff said. "What Narrow Leg just said?"
  "Unless I read that entirely wrongly, I think we have ourselves an A-class applicant 
  for membership," Carialle said. "Good one, Sir Knight."
  "Whew!" Keff breathed out gustily. "For once the brass is going to be pleased with 
  us." He beamed at all of the delegates gathering on the stage, at anyone passing by. 
  His mood was so expansive that he didn't mind moving half a dozen times to 
  accommodate the placement of video pickups and audio cubes. This transmission was 
  going to be beamed worldwide. Keff hoped his view of it was sufficiently good so that 
  his copy could be broadcast throughout the Central Worlds when they got home.
  All eight chief councillors, plus the three Ozranians, and Narrow Leg were seated at a 
  long, low table facing the audience. Two small panels of three members of the press 
  sat to either side.
  Smooth Hand began in the way that Keff had become-used to over many weeks, 
  greeting the visitors and welcoming them to Cridi. He alluded to the sacrifices that all 
  five of them had made to be there, and to the struggles of the Cridi population on Sky 
  Clear. Tactfully, he made no mention of the debate over exclusivity to the colony 
  world. Muttering and surreptitious handsigning in the audience proved that they knew 
  he was leaving it out. Keff knew the question wouldn't be settled quickly. Smooth 
  Hand continued.
  "The question was put to the population regarding membership in the Central Worlds. 
  The conclave has been receiving so many favorable votes that the council, even our 
  skeptical members," he up-nodded toward Big Voice and Snap Fingers, "have agreed 
  to hear more about the subject. Will the large stranger Keff come forward and address 
  the full conclave?"
  "With pleasure," he signed. He rose to his hands and knees, removed the camera eye 
  he was wearing, and attached it to the wall of the auditorium facing the stage. "Can 
  you see properly, Cari?" he asked.
  "Perfectly," she replied. "Recording for posterity. Good luck, my parfait and gentil 
  diplomat."
  Keff turned and crawled down the steep slope to the stage amid loud applause mingled 
  with chirps and creaks. Eyes shining, Tall Eyebrow stood up as Keff approached. Big 
  Eyes sprang to her feet. Narrow Leg, moving more slowly, rose next. All the other 
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  councillors followed, Big Voice and Snap Fingers reluctantly, until the entire panel, 
  and the audience were slapping out their acclaim. Carefully keeping one hand over his 
  head to avoid bumping into the low ceiling, Keff stood up. He looked out over the 
  audience. Ten thousand Cridi sat before him, but the entire planet was watching or 
  listening. Keff beamed and waved to the ones he knew, feeling like he was standing 
  on the doorstep of destiny. A few young Cridi in the audience, some dressed in human-
  style tunics, levitated and turned somersaults in midair for joy. Others cheered and 
  cried out Standard phrases they had learned from Keffs media interviews. Smooth 
  Hand signalled for quiet, and signed to Keff to begin his remarks. While the others sat 
  down, Big Eyes remained standing to repeat Keffs speech aloud.
  "Thank you for your land reception," Keff signed, and was amused to hear the phrase 
  reduced to a few notes and trills in the female's high, piping voice. "The Central 
  Worlds is an organization of member states whose purpose is to provide a stable 
  government for the benefit of those planets and stations within its borders. The Central 
  Committee, or CenCom," he enunciated the words and heard Big Eyes repeat it,"is 
  dedicated to reaching out to every people on every planet. To those that have reached 
  a certain level of technological and social advancement, we offer full membership. 
  While my partner, Carialle, and I have found numerous races alien to ourselves in our 
  travels, we always dreamed that one day we would locate that civilization, that people, 
  which had evolved in parallel to ourselves, and were of an equal level in all ways, so 
  that we could be friends and allies, instead of benefactor, patron, or in some cases, a 
  right nuisance."
  There was a patter of appreciative laughter. Keff smiled.
  "If indeed, you are pleased that the Central Worlds and Cridi have found one another 
  at last, you owe a debt of gratitude to Tall Eyebrow. He, and the leaders who came 
  before him, have preserved Cridi culture on a remote outpost against the most 
  incredible odds, helping it to survive until we discovered it. He is responsible for 
  leading us here so we could be with you today. In the last few weeks I've seen a lot of 
  your planet. I admire your culture. I have seen examples of your art, particularly 
  evident in the architecture and gardens of this beautiful city; and strides forward in 
  science. In particular, I want to mention the Core power system, an advance which has 
  never been duplicated in the Central Worlds. You can help us to move into the future. 
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  I think we can also help you. And together, we can help support the people of Sky 
  Clear. Thank you very much." He sat down crosslegged next to the dais. Ten thousand 
  pairs of hands pounded together, filling the amphitheater with sound that grew louder 
  and louder until the very walls seemed to shake. Keff shot a glance at the council. Tall 
  Eyebrow sat proudly erect between Narrow Leg and Big Eyes. Big Voice was 
  conferring energetically with the councillors on either side of him. Smooth Hand let 
  the applause go on, then raised his hands for silence.
  "I am sure you have many questions for the tall stranger, now to be called our friend, I 
  hope," he signed, with a slight smile toward Keff. "For now, let your sign be counted. 
  If you approve the approach to Central Worlds, send your vote to your precinct now. 
  Thank you all."
  Reporters hurried forward from the side tables and the audience, swamping the panel. 
  Free-floating remote cameras buzzed over their heads and zoomed from face to face, 
  gathering reactions like a species of psychological honey bee. The air was full of 
  flurried gestures and excited Cridi voices. After weeks of intensive training in the 
  spoken language Keff understood more of the verbal exchanges than ever before, and 
  he was delighted with the response.
  "Can you hear it, Cari? They want it. They're going to join us."
  Carialle sounded amused. "Don't count your chickens in advance, softshell… but I 
  think you're right. You should hear some of the scuttlebutt going about on the amulet 
  airwaves. I'm recording the best ones for you to hear later. 'Maximum joy and 
  maximum profit' was the one I heard from Big Voice's media aide."
  "And here's the man himself," Keff said, seeing a solemn delegation forcing its way 
  toward them through the crush on the platform. "Good gentle-male."
  'Tall stranger," Big Voice signed, very politely. "I have exchanged tentative words 
  with Long Hand with regard to the spacecraft concession for Sky Clear. Should this 
  proposition now before us come to pass, I would be concerned that a human 
  delegation might… put in a rival bid for choice sites."
  "That's the nature of business throughout the universe," Keff signed cheerfully, 
  teasing the pompous amphibioid. Clearly shaken, Big Voice tried again.
  "Would not Central Committee consider priority for primary sentient species?" His 
  hands fluttered desperately, trying to gauge Keffs response. "Or partnership?" Keff 
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  grinned and relented.
  "Central Worlds would not take away the rights from one member species in favor of 
  another," he said. "If you can get an exclusive agreement from the Cridi on Sky Clear, 
  the CenCom won't interfere with that at all."
  'Thank you," Big Voice signed, gratefully. 'Thank you, tall stranger Keff." He moved 
  away, once again in pursuit of Long Hand. Tall Eyebrow, having observed the whole 
  thing from his place on the dais, grinned to show his sharp white teeth. Keff gave him 
  a wink.
  More media types swooped in on him, signing or singing questions from all sides. 
  Keff tried to answer them all in turn, knowing he was getting some of the words 
  wrong in his haste, hoping it wouldn't matter. The IT earned its keep that day, 
  translating his spoken replies into Cridi music, so he could carry on two conversations 
  at once.
  "Will other humans come to Cridi?" was among the most frequently asked questions. 
  "Will we be able to visit your worlds?"
  "You will be most welcome everywhere you go," Keff said. "In fact, we will expect a 
  return visit, just as soon as Narrow Leg's team finishes constructing their first 
  spaceship." He turned to gesture with an open hand toward the old male who stood 
  half a head taller than every other Cridi in the room. He stiffened with pride.
  "That is right, and only right," Narrow Leg said, "that we should make our first visit to 
  our new allies in our own spacecraft. And you may take my words straight to heart. 
  We will be ready."
  The reporters chirruped excitedly, obviously adding color commentary.
  Smooth Hand moved to the center of the dais then, and held up his long, wrinkled 
  hands.
  "The tabulation is finished," he signed, and announced the figures. The numbers were 
  so large that his voice rose almost out of Keff's range of hearing.
  "Did I get that right, Cari? Twenty million in favor of membership?"
  "Unless your program here split a chip, those in favor of the Central Worlds was 
  25,697,204. Against: 3,402,110."
  Smooth Hand repeated the good news to the crowd, who echoed it as they danced in 
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  the aisles. "The measure passes! The measure passes! We join!"
  "Sit down, sit down," the elder signed. 'There is one thing left to do. Please. May we 
  have your attention?"
  It took some time until the jubilant Cridi settled back into their seats. The senior 
  councillor turned to Keff.
  "This is a great moment for our people. Not only have we rediscovered our lost 
  children, but we make a bond with new friends." He signalled to an aide to come 
  forward.
  The silver-torqued frog glided swiftly onto the stage bearing two long rectangles of a 
  high gloss wood. On each was engraved a long screed in an incredibly tiny and 
  intricate script. Beside the Cridi language was the text in Standard. Keff looked up in 
  surprise.
  "I helped the engraver with the correct wording," Tall Eyebrow told Keff. "I took it 
  directly from Carialle's file of such documents. You will find it in order, I promise 
  you."
  "And I took it from the databanks of your more than unusually helpful IT," Carialle 
  said in his ear.
  "You see," Keff said, sublingually. "In no time, you'll look back on the days when you 
  used to laugh at my program."
  "I don't see those days receding behind us, Keff," Carialle said, sardonically, "but in 
  this case it came through."
  "Is all in order?" Tall Eyebrow asked, concerned.
  "I'm absolutely certain it's all right," Keff said, reassuringly. "I have never seen an 
  official government document look so beautiful."
  "You honor us," Smooth Hand said, bowing over his moving hands.
  At each side of the document were blank blocks enclosed in festoons of scrollwork, 
  images of vines, flowers, insects and birds. Keff figured out that those were the 
  signature blocks when he managed to decipher his name, picked out delicately in 
  filament-thin characters, running in a border around the right-hand block.
  The aide floated over the heads of the crowd and laid the squares of wood neatly 
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  beside one another in the center of the table. Smooth Hand followed to stand with one 
  long hand touching each.
  Smooth Hand nodded to Keff to join him. The crowd of reporters parted, flowing back 
  into the main audience. Keff fumbled at his tunic pocket and drew out two small 
  devices.
  "I'm so excited I nearly forgot these," he said. "These are short-run permanent 
  recorders which I would like to use to immortalize this moment for the CenCom. One 
  is a gift to you, to keep in your admirable archives."
  "We thank you for your thoughtfulness," Smooth Hand said. "Your request is granted. 
  Set them where they will catch all of this great moment."
  "Well," Keff said, picking up the silver scriber the aide handed him. He tested it 
  against his palm and found it sharp-edged enough to skim off a layer of skin. "This is 
  it, Carialle."
  "This is it," she agreed. "A moment for all the Central Worlds, and for us as well. Go 
  for it, Sir Galahad."
  "I do it all for you, Lady Fair." He grinned to himself and nodded to the senior 
  councillor.
  Smooth Hand looked out across the sea of faces. "All of you bear witness to this 
  moment, in which we find we are not alone in this great galaxy, but among friends." 
  He took his scriber and incised his name in the left-hand block on both blocks of 
  wood. The crowd erupted in cheers and applause. He signalled to Keff, who stepped 
  forward and bowed over the first of the documents.
  "Hold it," Carialles voice said sharply in his ear. "Don't do it."
  Keff stopped, arrested with his hand centimeters above the wood. "Why not? What's 
  wrong, Carialle?"
  "What is it?" Smooth Hand asked, seeing the humans mouth moving almost silently. 
  "Is something wrong?"
  "Can?"
  Her voice in his ear was as crisp and sharp as an artificial-intelligence generated 
  construct. "Don't sign a thing. The entire deal is on hold. I have just received a 
  message back from the CenCom. There's a ship at the perimeter of this system, and 
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  they are here to take over negotiations. We are off this mission as of now!"
  "What?" Keff demanded. "They can't do that!"
  "They can, and have! The CenCom sends its compliments, but we are ordered to step 
  back to avoid any 'unforeseen difficulties.' It's the Inspector General's doing. I am so 
  mad that I could just flame out!"
  Keff didn't like the edge in her voice. "Try and stay calm, Lady Fair. I'll get out of 
  here and come to you. We'll discuss this." He looked up at the crowd, who were 
  fluttering surreptitious messages at one another, and at Smooth Hand, clearly 
  wondering what was going on. Swallowing his concern for Carialle, he forced a smile 
  to his lips. He hoped his growing command of the Cridi language would sufficiently 
  support him through this delicate moment.
  "Gentle-males and gentle-females, I sincerely beg your pardon," he said, setting down 
  the scriber. A few in the audience gasped at his action, and he made a gesture intended 
  to show humility. "I have just been informed that, er, that diplomats senior to Carialle 
  and myself have just arrived in your star system. This is such an important matter that 
  they wish to take part in this ceremony themselves. If you will forgive this terrible 
  breach of manners, may I beg a short delay until they may join us?"
  Smooth Hand's face, compressed into a frown of concern, opened up in 
  comprehension. "Ah!" he squeaked. "I see. With the greatest of reluctance, friend 
  Keff, I see no reason why not to allow. We know and trust you, but we understand the 
  pressures of state."
  There was a general murmur, only partly of agreement, from the rest of the council. 
  Keff heard undertones of distrust and dismay beneath it. Big Voice scowled and 
  crossed his arms as if to say he'd assumed all along the humans would back away at 
  the last minute.
  "Thank you, Councillor Smooth Hand, and all the rest of the conclave, gentle-females 
  and gentle-males. I must go and prepare for the arrival of our senior delegates. I… 
  we'll be back as soon as we can. If you will excuse me?" He barely waited for the 
  council to signal their assent before he was running up the aisles in a crouch.
  "Hold on, Lady Fair," he murmured as he ran out of the hall and into the muddy street. 
  "I'll be with you in just a moment. Don't do anything rash."
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  "I'm not going to do anything," Carialle said, but her voice rose in volume and pitch 
  until he winced. "But Dr. Sennet Maxwell-Corey is going to pay heavily for this. I am 
  not crazy!"
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  CHAPTER 7
  « ^ »
  Tall Eyebrow caught up with Keff about twenty meters outside the door, and swept 
  him up on a wave of Core power.
  "I will take you swiftly to 'the One Who Watches From Behind the Walls,' " he said.
  The two of them flew up over the jungle-fringed city blocks toward the spacefield. 
  Luckily for Keff's atmospheric acrophobia, he had no attention to spare for looking 
  down. He had enough on his hands trying to calm down his partner, who kept up a 
  steady stream of diatribe in his ears.
  "… Muck-faced, baby-eating, acephalitic bastard," Carialle kept saying. "First, he 
  rigged me with a booby trap, illegally, without my knowledge, and set it to go off 
  without waiting to get full data on the situation. Now he sees to our disgrace before 
  the entire Cridi population. What's next?"
  "I'm sure we can work out the mistake," Keff said, over and over again. "Just exactly 
  what did they say?"
  With admirable control, Tall Eyebrow brought them to a perfect landing on the ramp 
  of the ship. Keff, threw a bare nod over his shoulder for thanks, and ran inside.
  "Oh, they were polite," Carialle said. Her voice beat double on his eardrums, coming 
  from the cabin speakers as well as his implant. When he cringed at the sheer power of 
  her vocal volume, she relented and turned it down, deactivating the mastoid bone 
  receiver entirely. "So sorry, but orders are orders."
  Keff plumped down in his crash couch. Tall Eyebrow hovered sympathetically near 
  Carialles titanium pillar.
  "Let's see the message," Keff said.
  The screen in front of him filled with the hailing graphic used in all Central Worlds 
  Fleet communiques. It vanished, and the image of a man appeared. His long jaws and 
  heavy eyebrows made him look melancholy, but his voice was a pleasantly warm 
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  tenor.
  "CK-963, this is the DSC-902. Respectful greetings. I am Captain Gavon. I am 
  sending you a tightbeam of messages entrusted to me by the Central Committee. I 
  know the content of these datafiles. I want to assure you in advance that I regret the 
  intrusion as much as you do. Standing by."
  The messages followed. As Carialle had dreaded, the first was from the head of 
  Explorations, Dr. Michael Brinker-Levy. His pleasant, dark-skinned face glanced out 
  at them from the screen. He gave them an apologetic smile.
  "Carialle and Keff, we have just received communication from the Inspector General 
  for your sectors, Dr. Corey. He had an emergency buoy that you had launched at this 
  point," a star chart overlay his face. "The internal recordings from Telemetry showed 
  you were in no physical peril at the time, but nevertheless show dangerous adrenaline 
  and toxicity levels in your system, Carialle. No updates and no further messages from 
  you were received, except for a routine query for a databank search you sent recently."
  "Nonsense," Keff said. "The IG must have heard from SPRIM and MM within 
  microseconds. And what about your complaint for illegal circuit-tapping?"
  "He oversees all queries about illegalities and improprieties in this sector," Carialle 
  said bitterly. "And who is watching the watchman?"
  Brinker-Levy continued. "… I have also had a complaint on your behalf from the 
  oversight agencies, SPRIM and MM, citing personal interference from the Inspector 
  General. Under normal circumstances. I would be able to take those into account first. 
  Because you're engaged upon such a delicate negotiation that affects matters at the 
  highest levels, if there is anything wrong, and your judgement is in some way 
  impaired… you must understand we cannot take chances, and at this distant remove 
  we have no way of judging for ourselves. Please cooperate in every way with Captain 
  Gavon. He's a good man, and will need your help. Your knowledge of the Cridi 
  culture and language are unsurpassed, and I have always been satisfied with the job 
  you do," here he smiled, "even if you are a little unorthodox. I will take up the subject 
  of your complaints while you are on your way back to Central Worlds, and send you 
  updated information in transit."
  "On the way back? What is he talking about?" Keff asked.
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  'There's more," Carialle said. 'This was on the sideband." The visual didn't change 
  from the graphic left after the end of Brinker-Levy's message, but a resonant voice 
  broke over the speakers.
  "Hi, gal," Simeon said. "Greetings from SSS-900-C. I received your query. I'm at a 
  loss for natural causes that would have destroyed three starships. No abnormal 
  outbreak of ion storms, comets, or other anomalies observed in your pinpoint area. I'm 
  uploading to you all the data I have for the last fifty years. There's not much. Some of 
  it's your own. That spot between P- and R-sector is rarely explored.
  "I'm piggybacking on Exploration's message to you because I heard some scuttlebutt 
  you need to know. Maxwell-Corey's out ringing doorbells again. The first probe 
  caused quite a sensation. Pa-lenty unorthodox. He was going to be in deep spacedust 
  with SPRIM, until the second probe arrived. The data on it was garbled, and your 
  voice sounded woozy. That added fire to his insistence that there's still something 
  wrong with your mind, and you need specialized long-term mental care. I sincerely 
  hope not. He's arguing at the least you're severely overwrought. Keep it together, gal. 
  Greetings to Keff."
  The graphic faded, and the unwelcome sight of the Inspector Generals mustachioed 
  face flicked into being. Keff found himself unable to resist a sneer. Maxwell-Corey's 
  vendetta against his partner had attained foolish proportions over the years, and he 
  was becoming tired of the pompous bureaucrat and his implausible hobbyhorse. A do/
  en shrinks had proclaimed Carialle sane, but this control freak could not acknowledge 
  the truth, would not acknowledge it. The tragedy was, he might be able to "prove" it 
  by forcing her into unwitting admissions, recording angry outbursts, and twisting data 
  to suit his purpose.
  "CK-963 Carialle, in light of your two communications with the Central Worlds I am 
  ordering you to SSF-863 for a full evaluation. You will brief the replacement team in 
  full and return immediately when you have received this message. Maxwell-Corey 
  out."
  The screen blanked. Keff relaxed a little, realizing that his hands were ground into 
  tight fists, and he was standing on the balls of his feet, as if ready to meet an attacker.
  Captain Gavon's face reappeared, his long face sympathetic.
  "I am sorry," Gavon said, and the catch in his voice showed Keff the diplomat was 
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  under a tremendous strain. "We'll be with you in a matter of hours. Gavon out."
  "They can't do that to us," Keff said. "We'll fight them, Cari. Cari?"
  Carialle didn't answer. She ignored the input from her screens, antennae, and camera 
  eyes. For a moment, just for a moment, at the sound of the Inspector Generals 
  mocking voice, her long-buried subconscious had flashed back to a memory she 
  thought had been destroyed with her first ship… feeling not so much as hearing a 
  slight vibration from the hull above her, as footsteps stopped — as if someone was 
  laughing at her. Laughing at her helplessness!
  No, she said to herself, pulling back into the inmost security of her shell. I will not let 
  myself be forced. I am not mad. I'm cured! she cried. I'm cured, I'm cured, I'm cured. 
  But the tapping and the sounds of her own screams came back to her. She started 
  counting the seconds again. One, two, three…
  Her power levels all dropped for a dizzying, frightening millisecond. Carialle snapped 
  out of her reverie, and went back on full alert. All scopes were back to normal. She 
  wondered what had happened. Then she became aware that Keff was pounding on her 
  titanium pillar and shouting.
  "Carialle! Answer me! Cari!"
  "What happened?" she demanded. "I felt a blackout."
  The brawn staggered backward, limp with relief. 'Tall Eyebrow blinked your power, 
  just once. I'm glad it was enough."
  "It was," Carialle said, vastly relieved. "I needed the shock. Thank you, TE." She 
  made her frog image appear. It sketched a graceful half-bow and spread out its hands. 
  The Frog Prince swept a self-deprecatory palm across.
  "It was nothing. I was worried."
  "I was going to pull the fire bell in a moment," Keff said. "We lost you there, lady."
  "I'm sorry," she said. "I… I was back there again. I was counting. Maybe in a way that 
  bastard is right."
  "He's not right!" Keff shouted. His normally cheerful face was a furious shade of red. 
  Tall Eyebrow, hovering beside the brawn, shook his head vigorously. "If I could 
  teleport in a blink to where he's laired up, I would find the nearest lavatory and stuff 
  his grinning face down the head. Don't you worry. This is all a mistake. We'll show 
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  them the flight path and explain to them what happened. Lets tell Gavon the whole 
  story. I'm sure all he knows is the gossip that's floating around, not the facts."
  "I'm not giving up my mission," Carialle said. "We have earned this. We've earned the 
  trust of the locals. We shouldn't be removed from the mission. I want to see it 
  through."
  "So do I. Let's send a message to Gavon and ask him to reconsider. He can keep us 
  here as aides, and then we can go back to CW." Keff threw himself into his crash 
  couch, and scooted it up to be right in front of the video pickup.
  Carialle calculated the location of the DSC-902, and put all she had behind the 
  tightbeam message. All they could do until Gavon replied was wait.
  During the time that passed, a few of the Cridi who had been in the amphitheater 
  when Keff had to leave drifted by to visit and make their compliments. A few of the 
  councillors were sympathetic. Unexpectedly, Snap Fingers was one of them.
  "I am in business," he signed. "I came up from the merest clerk to my position now as 
  second continental ahief. I hate it that bureaucrats would take an assignment away 
  from you. That should not happen. It shows a lack of confidence in you, which I 
  wanted you to know was an error on the part of your superiors. If you were Cridi, I 
  would be proud to have you working for me."
  "You are very kind," Carialle's amphibioid image said with its hands.
  "I mean what I say," Snap Fingers returned. "We are on opposite sides of the 
  expansion question, but that does not mean we cannot be friends."
  "Good people," Tall Eyebrow said, as the councillor departed. "I am proud to know 
  them."
  "You are one of them," Keff assured them.
  Narrow Leg arrived just as Carialle received Gavon's reply. Tall Eyebrow quickly 
  brought him up to date in sign language while Keff and Carialle listened to the 
  message.
  Captain Gavon's thin face looked more haggard, and his long jaw was set. "I have 
  received your transmission. I regret that I have no'slack' to cut you. Very, very sorry. 
  This is not my idea. I have to follow my orders, too, you know. They are unequivocal 
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  and absolutely clear. I sent the messages on in advance so you could prepare."
  "Damn," Keff said, watching with chin propped on his fist. He saw the record light 
  pop on, and sat up straight.
  "I am sorry, too," Carialle said, sending on a reply. "We did appreciate the extra 
  notice, but it doesn't change the situation here. I don't want to put you on the spot, but 
  you must see how this affects us."
  "And what about the psychological effect on the native population of replacing a 
  trusted team with strangers?" Keff put in earnestly. "You must let us stay. We can be 
  of inestimable help to you."
  Carialle sent the message, all the while muttering. "Rotoscoped, animated bastard 
  from a bad, grade-D, psycho-horror flick — in 2-D! I don't mean Gavon," Carialle 
  said quickly, in Keffs ear. "I mean the IG."
  "What is he?" Narrow Leg asked, listening with interest but no comprehension to 
  Carialle's stream of invective. Tall Eyebrow attempted to translate, but gave up almost 
  at once as the spare knowledge he had of Standard colloquialisms failed him. Carialle 
  realized belatedly that she had left open the communication channels to the frogs' sign-
  language image, and swiftly blanked the wall.
  "The Inspector General has authority over our department, and he has a personal 
  grudge against Carialle," Keff said, explaining more simply. "He is responsible for 
  having us recalled, arid the other team taking our place."
  "We have no choice," Carialle broke in. "We'll have to lift sooner or later."
  "Maybe I can slow down IT so we have to stay through the negotiations," Keff offered.
  Carialle's laugh was bitter. "Hah! IT doesn't need to be slowed down. The holes in it 
  leak data like a screen door."
  "That's not fair, lady. IT's been doing a wonderful job here."
  She was instantly contrite. "I know. That's true. I'm upset."
  "You must not leave," Tall Eyebrow said, gesturing frantically, his black eyes wide. 
  "We may never see you again. How will I and my companions return to Ozran?"
  "Gavon will take you," Carialle said. "We have no choice. We're off the mission."
  "Or I," Narrow Leg said. "My ship is all but ready to launch. I would be proud to 
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  escort you home. Besides," he added, with a shrewd and amused glance, "my daughter 
  would not forgive me if I shortened your time together."
  Tall Eyebrow looked somewhat mollified and a little abashed.
  "But what about trade between my world and yours?' Narrow Leg asked Keff.
  "That won't be affected. Even greater authority for decision-making rests with Gavon. 
  We're not really diplomats. Our usual job is exploration of unknown space. Normally 
  we file the preliminary report on a potentially sentient race. We've never been the 
  follow-up team before."
  "We prefer you," Narrow Leg said. "We understand one another, you two and I. A 
  diplomat might not be such a seasoned risk-taker. We may not cooperate with this 
  replacement. I can get the council snarled up for years to delay." The high-pitched 
  voice described a geometric progression.
  "Don't. Gavon's a good man," Carialle said. She was pleased by the Cridi's offer to 
  side with them, but disliked the idea of fighting her battles unfairly. "Don't blame him 
  for this. Let's see what he says about letting us stay on to help."
  Two hours passed. Keff received more visitors from the conclave, and later served a 
  synthesized meal to the Ozranian delegates, Narrow Leg, and Big Eyes, who turned up 
  again in the late evening to sit with Tall Eyebrow. As he ate, Keff kept his eye on the 
  chronometer, impatiently willing a message to come, to beat the next turn of the 
  number.
  "Where is it?" he asked. "Gavon's reply should be on a shorter return loop as the ship 
  nears us. The interval ought to have been no more than half an hour by this time. Isn't 
  he speaking to us?"
  "Perhaps Simeon's data is incomplete, and there is a dangerous anomaly in-system," 
  Carialle said, her voice remote from the ceiling speakers. "I'm resending."
  Nothing came. Keff cleaned up after dinner, and listlessly did his exercises on the 
  Rotoflex with an interested audience of Cridi commenting on the swell and slide of his 
  muscles.
  Carialle found the rhythmic clang! bump! of the weighted pulleys a soothing, 
  mindless pattern, then all at once it irritated her. She opened input to all her antennae.
  She strained her "ears" for transmissions on the CW ship's frequency, putting the 
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  audio of her receivers onto speaker for the others to hear. Keff stopped his deltoid flex 
  and eased the pulleys to a resting position. He looked up hopefully at the sound of 
  static.
  "Nothing," Carialle said. "Perhaps Gavon is coming all the way in without speaking to 
  us again."
  "Nasty," Keff said. He reached for a towel and wiped his face. "I thought this would 
  be amicable. Maybe I won't give him all my files. Let him figure out the subtleties 
  between this and this." He made a couple of signs that Carialle, searching the IT 
  database, found to be the symbols for hunger and a mild obscenity regarding mouths 
  and filth. Long Hand looked shocked, Small Spot abashed. Tall Eyebrow and the two 
  Cridi natives grinned widely.
  "Wait!" Carialle exclaimed, getting a tickle from her long-distance receiver. "Here's 
  something at last!"
  The data-thread was weak and badly garbled. CariaEe boosted it, and checked the 
  frequency. It was the same Gavon had been sending on, but the audio portion was 
  mostly static.
  "… day… Intruders… May — "
  Keff sat up. "Carialle, that sounds bad. Isn't there any more?"
  "No."
  "Play it again."
  Now Carialle strained out a few more of the harmonics and static, and boosted the 
  gain. The message welled up out of the speaker, then faded away again. "… ayDAY. 
  INTRUDERS! MAYday… ip…" There was no more.
  "Something's happened to them," she said. "In the sidebands I'm hearing the ID pulse 
  from their black box, but no ship noise in the low registers, and no more audio 
  messages."
  "Intruders!" Keff exclaimed. "They were attacked! How many? Who? Who was it?"
  He looked at the Cridi, who shook their heads, signing nervously between one another.
  "We've got to help Gavon," Keff said. He shouldered back into his tunic, immediately 
  all business. "Our fellow ship is in trouble. They might need life support assistance." 
  He dared not think of the worst reason the DSC-902 had stopped sending, but 
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  concentrated on the possibility of saving the crew.
  "I'm starting launch prep now," Carialle snapped out. She activated the control board, 
  and quickly counted green lights. 'Tall Eyebrow, Narrow Leg, you'll all have to go. 
  Big Eyes, will you please tell Space Command we request permission to lift. We have 
  an emergency on our hands."
  "I will," the young councillor signed, then became still as she squeaked out vocal 
  information through her finger-control transmitters. Carialle heard her voice repeated 
  on first one, then a dozen personal frequencies as the message went out to the 
  command center and members of the conclave via the Core of Cridi.
  "I will come with you," Tall Eyebrow said, turning to look from Keff to Carialle's frog 
  image.
  Keff shook his head. "Stay here. We could get caught by whatever happened to them, 
  too," he said. "I won't risk you getting hurt. We'll come back as soon as we can."
  "I will go now," the Frog Prince insisted. "You may need me." He turned to sign at the 
  local Cridi.
  "How long?" Narrow Leg asked Keff. "How long until you go?"
  Keff glanced at the board. "Minutes."
  "Wait. Give me ten." The old Cridi levitated and flew out of the airlock. He began his 
  high-pitched warbling, too. Big Eyes glanced up, surprised, then followed her father.
  They were back within the promised ten minutes, but not alone. Behind them sailed a 
  large crew of Cridi workers, bearing with them tools and a round device the size of a 
  medicine ball, and an impressive tangle of flex, tubes, boxes, and clamps.
  Keff peered at it. "It's a ship's Core. But we can't use it, sir." He waggled his fingers 
  loosely.
  "I can," Tall Eyebrow said, holding up his hand, on which the new finger-stalls 
  gleamed. "Let me help. You have done so much for me and my people. You may need 
  more than you have."
  "Let him come," Carialle said, interrupting her preparations. "Our tractors may not be 
  equal to what we might find out there — and we're unarmed."
  Keffs face blanked with shock. "Your salvagers? You think that's who's out there?"
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  "It's a possibility. There've been several other 'disappearances.' No space anomalies, 
  Simeon said," Carialle pointed out. "We're in this sector. I feel there's a connection to 
  my personal disaster. It's just a guess, Keff. I have no positive data. I couldn't sell it as 
  a certainty."
  "I trust your guesses more than other people's certainty," Keff said. "I've known you 
  these sixteen years."
  The miniature Core was installed by Narrow Leg's crew with remarkable speed and 
  efficiency. Carialle felt its power signature, and set up a program so it wouldn't feed 
  back on her own systems. It responded well to the technician who tested it, putting in 
  his own frequency number, and to Tall Eyebrow, whose new circuitry was tied in as 
  well.
  "Its range is 18,000 kilometers," the shipbuilder said, with equal references to the X, 
  Y, and Z axes. "Enough for a planet plus layers of atmosphere plus error factor."
  'That means getting in right on top of the DSC-902," Carialle said. "We'd better not 
  miss. I'm calculating their possible location based on the time signature for their last 
  transmission. I must work from that assumption."
  Keff felt stricken, but he nodded.
  Big Eyes waved for attention. "You have permission to lift when you wish." She 
  looked at Tall Eyebrow. "I go, too?"
  "No," Keff and Tall Eyebrow signed at once. "You could be in danger."
  "We don't know what's out there," Carialle snapped out. "No more arguments. Will 
  you all clear the decks? Keff, TE, secure to station."
  "Go in peace and safety," Narrow Leg said. "Return with honor." He turned to 
  Carialle's pillar, as he had seen the others do. "We will assist your launch." The 
  technicians backed away from the blank panel behind which they had secured the 
  Core. They all flew out of the airlock as Carialle shut it on their heels.
  "Come back," Big Eyes signed simply to Tall Eyebrow. Then, she was gone.
  "Damn M-C," Carialle growled as she lit engines. Flames gathered under her exhaust 
  cones, between the landing fins, wreathing her in light. All her indicators read green 
  and on GO. "This wouldn't have happened at all if he hadn't decided I was about to go 
  rogue. He should have believed me! There's something out there, and it's hostile."
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  Outside, she observed shadows of Cridi behind the windows of the low buildings at 
  the edge of the field. Farther back, in a great ring around the field, frogs stood, or 
  levitated, or hovered in their saucer-craft, waiting and watching. The infinity of audio 
  broadcast frequencies, both private and public, filled with chatter and speculation, 
  hoping for the first successful launch from their planet in half a Standard century.
  "Here goes." She applied thrusters. Carialle felt the invisible hands holding her down 
  to the surface of the planet drop away, and gather at the foot of her ship.
  "Ready," Keff said. Tall Eyebrow cheeped an affirmative.
  "Brace yourselves," she told the human and the amphibioid as she applied thrust. 
  "Watch your necks."
  "Necks?" Keff asked. "Wh — yyyyyy?!"
  His question became a strained cry as the g-force pushed his head back. Within a half 
  second of putting on her own engines, Carialle felt the envelope rising under her 
  skirts. It felt like everyone on Cridi was helping to push her into space. The force 
  shoved her hard into the sky like an extra booster rocket, bringing her to breakaway 
  speed in record time. Flames from sheer friction danced down her sides as she cut 
  through the atmosphere and emerged into space, yet her internal temperature remained 
  stable. The Cores, both inside and outside the craft, were protecting her. She felt the 
  exosphere seal behind her, planetary ozone readings returning to normal within 
  milliseconds of her passage. The additional thrust cannoned her forward. She was 
  moving 60% faster than she could have gone unassisted. The shields strained against 
  the additional pressure but were fully capable of holding. She lit her own full engines, 
  corrected course, and opened all her receivers, hoping for word from Gavon's ship. A 
  quick slingshot around Cridi, and she was on her way.
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  CHAPTER 8
  « ^ »
  "This is the end of the ship's ion trail," Keff said, reading the telemetry monitors. 
  The CK-963 zigzagged the empty space between the orbits of the last planet and the 
  asteroid belt that marked the border of the Cridi system. They were within half a 
  million klicks of the planet, a dusty, battered rock rimed with iron oxide red and 
  nickel oxide blue. The sun was a faint flicker of yellow over Keffs right shoulder.
  "And this corresponds to the last coordinates from which they transmitted to us," 
  Carialle said. "But where's the ship?' She scanned space around her. There was a little 
  debris, and a very small amount of residual radiation from the right kind of material, 
  but not enough to tell what had happened. The DSC-902 appeared to have crossed the 
  radiopause and disappeared into thin vacuum.
  "If the ship was disabled, it couldn't have drifted far," Keff said, staring at the 
  astrogation tank, searching it for artifacts. "If it was towed, where's the engine trail for 
  the other ship?"
  "What if Gavon was remotely pulled away?" Tall Eyebrow asked, showing the 
  circuitry on his long fingers.
  "The Cores," Carialle said. Keff let out a low whistle. "The pirates who killed them 
  have Cores!"
  'That's why somebody has bottled up the Cridi space program," he said. "The Cores 
  have a limited range, but incredible power inside that radius. That technology alone is 
  worth keeping a secret from the rest of the universe."
  "I think you're right about the why," Carialle said. "We still don't know who. And at 
  this moment, I am more concerned with where."
  She was silent for so long Keff wondered if she had suffered another memory 
  flashback. He waited for a long time, then cleared his throat.
  "Cari? Are you all right?"
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  "I'm fine," Carialle said, a little too emphatically. "Apart from being burning mad, I'm 
  just on green. I may not like having another ship come in and usurp my mission, but 
  damn it, I will fight my battles myself. Somebody captured or destroyed one of our 
  vessels, and I am damned well going to know who. Nobody messes with a Central 
  Worlds ship on my turf."
  'That's the spirit! Evil highway brigands who prey upon the helpless shall not prevail. 
  We will sally forth and beard the miscreants in their den," Keff said, thumping his 
  chest. He kept his voice light, hoping that her train of thought would not lead Carialle 
  back to her memories of isolation. "We shall slay all who do not beg for mercy and 
  swear allegiance to the CenCom."
  Carialle was amused in spite of her worries. "Thank you, brave Sir Keff. But 
  seriously, who are they? Not Cridi. They wouldn't be shooting at one another, at least 
  not without giving a reason. And it certainly can't be other humans. There's never been 
  any contact with humanity in this system before."
  "That is what Narrow Leg and the others assure me," Tall Eyebrow said.
  "And word would have gotten back to Central Worlds about the frogs if someone was 
  ambushing their flights and stealing from them. We'd have begun to see artifacts that 
  no one could explain — little spaceships," Carialle said. "Who could resist the Core 
  technology? All three of the last Cridi missions had Cores on board."
  "So what does that leave?" Keff asked, feeling the tingle of excitement. "Another 
  race? Another spacegoing alien race?"
  "It might be," Carialle said, cautiously. "It's a big universe. But first we must prove 
  that the disappearance of this ship wasn't mere accident, and that it wasn't bad 
  engineering that slew three Cridi vessels."
  They explored the outer reaches of the heliopause. Space was pointedly, echoingly 
  empty. Carialle picked up faint traces of engine trails, some ages old by the pattern of 
  their decay. It seemed that most of the Cridi missions, at least as far back as they'd 
  used an ion drive, had exited the system in this direction. It led, not incidentally, 
  directly toward Ozran and away from the bulk of the Central Worlds. Her entry into 
  the solar system was a quarter of the way anticlockwise around the sun, so the new 
  wake she was forming behind her was clear and undisturbed. She used it to check the 
  strength of the trail she was following.
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  "Aha," she said, as they arced out toward a group of jagged moonlets dancing along in 
  the asteroid belt. "Now I am picking up fresh indications from another land of space 
  drive. Not Cridi."
  Keff stared at the astrogation tank. Tall Eyebrow wriggled up next to him to see. 
  Carialle put the view on full light spectrum analysis. The brawn darted a finger toward 
  the lines that sprang into relief, crisscrossing the holographic display like spider web.
  "I see it. There are hundreds of them!" he exclaimed. "Someone else is in this system."
  "Very strange," Tall Eyebrow signed. "They've been traveling through here for years, 
  but no one has ever made contact with the second planet. They must have been able to 
  tell someone was living there. The noisy airwaves alone would have told them that, 
  even if they couldn't understand the transmissions."
  "They wouldn't exactly come visiting if their only motive was robbery," Keff said. 
  "Wait, these are all cold. They're years old."
  "Not these," Carialle said, illuminating three traces that converged on an asteroid 
  cluster. 'Those are new."
  Keff peered closely at the faint image in the tank, then pounded a hand flat on the 
  console. He had spotted movement.
  "Cari, reverse course! Quick!"
  Almost before the words were out of his mouth, Carialle had looped the ship around. 
  She was heading for cover behind a pocked moonlet before they could sense her. 
  Three strange ships flew out of crevices and holes in one of the asteroids, and were 
  making straight for them. She kept video cameras aimed aft as she looked for a hiding 
  place. Keff studied their pursuers.
  The ships' design looked familiar: long, tapered cones bracketed with emplacements 
  for landing gear, communications, and weaponry, but all were old and in poor repair. 
  Flying junkheaps, he thought, with a sniff. His monitors still didn't show a sensor lock 
  from their pursuers. Their sensors showed radiation leak from two of their engines. 
  One was nearing critical point as it poured on power to catch up with them. They were 
  almost ridiculously undermaintained, but Keff felt no urge to laugh.
  "Hurry, Cari!"
  By comparison, the CK-963 was an angel on the wing. Carialle cornered wide around 
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  two halves of a broken rock ten times her size, then hugged in close behind a flattened 
  sphere, searching for a ravine or a cave she could duck into. The spheres sides were 
  solid. She tried slipping past it unseen, to another huge rock shaped like a flatiron. 
  One of the intruders was waiting just beyond the great wedge's lip. Carialle grimly 
  turned as sharp an angle as she could in the opposite direction.
  A red light, infinitesimally small, bloomed on the pursuers hull.
  "Brace!" Carialle cried out as the energy bolt struck her amidships.
  The blast tore straight through her shields as though through cellophane. Painful heat 
  ran along her sensors, which then mercifully shut down. Damage control monitors 
  showed her an elongated oval tear in her dorsal hull. Whoops sounded as the alarm 
  went off in the cabin. Emergency systems kicked into operation at once.
  Keff kept himself from being thrown across the control console by gripping the crash 
  couch's armrests and hanging on with all his great strength. Tall Eyebrow, hovering, 
  had nothing to grab onto, but pivoted deliberately in the air and somersaulted into the 
  padding of the other couch. The straps rose up and surrounded him like an octopus 
  seizing prey.
  "Wish I could do that," Keff said, between gritted teeth. Tall Eyebrow whistled an 
  apology. The pilots couch engulfed Keff in safety harness. He expelled his breath in a 
  long sigh and let go his grasp on the armrests.
  "Thanks. How bad is it?" Keff asked the air.
  "Hull breach, minor. Already being fixed," Carialle said shortly.
  The automatic repair system quickly pressurized the sector and filled it with self-
  hardening polymer/metal compound. Nothing vital had been damaged, but Carialle 
  wondered how many of those hits they could take before being destroyed. Her nerve 
  endings still stung. She fed somatotropins to the injured part, and increased her sugar 
  levels slightly.
  Keff shook his hands to help the blood flow to the white and pinched palms, then 
  slammed his fist down on the RECORD button to send a message to CW.
  "Mayday. This is the CK-963. We are under attack by three vessels, origin unknown. I 
  am uplinking video of these vessels, plus other data we have gathered regarding the 
  disappearance of a Central Worlds ship in this sector. If we are unable to escape, send 
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  fleet ships to the Cridi system at once. We have already taken damage. I repeat, we are 
  under attack — uh-oh!"
  The screen caught his attention as the red light on the enemy ship appeared again. 
  "Cari, they're shooting again!"
  "I'm moving, I'm moving!" Carialle exclaimed. The ship zigzagged as well as it could 
  to avoid the coming barrage, but she couldn't move far to any side. There was no way 
  to dodge another blast. "Our shields aren't meant to take this."
  The Frog Prince once again put his newfound power into operation. His hands 
  whisked back and forth in silent commands. Carialle felt the Core within her walls 
  hum. Suddenly, her hull felt as if it had been dipped in transparent padding. The next 
  bolt of energy, invisible to the naked eye, exploded in a burst of white light against her 
  side. Keff and Tall Eyebrow were jolted around in their couches, but the ship 
  sustained no damage.
  "Thanks, TE," Carialle said. "You just earned your keep." The globe-frog signalled a 
  shaky "You're welcome."
  The enemy, obviously taken aback that its volley made no impact, sent half a dozen 
  bolts in rapid succession. Carialle attempted to avoid them, but two of them hit her — 
  one in the tail, and one close to the airlock. The white light from their impact 
  momentarily blinded one of her cameras, and the cabin lights faded down for a 
  second. Carialle took the moment of the blast to slide into a narrow alley formed by a 
  winding DNA-strand of floating rocks. The next blast missed them, exploding a 
  meteorite that peppered the hull noisily with sand. Carialle maneuvered through the 
  belt, hoping to keep the distance between her and her pursuer. It vanished among the 
  rocks.
  "How long will your shield hold?" she asked Tall Eyebrow.
  "I do not know," he said. "Perhaps long enough, but a sustained volley might 
  overstrain it. Especially if they have a Core, too."
  "I'm sending that message to Simeon and the CW right now," Carialle said. "If we 
  lose, no one will ever find us. It'll be weeks, if not months before the message gets 
  home. Someone has to know about these people. They've obviously been using the 
  outskirts of the system as a hideout for years, and no one knew about it."
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  "You did," Keff said, grimly.
  "An unhappy surmise, unluckily turning out to be true. At present, that's no 
  satisfaction," she said briskly.
  "Are these the ones?" Keff asked, with a concerned look at her pillar. "Are they your 
  salvage squad?"
  "I don't know," she said. "I was blind then."
  "Do the engines match the configuration?" Keff asked. "Did they make physical 
  contact? Can you recognize the vibration? Frequency emissions?"
  "I don't know. After the attack I know my sensors went skewiff, so I might have been 
  filtering all I know through bad information. I'll only know if I can get one of them to 
  walk on me again. And I'm damned if I'll ever let that happen."
  She recognized that her voice had grown terse, and made an effort to pull herself 
  together. The moment of indecision and resolution took only microseconds, but she 
  knew Keff had noticed the hesitation.
  "I'm fine," she said, making the Lady Fair image appear on the wall. The peach-
  colored veil from her hennin floated softly around her face, which wore an expression 
  of peace. Keff gave it a skeptical glance, but nodded. Both of them had to concentrate 
  right now on survival.
  As they wove through the asteroids, two blips appeared ahead on long range scan. 
  Carialle wondered if her new equipment was more sophisticated than theirs; could she 
  see them before they saw her? It might mean the difference between escape and 
  destruction. Carialle studied her telemetry. Where could she turn to avoid them? 
  Nothing truly safe offered itself. A sharp turn in any direction threw her into the teeth 
  of the celestial meat grinder. Suddenly, a gap opened to starboard. She took it, nipping 
  in just before two bolts lanced through the space she'd been occupying.
  "This was probably not a good idea," Carialle said. "One lone, unarmed ship doesn't 
  have a chance against a force of three. We've got to get out of here."
  "We still have to find the DSC-902," Keff reminded her. "Even if we can just locate it 
  before we get away, that'll be a help. I'd rather rescue them if we can."
  "I'm with you, O brave one, but we need to survive this mission to be of any use to 
  them." She broke off to dodge the first ship, which appeared on the other side of a 
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  rock full of holes like Swiss cheese. It fired a few times, through one hole then 
  another. Carialle avoided them all, but felt stone shrapnel ping against her hull. The 
  enemy ship spurred after her. She fled, only to find the lone ship had radioed the other 
  two, who appeared on either side of her at the next wide spot. Carialle calculated the 
  period between spiralling rocks, and ducked upward. The three ships, unable to 
  maneuver with her skill, plummeted forward.
  Carialle widened the gap between her and the enemy to half a dozen planet-widths by 
  diving down and through the asteroid belt, and coming out "south" of the plane of the 
  ecliptic. She made a note of where the three ships were, and turned back up and into 
  the stone dance at some distance from them. Her sensors indicated that the enemy had 
  figured out what she had done and were coming after her, but she was ahead of them 
  now, scanning for traces of the DSC-902.
  "Do you know, they're fast, but their equipment is ancient," Carialle said. "I might be 
  able to outlast them in hide-and-seek, if only we don't get in the way of sustained fire."
  "Your engines are better than any of these brutes," Keff said, anxiously watching the 
  aft monitor. One of the ships, blip number two, was outside the belt now, pouring on 
  velocity to catch up. "We can outdistance them. Maybe we can outclass them, too. TE, 
  can we convince them we've got some heavy armament?"
  "How?"
  "Grab one of those rocks as we go past, and sling it backwards toward this fellow."
  The globe-frog looked worried. "It will mean relinquishing control of the shield," he 
  said.
  "We'll have to chance it," Carialle said. "My shields are 92% intact, and none of those 
  old pots can match me for maneuverability. Go ahead."
  The thick padding around her vanished suddenly, leaving her feeling chilled as if she 
  was exposed to the cold of space. Hastily, she rebuilt her defenses. Carialle felt a 
  momentary drag aft and to port as Tall Eyebrow hitched his power to a rock about 
  three meters across and pulled it out of the dance. It sailed along behind them like a 
  puppy. Carialle turned on all her dorsal thrusters in a sudden burst, and turned on her 
  belly, heading back toward the pursuing ship. Tall Eyebrow made a pushing motion in 
  midair. The rock spiraled up from Carialles tail and flew in a tightening pattern around 
  her body toward the enemy. With the extra momentum behind it, the missile appeared 
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  to elongate in flight.
  The enemy ship had only seconds to avoid collision. It veered up and to starboard. 
  Tall Eyebrow reached out to the end of his range to alter the rock's course to match. It 
  got to within a hundred kilometers of the enemy before the lasers exploded it.
  "I missed," Tall Eyebrow complained.
  "Whew!" Carialle said. "They have got fast reflexes."
  "More, TE, more!" Keff shouted, as the pirate recovered itself and fired its weapons at 
  them. The Frog Prince threw the shields back into place just in time. Carialle swept 
  deeper into the asteroid belt, and let a cartwheeling rock take the brunt. In the 
  meantime, Tall Eyebrow picked up more chunks of debris to use as weapons. They 
  circled around Carialles middle like a planetary ring.
  "The other two ships are coming," Carialle warned. "If we can disable this one, I can 
  probably outlast the other two."
  "We might be able to rely on psychology," Keff said. "If we're wrong, and they don't 
  have the Cores, seeing us throwing rocks around by remote control might make them 
  back up."
  "We can only try it," Carialle said. "I'd better show my pretty face, then."
  She dove out of the belt, coming out above ship number two. One and three weren't 
  far behind. Burning her thrusters for an extra burst of speed, she got ahead of Ship 
  Two. Tall Eyebrow used the inertia to help launch a series of stone projectiles, one 
  after another, spiraling them down over Carialles tail and into the path of the other.
  The enemy snaked widely, shooting at the speeding rocks. Tall Eyebrow had chosen a 
  good variety for his missiles. Some burst into gravel; some, with heavy metal content, 
  slagged along the edges but kept spinning. One whirled with sawbladelike 
  inexorability straight into the path of Ship One, which pulled straight up in an acute 
  arc. The molten rock narrowly missed its tail fins.
  Ship Two, wound too tightly among the asteroids to flinch, took a pair of fragments 
  amidships. Carialle saw the leak of atmosphere escape from the side of the hull. It 
  streamed out in a haze alongside the exhaust. For the first time she picked up 
  transmissions from the raiders. She couldn't comprehend the language.
  "Keff, listen to this," she said. Keff tilted his head as she re-ran the recording and 
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  raised his eyebrows at the staccato rhythm of voices. He couldn't understand the deep 
  voices, but he comprehended the urgency.
  "That's an SOS," he said definitely. "TE struck something vital."
  "Hit them again, TE," Carialle said. "Aim for the engines."
  The Ozranian continued his bombardment. Because of the limitations of the Core, he 
  had to depend on a target maintaining its trajectory from the time he let go of a rock. 
  With his superior grasp of spatial relations, Carialle only had to make certain he had a 
  constantly updated overview in the astrogation tank. Keff, a fascinated but helpless 
  bystander, led the cheering section each time one of Tall Eyebrows missiles found its 
  mark.
  Battered and leaking, Ship Two eventually dropped back and out of the race to nurse 
  its damaged hull. Now that Carialle had proved that her ship wasn't helpless, the other 
  two ships became cagey. They flew a wide pattern alongside her, peppering her with 
  laser fire, trying to herd her into planetoids. Carialle's shields fell to 68%. Now they 
  were engaged in what Keff recognized as a true space battle, fought with atlases 
  instead of micrometers.
  Carialle focused her telemetry on what lay ahead.
  The going was more difficult here. If they picked up missiles to throw, she would 
  have to remain on her own shields. Ancient comets had passed through this part of the 
  belt again and again, chopping the asteroids into pieces ranging from those meters 
  across to particles almost as small as dust. She worried that she might sustain a 
  breach. On the good side, the cloud of dust seemed to cut off visuals of her to the 
  other ships. On her scopes she saw them veer around uncertainly. Their medium-range 
  sensors were nowhere near as good as hers.
  "We can't get them both at once just tossing boulders," Keff said. "Can we set up a 
  kind of chain reaction? What if we spin a big rock, the biggest one TE can handle, into 
  one heading the other way? Could we get it to ricochet back toward the Joy Boys back 
  there? Then we can attack the other more directly."
  "I don't see why not," she said. She homed in on a set of nearly spherical fragments 
  ahead, and bracketed them for Tall Eyebrow to see. "How are you at playing pool?"
  Carialle let herself be "seen" on the enemies' scopes by surfacing out of the dust 
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  clouds. The other ships obligingly took the bait, and spurred to catch up with her. All 
  their strategy for keeping their distance from her was dropped. They meant to kill.
  "This had better work," Carialle said. "Otherwise, we'll have to run, and hope that the 
  Core holds out until we can make Cridi atmosphere."
  With almost a casual deflection of power, the Frog Prince set his chain reaction in 
  motion. The cue ball, a stone sphere twelve meters across, was set spinning into its 
  fellows. Most of the rocks it hit split off in a dozen directions, obvious, easy for the 
  ships following to avoid. The eight ball, a rock dark with magnesium oxide, cannoned 
  forward, gaining velocity toward a quarter-planetoid raddled by the eternal passage of 
  fragments. With delightful precision, Tall Eyebrow had aimed his shot toward an 
  obliquely angled "valley." Carialle saw the eight ball hit one angle of the corner shot 
  and deflect onward, and then she was past it.
  The other ships paid no attention to a rock that appeared to have missed. Tall Eyebrow 
  had gathered up another stream of small rocks. He shot them at one ship then the 
  other, in twos and threes, with varying degrees of success. It kept the enemy too busy 
  to fire straight at Carialle, or to pay attention to where they were going. Carialle led 
  them around and back along the trajectory she wanted them to follow. To make sure 
  they could keep up, she dropped velocity slightly, daringly. They passed the alley 
  down which the eight ball hurtled. Ship One was too intent upon Carialle, or perhaps 
  its sensors were too confused by the dust and the flashes from its laser barrage, to pick 
  up the huge rock until it rolled almost straight into its aft section.
  The two ventral engines imploded, setting off a chain reaction like the lit fuse on a 
  stick of dynamite that destroyed the rest of the ship.
  Carialle heard an outcry on its audio frequency, then silence. Ship Three must have 
  picked up that last, futile message, for it broke off its attack.
  "What's it doing?" Keff asked, watching the ship veer deeper into the clouds of debris. 
  Within seconds it was out of visual contact. "Is it coming around to sneak up on us?"
  "Not unless it's going all the way around the orbit and coming at us from the front," 
  Carialle said. "It's running away." She slowed down, and made her way cautiously out 
  of the asteroid belt. A further check showed Ship Three really was fleeing. It had put 
  the full width of the belt between itself and Carialle. "It's gone. The field's all ours. 
  Congratulations, TE. It was your marksmanship that saved the day for us."
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  The Ozranian tipped a hand self-deprecatingly.
  "Stop being so modest. You're a genuine hero, and I'm going to tell the world when 
  we get back to Cridi. I'm turning around to see if we can pick up traces of the DSC-
  902." She swung off sunward from the belt, and turned a huge circle. "Call this your 
  victory roll." The frog image repeated the concept with difficulty. Tall Eyebrow 
  ducked his head.
  "Cari, we've done it!" Keff said, dusting his hands together. "That'll neutralize the 
  pirates in this system — killing two and scaring off the third. They'll never shoot at a 
  ship in this place again. If they ever troubled you, you've evened it out now. Probably 
  saved the future of the Cridi space program, too."
  "I'm not satisfied," Carialle said, firmly. "I want to be certain that they are the ones. 
  Were the ones. I want to see them face-to-face. I have to know." She paused, waiting 
  until the adrenaline in her system evened out. "And then I want to haul them back to 
  CenCom and prove to that insufferable bureaucrat and his flunkies that I was not 
  hallucinating. Then, I'll be satisfied."
  They returned to the asteroid clump where they first saw the raider ships. Carialle 
  searched for the ion traces, now slightly disturbed by their passage and battle.
  Behind the cluster of rocks was a confused knot of trails. Carialle and Keff flew back 
  and forth, trying not to destroy the delicate veins, as they read the order of the events 
  that had gone before they arrived.
  "Looks like they were here before," Keff said, thoughtfully, sitting at the console with 
  his chin in his hand. "Then they went away and came back again. Where did they go?"
  "I think this is where they waited to ambush the DSC-902," Carialle said. "Look at 
  that mass of exhaust particles. Those three ships accelerated to get there, then sat a 
  long time before kicking out. They did it twice, the second time when they came after 
  us. They did grab the ship with a Core — look at the hard thruster emissions from two 
  ships."
  "But what happened to the DSC-902's emissions?" Keff asked, studying the starchart.
  Tall Eyebrow let out a little gasp and planted both hands firmly over his mouth and 
  nostrils.
  "That's it," Carialle said. "Suffocation. They sealed it up in a forcefield like TE's 
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  shield, and carried it away."
  "But where did it go?"
  Carialle bracketed the traces that led away from the cluster. "If I follow the tangle 
  correctly, they went galactic clockwise."
  Not far from the original point of contact, the celestial fragments grew larger, until the 
  belt alongside which they were traveling looked like a gigantic string of brown-red 
  pearls. The spider webbing of ions led from every direction to the largest one. Even 
  from a distance, the artificial structures there were apparent.
  "A base!" Keff exclaimed. "Give us a closeup, Cari."
  The facility looked like a travesty of the spaceport on Cridi. What must have been a 
  small fuel depot huddled beside a prefabricated dome of extreme age. Both were 
  riddled with pockmarks from meteor strikes. Around them lay debris Carialle 
  recognized with a sinking heart as sections from destroyed or dismembered 
  spaceships. The most recent wreck was frosted white. The residual moisture from the 
  life support system of the DSC-902 had not yet had time to leach away in vacuum. Its 
  hatch and all the cargo bay doors stood open, unspeakably lonely and vulnerable. 
  Lights were on inside.
  "Oh, no," Keff whispered. Tall Eyebrow murmured a tiny, sympathetic creak.
  'The hull shows half a dozen breaches," Carialle said, pulling a closeup of the 
  imploded hull plates, showing black holes partially opaqued by the film of ice. "You 
  can see what happened. They held it in place, and they peppered it with laser fire. See 
  how rough the holes are. They were using a mining laser, not weapons grade. I'm 
  getting no trace of radiation from the engines. It looks like our three friends stripped 
  out the drives. No signs of life."
  "Bodies?" Keff asked.
  Without a word, Carialle magnified a small section of the asteroid's surface. What 
  Keff had taken for a heap of short lengths of tubing in the faint light from the distant 
  sun were half a dozen human bodies. The expression on the staring faces was that of 
  surprise. Keff swallowed hard.
  'Those bastards."
  "There's more," Carialle said. She shifted focus to another one of her cameras. They 
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  were above the base now, able to see the ruins on the other side of the structures. 
  Carialle showed them pieces of tiny ships, strewn like discarded toys.
  "Even their Cores couldn't protect them," Carialle said.
  "Cridi? They did not crash?" TE asked, smashing one of his long hands down on the 
  other.
  "They did not crash," Carialle replied grimly. She showed them the parts of the ships. 
  On extreme magnification the pair in the main cabin could see that the pieces showed 
  little damage, except where the laser holes were evident.
  "And the crews?" Keff asked, subvocally.
  "Dead," Carialle said, without elaborating, but she made a comprehensive recording of 
  the pathetic scatter of small bodies in protective suits near the landing pad. Carialle 
  wished she could not see them. At least she could spare Keff and TE that, and showed 
  them the bodies from a distance. Keff and TE fell silent.
  "I hope we blew up the ones carrying the Cores," Carialle said. "This is what the 
  CenCom should see: what happens when that extraordinary power falls into the wrong 
  hands."
  "Four ships," Keff said sadly. "All destroyed."
  "More," TE signalled suddenly, pulling handfuls of air towards his chest.
  "What do you mean?" Carialle asked.
  The Ozranian leader tapped the side of his head. "Observation. Please put the pieces in 
  the air for me. Like the puzzle."
  "Ah, I get you." Carialle blew up the parts of the ships and placed them in holograph 
  form before him. With lightning speed the Frog Prince reconstructed three small ships 
  from which pieces were missing, but there were parts left over that could not possibly 
  belong to any Cridi ship. Among the leftovers Carialle recognized a nose cone and 
  landing fins of an obsolete model of a human-made ship. She constructed a hologram 
  of the completed ship around the screen image. Keff gawked at Tall Eyebrow.
  "How did you do that?" he asked.
  The Ozran shrugged modestly. "Observation," he repeated.
  "That spatial talent of his," Carialle said. "Extraordinary. I'd like to see his people 
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  engaged in engineering design work with ours."
  "But, see what is left," TE continued. "It is like yours, but not like."
  "It's old," Carialle said. "Do you recognize the model, Keff? It dates from fifty or 
  seventy years back. About the time that Cridi got bottled up."
  "So a Central Worlds explorer might have found the Cridi before now," Keff said 
  thoughtfully. "These pirates destroyed them before they could get back to report on 
  their findings."
  "Maybe they didn't find Cridi" Carialle said.
  "What do you mean?"
  "These thieves don't live on this rock," she said. 'They can't. There's no facilities, no 
  supplies, barely any air. They didn't simply intend to destroy the ship, or they would 
  have left the hulk floating where it died. These unknowns are ambushing and robbing 
  starships. This is a chop shop, a staging area. They come from somewhere else. They 
  go somewhere else, with the stolen booty. Doesn't it make sense that it's right here, in 
  the system?"
  Keffs teeth showed in a feral grin. "It does. We'll find them. We can't let these brutes 
  get away with mass murder." He poked a finger at the shining strands in the holotank. 
  "Shall we see if those ley lines from the engines lead anywhere?"
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  CHAPTER 9
  « ^ »
  "Planet Five," Carialle said, turning all her video screens to the view of the dark 
  hulk silhouetted by the distant sun. "The traitors live right here in the Cridi system."
  "Lets take them," Keff said, leaning forward and slamming his fists together. In the 
  navigation tank, strands of ion emission joined hundreds more in a skein around the 
  black sphere, like webs tying up a fly. That was the center. So close, and yet no one 
  knew it was here.
  "Have you brushed your teeth and said your prayers?" Carialle asked, interrupting his 
  concentration. "We can't destroy a base by ourselves, let alone a planet."
  "No," Keff sighed, sitting back. Reason had been restored. "But we can get data to 
  instruct a CW fleet. Let's see what's down there."
  Keeping in the widest possible orbit, the ship circled around to sunside. It looked an 
  inhospitable place, but there were sure signs of habitation, and the three moons, each 
  the size of Old Earth, could have concealed fleets of pirates. Carialle listened on the 
  frequencies she had observed the three assassins using. She picked up a familiar drone.
  "Landing beacon," she said, putting the sound on audio for the others. "So far, nothing 
  else. If there are detection devices out there I'm risking having another force come 
  boiling after me, so I'm keeping thrusters ready to run back toward Cridi if necessary."
  "What power emissions are you reading?' Keff asked, studying the astrogation tank.
  "Not much. If they have any industrial complexes, they must all be underground. 
  Residual decay in a lot of places on the surface, probably power plants from purloined 
  spaceships. Another refueling depot, in the midst of one enormous junkheap. 
  Radioactive dumping ground, ten degrees north of the equator, far from any of the 
  heat vents. Read this spectroanalysis," she said, putting up a chart on one of her 
  screens. "The atmosphere has a hefty ammonia content."
  "Our archives say this burns us," Tall Eyebrow signed, looking at the molecular 
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  diagram. "Also smells bad."
  "Then I'll need a full breather suit," Keff said, perusing the screen with a critical eye. 
  "Oxygen. Grav assist. Maybe take one or both of the servo drones with me in case the 
  gravity is too much."
  "What are you talking about?" Carialle asked.
  "I want to have a close-up look at the people who were just shooting at us," Keff said, 
  but Carialle recognized the gleam in his eye. He'd looked the same way whenever they 
  were sent on assignment to a planet suspected of sustaining life. He pointed at a spot 
  on the planetary map, a field of craters near the refueling depot. "If you set us down 
  there, I can get in and gather data, and be out before they know it."
  "Wait a minute, Sir Knight. Yes, we may have encountered a brand new, sentient 
  species, but that doesn't mean you should fling yourself into their midst."
  "Cari, think of it — it's unprecedented. Two intelligent life forms evolving in the same 
  solar system — and never meeting. Think of the furor at Alien Outreach. Think of 
  being the only brainship team ever to bring home a prize like that." Keff began to see 
  glory before his eyes, to hear the congratulations in his ears. Carialle interrupted his 
  reverie.
  "It's too dangerous! May I point out you just mentioned that these are the same people 
  who were just shooting at us? Who murdered the crews of at least four starships? And 
  who may have tried to kill me twenty years ago? Surely the ships sent messages with 
  our description and video bits to home control on one of these obscure frequencies 
  I've been trying to monitor. We'd be too easy a target landing near their spaceport, and 
  I don't think they'll buy 'I come in peace' from the ship that just destroyed two or three 
  of their craft. If you get caught, they'll kill you. I won't land."
  "I haven't forgotten any of that, Can, but we can accomplish a great deal if I can 
  infiltrate them successfully. We do need data to support a Central Worlds deployment. 
  I'm good at camouflage. All you have to do is land us very quietly in a nice, deep 
  syncline, and give me sufficient data on the terrain. I'll find a bivouac. It'll take time 
  for the CW ships to reach us…" Keffs eye was distracted from the intractable face of 
  Carialle's Lady Fair image. He turned to stare fully at the navigation tank.
  "Cari, jump! There's a ship coming up astern. We can hide behind one of those moons, 
  maybe loop around to the nightside. Hurry! Why aren't your proximity alarms going 
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  off? Damn it," he said, hammering a fist down on the console. "I thought we scared 
  that third ship into next Tuesday." He scanned the scopes looking for convenient 
  asteroid belts, planetoids, or ion storms in which they could lose themselves. There's 
  nothing! We'll have to run. Can you read any armament…?"
  "Keff!" Carialle shouted, blinking the displays on and off to get his attention. "It isn't 
  the pirates. It's the Cridi. You'll recognize their configuration by the time it gets into 
  range. Tad Pole persuaded the Cridi to launch their new ship in our defense."
  "What?" Keff felt his jaw drop open with shock. "Why didn't you tell me?"
  "You've been raving so much I didn't have an edgewise to fit in a word. Long Hand is 
  transmitting to me from the other ship. IT is translating her sign language to me, but 
  its slow going, with their rotten screens. Narrow Leg and the others scrambled as soon 
  as we accomplished a successful takeoff. They want to back us up. Small Spot and 
  Long Hand persuaded them to launch in our defense. They came along, and they 
  brought Big Eyes, among others. I'll play you the audio. It's very amusing. I can hear 
  Big Voice chirruping madly in the background behind everyone else."
  "Big Eyes comes?" Tall Eyebrow signed, pleased. Keff looked appalled.
  "No! Send them home. This is too dangerous."
  "They have better defenses than we do, Sir Knight," Carialle said, patiently. "Besides, 
  they want to help us. I think they recognize the risk they're taking."
  "We can't let them, Cari," Keff said. Suddenly the small ship came fully into focus. It 
  looked very small and vulnerable. He dashed a hand through his hair and stared 
  desperately at the screen. 'The pirates are armed to their masticatory appendages."
  "And a moment ago you wanted me to land in their midst," Carialle said sweetly. Keff 
  had a sudden, heartfelt temptation to kick her pillar.
  "I'm trained to take risks," he said. "The Cridi are not. Why did they come?"
  "Why? Sir Keff, you spent over a month convincing the Cridi to sign on with Central 
  Worlds as a member nation with full privileges. You did a good job. They've taken the 
  concept of alliance seriously, and they mean to back up what they say. How can they 
  prove they're our equals and allies unless we let them?
  "But not like this!"
  "Then, how?"
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  "I help," Tall Eyebrow put in, with a quick sign, before Keff could object. "They, too."
  "See?" Carialle asked. "I'm proud of them."
  Keff wasn't convinced, but suddenly the rust-colored planet off Cari's starboard side 
  looked more menacing. It would be useful to have backup. CW Fleet ships were 
  months away. If they scrambled tomorrow, it would still take weeks to close the 
  distance. He glanced at Carialles pillar.
  "Was it unanimous?" he asked.
  "By no means," Carialle said. "Snap Fingers and his brood think they should mind 
  their own business. But look at the ones who are risking their lives, who weren't sure 
  that ship would even break atmosphere safely. But, there they are."
  Keff glanced up slyly through his eyelashes. "Big Voice came, too?"
  "Believe it or not, he did."
  Keff raised his hands in surrender. "All right. But Alien Outreach isn't going to like 
  this."
  'Then, they can lump it," Carialle said firmly. "Would they rather have the pirates 
  running around loose? This is the Cridi's necks on the block, too. It's their system, and 
  for the last fifty years, their menace. These pirates took their freedom, and killed who 
  knows how many Cridi astronauts. The Cridi have a right to be here."
  "You're correct, as always, Cari. Let me talk to them. I'm going to eat crow." He sat 
  down in his padded seat before the console. The 1028-square grid appeared on the 
  screen, and coalesced into a rough mosaic of the face of Narrow Leg.
  "Captain, Carialle and I welcome you back to space."
  "We are successful!" the elderly Cridi squeaked, and IT echoed his tone of triumph. 
  "It flies, it is sound."
  "I never doubted it," Keff signed, with a grin. "I've never seen such careful 
  construction. I'm glad you're with us." He cleared his throat, then emitted a short 
  series of chirps. "X equals Y. X plus Y is greater than X. X plus Y is greater than Y. 
  We are equals, and the two of us together are greater than we are alone."
  Narrow Leg nodded his head. "That is evident. You honor us. Circling this planet. 
  What must we know about it?"
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  Carialle spoke up. "We have traced the path of the villains who attacked the 
  diplomatic ship. We have no fleet, no heavy armament, so all we can do is gather 
  information, and send for help from the Central Worlds. We plan to infiltrate the 
  planets surface."
  Narrow Leg's cheeks hollowed, and the faces of the Cridi behind him paled to mint 
  green. They looked terrified, but all of them squeaked up at once.
  "Tell us how we may help."
  "I didn't want them down here with me," Keff said, sublingually, hunkering himself 
  down further into the crevasse beyond the outskirts of the building they had 
  designated as the spaceport. "I wanted them up there, where they could use their Core 
  to help protect us, and you."
  "Nonsense," Carialle said. "There's a delay in response time, even from space. I want 
  them where they can be on the spot if you need them."
  Keff didn't protest, but the sound of the plastic globes rolling along the rocky surface 
  of the planet sounded louder than thunder to him. Tall Eyebrow paddled at the head of 
  a party of scouts, heading around toward the other side of the compound. Big Eyes 
  kept up gamely behind him, beside Small Spot and her father, but most of the 
  homeworld Cridi frankly cheated and used their amulet power to levitate their new 
  globes. They bobbed along behind the toiling group, sitting at their ease in the bottom 
  of the transparent spheres.
  "Dam it, TE, tell them not to do that," he growled into his helmet's audio pickup. "I 
  know the extra gravity's uncomfortable, but I'd rather take a chance on movement 
  being spotted than extraneous power transmissions." It was bad enough that the Cridi 
  had to use the Core technology to keep the water in the globes from freezing on this 
  cold world. They risked detection of their ship with every deviation from strict 
  survival. "They might at least put down a physical twitch as indigenous wildlife. If 
  there is any. What a bleak place."
  A hundred meters away, the lead globe stopped and spun in place. The water inside 
  sloshed upward. Tall Eyebrow made a few signs quickly and with authority toward the 
  other globes. Keff was reminded abruptly that the insecure visitor to the Cridi 
  homeworld was also the leader of the exiled Ozran-born Cridi, who kept his 
  population together, alive, and sane in the most dangerous and deprived of 
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  circumstances. He admired the way TE threw in a tactful sign or two that alluded to 
  the difficulty of using a travel globe, but added staccato chops for "absolute 
  necessity." Reluctantly, Big Voice and the others lowered the spheres to the ground. 
  The lead globe rotated 180 degrees, and the party set off again more slowly, but more 
  loudly. Keff flattened himself down so that he could no longer see them. He studied 
  his target.
  There appeared to be little activity, but Carialle had detected at least four life-forms in 
  the building. She had a hard time finding body-heat traces. The planets surface was 
  cold, but it was dotted with hot spots where volcanoes and geothermal vents broke 
  through. Structures placed over these took advantage of the natural heat.
  Most of the population had to be below ground, with only a few exits to the open sky. 
  It was impossible to pick out individuals. Ammonia/oxygen flares ignited 
  occasionally, and as swiftly, blew out. Carialle cursed as one trace after another that 
  she was tracking suddenly vanished.
  Gravity was approximately one and a half times Standard tiorm; bearable for short 
  periods. The "spaceport" was a ridge, the edge of a huge crater filled in over eons with 
  dust and debris that had solidified into a flat plain. Architects had bored into, or more 
  likely, out of the side of the hill overlooking the plain, and built onto it. Carialle 
  reported that heat traces from inside the building registered at least 35 degrees C. That 
  sounded much nicer than the surrounding landscape, which was bare and dusty where 
  it wasn't covered with discarded junk from hijacked spaceships.
  "What do these people eat?" Keff wondered out loud, his voice sounding hollow in his 
  survival suit.
  "Look at those domes, built to catch every meager ray, even magnify it," Carialle said. 
  "Perhaps our ammonia-breathers photosynthesize, and live on water."
  "Or the cities below ground are full of hydroponics," Keff said. "I don't see enough 
  domes to support a breeding population of mitochondroids." In spite of the peril and 
  the anger he felt at the pirates, he and Carialle had dropped back into the game they 
  loved to play, anticipating the facts about an unknown race. "Is it possible this planet 
  was a lot warmer once? Or do you suppose we've discovered silicophages?"
  "It wouldn't be the first discovery of mineral-eaters," Carialle said, after running 
  through her memory banks, "but it would be the first one that attained sentience and 
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  space travel."
  "In stolen ships," Keff said, flatly. "What do we know about them so far?"
  "From the emissions of the ship Tall Eyebrow damaged, body temperatures in range 
  tolerable by humans, between twenty degrees C and forty degrees C. Size, from my 
  readings in the structure ahead of you, they are larger than humans, but smaller than 
  lions. Anything else, I must await data from you and our party of rolling frogs."
  "Add to that, intelligent and dangerous," Keff said, nodding, but keeping his eyes 
  pinned on the dome. "Well, I can't wait here forever. TE, I'm moving. Watch the 
  building and stop anything that comes in after me."
  "I hear," the small voice said in Standard over the helmet speaker.
  Staying flat on his belly, Keff crept over the rise. On the other side was a steeply 
  sloping valley. Long-departed rivers or perhaps the celestial pressures of planetary 
  formation had crazed the plain with shallow canals. Keeping low enough to remain 
  out of sight to occupants of the largest structure, Keff crawled on hands and knees. 
  Fine silt, undisturbed for eons, rose briefly around him, then settled out in the heavy 
  gravity, burying his tracks.
  Parked a dozen kilometers away beside the Cridi spaceship in a lonely valley, Carialle 
  watched his progress simultaneously on her charts and through the body-cam he wore 
  on his tunic.
  "You're coming to a T-intersection," she said, as Keff paused and reared up on his 
  knees so she could see his precise location. "Take the left branch. No, the left one. The 
  right one leads straight into a deep thermal vent."
  Keff made his way along the turnings, wrinkling his nose against the clouds of dust 
  even though he knew they couldn't penetrate his protective suit. His heads-up display 
  told him the half-meter-high bank of fog into which he crawled at a low point in a 
  ditch was heavy with ammonia and traces of other gases reduced to liquid. He gulped. 
  One breach in suit integrity, and he was a green icicle. Never mind; he was committed 
  to his mission. In some small way, he was helping Carialle to lay the ghosts of her 
  past, as well as ridding the Cridi of a menace and avenging the deaths of the Central 
  Worlds diplomatic personnel. A moon in its second quarter rose on the horizon and 
  crept up the sky, throwing a little more light on his path. His canal dipped sharply as 
  he crawled another ten meters, then light from the moon was cut off. In the blackness 
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  his suit-lights went on. He paused, waiting for the prickle between his shoulder blades 
  that would tell him he was being watched. Nothing.
  "You're almost underneath the building now," Carialle was saying. "If you go around 
  to the right, you'll be in front of that hatchway."
  Keffs back began to ache from the heavy gravity. He paused with hands on knees.
  "It looks a long way up," he panted, staring at the black shape above him, picked out 
  by distant pinpoint stars. His lungs dragged in oxygen.
  "What are you building up all of those muscles if not for an effort like that?" Carialle 
  asked dryly.
  When she started making ironic comments, Keff could tell she was the most worried. 
  He just shook his head. In an instant the aches in his lower back and thighs went 
  away. "Just oxygen-starved," he said. "Just a moment." He reached into the gauntlet of 
  his right glove for the control pad, and turned up the nitrox mix slightly. The faint 
  hissing sound was a comfort.
  In the gloom the building over his head looked ominous. The slab on which it was 
  built had been slagged out of a lip of the ridge, so the people inside had at least stolen, 
  if not evolved, heavy pyroconstruction equipment.
  Keff heaved himself up. The domes began at a meter above the platform, giving him 
  an expanse of blank wall against which he could conceal himself. Ahead of him, the 
  platform widened out away from the domed windows to an apron that bore scorch 
  marks from repeated launches and landings, limp, metal-bound hoses lay on the 
  ground in skeins. They led from the putative fuel tank, which stood on pylons around 
  a fold of the ridge from the domes. To protect the glass from
  Jody Lynn Nye
  explosions, Keff thought, with an approving nod to the designers. A dusty accordion-
  pleated hood was bunched up around the entrance to the building. It seemed to be long 
  enough to extend all the way to the edge of the platform. Not at all sophisticated, but it 
  would scarcely ever need major repairs. He took the video pickup off his suit and held 
  it up against the bottom margin of the clear wall.
  "Can you see anything, Cari?" he whispered.
  "Aqua foliage," Carialle replied. "Spiky, like evergreens — no, more like fan coral. I 
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  can't see anything moving, even on infrared. My sensors are still picking up those 
  same four body traces. No one much seems to come up to the surface."
  "If they're anything like us, it's too cold for them up here. I'm ten meters from the 
  entrance. Where are you, TE?" Keff asked his suit mike.
  "We see you, other side of edge," the globe-frog's voice piped. "Under-by tank-
  container."
  "Back me up. I am going to try and enter. If I am not out in fifteen minutes from the 
  time of my entrance, come in and help me. At that point, revealing we have Core 
  technology will be moot."
  "Sir Frog waits," the small voice said. Keff grinned.
  He crawled the rest of the way to the rough plascrete arch. The entrance resembled an 
  airlock, devoid of any security devices Keff could recognize. The pirates must have 
  been very confident that no one knew they were here.
  "Where are the guards, Cari?" he asked.
  "All four are deep inside," she said. "It looks like your best chance."
  Keff nodded to himself. "Here goes."
  He stood up against the inside edge of the arch, hidden momentarily from sight of 
  anyone in the dome. Carefully, he turned around. Inside a metal frame, two flat bars 
  jutted out from the wall.
  "I've only got a fifty-fifty chance of cocking up," he said, and a childhood singsong 
  bubbled up from memory. He waggled his finger playfully between the two bars. "My 
  mother said to pick the very best one, and you are it." With that, he stabbed the upper 
  bar. It moved easily under his finger, depressing flat to the wall.
  Immediately behind him, something heavy and soft dropped to the ground. Keff spun. 
  He was now curtained into the enclosure by a metal and plastic mesh. Hissing erupted 
  from the wall side. In a few moments, a door, large enough to admit a cargo container, 
  slid upward.
  Keff listened before he stepped inside, turning up his external mikes to the maximum. 
  No alarms. No one seemed to have heard the airlock open.
  "Looks like I'm all right," he whispered.
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  "For pity's sake, be careful," Carialle said in his aural implant.
  He nodded, knowing she would pick up the physiological signs of the small 
  movement. A blinking light on the other side of the threshold urged him forward into 
  another sealed pocket of air. Keff stepped through just as the heavy door slid 
  downward. It closed silently, which surprised him more than a solid bang would have. 
  He heard more hissing, then the curtain and its fender rose, revealing the interior of 
  the dome. A few spotlights stabbed their beams down at the floor, but mostly the 
  arboretum was lit by the faint, distant sun. Bristly growths sprang out of flat, low 
  dishes made of black ceramic on the shiny floor. The plants themselves — if they 
  were plants — were a riot of neon blue, ultramarine, teal, acid yellow, and 
  interplanetary-distress orange. Keff winced.
  "Gack," he said quietly. 'Their taste in horticulture is nightmarish."
  "I told you so," Carialle said. "The colors suggested to me that the atmosphere inside 
  was ammonia-heavy, like the outer atmosphere, but it isn't nearly as saturated as I 
  thought. My spectroanalysis shows that it's much more dilute. Less than one-tenth. 
  You could almost breathe it."
  "How'm I doing?"
  "You're still alone," Carialle said.
  "That's strange," Keff said absently, peering around. "Look, could that be furniture?"
  He turned so the video pickup on his chest was facing some metal and fabric 
  constructs in a group amid the riot of spiky, sea-colored plants.
  "I would say yes." Carialle studied the forms, and ran projections on an ergonomics 
  program in her memory banks. "Something that prefers a sling to a seat — there's no 
  back — so possibly not upright in carriage. It lies supported. A quadruped? Then why 
  wouldn't it simply lie down on pads on the floor?" She drew image after image of 
  arrangements of torsos and limbs, and rejected them all.
  "Here are some divan pillows," Keff said. He turned to face fuzzy, covered pads the 
  size of his bunk. 'They're huge!"
  "Whew!" Carialle whistled in agreement. "Keff, sit on one so I can see how much a 
  body of your weight compresses the material. I need an estimate on what made those 
  dents."
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  Keff complied, plumping down on one as if exhausted, which indeed he was 
  beginning to be. He sat and gasped for a moment. The heavy gravity was telling on 
  him. He hoped the Cridi were faring all right.
  "Let me see," Carialle said. Keff rose and gave her a good view of his impression 
  from different angles. "My estimate stands. I think they weigh about two hundred 
  kilos apiece."
  "I am not staying long," Keff said, positively.
  Beyond the seating arrangements was an arched corridor. Like the platform outside, it 
  had been slagged through the mountain with a melter drill of some kind. Down the 
  passageway, Keff spotted the reflected flicker of blue and white lights. It looked 
  familiar. He listened carefully at the entrance for a long time, then tiptoed toward the 
  source of illumination. He passed closed hatchways with the same framed control bars 
  in the wall beside them. At the sudden sound of escaping air, Keff flattened himself 
  into the nearest door frame and held his breath. The noise stopped with a wheeze and 
  a bang.
  "Probably a compressor," Carialle commented. "Primitive." Keff nodded, the back of 
  his helmet tapping against the wall. The echo bounded off both ways down the empty 
  hall, sounding like water dripping into a pool.
  He waited a moment, then slipped noiselessly into the corridor once again. His heads-
  up display told him it was three degrees warmer in here than it had been in the atrium. 
  He was undoubtedly already under the lip of the excavated mountain. He looked 
  forward to exploring the labyrinth of caves that underlay this building, but with a 
  suitable escort of CW militia for backup.'
  "Here's your glow," Carialle said, as he counted the eighth doorway.
  "Computer screens," Keff breathed, peering around the frame. On a low table that had 
  once been a galley counter in a Central Worlds ship sat antique CPUs and square 
  monitors. Boxes of jumbled chips and tapes and datasolids sat on the floor beside the 
  table. He edged in so the camera eye on his chest would send the image back to the 
  ship.
  "More salvage," Carialle said, severely. 'That is a year-old Tambino 90-gig unit. 
  Those are CW special issue screens, and those input peripherals are from half a dozen 
  different systems reaching back a thousand years. And yes, some of that discarded 
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  junk is Cridi."
  Keff glanced around, wondering how far away the guards were. "Could you crack the 
  data storage system?"
  "Sonny, I cut my diodes on tougher stuff than this. Hook me up, and we'll copy 
  everything in the memory. That'll give CenCom plenty to go on."
  "What about viruses?"
  "Not to worry. I'll isolate the files in a separate section and make them 'read only' 
  outside of that drive base. I have all that spare memory installed for our diplomatic 
  mission. Using it for hacking an enemy system is much more interesting than using it 
  for lists of trade goods and historical texts, wouldn't you say?" There was fierce 
  satisfaction in her voice. "Use the port IT has been attached to. That should be 
  sufficient. You can use the same memory later for language translation."
  "Right," Keff said, starting toward the setup. He put one knee on the hanging sling. 
  Suddenly, the computer emitted a loud beep, then a siren wail.
  "Oh, no!" he exclaimed, leaping backward. "It's got a proximity alarm. Do they hear 
  me? Are they coming this way?" He stared at the doorway.
  "Don't panic," Carialle said, her voice changing to a deep baritone to be heard over the 
  shrill alarms. "I don't hear any high frequencies from motion detectors. It might be a 
  timer."
  "It has attracted attention. I hear something." Keffs audio pickups detected a faint 
  shuffling sound. "They're coming this way!"
  He put one eye around the edge of the door and flung himself backward when he saw 
  a huge shadow looming toward him. "I'm trapped. TE, keep out! I'll get free if I can."
  "I hear," the Ozranian's voice said, sounding worried.
  "Right you are, Sir Knight," Carialle said, suddenly. "All four bodies are moving 
  toward your location. We've got a visitor coming from space, too."
  "What?"
  "Looks like Ship Three," she said. "It's alone. I'm tracking… updates as available. You 
  hide, now!"
  The shuffling sounds grew louder. Keff cast about frantically for a place to hide. He 
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  threw himself behind stacks of storage containers just as the feet reached the doorway. 
  Stifling groans of pain from the ribs he bruised in his headlong dive, he flattened 
  himself against the wall and hoped the barrier between him and the aliens was stable.
  "They're big ones, all right," Carialles voice said very quietly in his aural canal. "Two 
  hundred fifty, a hundred seventy, and two hundred ten kilos respectively. The fourth 
  one has gone through to the domes. Probably to watch Ship Three land."
  "No way out," Keff said.
  "Not yet. Your respiration and blood pressure are up. Take a few deep breaths. Take a 
  drink of water. How is your oxygen supply?"
  "Okay," Keff muttered sublingually. He heard a slight sound coming toward him and 
  held his breath. He cursed both CW Exploration and Diplomatic for not allowing their 
  ships to carry even defensive weapons. A stun gun would be useful right now in 
  extricating him from this place. The brutes would kill him with the same lack of pity 
  they showed the crew of the DSC-902. The sound continued past him. The next thing 
  he heard was dragging — one of the aliens hauling in a sling from the atrium. They 
  planned to stay in this room, probably until Ship Three landed. It took a mental effort 
  to restart his breathing. He dragged in a gasp of air, then held his breath again.
  "They can't hear you," Carialle reminded him, calmly. 'Tour helmet muffles sound 
  effectively."
  "I know," he whispered, "but because I can hear me I think they can. I'll relax."
  Keff turned up the gain on his audio pickups. The aliens were talking. Their voices 
  were surprisingly musical: deep, resonant, like the call of brass horns. He tried to 
  separate the sounds into words and decided he didn't yet have enough data to go on. 
  The hail from the approaching ship came in over the speakers faintly. Apparently Tall 
  Eyebrows improvised missiles had done some damage to the ship, because the 
  transmission kept cutting in and out. He sensed concern in the voices of the ground 
  crew.
  Minutes dragged past. His muscles cramped because of the awkward position in 
  which he lay, but he didn't dare shift to ease them. Sweat began to trickle out of his 
  hairline, over his face and neck, and down between his shoulder blades. It itched 
  infuriatingly. He blinked his eyes to clear drops off his lashes. The chatter of voices, 
  both within the room and on the distant ship, reached a crescendo of agitation. Keff 
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  thought he heard the words "Central Worlds," in passing, but decided he was trying to 
  read too much into the meaningless multisyllabic babble. Suddenly there was a hush 
  in the room, and he felt the ground shake. The dome made a grand echo chamber for 
  the boom! the ship made when it landed.
  "Three point five on the Richter scale at the epicenter," Carialle said. "That ship has 
  no boosters left to soften touchdown. TE did good work. It probably won't be able to 
  to take off again."
  "We ought to disable it entirely before we leave here," Keff whispered, "just to make 
  sure."
  Hissing and groaning from the airlock compressors heralded the arrival of Ship 
  Three's crew. The ground staff greeted them with unmistakable relief. A couple of 
  them hunched past the gap in the boxes behind which Keff was hiding. He heard the 
  hubbub of vocal greeting, and the shifting of feet as they went through their 
  handshake-equivalent ritual, whatever it was. The brawn maneuvered himself so he 
  could peer through, and got his first glimpse of the aliens. He realized with a shock 
  that their faces were just slightly farther from the floor than his. They did walk on all 
  fours! He willed the new arrivals to stay where they were, and as if they could hear 
  him, they did. At first he saw only partially-opaqued helmets and vast protective suits. 
  One by one, the aliens sat back on invisible haunches, took off the helmets and shed 
  gauntlets. Keff vibrated with impatience until one of them moved in front of the gap 
  again.
  "Big flat faces," he told Carialle in staccato bursts of narration, "weird eyes. Sleek 
  head, widens to neck. Sandy pelts, slightly fuzzy, like the garden cushions. Claw 
  hands."
  One of them moved too close to the cartons and shut off his view with a slick, 
  oversuited shoulder. Keff withdrew his head very slightly, and waited. The body 
  moved away, and the fabric of the coverall slid downward to reveal the creatures back.
  "Cari, they have wings!"
  Carialle's voice was a businesslike hum in his ear. "Vestigial wings? That says a lot 
  about the devolution of this planets bios…"
  "No," he hissed, excitedly. "Full-sized wings. Like bat's wings, but with longer fur."
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  "Do you know what that means?" Carialle asked, astonished, adding up the facts in a 
  microsecond. "This planet isn't hollow. There's no air mass to support flight Its surface 
  gravity is huge! That means there are no underground passageways, no millions of 
  separately evolved sentients living cheek by jowl with the Cridi. That's why the 
  difference in the air quality between outside and inside. They're strangers. This is an 
  outpost, too! Where do they come from?"
  "I don't know!" Keff whispered.
  He shifted to get a better view, feeling the boxes with his gloved hands to make sure 
  they wouldn't slip.
  He found another gap, closer to the computer setup, and applied his eye to it.
  "I keep seeing flashes of claws and talons. I think there's a pair of vestigial fingers on 
  the wings, where, er, where primary feathers would be, beside that pair of hands on 
  the forelimbs that is used for manipulative as well as locomotive purposes. I'm getting 
  a glimpse of heavy haunches."
  "That would explain the slings," Carialle's voice said. "Four hands! Fascinating."
  Keff heard the ticking of claws on the smooth floor. One of the aliens paused just on 
  the other side of the containers, giving Keff a good look at it. The brawn peered at the 
  set of the narrow head; the placement of the wings on the broad, golden back; the 
  noble, handsome face. "You know, they look rather like griffins."
  Carialle immediately accessed the Myths and Legends handbook, found the cross-
  reference for Griffins, subhead: Gryphons, then cross-referenced it to encyclopediae 
  and classical works from the European subcontinent of Old Earth. "Those griffins had 
  eagles' beaks and lion's tails."
  "These have no nose, but those mouths… if they are mouths…"
  The "griffin," answering a query from one of its unseen fellows, spread the halves of 
  its upper lip, and Keff blanched at the sharp white fangs behind it. "That's a mouth, all 
  right," he said. "We need to file a report with the CenCom, but first I have to get out 
  of here."
  "How?"
  "I don't know, yet," Keff said.
  "We will come to help," said a faint voice in his helmet.
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  "TE, no," he whispered into his audio pickup. "Stay out. Carl, tell them no. Don't let 
  them."
  The sound of his own voice dropped like a pin into the silence of the room. Keff felt 
  the prickles race down his back. He looked up to find a griffin staring down at him, 
  surprise in its vertically-striped eyes. He scrambled crabwise away from it behind the 
  boxes, but there was nowhere to go. The alien followed on all fours, tracking him on 
  the other side of the crates. Panicking, Keff kicked over stacks of containers. They fell 
  heavily, breaking open to scatter components across the feet of the aliens. He dove 
  across the last stack and rolled into an upright position in the corner, hands ready to 
  strike.
  "You're right, Sir Knight," Carialle said. 'They do look like griffins. Be careful!"
  Six of them stood in the room, with the rest crowding the corridor. All of them 
  gawked at him with big, flatfish eyes, faces expressionless. None of them moved, but 
  with the advantage of big muscles and wings, they could wait until he was vulnerable. 
  Keeping one hand up in defense, Keff felt his way along the wall, hoping for an 
  escape door, though he'd known this room was a dead end when he had entered. They 
  tracked his progress, calmly, unemotionally, waiting. Their assurance prompted all 
  sorts of horrible scenarios in Keffs imagination. He panted, and his vision swam with 
  blackness around the edges with the difficulty of drawing a deep breath.
  One of them moved at last. The lead griffin, the one who had found him, started 
  toward him with wings and spike-like fingers spread. The foreclaws, balancing out the 
  big haunches behind, had fierce talons over ten centimeters long that ticked on the 
  shiny, stone floor. Its big wings obscured the beasts behind so Keff couldn't tell what 
  they were doing. Mustering for an attack? Keff flattened himself against the bulkhead, 
  preparing to spring, wondering if his unarmed combat training would help. Where did 
  you pivot to throw something with four legs and an unknown center of gravity? 
  Would tossing it onto its wings disable it long enough for him to escape? The great 
  beast loomed up closer and closer. The top lip split to show the sharp, gleaming fangs 
  and a strip of orange-pink gums above them. The creature was saying something, but 
  Keff could only hear the pounding of blood in his ears.
  In the distance, Keff heard the sound of rushing air. The griffins, in a body, turned to 
  look. Keff blessed the distraction. He took his best opportunity, and sprang over their 
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  heads.
  He had miscalculated the drag of the extra gravity, and fell in the midst of the enemy. 
  Half the aliens were distractedly the noise coming from the domes. The rest turned 
  back to Keff. A couple of them grabbed for his arms with their foreclaws and wing-
  hands. He rolled away, shaking hard to get loose. The long nails scrabbled on the 
  fabric of his suit. He thought he heard his sleeve rip, and winced. He stood against the 
  wall, panting. More hands reached for him, and his eyes registered a confused blur of 
  wings, claws and eyes. He grabbed a wrist and twisted. One of the griffins cried out. 
  Another added its howl of surprise. Keff, flat on the floor in a jumble of boxes, raised 
  his head as eight globesful of Cridi sailed into the room in midair.
  "What takes so long?" Tall Eyebrows voice said very clearly in Keff's helmet.
  "TE, I told you to stay out!" Keff shouted.
  To his surprise, the griffins froze in place when they saw the Cridi. Their eyes were 
  wide, not with amazement, Keff thought, but with loathing.
  "Slayim!" The word issued with clarion power from one throat, and was echoed by all 
  the others. Every griffin rose to its hind legs and lunged for the Cridi.
  Tall Eyebrow stared at the charging griffins for one astonished second, then Big Eyes' 
  globe batted his from behind, sending it careening out of the way just before a griffin 
  landed on it. More of the lithe aliens leaped straight for Big Eyes herself. Narrow Legs 
  globe shot in front of his daughter's, and the griffins showed their long teeth. The two 
  globes revolved around one another, and bobbed straight upward, with three griffins 
  snapping and clawing for them.
  "Hey!" Keff shouted, throwing himself into the fray. "Leave them alone!" He bounded 
  in between two griffins who were on their back toes, giving them almost three meters 
  of reach, clawing for Narrow Leg's pilot, whose globe had retreated to the safety of 
  the ceiling. One of the griffins spread its wings, knocking Keff sprawling and 
  accidentally batting another griffin in the back. The alien who had been struck turned 
  away from Small Spot. The Ozranian was cowering underneath the computer desk. He 
  scooted out from his hiding place and hurried to hover behind a pile of boxes beside 
  Long Hand, under siege from an alien who reached long wing-fingers around from 
  one side of the stack, then the other. Another griffin dove for the two exiles. Keff 
  gathered himself up and launched, ramming the first griffin under the right wing with 
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  his shoulder. It turned,-a surprised look on its face, its powerful wings battering at 
  him. Keff felt his helmet skew, and the next breath he inhaled hurt. He coughed 
  painfully. He kicked the griffin in the chest, and to his own amazement, sent it 
  sprawling backwards on its tail. The beasts were bottom-heavy! He assessed and 
  docketed this fact, wondering why he was thinking so slowly, and why he heard a roar 
  coming from under his right ear. He felt sick.
  "Keff! Seal that," Carialle ordered in stentorian tones. Keffs head was ringing, from 
  nausea and the volume of her voice. "Keff, can you hear me? Your suit has been 
  breached. You're breathing ammoniated air. Are you all right? Keff!"
  "Yes," he gasped shortly, and coughed again. He retched, and caught himself before 
  he threw up. His hands fumbled for the neck of his suit, and he refastened the flapping 
  lip of plastic. Clean, sweet-tasting nitrox flooded his face. Gratefully, he drew in 
  lungfuls. "I'm all right. I. Am. Truly."
  Carialle's voice melted with relief. "Thank goodness."
  Keff didn't have time to regain his full strength. Two more griffins had joined the pair 
  jumping at Big Voice.
  "Aid!" shrieked the plump councillor. "Aid!"
  The other Cridi globes, led by Tall Eyebrow, levitated to assist their compatriot. Swats 
  from claws and wings sent them scattering like a bunch of marbles. Big Eyes' globe 
  hit the wall, and bounced to the floor. The young female lay in her ball of water, her 
  dark eyes staring at nothing. A griffin, spotting her helplessness, tensed its muscular 
  haunches and prepared to spring. A feral grin split its lip.
  "Grab them!" Carialle shouted in Keff's ear.
  "How?' Keff asked.
  "Tell the Cridi! Catch!"
  Keff turned and caught Narrow Leg's eye. The human clapped his cupped hands 
  together and pulled the invisible handful toward his body. The elder Cridi nodded 
  sharply.
  "Sense!" Narrow Leg's single word echoed through every Cridi amulet. He pointed the 
  fingers of both hands at the griffins, and they froze in place. The springing griffin 
  stiffened in midair, and dropped heavily to the floor on its belly.
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  The room grew abruptly silent. Ten, ornamental, hexapodal statues in various warlike 
  attitudes glared silent hatred at nothing.
  "Nice work," Keff said. He took a deep breath, and sank to the floor. His legs, now 
  aching from lack of oxygen, no longer wished to support him. He felt his sleeve for 
  tears; it was intact. "Good job, everyone. Are you all right?"
  "We, yes," Narrow Leg said. "Not used to self-defending. Thank you." Keff only 
  nodded in return. Every other movement hurt.
  The Cridi gathered from every corner to assess damage. Tall Eyebrow rolled hastily to 
  his ladyfriend's side. An invisible hand scooped up some of the water in Big Eyes' 
  globe and splashed her cheeks with it. The female blinked. She sat up and turned to 
  smile at him. Tall Eyebrow almost collapsed with relief. Big Eyes clicked her globe 
  gently against his, palm outspread. He opened his hand gently on the inner surface of 
  his sphere, matching hers palm to palm. The two of them floated over to rejoin the 
  others. Keff grinned indulgently.
  Big Voices container was scratched where it had struck the comer of a metal 
  container, but it was not punctured. The stout councillor was voluble in his relief, 
  babbling and waving frantic signs at all of his fellows and Keff. The others, though 
  frightened by the attack, were more curious. Narrow Leg studied the captured aliens 
  closely. He was struck by the hate on each face.
  "Their pulses fast," he commented to Keff, near him on the> floor. "Anger. Who?"
  "I don't know," the human signed. "We've never seen this species before."
  "How many?"
  "Only ten, what you see here," Keff said.
  Ten?' Big Voice squawked, waving his hands in the confines of his plastic globe. 
  'Thousands! Millions! I thought to be torn alive!"
  "Hush!" Big Eyes snapped. She turned to Keff. "Why no more?"
  "Because they don't live here," Keff said. They're invaders. This system is, er, only of 
  Cridi. These come from elsewhere."
  "Of course this system is ours," Big Voice said. "Of course." He floated away, 
  muttering about the piles of computer equipment and speculating on their value. 
  "Cridi, alone."
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  "His mind is clouded," Narrow Leg signed, sympathy on his old face. "Too much to 
  understand at once."
  "Most interesting body structure," Carialle said, as Keff looked around at the captives. 
  When the brawn had his breath back again, he hauled himself to his feet. "It feels 
  almost obscene to be able to examine living creatures this way."
  "Yes, but it's the only way to study them without getting torn to ribbons," Keff said. 
  "They're strong! Did you see how fast they were moving, even in this gravity? They'd 
  be super-creatures on a Standard planet."
  "But they're not natives of this one," Carialle said. "In spite of those magnificent 
  wings they couldn't fly up to get at the Cridi on the ceiling."
  "Terrible monsters," Tall Eyebrow signed. He had stayed by Keff as the human took 
  detailed video of the griffins. "More than any in the game we play. Why much hate?"
  "I don't know," Keff said. "But I don't think we'd get much of an answer out of them if 
  you released them now."
  "What fearsome beings," Long Hand signed, her eyes enormous. Small Spot, color 
  returned to his face, nodded vigorously in agreement.
  Narrow Leg rolled in close for a good look, and bumped against Keffs leg for 
  attention. "These are the destroyers of spaceships?"
  Keff shook his head. "Ones like them, perhaps. I have no idea if this crew has been 
  around for fifty years."
  "We should destroy them," Gap Tooth, one of Tad Pole's crew signed, his small face 
  set. "Killers!"
  "We can't do that," Keff said quickly.
  "Why not?" Big Eyes demanded. "They killed some of your people. Their friends or 
  ancestors killed ours. They die!"
  "No!" Keff said. "We don't do things like that. I can't execute anyone. That's against 
  my code of ethics, as well as my instructions."
  "Why?" Narrow Leg said, but the question was not for Keff. "Ask them why."
  "I can't," Keff said, raising his hands to show helplessness. "I don't speak their 
  language. It would take time to learn theirs. We can't keep these beings like this. I'm 
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  frustrated, but any further action is out of my hands. It's up to my superiors to make a 
  decision like this."
  "Not our superiors," said Big Voice, catching Keffs sign out of the corner of his eye. 
  "We are superiors."
  "But you are under my instructions here," Keff said, signing with strong gestures. "It's 
  always possible that we could be making a mistake. The matter deserves 
  investigation."
  All the Cridi broke out in protests. Narrow Leg held up his hands. "Let us be guided 
  by those with experience in such matters. What should we do?"
  "We'll disable their spaceship so they can't leave. That will make sure they're here for 
  the CW inspection ships to find. We can search for armaments, and in the meantime, 
  try to discover clues as to where they came from."
  "I want to know more about them, too," Carialle said. "This is just an outpost. There is 
  no superior intelligence directing operations from here. I want to hunt them back to 
  their source, find the big fish. I have unanswered questions, too."
  Keff repeated Carialle's words to the Cridi. "In the meantime, let's glean what we can 
  from this site."
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  CHAPTER 10
  « ^ »
  "Move in closer to the face, Keff," Carialle instructed, as he walked slowly around 
  the largest griffin. "I want a good look at that upper lip."
  Keff did as he was told, with the Cridi in close attendance. They stayed huddled 
  beside him as if in need of his protection. Keff found it ironic since it was their power 
  that was keeping them safe at that moment. More ironically still, Core power was also 
  keeping the griffins alive. The Cridi had made up their minds that the aliens must be 
  condemned to death. Only through a lot of talking and pleading had Keff argued that 
  one couldn't kill them while they were helplessly frozen in place. The mutterings for 
  revenge abated somewhat. Keff was relieved. With luck, an inspection team could be 
  dispatched quickly from a nearby station, to arrive within a few weeks. The matter 
  needed to be investigated before the Cridi decided to take it upon themselves.
  "Very interesting," Carialle said, as Keff shifted the camera eye upward. "I think that 
  those apertures in the gumline are nostrils. Yes. On the infrared level I'm seeing warm 
  gas expelled at regular intervals. Admirable dental sets. Whatever their species 
  evolved eating, it fought back."
  "It was nearly us," Keff said. "Docket everything and time-stamp it so we can send 
  word home to Exploration. I don't want anyone else scooping us on the discovery." He 
  walked up behind one being whose long tail was flung up over its back. The tip 
  seemed to twitch, and Keff eyed it suspiciously.
  "You are certain that they can't get loose?" he signed to Narrow Leg.
  "Held perfectly," the old Cridi said. "Internal pulses may move, but not body."
  "Can they see us?" Keff asked.
  "Eighty percent probability yes."
  "Very interesting," Carialle said, as Keff passed the video pickup around and under 
  the creature's torso. "What beautiful musculature. Look at the evidence of a 
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  sophisticated circulatory system. I'm taking internal images to find out whether those 
  organs and orifices around the backside and underside are generative or excretory in 
  function, or a combination. If this was a Terran animal, I'd call it a hermaphrodite. All 
  of this is an educated guess, so far. It's a pity we can't ask them."
  "Maybe medical information is in the database," Keff said. "It's time we cracked it."
  Tall Eyebrow stayed with Keff. The rest of the Cridi split up to explore the dome 
  structure. Confirming Carialle's guess, they found no access to below-ground 
  excavations, except for heating tunnels that vented to the surface on the ridge high 
  above the domes. The Cridi, recovered from their adventure, were enjoying being the 
  first of their race to explore a new world in fifty years. Keff heard the triumphant 
  chirruping of their high voices echoing in the empty stone corridors. The two 
  councillors, Big Eyes and Big Voice, documented the building and furnishings in their 
  admirably minute shorthand.
  Under the baleful auspice of gargoyle wings and fangs, Keff sat down on the sling 
  before the blue-glowing computer screen. He followed Carialle's instructions to 
  disconnect the I/O port for his universal translation device, and hooked it to the 
  computer's small processing unit.
  Carialle fidgeted nervously as Keff made the connection. She checked her data 
  security systems over and over again, looking for potential leaks. She had no wish to 
  allow an alien bug to run rampant through her memory banks. Surely the protections 
  in her chips were sophisticated enough to circumvent any intrusions. Just in case, she 
  added a further layer of noise-suppression between her own memory functions and the 
  empty bay she had prepared.
  "Ready?" Keff asked.
  "Ready," she said.
  "You're on-line, Lady Fair." He sat back in the sling, and she saw a flash of gauntlets 
  as he crossed his arms.
  Opening the peripheral to the alien computer, Carialle activated the Tambino's hard 
  storage. She allowed first a trickle, then, when nothing bad happened, a flood of 
  memory to upload.
  "There's a lot of garbage," Carialle commented, watching bits of data pass or fail to 
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  pass through some of her screens. Bad bytes bounced away, disintegrating into 
  sparkle. Now and again she saw a spray of them like a meteor shower when the crystal 
  structure of the disk-matrix was violated. 'They've been experimenting with that 
  keyboard, but they didn't know how to purge bad files or compress over bad sectors. 
  I'm dumping them."
  "Wait," Keff said. "Keep them. I might get some linguistics clues out of them."
  With a sigh, Carialle rescued the data and put it in a separate memory column. "All 
  yours, Sir Knight, and on your own head be it." She began to see graphics and maps 
  appearing in the datastream. "I think I've located the original astrogation program." 
  The Central Worlds Exploration Service logo, as familiar to her as her own engrams, 
  appeared again and again at the head of files. She ran comparisons with her own 
  memory base at half her normal hyperspeed, to make certain she was processing all of 
  the data carefully. Graphics of star systems blinked by rapidly on her optic and neural 
  inputs, in tandem with the screens in her main cabin and in the griffins' control room. 
  The square script that took the place of Standard notation was unreadable, but it was 
  impossible to confuse the starmaps for anything other than what they were.
  "Do any of them mean anything to you?" Keff asked. "Is this a record of their own 
  people's exploration? Do they overlap with CW astrogation?"
  "Yes, they do overlap," Carialle said, narrating absently as she checked her internal 
  directories. She allowed various diagrams to linger in the tanks in turn long enough 
  for her brawns slower consciousness to register them. "Too much. That's an actual 
  space station, and that's a colony system, and that's an asteroid belt with a mining 
  center… all this stuff is in Central Worlds records. I can't believe in identical 
  exploration patterns, even identical fly-bys of every single system. That would suggest 
  there are thousands of these junk ships flitting all over the galaxy, unnoticed. This 
  information must have been in the database when it was stolen. Hmm. Some of the 
  files have been accessed recently. The griffins must use it to look for targets, where 
  they pick up their 'merchandise.'"
  'The mining lasers they used on us," Keff said grimly, nodding. "They must have 
  forced one of the early victims to show them how the computer system works. What 
  about their own star system — where do they live? Does anything stand out? Can you 
  pick out the one that doesn't belong?"
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  "Of a hundred billion systems? I don't keep full files from Exploration — naturally 
  not. They wouldn't fit in my database, and if they did, it wouldn't leave me room for 
  anything else. But I do have an index. It'll just take some time."
  "Look at this," Carialle said, about an hour later. Keff stood up from where he'd been 
  doing stretching exercises on the black stone floor and clambered back into the sling. 
  The Cridi, having exhausted the curiosities of the dome, crowded around him. They 
  ignored the griffins.
  Carialle accessed Keff's monitor and put up three columns of entries. "All of these 
  match exploration files I possess, but they date from around ten years ago. There's 
  nothing newer, except for a couple of files I don't have," Carialle said, highlighting the 
  entries. "I want to see the inside of that ship. Lets cross-reference these with the 
  navicomp onboard. I have an itch in my diodes that says one of these is the lucky 
  number."
  "Well, lets spin the wheel and find out," Keff said, rising and laying a hand on the 
  monitor in view of her camera eye. "Can, does this setup control life support in any 
  way?"
  Carialle sent the tiniest filament of a feeler out of the protective shell she had made for 
  herself, and threaded it down through Keffs cable, into the alien database. Beyond the 
  wall, the power fed through a comprehensive filter from a horribly dirty source, 
  probably a thermodynamic-based turbine. She shuddered and backed away from it. 
  This computer had once controlled many other units' systems. The residue of Standard 
  language programming still resided in the CPU, showing titles such as Galley, 
  Engineering, Medical, and Electronic Mail: personal, crew. Carialle felt anger which 
  she quickly extinguished. Retribution for the dead humans and Cridi would come in 
  time, but not at her hands. She let the tendril explore the only other open door that 
  existed in the memory unit, a roughly-hewn portal bristling with bad data. It led to an 
  open communications node and the landing beacon. She guessed by the microseconds 
  it took to reach it that the node lay hundreds of kilometers away on the planet's surface.
  "No," she said at last. "Not that I can see. It's a database and ground control, but 
  nothing else."
  "Good," Keff said. "I won't kill these people, but I don't want them telling anyone 
  we've been here." He turned to the Cridi, and made a twisting gesture with both hands.
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  The Cridi responded tentatively at first Narrow Leg used his amulet to rip the cables 
  from the wall, precipitating a shower of sparks. Tall Eyebrow tore apart the umbilicals 
  joining the peripherals to the main unit with a delicate pop! pop! pop! The other Cridi 
  watched. Big Voice, still suffering from shock, put out a tentative hand. He raised the 
  screen a couple of meters in the air, and dropped it. The screen flickered slightly. He 
  picked it up again, and dashed it to the ground, almost under the nose of one of the 
  Griffins. The plastic smashed into particles on the stone floor. -Big Voice floated 
  above it, looking triumphant.
  "There! There is for my near death!" he exclaimed, his shrill voice rising. "That for 
  the ships who disappeared!" His unholy exultation roused the others. They tore apart 
  the computer components with wrenching gestures, scattering pieces all over the 
  room. Keff, Tall Eyebrow and Narrow Leg watched with dismay and astonishment as 
  civilized engineers and statesmen wreaked destruction with wild eyes and flailing 
  hands.
  The outburst was over as quickly as it had begun, and the Cridi stood about in their 
  globes amid the ruins of the computer, looking ashamed of themselves.
  "Reaction," Narrow Leg said at last, his hands quivering just a little. "It was bound to 
  come. We must leave before the temptation to further revenge becomes too strong."
  Keff agreed. He shepherded the Cridi out of the ruined control room, and into the 
  corridor. He heard no sound but the lonely boom of his own footsteps and the wheeze 
  of the air compressors as he followed the Cridi toward the arboretum. In the corridor, 
  the remaining four aliens who had not participated in the brawl were bunched just 
  outside the door, arrested in the act of leaping forward. Keff felt a shudder. He had 
  been frozen by Core power himself, and felt sympathy for the beasts even if they were 
  killers. Although their faces didn't change, he sensed their reproach — and their anger.
  "Let's do this quickly," he said, turning away. "I don't like leaving them like that."
  In the arboretum, Keff pushed his way through the spiky, blue foliage to the front of 
  the dome, and looked out. The gangway was still attached to the side of the damaged 
  ship, leaving no gap to the outer atmosphere.
  "How did you get in here?" he asked Tall Eyebrow.
  The globe-frog pantomimed through the side of his traveling sphere the raising and 
  lowering of a curtain, a door, and another curtain. To demonstrate, he rolled across the 
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  glossy floor to the edge of the flexible airlock. Without touching the controls, the 
  Cridi raised the heavy bumper and vanished underneath. Keff heard a faint peeping 
  sound inside. The others floated or rolled after him.
  "Aren't you going to raise it enough for me?" he asked through his helmet mike.
  "Too thick stiff," Tall Eyebrow's voice said in Standard over Keffs helmet radio, with 
  polite regret.
  Shrugging, Keff dropped to his knees, and crawled under the lip. As soon as he was 
  through, the bumper thudded down. Surrounded by round obstructions that caromed 
  into his knees, Keff rose to his feet and used his suit light to find the controls. He hit 
  the framed bar. The great door rose. The Cridi scooted through in a party, with the 
  brawn striding along behind. Keff waited, holding his breath, until the second curtain 
  lifted. Before them, the tube extended out toward a distant light. What illumination 
  there was ran in faint parallel lines along the ceiling. Keff listened, heard nothing, then 
  let himself exhale.
  "It feels like I'm in a suspense drama," he told Carialle.
  'Think of it as another M&L game," she said. "I read no live bodies in the ship. Unless 
  they're capable of telekinesis like the Cridi, they can't trigger any traps on you. Go 
  slow, and I'll look for peculiar chemical or heat traces. Aim the video pickup toward 
  anything suspicious."
  The Cridi abandoned any attempt to paddle their globes up the flexible walkway, and 
  levitated a meter above the floor. Big Voice jockeyed his way into point position.
  "I shall be the first to go in," he signed, with a self-important cheep over his shoulder 
  at Keff.
  "All right," Keff said, with Carialle's reassurance in mind. He caught Big Voices eye, 
  and signed. "You're an observant man, er, frog. You look out for danger."
  The pompous councillors eyes widened, and he shot back to the group.
  "Danger is for humans to detect," he said emphatically. Keff bowed, concealing the 
  grin that poked out both sides of his mouth.
  The tube swayed with every step Keff took. The jerking movement made him cough, 
  and he remembered how it felt to take that deep breath of alien atmosphere. 
  Nervously, he checked the right side of his helmet seal every so often to make certain 
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  it remained closed.
  A clear panel protected the same kind of two-bar control on the spaceship's side. As 
  Keff raised his hand to it, the panel slid away. He punched the top button and waited. 
  Obediently, the hatch slid upward, revealing a plain, square airlock. Keff gasped in 
  recognition.
  "This ship is definitely salvage," he said. "I know where the model came from. It's 
  human-made, and half a century old." He felt along the wall with a gloved hand, 
  looking for the small screwplate that should have been just inside the hatchway, but 
  his fingertips found only a couple of small holes where the rivets had been pried out.
  'They must have constructed the whole ship part by part," Carialle said, critically. 
  "The controls appear to be retrofitted, but this airlock came off a much larger vessel."
  "Appropriate, since they're larger beings," Keff said. Once he and the Cridi were 
  inside, he looked around, turning his body so Carialle could see everything. The 
  airlock closed, pressurized, and released the group into the main cabin of the ship. 
  Keff showed the camera eye the shabby walls, the meager assortment of furniture.
  "They haven't redecorated recently," Carialle said.
  "No doubt about it, though," Keff said. 'They've been shopping at Central Worlds 
  carryout. We're on to something that the CenCom will want to know all about."
  The inside of the ship was spartan. Everything was intended for function, with no 
  concession to aesthetics. The slings and benches in the main cabin were worn, and the 
  impact webbing attached to them sported patches in many places. Wall panels, 
  cobbled together from a dozen ships, showed cracks and crazing where the enamel 
  wasn't simply chipped away. Everything Keff saw was old. Even the mismatched 
  floor panels showed worn and dented surfaces. The Cridi emitted small cheeps of 
  interest. Keff let out a low whistle.
  "What a lot of junk," he said. "Where's the up-to-date machinery as we saw in the 
  domes?"
  "Status?" Carialle guessed. 'This ship might be far down the pecking order and gets 
  what's left after the seniors take their pick. Or merely lack of opportunity. Pirates can't 
  maraud through the rich part of space without people noticing, and we'd know if 
  anyone reported rapacious griffins."
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  "Ours is so much nicer," Narrow Leg signed, with pride, gesturing around at the ship. 
  "This lacks continuity. Could not be safe."
  "He's right," Carialle said. "I don't know how this thing flies without blowing up. It 
  was leaking high-rad like the proverbial sieve while it was chasing me."
  "How quiet it is in here," Keff said, glancing around. The Cridi huddled in a corner, 
  signing to one another. No sound except the burbling and occasional mechanical 
  crunching of machinery broke the silence. "I'd better make sure the griffins didn't 
  leave us any armed surprises."
  Two broad doors were set into the walls, one in the wall to Keff's left, leading 
  forward, and the other directly opposite. He signed to the others to wait, and went to 
  the aft door. It opened onto a corridor, narrow only by griffin standards. Tall Eyebrow 
  signed a quick question at him. Keff shook his head.
  "I want to take a look before I let anyone else roam around," he said. "It might be 
  dangerous." The Cridi signalled assent, and stayed close together near the airlock.
  The rear section was divided into cargo and sleeping quarters. The bunkroom — for it 
  was clearly that — contained more of the divan pillows, plus a few small possessions 
  enclosed in nets on hooks on the walls. Loops of webbing attached to the hull sported 
  frayed fibers.
  "Looks like the artificial gravity goes out all the time," Keff commented to Carialle. 
  He fingered one of the bundles, identifying a scarf, some ornamental jewelery, and a 
  soft, fuzzy object that he guessed was a child's toy, almost worn out with love.
  "Homey, isn't it?" Carialle said tinnily in his ear. "You'd never guess that these were 
  bloodthirsty pirates, who murder and rob with such efficiency. It took them only hours 
  to strip the DSC-902." Keff shuddered and backed away. Suddenly, the small bundle 
  seemed macabre to him.
  The sanitation room bore no resemblance to the one that had been yanked from a CW 
  cargo liner. The facilities were altered to accommodate griffin parts, and the shower 
  had once been two units, welded together. To Keffs surprise, the chamber was 
  spotless. Even the corners had been scrubbed out ruthlessly. He pointed to a residue 
  filling one of the cracks in the enamel.
  "Soap," Carialle said, after a moment's analysis. "Or as near as makes never-mind."
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  "It's all so old," Keff said. "It still strikes me a trifle pathetic."
  He went through to the cargo bay. It was full of straps and mounts hanging at all 
  angles from the bulkheads. Keff recognized the configuration. It was used for securing 
  odd-shaped and delicate cargo. He felt naked shock when he saw that some of the 
  artifacts bound into the shockfoam cradles were of recent CW manufacture. He 
  recognized life support equipment, booster engine parts, even coils upon coils of 
  communication cable. One of the containers lashed into place bore the logo of the 
  DSC-902. Something inside him twisted into a solid knot.
  "Pathetic?" Carialle said.
  "You're right," Keff said, fighting words past the lump. He was angry, and surprised at 
  the intensity of the emotion. "They're not worth my sympathy. I have work to do."
  He searched through the cargo area, yanking open bulkhead cabinets, then went back 
  to the dormitory, and poked through every bundle, every drawer and niche. At last, he 
  tried turning over the bed pillows. His gloves slipped on the furry surface, but he 
  seized a fold of the cloth, and wrenched upward. They were remarkably heavy, and he 
  found himself sitting on the floor next to the third one, panting.
  "Keff!" Carialle shouted in his ear. Her voice sounded alarmed. "What are you 
  doing?" The brawn glanced up, as if suddenly aware of his surroundings.
  "I'm… looking around," he said, but he knew his voice didn't sound convincing, and 
  Carialle, from nearly sixteen years of experience, wasn't convinced.
  "You're looking for something of mine, aren't you?" she asked, her voice soft. "You 
  want to find proof positive that these are my salvagers."
  "Well, yes," he admitted, feeling sheepish. He got to his feet and looked down at the 
  sad, lumpy bedding. He kicked it with a toe.
  "Sir Knight, you're my best friend and the finest protector a lady could wish for," she 
  said firmly, "but the frogs are waiting, and it would be cruel to leave those aliens,
  playing statue for much longer, even if they are killers. Lets finish up and get out of 
  here."
  "But what if there's something here?"
  "Someone else will find it, not us," she said firmly. "My gut-level, as much as I feel 
  anything down there, is that we've seen all there is on this ship. Remember that these 
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  might not be the same ones."
  "I'd hate to think that there were two bunches of pirates roving around out there," Keff 
  said, but he turned and went back to the main cabin.
  "Coincidences have occurred before," Carialle said, but now Keff wasn't convinced. 
  "In any case, these are the foot soldiers. I want the top bird."
  "What is it you want to do?" Keff asked, but he already knew. It was what he wanted 
  as well.
  "I want to find their home system," she said. "I have to know what kind of culture 
  fosters a history of mass piracy."
  "Right you are, my lady," Keff said, then paused. "You know, Diplomacy and 
  Maxwell-Corey ordered us home. That message they sent with the ship said to 
  relinquish the mission and return."
  "Bugger that for a game of soldiers, to quote you," Carialle said at once. "They just 
  want me back under their eye so they can prove me mad. Everything changed when 
  the griffins attacked the DSC-902. Their orders no longer apply. I need to follow this 
  lead up, so I can show them the truth once and for all."
  "But if these aren't the ones?" Keff asked.
  'Then I'll know. But I'll never find out if we go back. The IG will slap me into 
  protective custody, another highfalutin name for mental confinement. I'll never be 
  satisfied with a remote report. I have to know. I have to. In the meantime, we're in 
  pursuit of piratical perpetrators." The P's popped explosively in his ear. "Are you with 
  me?"
  "Always and for ever," Keff said. Resolutely, he strode back to the main cabin. With 
  the Cridi in tow, he went into the fore corridor that led to the bridge.
  The computer system was substantially like the one in the dome. All parts were of 
  human manufacture. Some showed hard wear, especially the input peripherals. The 
  navicomp, an ancient model of the kind used by vacuum miners, had been augmented 
  by several different and mutually exclusive hard-memory storage units.
  "This group knows how to program," Carialle said. "I wonder why a race with the 
  capability to get into space doesn't build its own equipment?'
  "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk?" Keff sat down on the sling with Cridi 
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  hovering on both sides. "Ready?" he asked Carialle.
  "Ready."
  He hooked into the information transfer port, and waited anxiously, with one hand on 
  either side of the small screen, staring into its depths, while Carialle sifted the contents 
  of the hard-storage. He could only sense fleeting impressions of individual star system 
  maps as she read the memory and copied it into protected database.
  "We have a match." Her voice sounded triumphant. 'Three star systems, put in 
  relatively recently."
  "What are they?" Keff said, as the graphics appeared in the 2-D display.
  "No can tell, Sir Knight. They're in an alien typography. The keyboard must have been 
  altered to create their symbols. There are sixty-eight. Your first clue to their language. 
  Enjoy."
  Keff groaned. "Do you mean this is a dead end??
  "Not at all." There was a long pause, and the stars spun by again, accompanied by 
  colored screens full of square letters. "The flight recorder shows that two of them have 
  been visited more than once. And you'll never guess where one of them is!"
  "I give up."
  "Right next door. The binary mate, PLE-329-JK6 — straight across the lowermost 
  boundary of P-sector. I followed the visual log entries, and I could identify half of the 
  visuals from my personal memory."
  'That's incredible!" Keff exclaimed, then paused. "No, that's logical. Why else would 
  they go to so much trouble to prevent a lot of traffic in this part of the galaxy?"
  "My thinking exactly," Carialle said. "So that's where we go. We try it first, and if it's 
  wrong, we go on to the next one. One of these has to be home base."
  "Right. We try them one by one," Keff said.
  Tall Eyebrow and Narrow Leg had been watching Keff curiously, hearing half the 
  conversation. Keff looked at them guiltily. He'd forgotten that he was not alone, and 
  his companions were intelligent. And motivated.
  "Where to go next? This map?" the Cridi captain asked, pointing at the screen with a 
  long finger.
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  "You should all go home now," Keff said. "I thank you for your help and support, but 
  I can't ask you to do any more."
  "But we would do much more," Narrow Leg signed, his old eyes wise in the wrinkled, 
  green face. "You have done much for us, opening the way. Together, we defeated. 
  You seek a voyage to unknown, to find truth. We wish also. We go with you."
  "But your own people need you for defense," Keff said. "It's one thing to have you 
  accompany us in your own system, and quite another to subject you to unknown 
  danger. Your ship is not prepared for a long space voyage. You… with respect, you 
  lack training."
  "Give us training, then," Narrow Leg said. "We need also to find this truth. Many lives 
  were lost — ships, years, lost also. I want explanations. If you say they are not to be 
  found here, then we go to where they are."
  "I will train them," Tall Eyebrow said, tapping himself on the chest. "To survive — I 
  know this."
  "Ship is ready interstellar travel," Narrow Leg said, with a throwaway gesture. "All 
  supplies were loaded on board at departure. As for defense, half my crew are 
  assembling two more ships from old ones and new parts. Cridi will be defended in 
  atmosphere and out of atmosphere."
  Keff shook his head at the old male's expansive signs.
  "Captain, it'll take a long time to reach our destination, and we may not even find what 
  we're looking for at this first stop. It could, no, it will be dangerous. I can't let you… 
  er, take such important conclave councillors as Big Voice."
  Narrow Leg didn't miss the subtlety. He rolled a beady black eye at Keff. "That fat 
  one will be all right. There is no time to waste. We must not divert back to Cridi. You 
  must be after the villains track to source."
  "We come, too," Tall Eyebrow said, sweeping his hands to include his two 
  companions and Big Eyes.
  "Yes," Big Eyes agreed, with a brilliant glance at him. "We follow Tall Eyebrow. 
  Experienced twice in space."
  "Can? We have to pursue this to the end, but they don't."
  "I'm torn," Carialle said. "We could use the backup. It won't come from CW for ages, 
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  even providing they know where we are going, which they do not, and we're not 
  armed. The Cridi want to be our allies. On the other hand, I don't like it that they're 
  entirely without experience. Particularly, I do not like flying interplanetary distances 
  with a possibly explosive emotional problem."
  "Big Voice?" Keff asked sublingually, without moving his lips.
  "He's the only one who's manifested openly so far. Who knows if any of the others 
  will destabilize during a long trip."
  Tall Eyebrow had not missed Keffs eye passing from Cridi to Cridi. "I vouch for 
  each," he said in Standard. "They will not fail."
  "I think you'd better ask them," Keff said, both in Standard and sign. Tall Eyebrow 
  looked a question at Narrow Leg, who raised his thin shoulders eloquently and let 
  them drop. Big Eyes made a tentative sign, then glanced at Keff. He heard a faint peep 
  as one of the engineers spoke through the amulet fink.
  "Privacy," Carialle said.
  "Right you are," Keff said. He turned his back on them and studied the navigation 
  tank. After a brief conference, punctuated by shrill exclamations and much rolling 
  about the deck, Keff felt a tap against his leg. He looked down at Tall Eyebrow.
  "It is decided. We will come with you." He looked at the other seven Cridi. "We are 
  all willing to go. The crew also." Big Voice, at the front of the group nodded 
  vigorously, and favored Keff with a humanlike smile.
  "I wish to come. Otherwise this one," he pointed to Narrow Leg, "blames me for 
  spoiling virgin ship flight."
  "You will be acclaimed hero, once home," Big Eyes squeaked, with mischief in her 
  eyes. Big Voice relaxed back in his globe, a happy expression on his face. "All will 
  recognize…"
  "No," Tall Eyebrow said, stopping her with a downward stroke of his hand. He turned 
  to Keff. "Not for that reason. He will go because he recognizes his fear and 
  uncertainty, as we all do. No one goes just to prevent us from turning back."
  "I am selfish," Big Eyes said, her exuberance dimmed slightly by shame. She covered 
  her eyes with her hands, then peeped coyly between her fingers at Keff. She was so 
  cute he couldn't help but smile.
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  "I go," Big Voice insisted. "Who else will see you do right? Also, I must meet the 
  leaders of — here he hooked his long thumbs together and spread his hands in 
  imitation of wings — "griffins."
  "I wish to know why they hate us. I must ask. We will… negotiate." He paused before 
  the last sign and glanced at Narrow Leg as if defying him to laugh. "You must teach 
  us what we do not know." Keff smiled down at him. At last he understood why the 
  plump amphibioid was one of the eight most important frogs on Cridi.
  "Thank you," he said. "It'll be good to have you along."
  "And we will teach you the joys of Myths and Legends," Tall Eyebrow squeaked 
  happily.
  As soon as Keff had disconnected from the ship computers I/O port, the Cridi 
  destroyed the unit with the same thoroughness that they had the one in the dome. Keff 
  examined the rest of the control board and indicated the communication set and 
  guidance system. Tall Eyebrow delicately disassembled those, taking care to leave life 
  support intact. The lights dimmed briefly, but came up again with a steady glow. At a 
  nod from Narrow Leg, the ship's engineer and two of the crew went aft ahead of the 
  rest of the group. Keff heard clashing and breaking sounds. When the three Cridi 
  rejoined the others in the ship's main cabin, they bore between them a Core unit. It 
  was old, and looked to be in bad shape.
  "I'd forgotten about that," Keff said. Narrow Leg looked grim.
  "We, never," the commander said. "And this ship will not rise again. We have 
  destroyed the engine. Let us leave now."
  Free to use Core power, the Cridi swept their globes and Keff high over the dusty 
  landscape, back toward the small valley where the ships lay hidden. Unwilling to look 
  straight down, Keff turned his gaze back over his shoulder toward the dome, watching 
  it until it vanished among the battered ridges. He signed a question to Narrow Leg.
  "What about the griffins?"
  "We can hold them all as long as need," the old Cridi replied.
  "Good. Release them when we leave orbit," Keff said. "I think we're safe, but I want 
  to make sure."
  Narrow Leg sketched a quick OK with his long fingers.
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  "I want you to hear this, Keff," Carialle said. "I'm shipping this off to the CenCom, 
  and it's the last word they're going to hear from us until we find 'Griffin Central.'"
  "You sound so serious, Lady Fair," Keff said. He smiled at the frogs who glanced over 
  when they noticed the movement of his head.
  "Never more in my life, but this is plain mutiny. I won't send it unless you give me 
  your all-clear. I want to live to report to the Inspector General. If there's the least 
  chance, I will show him who was crawling over my skin twenty years ago, and that 
  he's been harassing me for nothing, but I refuse to endanger you. All I need is a single 
  piece of my first ship for proof or an eyewitness, and if it's anywhere, it's in one of 
  those three systems. Recording:
  "This is the CK-963,'" her voice said, sharp and metallic in intonation in his ear. "'We 
  wish to confirm absolutely that the DSC-902 was the victim of a fatal attack by alien 
  forces. Three ships, carrying stolen Cridi artifacts and CW mining lasers, ambushed 
  the DSC-902 while on its way into this system for a purely peaceful mission. All the 
  crew are dead. Ten of the perpetrators have been marooned on the fifth planet from 
  the Cridi sun. Video accompanying this message will show that this is a life-form with 
  which Central Worlds is unfamiliar. We are following information received, to what 
  we believe to be the aliens' home-world at once. Coordinates for three potential 
  systems are in the visual portion of this message. We will transmit again with further 
  information when we have reached our final destination. Carialle out.' What do you 
  think?"
  "Send it, lady," Keff said, firmly. "I'll be aboard in five minutes."
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  CHAPTER 11
  « ^ »
  As if the paralysis had never been, movement returned to the ten Thelerie. Those 
  who had been poised for battle fell over, and those whose eyes had been frozen open 
  blinked. No one spoke for a moment. Everyone exercised their muscles, and simply 
  enjoyed the freedom. Then they took heed of their surroundings. The mess was 
  heartbreaking.
  "I do not understand, Autumn," Crescent Moon blurted out, pieces of the precious 
  computer clutched in all four of his hands. "Why did the human destroy our 
  equipment? I've done my best to keep this station exactly as the Manual directs. It was 
  neat, it was clean — and now, look!" The ground control commander sounded as near 
  to trilling as a child. "Was he angry with our performance?"
  Autumn still kept her eyes closed, waiting for tear fluid to wash away the dust from 
  her large, flat corneas. "You do not understand, Crescent. There are other humans than 
  the Melange. You have never seen them. You showed aptitude for the computer, so it 
  was the wisdom of the Melange that you went here before spending any time reiving. 
  It is a shame."
  "It was the wisdom of the Melange," Crescent said, defiantly. The other station crew 
  all dipped their heads and wings in a worshipful manner. "But this human did behave 
  strangely." 
  Rivulet shook his head. "He did not even speak properly. His hands moved often, but 
  not his mouth. He wasn't like those from whom we receive goods, nor like those for 
  whom we provide."
  "I think he is a captive of the Slime," Dawn piped up in his high, musical voice. "He is 
  under their spell. They've directed the Slime Ball," he pronounced the human phrase 
  most, carefully, "to alter his mind. You know the power the Ball has. We do not know 
  all its secrets."
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  "Yes!" Rivulet agreed, holding out a claw. "See how he cowered from us, when he 
  should know we are his to command."
  "We are not slaves of Humans," one protested.
  "No, no, but they give us all gifts in exchange for our aid," Captain Autumn said, 
  pausing to consider. She lifted a wing claw. "This human needs rescue. My eyes were 
  turned toward the screens when I froze under the monsters' power. I saw which maps 
  he looked at. He wishes to go to Thelerie. Though he could not speak, his signs grew 
  more frantic when he saw that chart. He can receive aid there, and be freed of the 
  Slime. He was trying to tell us."
  "Ah!" The soft voices chorused together for a moment as the Thelerie realized the 
  truth in the leaders words.
  "We should warn the others the Slime are heading toward the Center," Rivulet insisted.
  "How?" Autumn asked. "The Slime tore our communicator to bits." A wing swept 
  over the shattered console. "I am sure they treated our poor ship the same." She turned 
  to Dawn. "See how things stand. Send a message to the Melange if you can."
  The second flicked a claw at the rest of the crew. They dragged on their shipsuits and 
  pattered out into the corridor after him. Autumn began to pick up the broken pieces 
  with all her hands. Crescent and the other three ground crew bent to help. Though 
  distressing, the debris was finite. In a short time, the wreckage was all cleared away.
  "I feel better," Crescent said, sitting down on his haunches and blowing a puff of air 
  so his upper lip vibrated. "Now I do not feel as though I broke the trust."
  Autumn smiled, showing her fangs. Crescent was a simple soul at heart. Once a 
  problem was out of sight, it was gone. 'There is wisdom in hard work."
  She donned her shipsuit and went out to her craft. Dawn sat amidst the pieces of the 
  control panel, shaking his great head from side to side. The captain looked down at 
  him.
  "How bad, my friend?"
  "Perhaps the human stayed the Slimes fury," the lieutenant said. The communication 
  deck is destroyed, but the filtration systems are intact."
  Autumn felt the breath leave her body. "We cannot warn the Center in time. The 
  Slime will be ahead of us."
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  "Very far, I'm afraid," Dawn said, his large eyes worried. "The engine is ruined, but it 
  was in Stage Four breakdown anyway. The landing finished it off."
  "The engine?" For the first time Autumn's expression brightened. "Ah." She wheeled 
  on her haunches and trotted down the corridor toward the cargo compartment.
  With pleasure she surveyed the secured racks of parts from the CW ship. She was 
  proud that her crew had responded so quickly with the others when the call came from 
  Phyllis that there was a second invader, after the slim ship had escaped them into the 
  atmosphere of the Slime planet This large ship moved more slowly than the first, so it 
  was easy for the reivers to get into position at the systems perimeter.
  As in the three examples in the Manual, the large ship did all the things a42n enemy 
  would. It signalled them, ordered them to halt, and invoked the authority of the 
  Central Worlds. Verje Bisman, and after him his child, Aldon Bisman, had from the 
  earliest days, reminded the Thelerie that Central Worlds was the enemy. The See-
  Double-Yew comprised a few planets who stockpiled goods taken from decent beings 
  and refused to allow access to them, even in great need. That was anathema to the 
  Melange, who insisted that all people who could pay, in one coin or another, should 
  have entitlement to all goods. That seemed right and proper.
  The Melange had taken goods from this aggressor, to distribute or keep as need 
  dictated. The prize under their feet would have fetched a good price, but Autumn 
  needed it herself now.
  At her direction, Dawn and the others knelt to take up the floor plates. Their muscles 
  swelled under their hides as they pulled the heavy metal panels aside to uncover the 
  biggest cargo cradle of all.
  Nestled in it a piece of machinery — an engine, a prize, a work of mechanical art. 
  Autumn regarded it with affection and awe. The Central Worlds ship must have been 
  nearly new. Inspection seals etched on the finest metal film were still affixed in the 
  correct places on the engine's surface. The whole unit gleamed. With a claw-finger, 
  Autumn traced the inscription on the largest piece of film: Dee-Ess-See-Nine-Oh-Too.
  "Install it in place of our old one. It will give us greater speed and stability for our 
  journey back to Thelerie."
  Heartbeat, the youngest of them all, tilted her head up toward her captain, eyes full of 
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  despair.
  "But the navigation system was destroyed by the Slime."
  Autumn tapped the youngster with a wing-finger. "Have you no faith in your own 
  soul? Center. Find your way back to the Center. It may take us many days to reach 
  home, but we shall survive. I regret that we cannot warn Mirina in time. We can only 
  hope she hears the messages we sent when the ship first entered the system."
  "Damn that ship," Rivulet said. "I wish they will be lost in the Void forever."
  "But it was beautiful, wasn't it?" Heartbeat said, looking at the others with rapture 
  shining from her eyes. "So new." Her hands rumbled on the smooth sides of the 
  engine. "So perfect."
  Autumn smiled indulgently. "Someday, such ships will be ours, too. In the meantime, 
  we must tend what we have. Work carefully. Remember all your lessons from the 
  Manual." Heartbeat ducked her head shyly.
  Dawn began to sing quietly under his breath. Autumn recognized the anthem: 
  "Thelerie, Heart of the Galaxy." She picked up the melody, her strong baritone joining 
  with his. The others added their voices, their lips spreading with smiles of inner joy. 
  Autumn leaned back on her mighty haunches to help lift the engine. The music helped 
  give the six strength. With a deep breath and a hoist, the unit was out of the cradle and 
  onto the deck.
  Sacred orders from the humans dictated that the drive mountings should be made 
  adjustable to take any component that offered itself, though lesser manuals Autumn 
  had seen did not allow for such open tolerances. Their Humans were wiser than those 
  who wrote the books. Hoses, connections, control cables — all were snapped or 
  fastened or sealed into place in very little time. Autumn, taking only a moment to 
  stand back and approve her crew's handiwork, directed the crew into the ship. She 
  guided Heartbeat to the navigator's chair. Dawn took his place in the pilot's sling and 
  engaged the engine. Its soft purr surprised them all. It was so mild, yet so powerful, 
  compared to the old one.
  "The Wisdom of the Melange," Dawn said, settling his wings on his back with a 
  satisfied twitch.
  "They are wise," Autumn agreed, and turned to Heartbeat. "Now, center, child, center. 
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  Make the wise ones proud of you."
  The youngster bent her attention on the tank full of stars before her. Autumn stood 
  back to watch, half proud and half sad.
  They would mourn their lost ones on the way home.
  "Cold, damned rock," snarled Bisman from behind the pilot's chair, as the ship swung 
  into an orbit around Coltera. "Why in the hope of paradise would anyone spend more 
  than a minute here?"
  "Because it's theirs," Zonzalo Don said, with a surprised look at the leader. "That's 
  what this girl I met said."
  "Don't knock the place too hard in front of the inhabitants," Mirina said, turning up a 
  palm in appeal. "I don't want them to kick our base off planet."
  "Sacred, high lady," Bisman sneered sarcastically, making her wince, "I was born 
  here. I flew with my father around those moons when I was a tot. We brought them 
  their first replacement compressors. Don't tell me how to behave with them."
  "I apologize," she said, staring him levelly in the eyes. She was stung, but damned if 
  she'd show it. "I know. The nag was automatic. We have few friends in any part of the 
  galaxy. It's important to me that we keep them, especially if they're kin." The raider 
  straightened up, surprised at Mirina's easy surrender.
  "Hell, yes, it's important, MM," Bisman said, slowly, sounding more reasonable than 
  Mirina had heard him in ages. "That's just sense. And you don't insult 'em if you want 
  'em to buy what you've got. Loyalty goes only so far. But, spacedust, they'd take 
  what's in our hold if we called their mothers mudworms!" He laughed, and slapped 
  Zonzalo on the shoulder. "Get Leader Fontrose on the line, kiddo. Tell him who we 
  are and what we've got. Then call Twilight and tell her we're coming in for refueling."
  "Aye, sir," the youth said, with a humorous glance at his sister.
  "Fuel pods, radio-ac insulation, enviro-suits — I smell profit," Bisman said, rubbing 
  his hands together in pleasurable anticipation.
  "So do I," Mirina said. For a moment they forgot the pressures of the past, and hard 
  times, and smiled at one another the way they used to. It didn't last. In an instant, 
  Bisman reverted back to his normal, harsh self. Mirina hugged herself against 
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  imagined cold as the older man turned away with brisk efficiency to the board.
  She felt eyes on her. When she glanced up, the young Thelerie, Sunset, was turning 
  his head quickly back to his control board. Mirina had seen sympathy on his face. She 
  walked over and patted him on the wing joint.
  "You've got a kind heart, youngster," she said quietly. "And you do good work. Keep 
  it up."
  He looked up at her, his huge eyes glowing with worship. 'Thank you, Mirina."
  "Which ways your homeworld?" she asked.
  Sunset put up a wing-finger at once, directed aft and to starboard, tracking Thelerie 
  upward as the ship he rode in transited an orbit around the planetoid. His natural gift 
  was a comfort to her, something constant to hold onto in their chancy travels. She 
  wished she could do that: point to her home, no matter how distant it was. She wished 
  she had a home to point to. The ship on which she had been born was scrapped and 
  recycled before she started primary education. Sunset looked at her with a soft, 
  mournful expression, and Mirina realized she'd let her feelings show on her face. She 
  slapped the Thelerie on the shoulder in unconscious imitation of Bisman.
  "Thanks, youngster," she said, then nodded to Zonzalo when he signalled her that the 
  communication link was open.
  "Greetings, leader!" she said, pulling a bright face for the screentank. "Will you be 
  glad we visited you today!"
  Aldon Bisman kicked the ground and spat. Muddy yellow-brown pebbles scattered 
  against the crates of unimaginably precious air-recirculation valves. Mirina was 
  annoyed, but she contained herself.
  "What do you mean, seven thousand apiece?" Bisman said to Mirchu Fontrose, a thin, 
  short, sallow-faced man. "What's this character think he's playing at?"
  "All we can afford, Aldon, my old friend," Fontrose said, mournfully. "Unless you'd 
  consider extending us further credit. You know we're good for it."
  Mirina folded her arms and watched her partner's face. She was tempted to tell the 
  colony leader to fold his offer into a point of singularity and put it in his eye, but this 
  was Bisman's home, and his show.
  "Crap," Bisman said, levelly. "They're worth ten. I know that if I sell them to you at 
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  seven, you'll be out of orbit the second we're gone. You'll take them to the bazaar on 
  Phait and sell them yourself for that. I could have done that myself, and you'd be stuck 
  paying eleven or worse to the traders. Ten."
  Fontrose and the colonists on Coltera were prone to what Minna's mother called "poor-
  mouthing." Even though their gem-mining brought in a good credit, they always made 
  believe they were on the edge of starvation. Nothing could have been a greater lie. 
  Opals, especially ones of the clarity and depth of color that they coaxed out of that 
  impossibly dense matrix, were always in demand, however illicit the market. Coltera 
  wasn't an official CW colony. The independent miners who discovered the strike had 
  checked ownership of this small and marginal world. They hid the signs of success 
  and squatted, staking a homesteading claim through the housing office, as if only one 
  family lived here, registered as subsistence wheat farmers. Ridiculous, Mirina thought, 
  since there was no soil. In the meantime, the opals began to appear on the gray 
  market, traded for fabulous profits that were split up among the whole of the colony. 
  The irony of it all was that the family registered with CenCom government received a 
  subsidy for earning below the poverty level.
  A lot of independent thinkers had elected to "disappear" and end up here, falling off 
  the CW tax records much as she and the raiders had. When one didn't pay tax, one had 
  money for a lot of things. Like pressure units.
  She glanced around the cul-de-sac at the raised mound that surrounded them on each 
  side. Behind every one of those doorways was a domicile, half a mansion in size. 
  Their mining equipment, state of the art for extracting delicate opal, was so new the 
  enamel wasn't scratched. Mirina caught a glimpse of their shabby, red ship standing 
  among the rock loaders, and was sufficiently irritated into speaking.
  "The price goes up while you stall," she said, tapping her foot, deliberately sounding 
  unreasonable. "When it goes up to twelve, we leave."
  Fontrose cringed away from her. "All right, all right. Don't rush me. Don't rush me. 
  That's a lot of money, you know. I suppose you came by it honestly, eh?" He peered 
  from one face to another. Bisman quirked one side of his mouth.
  "Salvage," he said simply, flipping a hand up toward space. "Found it out there, 
  somewhere. You know." Fontrose raised his hands in surrender.
  "All right, all right, I won't ask."
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  "Eleven," Minna said warningly.
  "Wait! Wait!" Fontrose turned to her, alarmed. "Please, dear lady, don't raise things 
  until we've had a chance to talk about your first offer. Now, I thought eight and a 
  half…"
  A long-legged figure stumbled down the steps of the raiders' ship and ran toward them 
  headlong. Mirina recognized Zonzalo, and wondered why he was so agitated. She 
  stopped him with a fierce glance when he was still half a dozen meters from the 
  group. He gestured with his hands and eyebrows, trying to signal urgency. He stopped 
  waving at her when Fontrose turned to glance at him, but started his semaphoring 
  again as soon as he looked away. Bisman shot her a look of annoyance.
  "Go back, Zon," she said at last. "Check and see how they're coming with those 
  containers."
  "Miri!" came a choked squawk from Zonzalo. Font-rose swiveled to stare openly. 
  Bisman looked exasperated. Mirina smiled at Fontrose, dangerously, but politely.
  "Excuse me just one moment. A matter of crew discipline."
  The colony leader nodded, and Bisman took the distraction as an opportunity to move 
  in to close the sale.
  "Now, while she's gone, my old friend, let's get the price to where we both like it."
  "What is it?" Mirina hissed. Her younger brother was hopping up and down with 
  nerves. "How dare you interrupt a negotiation?"
  "It's dire! Twilight's been holding a message for us from Autumn on Base Eight. 
  They've been attacked by a Central Worlds ship. They need help."
  "What are we supposed to do about it?" Mirina asked, annoyed. "We're too bloody far 
  away to do anything now. That message will be weeks old!"
  "We ought to go and check out Autumn's report," the boy insisted.
  "Check out what? If Autumn got word out, then someone was alive to operate the 
  communications board."
  "What the hell is going on?" Bisman asked, coming up between them.
  "Base Eight's had a run-in with CW ships," Zonzalo said, wide-eyed.
  "So what?'
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  "So, it's been discovered by the authorities," the boy said. "We have to help them."
  "Zon, this is not a vid-show. We're ages away from there. Autumn will just have to 
  abandon the place," Mirina said. "She's a survivor. She'll get the rest of the crews out 
  of there."
  "Too bad about Base Eight," Bisman said, scratching his unshaven chin. "It lasted a 
  long time. My dad established that one when I was a boy. I spent time there myself."
  "But CW might find the Slime," Zonzalo said. "They'll talk."
  "Who cares? They don't know who we are," Bisman said, impatient to get back to the 
  negotiations. "Besides, they stopped kicking a long time ago. One ship is no big deal. 
  They'll come, they'll go. In the meantime, we can go back and mine the skies around 
  Planet Two with impact grenades, to make sure no one gets offworld, no matter how 
  many visitors they get from CenCom." His eyes grew dreamy. "Maybe a blanket 
  bombardment, keep kicking them until the whole planet blows up. Always wanted to 
  see how much that Slime Ball defense system could take."
  "Stop it, damn you," Mirina said, interrupting. She never knew whether his enfant 
  terrible mode was an act or not. "We'll just abandon the base. The Slime don't know 
  where we are or where we went. Zon, send word to Phyllis and Autumn and the others 
  to destroy the equipment, and evacuate. There's no need to cause further loss of life."
  Bisman turned on her, one finger thrust upward under her chin, eyes flashing 
  dangerously. "Enough of that, brawn. I'm tired of it. You lost one friend, one brain. 
  I've seen hundreds of friends, family, even lovers die over the thirty years I've been 
  out here. You're here where my people live. Do you want to know how many holes 
  there are in my family?"
  "I know," Mirina said, staring him straight back in the eye. "You've told me again and 
  again."
  "And I know. Charles this. Charles that." His scorn pummeled her, and she gaped at 
  him. He shoved his face close to hers, backing her out of the negotiation circle until 
  she was trapped between him and somebody's front door. "I don't care any more! You 
  don't like death, huh? You don't want to see anyone else die. It blunts your edge, 
  woman. You should be able to kill to protect yourself. Why should just one death 
  affect you so much?"
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  "Because I thought he could never die," she shouted, feeling her heart constrict and 
  squeeze the words out of her. Bisman backed away, and Mirina caught her breath. Her 
  eyes stung and she knew she was blinking back tears. Sensing a personal matter, 
  Fontrose had turned delicately away, but he couldn't avoid having heard her. Bisman 
  and Zonzalo stared. Mirina glared back defiantly. She had admitted the truth to herself 
  at last, the secret she'd been keeping locked away for eight years. She felt like 
  screaming some more, but she kept control. Her voice stayed level and low. "Because 
  no one ever understood how much I love being in space. How I have to be there. He 
  felt the same way."
  "Well, you couldn't sleep with him, couldn't even touch him. What the hell good was 
  he as a partner?"
  Bisman spat at the ground, and Mirina hated him.
  As she looked laser bolts at his back, the co-leader went back to Fontrose, who had 
  moved away. Mirina shook her head, willing her rage to subside. You could not 
  explain the brain/brawn relationship to someone who hadn't experienced it. No one 
  else could understand. Bisman never had shown notable signs of sensitivity. She was a 
  fool to expect it.
  She turned to Zonzalo. He had stayed alongside them to make sure she was all right, 
  but also a few paces away, well out of the line of verbal fire between his sister and her 
  partner. He fidgeted anxiously, and nodded his head with a slight, hopeful smile. 
  Mirina smiled back, but her eyes were serious.
  "We abandon the Slime system, Zon. The Slime don't have a clue who's been out there 
  on Planet Five all those years. We've never left any live captives, so they can't tell 
  Central Worlds authority what we look like. There's not much left on the base. I regret 
  leaving the computer system behind, but it's anonymous. No Standard files anywhere. 
  It's all in Thelerie."
  Zonzalo's mouth stretched in a slow smile. "So when CW finds it, they won't be able 
  to read it anyway. Pretty good, Madam Don."
  "I didn't do it to please you," she snapped. "I did it so the Thelerie could use it more 
  easily in emergencies. I hope they can get out."
  "Soft in the head, dammit," Bisman said, coming back. He looked pleased with 
  himself. He brandished a plastic card in his hand: the agreement struck with Fontrose, 
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  thumbprinted and secured. "Ten. What did I tell you? We'll have to do something 
  about that infiltrator, if it's still hanging around Base Eight space when we're back 
  there. We'll strike hard, and strike fast. One ship shouldn't be so hard to beat, not with 
  our advantage, the Slime Ball."
  "I'm not convinced that unit will be of help for much longer," Mirina said, uneasily. It 
  had been getting steadily weaker over the last couple of years. It needed to be fixed, 
  and none of them had the remotest idea how it worked. Only blind chance had led his 
  engineers to discover what it was all those years ago when they took it off the Slime 
  ship. Only sheerest coincidence had allowed them to install the three Balls in reiver 
  ships and gotten them to work without blowing up. Bisman relied too heavily on it, 
  and that concerned Mirina. Their operation shouldn't turn on a single piece of 
  equipment. She'd said so for years.
  "It'll be fine. You worry too much," Bisman said, flicking the card between his 
  fingertips.
  Zonzalo tried to add a touch of optimism. "We'll probably hear an update from 
  Autumn as we head back in that direction. Another message is probably on its way 
  now. I'm sure they destroyed that ship. It was only one, and we have three on that 
  base."
  "Right," said Bisman, grabbing Mirina's arm and leading the way toward the ship. "In 
  the meantime, we've got a delivery for the Thelerie. Don't you like being thought of as 
  a goddess? Bringing aid from the heavens to bring wings to the winged?"
  Mirina lay in a bunk in the guest cave and listened to the echoes far down the hall. 
  Bisman and his old cronies had decided to make a night of it in the settlement, and 
  dragged Zonzalo and Sunset along for fun. No matter how hard she pressed to keep 
  the youngsters on the ship, Bisman countered her every argument. He couldn't see any 
  good reason for sequestering them on his home planet. At least he didn't insist on 
  taking them off on strange ports. Mirina was responsible for Zonzalo, and she felt 
  responsible for Sunset. He was the most gormless, innocent creature she'd ever 
  shipped with, even more so than any other Thelerie. He hadn't a guileful cell in his 
  body, and he took everything his precious humans said as the mathematical truth. 
  Stars knew what a less moral band of humans might have done with him.
  Moral, hah!
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  It had been eight years since she'd shipped on with Bisman. Eight, long, damned 
  years. When she had paired with Charles on the CM-702, she'd only kept in touch in a 
  sporadic fashion with Zonzalo. She was sorry now. She should have been more of an 
  influence in his upbringing, taking more of the role of their deceased parents, instead 
  of trusting it to boarding school counselors. But brainships were on almost constant 
  duty in Exploration. Mirina couldn't get free just to mediate a grades dispute or a 
  behavior violation for her brother. Sometimes she didn't even hear about problems 
  until months after they had occurred. She'd failed in her parenting, and that still 
  bothered her.
  Not long after Charles died she got a message that Zonzalo had left school and fallen 
  in with Bisman. She hadn't liked the sound of the man at all. Anyone with charm and 
  perseverance could gain influence over her poor, silly, gullible brother, who was still 
  looking for a strong role model to fashion himself after. In this case it could get him 
  killed. Zonzalo hinted deliciously of danger and secret raids accomplished in a fast 
  scout ship. Mirina knew she'd have to go and get her brother away from that crowd. 
  He was the only family she had.
  With the reputation of jinx riding her, Mirina couldn't get anyone to help her ship out 
  to find him, nor even get a full hearing on the subject. The authorities paid little 
  attention to a troubled woman babbling about a distant brother and malign influences. 
  The counseling they had given her after Charles' death was inadequate, as if her 
  emotional recovery was of secondary importance to the enormous catastrophe of the 
  death of a brainship. It seemed that no one cared at all about her. She resented that her 
  supervisor in Exploration hadn't intervened more closely in getting her another berth 
  — any berth — when it would have done wonders for her sanity, not to mention her 
  patriotism. Mirina felt that Central Worlds had let her down at every single 
  opportunity. Refusing to untangle the red tape to help her find Zonzalo was the last 
  crumb that upset the scale. Never mind that she thought her brother was in the hands 
  of pirates, and CW might be able to solve robberies in that sector. The official budget 
  wasn't set up to handle "freelance" missions, her boss had said. Then he'd mined her 
  file with false complaints of insubordination, so when she went over his head for help, 
  no one would listen to her. She left, cursing Central Worlds and all bureaucracy. Now 
  and forever more, she was on her own.
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  It took every last credit she had to charter a scout craft to Zonzalo's last known 
  location. Lucky thing it was a base the pirates used all the time. She hadn't intended to 
  stay once she had rescued her brother, but face-to-face, the pirates were a truly 
  pathetic lot. Their equipment was a hundred years outdated, but even bad equipment 
  will work if maintained. Their diet was so unbalanced that crew members were going 
  down sick with fragile-bone disease and scurvy, even the ones who weighed 160 
  kilos. Mirina needed so badly to be needed that when Zonzalo and a younger, much 
  handsomer Aldon Bisman pressed her to stay, she did. Central Worlds had rejected 
  her, but these people wanted her. They'd pay her anything she asked, just to stay. At 
  the time the offer was hard to resist.
  It took two years before she had them whipped into a kind of military order that 
  preserved resources and actually allowed them to build their network outward. She 
  was a good organizer, but for eight years now, it seemed, she'd operated on autopilot. 
  She found it harder every day to break away. The activity kept her from thinking too 
  hard about where she had come from, about Charles, and the horrifying accident that 
  killed him, and what she was doing.
  At long last Minna was thinking again. She needed to take Zonzalo and leave, cease 
  aiding and abetting criminals. She had become one herself. Little niggles and twinges 
  from her conscience told her that she still owed something to Central Worlds. Even 
  after all the wrong CW had done her, she'd never have met Charles and shipped with 
  him if it wasn't for the brainship program. He had been the single most wonderful 
  thing in her life. An old-fashioned but worldly gentleman, Charles himself would have 
  said it was Minna's duty to turn herself and the others in, and he'd be right. She 
  shouldn't be here. Not that she ought to try and return to the brain/brawn program: she 
  couldn't. She couldn't even go back to the Central Worlds and try to fit into the 
  mainstream. No job would be safe for her. The authorities undoubtedly had a criminal 
  file on her that would cover a small continent, and she would rather die of torture than 
  be locked up ground-side. The Don family would have to ship out on their own, 
  skipping from remote outpost to remote outpost forever. Again the sensation of 
  desperate lack of belonging rose out of her belly and clutched her throat until she 
  gasped, sobbing. Mirina sat up in bed and braced herself, elbows akimbo with hands 
  on her knees, just breathing. She was doing good here, too — she was! The work they 
  had done with the Thelerie was benevolent and worthwhile. Look at the advances the 
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  winged ones had made in only a few years! She hated to leave that, but she needed to 
  go away and take Zonzalo with her.
  A good organizer knows how to organize. She lay back on her bunk, and began to take 
  stock of her assets.
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  CHAPTER 12
  « ^ »
  The Cridi were green, in every way. They were inexperienced, scared witless, and, 
  well, physically resembled the chorus line for a production of the comedy musical 
  Frogs in Space. Keffs natural exuberance and energy were proving to be just shy of 
  what it took to buoy up an entire crew of aliens through their first experience of long-
  term space travel. Every day brought new anxieties and fears that just proved how 
  quickly a space-going race can forget how it once adapted. He fell into bed at night, 
  completely exhausted.
  Things were slightly better now that they had passed the halfway point. Their passage 
  around the trapped magnetic Oort debris, pooled at the balance point between the 
  Cridi system and its sister sun, when all of Carialle's sensors had gone briefly insane, 
  had caused hysteria among the Cridi. It had taken all Keffs tact and patience to keep 
  the other ships crew from mutinying against Narrow Leg and diving through the 
  anomaly — fatally — back toward their homeworld. Carialle's suggestion, voiced at 
  thunderous volume over all speakers, that both systems must be of identical galactic 
  mass and weight to hold this particular configuration, lured some of the scientists out 
  of their emotional shells to study the phenomenon of twin systems. Narrow Leg and 
  Tall Eyebrow rallied everyone into the project. Keff spent plenty of time answering 
  questions and supplying telemetry scans for their use. An intelligent people, they 
  understood that to occupy their minds fully would help defy the dark. Yet, bogeys 
  crept back nightly, leaving Keff to buoy their hearts up again in the morning.
  As he staggered out into the main cabin at the beginning of his shift, in the middle of 
  the second week in space, he glimpsed Cridi from the corner of his eye in half a dozen 
  screens, all staring. They relaxed perceptibly when they saw him. Keff deliberately 
  met each pair of eyes in turn, smiling with confidence. They must have been up since 
  the dot of first shift, waiting for him to appear. Tall Eyebrow, Small Spot, Long Hand, 
  and Big Eyes were in the corner of the cabin near the food synthesizer, the only ones 
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  who didn't look nervous.
  "I'm not used to this much company," Keff growled under his breath to Carialle. 
  "We've had too many years alone, just the two of us."
  "It won't last forever," the brain reminded him, speaking through his aural implant, the 
  lone communication signal that they kept as a private channel. All the others had been 
  left on open broadcast to the Cridi ship so the amphibioids could monitor what was 
  going on; Carialle was also tapped into the frequencies of both functioning Cores. She 
  kept her frog image on the wall of the CK-963 and on one screen of the Cridi ship in 
  case they needed to ask questions while Keff was busy or asleep. "We're doing a 
  public service for them, and they're out to help us with our mission."
  "But they're still so scared," Keff said, frustrated.
  "They'll get over it once there's something to do."
  , "I hope so," Keff said. He sat down at the control console, and let out a huge yawn. 
  "They're wearing me out." On the screen over it, two of Narrow Leg's crew stared out. 
  He smiled at them.
  "Hello, Gap Tooth and Wide Foot."
  "Good mor-ning," they chorused in Standard, faltering only a little over the dipthong.
  "That's very good," Keff said, nodding encouragingly. "Have you been studying the 
  drama videos I sent so you could practice listening to colloquial speech?"
  "Have," the first one said, then fell back on a combination of sign and numeric squeak. 
  "Interesting, times two — times three! Terror, fire, exciting! N is greater than zero 
  tongue trill sounds. Why?"
  Keff stared, baffled. "What do you mean? Which tape were you watching?"
  The other Cridi, Wide Foot, held up a card and pronounced the title with great care as 
  she followed the words with a finger. "Gone with the Wind," she said, and turned 
  puzzled eyes to him.
  "Oh!" Keff smiled, enlightened. "It's a dialect. Trill sounds were sometimes replaced 
  with aspirates in some regional speech patterns on Old Earth."
  "Sounds soft," she said, and gave him a timid smile in return. "I like to he-ah such 
  speech. I may adopt it."
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  "Oh, wonderful," Carialle said, much amused. "A frog with an American Southern 
  accent."
  "I think it adds character," Keff said. "I encourage you to experiment," he told Wide 
  Foot.
  "I shall."
  As Tall Eyebrow and his companions had already proved, the Cridi were rapid 
  learners. They absorbed the Standard as a Second Language videos that Carialle 
  dredged out of her memory, and were speaking a form of pidgin by the end of the first 
  week. Keffs own grasp of the Cridi spoken language was increasing every day as a 
  result of answering so many questions. Having no residue of the tongue in his 
  memory, Keff was finding it slower going than the three Ozranians did. Tall Eyebrow 
  was now participating fully in discussions with his long-lost cousins.
  Keff was also accumulating a considerable amount of data for the paper he was 
  beginning to write on the evolution of the Cridi languages from a thousand years ago 
  up to the present day.
  Language instruction was only part of the program that he, Carialle, Narrow Leg, and 
  Tall Eyebrow had worked out to keep the Cridi sane and functioning throughout the 
  voyage. It also included cultural exchange, elementary space travel, survival 
  techniques, and of course, lessons in how to play Myths and Legends. The new Cridi 
  were about evenly split so far on whether or not they liked the concept of the game, 
  but all agreed it helped to pass the time. Cridi video screens weren't sophisticated 
  enough to produce the quality of holographic images Carialle projected, so they didn't 
  see the same charm in it as the travelers aboard the CK-963. All the Cridi loved her 
  three-D puzzles, which did translate reasonably well.
  Carialle also shared the extensive onboard collection of entertainment tapes. Because 
  of the language barrier, she gave them mostly music. The Cridi adored symphonies, 
  folk music, stage musicals, operetta, plainchant, and whatever else she could winkle 
  out of the nooks and crannies of her memory. During one communication period they 
  sang an improvised cantata in the human fashion for her. The shrill quality of their 
  voices sent Keff to his knees with his hands over his ears, but Carialle was touched.
  "Only a little in return for all your kindness," Big Eyes had said. "With your help, we 
  are learning not to be afraid of the journey — though all of us wonder what we will 
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  find at the end."
  Since the Cridi ship ran easily using the remote control manipulation of Core amulets, 
  the crew was able to pursue many activities in the long, empty stretches of space. 
  Narrow Leg had set up a process to manufacture more travel globes. He used the ones 
  Tall Eyebrow had lent them to explore the fifth planet as models, and now the native 
  Cridi had a supply of their own, with plenty of backup units. Tall Eyebrow insisted 
  that part of each day be devoted to learning to use the clear shells, and part for an 
  exercise program to build up the muscles needed to manipulate them easily on a 
  variety of terrains. Though he was aboard the brainship, he monitored exercise periods 
  in both groups of Cridi. He was showing the kind of leadership that had impressed 
  Keff back on the griffins' outpost.
  There had been a certain amount of bickering before they'd left the fifth planet over 
  who would travel in which ship. Keff invited any of the Cridi to fly with him and 
  Carialle who wished to, and inadvertently started a three-tongued argument. Narrow 
  Leg insisted that there was room in his ship for all the Cridi. Tall Eyebrow claimed 
  pride of place with the Central Worlds pair. Big Eyes wanted to travel with Tall 
  Eyebrow. Narrow Leg demanded that his daughter stay with him. Big Voice couldn't 
  decide which one he wanted to travel on, and demanded a vote of confidence. They 
  appealed to Keff to mediate. While on the surface, all Keffs statements had to pass 
  through Tall Eyebrow's globe-pickup. From there, they were translated into the 
  subtleties of the spoken language over the amulet link to the Cridi, and through sign 
  language to Small Spot and Long Hand. It was a lengthy process, sometimes 
  frustrating, sometimes amusing. In the end, Keff had excused himself and let the Cridi 
  battle it out among themselves.
  The brainship wound up with only four guests: the original Ozran contingent, plus Big 
  Eyes, who shared the second spare bunk with Long Hand. Narrow Leg wasn't happy 
  having his daughter miles away across the cold void, but he had plenty of 
  responsibilities to keep him occupied. This morning, Keff could see the Cridi 
  commander over the shoulder of one of the crew who was plastered to a viewscreen. 
  Narrow Leg was having one of his daily arguments with Big Voice, this time over the 
  travel globes. The stout councillor stood, arms folded, in the bottom half of his globe. 
  He was up to his knees in water, but still trying to maintain his dignity.
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  "Why do we do without our amulets?' Big Voice said, in sign and squeak. "I do not 
  like these bubbles. Why must we learn to use them? Technology is so far beyond this 
  already!" Tall Eyebrow automatically turned to translate for Keff in Standard voice 
  and Ozranian sign. Keff sat down, keeping one eye on the screen and one eye on TE. 
  He understood most of this argument It was an old one.
  "Because the ammonia in the atmosphere could burn your skin, and there's not enough 
  oxygen to sustain you, and you may have other things to think of there than 
  breathing," Narrow Leg said, every gesture filled with impatience. "Because the 
  engines of our host ships have only so much energy, most of which must be saved to 
  launch us back home, not to be used by the Core. I have told you before. And again."
  Tall Eyebrow relayed the answer, and added, "He does not like discomfort. I would 
  'give him a mild sample touch of the gas, to show him what he will not believe."
  "It would sting," Keff said, "but you could be right Prove one point, and he might 
  begin to take your word on others."
  "I will suggest it to Narrow Leg when we can speak alone," Tall Eyebrow said. "But I 
  have another notion. Big Voice," he called, interrupting the argument. The councillor 
  used a flick of power to swivel, and stood facing him.
  "What?" The impatient question came through loud and clear over both Core 
  frequency and speaker.
  "You do not have to learn to use the globe," Tall Eyebrow said, standing up and 
  stretching to the maximum of his great height.
  "I do not?" Big Voice asked, with a shrill squeak that went up almost above human 
  hearing.
  "Not at all," the Ozranian leader said. "You shall gather information for us. You shall 
  remain safe in the ship at all times while the rest of us make our exploration. We will 
  report back to you what we find."
  Big Voice stared and spluttered. "That is not correct! Think of my position. I am a 
  high official of the conclave! I should be in the first rank."
  Tall Eyebrow shrugged his thin shoulders, a gesture borrowed from Keff. "If you 
  cannot use a globe, you cannot proceed us. The atmosphere is undoubtedly too 
  dangerous. We would not put you in peril of your life. You are, as you say, a high 
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  official."
  The councillor's eyes narrowed.
  "I shall practice," Big Voice said. He glanced at Narrow Leg, whose eyes were wide 
  with amusement. "But only so I may take my rightful place."
  Casually, not hurrying at all, Big Voice twisted his hand and curled his fingers. The 
  upper half of his globe lifted, inverted, and fitted itself onto the lower half. Big Voice 
  crouched inside it and resolutely placed his hands on the inside wall. Narrow Leg 
  retreated a few steps as the councillor drove his globe directly at him, heading out into 
  the corridor and away from the video screen.
  Tall Eyebrow turned away, chuckling, and rejoined the others. "Every step of the way 
  he fights," he said. "He makes me earn my place."
  "You do very well," Keff told him. "I think you're quite a leader. I'd be proud to 
  follow you myself."
  Carialle's deep, musical laugh filled the room, and Keff glanced over at her image on 
  the wall. "You should hear him. He's cursing to himself that TE might make him miss 
  out on any of the adventure. In between grunts, that is."
  "I am afraid," Big Eyes said, and made a gesture of shame. "I was all excited for 
  adventure; now, prudence."
  "It is wise to be afraid, but do not let it paralyze you," Tall Eyebrow signed firmly. He 
  put an arm around her. "You have a healthy body and sharp wits, and the strength of 
  the Core is ours. I may not be a military leader, but I can at least show you how to 
  survive. In terrible conditions we manufactured the globes with which your cousins 
  survive on Sky Clear. You have done that, too. You can learn more. Together we can 
  do better. We can prosper." The young female looked hopeful, encouraging the male 
  to smile. "You teach me more verbal language, I tell you of survival. We exchange as 
  we go."
  "Bravo, TE," Carialle whispered over the mastoid implant to Keff.
  Big Eyes was obviously impressed, by the way she gazed at Tall Eyebrow — and 
  other Cridi were listening. They were nodding wisely to one another; clearly they 
  found encouragement in the Ozranian leader's words.
  "I hope you teach me more than that," the female said at last, with a coy look up under 
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  her eyelids. Tall Eyebrow looked pleased and a little flustered.
  "They don't need us at all," Keff murmured.
  In spite of the discomfort of diminished privacy, Keff found the enforced closeness 
  provided him with wonderful opportunities to observe unique sociological interaction. 
  Once the Cridi began to relax, they reverted to their normal personalities.
  Tall Eyebrow and the other two Ozranians were also affected by the lack of privacy. 
  TE seemed torn between his desire to spend every waking moment with Big Eyes, and 
  his need to get away by himself for a while.
  "It is too crowded," he had said wistfully to Keff in an unguarded moment. Keff 
  sympathized.
  Wisely, the young female perceived that not everyone had grown up in a household 
  crowded with dozens of children and other relatives, and left TE several times a day to 
  do other things. She made friends with Long Hand, too. From the occasional 
  eavesdrop, Keff discovered that Big Eyes was asking about life on Ozran. The facts 
  were hard for someone brought up amid plenty and water, but to her credit, the Cridi 
  councillor didn't blanch. She and the elder female also had numerous close 
  conversations in the corner of the large cabin, glancing at the screens showing the 
  Cridi in the other ship and giggling behind their palms. Big Eyes seemed to enjoy 
  Long Hand's sardonic sense of humor.
  Some funny moments were universally shared. Big Voice had appointed himself 
  Communications Officer. He solicited messages every day from both ships, and spent 
  about an hour broadcasting back towards Cridi. The transmissions were more amusing 
  than useful. Carialle brought in the frequency so she and Keff could enjoy the 
  pompous administrator practicing self-aggrandizement before the video pickup. Tall 
  Eyebrow and the others watched with interest the first two days. Thereafter they 
  turned off the sound and made rude signs among themselves. Big Voice's tenth 
  transmission made especially good comedy.
  "Further advancement has been made. I have observed constellations as mapped by 
  our ancestors in their star charts. I am pleased to let the Council and the constituency 
  of Cridi know that those charts are accurate!"
  "Oh, no!" Big Eyes signed merrily, waving her hands at the 3-D image. "Get away."
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  "I am pleased that he has allowed the poor navigators to trust those maps that have 
  been in place for a thousand years," Long Hand gestured, with a sly look in her eyes.
  "Important message from our ship commander, Narrow Leg," Big Voice continued, 
  picking up a minute square of white. "We have approached and passed halfway point 
  of journey, and expect to arrive at our destination soon. This is confirmed by our 
  human companions, Keff and Carialle" — he made the sign of the "Watcher Within 
  the Walls' — "We are grateful for their input, since they confirm what it is that we 
  learn."
  "That's not exactly what you said'," Keff said to Carialle. "You told Narrow Leg 
  where we are, and he checked it." Her frog image on the wall made much the same 
  throwing-away gesture that Big Eyes had.
  "Let him tell their press whatever he wants," she said. "If it will help public relations, I 
  don't care what he says. Do you think any of them kept listening past the first five 
  minutes?"
  "I doubt it," Keff said, sitting down with a thump on the bench of his Rotoflex 
  exercise machine at a good remove from Big Voice's screen. "I don't know why 
  Narrow Leg lets him blather on like that."
  The commander, whose face was visible on the screen nearest Keffs bench, must have 
  heard his last remark.
  "It serves to unite," the old one said, his wrinkled, pistachio-colored face creasing in a 
  friendly grimace. "It does him no harm, because others have too much tact to tell him 
  he is silly."
  "Aren't you afraid all that nonsense will begin to pall? You don't want the folks back 
  home to lose interest in what you're doing because he" — Keff tilted his head toward 
  the main screen — "bores them to death."
  Narrow Leg shook his head. "He is too shrewd to allow himself to be boring. And he 
  is not. Every day he finds a new way to make himself ridiculous. It does not matter 
  what the media say, so long as they say something with one's name in it. That is what 
  Big Voice thinks. Most importantly, it keeps our minds off what we are doing. If 
  allowed to brood, I think my folk would go mad. That is why I like your games and 
  puzzles and lessons."
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  Thank you," Carialle said. "I wish you'd say that to our administration. They think we 
  are already mad for playing games on long flights."
  "I shall," the old one said, with a courtly nod, "at the first available opportunity. How 
  is our progress?"
  "Very good," Carialle said. "I was right that the gravity well between the twin systems 
  would destroy the ion trail where it passed closest, but now that we're past it, I'm 
  seeing plenty. I'm also getting traces of low-power radio transmissions from the twin 
  system."
  The old one cocked his head to one side and looked pleased. "The fourth planet, yes?"
  "Yes. With your people's extensive history of space travel I'm surprised you never 
  explored in the system closest to your own, in spite of the gravity well."
  "We did," Narrow Leg said, the pixels in his image updating in waves as he swiveled 
  toward his own computer. "We knew of civilization. Our explorers had images of 
  artifacts, buildings — perhaps houses. Large. See here, now." He waved a hand, and 
  the image that was in front of him superimposed itself on the communication screen 
  between him and Keff. In the Cridi format the view was hard to make out, but on the 
  sides of a rocky, steep gorge, the brawn could make out structures that were clearly 
  artificial.
  "Well, I'll be damned," he said, his eyebrows creeping upward into his hairline. 'Then 
  why didn't your people ever land there?"
  "Already inhabited," the Cridi captain said simply, returning to the screen. "We 
  wished planets for colonization, so we did not pay attention to ones with intelligent 
  life. It was remiss of us," he added grimly. "We should have."
  Carialle's frog image looked thoughtful. "Why didn't you make contact with them? 
  They're your nearest neighbors."
  Narrow Leg shook his head. "Crude. Too primitive. We knew they were too far 
  behind us to share civilization. Someday, we thought."
  Keff snorted. "Well, it looks like they evolved in a hurry."
  "If they're our pirates," Carialle said, warningly. "We might just be following the gang 
  from base to base. Narrow Leg, I'd like to copy your data and send it with ours to the 
  CenCom when we transmit next."
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  "My honor," the captain said, bowing.
  "Just a moment!" Big Voice came up behind the commander. While the three of them 
  had been chatting, the councillor had finished his daily tirade. Clearly he had 
  overheard or overseen the last exchange. "I wish to send such a message to your 
  Central Committee. Today!"
  "You can't," Keff said, quickly. He glanced at Carialle's frog image, which spread its 
  big mouth in dismay. He knew they shared the same thought. They didn't want to alert 
  the CenCom just yet that they were flying a joint mission with the Cridi. They had 
  already disobeyed a direct order to return. The next time they made contact with CW 
  there'd be a hue and cry out after them, so they'd better have the proof they needed in 
  hand.
  Big Voice looked upset. "Why not? You have communication frequencies as we do."
  Carialle's frog image suddenly filled the screens. "Honored councillor," she said, 
  waiting while the IT program filtered her Standard speech into Cridi voice-language, 
  "it would confuse matters for our diplomats. Keff and I are the only members of the 
  Central Worlds j with a working knowledge of your language. There is no translator in 
  the CenCom who would be able to appreciate your most important words."
  "Ah, I see," Big Voice said, leaning back with his long, spidery hands propped 
  proudly on his chest. "Naturally not. I must wait until I may see them face-to-face — 
  which I hope will not be long."
  "No," Keff said. "It'll be as soon as we can make it."
  Big Voice left, looking very satisfied.
  "Well handled," Narrow Leg signed to them, with very small motions obscured from 
  the rest of the room.
  Carialles hand signs were equally discreet. "We have our bores, too."
  A soft sound woke Keff in his cabin. He opened his eyes to the darkness.
  "Yes? Who's there?"
  "Keff?" Carialle's voice came very softly from his aural implant. "Come on forward. 
  I'm getting clearer transmissions from Planet Four. I think you want to hear these."
  Keff pulled on a pair of exercise pants and padded out into the cabin. A soft hum, the 
  sound of the frogs breathing, came from behind the closed room across the corridor. 
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  Carialle illuminated a faint line of blue along the wall to guide him. He slid into his 
  chair.
  "We just came into range where I could pick up those faint radio signals intact. I think 
  it's telephone conversations, words and pictures."
  "Really?" Keff asked, interested enough to wake up almost all the way. "And are they 
  the griffins?"
  "See for yourself."
  "Paydirt!" Keff exclaimed in an excited hiss. He glanced over his shoulder to see if the 
  Cridi had heard him. He turned bade for another good look.
  In the tank in front of him, a long, narrow image took shape. The being pictured was 
  indeed a griffin. It was younger and slighter than any of the brutes the team had left 
  behind in the Cridi system. It put the tips of its wing-claws together under its chin in a 
  sort of namaste, then let the wings flip around to its back.
  "Freihur," it said, the slit upper lip opening and closing breathily. "Solahiaforn. 
  Zsihivonachaella." A burst of static broke up the picture, and it reformed around the 
  speaker saying, "… Volpachur."
  "You're right," Keff said. "It does sound like half a telephone conversation. I'm 
  surprised you haven't picked up any mass communication channels."
  "Maybe they don't have any," Carialle said. "But isn't this better?"
  "A thousand times," Keff said, feeling for the keypad to activate IT. The server 
  controlling the translation program beeped softly to tell him it was operating. "I might 
  be able to separate out some appropriate phrases between now and our arrival. Starting 
  with 'hello,' if that's what that first word meant. 'Freihur,'" he said, trying it out with a 
  trill of his tongue. "How close are we?"
  "About five days," Carialle said. "… Keff, I feel uneasy."
  He felt a twinge of anxiety for her, and gazed at her pillar as if it might give him some 
  clue how to help her. "I know how much of a strain this is on you, personally. You 
  know I'm for you, all the way. I simply don't know how much I can help, if we run 
  into — into anybody."
  Carialle sighed. "I don't know how I'll react. But thank you for your support. This is 
  the best way to lay my personal demons."
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  "You're right," Keff said, settling himself more comfortably in front of the screen. 
  "And with this I now stand a better chance of cooperation. This is what I was wishing 
  for after the Cridi froze those griffins. How bad is the gain? Can you get me some 
  more?"
  "Cued up and waiting for you, Sir Knight," Carialle said, feeling better in the face of 
  Keff's enthusiasm.
  At the beginning of day shift, Carialle watched the Cridi on the other ship reacting 
  with surprise to seeing Keff already up before them. Narrow Leg immediately intuited 
  that something important was afoot.
  "What is new?" he asked, in Standard, making his way to the screen nearest the 
  console.
  "Good morning, captain," Keff said, still staring at the griffin on the screen, a delicate, 
  sable-furred one with a chip on its front left fang. He swiveled toward the screen. 
  "Language lessons."
  'The beasts!" Narrow Leg exclaimed, his hands flying.
  "We're close enough to pick up their low-power transmissions," Carialle said, 
  forwarding receiver data to the Cridi technical operator. "I think it's a tower-based, 
  amplitude-modulated system."
  "Indeed? The monsters have come far," the Cridi captain said. "No electronics were 
  reported many years past."
  "How long?" Keff asked. "My own species went from wood stoves to satellite 
  technology in the same generation."
  The Cridi opened his large mouth wide, then closed it. "I have forgotten that progress 
  moves tenfold, and tenfold again. It is long since my people discovered non-motor 
  engines."
  "Mine, too," Keff said. "It looks like these people made their leap much more 
  recently."
  "Have done so without morals," the Cridi said, almost dismissively. "We shall have 
  much to say to them on that subject."
  Keff held up his hands. "Slow down a little, Narrow Leg. I've barely learned how to 
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  say 'Greetings,' in their language. It is going to take time."
  "We shall help you," Narrow Leg said, resolutely. "It is better to work on a project 
  that will advance our understanding than spend time playing puzzles." He shot an 
  impatient glance at his crew, who were now involved in an interactive game with the 
  brainship.
  "I'll take care of that," Carialle said cheerfully. She reached into her peripherals for her 
  game function and clicked it off. Screens all over the Cridi ship went blank, and she 
  heard outraged peeps. Disappointed crew members, suddenly noticing that their 
  captains eye was upon them, immediately tried to look busy.
  "I'll tight-beam them all the linguistic data we have so far," she said.
  'Think of it as a new land of game," Keff said, more lightly than he felt. "We're 
  stalking the wild syntax in its lair."
  "No. It is rather another weapon in our hand," the Cridi captain said. "This is the 
  confirmation we have sought, after all: that the marauders are here. That is where 
  retribution begins."
  "No!" Carialle interrupted him, with a touch of alarm. "Captain, we are investigating 
  this system to gather information, not start an interstellar war. We're not armed."
  "No, you are not, but we are."
  "With respect, Captain, we must — and will — stand between you and the griffins if 
  you start a conflict."
  "Even though yours have also died at their hands." The old male made it a statement 
  instead of a question.
  Keff gulped, the memory of the dead on the asteroid clear in his mind. "That only 
  makes what we have to do that much harder, Narrow Leg. That is the unhappy part of 
  diplomacy."
  "In the end such an outcome can only be a tragedy," Narrow Leg said, with a sudden 
  expression of sympathy. "I shall not be the one to sacrifice our friendship. We will 
  help you."
  The radio transmissions from the griffin homeworld were primitive and infrequent, 
  but as the two ships neared it, Carialle had no trouble capturing and translating the 
  broadcasts into pictures and sound.
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  The files they'd gotten from the pirate base computer were put to one side. To Keff 
  and IT those had been no help at all. The overlay of narration in musical horn-call on 
  the astrogation file was unreliable as a point of comparison between the two 
  languages. Where Central Worlds had long commentary on a particular system, there 
  might be a single phrase or two of description in griffin. On a star-chart dismissed by 
  the CW astrogators in four sentences as unimportant, Keff listened to a three-minute 
  horn solo that sounded beautiful, but meant nothing to IT. He couldn't separate the 
  language into words. Here and there, a word in the griffin speech sounded like the CW 
  name for a system: "Farkash," for "Barkus," and so on. The difference was due to the 
  griffin facial physiognomy. Keff wondered what had happened to the human computer 
  operator who had told them how to use the system and pronounced some of the names 
  for them.
  In the live transmissions from the planet, Keff saw the creatures speaking in colloquial 
  dialect. After several hours of listening to tape after tape, he was delighted to begin to 
  discern patterns. Each of the messages began with the same word or words of 
  greeting: "Freihur." Keff had his "hello."
  "This is my Rosetta stone," he told Tall Eyebrow, with a flourish. 'This is the way we 
  can begin to understand the language."
  The Frog Princes eyes shone. He and Big Eyes sat with Keff while he was trying to 
  make some sense out of the griffin tapes during that first day. They imitated the 
  phrases they heard, only two or three octaves higher, flutes playing alongside 
  trombones and trumpets. Keff thought they had reasonably good ears, but it was only 
  music to them. They still lacked any concept of meaning. The Cridi were better at 
  concrete, spatial concepts, rather than abstract, but they retained perfectly what he told 
  them. IT began to pick out sentence patterns, even separating word roots where they 
  were repeated in different combinations. Carialle now had thousands of "telephone 
  conversations" from which Keff could work. He was steadily gleaning vocabulary, 
  where the caller occasionally showed an object to his or her callee. None of it was 
  much help; he doubted he'd have occasion to refer to plants, babies, mixing bowls, or 
  necklaces in a diplomatic conversation, but the use of noun and pronoun patterns was 
  useful. Some of the extra memory that the CW had thoughtfully provided Carialle for 
  the diplomatic mission was coming in very handy. They'd have to see what they could 
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  do about keeping it when they returned to base.
  Keff stayed at the console, still working on the language question when the Cridi went 
  off for baths and bed. He half-listened to the excited chirps of conversation coming 
  from the spare cabin as the frogs discussed the days discovery. Soon, the noise died 
  away, and he glimpsed the light go out just before the cabin door slid shut.
  He was concerned about what he would find when they made orbit, or landed on the 
  griffin homeworld. Would they have to run for their lives? Were they blundering 
  blindly into a trap? And how would the Cridi react? It would be the end of his and 
  Carialle's careers if they deliberately put the elements together for an interstellar 
  conflict.
  And he was concerned about Carialle's state of mind. Their duties as hosts and 
  teachers had taken up much of the personal time they usually spent together. For the 
  first time in years he couldn't guess what she was thinking.
  Her determination to pursue the hunt had led her to concentrate most of her attention 
  on it. Her theory that the griffin ship was transiting frequently between the Cridi 
  system and the one next door was borne out by the discovery of the wispy threads of 
  many ion trails. They were delicate, hard to see, and remarkably easy to overshoot. 
  Carialle did a lot of backtracking when the thin traces broke and .drifted away where 
  they'd been disturbed by anomalies such as ion storms or comets. Picking up the aud/
  vid broadcasts and confirming that they were heading for the griffin stronghold should 
  have made her relax, but she seemed more concentrated than ever. Multiplexing 
  astrogation, running the ship, playing M&L with the Cridi, maintaining lines of 
  communication and acting as data librarian pulled her attention in a dozen directions 
  at once. Keff worried that in the midst of it all she was thinking too hard about what 
  lay ahead. What if this turned out to be another dry hole in her search for the beings 
  that once threatened her life and sanity? Where would they go next? The team was 
  risking censure and worse by CenCom, and Maxwell-Corey in particular, by ignoring 
  their orders, and yet they couldn't stay off-line forever. Sooner or later they had to 
  communicate, no matter what that brought in return. True, circumstances had changed 
  a routine mission into an emergency, but would the IG see it that way? M-C already 
  doubted the soundness of Carialle's emotions, enough to jeopardize his own position 
  by rigging her with a telltale missile.
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  Keff felt his face grow hot, and realized he was still just as mad about M-C's 
  impossible gall as he had been when the message probe had launched. He stood up 
  from the console, commanding IT to save his last hour's progress. Then, he plunked 
  himself down on his exercise bench and started pulling on the weight bars until he 
  began to breathe in rhythm. Soon, the resentment was driven out by the simple beat of 
  the weights clapping together. The tension melted away, replaced by the honest 
  warmth of a good workout. Eyes closed, he smiled at the ceiling.
  "Penny for them," Carialle's voice said.
  He opened his eyes, but continued to haul on the pulleys. "I was just thinking we 
  haven't talked in a long time. Just the two of us."
  "I've been missing that, too," she said, regretfully. "It takes a lot out of a girl, playing 
  hostess nonstop."
  "Same here," Keff said, giving one last massive flex of his shoulders that took all the 
  tension out of the part of his back between the scapulae, and let the weights down 
  gently. "Just now I'm tempted to agree with the IGs assessment that we're nuts."
  "Still doubt we're doing the right thing?"
  "I wonder," Keff said. He stood up and reached for a towel slung over the back of the 
  Rotoflex. "These people trust us enough to accompany them into the great unknown 
  on their very first spaceflight, with their very first working ship after being grounded 
  for fifty years. So many things could go wrong!"
  "But they haven't, Sir Keff," Carialle said, manifesting her Lady Fair image on the 
  wall. It was outlined in white. Keff smiled at her, feeling as if he was meeting an old 
  and beloved friend again after a long, lonely separation. It occurred to him, with 
  characteristic wry humor that it had been a long time since he'd seen a flesh-and-blood 
  woman, either. Time enough for that at mission's end. "Don't over anticipate, my dear 
  friend. I'm not, I promise you. Don't worry about specifics. Just keep on your toes."
  "Stand and deliver!" a man's baritone voice barked from beside him. Keff jumped to 
  one side, putting the weight bench between himself and the rude looking villain in a 
  tunic standing in a torchlit doorway. The /man was leveling a fearsome sword at his 
  throat. Keff grinned ferociously and edged toward his laser epee, slung handily across 
  the back of one of the crash couches. He realized Carialle had created the aural effect 
  by activating only his left ear implant. The villain paced him with his swordpoint, his 
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  black brows lowered over narrow eyes.
  "Clever, lady," Keff said. With a quick lift and slide, he unsheathed his sword, and 
  assumed the en garde position.
  "Put 'em up," she said, in the enemy's deep voice. "We both need a good game, just 
  you and me."
  "Right," Keff said, tipping the glowing red point of his blade toward the man's face, 
  and circling it slowly. "Shall we duel with, or without conversation?"
  "Oh, with," Carialle said, making the man's image grin ferally. "With, of course."
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  CHAPTER 13
  « ^ »
  The audio channels were full of excited chirping as Carialle and the Cridi ship 
  shifted into orbit over the griffin homeworld.
  "We are here!" Tall Eyebrow exclaimed with delight from the crash couch where he 
  was strapped in with Big Eyes. "We have succeeded in reaching this place, all 
  together and with no mishap."
  Keff watched as on-screen the clouds parted gently beneath them to reveal a vast and 
  mountainous continent, wedge-shaped, strung from north to south like a harp with 
  silver rivers. On the horizon ahead, a small silver moon rose. Carialle hurtled onward 
  until it passed overhead, and set behind them. A second, larger moon followed, and 
  vanished in turn. A blue ocean swam up, flashed green islands at them, and was 
  replaced by another continent, long and narrow, also mountainous. Keff could see 
  lines of smoke from active volcanoes. Another ocean glided by, this one wider than 
  the first, then the harp reappeared, much closer and larger. Cities showed up in the 
  folds of the mountains, very near the peaks. On extreme magnification, Carialle saw 
  small craft flying, then realized she was seeing griffins on the wing. She showed Keff 
  and the Cridi, who cheeped and peeped over the marvel.
  Keff, listening as Carialle monitored active broadcast frequencies for a homing signal, 
  caught Big Voice giving a live play-by-play of the new planet for the benefit of 
  listeners on his homeworld.
  "Eleven to the sixth power inhabitants, five oceans, two major continents, but many 
  archipelagoes. Signs are humidity equals point-one atmosphere," Big Voice stated, 
  with great emphasis on the statistics. "It will be uncomfortably dry and hot, but the 
  landing party is prepared for eventualities."
  Keff grinned and turned to catch the eyes of the Cridi flying with him.
  "Always," Big Eyes said, exasperation evident on her small face. She waved her hands 
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  in derisive gesture.
  Long Hand watched Carialle's telemetry indicators. "So dry," she said. "It is like 
  Ozran. Some in the other ship will never have experienced such conditions."
  "Well, you'll be in water globes," Keff said. "That is, after I make contact and 
  establish parley conditions. I don't want you appearing until I'm sure no one is going 
  to attack us."
  "Huh," Small Spot grunted, and raised his hand to show the gleaming ringer stalls. "I 
  do not fear. We have the Cores."
  "Don't manifest anything that looks like a threat," Keff said.
  Tall Eyebrow was studying the astrogation tank carefully, measuring the distance 
  between the two stars that they had just crossed.
  "So close. It is a great pity," he said. "These people could have been friends of Cridi 
  and Ozran."
  "They still could be," Keff reminded him. "Try to keep an open mind. It may be a 
  fringe group of criminals who've been robbing spaceships. If the government promises 
  to punish the pirates, you could still establish friendly relations — form a 
  Mythological Federation of Planets."
  "If they themselves are not involved," Tall Eyebrow said, his small face thoughtful.
  The ship rounded the planet twice more at high altitude before beginning to drop. The 
  harp separated into successive bands of tan and blue.
  "I've pinpointed the largest population centers," Carialle said, illuminating lie 
  planetary map, "but in spite of Keff's suggestions I don't want to land right in the thick 
  of things. Some nice suburban location… X marks the spot. I think I detected a flat 
  place I can land."
  A blue dot began to glow on the chart about fifty kilometers outside one of the large 
  cities. Narrow Leg's navigator glanced up from her console at the screen nearest him, 
  and nodded to Keff. "Defenses are in place. Yours, too."
  "Right," Keff said, taking a deep breath. "Down we
  Narrow Leg's ship had dropped back to ride into the lower atmosphere on Carialle's 
  tail. Watching her waveform monitor, she was pleased by the precision that the pilot 
  showed, not getting too close and endangering them both, but staying just far enough 
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  back that the end of the elongated oval envelope just nipped his afterburners. You'd 
  think he'd been doing it all his life. The hull sensors went off, indicating Carialle's skin 
  temperature had risen to normal reentry temperatures. She checked the hull for leaks 
  in either the skin plates or in the cooling pods underneath. All was well. The Cridi 
  pilot signalled that he would stay in long orbit, and wished Carialle well.
  "We will wait for word to come," he said in creditable Standard.
  "See you downstairs," Carialle said, as the Cridi braked, and sailed on above her head.
  Her last, long approach was almost entirely over ocean. She descended very quickly, 
  keeping her speed up until the last minute. She hadn't noticed any telemetry beacons, 
  nor radar signals, as if there wasn't a single ear pointed toward space. Strange when 
  you considered that these people were parasites, preying on the isolated Cridi, that 
  they wouldn't be more cautious about invasion of their own airspace. If she'd had 
  functioning saliva glands, she'd have spat.
  "All well, Cari?" Keff asked.
  "Yes," she said crisply, increasing visual magnification and turning it toward her 
  chosen landing site. "Are you certain we shouldn't land in a covert location? It's 
  possible. Unless that clunky communication system is concealing a much more 
  sophisticated technology underneath, no one can see me."
  "No," Keff said. He had prepared his environment suit and kit before strapping in for 
  approach. The light, transparent gloves flapped loose at his wrists as he clutched the 
  ends of his couch arms. "We're not going in to study them. We're entering as envoys 
  of peace, I hope. If nothing else, this will put them on notice that we have observed 
  their people's crimes, and demand cessation of hostilities. What can they do? Attack 
  the entire CW?"
  "It looks as if that was just what they have been doing," Carialle said softly. "One ship 
  at a time. Be careful."
  "As Big Voice and the other Cridi are always reminding me, lady, we have the Cores. 
  I'll be fine."
  Unsatisfied, Carialle returned the greater part of her attention to what lay ahead. 
  Gravity was approximately 1.2 times Standard. That meant those griffin wings had to 
  lift just that much more and stay aloft in very windy skies. They were strong. Keff 
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  didn't have the advantage he'd had on the base, when they were all fighting that 
  oppressive gravity. He would tire more quickly than they. Carialle maintained respect 
  for the griffins' musculature, having studied the scans all the way from one star to the 
  other. She was trying hard not to admire the fact their bodies, from about the 
  shoulders back, looked like a Terran great cat, a species which she was fond of 
  watching for its grace. And those claws and teeth!
  Beneath her, the tiny islands flitted by. Volcanic in nature, they had been augmented 
  in size by the growth of a calcifying organism like coral, but less acid sensitive. Her 
  imagination and pattern recognition aptitude saw in the shapes of the most proximate 
  four islets a dragonfly, a chick, an old-fashioned handbag, and a ketchup bottle. 
  Vegetation on the islands was of the same gaudy colors as in the pirate base 
  conservatory; not as vivid, but healthier. That heavy-ammonia atmosphere must not 
  have been good for griffin-world plant life, either. The trace in this air was much, 
  much lower, below half a percent. Keff could almost get along with just eyedrops and 
  nose filters, but she insisted he wear a full envirosuit. She knew she was being too 
  protective, like a mother running after her child with overshoes. Keff meant so much 
  to her she felt an unhealthy twinge of fear at the thought that the griffins might be able 
  to get past the Cridi's impressive shield and harm him. Quickly, she purged toxins 
  from her internal system, and allowed a dose of serotonin and stimulants to enter her 
  bloodstream. She felt better at once. Keff wasn't a child. He had had plenty of 
  experience in worse situations than this. He always sounded as if he was about to do 
  something rash, but he also possessed a healthy sense of self-preservation.
  Carialle passed over the sandy coast, parting the treeoids in her wake. She was low 
  enough now that the fliers had noticed her, and some winged to catch up. With a burst 
  of speed for which she immediately chided herself as arrogant, she lost them over the 
  first mountain range. There she noticed broadcast towers, of a design that hadn't been 
  used by the Central Worlds in a thousand years or more.
  "Do you see that, Keff?" she asked. She froze the image, and was ten kilometers past 
  it by the time he responded.
  "Antiquities," he said, leaning forward against the straps over his chest. "Are they still 
  using those?"
  "My monitors say that's where the broadcasts were coming from."
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  "Whew!" Keff said.
  Trimming slightly to follow the contour of the land, she dipped into a valley and up 
  over the next, higher, mountain range. On the other side she found the first flat terrain. 
  Even in the cultivated fields there were traces of the acid rainbow colors. She looked 
  forward to finding out what those bright red grains were.
  "Crops look healthy, but there's very little heavy cover," she said. The Cridi were 
  wide-eyed. She manifested her frog image near Big Eyes.
  "Enjoying yourself?" she asked.
  "Yes!" the Cridi squeaked, grinning in the human fashion. Clutching Tall Eyebrow 
  with one arm, she signed with the other hand. "A new landscape, the first! Videos of 
  original landings and colonies do not compare to own eyes!"
  In the other ship Carialle could see the entire crew glued to the 3-D tanks. She was 
  glad they felt the way she and Keff did about exploration. The Cridi would be a 
  wonderful addition to Central Worlds. When M-C finally allowed the documents to be 
  signed, that was.
  "Look, that's a spaceport," Keff said, picking out a distant feature on the horizon after 
  they cleared the next mountain ridge. He peered at the spiky growths poking up from 
  the flat plain on the terrain map. "That is a spaceport, isn't it? Yes! Look, you can fit 
  right in! Just land there."
  "I intended to," Carialle said, impatiently, as she was already dumping velocity. She 
  extended visuals to extreme magnification, trying to discern the landing pads, and find 
  herself an empty slot to set down.
  "What a collection of derelicts!" she exclaimed in dismay. "I'm never going to pass for 
  one of those. I refuse to try. I do have my pride."
  Keff leaned up to peer at the screen and signalled for more magnification. Carialle 
  flung up the image she was viewing. The tiny irregular shapes on the cabin screen 
  suddenly took focus.
  "Great stars, you're right," Keff exclaimed, looking as if he didn't know whether to 
  laugh or not. "Those look like they've been cobbled together by committees of people 
  who'd once heard a rumor of a story about a spaceship."
  "I have no idea how one of those would fly," Carialle said, "but hit me with a hammer 
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  if I ever let their ground crew do maintenance on me."
  The field reminded them of the scatter of ship remains on the airless asteroid at the 
  edge of the Cridi system. The three craft that stood on the landing pads had been put 
  together with no practical knowledge of the working details. Exhaust vents were 
  ducted to the outside where they would cause the craft to spin in frictionless space. 
  Fuel tanks were exposed, and in one case, the single hatch hung open to show a 
  control room unprotected by anything so pedestrian as an airlock. And yet two of the 
  ships showed clear signs of having launched and returned safely at least once.
  "My internal scans show no shielding in half the bulkheads." Carialle said. 'The crew 
  must be suffering from fierce radiation poisoning. If they lived."
  "These people are suicidal," Keff said flatly. "Or perhaps they're kamikaze pilots, who 
  refuse to be captured alive."
  Carialle was silent a long time while she studied the ships. "I think it's buck 
  ignorance," she said at last. "All the pieces necessary are there, but the instructions for 
  assembling them were in a non-native language, so they did the best that they could."
  "Like the pedalcycle I had as a boy," Keff said. "No safety backups at all, but it ran."
  "Yes, and that's curious, because the ships that were chasing us had full shields."
  Someone must have passed the word that Carialle was on her way. By the time she 
  had tipped up and was beginning her descent, the field and the sky above it was full of 
  griffins. Some of them fluttered gracefully to the ground at a respectful distance, but 
  Carialle counted over a hundred in the air alone, with more in sight in the distance. 
  Their followers were catching them up.
  "Are they armed, Cari?" Keff asked, surveying the scene with a wary eye.
  "Not with anything that carries a heat signature," she said. "Good heavens, but they're 
  big beasts."
  "Those teeth!" Tall Eyebrow signed, a-goggle at the screen.
  Carialle stepped down magnification to her more immediate location, and settled 
  neatly toward the landing pad between the taller of the two jalopy spaceships. 
  Measuring her thrust to the minim, Carialle brought her tail to the ground just as her 
  engines shut off.
  "Swank," Keff said, grinning. "You look like a candle on a minefield, lady love."
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  "I intend to outclass the competition right from the start," she said. "All psychological 
  advantage we can gain will be to our benefit, if we ever get to a point where we can 
  negotiate."
  "I'm ready," Keff said. "Listen: 'Freihur, co nafri da an colaro, yaro.'" The IT unit on 
  his chest recited in Standard, "Greetings, leader you me take go, please."
  "That's fine, if that's what those words mean," Carialle said, skeptically. "Trying to 
  guess from context, it still could mean, 'Greetings, your sister sells rugs in a zoo.'"
  Keff didn't bother to defend the honor of his translation program.
  "We'll find out," he said, pointing at the short-range screen. "Here come the 
  authorities."
  On the field, a white-sided gurney like a medieval siege tower, rolled toward Carialle. 
  The half dozen griffins operating it moved in jerking haste, showing their excitement. 
  An enclosed tunnel with soft bumpers extended and clamped against Carialle's side.
  "Ah, so that was their design on the remote base," Carialle said. "I'm glad to see they 
  don't steal everything."
  "Easy, Cari. It's showtime," Keff said.
  He stood up and sealed his suit, waiting for the faint hiss as each edge met. With the 
  same care, he put on his helmet, then fastened his gloves. A secure seal. He breathed 
  deeply of the slightly plasticky-tasting air, setting the air-recirculators going. There 
  would be no more sudden breaths of ammonia. He felt excitement warring with nerves 
  in his belly, and told both emotions to quiet down. Another world, another life form 
  on which he would be the first human to step! What an opportunity! It was another 
  notch in his belt, although, technically, Carialle had set foot on the planet first. He 
  pretended to grimace, but he couldn't concentrate on being upset. What would happen 
  to him when he stepped outside the airlock? He wasn't afraid to go, but by the stars, he 
  was wary. On the external screen he could see the crowd of griffins gathered on the 
  landing field. As he was checking his heads-up display, he felt something bump into 
  the back of his legs. He jumped half a meter and spun around in midair.
  "What are you doing?' he asked. In the few moments he had his back turned, the four 
  Cridi had climbed into their travel globes, and they were clustered around his feet.
  "We are coming with you," Tall Eyebrow signed, rolling back a foot or two so he 
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  could look up at Keffs face.
  "Oh, no, you're not," Keff said, accompanying his words with firm gestures. "This 
  could be dangerous. Please stay in here and cover me with your amulets. I'm counting 
  on you."
  "We would share your peril," Tall Eyebrow said earnestly.
  'They tried to kill all of us on that base," Keff pointed out, signalling in exasperation. 
  "Me, they just allowed one of their number to stalk. They went blind mad when they 
  saw you."
  "They know something of Cridi," Long Hand signed, "having killed three ships with 
  Cridi defenses. It cannot have been easy."
  "I do not know why they hate us, since we never did them harm," Big Eyes gestured, 
  her wide mouth pressed into a thin line. "Never in our history have we seen these 
  creatures. We should resent them, but we do not. We only wish to ask why. It is the 
  honor of all Cridi." She added mischievously, "Big Voice would have said so."
  "Big Voice wouldn't be diving straight out into their midst! Give me a chance to get 
  this on a friendly footing, then we'll ask them," Keff said, pleadingly. The Cridi 
  conferred for a moment, exchanging signals with the screen on the wall on which 
  Narrow Leg's face appeared.
  "Very well," Tall Eyebrow said, turning back to Keff. "We wait."
  "Thank you," Keff said formally, with a low bow. He strode into the airlock, and 
  heard the door slide shut and felt the slight drag on his shoulders as Carialle 
  pressurized the cabin around him. His suit inflated slightly around his knees, crotch, 
  elbows, and chest. He braced himself, legs well apart.
  "Now, how's that go?" he said out loud. "Hello. Please take me to your leader. 
  'Freihur, co nafri da an colaro, yaro.'"
  "Relax, you've done it a dozen times," Carialle reassured him. "Hold on, they're 
  scanning me." Keff frowned up at the ceiling.
  'They are? I didn't think they had anything as sophisticated as scanners."
  "I didn't say they were sophisticated scanners. It feels like elephants are walking on 
  my hull," Carialle grumbled. She paused, and Keff heard a low hiss beyond the airlock 
  hatch. "Just a moment — if the race we're about to face is hostile, why are they 
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  pumping a 90/10 nitrox mix into the airlock?"
  "They're what?" Keff demanded.
  "I swear it by my sainted motherboard," Carialle said. "Look for yourself." The 
  monitor beside him lit up with a specroanalysis of comparative atmospheres. "You'll 
  find the air fragrant, too. Plenty of plant esters."
  "Perfume?" Keff felt his jaw drop, and yanked it closed again. "I have to speak to 
  them. Open up." He hurried forward, helmet almost bumping the inner hatch. The 
  door slid partway open, then halted.
  Carialles usually crisp voice was almost tentative. "Be careful, Sir Knight. I'd always 
  rather you return with your shield, than on it."
  "So would I, Lady Fair," he said, cheerfully, his voice echoing in his helmet. "But in 
  this case I've got better armor than any dragon. Alert the Cridi to rev up their Core 
  power, and let me go."
  The airlock slid open onto a wide flexible tube filled with griffins as far as Keff could 
  see. With one hand flat over" his pounding heart, he bowed deeply to them. Two of 
  the great beasts bustled forward, stopping about four paces away, and sat down on 
  their haunches. The narrow clawed hands met under their squared chins in the same 
  gesture of respect he'd seen in a thousand beamed conversations, then the great wings 
  spread as far as they could in the confined space. Then, they waited.
  Keff stepped forward, and copied their moves as nearly as he could. '"Freihur, co nafri 
  da an colaro, yaro,"' he said.
  "In good time, in good time," the lead griffin said, its upper lip splitting to show the 
  gleaming white fangs beneath. "You are most welcome. Are you in need of refueling? 
  Supplies?"
  "Uh… no," Keff said, gawking at the being. "Welcome?" His hands were seized and 
  shaken by all the griffins who could reach him. Wings, claws, and faces flashed by 
  him in a blur. "Carialle, did they… did they…?"
  "… speak Standard?" Carialle finished his question. "They sure did. With a 
  respectable accent, too. How in the black hole did they learn it? When? Who from?"
  "I don't know! How…?"
  "We are so glad to see you, great human," the second griffin said, offering another 
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  namaste. "This is a great honor. Never before has one of yours landed in our place."
  "Where do they usually land?" Keff asked automatically, struggling to make sense of 
  the situation. "Humans! You know other humans! How? Why — when?" His mental 
  drives were overloaded with the new influx of knowledge. "I never saw any 
  communications with humans in your transmissions." But his greeters did not have a 
  chance to answer. A host of smaller griffins pushed past or sailed over the full-sized 
  beasts, and clustered around him.
  "Greetings!" they said, in flutelike voices. "Where do you come from?"
  "What is this for?"
  "This doesn't sound like all the humans they've encountered were captives," Carialle 
  said, pitching her voice low to be heard. "It sounds perhaps as if they were… 
  collaborators?"
  "Don't jump to any conclusions, Cari."
  "I won't, but it sounds pretty suspicious to me," she said.
  Keff spoke over the head of the youngsters surrounding him to the adults beyond. 
  "You know humans?"
  The leaders lip split again. The expression was clearly the griffin version of a smile.
  "Of course, sacred one. You are but testing me. I know of the Melange."
  "Sacred ones?" Keff asked.
  "The Melange?" Carialle asked, in Keff's ear. He waved a hand in front of the camera 
  eye for silence so he could concentrate on what the lead griffin was saying. "Who? I 
  have no entry for any such name in my database."
  "What is Melange?" Keff asked. The leader gave him a puzzled glance that narrowed 
  the center stripe in his large eyes,
  "The Melange," the second one repeated, as if no explanation was really needed.
  "But…?"
  "What are you called, human male-man?" one of the children demanded, tugging at 
  his arm. When he looked down, it drew back, giggling at its own boldness.
  "My name is Keff," he said, bending down to look into their faces. In spite of their 
  size, and their weight, which must have been around fifty kilos each, they were like 
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  any children galaxy-wide: curious, friendly, bold and shy at the same time, and 
  irresistibly cute. They romped around him on all fours.
  "And what does 'Keff' describe?" asked another youngster, pushing in close. Its upper 
  lip opened to show the nares, and it sniffed his hands and knees.
  "Me," Keff said, tapping his chest. A couple of the children grabbed his hand with 
  their wingclaws to examine his gauntlet. They exclaimed over the transparent 
  material, running delicate talon-tips up and down his palm. "I, uh, Keff comes from 
  Kefyn, an ancient name of my people."
  "Poara, vno!" One of the youngsters had discovered the IT on Keffs chest, and pulled 
  it down for a closer look.
  "Uh, please don't touch that," Keff said, pulling his hands free and retaking possession 
  of IT from the enthusiastic fledglings.
  "Vidoro, eha," another child said, and giggled, creeping around behind Keff to feel his 
  clear plastic suit. Keff prided himself on his physical prowess, but these children were 
  effortlessly stronger than he. They butted into his knees, patted his waist and chest. 
  Their affectionate, curious touches had the power of a body blow.
  "Kids, please, enough," he said, holding up his hands as he felt for a wall to brace 
  himself against. The floor bobbed up and down under his feet, and he grabbed for the 
  edge of the airlock. One of the children rose up on hind legs to get a good look at the 
  tubes running from the back of his helmet into his suit, and Keff overbalanced 
  completely. Flailing for a handhold, he toppled toward the adults. The first griffin 
  grabbed his arms in both of its strong claw hands and set him upright.
  "Forgive, sir-madam," the creature said. "My child is bad-mannered."
  "It's sir," Keff said. "He — she? — didn't mean any harm."
  "Are you all right?" Carialle's voice erupted in his ear. "Your heart is running the 
  three-minute mile."
  "I'm fine, Can," Keff assured her in an undertone. The children, restrained from 
  physical contact by their parents, were bombarding him with questions.
  "Do you wish food, human sir? Good food, at the canteen. Human coo-orn, human 
  broccocoli, human meeeat. All good!"
  "Uh, maybe later," Keff said. "Tell me about these humans."
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  "But, sir, you are a human."
  "They are rather charming," Carialle said, "and I don't want to like them. Not yet."
  "I know what you mean," Keff said. "If they're involved in piracy, they must be the 
  most cold-blooded…"
  "What did you say?" One of the youngsters pricked up its fluffy ears. Keff cursed. 
  These beings must have very sharp hearing. "Who are you talking to?"
  "To my friend," Keff said, tapping the IT unit. At least they couldn't hear Carialle. "I 
  am asking her questions."
  "Who is your friend?"
  "Can we meet her?"
  "Your ship is so pretty. Can I go in?"
  "Ask us questions. We know answers!"
  "Excuse me," Keff said, holding up a forefinger to stem the flood, and addressed 
  himself to the first adult. "What is your name, please?"
  "I am Cloudy. My friends here are Shower and Moment." The first Griffin indicated 
  the two nearest him. Others began to call out their names, and Keff decided to count 
  on IT remembering them all for him.
  "What do you call this beautiful world, Cloudy?" he asked.
  'This is Thelerie, at the Center of all things, but you must know that, human sir."
  Keff made the namaste, and saw it repeated by every griffin.
  "I must assure you I do not know all that. I am pleased to be here. Cloudy, I am here 
  for a most important reason."
  The wide smile flashed again. "Ah, so I know. What commodities do you bring to us?"
  "Uh, no commodities. I'm just visiting."
  Carialle's voice was a siren in his ear canal. "I knew it, piracy! They trade in 
  contraband!"
  "Hush, Carialle!" Keff schooled his expression and waited, smiling.
  The griffins looked puzzled, and some of the ones further back exchanged glances. 
  "You are not of the Melange?"
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  "No," Keff said, firmly. "Who are they?"
  "You are teasing us," Shower said, shaking its great head.
  "How do you know humans?" Keff said, pressing. "How do you all speak Standard so 
  well?"
  They looked knowingly at him.
  "You are teasing us," Cloudy said, his upper lip spreading again. "We did not know of 
  humans to be so merry."
  "They are friendly?' asked Tall Eyebrow, rolling out of the open airlock around Keff's 
  feet, with Small Spot and Big Eyes immediately behind. The griffins looked down at 
  the small globes. Tall Eyebrow looked up at them, wearing his best human-type smile. 
  The curious, striped eyes widened.
  "Slllaaayüim!" the aliens shrieked. The large ones grabbed the small ones, and they 
  backpedaled hastily away in the billowing tube. In moments, the long corridor was 
  empty, and bobbing softly. Keff, thrown off his feet by the jouncing, listened to the 
  shrieks outside on the surface as he climbed up again, using the airlock for a 
  handhold, but his gauntlets scrabbled on smooth enamel. As soon as the corridor had 
  broken open to atmosphere, Carialle had slammed the airlock shut.
  "Well, that hasn't changed," Carialle said, into the silence. "Your ancestors must have 
  fought hard, TE."
  "This isn't the way to start a detente," Keff said severely, looking down at the 
  Ozranian. His back and elbows hurt where he'd slipped against the side of the ship. "I 
  wish you'd waited inside as I asked you. Now they'll probably call out the militia."
  "We will protect you," Big Eyes said firmly, showing her fingerstalls.
  Keff swallowed his exasperation. "Please wait here. Please." He held up a hand to 
  forbid any of the Cridi to follow him, and threshed clumsily down the tube toward 
  daylight. Two of the globes levitated and started after him, but he held up a warning 
  hand. The plastic balls subsided to the cloth floor. The Cridi inside them sat down 
  crosslegged in the water at the bottom.
  "We wait," Tall Eyebrow said, disappointedly.
  Lying flat on his belly Keff poked his head out of the end of the corridor. The landing 
  field was deserted. He squinted up into the bright sky, quickly enough to see hundreds 
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  of winged shadows fleeing off in all directions.
  "Damn," he said.
  "At least they aren't calling out the guards," Carialle said in his ear. "No transmissions 
  from this site, and no warm bodies headed in your direction. My, that's a long way 
  down."
  Keff glanced at the ground below him. In their haste, the griffins had shoved the 
  gurney away from the ship. The only way down to the pavement was a drop of almost 
  ten meters.
  "Do you want me to open my ramp?" Carialle asked.
  "No." Keff pulled himself back into the tube and waded back toward the globe-frogs. 
  "I guess you four win, after all. I need an elevator ride to the ground floor."
  To his credit, Tall Eyebrow tried not to look triumphant.
  "We come with you?"
  "Yes, but under conditions," Keff said. "One, you do what I tell you. Two, you stay 
  out of sight until I think it's all right. Three — well, I'll decide on three if I have to. 
  Agreed?"
  The Cridi all nodded vigorously.
  "This visiting of a new world is fun," Big Eyes said, her dark eyes shining.
  "It is," Keff agreed, as they floated out into the sunshine on a wave of Core power. 
  "The worst thing is that we're not the first humans to land here, Cari. After all this, 
  somebody else gets the credit."
  "Cheer up, Sir Keff," Carialle said. "We're in this one for another purpose this time."
  "I just wish all our witnesses hadn't run away," Keff said. He forced himself to stare 
  straight ahead and not look down as the four Cridi carried him toward the mountain 
  city where most of the natives had fled.
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  CHAPTER 14
  « ^ »
  "Four heat traces inside that one," Carialle said, as Keff obligingly swept his 
  sensors toward the nearest house on the edge of town.
  The habitations of the griffins were a peculiar hodgepodge of modern and primitive 
  architecture strewn throughout the ridges of the high mountain reaches. No one 
  seemed to like to live in the valleys. All of the buildings were of stone; unsurprising in 
  a landscape with few trees. Each house had been constructed with considerable 
  physical labor, using handhewn blocks, and yet, on top of this building and the ones 
  visible nearby were delicate metal antennae, the communications transmitters Carialle 
  had detected from space. The houses were roofed and decorated with the local clay, 
  colored blue and green with trace minerals Carialle identified as copper extractives.
  "One thing you can say about them, they do landscape nicely," Carialle commented, 
  focusing on various details in the large yard. "Although the preponderance of rock 
  gardens would get old fairly quickly." ,, "Pee-yew!" Keff said, as the globe frogs 
  floated him over a pit. It was carefully bermed to prevent its strong stench from 
  wafting toward the small blue house, so the only place for the stink to go was straight 
  up, toward him. He gestured with frantic hands.
  "Put me down! Now!" He dipped dangerously towards the cesspit, and waved for 
  attention. "No, not in here, over there." He rose through the air once more. Following 
  his signals, the Cridi set him down in the long grass several meters away from the 
  humped construction. Once on the ground, he could see that it was fitted with wide 
  stone steps leading to the lip, and surrounded by handsome gardens that no doubt 
  benefited from the natural fertilizer.
  "I see you've found the necessary,'" Carialle commented drily.
  "You can laugh," Keff said crossly, triggering the stud that controlled air recirculation. 
  "You didn't smell it. It was so bad that it passed the filters in my suit." Grateful to be 
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  back on his own feet, he patted the nearest Cridi's globe. Small Spot glanced up at him 
  with large, scared eyes.
  "These beasts are not secretly making an attack?" he asked.
  "I don't think so," Keff replied. "It does not appear as if we have much to fear from 
  them. They're afraid of you."
  "Us? They are so many, and we are so few, and yet they do not attack?"
  "It would seem not," Keff said. He squeezed his eyes halfway closed to trigger 
  magnification of the house. "Those wires are very new," Keff said. "The contacts have 
  yet to oxidize in spite of the chlorinated atmosphere."
  "I am finding it very difficult to believe they continue to live in a semi-primitive state 
  like this after having developed space travel," Carialle said.
  "Focused application of technology?" Keff wondered out loud. "Perhaps they have a 
  cultural prohibition against wholesale changes in the environment."
  "Yes, but Keff, even sustainable technology could take care of that midden heap in a 
  more aesthetic and less odiferous fashion. Side by side with electric light and 
  telecommunications is that complicated system of water-wheels for ventilation."
  "Yes," Big Eyes said. "Why do they not use electricity to run water mills and to 
  ventilate? Much more efficient."
  "Tradition?" Keff asked, but he wasn't convinced either.
  "It's as if all this doesn't belong, as if it has been imposed on the landscape," Carialle 
  said. "Looking-at it with an artists eye, it doesn't make sense. Some scientific 
  advances are used for one purpose, but all other uses are ignored."
  Big Eyes, accustomed to luxuries available at the flick of a finger, stared around her at 
  the dry landscape with puzzled eyes. "So barren," she said. "Bleak, primitive."
  Tall Eyebrow suddenly looked very sad. "Very much like home on Sky Clear," he 
  gestured. Big Eyes caught the expression on his face, and attempted to apologize.
  "It is only that I am not used to it," she said hastily, both in voice and sign. "I do not 
  mean such things cannot be considered attractive."
  "I'm going to go speak to the beings in the house," Keff signed, distracting them both 
  from a potentially embarrassing exchange. "Stay close, but don't come out until I 
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  signal for you."
  With the Cridi in their globes staying low in the tall, crisp grass, Keff circled out of 
  the yard and made his way to the front. A wide but low door, elaborately molded 
  bronze to match the shutters of the wide windows, lay in the exact center of the side of 
  the house, facing a lane.
  "Not much in the way of roadbuilders," Carialle said. "But would you be, if you could 
  fly everywhere?"
  "Not I," Keff said. He raised his hand to knock, then noticed a cluster of bells hanging 
  just under the eaves. "That's right. They haven't much in the way of knuckles, have 
  they?" He jangled the bells with his fingertips.
  In a few moments, the door swung wide. A noseless lion face appeared at his chest 
  level.
  "Freihur?" the griffin asked. Its strange eyes darkened as its visitor registered on its 
  consciousness, and it sat back on its haunches. "Za, humancaldifaro!"
  "Yes, I'm human. My name is Keff. How do you do? Do you speak Standard?" Keff 
  asked, politely, airing the griffin language he'd elicited from Carialles telephone tap.
  "I… yes! Welcome," the griffin said in Standard, in seeming befuddlement. It passed 
  wing-hands over its golden fur, grooming it back into place. "Enter, yaro."
  Keff followed his host into the low house. The interior was arranged rather like a nest. 
  All the furniture was made for sinking into or settling on. The big, fluffy pillows 
  looked comfortable. The heavy gravity was wearing on his muscles in spite of the 
  assistance of Core power. Keff would have enjoyed flopping down on the cushion 
  with the silky covering that lay under a sunny window amid potted plants. The 
  windows were unglazed, a blessing in the heat, but were all fitted with screens of a 
  microfine weave to keep out the blowing dust.
  Keff was about to ask his host to take him to its leader when he noticed a large square 
  device with a screen on top of it, and a sling shoved hastily to one side. On the screen, 
  another griffin face was peering out. He'd probably interrupted an important gossip 
  session, then realized that his host was looking at him with fearful anticipation.
  "Vaniah? Vaniah, soheoslayim, commeadyoslayim Thelerieya," the caller on the 
  screen said. Thelerie the host didn't know which way to go. At last, it plunged away 
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  from Keff and punched a button on the box below the others image. The screen went 
  black.
  "Word spreads," Carialle said. "Better to take the bullfrog by the horns."
  "You're quite right," Keff said, and whispered into his helmet. By the time his host 
  turned around, the four Cridi were clustered around his feet on the stone floor. The 
  Thelerie backpedaled, protecting its face with folded wings. Its claws scrabbled, and it 
  felt for a piece of furniture to sink down into.
  "It's true, you see," Keff said, standing in the doorway so the griffin couldn't flee. 
  "These are my friends. They are harmless and friendly, and wish to come with me to 
  meet your government. Can you help us?"
  "They are not killers?" the griffin asked. Its pupils were spread out across its eyes. "I 
  have children…" It glanced nervously toward the corridor. Keff guessed the young 
  ones were beyond one of the two closed doors he could see.
  "No," he hurried to assure the Thelerie. "They are civilized beings, who only wish to 
  speak."
  "Greetings," Tall Eyebrow said, rolling up in his globe. The griffin's ears swiveled 
  forward.
  "I did not know they can speak."
  "They can and do," Keff said.
  "This is like… toys," the Thelerie said, tipping a wary wing-hand toward the globes.
  "Means of conveyance," Keff said. 'Tour world is too dry for them. They are 
  accustomed to a very wet climate. They are at a disadvantage here."
  "Ah." The griffin paused to consider. Its eyes lost some of the expression of terror.
  "You can almost hear the wheels turn in its head," Carialle said. "The monsters are 
  vulnerable.'"
  "You will be assisting in the cause of global peace," Keff said, encouragingly, hoping 
  to make the wheels turn in the right direction. "And think of the gossip you'll be able 
  to pass on to your friends."
  The griffin's upper lip split widely, and its pupils narrowed. "I am not forgetting that," 
  it said, with good humor. "What do you want of me?"
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  "Will you take me to your leader?" Keff asked.
  "I thought that griffin would break the sound barrier flying home," Carialle said, as 
  Keff stood on the balcony looking after it.
  "And why not?" Keff asked, making sure he had a good grip on the rail while he 
  brushed fine yellow silt from his suit. The broad, stone building about four levels high 
  was the tallest building in the city. This flat parapet appeared to be the landing pad for 
  Thelerie visiting the structure, avoiding the dusty plain below. Keff felt at a 
  disadvantage as the only being on the planet, including the Cridi visitors, who had no 
  means of independent aerial propulsion. "He's got the exclusive story of the century, 
  but he couldn't go and tell it until he got us here. Or was it a she?"
  "But where is here?" Tall Eyebrow wanted to know. Keff and the Cridi were clustered 
  out of sight of anyone looking up.
  "Central government," Keff said, rapping with his knuckles on the light, metal 
  window frame. "Or so our guide said. We ought to be uninterrupted at least until he 
  gets back to his screen. That should be enough time to make our presence known. 
  Ah," he said as the gauze-screened doors opened onto a broad room. Two large 
  griffins in leather harness met his eyes with open-mouthed astonishment. "Excuse me. 
  I would like to speak to the being in charge." He threw a glance over his shoulder, but 
  the Cridi globes had hovered up out of sight. "Wait for my signal," he said, with his 
  lips close together.
  "We waiting," said a soft voice in his helmet receiver.
  "So am I," Carialle said.
  Keff marched behind his escort down a wide corridor to a chamber, like a huge eyrie. 
  The outward-slanting walls and square pillars were of a mahogany-colored stone, 
  carved sumptuously in relief, and polished to a gleam. Tiny lamps glimmered in 
  sconces around the walls. Keff saw that they were flames, but of intense brightness for 
  their small size. A dozen Thelerie with white tufts in their golden fur conversed 
  respectfully with one whose coat was nearly entirely white. All of them lounged on 
  embroidered pads before individual carved tables. Near the walls, a dozen or more 
  young and muscular-looking Thelerie sat, holding sharpened bronze weapons that 
  resembled a cross between short jai-alai sticks and back-scratchers. In the corner was 
  a griffin playing on a stringed instrument like a huge dulcimer. The music stopped 
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  when the musician spotted Keff. The brawn bowed deeply, and addressed himself to 
  the eldest Thelerie.
  "Greetings. I am Keff. My partner, Carialle, and I come in friendship, as a 
  representative of the Central Worlds, to extend the compliments of our government, 
  and to voice grievances brought by some of our member worlds."
  'Then you must come in," the elder said, rising from his cushion, and extending his 
  wing-hands toward Keff in a companionable gesture. "You are welcome. I am 
  Noonday, Sayas of Thelerie. These are the Ro-sayo, the assembly of the wise."
  Murmurs broke out in the chamber as Keff strode between the guards to the center of 
  the room. He bowed to each of the councillors, centering their faces for his chest 
  camera and Carialle.
  "Slayim," he heard repeated over and over again. "Slayim."
  "Word has already spread here of our arrival," Carialle said. "Slayim, slayim, slayim."
  "Slime," Keff said under his breath, suddenly enlightened. "That's what they've been 
  calling the Cridi."
  "For their wet skins," Carialle said. "An uncomplimentary but not unreasonable 
  pejorative. But it's a Standard word."
  "It won't remain a mystery long, I hope. May I address this assembly?" Keff asked 
  Noonday. The leader, after looking around at the others and meeting their eyes, 
  nodded his great head.
  "Not all speak your tongue, but I shall translate for those of us who do not understand."
  "Thank you," Keff said, adjusting IT to pick up the leaders voice. "But first, I must 
  introduce you to your nearest neighbors among the stars."
  He stepped past Noonday's cushion and up to the great casement behind him. With a 
  flourish, he threw open the windows, and the four Cridi globes sailed up and in on a 
  wave of wind and dust.
  "Slime!"
  Brandishing their back-scratchers, the guards at once dove for the four small globes, 
  but they rebounded against another unseen wall of force. They fought and tore at 
  obdurate nothingness with hysterical fury on their big, flat faces.
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  Gawking, the elderly Ro-sayo leaped off their cushions. They tried to break for the 
  door, the other windows, even out past Keff, who flattened himself against a pillar out 
  of the way. The Thelerie all but rebounded off invisible barriers put there by Cridi 
  Core power, and rushed to the next possible route of escape. Noonday held his place, 
  but he looked aghast.
  "You dare to bring our enemy here?" he asked Keff.
  Keff hurried to the center of the chaos with his hands outstretched above his head.
  "Please! They are not your enemy! They mean you no harm. My friends are called the 
  Cridi. They are your closest neighbors in this part of the galaxy. Their planet circles 
  the twin of your star. They wish to speak because they feel a great wrong has been 
  done them."
  "They?" one of the councillors said. It was backed into a corner, its eyes were huge 
  with fear. Its wings were spread out, claw hands poised to defend. "They feel 
  wronged?"
  They do," Keff said. "All they ask of you is that you listen to them. Please!"
  It took some more moments of scrabbling at the air to realize that though the Thelerie 
  could not leave the chamber, nothing else ill was happening to them. After many 
  glances over their shoulders at the little plastic balls in the middle of the room, they 
  soon stopped hammering on the doors and walls and windows. The small, green aliens 
  sat in the water at the bottom of their travel globes, almost hidden by the circle of 
  guards. The first Thelerie to have spoken closed its big wings, and daringly edged 
  back toward its cushion.
  That's good," Keff said, his voice soothing. Noondays voice sounded forth one of their 
  multisyllabic sentences like the mellowest of brass horns. "Won't everyone else please 
  sit down?"
  They fear us so," Big Eyes signed, her hands shaking. She was almost invisible behind 
  the wings of the guards, but Keff heard her small voice over his helmet speaker. "I 
  guessed nothing of this. For so many years, we pictured the destroyer of spaceships as 
  great unknown."
  "And they saw you as unmentionable monsters," Keff said. He moved in and pushed 
  the guards aside. "We must put an end to those misunderstandings now, and discover 
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  the truth."
  The guards looked to the Sayas for direction. At Noonday's nod, they withdrew to a 
  distance of only three meters and settled onto their haunches. Keff sensed that they 
  were not really relaxed, but ready to pounce again if needed. Slowly, all of the griffins 
  but one resumed their places. The last, a young and slender councillor, found that its 
  pad was closest to the Cridi. It crept close, set a single foot on the cushion, then fled, 
  shrieking, to pound on the door again.
  "Jurrelanyaro! Jurrelanyaro, yaro!" it cried. Keff walked between the cushions to the 
  end of the chamber, feeling every head swivel to follow him. He stopped and bowed 
  to put a gentle hand on the Theleries back. It jumped a meter in the air, its wings 
  outspread, and landed facing the brawn.
  "I am a human," Keff said, softly but clearly. 'Tour people trust humans. I mean you 
  no harm. I promise you will not be harmed. Will you trust me?"
  The beasts striped pupils fluctuated wide to narrow to wide. It may not have 
  understood his words, but it seemed to comprehend his tone. It nodded its head. Keff 
  stepped out a pace or so from the wall, and offered an encouraging hand.
  "Come, then, and take your rightful place," he said. It followed him like a tame deer, 
  all the while staring timorously at the Cridi. At Keffs signal, the globe-frogs stayed 
  absolutely still. The young Thelerie settled down on all four legs, but its wings were 
  open halfway, literally ready for flight. Keff turned to find that Noonday was smiling 
  at him.
  "You must have young of your own," the Sayas said. "We listen."
  "Thank you," Keff said. "I would like to introduce the Cridi. You call them the Slime, 
  but that is not their right name. Cridi." Noonday repeated his words in the musical 
  Thelerie language. Keff smiled to himself as some of the beings around the room tried 
  the foreign word on their tongues. "My companions are Tall Eyebrow, leader of the 
  Cridi of the Sky Clear colony; Big Eyes, one of the eight conclave council members of 
  their homeworld of Cridi; Small Spot and Long Hand, both of Sky Clear. Since, 
  unexpectedly, we share a common tongue, you may hear in their own voices the 
  complaints that they have."
  Every eye turned toward the Cridi. Keff sensed how nervous the four were, but they 
  held themselves bravely upright. When one of the globes wavered slightly out of line, 
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  Tall Eyebrow brought it back to its place with a sharp gesture from the wrist. Big Eyes 
  rolled closest to him, and matched hands with him on the inside of their globes. 
  Gradually, the assembly was quiet, awaiting.
  "But they cannot speak for themselves," a white-headed Thelerie said, breaking the 
  silence. 'They are only creatures."
  "They are not," Keff said. "In my ship I have video of their homework!, and I assure 
  you their attainments in art and science are most impressive."
  "Impossible. They are dumb animals!"
  "We can speak," Tall Eyebrow said, projecting his voice to carry as well as it could 
  from his small plastic bubble. His words caused a sensation. As the hubbub grew 
  louder, his high voice cut through the noise like a cutting torch. "But we choose Sir 
  Keff to speak for us."
  "Thank the stars for that," Noonday said, removing the wing-fingers from his ears. 
  Telling the truth, your voices are painful. We are not aware of any wrong that we have 
  done these… people, er, Sir Keff, but you may address us as you please." The senior 
  settled himself down, flipping his wings to his back and arranging his haunches like a 
  big cat.
  "I will," Keff said, "as soon as the assembly is complete. I await the arrival of the rest 
  of the Cridi delegation. If you will give permission, and the assurance that they will 
  not be harmed, I will ask them to land." He bowed deeply, sweeping an arm around to 
  the rest of the chamber.
  "There are more Slime?" one of the Thelerie asked, flinging its wings about it in the 
  protective posture.
  An older assembly member scrabbled up. "We are under attack! Guards!"
  "Oh, where is the Melange? They should be protecting us," a slender Thelerie said, 
  wringing both pairs of hands at its breast.
  "Silence!" Noondays voice rose over them like a hunting horn's call, though he did not 
  move. "I give the guarantee. Bring them, Sir Keff."
  "Cari?"
  "On their way," Carialle said. "There's just about room to land on that balcony, but 
  Narrow Leg shouldn't push his luck. He's going to set down on the roof… just… 
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  about… NOW!"
  There was a boom! and the thunder of rocket engines shook the council chamber. The 
  Thelerie assembly looked frightened, but none of them broke for the exits. Keff found 
  himself full of admiration for their bravery. In a moment, the shadows of travel globes 
  appeared outside the woven window screens, and the casements opened wide. 
  Naturally, the plump councillor had jockeyed himself into first place, and entered 
  triumphantly.
  "I should have been first, before these others," he signed indignantly at Keff.
  "It could have been dangerous," Keff gestured back, in as few gestures as possible.
  "No matter!" Big Voice said, punctuating his signs with a squeak, now that all peril 
  was past. "I would have faced it for the sake of my people."
  Smiling a little, Keff stood forward, like a court herald, and bowed to the Thelerie.
  "Allow me to introduce Big Voice, another one of the Eight, Narrow Leg, captain of 
  the Cridi ship, Gap Tooth, Wide Foot…" As he recited their names, the globes 
  touched down on the polished floor and rolled into an arc around Keff's feet.
  "I bid you welcome, Cridi," Noonday said, gravely. "And now, speak. What are these 
  grievances?"
  Big Voice rolled out just to one side of Keff* where the human could see and hear his 
  every word.
  "I have traveled far and endured many hardships to ask these words," Big Voice said 
  in carefully practiced Standard. His voice quavered when faced with so many griffins, 
  awake and mobile, but he puffed himself up and continued. "Your people have 
  confined us, you have killed us, you have stolen from us. What I must know is why? 
  Why do you hate us? Why do you think us monsters?"
  The Thelerie stared at him as the assembly resounded with protest. A younger member 
  of the chamber spoke out.
  "The Melange told us you were monsters, that you killed innocent beings. You 
  harmed their ships, and would loll us, though we only seek to see what is among the 
  stars. We do not harm your kind. It is the other way around."
  "We have never seen your people before." Big Voice shrieked, and several of the 
  Thelerie held their ears. "We do not kill others, and we do not destroy or terrorize. 
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  Your Melange has lied to you! Keff is the first human we have ever seen, too!"
  "Humans don't lie!" a Thelerie howled angrily, a bassoon counterpoint to Big Voices 
  piccolo. The plump councillor retreated swiftly into the group of his fellows and 
  hunkered down in his globe.
  Keff opened his mouth and shut it again. "I can't say anything," he told Carialle. "If I 
  say humans do lie, then I've started one of those conundrums that makes computers 
  break down."
  "What have we stolen?" Noonday asked, in a mild tone intended to calm his listeners. 
  "Will you enumerate your losses?"
  "Three power sources, known to us as Cores," Big Voice said, counting on his long 
  fingers, "engines and equipment from our ships, the lives of at least three crews, but 
  most of all, our freedom! We have been imprisoned on our world for fifty of our 
  years, because our ships could not pass the barrier you created!"
  Keff translated for the Thelerie, who immediately protested.
  "We did not set any barrier," Noonday said, earnestly. "Our people have few ships, 
  which have not crossed out of our stars circuit as of yet. The Melange say we are not 
  ready. It must be their barrier you cannot cross. Surely it is for your own good."
  Keff shook his head. "Sayas Noonday, the Cridi don't need any protection of that kind. 
  They are accomplished space travelers, with colonies in other systems."
  "Are they?" Noonday asked, eyeing the Cridi with new respect. "They seem so 
  helpless, so… lacking in a center."
  "Once we were not," Narrow Leg said, speaking up. "I am old of my kind. I remember 
  the first time we lost contact with a ship, fifty revolutions ago. The Melange must 
  have destroyed it without warning, for no word ever came back to us. They kill to 
  keep us from leaving our world."
  "No!" The Thelerie protested the idea of the Melange killing. Keff held up his hands, 
  pleading for silence.
  "The spacecraft we saw when we landed," Keff urged, pointing out of the window in 
  the general direction of the landing pad. "Did you construct these?"
  "Yes," said Noonday proudly. "They are made of gifts from the good humans who 
  have visited us in the past."
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  "But the parts were not given freely to those humans," Keff said. "I recognized some 
  of the components, and my associates recognized others as Cridi technology. Piracy is 
  a great problem in our culture, too."
  "It is not piracy. You were giving of these objects to us, honored human," one of the 
  younger Ro-sayo said.
  Keff shook, his head. "I haven't. Many ships were robbed or destroyed to yield those 
  parts."
  "It could not be. The Melange is honorable," the first Thelerie protested. The Ro-sayo 
  broke out in hoots and cries of agreement, with the high-pitched whistles of Cridi 
  voices causing many of them to flinch.
  "They might have been taking things that didn't belong to them," Keff said.
  "Nonsense!" Noonday said. "Some of our most honored citizens have taken ship with 
  the Melange, sworn allegiance, and brought home goods so that we may fly the stars."
  "Who is the Melange?" Keff asked, shouting to be heard.
  That question provoked the greatest outburst of them all. Noonday gestured for 
  silence, and turned a hard stare on Keff.
  "Who are you that you do not know of the Melange?"
  "We are travelers," Keff said. "We come from the Central Worlds. That means 
  something to you," he added, as some of the Thelerie conferred hastily among 
  themselves. "Central Worlds is a vast confederation of intelligent peoples, governed 
  by common laws to aid life, health, and prosperity. We go from place to place, 
  meeting new people, and sending word of them back to our Central Committee. I 
  promise you, no word of the Thelerie or of the Melange has ever gotten back to the 
  CenCom."
  "But how can this be?" Noonday asked, spreading out all four of his hands. "Humans 
  have given us so much, for so many years. They made themselves one with us, gave 
  us helpful innovations. Why, see," he gestured around him with a narrow wing-finger, 
  "these lamps would never be so small or bright without human machines."
  "Cari?" Keff said, turning his body full toward the baroque sconce.
  He heard a sharp whistle. "It's a dilute form of heavy-water fuel, Keff, very clean and 
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  hot-burning, the sort of high-quality stuff I'd use myself if I could get it. If those 
  valves weren't so small, that whole room would go up, blammo!" Keff blanched.
  "Where does the fuel come from?" he asked.
  "It lies here and there in the deep places," Noonday said, gesturing vaguely with a few 
  of his hands. "The technology to make use of it was brought to us by humans to our 
  mutual benefit, for which we are very grateful. We assumed that all humankind was 
  behind their good intentions."
  "Are there more? More innovations?"
  "But, of course," Noonday said, with a gentle smile. It was clear he and the others still 
  did not believe Keffs protestations of ignorance. "For everything the Melange takes 
  from Thelerie, they always bring us gifts, more than fair exchange."
  "The Thelerie couldn't be using more than a few million barrels a year for light and 
  heat," Keff said, sublingually. "Leaving a source of quality rocket fuel for whoever 
  knows to come and take it."
  "I see why now," Carialle said, "but I still don't know who, or if they connect to me."
  The youngest Thelerie, Midnight, stood up and placed an indignant wing-hand on its 
  breast. "You have come here with many accusations. You wrong us, and you wrong 
  our friends and benefactors."
  "We do not mean to be offensive," Keff said, "but I assure you we tell the truth. You 
  set great store by honesty. I tell you that we left behind in the Cridi system ten of your 
  people, and they were part of a force that lay in ambush for us." Keff continued over 
  the horrified protestations. "That force was responsible for the destruction of a human-
  run ship from the Central Worlds. The wreckage of that vessel was found near the 
  ruins of at least three Cridi craft, and parts of many others. I swear to you that this 
  account is true. I have video records of this, and of the beings who confronted us on a 
  planetary base. You see why we must find out the truth here and now."
  "I would like to see these 'video,' " the young Ro-sayo said.
  "You shall," Keff said. "We do not bring these complaints without proof."
  "What you are saying is that Thelerie have been involved in acts of piracy," Noonday 
  said. His noble face was drawn into lines of pain. Keff felt concern for the leader.
  "Cari, is he all right?" he asked under his breath.
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  "Not a cardiac involvement," Carialle said, after a moment's assessment, "but his 
  pulses are running very fast. He's sustained a shock, which is no surprise, considering 
  how many bombshells you've lobbed in the last few minutes."
  "What do you want of us?" the leader asked at last.
  "It would seem that most of our questions could be answered by your friends the 
  humans," Keff said. "Can we meet the Melange?"
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  CHAPTER 15
  « ^ »
  "Where is the other human?" Noonday asked, looking around, over, and under the 
  party as they flew out of the capital city toward the northeast. "I would like to meet it."
  "Perhaps later. Carialle stays with the ship at all times," Keff said. "She's… very 
  attached to it."
  Carialle blew a raspberry in his aural pickup, with the volume turned up just a little 
  higher than was strictly necessary. She observed the neural monitor jump as Keff 
  winced.
  "I speak to her by means of small transmitter-receivers on my person," Keff said, 
  pointedly ignoring her. "She hears our words, and sends her greetings to you."
  "Ah, thank you and her. I know little of human customs. We in the Sayad do not 
  interact with the Melange ourselves," Noonday admitted, flying ahead of his escort 
  with Keff and Tall Eyebrow for a private word. His great wings beat the air a few 
  times, then spread out to glide on a gusty updraft. "They visit Thelerie only 
  irregularly. I myself only met humans once, very long ago. It was a great honor."
  Watching from the camera eye on Keff's chest, Carialle admired the easy play of 
  muscles. Noondays wings were shaped like those of an eagle, but covered with 
  plushy, golden fur like the body of a bat. The Thelerie were certainly a beautiful folk. 
  She had had plenty of time to go over the anatomical studies and scans they had taken 
  of the griffins left behind on the base, but this was her first time to see them in action, 
  in their own habitat, stress-free. She was attracted to the grace of movement, the 
  artistically right integration of six limbs. Their bodies seemed lithe and smooth, their 
  velvet pelts almost caressing her visual receptors. Should time and circumstances 
  permit, Carialle wanted to ask a few of them to sit, or rather, fly for her, so she could 
  paint them. Carialles brief glimpse of one of the guards suggested that it was carrying 
  young right now. A scan showed a tiny, six-limbed creature in a thick caul like a soft 
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  eggshell inside the uterus. Carialle felt protective of the unborn young. In spite of her 
  worries and misgivings, she was finding herself liking the Thelerie. She chided herself 
  for her sympathies, remembering that these charming beings were responsible for 
  countless deaths, and possibly her own long-ago peril.
  "Who, then, is the primary interface with the Melange?" Kefl's voice asked. Carialle 
  saw that his pulse rate was up. She checked her telemetry, and found the group was 
  flying at approximately twelve hundred feet, far above his comfort level.
  "The Sayas of the Space Program meets with them," Noonday said. "We will ask if it 
  is known when their next appearance is to be."
  "Then, why do you all speak our language?" Keff asked, gesturing vaguely.
  "Oh, that is in anticipation of when we reach out to the stars," Noonday said, and his 
  eyes widened joy/ fully. "We want to be ready to communicate at once with the 
  blessed humans who are there."
  "Not an unbiased party, is he?" Carialle said, wryly. "I notice he doesn't consider it an 
  honor to meet the Cridi, and they're just as alien as we."
  "We're not blessed, Sayas, just another species like you," Keff said.
  "Not to us," Noonday said, shaking his head. "It is from a legend that comes from the 
  depths of our history, telling the story about the wingless ones who would come one 
  day and take us where our wings cannot. A most beloved story, by children especially. 
  And one day, you came, and made it true."
  "Well, not us. This Melange, whoever they are… er, we are honored to have your 
  assistance," Keff said, hesitantly, "and, forgive the discourtesy, but why are you taking 
  us to meet this Sayas? Wouldn't this task be easily relegated to a junior Ro-sayo, or a 
  guard?"
  The elders wings tilted back for just a moment, then he flapped hastily to catch up. His 
  forehead was creased, ruffling the plush into furrows.
  "Thunderstorm is my child," he said, then said defensively, "Where aptitude exists, 
  should not responsibility follow? If there is any wrongdoing, I wish to know at once. 
  We Thelerie are law-abiding folk. Our… moral Me is strong. As you could see, my 
  assembly was much distressed at the notion that Thelerie were involved with crimes 
  against another people, especially a life-form so physically helpless."
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  "We are not helpless," Big Voice said indignantly, floating his travel globe close to 
  the Sayas. "You have said that before, but see, we are capable."
  Noonday reached out a claw hand to tap the globe. Big Voice ducked automatically. 
  'That is true. By coming along on a flight with those believed to be enemies, I am also 
  demonstrating a measure of trust in you for the assembly. I prove you can be friends 
  and allies. As you say, we and the… Cridi are close neighbors. Neighbors should aid 
  one another in time of need. And in spite of all, even if these charges against Thelerie 
  be true, we must continue to trust in humans. So much of our culture over these last 
  many years is involved intimately with this relationship. They gave us electricity, 
  communication, many things."
  "Heat exchangers, humidity controls…" Carialle chimed in. "The Thelerie should 
  properly be in a pre-industrial age. The baroque decor is reasonably appropriate to the 
  period, as it was on Earth before electricity. Humans brought all this to them, gave 
  them machines, power, and then space travel, all in the space of fifty years. Strictly 
  against the code of the Central Worlds."
  "Well, these humans seem to be doing quite a lot against the code of the Central 
  Worlds," Keff said, under his breath. "We'll know more when we've talked to 
  Thunderstorm. How long until we get there, Noonday?"
  "Soon," the Sayas said. The group passed over the ridge of the mountain range 
  separating one great, yellow plain from another. Spare clouds riding the sky above 
  them drew long lines that extended down over the mountaintops in both directions. 
  Noonday directed them down into the narrow shadows between ragged, upthrust 
  monoliths. "This way, for another eighth-arc of the sun at least."
  "Plenty of time to get to know one another," Keff said cheerfully, stretching out on his 
  side in the air beside the Thelerie. The Cridi continued to fly him along, and his pulses 
  dropped toward normal as he became more involved in the conversation. Carialle 
  flipped her image of the Sayas from horizontal to vertical to compensate for her 
  brawn's change in position. "You say you're Thunderstorm's parent. Are you his 
  mother or his father? And is he a he or a she?"
  "Such differences are not known in our biology," Noonday said, beginning in a 
  lecturer's tone. "Unlike you, we are all made the same way, only changing roles as we 
  mate for offspring. I have borne or sired four children in my life. You would say I am 
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  Thunderstorm's mother, for I bore that child sixty-seven turns of the sun ago. We live 
  a long time, here."
  Carialle made certain the recording on Keffs signal was perfectly clear. She boxed in 
  auxiliary memory to act as backup, to assure data redundancy. She knew her brawn 
  wouldn't want to let a single erg of information get away.
  It was a blow to him that the CK-963 team wasn't really the discoverer of the Thelerie, 
  but he intended at least to be the documentarian whose data made the Encyclopedia 
  Galactica, if not the Xeno files. Carialle wished she could have such easy short-term 
  goals, but then, she'd never thought like a softshell. Keff had made her realize her 
  humanity, even made her like it, but she knew they weren't very similar in their 
  outlooks. He was ephemeral. One day, when their twenty-five year assignment was 
  over, she'd be suddenly without him, and it would be a long and sad forever thereafter. 
  It was times like this when she understood how very much she valued him. Keff, with 
  his good humor, optimism, and his enthusiasm for diving into any task no matter how 
  difficult or unsavory, was the best thing that had ever happened to her. He was so 
  fragile, so easily injured, and she was so far away. If the Cridi allowed any harm to 
  come to him…!
  Realizing she was allowing herself to become melancholy, she gave her system a 
  quick eighth-measure of carbohydrates. If her brain was playing such emotion tricks 
  on her, she must be hungry. She had surely been ignoring the gauges that indicated her 
  blood sugar was unusually low.
  Carialle knew she'd been working her system hard. Ever since they hove into this part 
  of space, old memories had been surfacing, giving her flashbacks during her rest-
  times, and intruding into her conscious mind while she was doing easy tasks like 
  calculations. She saw visions of her first brawn, Fanine, relived the explosion and the 
  rescue, even cast a critical mental eye on the early paintings she had done of space-
  scapes while in therapy. That should all be behind her, she thought. The interference 
  had made her have to concentrate twice as hard.
  Her sensors had been gathering information on the Thelerie ever since they had 
  landed. It was time and past time to send another transmission to the Central Worlds, 
  as a follow-up to the one she had sent from the Cridi system, but she was hesitant. 
  Every event changed their perceptions of the situation. If she and Keff were wrong 
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  about the pirates, if the whole construct the two of them had made up about the 
  location and origin of the raiders was incorrect, it was the end of her career, at least. 
  Carialle hoped Keff wouldn't be held responsible — they were her incorrect 
  perceptions based on her mistakes, arising from her disaster. She could always plead 
  guilty to constructive kidnapping, if worst came to worst, to spare Keff an official 
  reprimand. Not that it was likely she would face criminal proceedings, but it was best 
  to be pessimistic where the odious M-C was concerned.
  And yet, she found it difficult to believe that this charming and seemingly honest race 
  was involved in piracy and illicit salvage. Of course it wouldn't be illicit for them to 
  remove parts from a derelict ship; they wouldn't know it was a legal requirement to 
  post a claim to a wreck with the space agencies. The Sayad had no rules dealing with 
  space salvage yet. And yet, griffins — Thelerie — had been aboard the ships chasing 
  them with mining lasers. Who was fooling whom?
  She began to build up a dossier of facts to accompany her message. In it, she stressed 
  the pre-electronic environment in which the Thelerie lived. The most intriguing fact 
  about the modern developments that she and Keff had observed was the limitation of 
  their use. It said clearly that the Thelerie did not understand the mechanisms or the 
  physics behind them. Therefore… therefore, another agency was at work. Or was it? 
  Couldn't there simply be a group of griffins who had demanded an education in 
  practical science from spacegoing captives? Then, how had they reached into space in 
  the first place? She and Keff needed that final link in the pattern. With luck, they'd 
  have it before her message reached the CenCom.
  On her screen, the Sayas stretched out his beautiful wings and dipped down toward a 
  cluster of buildings on the open plain. Their body-harness glinting in the bright sun, 
  the six guards flew into a protective formation around him. What a picture! Keff and 
  the Cridi dropped back a hundred meters, allowing the Thelerie to approach the 
  installation first.
  "My, what a nice little fuel storage facility," Carialle said, just before the image of the 
  square stone building with fluid transfer towers disappeared from Keffs camera eye.
  "Isn't it, though?" Keff said. "Now our surmise has another leg to stand on."
  Thunderstorm's office was very elegantly furnished, though the structure itself was 
  little more than a stone roof on pillars. The walls consisted of corner-to-corner screens 
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  that let in the fresh breezes and bright, yellow sunlight. The cool wind felt so good to 
  Keff after the dusty flight that he opened his filters a little more to allow the 
  circulating air to touch his face. The atmosphere contained really very little ammonia, 
  more of a far-off smell than an all-round stink. It might still harm tender Cridi hides, 
  but exposed human skin might be able to last for longish periods. He thought he could 
  almost take off his envirosuit, but then Carialle would probably go spare. Keff wanted 
  to prevent anything from upsetting her during the investigation of this world. She had 
  trials enough with the entire Mental Sciences division clamoring for brain scans, 
  thanks to the Inspector General. Though it might put him in the brig, Keff would love 
  to relieve the itch in his big toe by burying it halfway up the IG's excretory tract.
  Keff occupied himself while they waited for Thunderstorm by studying his 
  surroundings. This installation, at least, was accustomed to receiving humans. The 
  doorframe was over two meters high, instead of the meter and a half that would be 
  adequate for Thelerie to enter on four feet. That seemed to be the only structural 
  consideration. The furniture was all made for griffin comfort — not that Keff would 
  have found it onerous to stretch out on floor pillows, and the sling behind the desk 
  was perfectly adequate as a backless chair. As in the government building, Keff saw 
  very little wood, all of it used as ornament rather than in construction. Some of the 
  small outbuildings around the office seemed to be built of adobe, others of field-stone 
  and concrete. The Thelerie might have had only one main building material, but they 
  used it with imagination.
  To his surprise, they also had paper. Keff grinned at himself. He'd been looking for 
  computer terminals in a culture that still had open cesspits. The broad-topped desk 
  was heaped with white, squarecut sheets, covered with the same square script he 
  recognized from the attack ship's files, those computers had been the aberration. This 
  setting seemed more in line with their sociological development.
  "Can, there's hardly any trees here. What's this made of?" he whispered, moving close 
  to the deskful of documents. His forefinger pointed at the paper, in clear '*view of the 
  camera eye.
  "Straw fiber," she replied at once. "A combination of rice and some native fiber; hard 
  to tell which one without a closer molecular scan. The ink's a combination of an 
  organic compound and finely ground mineral powder. Like India ink, it'd last for 
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  centuries. Here comes someone."
  Keff looked around. Carialle must have detected the approach of a flying body on 
  sensors. Yes, there… Keff saw a shadow, steadily growing in size as the body that 
  cast it neared the ground. He heard voices, the Sayad guards calling out greetings, and 
  a single mellow reply, as a Thelerie of middle years rounded the corner of a pillar, and 
  entered.
  Thunderstorm looked remarkably like his mother, but with a broader head and wider 
  feet that lent him an endearingly awkward gait. His coat had only begun to show 
  flecks of white. His smile, when he saw Keff, was an echo of Noonday's sweet 
  expression. Thunderstorm looked suddenly wary as he came closer, and realized he 
  did not recognize Keff. But the evidence was clear: this being interacted frequently 
  and closely with humans.
  "We've found our connection, Can," Keff muttered under his breath.
  "A… stranger?" Thunderstorm asked, in very good Standard, attempting to show 
  surprise. "Forgive, I am rude. Parent, to what do I owe the honor of your presence?" 
  He sat back on his haunches and made the gesture of respect to Noonday. The elder 
  returned it. When he raised his eyes, they were worried.
  "My child, I come on the gravest of errands," the Sayas said. "This human has told me 
  many things that in — imm — ?" he looked up at Keff apologetically, "favrekina 
  Thelerieya."
  "Implicate, parent," Thunderstorm said, smoothly, but Keff saw his tailtip switch. He 
  was nervous. "Implicate Thelerie in what?"
  "Crimes against other races of feings," Noonday said, so agitated she was unable to 
  keep the upper halves of her lip together to pronounce the "b" in "beings."
  "But I beg an explanation," Thunderstorm said, turning his head, to avoid making eye 
  contact with his mother or Keff. He knelt behind the sling and lifted his upper body 
  across it. With his right claw hand, he picked up a pen and made a few marks on a 
  sheet of paper. "Why come to me?"
  "I am told you are the head of the Thelerie space program," Keff said. "Is that true?"
  "It is," Thunderstorm said. "It is wrong to lie."
  "Then my business is with you. I come on a matter of peace. I am not alone. Perhaps 
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  you may have heard?"
  The younger Sayas looked uneasy. "I have heard rumors."
  "I wont conceal anything from you," Keff said. "Allow me to introduce my friends."
  The globes sailed one by one out of the side of the pavilion, where they had been 
  waiting out of the hot sun. Thunderstorm's pupils nearly spread to the edges of his 
  eyes, and he sat up on his haunches at bay, his wings batting.
  "I cannot believe you would bring them here," he gabbled out, staring. "Parent, what 
  have they done to you?"
  "Nothing at all," Noonday said, refusing to let Thunderstorm distract her. "What do 
  you know about them?" She lifted her eyelids warningly.
  "I have encountered them," Thunderstorm said at last, his wings wavering. "When I 
  served my apprenticeship with the Melange. They are evil beings."
  "Not evil," Tall Eyebrow protested.
  "By the temple, it can speak!"
  "You didn't know, did you?" Keff asked, leaning across the stone desk. "You never 
  saw one alive. Did you assist in the ambush and destruction of one of their spacecraft?"
  A Thelerie might not lie, but evidently it would fight to keep from telling a harmful 
  truth. Thunderstorm stared silently down at the pen in his hand.
  "Child, speak," Noonday commanded, sounding like the entire brass section of an 
  orchestra. It took some time before Thunderstorm could bring himself to open his 
  mouth.
  "You recall our first friend, parent? Verje Bisman?" Thunderstorm asked, in a very 
  low voice. Noonday nodded, still watching him carefully. The younger Thelerie 
  turned to Keff. "I was so young, and full of awe for the strangers. Before a formal 
  arrangement had been made between our two peoples, I begged to have him take me 
  in his ship. He apprenticed me and my friend Autumn. He seemed fascinated with the 
  Center, though he could not find it himself, and called us great assets because we 
  could. We flew with him for some years, going from place to place, accomplishing 
  missions for his ship. We gathered things no one wanted, or received them from 
  donors who bargained hard for their goods," Thunderstorm said, looking ashamed. 
  "So I thought. I was naive. On the cusp of the nearest star, we caught a ship that my 
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  friend, Verje's child, Aldon, said contained the greatest prize of all, and the Slime 
  would not yield it. We were young and on fire, so we stopped the ship and took it. It 
  was a great battle, for the Slime seemed to have mystic power to attack us without 
  touching us. We were very frightened, but in the end we prevailed."
  "How long ago?' Carialle's voice demanded.
  "How long ago?" Keff echoed.
  "Forty-three Standard years," Thunderstorm said, without looking up. "I knew then we 
  committed crimes. It was the greatest shame of my life."
  "Then he wasn't on any ship that touched me," Carialie said. Keff felt some of the 
  tightness in his chest relax, but he grieved for the Cridi, who were only now 
  discovering the truth about their losses.
  The second of our ships," Narrow Leg said, his wide lips flat with disapproval. 
  "Fifteen Cridi lost in that one."
  "Why did you never tell?" Noonday asked.
  "I had vowed obedience and silence to the Melange," Thunderstorm said, looking up 
  at his parent. "And I knew shame. I begged to be involved in no more assaults, and the 
  humans agreed. After that, I came home to found the space program, finding 
  apprentices for the Melange to train in the art of maintaining and flying craft. They do 
  learn everything they are taught!" he cried, his eyes darting between Keffs and 
  Noonday's. "We are good pupils, and we consider the trust sacred. When we were told 
  these," he gestured at the globes, "were enemies, we believed. We believed, because 
  the humans were the fulfillers of our dearest dream! Those of us who finished with 
  our apprenticeships never speak of it, but some of us know we have done wrong. That 
  is why some have left the space program. I stay. I am weak." The Sayas hung his 
  head. "I thought some day when our own ships were spaceworthy, I would go back 
  and see who the Slime were. I was Centered. I knew how to find my way. And now I 
  am too old, and possibly weaker still."
  "I am disgraced. What punishment would you demand of this one?" Noonday asked, 
  turning to Tall Eyebrow, who deferred at once to Big Eyes and Narrow Leg. Keff 
  could see the pain in her eyes, but she faced the Cridi without wavering.
  "Only weeks ago we might have demanded his life," Narrow Leg said, eyeing his 
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  daughter and Big Voice, who rolled forward, bursting to talk. "We want cooperation. 
  Such raiding must stop. We want peace. We want friendship. At what point in our 
  requirements of reparation would such things be impossible?"
  "I am the Sayas," Noonday said. "And Sir Keff is of the fourlimbs of the legends. 
  Though Thunderstorm is my child, his life is in my gift. I would prefer to withhold 
  such a gift, if I can. But in the name of peace, we will do anything you ask. We can't 
  keep back one life when you have lost so many."
  The two councillors rolled away from the group, followed by Narrow Leg and Tall 
  Eyebrow. Long Hand, glancing over, decided she'd better be part of the discussion, 
  paddled her globe into the circle, leaving Small Spot by himself, staring up at the 
  Thelerie.
  "We, too, have recently reconciled with a deadly enemy," the Ozranian said. "I know 
  what I would say about you, but it is not my decision."
  Thunderstorm went down on his belly and folded his wing-hands under his chin to the 
  younger Cridi. "I do not deserve the consideration," he said. "I understand my crime, 
  and I have abetted others. Time does not dull my shame."
  "What are they doing?" Noonday asked, watching the Cridi sign furiously among 
  themselves. "Is it a ritual? Why do they not talk?"
  "They are talking," Keff said, always happy to teach. 'They speak both with their 
  mouths and their hands." He spread his arms, palms outward. "This is the first word of 
  theirs I ever learned. It means 'help.'"
  "Perhaps we shall learn this tongue, too, child," Noonday said, miming the symbol 
  with his wing-fingers. "It has grace."
  "I will do anything I can to make amends," Thunderstorm said earnestly, getting to his 
  feet. "If I am given a chance."
  "First, you will stop calling us Slime," Small Spot said, with emphasis.
  The conference ended. Big Voice led the group back to the waiting griffins. Narrow 
  Leg confronted Thunderstorm.
  "We will not be guilty of spilling more blood," the Cridi captain said, "so we do not 
  want yours. Our council will be made to agree that we are doing the right thing by 
  sparing you. But until you learn what is right, you don't belong among the stars if you 
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  cannot respect those you meet there. We will dismember those ships we saw when we 
  landed. They are unsafe anyhow. Your space program is cancelled as of now. One day 
  you will learn right."
  Thunderstorms mouth fell open. "Don't take away my people's dream!" he exclaimed. 
  He again dropped to his belly before the globes. 'Take my life, here, now, honored 
  ones, but don't let a foolish few close the door for all the others!"
  "And yet, that is what you and your Melange have done to us," Narrow Leg said, 
  severely. "We have colonies we have not visited in revolutions, nor have we been able 
  to explore new systems."
  "But the humans gave us this gift," Thunderstorm wailed. "If we had not been 
  intended to fly among the stars, the humans would not have come!"
  "Technically speaking," Keff put in unhappily, "the Central Worlds would forbid 
  anyone giving a new species sophisticated systems until their own culture had 
  developed the requisite sciences. Your own development would seem to be rather far 
  below the minimum."
  'This is terrible," Noonday said, clenching his hands. "I do not wish to lose the gift of 
  flight, either. What can we do?" Everyone looked at Keff.
  "Nothing at all until you've found the humans responsible," Carialle reminded her 
  brawn.
  "We need more detail on the Melange," Keff said. "Everything. How to find them, 
  what they do when they're here, what their ships bring in, what they take with them. 
  We need verification, first, for my government's information, whether this is the same 
  group who destroyed the DSC-902 in the Cridi system."
  "If it is in the Slime system, it was the Melange, I promise," Thunderstorm assured 
  them, unhappily. "They are jealous of their territory. I am sorry to use the wrong 
  name," he said bowing his head to Small Spot. "But I have known them fifty years, 
  and you only minutes."
  "I understand," Small Spot said.
  "Do you believe them, Sir Knight?" Carialle asked.
  "I think so," Keff said, tapping the desk with his fingers. "We can confirm to CW that 
  those Thelerie that we left behind on the fifth planet were part of a network of pirates. 
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  They'll be on the lookout for more ships with the same modus operandi."
  "But not all Thelerie are involved," Carialle said, with a sigh of relief. "I'll put that in 
  my message to CW. They'll be very interested to hear about human involvement in 
  this culture."
  "Bets on whether the CenCom or Xeno gets back to us first?" Keff asked, playfully.
  "Get back to the job," Carialle said, with a wry inflection. "We need data. We still 
  haven't laid hands on the masterminds, and now we only have until the message 
  reaches the CenCom."
  "It's incredible that the secret of the Thelerie hasn't leaked to the rest of the Central 
  Worlds in fifty years," Keff said. He settled on one of the spare slings in 
  Thunderstorm's office. The Cridi stayed near him, not yet trusting their new 
  acquaintances, but curious.
  "We thought that it had," Noonday said, a little sadly. Thunderstorm could not meet 
  his parent's eyes.
  "Would you give up a free source of fuel?' Carialle asked. "This is a remote corner of 
  the sector yet. If it wasn't for the bulk transport difficulties they might have been 
  bootlegging it to exploration ships and miners. And here's an intelligent workforce 
  who do complicated work without asking awkward questions. I think we ought to be 
  amazed they weren't enslaved by this Melange. There's some vestige of morality in 
  there, whatever else is going on."
  "That brings me to another question," Keff said, looking from parent to child. "Why 
  did the Melange take you into space in the first place? No offense, but I'd be afraid 
  beings who had never known space travel might be a… liability."
  Thunderstorms upper lip parted in a smile. "I think to test a hypothesis. We are at the 
  Center, and they wanted to understand Centering."
  "Centering?" Keff asked.
  "So you truly do not know," Thunderstorm said in surprise, settling down on a cushion 
  in the sun with his wings on his back and his foreclaws thrust out before him like the 
  Sphinx. "This is the heart of the universe." A wing claw rose to gesture from ground 
  to sky to his own breast. "Its heart is our heart. Where we go, we can always return to 
  here. It draws us. It is a part of us, and we a part of it."
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  "Extraordinary!" Keff exclaimed. "You mean that if I blindfolded you — covered 
  your eyes — and took you anywhere on this planet, you could get home unaided?'
  The sharp teeth showed in a quick smile. "Any child could. All do, to prove 
  adulthood. We are never lost. Our legends of long ago said the Center would lead us 
  home from anywhere, even the stars. But the wise ones of the past didn't provide us 
  with the means to try the theory."
  "An internal homing beacon. Whew!" Keff whistled. "But this Melange provided the 
  means."
  "Don't lead the witness," Carialle said in his ear. "If we give the CenCom this tape, we 
  want it to be clear he is volunteering this information."
  "Yes," Noonday answered, from another divan cushion. Her large eyes lifted skyward 
  and turned dreamy. "One bright day in my youth, the humans came from the stars, and 
  took some of our people away with them, including my child." A wingtip swept 
  toward Thunderstorm. "The legends proved true. Those of our young people who 
  travel far with the Melange learn to go other places with relation to our Center, but 
  always return." The wing-finger twirled around but came to rest in front of Noonday's 
  breast. "The Melange were fascinated by our natural talent, and said we could aid 
  them. They find us worthy to travel with them, to fulfill our dreams of sailing where 
  there is no air to tuck beneath our wings. It is a sacred destiny. One which, alas, has 
  been defiled."
  "And in return, you give them things of value," Keff said. "What besides innate 
  navigators?"
  "It is only fair to trade value for value," Noonday said with gentle conviction. 'They 
  have brought us electricity, useful machines such as distant talkers, knowledge, and 
  the friendship of another race. We are pleased to know them. They have been 
  benefactors to the Thelerie. Metal, ores, handworks, cut stones, smelly fuel-water, the 
  use of a few years of a young Thelerie's time — all seem of little worth in 
  comparison."
  "So for fifty years someone's been cashing in on these people and giving them stolen 
  spacecraft parts in return," Carialle said.
  'The Interplanetary Revenue is gonna give us a rewaa-ard," Keff chanted in a sing-
  song under his breath.
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  "Don't count it yet," Carialle said. "Let's catch these brutes, first. We need the Thelerie 
  to help us."
  "I know," Keff said, and looked up at the two griffins, who eyed him curiously every 
  time he stopped to talk to himself. He smiled at them, which seemed to make 
  Noonday relax. Thunderstorm looked even more worried, his wingtips clattering 
  together over his back.
  "I represent the Central Worlds, an affiliation of thousands of planets, and many 
  different species," Keff said. "We have rules against the introduction of technology to 
  civilizations that have not yet developed it themselves. Still, there are immense 
  benefits to membership, if you were interested in joining."
  "Then we would really become one with humans?" Noonday asked.
  "Much more so than with the Melange. From our point of view, they have interfered 
  with your development." Noonday looked puzzled. Keff struggled to explain in 
  Standard, then in pidgin Thelerie, and gave it up as a bad job. "Well, what was it like 
  before the Melange came?"
  "Colder at night without house heaters," Noonday said. "Less cohesive among our 
  people."
  "The corns," Thunderstorm explained. "Most families have one now."
  Keff sighed. "The CW won't actually take something like those away from a people, 
  would they, Cari?"
  "Probably not. There's no destructive potential in personal communications or home 
  furnaces. The spaceships, on the other hand, will have to go."
  "All these are good things that the Melange shares with us," Noonday said, the beatific 
  smile on her face. "We joined with them, and it has been of benefit to us all. They 
  always assured us that the gifts they brought were traded from outposts, or scavenged 
  from floating space debris."
  "I was some of that debris," Carialle screamed.
  Keff winced as his aural implant went into overload. "They couldn't know, Cari," he 
  reminded her. It was the first crack in the reserve she'd shown since they had landed.
  "How dare the Melange force this lovely people into piracy," Carialle said furiously. 
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  "It violates fifty-seven sections of interplanetary law, it's immoral, and it violates the 
  Prime Directive."
  "That's fictional," Keff pointed out.
  I don't care. It's still a good idea. I want these people, and I want to be the one who 
  brings them in to Central Worlds. Now there's no excuse for having picked away at 
  my exoskeleton: there isn't a spacer who flies in the Central Worlds who wouldn't 
  recognize a shell capsule."
  "We don't know what happened," Keff said, soothingly.
  "We'll find out. You must understand, Noonday, that spaceship parts don't just 
  become available. Our evidence shows that at least some of them were the fruit of 
  ambush and murder. Thunderstorm will admit he knows about that."
  "To my shame," the Space Sayas said, covering his eyes. "Forgive me, parent." His 
  voice was muffled behind the folds of his wings.
  "Will you help us to stop such crimes?" Keff asked, looking intently at Noonday.
  "We always wish to follow the laws," Noonday said, but the Thelerie was uneasy. 
  Keff was convinced she never really knew that their gifts were stolen merchandise. He 
  waited. He knew the griffins were fascinated by humans, and admired them, so he 
  smiled his most charming smile. It worked. The rectangular pupil widened. "We will 
  do anything we can."
  "Thank you," Keff said.
  Noonday's sweet smile was sad now. "We dreamed of space travel, and when it was 
  given to us, that dream was fulfilled. But it is wrong to accept technology in advance 
  of our understanding, as you say."
  "But you don't understand," said Thunderstorm, rising to his feet. "Some of our 
  greatest triumphs! Some of our most reknowned heroes…"
  "… were flying in stolen ships," Noonday finished gently. "It is over. Sit down, child."
  "Fifty years," Keff said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. He shook his head.
  "Certainly long enough to be an established concern by the time I came to grief," 
  Carialle said.
  "We will stop taking from the traders, but you must convince your own kind to stop 
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  bringing it to us," Noonday said. "For as long as it continues to be available, someone 
  will buy it. We cannot police everyone. But so long as there is no source, then no one 
  can buy."
  "Then we need to find this Melange, and stop the illicit trade," Keff said. "How do 
  you know when they are coming?"
  Thunderstorm rose and opened a low cabinet behind his desk. In it was a 
  communications unit.
  "I activate this once a day to receive messages, if there are any."
  "Cari!" Keff said, hovering over it.
  "Of course, Keff. Tell him to turn it on."
  Keff conveyed the order, and the Thelerie tweaked an old-fashioned knob with his 
  claw. He winced at the rising growl that came from the set as its tubes — tubes — 
  warmed up. It was of ancient design, possibly of ancient manufacture as well. But it 
  would last nearly forever in this environment, if not subjected to harsh treatment.
  "I have the frequency. It's specific, and common, if you happen to hail from Central 
  Worlds. It's in the educational transmissions band."
  "Very sly," Keff said. "If a mysterious broadcast comes in over this band, most 
  monitors will think it's lads playing pranks."
  "Yes," Carialle said. "In the meantime, I can stay open on that frequency and hear the 
  moment anyone in range uses it."
  "Do you ever send a message yourself on this unit?" Keff asked.
  "No, never," Thunderstorm said. "I speak to Zonzalo when he calls me, but I do not 
  summon them."
  "We have a name," Carialle said. "I can send to the nearest space station for criminal 
  files. Zonzalo what?"
  "Don," Thunderstorm said. "He speaks for the leaders'* Aldon Fisman and Mirina 
  Don. Mirina is senior sibling of Zonzalo."
  "Fisman?" Keff asked. "Related to the first Fisman?"
  "Child of that one," Thunderstorm explained. "He is my friend. Strong and fierce, with 
  less warmth than the parent. Mirina embraces the apprentices. She is kindhearted."
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  "Kindhearted pirates," Carialle said ironically.
  "Hush, Cari," Keff said, soothingly. "We have names. Get on to CenCom and lets see 
  how far their records go back."
  Carialle opened up her receivers on the frequency she had gleaned from 
  Thunderstorm's unit. With so little on-air traffic on this planet, it should be easy to 
  detect another transmitter. Yes, there it was. Carialle couldn't tell precisely where it 
  was, but she could guess approximately how far away in the direction of the strongest 
  signal, where the antenna lay. She triangulated the location on the maps she had made 
  of Thelerie, and made her best guess. If she had to, she could make a flyover of that 
  region to be certain.
  "Got one," she said to Keff, interrupting another information dump from 
  Thunderstorm. From being taciturn and cagey, the Sayas of the space program had 
  become almost too eager to help.
  "Only one?" Keff asked. She saw his hand go up in front of his chest with one finger 
  raised, a request for the Thelerie to pause.
  "Only one base," Thunderstorm said, as his newfound friend fell silent, communing 
  with the internal voice again. "I will show it to you, if you wish."
  "Only one, not too high powered, so our friends count on getting very close to this 
  planet before making contact," Carialle said, running through a quick calculation. "It's 
  north-northeast of you, probably a couple hundred Hicks. They're very sure no one 
  will sneak up on them."
  "Well, they're wrong," Keff said, smacking one hand into another. "This time, we'll be 
  lying in wait."
  "And we freeze them in place," Big Voice said, extending his two fists out in front of 
  him." He rose off the floor above everyone's head, and spun in a circle.
  "No, no!" Keff exclaimed, diving for the councillor's globe before it crashed into one 
  of the pavilion's supports. "We need information from them. We can only do that if 
  they're free to move and speak."
  "Oh," Big Voice said, looking disappointed as Keff put him back on the floor. "It 
  would be simpler. But how can we do this?"
  "I have a cunning plan," Keff said, grinning at the little party in the pavilion. "What do 
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  the Melange come here for?"
  "To gas up, and to pick up a supply of natural navigators," Carialle said at once.
  "Well, to trade," Keff said, clarifying for the others. He sat down in his sling again and 
  held out both hands. "We don't want them to cut and run, we want to talk to them. 
  We're unarmed, and besides, policing is not our job. We gather information. So, what 
  if the next time they come, they find someone here in their particular, secret treasure 
  house, ready to undercut any price they ask for better goods?"
  Carialle sounded amused. "They wouldn't automatically identify traders as CW 
  personnel."
  "Exactly," Keff said, lifting himself into a pike position with his hands braced on the 
  supports of the sling-chair. "They'd land and try to find out who we are and where we 
  come from.
  "They might try to destroy you," Thunderstorm pointed out. "There is no mercy in 
  them."
  "It doesn't matter," Keff said. "Once they're out of their ships, they're vulnerable." He 
  plopped back onto the thick, black strap and swung back and forth, pleased with 
  himself.
  "We can capture them," Tall Eyebrow said, clamping an imaginary prey between his 
  large hands.
  "But you have no trade goods to attract attention," Narrow Leg said. "We have 
  brought nothing."
  "That's where you're wrong," Keff said, leaning forward with a grin. "We have some 
  very fine trade goods. Now, listen closely."
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  CHAPTER 16
  « ^ »
  "No more word from Base Eight," Zonzalo said, slapping an impatient hand down 
  on the console. "That ship must have gotten them. It's too late."
  Mirina bowed her head to say a quiet farewell to the lost crews. Some of them had 
  been good friends of hers ever since the beginning of her association with the 
  Melange. Some of them were apprentices she had brought on board and taught the 
  ropes; innocents, like Sunset, who was wide-pupiled at the news.
  "Are they all dead?" the Thelerie asked, searching his beloved humans' faces.
  "We don't know that," Bisman said nonchalantly, brushing off the youngster's 
  question. The radios might have broken down, that's all. All the stuffs old."
  "All of them?" Mirina asked in a sarcastic tone, taking care to keep her voice low. 
  'Three ships and the master transmitter and all the backups broke down at once?"
  "What do you want me to say?" Bisman hissed between his teeth. "You want the lad 
  yammering to be taken home because he's scared?"
  "He ought to know the truth, Aldon," Mirina hissed back, planting a palm in the 
  middle of his chest and pushing. Bisman, taken by surprise, backed up into the 
  bulkhead with a thump. His necklace of curios jangled. He brushed Minna's hand 
  away, and she put it on her hip. "The idea is that we let him make his own decisions, 
  based on honest information, so he can function on his own one day in space, just like 
  we promised them. If we don't tell him anything, he's just blundering along."
  "Huh. Like the rest of us." Bisman turned away to go aft toward the mess, dismissing 
  her. Suddenly, Mirina felt weary of the constant fighting, the dishonesty, the deaths. 
  She strode after Bisman, finally having to run up the corridor to catch him. He turned 
  around when he heard the hurrying footsteps behind him. Mirina beckoned him under 
  a ventilation duct so the noise would cover their voices to the crew on the bridge.
  "What?" Bisman demanded, deliberately standing over her so she had to crane her 
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  head back to look at him. She refused to let his tactics dismay her.
  "Aldon, I want to quit."
  "Quit what?" Bisman asked, acidly.
  "I'm tired," Mirina said, standing back a pace and easing her head down. She 
  massaged the back of her neck, and felt the tension in the muscles there. "I've been 
  thinking a lot about this lately. This wasn't supposed to be a permanent arrangement, 
  me staying on with you and the others."
  "What's to think about?' Bisman asked, his thick, dark eyebrows tented in a puzzled 
  peak over his nose. "We've got an arrangement. We work together, and we make 
  money. That's what you wanted."
  "Well, that's what I wanted for a while. Now, I want to stop."
  Bisman scowled at her. "You're not serious." i' Mirina let out an exasperated sigh. 
  "Yes, I'm serious."
  "Why do you want to leave?" Bisman asked. "We're good together."
  "We haven't really been together in a long time, Aldon," Mirina said, patiently, trying 
  to make him understand. She searched his face. "You know that. Everyone needs 
  change after a while. I've been here eight years. It's time for me to move on. I need 
  to." Then, daringly, "And I'm taking Zon with me."
  Bisman was immediately suspicious. "Why?"
  Mirina planted her hands on her ample hips. "Because that's what I meant to do eight 
  years ago when I came looking for him," she said, without raising her voice. She 
  could see by his expression that he finally understood her determination, but he still 
  didn't like it. "I meant to take him and go. Then I stayed. Now it's time for us to leave. 
  That's all."
  "Miri, honey, you can't go! We need you," Bisman said, bending his knees so he could 
  look directly into her eyes. He clasped her upper arms and shook her gently, a tender 
  look on his face. He rubbed his thumbs back and forth on her shoulders to the 
  indentation under her collarbone. Mirina groaned inwardly as she felt the tingle spread 
  through her body. She knew he was going to try emotional blackmail, and here it 
  came. He hadn't touched her like that in over two years. The contact felt so good, 
  reminding her of the days when they'd been lovers, but she knew it was only a tool he 
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  was using on her. Suddenly, she felt angry that she could be so thoroughly 
  manipulated.
  "You don't need me," Mirina said, fighting for a clear mind. "You did once, Aldon, 
  but now the operation is running well. It's profitable, and everyone's taking good care 
  of themselves."
  'There, you see?" Bisman said, with another friendly shake. "We're in good shape 
  because of you. You've done so much for us. We wouldn't have grown like this. 
  Couldn't have. We can't do without you. The Melange needs you."
  "You needed me," Mirina said, emphatically. "It isn't the same thing any more. As 
  soon as we finish this run to Thelerie, Zon and I are leaving." He heard the hard tone 
  of her voice and let her go, almost pushing her away. Mirina felt cold like the void of 
  space fill the gap between them. Shivers replaced the tingle. No, there hadn't been any 
  residual affection there.
  "To hell with you, then," he said, his voice flat. "Go. You've got plenty of money from 
  your shares to go anywhere you want."
  "I don't want it." Aha, that surprised him. "I've never taken a thing out of the kitty, 
  Aldon. It's all still there. I'll leave you every credit in exchange for a ship, any ship, 
  even a junker. I can make it run."
  "You don't know what you're talking about," Bisman said, making a fist. He held it in 
  midair as if he didn't know what to do with it. For a moment Minna was afraid he 
  would hit her. Then he slammed his hand against the bulkhead over her shoulder. 
  "You're crazy, the both of you. All right, then. When we make planetfall, you can 
  leave in a ship, and go to hell while you're at it." He threw the last words over his 
  shoulder as he stalked away toward the galley. Always the master of the parting line.
  "Thank you, Aldon," Minna called after him, genuinely grateful. He'd given her his 
  word. Bisman wasn't paying any attention. Probably planning the next raid to make up 
  for the loss of a ship.
  She had to think of her own next move, too, after Thelerie. They were only a day or 
  two away. It was going to take some fancy planning to begin life anew without a 
  credit to her name. At least she could top off the tank of whatever vessel Bisman let 
  her have. Thunderstorm's wrecks were available, but they wouldn't get her a light-year 
  before blowing up. Damn it, she thought. She would have liked to stick around until 
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  the Thelerie became spaceworthy on their own. They were coming along so well. It 
  would have been this generation that finally made the last step, and she would've been 
  there to see it. Maybe some day she'd meet one of them in a remote outpost 
  somewhere. Maybe they'd remember her. Minna sighed, her heart and shoulders 
  equally heavy. Maybe not. She went to tell Zonzalo of her decision.
  Minna woke in the dark and stared up at the ceiling. Yes, she had heard something, a 
  noise on the edge of sound. A hiss.
  In the utter blackness of her cabin she couldn't see anything, but she sensed that the 
  shape of the space had changed. She could feel the air blowing on her skin from 
  another angle. The door was open, but the corridor lights had been killed. Mirinas 
  remaining senses roared up to high awareness. The pulses of the ship grew loud, and 
  she felt the thrum of the engines in her flesh. Her sense of smell became enhanced, 
  too. Mirina scented sweat and another, less tangible odor, sharp and thin. Fear. The 
  shape of the darkness changed again, as a body moved between her and the source of 
  air.
  "Who's there?" she said out loud. The light hiss stopped, but no one spoke. Mirina felt 
  a cold ball of terror in her stomach. She drew her legs to one side, bracing her muscles 
  to spring to her feet on the bunk. Her balance was bad because her hip couldn't lie flat, 
  forcing her knee to stay up. Damn, she wished she had kept in better shape! 
  Complacency might now be the death of her.
  The unseen person drew closer. She was almost certain the intruder was alone. Who 
  was it? Why was it there? Such elaborate preparations boded no good to her.
  In a voice so calm it surprised her, she said, "I have a laser pistol in my hand. I don't 
  give a damn if the beam goes through you or the bulkhead. I'll give you to three before 
  I start slagging everything in this cabin. One. Two…" She threw back the covers from 
  her arms.
  The small sound alarmed the intruder. The footsteps, for the sound was feet sliding on 
  the floor, scurried out into the passage. The door ground back into place, and the room 
  regained its proper shape. Mirina clapped her hand to the wall for the lights. After two 
  or three attempts, the switches engaged, flooding the room with white light. Mirina 
  blinked blindly. In a moment, her eyes adjusted, and she scanned the cabin. Nothing 
  looked out of the ordinary. Somebody had disconnected the power to her lights and 
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  her door to make his or her work easier, and would join the group expressing shock 
  and outrage in the morning when Mirina would be found conveniently dead. She had 
  foiled the attempt, but the sneak remained at large in the ship, having left no clues as 
  to identity.
  She ought to go wake up Bisman, and start an inquiry immediately, and check who, 
  right now, had an elevated pulse. Maybe the sneak left fingerprints on the life-support 
  controls, or footprints on her floor. Then Mirina realized that Bisman couldn't care 
  less any more what happened to her. No clue was worth interrupting sleep.
  She beat her hands on her thighs in frustration. How naive of her to think she'd just be 
  allowed to walk away from the Melange! Bisman had gone straight to the mess hall 
  and told everyone the Dons wanted to jump ship. Naturally, the first thought through 
  everyone's mind must have been that she and Zonzalo intended to turn them all in and 
  plead states evidence. How stupid of her not to take that into account. From now until 
  there was a light-year or so between her and the crew, her life was in danger. She'd 
  better start pack-fag that threatened pistol, and take other precautions. Listening for 
  more footsteps in the hall, Mirina rose and hunted out her toolkit. She disconnected 
  the door's mechanism, so there would be no more surprises, from that source at least.
  The next two days were miserable. The raiders shunned even eye contact with the 
  traitor. Mirina had felt lonely before, but she couldn't have anticipated real isolation. 
  Zonzalo was no help. He resented being yanked away from his friends, and what he 
  thought of as a career. He would go with his sister when she left, but he was unhappy, 
  and he let everyone know it, loudly. Mirina was alone in her insistence on their 
  upcoming departure. Fortunately, no one made an attempt on her life during day shift. 
  The atmosphere was growing so hostile that Mirina started wearing the laser pistol on 
  her hip and other weapons concealed about her person. Bisman didn't look at her 
  directly at any time, but she caught sidelong glances when he thought she wasn't 
  paying attention. She wondered what he was thinking.
  She anticipated another attack, probably just as she and Zonzalo were ready to leave. 
  They couldn't go, she realized. Not with the knowledge she had of all their operations, 
  all their bases — their identity. By opening her mouth, she'd doomed herself and her 
  brother.
  Why hadn't she simply taken Zon and gone away, all those years ago? She'd been a 
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  fool. Ignored by the bridge crew, Mirina went back to her cabin and locked herself in.
  "Mirina?" Sunsets mellow voice, sweet and sad, came from outside her door on the 
  morning of the third, lonely day.
  "Yes?" she asked, without opening it. She checked the monitor camera she had hidden 
  in the bulkhead across from her door during the last dark shift. Nothing there but the 
  back and wings of the young Thelerie. "What do you want?"
  "May I see you?" he asked.
  "That would be a bad idea right now," she said, keeping her voice flat. She was afraid 
  to show the young Thelerie any warmth, lest Bisman and the others take out their 
  anger on him after the Dons were gone. Or dead.
  "Then, when? I must speak."
  Minna sighed. "Come in, but quickly." She reconnected the mechanism and slapped 
  the control. Sunset clattered in on four feet, and stood, his noseless face almost in the 
  works as she pulled the switches apart again.
  "You are afraid," he said.
  "Yes," she said. Her nervous laugh strangled into a squeak, so she chopped it off. She 
  swung an arm toward the chair at her desk, and lifted one hip onto the edge of her bed. 
  Sunset obediently walked over and slung his midsection across the chair seat. "Don't 
  worry. I can handle it. So, what is it, youngster?"
  "The others are talking about you," he said, his wide eyes fixed on her. "I do not wish 
  to question. I am obedient, but you are my friend, and I am concerned."
  Minna was touched. So far even Bisman had failed to corrupt this gentle innocent. If 
  there was anything she could do to make certain he was protected after she was gone, 
  she'd do it.
  "Thank you. What did they say?"
  "They are afraid you will turn them into the See-Double-Yew," he said. "They fear for 
  their lives."
  Mirina laughed bitterly. "Do you think I can go to the authorities?' she asked. "You 
  know what we do, young one. Your eyes are open. They'd lock me up, too. I'd rather 
  die, and they should all know that by now." She flung herself off the bed and paced. 
  "If these idiots want to kill me, all right, let them try! After eight years, if they don't 
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  trust me, then I know I stayed too long."
  "Don't go," Sunset said, reaching out a claw in a simple gesture that broke her heart. 
  "You are my friend."
  "Where's your homeworld?" she asked, her voice suddenly husky. He pointed in the 
  direction of the bridge, his eyes glowing.
  "We are very close to the Center now," he said. "Soon, we will be home!"
  "You're a good child," she said, coming over to pat his wing joint. "You learn your 
  lessons well. I'm proud of you. Remember that."
  "I will," he said. He put his claw hands together under his chin. Mirina repeated the 
  salute. For this one beings sake she felt sorry she was going.
  Hungry as she was for personal contact, Mirina sent Sunset back to his post. It would 
  not do for him to remain in her company. After the young Thelerie left, she cursed 
  herself for a poor planner. Why hadn't she thought of his well-being when she decided 
  to leave? The Melange might fall into chaos again after she was gone. This ship could 
  be stranded or captured. That child trusted his sacred humans; that trust should not 
  cost him his life.
  Mirina needed a moment alone with Thunderstorm. She would beg him to come up 
  with any pretext at all to pull Sunset off the ship, and forbid any other young Thelerie 
  from going out with the Melange. It was time they all faced the truth of what they 
  were doing.
  "No news from Base Eight yet," Zonzalo said over his shoulder to Bisman. Mirina 
  stood in her corner, invisible to the rest of the crew. Bisman, making sure she could 
  see it, walked up and patted the young man on the back. "The last message Thaw 
  heard was the same that we did. An attack, and then nothing." Zonzalo swallowed a 
  couple of times. Bisman shook his head.
  "Too bad. What about Thelerie?"
  "Thaw reports all is okay planetside. Reports in from some of the other crews with 
  profit statements, particulars -when you come by in person. Thaw said they filled the 
  tanks at the landing site. Thunderstorm's been up and back a couple of times."
  "Does he have any more apprentices for us?"
  Zonzalo shook his head. "Didn't say so."
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  "Too bad," Bisman repeated in the same expressionless voice, with a glance at Sunset. 
  "This one's doing so well, he might teach another Thelerie what he's learned."
  Sunset looked up at Bisman with joy. "I would be honored."
  "That's good," Bisman said, amused, and returned to Zonzalo. "Get on to Thunder, 
  and tell him to meet us. We've got some good stuff for him."
  "Right," the younger Don said. His eyes turned partway toward his sister, then 
  snapped back to his console. Mirina's cheeks burned. He was distancing himself from 
  her, maybe hoping she'd leave him behind with the others. Well, he was wrong. If she 
  had to knock him unconscious, she was getting him away from Bisman.
  "What do you mean, you want to compare values?" Bisman shouted at Thunderstorm 
  over the communication line, waving his arms furiously. The Thelerie pulled back 
  from his video pickup, his wings flat to his back, and his pupils narrowed in distress. 
  "I don't believe what I'm hearing! Compare values? With what?"
  "With those brought by the new humans," Thunderstorm said, his upper lip twitching. 
  "I have said that. It is only right, isn't it? To see whether the best deal can be made?"
  "We give you the best deal, you oversized fuzzy-toy!"
  "Who are these other humans with goods to sell?" Mirina asked, pushing in front of 
  Bisman. Zonzalo sat crunched down beside her, staying out of the way. "Thunder, 
  how could you let someone cut in on us? After we brought you spaceflight, taught you 
  Standard, and all…"
  Bisman rounded on her. 'Thought you were out of here," he sneered.
  Minna was not going to let him cow her. "I spent a hell of a lot of time bringing these 
  people up to speed, Aldon. I would think," she turned to the screen again, "they would 
  remember that they owe us something!"
  "We do, we do!" Thunderstorm protested, looking from one co-leader to the other in 
  panic. "But you have said we are one with all humans. Keff is a human!"
  Bisman groaned and slapped his hand to his head. Mirina, in spite of her annoyance, 
  was amused. "That's what you get for feeding them altruistic lines all these years," she 
  said.
  "Don't gloat, damn you," Bisman said. "Help me." Mirina, giving Aldon a last, 
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  humorous glance, turned back to the screen.
  "Who are they, Thunder?" she asked.
  "I have spoken with a human named Keff, as I say," Thunderstorm said. "He has many 
  interesting goods. I have seen some of them. He has hull-plates of supreme quality. 
  Thruster pods. Engine conduits. Good equipment, almost new. Some things we have 
  not seen before, a garden that travels in a ship!"
  "Who is this; guy? What does he look like? Who does he represent?" Bisman 
  demanded.
  "He is not as tall as you, Fisman, and broad in the chest, like Mirina. His eyes are the 
  sky, and his hair is the color of good soil," and Thunderstorm described curls by 
  circling a claw next to his head. "He says he represents the Circuit."
  'The Circuit?' Mirina echoed, puzzled. "Never heard of them."
  "This shouldn't change a thing, Thunder," Bisman said, finally. "We've got goods for 
  you. We'll land 'em, have you look 'em over, and we expect a good exchange for them, 
  as usual. We also need another apprentice or two. Shatz, out by Base 23, needs a 
  navigator for one of his ships. Padwe and Hannah are ready to expand, too."
  "I… am not sure any are ready to accompany you, honored one," Thunderstorm said. 
  Mirina frowned. Thunder was usually deferential, but he seemed downright scared 
  this time. His wings were pressed hard enough to his sides, Mirina could see the 
  tendons bulge under the fur. "All are too young, too unschooled… I hope Sunset is 
  well?"
  Mirina signalled to the young Thelerie, who was happy to greet his old mentor. He 
  scrambled over, put his hands under his chin and bowed to the screen.
  "I am very well, Thunder," he said. "I look forward to seeing you soon."
  "And I you, youngster," Thunderstorm said, with visible relief. The tendons in his 
  wings relaxed.
  'There is something wrong down there," Mirina said, when Zonzalo had closed the 
  circuit. "We've got to find out what's going on."
  "I'll tell you what's wrong," Bisman snarled, slamming a fist down on the back of 
  Zonzalo's chair. "Somebody's trying to take over our territory. They're going to regret 
  it, damn them."
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  Thunderstorm turned away from the little console. His wingtips and claws trembled as 
  he tottered back to his desk sling. He collapsed into it. The Cridi, who had stayed well 
  out of range of the communication cabinet's video pickup, clustered around him with 
  concern. Keff raised his eyebrows in a question.
  "It is done," the Thelerie said, nodding weakly. 'They are coming."
  "Good," Keff said. "Tell Noonday. Then we start the ball rolling."
  "We are ready," Narrow Leg said, nodding to Tall Eyebrow and Long Hand. "I regret 
  this, in many ways. I do not like being defenseless. I do not like having my ship all to 
  pieces all over a field."
  "It won't be for long," Keff assured him. "And you aren't defenseless. You'll all be 
  staying with Carialle in our ship."
  "Is not the Watcher nervous, too?" Big Eyes asked.
  Carialle answered via helmet speakers, audible to them all. "I certainly am," she said. 
  "But we're on the way to unraveling a lot of mysteries. It'll be worth it, whatever 
  comes."
  The crew of the raider ship united instantly against the notion of a stranger's 
  impinging on their domain. Glashton was in favor of killing the intruder on the spot. 
  When the idea began to gather approval from others, Minna pushed into the midst of 
  them and in spite of the possibility of danger to herself, shouted them down.
  "Quiet! What's the matter with you?" she asked, waving a forefinger under all their 
  noses. "There may be a whole host of ships behind this one trader. He could be the 
  vanguard for a traveling fleet! Did you think of that? Sooner or later someone was 
  bound to stumble onto Thelerie. Well? Now someone has!"
  "I want to know all about this Circuit," Bisman said, forgetting for the moment that 
  Minna was persona non grata. "I've never so much as heard a rumor about them."
  "It's a big galaxy," Mirina said, her hands on her hips. "I learned that back in 
  Exploration when we could find whole systems that had been hidden from scans by 
  spatial anomalies. You'd be surprised how easy it is to hide an empire, let alone a 
  rival… trading group."
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  "Send a message to Varvon, Frost, Hannah, and anybody who might have access to a 
  CW news computer station," Bisman ordered. "I want details. Is the scanner working?"
  "Intermittently," Glashton said, with a grimace.
  "Take a look and see if this characters alone."
  "And what are we going to do in the meantime?" It was an automatic question, 
  responsibility kicking in again. Mirina realized it as soon as the phrase left her mouth.
  "We?" Bisman glared down at her, also recognizing the incongruity. She saw his face 
  change from annoyance to the old, worn groove of cooperation. It was stupid of her to 
  get involved again when she had so nearly cut the traces, but she owed the Melange 
  some measure of gratitude, too. She nodded. Bisman smiled grimly.
  "We're going to pay a visit to this Keff." He glanced up at Zonzalo and Glashton. 
  "He'll be leaving pretty quickly. Prepare to track where he goes. If the scanner's not 
  working, follow him. We've still got the Slime Ball. We can destroy him and his ship 
  if he gets funny."
  "What a junker!" Carialle exclaimed. Keff had carefully turned his torso so she could 
  see the huge, red ship land on the field near Thunderstorm's pavilion. It was 
  immediately surrounded by Thelerie of all ages, some flying forward pushing wheeled 
  ramps, others wrestling refueling hoses from the mighty tanks nestled in the crags at 
  the edge of the plain.
  "No doubt about it now," Keff said, the consonants blunted because he was speaking 
  sublingually. 'The style is all of a piece with the ships we confronted circling Cridi. 
  We have our culprits. The only question is, are these the leaders of the whole shebang, 
  or will we have to go hunting further?"
  Carialle conveyed the question to Noonday, who was in her main cabin with two of 
  her bodyguards and the ^Cridi. The Sayas glanced up from her perch on the weight 
  bench as Carialle zoomed in as the hatch opened.
  "This is Aldon Fisman," Noonday said. "I recall him much younger. It is shameful that 
  I and the Ro-sayo did not take closer notice of our involvement with the Melange. But 
  all was so beneficial, and we never questioned their good intentions."
  Jody Lynn Nye
  "It is natural to think they would be as morally good as yourself," Long Hand said 
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  kindly. In the ammonia-free atmosphere of Carialle's cabin, the Cridi went without 
  their travel globes. The visiting Thelerie were fascinated, and studied their neighbors 
  openly. In particular, they seemed interested in the Cridi's hands, which were nearly 
  the size of their own claws, which in turn were the same size as Keffs hands. It was a 
  sign, Noonday had said, that they all ought to be friends.
  "Bisman is their Sayas, in cooperation with the female who now descends," Noonday 
  told Carialle.
  On the screen, a woman and a younger man who resembled one another followed 
  Bisman down the ramp. Next out of the ship was a young Thelerie, his eyes and jaws 
  wide, taking in gulping breaths as if he could not get enough of the air. He took the 
  ramp at a bound, spread his wings, gathered his mighty haunches under him and 
  sprang into the air for pure joy. All of Carialle'spulses seemed to halt for that one 
  moment as he took flight.
  "Beautiful," she said. She checked her datatapes. Yes, that lovely moment was 
  recorded forever in her memory banks.
  "Freihur!" the young Thelerie cried. "Fanasta, theleriyagliapalo!"
  Thunderstorm, a row or two down from Keff, looked up, and his eyes widened with 
  relief.
  "Farantasioyera, shafur," he said, with the booming cough that was a Thelerie chuckle, 
  as the apprentice came to a scrabbling landing beside him. The two embraced warmly, 
  claw hands and wings wrapped around one another's bodies.
  "Did you get any of that, Keff?" Carialle asked. IT laboriously sorted through the 
  syllables, and produced "greetings, (unintelligible) homeworld joy your coming." 
  Thunderstorm had said, "Proud (unintelligible) return, young (unintelligible)." 
  Carialle guessed that the missing words were names or endearments. Even days of 
  intensive cramming wasn't enough to fill in the blanks in IT's lexicon and grammar.
  Keff turned away to answer her. Carialle was disappointed when her view was cut off, 
  but one couldn't have everything.
  "I did," he said. "I'm going to have to rely on the Thelerie speaking Standard. The 
  Cridi will be at a double disadvantage. Standard is new to them, too."
  "They're very adaptable," Carialle reminded him. "They're doing just fine. And 
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  besides, they are better at reading body language than you are."
  "Are you sure they won't jump in too soon this time?" Keff asked, a little more 
  forcefully than he intended. "We need information, not statues. The second these 
  people find out we're affiliated with the Cridi, they'll clam up."
  "Absolutely," Carialle said. "Tall Eyebrow swore to me he will not act unless your 
  very life is in danger, and he has one of my second-best monitors in that box with him. 
  The others are here with me, watching the scopes. They are all hooked up temporarily 
  with the Core inside my bulkhead. Myths and Legends has found a useful purpose at 
  last outside pure pleasure, my dear. While you've been setting up your trading post 
  over the last few days, they've been role-playing with holos of human beings until 
  they know the difference between simple physical-psychological aggression and 
  actual assault. They're as ready as they can be." 
  "Hmm," Keff said. "Keep your records of the training sessions; I'd like Dr. Chaudri in 
  Psych on SSS-900-C to take a look at them."
  "Already saved and stored," Carialle assured him blithely. "I think you have a 
  customer."
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  CHAPTER 17
  « ^ »
  The first thing anyone would notice was the poster. Mirina saw it on short-range 
  screens before they had quite landed on the'plain. Once she could examine it in detail, 
  she was impressed.
  Painted or printed at the top of the huge, white signboard was a pair of silhouetted 
  beings, species indeterminate, exchanging shapeless bundles. Beneath the image of 
  the traders was depicted pictures of certain commodities in various recognizable forms 
  that the trader would accept in exchange for his wares. The first line was an irregular 
  lump of gold, half in and out of quartz matrix; the gold was shown next pressed into 
  an ingot, then as the molecular diagram of the element, and weight at certain gravity, 
  then as various artifacts into which gold could be shaped, such as cups, wire, circuit 
  boards, statues, jewelry. He wishes, Mirina thought. Other lines showed crystals; from 
  simple quartzite sand up through diamond and radioactive crystalline forms; precious 
  metals; radioactives; iron and steel; marble, alabaster, and other decorative heavy 
  stone. Handcrafts were welcome, too. A depiction of weaving and various finished 
  products showed a real familiarity with textile manufacture. Jewelry, pottery, 
  furniture, and practically any type of merchandise approved by the Central Exchange 
  Commission had been pictured in minute detail, but still leaving room for the 
  individual to offer variations. So tidy a mind that could design a sign like this 
  appealed to her. This Keff had a completist's attitude: that everything can be set out so 
  no one misunderstands, and everyone goes away happy. If she'd been staying on with 
  Bisman, she might have suggested such a sign for them.
  There were three more lines at the bottom of the signboard, showing various kinds of 
  weapons: guns, lasers, bows, whips, garottes, with a big red X through each. This 
  trader didn't want just anything, Mirina noted. Even if an alien didn't understand what 
  the X or the color red meant at once, it would understand that there was something 
  different about the acceptability of certain things. That showed a kind of morality that 
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  she had tried without success to impose on the Melange. No matter. That part of her 
  life would soon be behind her. The signboard was worn and battered, as if it had been 
  in and out of a cargo hold a thousand times. She glanced at the trader in the midst of 
  his wares. Perhaps it had. He certainly looked as if he'd seen a few days himself.
  Keff, if it was he, was not a youth. He looked to be about her own age, around forty. A 
  man of middle height with very broad shoulders, trim and fit, he was dressed for 
  comfort in a gaudy tunic and a pair of exercise pants going saggy around the ankle 
  underneath a clear environment suit, the only part of his attire that looked new. The 
  top of the helmet had been opaqued against the hot Thelerie sun. The dark halo threw 
  into prominence his brown, curly hair, and fair skin, made pink by the heat. He was at 
  work straightening piles of goods. Two little, boxy servo robots rumbled up and down 
  the rows between the stacks, putting things back in order or holding up goods for the 
  Thelerie to see. When the raider crew spread out, the boxies accepted them as 
  customers, and held up on display any item by which anyone stopped for more than a 
  few seconds. And what merchandise!
  "He's got half a spaceship scattered on the ground," Mirina whispered to Bisman as 
  they pushed their way along the dusty aisle toward the stranger. "Look at that: hull 
  plates, exhaust locks, life-support circuitry — I don't know what that is." She pointed 
  at a green, pressed-plastic tub about three meters across and two deep that had several 
  protuberances sticking inward over the lip. A couple of locals were looking it over 
  with the aim of making a planter out of it.
  Thunderstorm and some of his staff were counting small circuit boards through the 
  plastic of a storage pouch. They stopped to give the respectful greeting to the humans, 
  but went back to their examination. Bismans face crimsoned with suppressed fury 
  over the whole situation. Mirina thought he might go into an apoplectic fit. She was 
  annoyed, too, at the nonchalance this character showed.
  "There must be thirty Thelerie here," Bisman said furiously, shouldering past them. 
  More natives were winging in at every moment, landing at a remove from the scatter 
  of merchandise and loping forward curiously. "What happened to security?"
  "Thunderstorm can't control every centimeter of this planet," Mirina said, reasonably, 
  glancing back over her shoulder at the Space Sayas. He looked very nervous, and she 
  patted the air in a calming gesture toward him. "I can't believe this stranger's here all 
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  alone."
  "Fool evidently has no fear," Bisman said. "Can you believe it? He landed on a 
  strange world and set up shop, never thinking anybody might take a shot at him!"
  "There's probably some sophisticated armaments in his ship," Mirina speculated, 
  glancing around. She spotted it at last, and wondered how she had missed it. It stood 
  tall and pure of shape in a niche formed by the natural rock wall at the edge of the 
  plateau, like a classical statue in an alcove. "What a beauty!"
  Bisman glanced up in the direction she pointed, and whistled as he made a mental 
  estimate.
  "There's money behind him," he said, at last. "We ought to be able to help ourselves to 
  some of it."
  "You're Keff?" Bisman asked.
  "Who wants to know?" Keff said, stacking white enameled plates. The servo came 
  over and took them away from him with a touch of impatience that was all Carialle's. 
  He let go of the piece of hull and straightened up to greet his new "customer."
  His eyes were a vivid blue in the pink-cheeked face. Mirina realized with a shock how 
  attractive he was, and unconsciously thrust out one hip and put a hand on it. Keff 
  grinned at her. Abashed, she stood up straight, folding her arms across her chest.
  "Hot day, isn't it, friends?" Keff asked.
  "You don't seem surprised to see other human beings," she said.
  Keff laughed. "When I landed, these nice people addressed me in my own language," 
  he said. "It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that they've known human people 
  for a long, long time. They didn't get the language from tapes. There were chairs in 
  that building over yonder, though none of the locals can sit on them. And your friend 
  here," he pointed to Thunderstorm, "uses colloquialisms."
  "Colloq… ?" Bisman waved away the unfamiliar word. "So what if he does? If they're 
  in good working order, who cares?" Though Mirina could tell it was costing him 
  something of an effort, he put out a hand to the stranger. "This is Mirina Don. I'm 
  Aldon Bisman."
  "Thought it was Fisman," Keff said exasperatingly. "That's what the locals called you. 
  Just call me Keff."
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  He was so damned cheerful, Mirina thought, she might like to strangle him herself. 
  Then he turned the intense blue gaze on her, and she felt her cheeks flame with red. 
  He was very, very attractive. He looked her up and down, with a quick, insouciant 
  flick of those eyes. She should have been offended, but instead, she threw back her 
  hair and raised her chin in defiance. He gave her a grin of approval.
  "Damned Thelerie can't say their damned b's," Bisman said. "When are you moving 
  on?"
  "When I've finished doing business," Keff said. He straightened up and looked 
  Bisman in the eye. He might have been several inches shorter than the raider, but 
  Mirina, with the eye of long experience, thought he'd be a match for him. The way 
  Keff stood so naturally on the balls of his feet instead of flat on the soles suggested he 
  lived unarmed combat. Formidable, attractive… and smack in the middle of the 
  Melange's patch. She had to remember that. He was an intruder. He represented the 
  outside world. It spelled the end of the Thelerie's sheltered existence, and she couldn't 
  have that.
  "What kind of goods do you have here?" Mirina asked.
  "Oh, see for yourself. I sell a lot of things. I do a rather good line on state-of-the-art 
  spaceship parts, right out of the heart of the CW," Keff said. Mirina exchanged a 
  glance with Bisman, and saw the light of greed in his eyes. And small wonder, too, 
  with that array on the ground.
  "Looks like you have a whole spaceship spread out here," Bisman said, 
  conversationally.
  Keff laughed again, but a little nervously. "When you pick things up here and there, 
  they accumulate," he said.
  "Good guess," Carialle said, auditing the conversation from four hundred meters 
  away. "Good thing he hasn't got the Cridi's skill for abstract puzzle-solving, or he'd 
  see for sure! I'm glad your new design doesn't look like the old ships, Narrow Leg, or 
  these folks would have spotted the resemblance in an instant. Can't have that."
  Narrow Leg sat on the console in front of the biggest screentank. In Carialle's 
  protective atmosphere, he and the others were able to move around, free of their travel 
  globes. They watched the screens around the main cabin that were not obscured by the 
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  shipbuilders person.
  "I do not like having my ship all to pieces on the ground," he said, wringing his big 
  hands together as on the screen Mirina kicked some of the components. "Do not touch 
  that, silly human!" he wailed shrilly. "That is a delicate power regulator!"
  "This stuff is junk," the woman said, turning over a brand-new engine accelerator 
  valve still covered with protective lubricant. "I'll give you fifty credits for it, no more."
  "No, thank you," the unseen Keff said, blithely, his hand taking the component away 
  from her and setting it delicately on the top of a servo, who spirited it away. "It's 
  worth a lot more than that."
  "Oh, yes? How do you expect me to make a profit on it if I pay you more?" Mirina 
  asked. The woman turned to watch the robot whisk the accelerator valve to the end of 
  a row and set it down on a rickety folding table.
  "Aren't we greedy?" Carialle commented.
  "I don't expect you to make a profit on it; I expect me to make a profit on it," Keffs 
  voice said. "I expect you to use it. I prefer to serve the end-user. If you don't want it, 
  someone else will."
  She shrugged. "Its junk. Who else would?"
  Narrow Leg's black eyes bulged until Carialle thought they would pop.
  "How dare she denigrate the components of my ship! They are perfect! I rejected eight 
  to the power of six of that valve before choosing that one! It was the product of ten to 
  the power of sixteen calculations and designs!" His voice rose into almost inaudible 
  registers.
  "Its a bargaining ploy," Big Eyes said, floating over from her perch on the round table 
  to try to calm her father. She put a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he shook it off 
  irately. "You exist in the rarefied waters of science too much. You should come to the 
  bazaar, and dig through the mud with me some time. Then you would hear worse than 
  this."
  "Bah." Narrow Leg was not appeased. He turned to Carialle's frog image on the near 
  bulkhead. "What if they take some of our parts away?"
  "We have many spares," Gap Tooth called to him.
  "They are all out there, mains and spares," Narrow Leg gestured angrily.
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  Big Voice was clearly amused to see his old adversary discomfitted for once. With a 
  tiny flick of his fingers, he drew just enough power from Carialle's engines to glide up 
  from the weight bench and over where the shipbuilder was sitting.
  "Keff will protect your ship parts," he said.
  "And if he cannot?" Narrow Leg demanded, glaring upward. "How do you expect to 
  get home?"
  Big Voice snapped his fingers, making the gold fingerstalls click. "We do not need 
  your ship. Carialle will bring us back to Cridi."
  "I will, if necessary," Carialle promised the anguished captain. "But your craft will be 
  restored as soon as possible."
  "I am not happy," Narrow Leg said. He hunched up his kness and wrapped his skinny 
  arms around them. The small bundle shot off the console and disappeared into the lap 
  of the crash couch behind him.
  "Leave him alone," Big Eyes signed, flitting away from the chair like a tadpole 
  swimming in a pond. "It is no use communicating with him when he is like this."
  "He should be adaptable, like me," Big Voice said aloud.
  From inside the huge chair came a disbelieving "Hah!"
  "My child looks nervous," Noonday said, speaking up timidly. "He has shown 
  disrespect to humans, and it weighs upon his conscience." The Sayas and two of her 
  Ro-sayo sat in the corner, out of the way of the Cridi. Noonday occupied Keffs weight 
  bench; and the Ro-sayo, a spare mattress pad from the cargo hold. Carialle switched 
  her monitor away from the conversation Keff was having with the raiders, and 
  zoomed in on Thunderstorm. The Space Sayas went about his shopping as he'd been 
  told to do, but he wasn't happy.
  "He's doing fine," Carialle assured his parent, enlarging the view on the screen nearest 
  the weight bench for the sake of the Thelerie visitors. "He did exactly what he was 
  supposed to, to make the Melange jealous. We don't want them thinking too clearly. 
  People blurt things out when they are angry."
  "Flurt?" Noonday asked, her beautiful eyes puzzled.
  "Speak forcefully without thinking," Carialle said, slowly.
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  "These learn," Small Spot said, proudly. He sat as close to the Thelerie as they would 
  allow him. "I teach them more Standard, which I know."
  "You're doing fine, too," Carialle assured him, privately amused.
  "I cannot believe the beauty of this ship, Carialle," Noonday said. "I see, but my eyes 
  must lie — such things as this and the Cridi ship, they are as dreams."
  Narrow Leg was somewhat soothed by the compliments. His wrinkled, green face 
  appeared over the top of the crash couch.
  "Not a dream. State-of-the-art for now," he peeped.
  "We move ahead, always ahead." Carialle transposed the voice to a baritone register 
  and amplified it so Noonday and the others could listen without pain.
  "We are getting used to them," Noonday said, to the air. Carialle could tell that she 
  still didn't really understand a human who lived in the walls, nor one who could look 
  like a frog at will, but followed the Cridi's example of behaving as if Carialle was 
  there in the room with them. Shellperson existence was a facet of human experience 
  that had never yet come their way.
  She wondered what the CenCom would make of Thelerie, and if they would try to 
  withdraw the technology humans had given them to date, on the grounds that they 
  wouldn't have evolved it yet themselves. She hoped not, but bureaucrats could be so 
  rulebound!
  Carialle herself had become completely comfortable with Thelerie. Having had 
  Noonday, Thunderstorm, the Ro-Sayo, and a large number of former members of the 
  Melange tour through her ship during the last several days, she was convinced that 
  none of their gaits matched the footsteps she remembered transiting what was left of 
  her hull after her accident, not even accounting for weightlessness and grav-boots. 
  They were absolved. The question remained: who?
  "Well, we might have an offer for you ourselves," Bisman said, rocking back on his 
  heels and staring up at the sun. "We'll take the whole line off your hands, on condition 
  that you take it, and don't come back."
  "I can't do that," Keff said. "I have obligations to fulfill."
  "The Circuit," Bisman said. Keff nodded. "Where's it based?'
  "Oh, here and there," Keff said, too casually.
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  "Well, it won't be here," Bisman said, not at all fooled. "You have two days, then I 
  want to see your tail-rockets up there." He pointed toward the sky.
  "No can do," Keff said, looking pathetically at both leaders. Mirina wasn't moved. 
  "The lady who runs the Circuit would make life miserable for me. You'll understand." 
  And he flashed that insouciant grin once again.
  Mirina found that they were getting nowhere with the trader. It stood to reason that a 
  traveler who went around in a fancy ship like that with top-shelf goods like these on 
  the edge of nowhere wouldn't be easy to bluff, but was he too cocky? Bisman might 
  get so frustrated that he would attack him right here. She could stop him, but couldn't 
  prevent the rest of the crew piling in on a fight. At least Zonzalo and Sunset would 
  stay out of it. She'd been very firm in her orders. For whatever reason, neither one 
  argued.
  Bisman started some low-level threats on Keff, nothing overt or too nasty, and found 
  his sallies thrown back in his face. Mirina stood by, turning over the odd component 
  or two with her toe. He had some of the damnedest things for sale. Oil paintings? She 
  bent to examine them. A small space-scape caught her eye. She thought she 
  recognized the subject as Dimitri DMK-504-R. Piled anyhow underneath it were the 
  study of a planet she couldn't identify, a lake at sunset, a beautifully detailed portrait 
  of a cat stalking a leaf, and a color sketch of a couple in yellow and silver, holding a 
  baby dressed in deep, burgundy red.
  "You've wandered into our patch," Bisman was saying over her head.
  "Did you paint these?" Mirina asked, suddenly, interrupting them. She nudged the pile 
  with the side of her foot. "They're good!"
  She was rewarded with the warm grin. "No. A friend of mine does them."
  "He has talent," Mirina said.
  "She. Thank you. I'll pass the compliment along. Maybe you'd like to buy something?' 
  Keff asked, with just the right air of hope.
  Jody Lynn Nye
  "Maybe not," Mirina said, crossing her arms again. Good God, he was pushy!
  "Oh, then on my next stop here," he said, cheerfully, not at all put off. "You folks get 
  around here much?"
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  "Now, listen, friend," Bisman said, poking Keff in the chest to get his attention. 'There 
  won't be another stop here for you."
  "Really?" Keff asked. "I won't ask, 'you and what army,' because I've been watching 
  your toughs gather around me for the last ten minutes, and I promise you I'm just not 
  as green as I am cabbage-looking."
  "What?" Mirina demanded, having followed his conversation up until then.
  "Save the ancient colloquialisms yourself," Carialle growled in his ear. Keff clicked 
  his tongue in acknowledgment. He had his hand on the top of the red box marked 
  "Medical Waste," where Tall Eyebrow was concealed. One rap, and these brutes 
  would be frozen in place. He hated to show his trump card right away. He would 
  never get what he needed if he was too cocky.
  "Sorry," he said, smiling at the woman. "I mean, I was not born yesterday. You don't 
  think for a minute that I don't know how defenseless I look." She paused. Keff noticed 
  Bisman's hand sweep down in a gesture that looked casual, but all the other spacers 
  stopped moving toward them.
  "So you have some kind of defense in that fancy airplane of yours," Bisman said 
  casually.
  "Airplane, hah," Carialle said. "Look at the flying refuse heap he came in."
  "Shh!… sssure," Keff said. "My… employer wouldn't let me out without adequate 
  protection."
  "The Circuit," Bisman said flatly.
  "You've heard of us?"
  "No, I haven't. You could be a fly-by-night operation with one ship and an attitude. 
  I've seen your kind before."
  "Started that way yourself, did you?" Keff asked, and had the satisfaction of seeing the 
  pirate start violently.
  "The Melange comes from an old family tradition," Bisman corrected him with a 
  sharp look.
  "Ah! Your father," Keff translated.
  The present-day Bisman breasted up to Keff and glared down at him. "Listen, 
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  character, you gather up all your debris, and you lift off of this world within thirty 
  Standard hours."
  "My boss will get tetchy if I don't come back with a deal," Keff said, plaintively, his 
  hands spread in appeal. Bisman crossed his arms. Out of the corner of his eye, Keff 
  could see the crew on the move again. "No, eh?"
  'Too bad," Bisman was saying. "You tell him he's accidentally impinged on hazardous 
  territory."
  "She," Keff corrected him. "You wouldn't believe how tough the broad is at the center 
  of the Circuit. Your threats would make her laugh out loud."
  "Oh, Keff, I love it!" Carialle's chuckle sounded in his ear. "Tell him it's a neural-
  synaptic network, which means we're never far away from the active arm of our 
  organization."
  Keff passed on Carialle's words, and enjoyed the puzzled look on the pirates' faces as 
  the two did mental translations. Bisman, at least, came up empty.
  "What's this tough broad's name?" the older man asked.
  "Carialle."
  "Carialle what?"
  "None of your business," Keff said, nonchalantly, raising his eyebrows.
  "It is if we're going to do business with you," Bisman said.
  "And who says you are?" Keff asked. "You want me off what you call your patch. 
  Who in the frosty void do you think you are?"
  "Look," Bisman said, suddenly looking bored with him. "I don't talk to underlings. I 
  want to talk to this Carialle."
  "Hmmm… Might be arranged," Keff said.
  "I want a meeting. You can arrange it."
  "Well, I'll see what I can do," Keff said, bending down to accept a bag of circuit 
  boards from one of the loader robots. He glanced up at Thunderstorm and the young 
  apprentice from the pirate ship. The older Thelerie had an anxious look on his face.
  "Fine, fine," Keff called, waving to the Sayas. "I'll put the value down on a slate for 
  you. Keep looking! You never know if you'll find something else you like." He smiled 
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  at Bisman. "It may take some time to get a message through to Carialle, but I'll send 
  one right away and tell her you want to talk with her."
  "Face-to-face," Bisman said, tapping Keff painfully in the middle of the chest once for 
  every syllable.
  While Keff stood there thoughtfully rubbing his chest, Bisman hustled Mirina away. 
  He grabbed Thunderstorm by a claw on the way by.
  "Your pavilion," he hissed. "Now!"
  Thunderstorm loped unhappily behind them over the stony ground. Mirina could feel 
  the storm of fury growing, but Bisman didn't let fly until they were safely under the 
  roof.
  "You're avoiding me," Bisman snapped, rounding at once on the Thelerie. Waving a 
  finger under Thunderstorm's nose, he backed the Sayas up until he bumped into his 
  own desk sling. "Don't try to deny it. I've known you too long. I told you we had stuff 
  for you. You should be buying from us, and only us."
  "Tell us about this man," Mirina said, more kindly. The Thelerie looked from one 
  human to the other, clattering his claws together nervously. He settled over the sling 
  and continued tapping his fingertips on the desktop until Bisman glared at him to stop.
  "This Keff landed here one day. He said he had goods we might like. And so we do!" 
  Thunderstorm said, miserably. "Things that the Melange has been unable to get for 
  many years, are here! You see the temptation is great. And others saw him before I 
  did, so I could not hide him. They like these goods."
  "I understand that," Bisman said. "He's got a few things I might take myself. What I'm 
  talking about is no apprentices. You must have some about ready to ship out. Where 
  are they?"
  "I… I do not have any I am ready to send. There is more to know."
  "Haven't they memorized the Manual?" Mirina asked, puzzled.
  "Oh, yes," Thunderstorm said, at once. "In that they are proficient."
  "Then what's the hangup?" Bisman asked, banging a fist on the desk. "You know what 
  land of rewards there are in space travel."
  "Yes," Thunderstorm replied, more thoughtfully than usual. "I know."
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  "So why are you being cagey with us?"
  "The air is bad in ships," Thunderstorm said suddenly. "The old ones who I see have 
  weakness in the thorax from lack of elemental acids."
  "Chlorine?" Mirina asked.
  "Yes," Thunderstorm said.
  "Hell, then we'll work out a medical system. Miri… no, I'll work something out," 
  Bisman said, dismissing Mirina. She glared, then realized she had no right to 
  complain. He'd accepted her resignation, and he was letting her go.
  "It will still take time before any are ready," Thunderstorm said, timidly. "The training 
  continues."
  Bisman walked to the entrance of the pavilion. "Next time I won't take no for an 
  answer, Thunder. There are ships out there who need Thelerie apprentices. Just 
  remember who your friends are." With an apologetic glance back at the terrified 
  Thelerie, Mirina followed him out.
  Bisman reported the conversation to the others on the ship. The reivers clustered in the 
  galley grumbled about another setback.
  "Dammit, this tears the trip out to Sungali," Glashton said. "Hannah had a collection 
  for us. It's not worth burning the fuel if we have to turn around and bring her a 
  navigator on a separate trip."
  "At least we can't blame this problem on the trader," Mirina said.
  "No, dammit, but he might have said something that set them off," Bisman said, with 
  growing heat. He kicked a battered cabinet door, adding a black bootmark to the 
  damage he'd done it in hundreds of other temper tantrums. Mirina wouldn't miss that 
  part of Aldon Bisman at all.
  "Perhaps he's tired of talking to the families of the ones who don't come home again," 
  she said, pointedly.
  "Shut up!" Bisman said, rounding on her. "You want out anyhow. This isn't any of 
  your business anymore." He slammed his hand on the countertop. "I've got to find the 
  pressure point, get Thunder back into line, and soon. These Thelerie are a hell of a lot 
  of trouble."
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  "Well, why are we bothering to go to so much trouble for them, then?" Zonzalo said 
  with disgust.
  "Because the soulfrigging flying barnacles can't get lost, that's why," Bisman 
  exploded. "You know that, you young idiot. They always know their way back home, 
  and everywhere in proportion to home. It happened to me once, being lost without a 
  navigator. I never want that to happen again. Wandering lost in eternity may appeal to 
  you, but it scares me juiceless!"
  "And there's the fuel," Mirina said thoughtfully. "I didn't see any Thelerie 
  merchandise out on that field. Did Keff spot the refinery and offer to trade for a 
  tankload?"
  "Whatever it is doesn't matter," Bisman said. "We find out what there is to know about 
  this Circuit, and what defenses this Keff is packing in that pretty ship of his. He'll get 
  a meeting set up with this Carialle, and I'll strangle him in front of her as a lesson to 
  stay out of our way."
  "And then what?" Mirina asked.
  "Then we take care of all of the Circuit," Bisman said. "We've got the Slime Ball, 
  remember?"
  "Who knows how many there'll be?" Mirina asked. "The Ball could overheat any day, 
  and then we'll have nothing."
  "We've got more than sixty ships and enough armament to carpet a planet," Bisman 
  said offhandedly. "I'll start calling 'em in right away. If he wants to make this system 
  the prize in a blood game, we'll oblige him."
  "I don't want the Thelerie hurt!" Mirina said, alarmed at the idea.
  "Shut up," Bisman said, facing her down. "Either help, or get out of the way. You're 
  just waiting for an offworld ship now, right?"
  It stung, but Mirina had asked for it. "Right," she said. She rose and stalked out of the 
  galley. Zonzalo got up to follow her, but his footsteps stopped at the hatchway. Mirina 
  went back to her cabin alone.
  '"Are they gone?" Keff asked the air.
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  "Sealed up in their wretched ship," Carialle said. 'They might have a passive scan on 
  you, but it's nothing I'm picking up. Their telemetry equipment is as haphazard as their 
  engines."
  "Thank heavens," Keff said. One of the servos rumbled up to him, and he put the 
  Medical Waste box onto its flat top. He slapped the robot's side. "Move it out, quickly. 
  Is the tub full?"
  "Big Eyes has it ready and waiting, with an electrolyte shake on the side."
  Keff trotted along behind the drone. The sun was setting over the planetary-west 
  horizon, and he glimpsed two moons rising golden above the mountain ranges. Very 
  pretty landscape, he thought, but too, too hot.
  "Are you okay in there, TE?" he asked, through his helmet mike.
  "Okay," came a faint croak.
  "Hurry it up, Cari," Keff said, more concerned. He didn't like the way the globe-frog 
  sounded. Had he stayed outside too long? The servo rumbled around the edge of the 
  stone cliff, and out of sight at last from the pirates' ship. Keff grabbed the crate bodily 
  off its platform and ran with it into the ship. The other Cridi flew around him as soon 
  as he was past the airlock. The lid of the box flew one way, and the little globe lifted 
  straight out.
  The sides of the globe were completely misted over with condensation, which broke 
  up as the others moved it. The Frog Prince's body lay at the bottom, immersed in a 
  few liters of water. He roused as Big Eyes wrenched off the upper half of the travel-
  globe, and sat up. His eyes glistened in an unusually pinched face, but he waved away 
  offers of help to stand. Noonday, who had watched all afternoon with growing 
  admiration, added her concern.
  "He will live?" she asked.
  "I live," he said, hoarsely. "It is sometimes worse on Sky Clear."
  "You're a hero," Keff said. "If you hadn't been there, I couldn't have pulled that off." 
  The Cridi shook his head.
  "It is nothing," Tall Eyebrow signed. He licked his lips, which were visibly dry.
  "Tchah! Nothing!" Big Eyes flicked her fingers, and the door of the spare cabin flew 
  open. Tall Eyebrow was whisked straight out of the main cabin. Keff ran along behind 
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  into the corridor. He heard rather than saw the splash.
  "I am all right!" Tall Eyebrow protested in Cridi. "Do not… blub!" Big Eyes hands 
  had moved, and Keff suspected she swept a wave of the cool water over her loved 
  one's head. He stuck his head in, and saw gallons of water washing across the floor 
  from the small bathroom.
  "He is a hero," Big Eyes said, with a look at Keff and the Thelerie, as she sailed in 
  after him. "He does not complain."
  "He does what a leader should," Narrow Leg said, nodding.
  "Daddy approves, whether he admits it or not," Carialle said, in Keffs aural receiver. 
  "I do love a love story."
  "Seeing him in action, you can't help but admire him," Keff agreed.
  "It is true," Noonday said, behind them. 'The Cridi are most amazing folk." She 
  gathered her wings about her, avoiding the water flying out of the door of the spare 
  cabin. "Now that night falls I must go back. The Ro-sayo and I have much to discuss. 
  You will accompany us?"
  "I'd better not," Keff said. "The Melange will be watching me closely now. The Cridi 
  will go, carrying a receiver so you can hear what Carialle and I say."
  Noonday looked up, as if she expected to see the pirates and their surveillance. "But 
  how do I go, if you are watched? They will see me."
  "Ah," Keff said. "The extreme cleverness of me! Thunderstorm asked a few of your 
  people to wait on the field. They'll come over and give you cover when we lower the 
  hatch again. You'll be one in a crowd of your people making purchases."
  The Thelerie were right on time. When Carialle activated the ramp again, 
  Thunderstorm and a cluster of his apprentices fluttered over, some carrying boxes, 
  some carrying other small items. Using Core power, to the great astonishment of the 
  locals, Narrow Leg and the others unloaded the contents of the boxes, and rolled their 
  globes inside.
  Tall Eyebrow emerged from the bath with glistening skin. His face still looked rather 
  peaked, but Carialle checked his vital signs, and found them strong. He showed no 
  weakness as he sealed himself into his travel globe. Big Eyes looked at him with 
  dismay.
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  "You should not go with us," the young female said. "You should rest."
  "I am going," Tall Eyebrow argued. "These people have made many sacrifices for us. 
  This is not a risk at all. I am healthy. I must hear what is said."
  "You will all be well-maintained," Noonday assured Big Eyes solemnly. "I will look 
  after Tall Eyebrow myself." Big Eyes relented, but grudgingly, and allowed herself to 
  be shut into a plumbing fixture.
  "We will be back soon," Narrow Leg said to Keff, via radio, from inside his crate. 
  Each of the Thelerie took one of the containers gingerly in its claw arms, and flew 
  away with it. Shaking his head, he stepped back into the airlock, and Carialle sealed 
  the door.
  "A meeting with this tough broad," Carialle said, still enjoying the sound of the 
  phrase. Her Lady Fair image appeared on the wall armed with morning-star and 
  shield. "You mean a holographic manifestation?"
  "Yes, but not like that one," Keff said, smiling. "Whatever would work to get the most 
  information out of them. We have to be careful. I don't want them to leave again if 
  there's the least chance an armed ship is on the way, but I don't want to endanger this 
  population. The Thelerie are vulnerable, and they trust humans implicitly because of 
  these brutes."
  "The Melange are a mixed curse," Carialle said, thoughtfully. "On the one hand, I'm 
  glad they discovered this race. They're fascinating. On the other hand, if it had been 
  anyone else, the CW could have nurtured the Thelerie's natural development. Look at 
  this place. Except for the smelly air, it's almost a type-G world."
  "Yes," Keff said. "I notice the pirates don't bother with air filters."
  Carialle caught the hopeful note in his voice. "No," she said flatly. "There is a 
  cumulative effect on your health. The Cridi have been complaining of the residual 
  ammonia brought into the cabin in the lungs of the Thelerie visitors. You keep your 
  suit on."
  "Yes, mother," Keff sighed.
  Keff had a grasshopper's eye view of the proceedings in the Sayad, from the camera 
  eye carried on GapTooth's globe. She was carried in a sack by one of Noonday's 
  guards and released into the Sayad chamber to the horror and protest of the Ro-sayo. 
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  She rolled at once into the angle of one of the carved beams as the Thelerie glared 
  down into the camera lens.
  "Why are they here?" Midnight demanded, as behind him the Cridi freed themselves 
  from the crates and other containers.
  "As witnesses," Narrow Leg said, flying out of a box marked "Art Supplies."
  "And as a conduit for our good friend Keff."
  "But they are enemies!"
  'They are not," Noonday said, mildly, settling onto her divan cushion. She coughed, 
  and was surrounded at once by Ro-sayo exclaiming concern for her health. Keff felt 
  pleased that the Sayas was held in such esteem.
  "You are unharmed?" Winter asked her.
  "All is well," she assured them. "I have spent a day in deficient atmosphere. The 
  effects will pass quickly." With a wing-finger, she signalled for the doors to be 
  secured. "Let no one in or out, and have a patrol hover about the windows on the 
  outside. Our guests must remain hidden from view." The guards sprang out and away, 
  spreading their wings to obey their leaders command. The Ro-sayo settled down on 
  their cushions, casting wary eyes on the cluster of Cridi. Thunderstorm drew their 
  eyes away by stalking into the center of the circle of counselors.
  "Before they speak," he said, "I have a speech to make, of apology to our neighbors, 
  for it is true what Keff told you. I will speak in Standard where I can, for the sake of 
  our listeners."
  He went on to detail the history of the Melange. Although Keff couldn't understand all 
  of the Space Sayas' words, he could tell that many in the room were shocked at the 
  revelations he had for them.
  "Then all of our accomplishments were based on lies!" Midnight said.
  Thunderstorm bowed his head. "I deserve that," he said. "But we may rebuild, and 
  beginning now, with the help of legitimate representatives of humanity, we shall."
  "And how do we know that Keff and the unseen Carialle are truly from the See-
  Double-Yew?" another Ro-sayo demanded.
  "Does it matter?" Noonday asked. "I saw the Melange show hostility to a stranger 
  human, telling him to leave Thelerie, and never return. That isn't the act of a being 
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  who believes we are all one."
  Thunderstorm smiled. "I assure you, I know real See-Double-Yew. I spent many years 
  robbing their bases and stations. Also of these, the Cridi. A number of the parts of the 
  ships that stand on our own landing pad come from their ships."
  Midnight stood, and solemnly bowed to the Cridi. "We owe you reparation." He held 
  out a claw hand. Narrow Leg and Tall Eyebrow exchanged small, subtle signs that 
  Keff had to squint to see. Together, the Cridi opened their globes and rose to their full, 
  though inconsiderable, heights. Exposing their delicate skins and lungs to the sharp air 
  was a stunning display of trust that moved Keff deeply. The two leaders stepped 
  forward to take the Thelerie's narrow talon, one at a time. The other Ro-sayo 
  grudgingly, fearfully, stepped forward to clasp hands with the shining, water-clad 
  amphibioids.
  "We will take aid and assistance instead," Narrow Leg said. "The parts are obsoleted 
  with the new design, the one that is," he added with regret, "lying dismembered on the 
  field."
  "What can we do to assist?" the other Ro-sayo asked.
  "Be prepared," Keff said, speaking through an audio receiver on GapTooth's globe. 
  "Our intention is to obtain recorded confessions from the Melange as to their activities 
  in this sector for use by our judicial arm. I'm concerned that if the Melange becomes 
  suspicious that we are from the CW, your well-being could be at stake."
  "A certain amount of fallout is inevitable," Thunderstorm said, with a shrug of his 
  magnificent wings. "We have contributed to the galaxy's ills by consorting with 
  criminals. Although I absorb all guilt, my people may suffer. I owe all many lives."
  "We will not claim them," Big Voice said, rolling forward and puffing himself up 
  majestically. "The thing we must do is get the information needed by Keff and 
  Carialle."
  "It is possible that our military is nearby," Carialle added, amused by Big Voices self-
  importance. "They must have received our message by now about the Thelerie we left 
  behind on the Cridi system's fifth planet. They could be here soon to take Bisman and 
  his crew into custody."
  "If they leave, what of it?" Noonday said, spreading her upper lip. "My child says that 
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  the Melange come here often. They have a friendly bond with our people, whatever 
  they have done to others. A capture will occur, now or in the future. We offer the aid 
  of our guardians, if you need them. At present, we will cooperate to get what it is you 
  seek now."
  "I hope so," Carialle said. Keff thought he could detect wistfulness in her tone. He 
  smiled at her pillar.
  "With such friends, Lady Fair, how can we fail?"
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  CHAPTER 18
  « ^ »
  A few days passed after the Cridi returned safely from the capital city. Keff 
  continued to pretend doing business on the high plain near Thunderstorm's enclave.
  The longer the Cridi's ship parts were on display, the more interested the pirates 
  became in buying them. Keff was now in possession of a handful of credit chits whose 
  legitimacy and provenance he very much doubted. Narrow Leg, on duty as Keffs 
  guardian in the Medical Waste box, was less of a success than Tall Eyebrow, because 
  he kept a closer eye on his inventions than he did on the human whose life he was 
  supposed to be protecting.
  "I do not like these disappearing," he protested into his radio over and over again 
  during the long, hot day. "They go into the pirates' hold, and they go away toward the 
  city — but they are not here."
  "Relax, Tad Pole," Keff said, out of the corner of his mouth. "We'll get everything 
  back just as soon as we're finished here. Thunderstorm promised me that the r^arts are 
  being well looked after."
  "It must be soon," Narrow Leg said. "All this dust, getting into the components! 
  Impair efficiency!"
  "Shh! You're exaggerating, I'm sure," Keff hissed, seeing Bisman coming down the 
  ramp of the raider ship. He hoped the Cridi shriek hadn't been audible.
  The leader was stalking toward him with purpose. Keff stopped pretending to tidy his 
  wares, and waited.
  "What have you heard?" Bisman asked, without other preamble.
  "Nothing yet," Keff said. "I sent the request for a meeting, as you asked me to. It'll 
  take time for the message to meet her. I had to assure her you're not a small-timer, that 
  it would be worth her while doing business with you. I told her you had sixty ships 
  under your command, is that right?"
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  Bisman spat into the dust next to Keffs feet. "At least sixty. And I've got other 
  resources. Connections."
  Keff raised his eyebrows, but the older man was far too canny to take the questioning 
  look as an opening. He shook his head, and Keff grinned, pretending to look sheepish. 
  "Can't blame a fellow for trying."
  "You just tell me when she gets here," Bisman said, poking him in the chest again. 
  "I'll talk a lot more when I hear her bona fides."
  "All right," Keff said, but to Bismans back. As soon as he'd had his say, he'd swung 
  around and stalked off in the direction of Thunderstorm's pavilion.
  "I do feel sorry for that griffin," he said into his sublingual pickup. "He's taking all the 
  brunt for us."
  "You play the part of the up-and-coming flunky to perfection," Carialle said acidly.
  "I've always said I should start at the top and work downward," Keff said, forcing a 
  note of cheer into his voice. "Is there any word today?"
  "Not a thing," Carialle's voice said, sounding a little strained. "There has been plenty 
  of time for my first transmissions to have reached the nearest space station. I could 
  have flown up and back in the time it's taken them to respond."
  A couple of the raiders on the edge of Keffs "bazaar" reached for the same book-chip 
  library at the same time, and started to bicker over it. Keff turned his back on them.
  "There's always the question, if there was an armed ship in the vicinity, and whether 
  they could send it," he said.
  "They might already have sent it," Carialle pointed out. "If it's behind the anomaly, the 
  ship won't receive any more transmissions from us until it clears Cridi system. By 
  then, the Melange, or at least Bisman, could be long gone. Noonday's guards won't be 
  worth a darn against energy weapons. I wish you could have gotten even one base 
  location out of Bisman. Any starting point so I don't have to unravel ion threads again."
  "He doesn't like me," Keff said, thoughtfully. "More fool he. But he's starting to lose 
  patience. How long can we stall him before he finally loses his temper?"
  "If that happens, he'll attack, in which case our cover, and the Cridi's, is blown; or he'll 
  leave. We'd have to give chase, and I don't fancy our chances. That third Core may 
  still be out there somewhere."
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  Keff rocked back on his heels and looked up at the sky. He stared at a bank of clouds 
  gathering in the northwest, then realized the novelty of atmospheric condensation in 
  such a dry climate. Looked Mice a head of stratocumulus building. Did it ever rain 
  here? He must ask Thunderstorm.
  "We're not policemen," Keff said, "but we can't just let these people go."
  "Not until I get what I want," Carialle said. "Once the CW forces land here, that 
  possibility is gone, and we're stewed, too. I'll be in a home for the perpetually 
  bewildered, and you'll be flying a troop carrier."
  "We're not making much progress," Keff admitted. "I haven't managed to elicit a 
  single confidence out of those people, not in six days. Not a single detail of where 
  they've been iri the past, a single event. You'd think they'd be bursting to brag about 
  their successes, but no!"
  "It's a tight ship," Carialle agreed. 'They keep themselves to themselves with a 
  vengeance. There are organized minds in charge. I'd admire the Melange, if we 
  weren't trying to break through their defenses."
  The air grew heavier, and the sky darkened. Keff checked his chronometer. "Looks 
  like weather," he said. "How far away is it?"
  "I've been charting a pattern coming in from planetary northwest," Carialle said. "I've 
  been charting a tropical front in the far west. It hit a cold front a thousand kilometers 
  from here, and I admit it whipped up faster than I estimated. You'd better start getting 
  things under cover. You have about ninety Standard minutes."
  "Looks like it could be a gully-washer," Keff said, starting to pick merchandise up at 
  once. He signalled for the servo to come over and help.
  "Keff," Carialle said. Her voice sounded tentative. "I've been trying to stifle my 
  natural anxieties, but something needs to happen soon. I've… I find I've been 
  counting."
  Counting, as she had twenty years ago, adrift in space, to keep herself sane. Keff felt 
  an urge to run inside the ship, to be close to Carialle, anything to help her calm down. 
  "Have you had any memory flashes?" He started to pick up piles of circuit boards with 
  a burst of nervous energy, then stopped to look around for the boxes.
  "No."
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  "Good. Hang on, Can. Nothings different than it was just a few days ago."
  "No, we're nearer an answer, Keff. I know it. I'm beginning to feel antsy in 
  anticipation of it."
  Aggravated at how slowly he was progressing, he glanced toward the humans 
  browsing through the lanes.
  The men and women from the Melange had also noticed the lowering sky. They shot 
  glances at him and the tons of merchandise, but moved purposefully toward their own 
  ship. Bisman stood next to the ramp of the raider with his arms crossed and a sneering 
  smile on his face, watching Keff.
  "Nice people," he growled, with more force than he'd intended.
  "Why?" Narrow Leg asked, hearing Keff's comment.
  "Because it's going to rain," he said, in frustration. Movement in the direction of the 
  pavilion caught his eye. "Here comes Thunderstorm, probably to tell me the same 
  thing."
  "Rain is rare," Thunderstorm said. "And yet, here is! Do you need assistance?"
  "Sure do," Keff said shortly, stacking boxes of components on the robot drone's back. 
  His own worries didn't prevent him from remembering to say, 'Thanks."
  Thunderstorm started to pick up items with all four of his hands, and gestured to his 
  apprentices with a tilt of his head. The young Thelerie fluttered in at once, and began 
  to help. Across the field, the pirate's ramp ostentatiously clapped shut.
  "There's nothing I can do now until the rain's over," Keff said sublingually to Carialle. 
  "Can you last? Otherwise, I'll drag them over to you one by one with my bare hands 
  and torture the truth out of them."
  He was rewarded by Carialle's dry chuckle. "No, Sir Keff. That would get you thrown 
  out of the Good Knights Club. I'll make it. Only," she hesitated, "stay by me."
  "I'm always here for you, lady love," Keff said, with heartfelt sincerity, "even when 
  I'm ankle deep in dust." He grunted as he hoisted a case of plumbing fixtures over his 
  head, and passed them on to a hovering griffin.
  "We will help as soon as the light goes," Narrow Leg's voice squeaked from his 
  concealed post. "The outer shell can wait. Gather the life support and navigation 
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  components first!"
  "Thanks," Keff said, absently, stopping for a moment to triage the most important 
  items left on the field. He was distracted by his concern for Carialle. Had they set 
  themselves an impossible task, with an implausible deadline?
  "Where shall I lay these inside?" a Thelerie voice boomed through the rising wind. 
  Keff sprinted across the darkening field to help her.
  Mirina watched on the galley screen as the trader and his two robots scurried to put 
  their merchandise away before the rain came. The small drones rumbled across the 
  rocky plane with impossibly high piles of crates on their backs. It was a credit to AI 
  engineering that not one item fell off all the way across the field and up the ramp of 
  the lovely white ship.
  "You're being mean, not letting any of us pitch in and help him," she scolded Bisman, 
  who was watching over her shoulder.
  "He's a businessman; he knows the risks," Bisman said, with indecent satisfaction. 
  "Weathers a risk." Mirina shot him a glance filled with disgust. The raindrops were 
  already starting to march across the dusty, tan plain. The Thelerie, who hated getting 
  their fur wet, ran before the wind, hurrying to get undercover before the storm broke 
  in earnest.
  Mirina watched for a while, wondering how Keff had ever gotten all that hull plate 
  into his little ship in the first place. He must have been sleeping on containers. You 
  couldn't travel for very long in that kind of discomfort. She guessed he'd probably 
  traded upscale from a much bigger craft, and was now paying the price in smaller 
  quarters. She didn't recognize the design, but it was a honey. She missed being around 
  quality like that. The controls must hum under one's fingers, instead of juddering, 
  clacking, and even breaking loose. Mirina thought she'd like to see her fly.
  A crack of thunder erupted and lightning burst like a star splitting apart. Mirina 
  jumped back as the rain began to fall heavily, spikes of silver peppering the golden 
  earth. In moments, the dust turned to mud and began to flow toward them. Mirina had 
  a horrible feeling that the whole ground under them would turn into sticky goo, 
  pulling the ship down into it, drowning them. She hated rain.
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  "It's a young typhoon," Glashton said, idly, with a glance at the screen. He poured 
  himself a cup of coffee. "Nice to be under cover."
  "I wish it would stop," she said, turning away.
  "Why? It's just started." Bisman looked at her scornfully. "Nice to get a bit of change. 
  This never happens in space."
  "Yes, thank heavens," Mirina said. The others in the galley exchanged pitying looks.
  "You weren't born in atmosphere, were you?" Glashton asked.
  "Nope," Mirina said, reaching past him toward the replicator and programming herself 
  a combination protein/alcohol cocktail. "They say you don't miss what you never had."
  "Like what?" Javoya, the chief engineer jeered. She and Mirina had really never hit it 
  off. Now that Mirina was leaving, the woman had been venting all her saved-up spite.
  "Like common sense," Mirina said, coldly. "But then, you wouldn't know, would 
  you?" Zonzalo, and all the others, gawked. Part of Mirina said she was stupid for 
  opening her mouth, but the other part admitted she was human, too.
  Grabbing a tool out of her belt, the engineer took a threatening step forward. Mirina 
  found she didn't really care if the woman cut her throat right there, but the other crew 
  members moved between them and made the engineer sit down. Ostentatiously, 
  Mirina took another swig of her drink. Javoya glared. Mirina ignored her, thinking 
  about her own problems. There was no other ship available here on Thelerie for her. 
  She'd have to stay on with Bisman and this increasingly hostile group to the next stop, 
  and maybe the next one after that, until they found a team with one that Bisman could 
  bully, to get rid of the troublesome Dons. The one thing she could depend on was that 
  he would keep his word about a transaction.
  Eventually, the engineer tired of her aggressive pose, and threw the spanner down on 
  the table. Everyone relaxed a little.
  "Aw, what are we doing still here?" Javoya asked, appealing to the others. "It's nice 
  enough. I like Thelerie, but even their hospitality gets to be overwhelming after a 
  while."
  "Business," Bisman said shortly.
  "Well, lets get on with it already," Glashton said, frowning.
  Mirina gestured in the vague direction of the other ship. "We're waiting for word from 
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  this Keffs employer about a face-to-face meet. Aldon wants to secure this system for 
  uh — for the Melange."
  Glashton made a face at Bisman. "What's the matter, is this guy stalling?"
  "I don't know," the leader said, in turn scowling at Mirina. She finished her drink, 
  even the awful coffee-tasting dregs which seemed to be at the bottom of every 
  beverage lately. Everything on the ship was breaking down. A burst of thunder shook 
  the ship. She shut her eyes and told her internal stabilizers to ignore the slight rolling 
  under her seat.
  "Spacedust, that's a horror."
  "Well, we wouldn't still be here listening to it, if your boyfriend over there wasn't 
  black-holing us," Bisman sneered. Mirina, in spite of her promise to herself not to get 
  involved in any more arguments with him, glowered. He returned the fierce stare, with 
  interest. "You don't want to be with us, madam. Maybe you should go ask Blue Eyes 
  in his new ship to give you a boost offworld."
  That reminded everybody of Mirina's upcoming departure. Suddenly, between the rain 
  and the unfriendly glares, the fierce planetary weather felt less threatening.
  "Maybe I'll go and see if I can't find out what's holding up the transmission," she said. 
  Very casually, so it didn't look as if she was retreating, Mirina tossed her cup 
  overhand into the disposer, and walked down the corridor. As if they were physical 
  touches, she could feel every eye on her back as she left.
  "If you're going, see if you can dicker for the whole load of parts," Bisman called.
  "Whew!" Keff said, jumping back out of the way as Carialle closed the cargo bay 
  hatch. "As if there wasn't enough in there with our own things, and your Core."
  "It is intact," Narrow Leg said, fussing over the mass of machinery like a mother hen 
  inspecting her chicks. "That is what matters. Oh, days lying in all that dust!"
  "We have it all safely held in place and dry," Tall Eyebrow said. He closed his small 
  black eyes for a moment. "All is stable. It fits together as neatly as if of a single 
  piece." The Cridi flew or glided nimbly out of Keffs way as he slogged back toward 
  the airlock. Carefully, he removed his environment suit, folding the outside in to keep 
  most of the dust from scattering around the ship. Under the plastic hood, his curls 
  were plastered to his skull with sweat.
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  "It's a good thing those pirates can't see in there," Keff said to Carialle, pointing down 
  through the floor toward the cargo hold. "They'd wonder how I got the whole shop in 
  here in the first place. Most of the hull and the engine casings are still outside. I'm 
  exhausted!"
  The human staggered back into the main cabin and flopped into his crash couch with a 
  sigh. All of his muscles felt as if they were coming unraveled.
  "All that weight training has been good for you," Carialle said, manifesting her Lady 
  Fair image on the wall.
  Keff was too out of breath to make a suitable rejoinder. He made a quick, one-handed 
  gesture in Cridi that he knew had a slightly rude meaning. The amphibioids tittered.
  A faint vibration ran through the body of the ship. Keff glanced up.
  'Thunder, almost directly above us," Carialle said. "We are now separated from the 
  rest of the world by a wall of water."
  "Rain," Big Eyes signed dreamily, as Carialle directed her cameras to different views 
  outside. The sun had dropped most of the way below the rim of the canyon walls, 
  throwing black shadows across half the plain. The remaining crepuscular rays through 
  the heavy clouds spotlit the distant plain. In the direction of the capital city was a 
  double rainbow in almost 270 degrees of arc.
  "This is not such a bad place," Big Voice said. "I would prefer to visit during nice 
  seasons like this."
  A slow, very brief, and faint rumble clattered on the hull. Keff glanced idly at the 
  screen, waiting for the brilliant fork of lightning.
  "That's outside," Carialle said, suddenly interrupting. She switched one of her screens 
  to show a small, rounded, bipedal figure standing next to the ship's landing fin, 
  holding up one upper limb. "One of the pirates. She's knocking with a rock."
  Keff peered much closer, and signalled for magnification. "It's Mirina Don. Wonder 
  what she wants?"
  "I don't know," Carialle said. "Let her in. Perhaps one at a time you can get some 
  information out of them about where they were twenty years ago."
  "Not a bad notion," Keff said.
  "Will it be dangerous to allow her access?" Tall Eyebrow asked.
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  "I doubt it," Keff replied. "But she can't see you. You'll have to hide."
  The Cridi gathered up their belongings with a whisk of Core power. The bowls and 
  cups from their meal flew through the air and sank into the cleaner like pool balls into 
  the corner pocket. Narrow Leg supervised the picking up of travel globes. In a few 
  minutes, the room was as tidy as it had been weeks ago when only Keff inhabited it.
  "We will watch to ensure safety for you," Big Eyes assured him. She waved her hand, 
  and the door slid shut
  "I'd better hide, too," Carialle said. She darkened the long slice of the room in front of 
  her pillar, then built an elaborate holographic display of a control panel which she 
  projected from several different angles onto the dark space.
  The banging came again.
  "I'd better let her in," Keff said. He stepped to the inner airlock hatch as Carialle 
  lowered the ramp. The forlorn figure stumped up the ramp and waited inside as the 
  chamber pressurized. Mirina Don emerged into the corridor and turned back her hood, 
  presenting a sodden face to Keff.
  "You left me there standing long enough," she said, / resentfully.
  "Sorry," he said, smiling an apology. "I was doing a crossword puzzle. What can I do 
  for you?"
  The woman shifted uncomfortably. "Er, just visiting. May I come in?"
  Keff stepped to one side, and made a slight bow.
  "Certainly," he said. "It's nice to have company."
  Minna shed her rain poncho and put it up on a hook next to a selection of protective 
  suits in a closet just beyond the airlock. The Circuit sure supplied their people well. 
  Keff had one of everything. One full environmental suit, one light enviro, an empty 
  hook where the plastic thing should have gone that he'd been wearing, packs, both 
  light and heavy, rebreathers, a thing like a shriveled green skin with a clear-plas 
  helmet that was probably for deep-water environments. Whatever the Circuit was, it 
  had money. Mirina sighed for pure envy.
  "This way," Keff said. He led the way into the main cabin.
  It may not have been a large craft, but it was new and beautifully appointed. Mirina 
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  glanced at the shadowed section where the control panel lay. A complicated 
  holographic screentank filling almost half of that wall showed a long-range view of a 
  slice of sky over Thelerie, with both small moons on the horizon over the cloud mass. 
  A heap of boxes prevented her from getting too close, so Mirina stood back to admire 
  the view. Both main stations had crash couches of generous proportion before them, 
  so Keff could run either in equal comfort.
  With no one to please but himself, Keff clearly lived most of his life in this room. She 
  strolled over and examined the complicated-looking exercise station in one corner. On 
  the other side of the console, a couple of worn grommets in the floor showed where a 
  piece of heavy equipment had been removed from the alcove. The food synth looked 
  clean and well-maintained. The round table beside it had an interrupted-ring bench 
  with a dished top. Everything was neat, comfortable, and expensive-looking. Mirina 
  wished for something like this for herself so much she hardly heard her host speaking 
  to her.
  "May I offer you something to drink?" he said.
  "Certainly," Mirina said, peering at the synthesizer and wondering if the newfangled-
  looking controls were as easy to operate as they looked.
  "Oh, no, not that," Keff laughed, and bent to a cabinet hidden in the wall behind the 
  exercise machines. Behind the touch-open panel lay dusty bottles in shock webbing. 
  Mirina stared at a small fortune in fermented beverages. "I have a nice beer. Not so 
  good as a cask-aged brew that's served where it was laid down, but not bad."
  "Mmm," Mirina said, appreciatively, unwilling to demand anything specific from the 
  treasure house. Keff continued to paw through the collection. Now and again, she 
  heard a faint clink as a couple of the fragile containers touched.
  "Or — here, how about a drop of this? Red wine, from Denubia. Sixteen years old. 
  No, wait," he said, after a pause during which he stared at the wall thoughtfully. He 
  withdrew his selection. "This is better. Six-year-old Frusti."
  "My God," Mirina said, staring as he produced a glass cylinder with a square paper 
  label. The glass was dark, but the fluid within was darker yet. "I haven't had wine, real 
  wine in years."
  "It's real," Keff said, thumbing the synthesizer control for a couple of empty glasses. 
  "Please, sit down."
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  Mirina watched him draw the cork carefully. She scented the faint headiness as the 
  wine began to breathe, and drew it in appreciatively.
  "You shouldn't be wasting this on me," she said, although she hoped he wouldn't take 
  her at her word and put it away. She watched his hands. Nice hands. Square palms, 
  square fingers, but favored with grace as well as strength. "In these parts that single 
  bottle's worth a quarter of your other stock."
  "A thing's only worth what people are willing to pay for it," Keff said, with his 
  engaging grin. "I paid about ten credits for it six years ago when it was grape juice." 
  He tilted the bottle gently to one side. "We ought to chamber the wine for a little 
  while. May I offer you a snack in the meantime?"
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  CHAPTER 19
  « ^ »
  "She has very nice manners," Carialle commented, as Keff produced biscuits and 
  cheese from the sythe-sizer and put them in the middle of the small table. "She looked 
  skeptical when you offered her your goulash, as if she wasn't expecting it to taste 
  good, but she didn't say a word. Pleasantly surprised, to judge by her expression, and 
  her pulse."
  "She's not like the others," Keff said, smelling the wine. It was ready at last.
  He held up the decanter, offering it to Mirina. The woman held her glass up for him to 
  fill, and gave him a luminous smile. Keff smiled back, feeling his pulse pound harder. 
  She had smooth and clear skin, with about a dozen freckles dusted over her nose. Her 
  irises were the color of cognac but were rimmed with sable-brown like her lashes. He 
  guessed her age to be about the same as his. One, no, two silver hairs glinted in her 
  straight, dark-brown hair, but that was the only sign of age. Her round face was 
  youthful, though the expression in her eyes was a sorrowful millenium old. He f 
  watched her curiously and wondered. At a big space station, with a thousand women 
  around me, would he have noticed her? And yet she was very attractive, intelligent, 
  and cultured, in spite of the company she kept.
  "Am I overreacting, Cari?" he asked, under his breath. "It's been a while since I've 
  seen a pretty woman."
  There was a momentary pause, but Carialle's voice was perfectly even, without a hint 
  of sarcasm. "I don't think so, Keff. You're a grown-up. But watch your step, eh?"
  Keff smiled at Mirina, and stood up. "Why don't we move over here to finish the 
  wine? The crash couches are much more comfortable." He extended a hand to her and 
  settled her in one reclining chair. He sat down in the other and propped his feet on the 
  console.
  "This is delicious," Mirina said, sipping her wine. "And that synthesizer must be 
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  absolutely top of the line."
  "I think so," Keff said, casually. "I'm not sure. I eat anything. Mostly health shakes." 
  At that, Mirina did make a face, and Keff grinned.
  "So," he asked, pouring himself some wine. He set the bottle on the console. "Were 
  you born into the business like your partner? The way the two of you act I assume he's 
  your partner."
  Mirina corrected him quickly. "Not really partners" she said, with a strong emphasis 
  on the word. "We've worked closely together for about eight years." The woman took 
  a hasty sip of wine, then paused to smile over it. Not long enough to have been 
  involved with Carialle, Keff thought, his heart sinking. She'd hardly have heard tales 
  of a single wreck salvage a dozen years before she came.
  "You're not much like him," Keff said, encouragingly. "You've had an education."
  "The colloquialisms," she said, with a wicked smile. "You caught that. Yes. He was 
  furious!"
  "And some formal training? CW?"
  "Good guess, Sir Knight," Carialle said. "Her pulse leaped just then. Dig deeper."
  But Mirina had recovered herself quickly.
  "That, my dear, was a long time ago," she said, lifting her glass. Only a few drops 
  remained by this time, so she held it out for a refill.
  "I'm glad you appreciate it," Keff said. He hoisted himself out of the deep padding, 
  feeling his overtaxed muscles protest, and came over with the bottle. The wine, I 
  mean. Watch out, or you'll get tipsy. You're not from the same place as Bisman?"
  "No. You took the paintings away," Mirina said, pointedly changing the subject. "I 
  wanted to see that spacescape again. I've been to Dimitri."
  "Oh, is that where it is?" Keff asked. Mirina nodded. "Never been there myself. Well, 
  it was starting to rain."
  "I know," the woman said, and showed a trifle of embarrassment. "Sorry we didn't 
  help you."
  Keff shrugged. "Competitors."
  "I might like to buy that painting," Mirina said, temptingly.
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  "No," Carialle said, at once, then relented "… Well, perhaps it wouldn't do any harm. 
  I've had my joy from it. Tell her all right."
  "Certainly," Keff said, smiling at his guest. "I'll give you a good price."
  Mirina looked very pleased, but suddenly her face fell, and she took another sip of 
  wine. "Never mind," she said. "I can't. I… I've run through my budget. I bought… 
  something expensive."
  "Ah," Keff said, wondering what had suddenly troubled her so deeply. She was staring 
  at a spot on the wall. Keff glanced over his shoulder and wondered if she had seen 
  through the holographic display. No, it was still intact. If anything, Carialle had 
  enhanced the details to make it look even more solid. He cleared his throat, 
  determined to lighten the mood. He went back to his own couch and stretched out 
  luxuriously. "Say, aren't you afraid I might take advantage of your lowered resistance, 
  to send a message to your Melange?"
  "Send away," Minna said, watching him with an amused glint in her eyes. "Couldn't 
  be any worse than what's already happened to me."
  "Oh? Confession's good for the soul," Keff said, encouragingly.
  Her mind snapped back to whatever had been occupying it, and she stared at nothing 
  again.
  "Do I still have a soul?' she asked. Keff opened his mouth, then shut it. The wine had 
  affected her more strongly than he'd guessed. Thunder rumbled, and Keff glanced at 
  the external monitor for the flash of lightning. The storm must be directly overhead. 
  The woman shivered. "I hate rain," she said. "I hate weather. I hate being stuck on a 
  planet. I think I'm only happy out in space. If I had to stay planetbound for the rest of 
  my life I'd kill myself."
  "I know what you mean," Keff said, sincerely. 'There's nothing like it."
  "Yes. I don't want to do anything else," she said. "It's nice enough here, but I want to 
  get out there again." Her eyes tilted up toward the ceiling, and the unseen reaches of 
  space.
  "She's a born spacer," Carialle said. "Just a little drunk, I think, but a born spacer."
  "Don't you ever get lonely, traveling .by yourself?" Mirina asked.
  "Not at all," Keff said, sweeping a hand around. "I have…" he glanced at where 
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  Carialle's pillar should have been visible, and wasnt. "… I have all this," he finished.
  "It's beautiful," she said, never noticing his hesitation. "You make me wish I had a 
  setup like it."
  "Aren't you happy where you are?"
  "Are you mad?" she asked, with a pitying scowl. "If it wasn't for the Thelerie, well…"
  "What about the Thelerie?" Keff asked, quickly.
  Mirina looked at him hard. "Are you from Central Worlds?" she asked.
  "Reformed," Keff said, with a pious expression that made her laugh, but she was still 
  serious.
  "They're a kind, innocent people. I don't want them exploited, do you understand me?"
  "Isn't that what you're doing?" Keff asked, very gently.
  "No!" Then, more honestly, she added, "Not entirely. We trade with them, but they get 
  value from us, too. My program…"
  Keff leaned up on one elbow, as if to listen better. Mirina stopped in midsentence, 
  realizing that this dashing, handsome man was pumping her. Keff saw he had gone too 
  far.
  "This bottle's empty," he said, swinging himself upright with a casual show of strength 
  that made Minna's eyes light with appreciation. "Let's see what else is in the cellar. 
  Look at that!" Keff dusted down a squarish container with a glass stopper covered 
  with wax. "I didn't think I had any of this left."
  "Your nose ought to be a foot long by now," Carialle said. But Mirina didn't seem to 
  mind. The twenty-five-year-old brandy went down as neatly as the wine had, sip by 
  sip. It loosened up whatever tight grip she'd had on herself, and in time, Keffs careful 
  questions began to elicit answers.
  "The program to supply the Thelerie with communication equipment was yours?"
  "Yes," she said. "The ones who decided to come home again had seen us using 
  commlinks, thought it was a good idea. No mass communication at all on this planet. 
  Once you were out of sight, you were gone. It was cheap, and they were so grateful! 
  You've got some nice comm circuitry among your merchandise. If the price was right, 
  that is."
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  "Might knock it down for a friend," Keff said. "I don't have to make anything on it for 
  a good cause."
  "I don't care, particularly. The profit's not mine any more anyway. It's the Melange's, 
  and Aldon's. What the hell," Mirina said, expansively, "for the Thelerie, too."
  His blue eyes twinkled with understanding. Mirina was reminded of what she used to 
  think Charles looked like. Careful, girl, she told herself fiercely. He's the enemy. But 
  he was very attractive, she thought, looking at him from under her lashes as she took a 
  sip of the fire-smooth brandy. In return, he gave her a top-to-toe sweep of his eyes that 
  made her gasp for its very insouciance. Unconsciously she shifted position, 
  straightening her shoulders and tilting her head to one side. Great stars, I'm acting like 
  a coquette! And yet, it was so nice to relax for a change.
  "How long have you been… involved with the griffins?" Keff asked.
  She wrinkled her eyebrows, trying to place the reference, then her face cleared as she 
  grinned. "I never thought of that, but they do look like griffins. Did heraldic beasts 
  ever really live?"
  "I don't think so," said Keff.
  "Not much of a student of history, is she?" Carialle asked.
  "Don't be a snob, Can," Keff muttered. "How'd you come to ship out with Bisman?"
  "I came on board eight years ago, right after Charles died. Zonzalo — my brother — 
  fell in with them. He thought flying with reivers was a great adventure. I found him on 
  one of their lousy bases, half-starved, with leaky air-recirculation equipment, no 
  organization. So pathetic, I stayed," Mirina said, staring into the amber liquid in her 
  glass. "Shouldn't have stayed but," her shoulders slumped, "but I had nowhere to go, 
  nowhere to take him to."
  "Didn't you have to go back to your job, or your school?" Keff asked. "You know 
  your way around ships, I can tell. A valuable employee like you."
  "Lost my position," Mirina said, more shortly than she'd intended. "I've been an idiot, 
  but the Thelerie have been wonderful. They're grateful for everything we do. I've had 
  to force Bisman not to lead them into using polluting machinery. They've got plenty of 
  physical strength and simple machines to take care of motive-force needs, plus, 
  dammit! they can fly. No travel problems. The electronics just help with 
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  communications."
  "She's really thought this out," Carialle said. "Here's the organizing mind."
  "I'd give anything if she wasn't involved in a pirate ring," Keff murmured under his 
  breath.
  Mirina wasn't really paying attention. "What did you say?"
  "Very well thought out," Keff said hastily. "You've done good work. You thought of 
  everything. You must be some organizer. I, uh, I think there's room in this for both of 
  our groups. I can't say the Circuit won't cut into your parts business, but I'm willing to 
  take it to the Lady over the ethical framework you've built."
  She looked grateful and annoyed at the same time. "We'll want a cut,"she said. "We've 
  got expenses. Overhead."
  "So've we," Keff said, nonchalantly playing the game.
  "We'll negotiate it," Mirina said, compromising. "Well, Aldon will. I… don't suppose 
  there's room in your organization? For a good planner?"
  Keff looked surprised. "Thinking of moving on?"
  "I have to," she said.
  "Being forced out?"
  "No. I just can't stand it any longer. The deaths, and all. Now that everything's at about 
  subsistence level Aldon is getting uncontrollable. I never condoned death; I've always 
  tried to prevent it. I hate death. Can't take any more of it in my life."
  "How mysterious for someone in her profession," Carialle said.
  "Are you going back to what you did before? Were you a pilot?"
  "More than that," Mirina said, then thought about it. "Well, and less." The whole 
  accident came back to her, as it did in her nightmares. She had a final, horrible vision 
  of the dock crew trying to spray down the burning ship, the pillar in the control room 
  slagging into molten metal. All the skin on her hands and face were burned, as she 
  tried to fight her way back aboard, to save him if she could. They held her back. They 
  kept her out! Charles!
  She let out a cry that brought Keff to his feet in surprise, then fell into heartbroken 
  sobbing. Keff hurried over and sat down next to her on the molded chairs arm. She 
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  was beating her fist on her knee. He captured the hand and held it tightly between his 
  own hands.
  "I'm sorry," she said, looking up with tears sheeting down her cheeks. "I'm sorry."
  "What's the matter?" Keff asked, squeezing her hand. "Why couldn't you have gotten 
  another berth with someone else?"
  "Never anyone else like Charles," she sobbed, turning her face into his tunic front. 
  Keff was so nice and sympathetic, but he wasn't Charles. Charles remained dead.
  "Go on, tell me about it," Keff said. He felt for a handkerchief, and ended up handing 
  her the napkin that was tucked between her hip and the seat cushion.
  In between sobs, Mirina managed to tell the story of the accident.
  "… I guess my supervisor was right — no, I know he was. I was insubordinate, and I 
  should have stayed in therapy, but my brother was in danger! Why couldn't they have 
  understood that?"
  Keffs heart melted with sympathy. Over the top of her head, he looked automatically 
  toward Carialle's pillar. He wrapped his arms around the woman and held her tightly.
  "Keff, she was a brawnl" Carialle said. "What was the brain's name? Charles? Yes, I 
  remember it. You ought to, as well. Charles CM-702. M must have stood for Mirina. 
  It was a freak accident. Combination of a hazardous cargo, an accident on the loading 
  dock, and bad handling by the ground crew. If they hadn't been at a space station, the 
  brawn would have died, too. The last thing that Charles did before his shell melted 
  down was to order one of his servo robots to pull the brawn out of the burning 
  wreckage. There was hardly anything left for the authorities to identify. Now I know 
  why I didn't recognize her name. It's Mirina Velasquez-Donegal. She and her brother 
  must have shortened it when they adopted noms-de-guerre."
  "I have heard of the accident," Keff said, out loud. "I knew a brainship had died. 
  Never heard what happened to the brawn."
  "Hah!" Mirina said bitterly, into his sleeve. "Exactly."
  Keff glanced toward Carialle's pillar.
  "They let her down, too," Carialle said, just as bitterly, in Keffs ear. "For all they say 
  we're a valuable, respected resource, the bureaucrats still treat us like animated 
  furniture, shells and softskins alike, damn them."
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  "Horrible! We have to help her."
  "We can't," Carialle said, flatly.
  "She's been the only moral influence these people have had," Keff said. "It could have 
  been far worse if she hadn't been here."
  "But why was she here at all? Why didn't she take her brother and go?"
  "You heard her," Keff whispered urgently. "She was needy. She'd had a mental 
  breakdown — and she had to get over it by herself. You know what that feels hike."
  "I certainly do," Carialle said, every memory of her own accident coming back to her. 
  "But what would our word do for her? Shorten her prison sentence? But no, she 
  wouldn't last in a prison. She said she would rather die than be groundbound. I think 
  she means it. We should separate her from these people anyhow."
  "We'll have to think of something," Keff said, frustratedly. He realized Mirina had 
  been talking.
  "… Wanted help, just a little help," Mirina was saying, a little incoherently. "They 
  figured I'd ask for it when I needed it. But how would I know when? I was just trying 
  to survive, feeling it was my fault when I knew it wasn't Hot white explosives. No 
  time. Charles saved my life."
  "Shh, I know," Keff said. He was torn between worrying about Carialle's mental state, 
  and the growing concern for a fellow brawn. Mirina seemed as if she had been waiting 
  for somebody to talk to for a long time. He just stayed beside her, stroking her hair, 
  and occasionally dabbing the tears off her cheeks with the edge of his sleeve. Poor 
  Mirina, carrying a weight like this all by herself for eight years. He kissed the top of 
  her head, rocking her gently like a child.
  "I knew Charles slightly," Carialle said, solemnly. "He was a stodgy old 700. He 
  thought I was too radical. I thought he was embalmed. I'd never met his brawn."
  Keff opened his mouth to reveal their secret, but Carialle, reading his mind, stopped 
  him short.
  "Don't," she said. "She's been part of this piracy operation."
  "We have to help her," Keff insisted.
  "Why? She has no loyalty to the CW."
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  "But she was one of us. A brain chose her as his brawn. That means she had that 
  special something. She's… less than half a person now. She's broken. You know what 
  that means."
  "I know, oh, I know," Carialle said, her voice rising lmost to a keen. She sighed. "You 
  win, Sir Knight. I'll try to think of something we can do for her, some way to help."
  Thunder crashed, loudly enough to be heard through the noise insulation. Keff felt 
  Mirina tremble in his arms. He stood up and held out a hand to her. She looked up at 
  him, her caramel eyes drowned with tears, and put her hand in his.
  "Perhaps you'd better stay the night," Keff said.
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  JODY LYNN NYE - [The Ship Who Sang Series - 06] The Ship Errant
  CHAPTER 20
  « ^ »
  He awoke looking up at the ceiling. The shifting of a soft weight on his shoulder 
  made him look down. In her sleep, Mirina cuddled her head just a little cosier against 
  his chest. He tightened the arm around her, fitting his wrist warmly into her opulently 
  curved torso. One of her hands opened on his chest, the fingertips playing delicately 
  on his skin. He remembered the touch of those small but strong hands along his back, 
  and smiled. Two lonely people had found an oasis of peace together for a moment. He 
  was content, and hoped she felt the same.
  "Keff? I know you're awake." Carialles voice came softly through his aural implant.
  "Just barely," he said sublingually. "Whasup?" He glanced down at Mirina.
  "I've checked her sleep pattern. She's in deep delta. Good morning. The rain stopped 
  just before dawn. I've got a ship on extreme long-range sensors. I've sent a hail out on 
  standard frequency. The cavalry's on its way!"
  "Hurrah," Keff said quietly, wishing he could cheer. "About time."
  "The Cridi want to get out and around for a while. They're rather bored with being 
  cooped up, and I can't run the water-refresher if you're supposed to be alone."
  "Mmm," he said. "Tell them I'll go take a real shower, and they can bathe as long as 
  they like."
  He edged himself out of the bunk carefully, lifting Mirina's head from his shoulder 
  onto the pillow. He left the coverlet tucked around her where his arm had been. She let 
  out a small sigh.
  "Probably hasn't felt this safe in ages," Keff said quietly to Carialle. He walked 
  silently toward his bathroom. Carialle must condone his sympathy for Mirina. She was 
  perfectly capable of making the humidity or temperature controls in his private 
  quarters go squiffy out of pettiness, but the air was warm on his naked skin, and even 
  the floor had been heated to a comfortable 18 degrees C.
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  Keff passed up the sonic cleaner for the shower fixture. He fitted the standards into the 
  depressions in the deck, snapped the extendable envelope out into a rectangular booth 
  two meters high and a meter square, and twisted the water spigots on to full. Jets of 
  water shot out of the metal disk at the top, hammering at the booth floor and sides. An 
  answering rush of water across the corridor told him the Cridi had heard his cue. As 
  soon as the water warmed up to a comfortable temperature, he climbed into the booth 
  and sealed it around him. He stood under the shower for a good twenty-five minutes, 
  until his fingers turned into pale prunes.
  "Are they finished, Cari?" Keff asked, as loudly as he dared. His voice sounded 
  curiously dead in the heavy plastic tent.
  They are," Carialle chuckled. "Narrow Leg said they ( wouldn't have had to do this in 
  stages if you hadn't / put their swimming pool in the storeroom."
  With a thankful sigh, Keff spun the controls off. He shouldered into his toweling robe 
  and walked back into the sleeping room, rubbing his hair dry with a clean cloth. 
  Mirina stirred and opened her eyes at the small sound. Her eyes crinkled as she 
  grinned at him, embarrassed. She sat up, clasping the coverlet to her body.
  "Sony. Have I slept too long?" she asked.
  "Not at all," Keff said. "I've just finished. The bath is yours."
  She stretched out her arms, throwing her head back with abandon. "Mmm! I haven't 
  had a refreshing sleep like this in ages. Thank you. And, thank you for last evening." 
  The wickedly coy look, through the eyelashes, returned just for a moment. "I was 
  supposed to come and win concessions from you, but I think I gave up as much as I 
  got."
  "My pleasure," Keff said, with a twinkle.
  "Thank you. I ought to watch my liquor consumption," Mirina said, seriously. "I 
  shouldn't have talked so much."
  "Not at all," Keff said. "I understand. Truly, I do." Mirina gave him a skeptical, almost 
  pitying look. He wished again he could tell her the truth, but Carialle was right. He 
  must not blow their cover too soon, even for a fellow brawn in need.
  He extended a hand to help Mirina off the bunk, but she smiled a polite refusal, and 
  dropped lightly onto the soles of her feet. She did accept his spare robe, and trailed off 
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  into the steamy, tiled bathroom with an easy, spacers stride. Keff dressed, listening to 
  her hum happily in the shower.
  Once they emerged into the main cabin, there were no signs of the Cridi at all, except 
  that the indicator on the food synthesizer was a little lower than it had been the night 
  before. Mirina didn't notice the discrepancy, but then, she'd had the lion's share of 
  brandy and wine, Keff programmed her a nice breakfast, and poured himself a health 
  shake with extra calcium and vitamin E to help chase away the dregs of a headache 
  that loomed behind his eyes. For all her shamed protest, Mirina looked as if she was 
  rather less worse for the wear than he was.
  "Mmm, what's that?" Mirina asked, putting down her coffee cup. She pointed at a 
  light blinking on Carialle's imaginary console.
  "Communications," Carialle said in his ear.
  "Communications," Keff echoed, springing up. "The Lady!" He went to one of the 
  real control boards, and punched a button. That one normally activated the lights in 
  the cargo bay, but Minna wouldn't know that. One of the screens blanked, then filled 
  with the image of Carialle's Lady Fair. Keff blinked. She wore an up-to-date coiffure, 
  and tunic set of gauzy blue fabric with flowing sleeves, plus plenty of sparkling 
  jewelry. She looked expensive, impatient, and very efficient.
  "Keff? Is that you?" Carialle's voice asked impatiently.
  "Yes, ma'am," Keff said, speaking with his mouth close to the audio pickup just for 
  effect.
  "My ship is in range of this planet, ETA two hours. I want a full report. What's this 
  meeting supposed to be about?" Her eyes flicked past Keff to Mirina. "Who is that 
  woman?"
  "She's, uh, she's a representative of the other group," Keff said. "The Melange. Mirina 
  Don, er, Carialle."
  "Madam," Mirina said.
  "Greetings." The eyes returned to Keff. "I'll expect a full briefing in an hour. The 
  meeting will commence when I make orbit. Do you understand?"
  "I do, ma'am," Keff said, humbly. The screen blanked. He turned to Mirina. She 
  looked pleased.
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  "I'll go tell Bisman," she said.
  Carialle had her suit-clad image smile at Bisman and his cronies as they stalked into 
  the central cabin. The half-dozen human raiders shed oily, yellow-brown mud from 
  their boots everywhere. She cast her eyes upward in disgust, and enjoyed the scowl on 
  the leader's face as he slung himself into one of the crash couches.
  "Upscale meets bargain basement," she said to Keff over the aural link. "You'll have 
  to tidy that after the meeting's over," she added out loud.
  "Yes, ma'am," Keff said, standing obsequiously beside the holographic chair in which 
  her image seated itself. Carialle had set almost all her protective cameras over the end 
  of the room where her painting apparatus usually stood. The rack, and all of her 
  personal paintings, were stowed hastily in the small storeroom behind Keffs cabin. It 
  left her image plenty of room to roam.
  "I am Carialle," she said, with a nod of her head. "Greetings, gentlemen, and madam." 
  Carialle nodded to Minna, clad in a similar shipsuit to the one she'd had on the night 
  before. The ex-brawn seated herself beside her brother at the dining table clear across 
  the cabin. The younger Don was a dark-haired, lanky young man who didn't seem to 
  know what to do with his long arms and legs. Bisman wore a knee-length coat over an 
  open-necked shirt and trousers tucked into his muddy boots. The garments were clean 
  but worn, adding to the impression Mirina had given them of an organization too big 
  for its budget. The only non-human was the young Thelerie, Sunset. "You are all 
  welcome."
  "Say, wait a minute," Bisman said, turning his head to the right. He'd made himself 
  comfortable, but something caught his eye. He propelled himself forward to wave a 
  hand through Carialle's midsection. "She's a hologram!" he exclaimed, turning on 
  Keff. "I thought we were meeting with the real thing!"
  "You're hearing my real voice," Carialle said, with a trace of haughty annoyance. 
  "And seeing my face. I'm not about to make myself vulnerable to strangers. I'm sure 
  you understand."
  "Not being vulnerable, yeah," Bisman said, sitting down again, but not so far back in 
  the couch. He held up one hand and showed them a small commlink on his wrist. "I 
  don't like tricks, either. I want you to know I'm in radio contact with my ship. If 
  something happens, or if my communications are cut off, my people have orders to 
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  attack. We are well armed."
  Carialle also read the energy trace of a sidearm concealed under the flap of the coat 
  the man wore. She accorded him another gracious nod. "I understand," she said. "We 
  won't shield transmissions. Sounds like they have the third Core," she told Keff 
  privately. "We'll have to get it away from them."
  "Yes, ma'am," Keff said, with a respectful bow.
  "Why are you here?" Bisman asked Thunderstorm, who sat on his haunches between 
  the airlock and the corridor to the sleeping cabins.
  "I represent Thelerie," the Space Sayas said, very nervously. "As I have for many 
  years."
  "This was going to be a discussion between our two organizations, wasn't it?" Bisman 
  asked Carialle.
  "Of course, but this being makes a valid point," Carialle said, with a polite gesture 
  toward Thunderstorm. "We are occupying his world, after all."
  "Okay," Bisman said, crossing his heels on the console. "He can stay."
  "Thank you," Carialle said, politely. She made a point of lifting the corner of her lip 
  delicately at his dirty boots, and he grinned. "Shall we begin?"
  Keff bowed again. "Shall I serve refreshments?"
  "Go ahead. Thank you. Gentles?" Carialle manifested a glass in her image's hand. The 
  visitors declined beverages, and Keff resumed his stand beside his "employer."
  "We're here to talk," Bisman said, impatiently. He tilted his head toward Keff. "Your 
  drone here landed on a world we have an exclusive arrangement with."
  "Isn't it up to the inhabitants as to whom they do business with?" Carialle asked, with 
  a lift of her eyebrows. "Thunderstorm, what do you say?"
  "I… " the Thelerie trembled violently and clattered his clawtips together. "I do not say 
  anything just now."
  Bisman's blood pressure rose slightly, as did the temperature in his face. He had a bad 
  temper, but he controlled it. His associates were watching their leader closely. Their 
  muscle tension was high: in Mirinas case, almost dangerously so. The former brawn 
  was under a lot of stress.
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  'The Melange has made a lot of progress with them," Bisman said, with emphasis. 
  "We don't like someone just walking in and benefiting from all our work."
  "But when there's profit in it…?" Carialle asked.
  "Yeah, but we intend to keep it just the way it's been," Bisman said. His blood 
  pressure drew down to normal again. He was on his own ground here, Carialle thought.
  The resources on this planet are very attractive, nest ce pas? For example, fuel of very 
  high quality."
  "Ours. Our refinery, our investment," Bisman said, flatly.
  Carialle spread her hands prettily. "But can't we make a bargain?" she asked. "We 
  might like to buy some of this fine fuel. And these people, the Thelerie, are good 
  customers."
  "Not a chance," Bisman said. "There's not enough production to supply all of us. The 
  Thelerie need it to run their lamps and heating units. I've got more than sixty ships. 
  How many have you got?"
  "Enough," Carialle said. "You'll forgive me not giving out too much information until 
  I know who I'm dealing with."
  "We've been around a long time," the older man said, narrowing his eyes at her. He 
  jabbed a finger toward Keff. "1 have never heard of you people until we landed and 
  found him here. You come out of nowhere, into established territory, and you act like 
  you've had a mandate from the Invisible Hosts."
  Carialle smiled austerely. "Perhaps it does seem as if we've been keeping undercover a 
  little loo much."
  "Nonexistent, is what I call it." Bismans voice rose threateningly. Carialle picked up 
  signs of distress from Thunderstorm, who watched the man with wide eyes. He was 
  terrified of Bisman, and Carialle couldn't blame him. He was dangerous.
  "And yet, here we are," Carialle said. Her sensors picked up the expected ship orbiting 
  and entering atmosphere. The engine vibration matched patrol ships she'd encountered 
  at many space stations. She listened for an official hail, hoping it was the CW military 
  ship at last. It was curious that there hadn't been any advance instructions for her. She 
  strained her external cameras upward and outward, searching for a glimpse of the 
  descending craft. "Now that we've found one another, we should make arrangements 
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  for cooperation where our paths cross."
  "Keff!" she said, urgently, while her blandfaced hologram continued a meaningless 
  conversation with the pirate leader. "It's Ship Threel They're coming in for a landing. 
  Here!"
  "What? Impossible!" Keff muttered to himself, although he was badly shaken. "No, it 
  isn't. The Thelerie are natural navigators. They've Centered their way home."
  "But with what? We destroyed their propulsion system."
  "We never found the DSC-902's," Keff said glumly. He smiled innocently at Mirina, 
  who was staring at him /with open curiosity.
  Carialle tried to get the others' attention focused back on herself. "Mr. Bisman, the 
  Circuit is prepared to sell you whatever components and parts you might like, at a 
  good price, but we do believe in coexistence."
  "Just a minute," Bisman said, holding up a hand as his pocket unit signalled. He 
  listened to the small speaker. "What?"
  Carialle picked up the transmission herself. She listened helplessly to every word the 
  pirate leader heard. She relayed the broadcast so Keff could hear it, too. His eyes 
  widened, and flicked toward her hiding place.
  "They saw them on long-range but now they're sure. Autumn says that Keff's ship is 
  the one who attacked them in Slime space," a woman's voice repeated. "Says the 
  human onboard was under Slime control."
  "What? Slime? What about the other ship?"
  "No one challenged her on the way in. There's nobody in orbit around Thelerie!"
  "What? Well, then where's the transmission in here coming from?" Bisman demanded.
  "The ship…" Carialle could wait to hear no more. She blocked the signal from the 
  pirate.
  Bisman jumped for Keff, and backed him up against the nearest bulkhead with a 
  forearm underneath his throat.
  "Who is she?" Bisman demanded. "Where is she?"
  "There's no one else here," Keff said, innocently, pushing the mans arm down enough 
  to gasp in a breath. His windpipe felt half-crushed. "Just me. The Lady's out in space 
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  somewhere."
  "That's a lie," the pirate leader said, driving home his statement with another bruising 
  push. "One of my ships says there's nobody out there. She's onboard this vessel. Bring 
  her out!"
  "You're wrong, friend…" Keff began, but he got no more out. The pirate shoved him 
  up against the enameled panel and bore down in earnest. "Hey!" he whispered, 
  battering the man on the back. He saw black spots dance in his vision. Bisman meant 
  to kill him. Dropping all pretense of amiable obsequity, Keff dug both thumbs into 
  pressure points behind the man's ears, and swept a foot back and across Bisman's 
  ankles, sending the older man stumbling. Keff danced out from the wall on the balls of 
  his feet, not turning his back on Bisman. In the close quarters, though, he was at a 
  disadvantage. The pirate, though an older man, had a long reach, and undoubtedly a 
  long, dishonorable history of dirty fighting. He landed a kidney punch before Keff 
  could get by him. Keff staggered, and aimed a slam of his own for the man's gut. 
  Bisman took about half of it, but he slid sideways in the direction of the airlock. Keff 
  closed the distance, and had to dodge back from a dirty kick. He couldn't let Bisman 
  go, not now.
  "They'll have backups in a minute," Carialle said. "The rest of the crew is coming. 
  They're armed, and something on that ship is building up energy." Keff nodded but 
  didn't reply. He was concentrating on disabling Bisman without killing him. Minna 
  and her brother stood beside the table, staring.
  "He's CW?" Zonzalo asked, gaping.
  "You lied!" Mirina shouted at Keff. She started toward the airlock, but the combatants 
  blocked her way.
  "Luring us in here, pretending to be stupid traders," Bisman panted. He evaded a 
  roundhouse kick Keff aimed at him, grabbed Keffs leg, and propelled him backward 
  over the stack of crates toward the image of the third console. Keff fell helplessly 
  among the boxes. The other humans gasped as he disappeared from view into the 
  holographic illusion. Bisman, with a snarl, dove in after him.
  "Cari, I can't see!" Keff cried, as a punch came out (|jf nowhere and knocked his head 
  painfully against the deck.
  The time for subterfuge was over. Keffs life could be in danger. At once, Carialle 
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  dropped the illusion, revealing wall, pillar, and the two men grappling on the floor. 
  The effect on Mirina Don was electric. Her eyes widened, and her mouth fell open.
  "Aldon!" she shrieked at the top of her voice. "She's a brainship!"
  "Central Worlds!" Bisman growled. With a sudden burst of strength, he yanked a hand 
  free, chopped the smaller man in the throat, and scrambled to his feet. He spun and 
  grabbed Thunderstorm, who had been trying to creep unobtrusively toward the airlock.
  "You damned traitor," the pirate snarled. "You were in on this." He yanked the 
  Thelerie back on his haunches and drew his sidearm, shoving it under Thunderstorms 
  throat.
  "Help them," Carialle said to Tall Eyebrow and the listening Cridi, activating the door 
  of the spare cabin. "Now!"
  Lake a barrage of soap-bubbles, the Cridi poured out of the spare room, and 
  surrounded the pirates.
  "Slime!" Zonzalo gasped, flattening himself against the wall as Gap Tooth and Small 
  Spot confronted him. Sunset, the young Thelerie clutched Mirina around the waist, 
  and hid behind her, his golden eyes all pupil, while Big Voice, Wide Foot, and Big 
  Eyes edged them backward.
  "Stand back," Bisman said, looking up steadily at the floating globes. "I want out of 
  here, now! I want my people out, too. One by one. If we don't, this damned traitor 
  dies. Now!"
  "We freeze him!" Small Spot cried, flinging himself forward to save his friend.
  "No!" Carialle saw the tiny movement of Bisman's finger closing just as Small Spot's 
  whammy took effect She sensed the power buildup, an inexorable burst only 
  temporarily halted.
  "Small motor control reaction," she said, over all her speakers. The hologram of the 
  Lady vanished, making the human pirates jump. "He's pulled the trigger. If we don't 
  let him go, the gun will fire anyhow in a moment. If we don't try to contain the blast 
  using Core power, it will explode right here in the cabin. If we do, both Bisman and 
  Thunderstorm will die. Sooner or later I will run out of fuel, then the Core won't be 
  able to contain the blast to just the two of them."
  "Can he hear us?" Keff asked.
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  "Yes," said Narrow Leg, hovering in front of the pirate leaders face, watching his 
  pupils.
  "Bisman, we'll let you go," Keff said, edging into Bisman's view with his hands out 
  from his sides. "I'm unarmed, and the Cridi will do what I say. Just let Thunderstorm 
  go. You and your people are free." He jerked his head toward the airlock. Carialle slid 
  open both doors, and lowered the ramp. Zonzalo and the other crew dashed out of the 
  door without hesitation. "You're free to go. No one will stop you. TE, ready to pull his 
  hand back?"
  "I am ready," the Frog Prince said, his face grim.
  "Okay," Keff said to Small Spot. "Let him go!"
  The burst of power released five milliseconds after Tall Eyebrow jerked the human's 
  hand back and away from Thunderstorm's neck. Carialle winced as the bolt burned 
  through her ceiling plates and into a fiberoptic conduit. She set a small part of her 
  consciousness to rerouting the functions the severed fibers controlled. She'd have time 
  to repair the ducting later. The Thelerie stood, dazed, the fact that he was alive and 
  unharmed not yet registering in his mind. Like lightning, Bisman ran a few steps, 
  turned, put a bolt straight into Thunderstorm's chest. Sunset fell beside the body of his 
  mentor, crying out shrilly at the black, burned / streak in the center of the golden fur. 
  Bisman loosed a few more shots into the cabin, scattering the Cridi, and rilling the 
  room with smoke as lights, screens, and upholstery burst and caught fire. Keff dove 
  underneath the crash couch, pulling Minna down with him.
  Carialle dropped her airlock door, intending to trap the pirate inside. Bisman saw the 
  lights activate, and scowled, but he didn't stop running. He raised the energy weapon 
  again, and shot the controls, freezing the doors. She struggled to find another servo 
  that could pull down the door, but the mechanism reacted too slowly. He was able to 
  roll underneath the door. He ran out and down the ramp and out across the field with 
  deliberate, long, heavy steps that ate up the distance. Their rhythm suddenly matched 
  with something Carialle would never, never forget.
  "Keff!" she cried. "Its him. It's his footsteps!"
  Keff scrambled out from his hiding place. "Whose?"
  "Bisman!" Carialle said, opening all screens to show the pirate leader running across 
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  to his own ship. "He was the one, the one who walked on me."
  "You're sure?" Keff demanded.
  "I couldn't forget it as long as I live. Keff, stop him!" Carialle said desperately. "We 
  have to get him back here. He's the one. He can clear my record, Keff. He can't get 
  away."
  Keff dashed for the airlock. He waited impatiently until Carialle had raised it high 
  enough for him to scramble underneath, then dashed down the ramp after Bisman. 
  "Do something about Thunderstorm, for pity's sake," he shouted.
  Carialle tried to pull herself together. For once in her life she wished she could go 
  about on two feet, or four, or wings! That man must not get away from her. He held 
  the answers she had been seeking for twenty years. It meant the vindication of her 
  sanity.
  But her life was not in danger, and Thunderstorms was. She pulled herself together 
  and located the nearest transmission tower. With a broad-band sweep, she broke into 
  the thousands and thousands of "phone calls" going on across Thelerie.
  "Attention," she said, through the shell of the IT program, wishing that it was up to 
  fluent medical Thelerie. 'There is an emergency medical situation on the Melanges 
  plain. Will any healer in the area please come at once?" Hubbub erupted on the open 
  lines as thousands of Thelerie broke into speech all at once, wanting to know more. 
  She repeated her message, shut down the transmission and returned her attention to 
  the inside of her cabin.
  "And thus is mass communication born," she said, ironically.
  "His heart beats," Big Voice said. He sat on the Thelerie's left, his globe in two pieces 
  behind him. "I know not what else to do, but I can keep that going."
  "I am making him breathe," Small Spot said, clasping one of the Thelerie's claw hands 
  in his own. "Come, friend. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Am I doing too fast?"
  "I don't think so," Carialle said. "He's in pain. I wish I could tell you what nerves to 
  deaden, or what drugs to use, but I don't dare interfere. We might cause permanent 
  damage."
  "Don't touch him," Sunset cried, trying to scatter the amphibioids away from his 
  mentor's body. He ran at them, flailing his wings. The Cridi gently pushed him back, 
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  mildly using Core power. The wound was serious, but it didn't go all the way through 
  the Thelerie's body, for which Carialle was grateful.
  It didn't take long for her message to have an effect. On her screen, Carialle saw a 
  very large Thelerie with a pouch around its neck sail over the plain. Carialle flashed 
  her running lights to attract the griffin's attention. The creature changed direction on a 
  wingtip and landed on the ramp. It galloped on all fours up into the ship.
  "I was called," it said. "I heal! How to help?" It saw Thunderstorm and hurried toward 
  him, with concerned horn calls. It spilled herbs, vials, and tools out of its pouch onto 
  the deck, and went to work.
  Another Thelerie, and another, appeared behind the first. "I, too! I, too! I am called. I 
  will help!"
  "Help is here," Big Voice said, leaning close to Thunderstorms face. "I told you we 
  did not want your life."
  Thunderstorm fluttered his eyelids and wingtips feebly, acknowledging the irony of 
  his old enemies working to save him from the wounds of his allies.
  Keff ran, keeping his knees up with an effort. His feet grew more caked with mud at 
  every step. The previous night's rain had made the field a mire. Tall Eyebrow had 
  sailed ahead in his globe, then realized Keff wasn't keeping up with him. He and Big 
  Eyes swept back and pulled him out of the mud with a mighty pop! Keff checked to 
  make sure he hadn't left his boots behind, then turned all his attention forward.
  The red ship fired slugs and energy beams at the approaching human and his 
  companions. With a single sweep of his fingers, Narrow Leg created a barrier of Core 
  power between them. The missiles ricocheted all over the landscape. A gout of mud 
  kicked up with a bang! almost right in Keffs face. Hot steam hissed where the energy 
  bolts sizzled into the mud. Keff hoped fervently that Big Voice and the others were 
  protecting Carialle from attack.
  Ahead of them, Bisman reached the ramp, and hurtled up it in a few long strides. The 
  heavy metal door began to slide downward.
  "They close the hatch!" Narrow Leg signed, meters ahead of Keff. "What to do?"
  "Hold it open! Hold the ship," Keff shouted in Cridi at the top of his lungs. The 
  ammoniated air made him hoarse. "Don't let them launch. Carialle needs them alive, 
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  awake!"
  "We understand," Gap Tooth and Wide Foot signed. They stretched out their skinny 
  arms as best they could in the confines of the plastic bubbles. The rising ramp halted 
  in mid-arc, and jerked hard a few times. The airlock hatch, manipulated by Long 
  Hand, reversed direction and began to inch upward.
  "Good," Keff said, urging his small force forward. "Can, we have them!"
  "Get him," Carialle said, speaking so rapidly he had to listen closely to understand. 
  "You have to bring him to me. He's my proof for Maxwell-Corey. That bastard must 
  listen. This is the man. He will talk. He must talk. It wasn't aliens; it was a human 
  being, one who should have known better. He knew a brain pillar when he saw one! 
  He must have known!"
  "Almost there, Can," Keff said, willing her to hang on. Only a few hundred meters to 
  go to the red ship. He heard the screech of tortured servos fighting against the pull of 
  Core power. The ramp had opened almost all the way. He heard shouting from inside 
  the ship, saw men and women in shipsuits fighting to lower the airlock doors by hand.
  Suddenly, he and the Cridi were all swept straight through the air into the side of the 
  pirate ship. Keff slammed face first into the hull and slid, dazed, down to the ground. 
  The travel globes split apart, leaving the Cridi dry, gasping, and shocked in the hot, 
  ammonia-laden air. There was no doubt about it: the pirates had the third Core in their 
  ship, and they knew how to use it.
  More Thelerie healers, landing on the plain in answer to Carialle's call, swooped in 
  and helped pick the small /aliens out of the mud. Two hovering griffins lifted Keff 
  free of the ship's side, and set him on his feet.
  "It burns, it burns!" Gap Tooth shrieked, batting at her skin with her hands. "The air is 
  hot!"
  The Thelerie, though they understood the small beings were distressed, couldn't 
  understand the language. They fluttered around uncertainly. The Cridi had to help 
  themselves. Tall Eyebrow, with Big Eyes swept up in his arms, cried out to the others. 
  "Pick up globes, purify air!"
  Narrow Leg, recovering his wits in a flash, started clapping travel globes together 
  around his crew with waves of his fingerstalls. In a moment, all the Cridi were 
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  rallying.
  "Are you all right?" Keff wheezed. His ribs were sore and bruised, and one of his eyes 
  felt as if it was swelling shut.
  "We have no water," Narrow Leg signed swiftly, "but it is only for a short time."
  "Right," Keff said, turning around. "Let's get them." Just as he spoke, the pirate ship 
  lit engines. The distraction had been long enough. Bisman managed to launch. The 
  ship rose swiftly, diminishing to a fiery dot in the sky. "Oh, no!"
  More Thelerie winged their way over the plain. Keff recognized Noonday and her 
  guardians. He waved at them, and pointed at the other ship that had landed.
  "More pirates!" Keff had time to shout, as he turned toward Carialle. This time Tall 
  Eyebrow lifted Keff off his feet even before he gave the signal. The wind rushed into 
  his face as they flew back to the ship.
  "Ready to lift as soon as you're on board," Carialle said in his aural pickup.
  "That one has the last Core," Narrow Leg shouted, his high voice audible even over 
  the sound of Carialle's rockets igniting.
  "I know! We'll stop him," Keff said. "Have you got enough fuel for a pursuit, Cari?" 
  he asked.
  "Just enough," Carialle said grimly. "If we don't have to use much more Core power 
  ourselves."
  The Cridi and Keff swooped in through the door. The Cridi froze their globes to the 
  walls and Keff grabbed the nearest permanent fixture as the airlock slammed shut and 
  Carialle applied full thrust. He was shoved almost all the way to the floor by sheer 
  force, and the roar of the engines threatened to shake his grip.
  "Care, care!" Big Voice shrieked. He and half a dozen healers threw their arms across 
  Thunderstorm's body. Their stentorian voices rose in protest, and the patient moaned. 
  Healing impedimenta went flying in every direction, clattering into the bulkheads.
  "Sorry," Carialle said over general audio, not taking the time to manifest her frog 
  image on the wall. "It's going to be a rough ride. Cridi, brace everyone and everything 
  that's rolling around loose!"
  "We hear!" the shrill voices responded. The external viewscreens swiftly turned from 
  golden to blue to black as Carialle burst out of atmosphere.
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  As soon as he could move again after the initial push, Keff handed himself toward the 
  crash couch and flung himself into its depths. He started to strap in, when a small 
  human hand reached up and clutched the side of the chair. Keff sat up, and yanked 
  Mirina Don onto his lap. It was a tight fit, but there was just room for both of them. 
  He pulled the straps over her hip and locked them down. She and Keff were pressed 
  almost face to face.
  "Oh, please," she said, her soft brown eyes filled with tears. She appealed to Carialles 
  pillar. "My brother is on that ship. Aldon will loll him. Zon is my only family. Aldon 
  was going to let us leave after we landed here."
  "If you can speak to him, do it," Carialle said, concentrating on following the pirate's 
  path precisely. Not one extra centimeter must come between them. "I don't /want him 
  dead. I want to talk to him."
  "If I help, will you let us go?" Mirina asked. She looked at Carialles pillar, and back to 
  Keff, who shook his head sadly. "They'll put me in prison. I couldn't stand it."
  "I can't," Keff said, helplessly. The desperate look on her face tore at his heart.
  "All we can do is try to save lives," Carialle said crisply. "Talk to him. What's the 
  frequency?"
  "Reasonable?" Bisman's fierce grimace filled the whole screen. "Reasonable to land 
  and let a CW flunky pick through my brain? They bought you last night, didn't they? 
  You and that sawed-off muscleman."
  Minna had no time for pride. She could see Zonzalo behind Aldon. The boy looked 
  absolutely terrified. She had to do whatever it took to get him to land without harming 
  her brother. He could call her whatever names he wanted to. She clasped her hands.
  "Please, Aldon. Carialle swears she means you no harm. You have some information 
  she wants. Maybe she'll trade you a favor for it."
  "No promises," Carialle cut in. "All I want is a talk. What happens after that is up to 
  the CenCom."
  "This is what I say to your CenCom," Bisman sneered. He nodded his head to one 
  side, and Mirina saw Glashtons hands move toward the controls for the Slime Ball. A 
  tremendous jerk rocked the brainship. Mirina was flung backwards. She would have 
  fallen if Keff and the Cridi hadn't caught her. She grabbed the edge of the console and 
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  leaned in closer.
  "We can't take many of those," Carialle said, grimly. "The Thelerie might have fuel 
  we can use, but no repair facilities."
  "Please, Aldon," Mirina begged. "Listen to me. Let Zon go. He's never done you any 
  harm. I'm the one you want. Bring him back, and you can do whatever you want to 
  me."
  "Go to hell, Mirina. You're a traitor." Bisman turned away from the screen, but at least 
  he didn't cut off contact.
  "We need the Cridi," Keff said, over the top of Mirina's head.
  "I will help," one of the little green frogs said, floating away from the Thelerie 
  working on Thunderstorm. "That one is in no danger now."
  Mirina was itching to know how the Slime had learned to speak Standard, or why they 
  were so friendly to humans, and she'd give ten years of her life to know how it was 
  flying in midair like that. When Keff gave I the order to hang on tight, she dropped 
  back into the crash couch and held onto him. The amphibioid hung like a spider in the 
  air beside the screentank. On it, the image of the reiver ship grew larger and larger.
  "All right, Big Voice," Carialle's voice said, softly. "Reach out for the pirate. Gendy, 
  but so he knows he's been grappled. Now, hold it, but not hard, like an egg j or a piece 
  of fruit. Now I wish your landing personnel were here. They know exactly how to do 
  it. Go | on. Good."
  "So. I see," Big Voice said, gesturing slightly with one surprisingly large hand. The 
  long fingers were | coated in a kind of twinkling golden metal. It was a kind of 
  activator. There was a Slime Ball here on this ship. There had been the whole time, 
  and she never knew it!
  In the tank, the reiver juddered and hesitated. Mirina was nearly kicked out of the 
  chair by another pull from! the Slime Ball aboard the red ship. So this is what it felt 
  like when they used the tractor device on other people: terrifying, inexplicable, 
  intangible, and inexorable. She thrust herself in next to Keff among the padding.
  'They must turn back and land at once," another one of the amphibioids ordered, from 
  its place on the wall. 'Their Core is overheating! It may explode."
  "Mirina," Sunset bleated, from his place on the floor. "Stop the ship jostling! My 
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  mentor is injured. This hurts him! How could Bisman do this?"
  "He's a bad man, youngster," Mirina said, craning her head over the edge of the chair. 
  Her heart sank at the terrified Thelerie's face. "I should never have let you or any of 
  your people come aboard with him. Heaven knows I shouldn't have done so myself."
  "Stop him," Sunset begged Keff.
  "I am stopping him," Big Voice said. "Less noise! Must concentrate."
  "Bring it back," Narrow Leg interrupted. "That old Core has reached its end. Can't you 
  hear the frequency?" He followed this with a series of shrill whistles that Keff and 
  Carialle inexplicably seemed to understand.
  "Oh, no," Keff said, his face set.
  "The Slime will kill them all," Sunset said, trembling.
  "No." Thunderstorm stirred and raised a feeble wing-finger to the youths hand. 'They 
  are our friends, too," he whispered, "It is not true they are evil. The humans misled 
  you. I am sorry you learned a lie."
  "All I know is broken and lost today," Sunset said, his noble head drooping. 
  Thunderstorm wrapped a wing around him. Minna felt heartsick.
  "I've always cared what happened to you," she said to Sunset.
  "That is true," Thunderstorm assured the youngster. Sunset nodded.
  "She is my friend. Zonzalo, too."
  "Yes," Minna said, shortly. "He is." Zonzalo must survive. As if she could will him 
  back to safety, she stared at the screen. Bismans face was shining with sweat. His 
  fingers clutched the navigation controls as Glashton fought to control the Slime Ball. 
  The look on his face told her what the Slime had warned about was happening. 
  Zonzalo had huddled himself into a knot of arms and legs and shock webbing. She 
  was relieved to see that the reivers were too busy trying to manage the ship to think of 
  using him as a negotiating tool. Big Voice tightened his fingers slightly, and the crew 
  on the other ship jerked heavily backward.
  "Bisman, land or you'll explode," Keff said urgently. "The Cridi say that you don't 
  have much time before the device you're carrying goes critical! We don't want anyone 
  to die. Turn back at once. Hurry!"
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  Glashton, visible over Aldon's shoulder, nodded a white-eyed yes to him. Mirina 
  breathed a silent thanksgiving as he backed the engines down.
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  CHAPTER 21
  « ^ 
  Carialle timed it so her tailfins touched the ground just before the pirate's did. Keff 
  flung himself up and out of his shock webbing as soon as the altimeter hit zero, not 
  waiting for an all-clear. The Cridi followed him in a stream, except for Big Voice and 
  Small Spot, who elected to stay behind with Thunderstorm and the healers. Tall 
  Eyebrow lifted Keff before he stepped off the ramp, and they sailed lightly over the 
  mud toward the pirate ship. Mirina ran out after them.
  "Take me with you!" she shouted. "I have to go to my brother!"
  Big Eyes doubled back and picked her up. The woman squeaked in surprise as she 
  was surrounded by an envelope of Core power, then rode in goggling silence the rest 
  of the way.
  On the plain near the pavilion, Keff spotted Noondays white pelt, surrounded by a 
  host of golden backs. Long-eyed like all those of her kind, she saw him long before 
  he'd seen her, and was waving a wing-hand for him to join her. He squinted to bring 
  the artificial lens in his eye to full magnification, and signalled that he was heading 
  toward the newly landed ship. He saw her nod, and go back to talking severely to the 
  others. Keff thought he recognized some of the Thelerie from the remote base in the 
  crowd. The ship behind them was unmistakably Ship Three.
  "Hurry!" Narrow Leg cried, flying on ahead as fast as Core power could propel him. 
  "The Core goes critical!"
  Tall Eyebrow and the others swept after him. The pirates ramp lowered, and crew 
  began to pour out of it. Keff and the Cridi flew in over their heads, making for the 
  control room. The pilot stood up. Keff grabbed his wrist and signalled to Wide Foot, 
  who drew him into the air and flew aft toward the exit with him. Zonzalo Don stared 
  up at his sister, hovering in the air with no visible means of support. Keff took him by 
  the shoulders and flung him, with Narrow Leg's help, up into Minna's arms. Three of 
  the Cridi surrounded Bisman, who cowered down into his chair with his hands above 
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  his head. The leader was airborne before he even had a chance to unfold.
  "Everybody out!" Keff boomed, pitching his voice over the frightened cries of the 
  crew fleeing for the exit. "Condition red!" He could feel hot gusts of air coming from 
  the aft section. The Core must be back there. No time to remove it. The ship was 
  doomed. "Hurry!"
  They emerged into the open air. Waves of heat followed them. The pirates flung 
  themselves out into the mud, gasping for breath.
  "It ends," Narrow Leg said. He opened his hands to envelop the group. Keff felt 
  something like a light curtain drop onto his back just before a deafening explosion and 
  a kick of invisible force sent him somersaulting away from the pirates' ship. Plastic 
  globes of Cridi and human bodies hurtled sideways past him. Keff landed with a 
  squashy thud in the yellow mud. He picked himself up on hands and knees, spitting, to 
  watch a plume of fire and smoke rise up from the two halves of the ship, now a 
  hundred meters apart.
  "Spacedust," Bisman spat, speaking for the first time.
  He had landed face first in the mud a dozen meters from Keff. "The hell was that?"
  "Something you stole, and never understood," Keff said. "Tad Pole!" he exclaimed, 
  looking up just in time.
  "I see," Narrow Leg said. The old Cridi spread his hands again as the debris from the 
  broken ship began to rain down on them. Sections of circuitry, piping, flaming rags, 
  pieces of hull and deck plate, crates of parts, and thousands of little flat pieces of 
  metal pattered down, and bounded off the invisible forcefield ten meters above them 
  like hailstones pinging against a plexiglass dome. The debris splatted down into the 
  mud around them, peppering the landscape. Hundreds of square fragments of metal 
  hammered down on the invisible shield, bouncing off in all directions. Keff realized 
  with a feeling of shock that he recognized what they were. As soon as Narrow Leg 
  signalled the all-clear, Keff crawled out over the mud, picking through them, 
  searching for one in particular. Suddenly, he spotted the one he was looking for. He 
  pounced on it and put it in his pocket. He turned to his allies and their cowering 
  captives.
  "Now, let's go back and see Carialle."
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  Thunderstorm had been settled in Keffs chair like an eagle on its nest, and Noonday 
  occupied the other, so Keff had to stand in the midst of the huge crowd that filled the 
  main cabin. A dozen Thelerie guardians, sitting up on their haunches with their bronze 
  pole-arms ready, surrounded all ten pirates from the hidden base and most of the crew 
  of the now-destroyed raider. The rest were outside, with more of the Sayas's guard. 
  Carialle gazed from a dozen camera eyes at Aldon Bisman, whom Keff had made to 
  stand in front of her pillar. She felt as if she was hammering on a prison door, almost 
  out into the sunshine, if only he would talk! The key was in this obstinate man's mind.
  He stood with his hands behind him as if on parade rest, staring straight ahead of him, 
  looking at nothing.
  "You were in this vicinity twenty years ago, weren't you?" Carialle asked, zooming in 
  on his face with her closest camera eye. Such an ordinary face: human, male, Earth-
  Indo-European descent, about sixty, confident, choleric. Apart from empirical data, 
  his face gave away no details. "P-sector, not too far from this system."
  The man kept his expression blank, though his respiration went up slightly. Keff 
  reached forward and poked him in the shoulder.
  "Tell the lady," Keff said, as Bisman turned his head to glare. "She went to a lot of 
  trouble to have you taken alive. The Cridi would cheerfully have split your ship apart 
  in space and left you to die in vacuum. Talk."
  "Yeah," Bisman said, at last. His narrow face was corning out in spectacular bruises, 
  whether from the rough landing or Keffs fists, Carialle could not be sure. "I was there. 
  My fathers ship. He found this system fifty years ago. It was close to a new CW 
  trading corridor. Easy meat."
  "You were stripping wrecks for parts?" Carialle asked. He nodded silently, 
  suspiciously. She almost trembled to ask the next question. "Do you remember one in 
  P-sector that had been destroyed by an explosion in its fuel tanks? It was a Central 
  Worlds Exploration scout. Twenty years ago. Think. You spent about two hours at it. 
  You walked up and back on the hull, four times, two hundred and thirty steps in all." 
  She saw him start, as if she had read his mind. "I don't have to think," Bisman said, 
  tightlipped. "Yes, I remember one like that. It was hard to tell if anything good was 
  left, it was in such bad shape. Half the tail was missing, all of the control section was 
  slag."
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  "Would you swear to that?" Carialle asked at once.
  "If I had to." His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why?"
  "Did you know," Carialle asked, feeling her nerves prickle and ordered them under 
  control, "that you were stripping a brainship? A live brainship? My ship?"
  Bisman's cheeks paled and hollowed as his mouth dropped open. His eyes went wide. 
  "I'd never," he choked on the last word and tried again. He looked up straight into her 
  camera eye. "Madam, I would never hurt one of you. Never! What kind of character 
  do you think I am?"
  "Did you know?" Carialle asked.
  "You've killed a lot of people," Mirina asked, shocked, staring at the man. "Why stop 
  at that?"
  "You dumb brawn," Bisman said, whirling to point a finger at her through the crowd 
  of upright Thelerie. "You fool! Think of how many people you've bilked out of their 
  savings, Madam Don! You're going to prison, too! You don't get any points for virtue."
  Mirina was pale, too, but she confronted him bravely. "You can say a lot of things, 
  Aldon, but you can never accuse me of murder. Did you do it?"
  "No! I didn't know," he said, turning back to Carialle's pillar. "It wasn't intentional, 
  madam. I'd never have left a living being in space like that. You don't. Spacers law. If 
  I'd had any idea… if there'd been a sign of life. We monitored for transmissions. There 
  was a beacon going, but what about it? You must have been nearly dead, ma'am. I 
  didn't bomb you."
  "I know," Carialle said. "It was sabotage."
  'They did the job thoroughly," Bisman said, fervently. "You… it was a fused lump. I 
  can't believe you were alive in that."
  "Oh, I was. I could hear you. You laughed. I've been hating you for twenty years," 
  Carialle said, "wondering why you didn't help me get out of there."
  "I didn't know," Bisman said, his cool poise shattered. "I swear, none of us did. We 
  saw the hulk, and spotted some components I knew we could boost. We were just 
  trying to make a few credits. But I know the law of space, and I'd hope it would 
  protect me too," he said earnestly. "If I'd had the least iota you were alive inside it, I'd 
  have towed you somewhere."
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  "Somewhere?" Keff asked, shoving his face into the man's and making him back up a 
  pace. "Like that illegal base at the edge of the Cridi system, for example? So you 
  could finish your salvage?"
  Bisman faced Keff down with a snarl. "We heard nothing, brawn. That ship was dead, 
  dead, dead so far as I was concerned. If you'd seen how it looked, ma'am, compacted 
  downlike, you would think so, too. There were damaged capacitors firing off now and 
  again nearly blinding us or burning through our gloves, backup batteries imploding up 
  and down the hulk. I'd have put any residual warmth down to those. We didn't have 
  the best equipment, ma'am. That's why we were salvaging. There could've been a 
  heartbeat deep in there, but I swear we checked."
  "Not enough," Keff growled.
  "Keff, let him alone," Carialle said. "I believe you." The prison door opened, and she 
  saw sunlight beyond it. She felt immeasurably better. "Thank you for the truth,." She 
  sighed. "I only wish I had some solid proof to add to your statement."
  "I have some," Keff said, pulling the scrap of metal out of his tunic pocket. "I found it 
  in the field when it was raining ship parts." He held it up to the nearest camera eye. 
  Carialle zoomed in on it, but she didn't need magnification. The small titanium square 
  said "963." It was her original number plate.
  "I never noticed that one," Mirina said. "He had a whole collection of those from the 
  ships we gutted among the junk he collected. They were his trophies. I'd have 
  recognized it if I'd seen it. They gave me Charles's." She took a square of metal out of 
  her pocket and showed it to Carialle's camera eye over the food synthesizer. On the 
  fragment was etched "702."
  "I suppose you heard the whole story."
  "Yes," Carialle said. "I'm sorry."
  "Now we have physical proof and a confession," Keff said, rubbing his hands 
  together. "We can take this back to the CenCom and shove it up a certain persons 
  nose."
  "We have also heard confessions," Noonday said from her nest, looking around for 
  some manifestation of Carialle's to address. Carialle produced the Lady Fair image on 
  the nearest screen over the console, and had it meet the Sayas' golden gaze. "We have 
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  those who have shamed us before you now. What will you have us do with them?"
  "You'd better ask the Cridi," Carialle said. "I think they have the first claim on 
  reparation."
  Big Voice and a few of the others popped up above the crowd. All of the Melange 
  Thelerie protested. The one called Autumn raised her voice.
  "Spare us the Slime!" she said desperately, pushing forward to address the image. The 
  guardians crossed their back-scratchers to bar her way. "Only the sacred humans can 
  dictate our fate. I will otherwise kill all my crew."
  "Be silent," Noonday said severely.
  "We're not sacred," Keff said, shaking his head, "and by the way, I don't think we're 
  your beings of legend. Do you know, Cari, a little idea occurred to me. Noonday, let 
  me suggest something to you. Your legend concerns four-limbed, wingless creatures 
  from the stars who were supposed to help you winged ones to fly in the void. Is that 
  right?"
  "It is our most beloved story," Noonday said, nodding her great head.
  "How old is it?" Keff asked.
  "How old? Told for, mmm, one thousand six hundred of our years."
  "Narrow Leg," Keff asked, turning to the Cridi captain, "when did the Cridi explore 
  this system and reject it as a possibility for settlement?"
  Narrow Leg's eyes twinkled, and he bobbed up and down near the ceiling. The rest of 
  the Cridi looked curious, but he made a few quick hand signals, and they laughed 
  merrily.
  "It is possible," he said. "One thousand six hundred revolutions times .88768 equals 
  1,420 revolutions — yes. It could have been Cridi explorers."
  "No!" Autumn said, aghast, gaping at the Cridi. "You assume that all these many 
  years we have revered the wrong species?"
  "I think that's exactly what you have done," Keff said, rocking back on his heels in 
  satisfaction. "The legend doesn't say how big the beings were, does it?"
  "No," Noonday said, peering at him. "It does not."
  "Then, it could have been, couldn't it?" Carialle asked, projecting an image of a 
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  bipedal being on the wall beside the silhouette of a Thelerie. She made the biped in 
  human proportions, than shrank it to half its original height. "It's more likely they 
  landed here than a stray human ship. They're virtually next door."
  "I am disgraced," Autumn said, dropping her gaze to the floor.
  The rest of the Thelerie turned to stare at Bisman and the human crew.
  "It's not our fault nobody measured your visitors."
  Bisman said, testily. "Look, we've done a lot for you.
  "Telephone, gas lights, spaceships…"
  "You have done much ill, too," Noonday said firmly.
  "If my child had not admitted the wrongs, if more had been open about their 
  experiences, we would have rejected you long ago." She addressed Carialle.
  "If you are going back to your Central Worlds, we will keep these bad ones in safe 
  custody until you return."
  "There's a lot to do yet," Carialle said. "We cant leave until we… I'm receiving an 
  incoming message," she said to Keff. "And this time, it is a CW ship."
  "CK-963, this is DSM-344. Remain where you are. Do not lift ship," the uniformed 
  commander said severely from the central screen. "Repeat: do not lift ship. You are 
  under arrest. Any attempts at escape will result in the destruction of your vessel."
  "This is the CK-963," Carialle said. "Why are we under arrest?" There was a brief 
  time lag for the distance between the ship and the planet. By the time the screen 
  cleared again, another human had taken the place of the commander in front of the 
  video pickup, a tall, thin man with graying hair and an overwhelming moustache that 
  had been waxed firmly into submission. To Carialle it was the most unwelcome face 
  in the galaxy. Her blood vessels constricted momentarily, but the shock passed 
  quickly.
  "This is Dr. Maxwell-Corey, Carialle," he said, in his thin, irritated voice. "You left 
  the Cridi planet strictly against orders."
  Keff interposed himself in front of one of her video pickups at once.
  "Dr. Maxwell-Corey, how nice to see you," he said. "The circumstances altered the 
  import of your orders. We had to investigate the destruction of the DSC-902, as we 
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  transmitted to you, as soon as possible before the perpetrators got too far away. We 
  found them. You did receive our messages?"
  "I did," the Inspector General said peevishly. "You conscripted the Cridi for your 
  illegal activity, endangering them on your mad scramble to justify your longstanding 
  mania, Carialle. This will not sit well with Alien Outreach, or Xeno! On my arrival I 
  am insisting that you be placed in protective custody pending a hearing on charges of 
  constructive kidnapping."
  "That's ridiculous. We didn't conscript them," Carialle said, feeling the adrenaline in 
  her system increase twofold. "They insisted on accompanying us — their right as an 
  intelligent species. They have saved our lives several times. I am very pleased to have 
  had them as allies."
  "They should not be there at all!" The IG's hollow cheeks went red with fury. "An 
  insane brainship and her dupe convincing them to chase off after illusory pirates to a 
  so-called secret base on the fifth planet of the Cridi system? Preposterous! There was 
  a base, if you could call it that," M-C said, disdainfully. "But there were no mysterious 
  'griffins.' Er… griffins," he said, as Noonday moved into range of the video. She 
  smiled at him, and he goggled at her. Carialle knew what it was like for a human the 
  first time a Thelerie smiled, parting its lip to show the needle-sharp fangs underneath, 
  and she enjoyed the effect it had on the Inspector General.
  "Thelerie," Carialle said, sweetly. "We know. May I present Noonday, Sayas of 
  Thelerie? She is the head of planetary government. The pirates escaped and came 
  here, sir. They have only just arrived. The commander of that ship is called Autumn, 
  and if you will check the video I sent you, you can see that that is indeed the ship, out 
  there on the landing field." She inserted a view from her external camera of Ship 
  Three, lying abandoned on the plain. "I strongly suspect that if you check their engine 
  compartment, they flew here using components from the DSC-902." , "It is true," 
  Autumn admitted, as Noondays guards ' hustled her forward. She wrapped her wings 
  protectively about herself. "Our ship had no propulsion unit left. Nor 
  communications."
  Maxwell-Corey stared out of the screen. 'They speak Standard." He glared at Keff. 
  'This is undoubtedly your doing. You have no right to involve this species in anything. 
  They are not members of the Central Worlds, or if what you say is true in your 
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  transmission, possessed of their own technology."
  "Breaking the Prime Directive again," Carialle said pertly. "Not guilty on that count 
  either, sir. They spoke Standard when we arrived. That's part of the rest of the story 
  we have to tell you."
  "I am glad to encounter you, sir," the Sayas said warmly, opening sincere, striped eyes 
  at the Inspector General. "We wish to apply for membership in the Central Worlds. 
  We wish to be one with all of the blessed humans."
  "I… I'm not really the one you should speak to about membership," Maxwell-Corey 
  admitted, staring at the golden-eyed beast. "Er, blessed humans?"
  "Then, who? We are most eager. We would like to be full members."
  "I'm afraid that's impossible. You lack the necessary technology," the Inspector 
  General said. "If the report the CK-963 sent me is accurate, all that you possess is 
  stolen or derelict."
  "We are sorry about that," Noonday said, dipping her head slightly. "What you say has 
  recently come to my attention. We're willing to make reparation as we can, but we still 
  wish to fly in space."
  "Er, I don't see how." M-C looked bemused.
  "Fait accompli," Carialle said cheerfully. "They have already been in space numerous 
  times. Plus, they have a viable culture and society. They should be at least given ISS 
  status. The rest will follow."
  "We will help them gain access to space," Big Voice piped up, floating close enough 
  to Keff to be included on his camera. Carialle opened up the focus so the IG could see 
  all of the Cridi. "As we began to do many revolutions ago, we will continue. It is only 
  right that we fulfill the promise made so long ago, if such a thing is permitted among 
  the Central Worlds." Behind him, Narrow Leg and the others nodded energetic 
  agreement.
  Noonday was very touched. She knelt down onto her belly before the plump 
  councillor. "We accept your offer most gratefully, blessed Cridi."
  "Yes," Big Voice said, enjoying himself. "We shall be good patrons to you, and you 
  shall be good customers to us."
  Mirina stood, feeling dazed, as the conference went on. Autumn and the others were 
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  alive! Relief fought in her belly with worry. What would happen to her and her 
  brother now that the Central Worlds authority was coming?
  She felt something tap at her knee. She looked down to see one of Keffs — no, 
  Carialle's drone robots beside her. On its platform was the tiny space-scape of Dimitri. 
  She looked up at the wall. An image appeared, the head of the female executive that 
  Carialle had feigned to fool Bisman. It mouthed a single word. "Go."
  Mirina dithered for a moment, but only a moment. Everyone's attention was centered 
  on the image of the Inspector General. She grabbed Zonzalo's arm, and began to edge 
  toward the airlock. Sunset glanced up as she sidled behind him. She beckoned 
  hopefully to him, and he nodded, sliding silently backward, away from his spot next to 
  Thunderstorm. The servo made way for them between the guards around the perimeter 
  of the room. At the threshold of the open airlock, the drone offered her the painting 
  with one of its claw hands, and pointed in the direction of Autumns ship. Mirina 
  needed no further hint. She started running, Zonzalo and Sunset right behind hen
  "And in the meantime," Carialle continued, "we've started you off by breaking up a 
  well-established pirate ring with a fifty-year history of theft and murderous raids. That 
  ought to be good for a bonus." M-C turned a fishy eye on Bisman.
  "I want to strike a bargain," Bisman said through gritted teeth. "I want legal 
  representation."
  "You have nothing we want," Maxwell-Corey said, haughtily.
  "Oh, yes?" Bisman asked. "I can give you names, starting with one of your own ex-
  brawns. How about that, eh?" He scanned the crowd of Thelerie, Cridi, and humans. 
  "She's the real brain behind the operation." He turned around, searching. "Where's 
  Mirina Don?" he demanded.
  "Gone," Keff said, pretending to look astonished. "She must have slipped out in all the 
  confusion."
  "Her brothers gone, too," Bisman said, angrily. "They can't get far. There's no ship…" 
  He turned to look at Autumn.
  "Not much fuel, but it flies," Autumn said. "But there is no navigation equipment 
  aboard for humans to use."
  "They have Sunset," Thunderstorm said, softly.
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  The Inspector General rounded on Keff. "You've let a criminal escape!"
  "Not me," Keff said, in all innocence. "I've been standing right here the whole time."
  Thunderstorm rumbled a phrase in his own language. Carialle whispered the 
  translation into Keffs ear. "My old friend, you have done a good thing." Keff smiled.
  Tall Eyebrow stepped forward and addressed the angry human on the screen.
  "Think what you do. If you arrest Keff and Carialle, you will jeopardize the fragile 
  alliance between the Cridi and the Central Worlds. If so, we would certainly insist on 
  every human being removed from Sky Clear, which you call Ozran. We could show in 
  a galactic tribunal it was originally a Cridi colony of extreme long standing. I, Tall 
  Eyebrow," he indicated his name in the Ozranian sign language, "speak as the senior 
  representative."
  "What?" M-C demanded. Big Voice pushed in close to the camera eye.
  "And no access will become possible to our Core technology," the plump councillor 
  insisted. "Such things are to our friends only. We like Keff and Carialle, yet you 
  withdrew… what is word, Keff?"
  "Portfolio," Keff said, with an angelic expression.
  "Portfolio," Big Voice said. "A pity indeed where so much is in common. We would 
  have traded happily for good spacecraft. But no alliance, no ships, no Cores." He 
  shook his head, imitating the human expression of regret, a gesture that was not lost 
  on Maxwell-Corey.
  "But — that was part of the agreement sent by the diplomatic service to Cridi," the 
  Inspector General said, looking from brawn to pillar to Cridi with desperation in his 
  eyes.
  "Which they were not able to sign," Carialle pointed out. "We delayed having the 
  documents ratified because you sent in another team, and they were killed by the 
  Melange."
  "My dear Carialle," M-C said, in amazement, "you were withdrawn from the mission 
  because you had a paranoid episode. Your actions were what held diplomacy hostage, 
  not the destruction of the other ship."
  "I did not have a paranoid episode," Carialle said, coldly. "I had an anxiety attack, 
  brought on by proximity to the location where I once had a near-fatal accident. It is 
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  your interpretation of my reaction that caused you to assume paranoia, and to send 
  another ship. You are ultimately responsible for the unnecessary death of the crew of 
  the shuttle."
  "Ah, yes," Maxwell-Corey said, maddeningly tenting his fingers together on his 
  narrow belly. "Now we come to it. Your phantom aliens. Your salvage wreckers."
  Carialle played the datatape of Bismans admission on the transmission frequency, and 
  waited. Maxwell-Corey ignored it at first, staring instead straight at his camera eye. 
  Within moments Carialle observed him leaning closer to the screen. A scan sneaked 
  through the sideband of the bandwidth told her he was manifesting anxiety, with 
  increased levels of adrenaline in his system. He spoke at last.
  "Yes, well, you could have extorted such a statement from him."
  "Bisman!" Keff called. "Is it true?"
  The pirate leader looked up. "Yes," he said, through his teeth.
  "Do you see?" Carialle said. "And Keff found my old number plate among his 
  effects." Keff displayed it to the video pickup.
  "This is very interesting," M-C said, tapping his fingertips together nervously. "Very 
  interesting indeed."
  "Indeed," Carialle echoed, icily. "Then you will find it no surprise to hear that I am 
  bringing a second formal complaint against you. Date-coded messages have already 
  gone out to SPRIM and MM as well as my legal counsel regarding the programming 
  you inserted into my message-beacon system. You overstepped reasonable bounds, 
  and I intend to have you taken to task for it!"
  "My dear Carialle, it was for your own good!" the IG protested.
  "You've had time to absorb the information," Carialle said. "Am I sane? This is 
  official. I am time-coding your reply. Am I?"
  "Evidence suggests that the answer might conceivably be… yes," the IG said, after a 
  very long pause and a study of the ceiling. "But the evidence only came to light at this 
  juncture, that is to say, now. I was acting on the information of the time. You could 
  have imperiled many people, including yourself."
  "When your own psychologists said I wasn't a threat," Carialle said. "When we finish 
  this mission, I'll have something to say to the CenCom, personally. I assume we are to 
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  complete the mission to the Cridi?"
  "Yes, yes, " M-C said, defeated. His shoulders sagged. "You're reinstated. You are the 
  best team for the job. I've always had the utmost faith in you."
  'They have done such a good job," Tall Eyebrow said, floating up to give his words 
  emphasis. "You must tell it to those of CenCom. And teaching us so much about space 
  travel, including such delightful games as Myths and Legends! Such an important 
  cultural gift!"
  The Inspector General sputtered, but he managed to hold his tongue. "I will be down 
  presently. We'll talk about the, er, the details of your mission then. I have much to 
  consider before we land. Maxwell-Corey out."
  Keff felt a smirk at the corners of his mouth as the screen blanked. "Bravo, Cari!" he 
  said, applauding her. "And bravo, TE. Thank you for rubbing salt in the wound."
  "It is not salt," Tall Eyebrow said, puzzled. "It is truth."
  At a gesture from the Sayas' wing-finger, the Sayas' guardians assembled the 
  prisoners, both human and Thelerie, and marched out, leaving only the Cridi, 
  Thunderstorm and Noonday.
  "The healing really begins now," Carialle said to Keff, who stood close beside her 
  pillar. "He won't dare to persecute me again."
  "Which way did she go, Cari?" Keff asked softly.
  "I don't know," Carialle said. "I've blanked it out of my memory. But if I were her I'd 
  run for the balance point. Once she's behind the anomaly she can change direction 
  without being detected." Keff looked at L Noonday and Thunderstorm. ' "If she comes 
  back, will you treat her kindly?"
  "As she has always treated us," Thunderstorm said.
  "I feel she is already punished somewhat," Noonday said. "And she has killed no one. 
  She will be allowed."
  "Thank you," Keff said, sincerely. He turned to the
  Cridi. "Well, TE, I suppose we'll be taking you home to Ozran soon?"
  "Much left to do here, for a while," the Frog Prince said. "Must retrieve all parts of the 
  ship, and hope none are damaged. But once it is reassembled, Narrow Leg wants to 
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  take us home himself. He would see where Big Eyes will be living. She is staying with 
  me. It will be difficult
  "It will be fine," Big Eyes interrupted him.
  "Congratulations!" Keff said. The young female flirted her eyelids shyly at him as she 
  took Tall Eyebrows hand and interlaced his long fingers in hers.
  "Yes," Big Voice said, waddling forward. "Instead, you shall have the honor of taking 
  me home to Cridi, where I shall tell story of great heroism of mine. I captured the evil 
  ship. And see the bums on my back where alien gas touched me, yet I continued with 
  rescue of injured Thelerie!"
  Carialle sighed deeply, but it was for pure happiness. "Games are good," she said, "but 
  you can't beat real life. We've never had a game where everyone lived happily ever 
  after."
  Keff, thinking of Mirina, hurtling away from the planet in a rickety ship, but free, said, 
  "Or as close as its possible to be."
  Carialle's Lady Fair image appeared on the wall and winked solemnly at him. She 
  knew exactly what he was thinking.
  The white and blue ship sank gracefully out of the sky like a diva taking a curtain call. 
  It landed softly but heavily on the plain between Carialle's ship and the smoking hulk 
  of the red pirate, and sank a good three meters in the viscous yellow mud. Keff, 
  hovering among the Cridi centimeters over the surface of the plain, was on hand as the 
  gangplank dropped with a splat. Thelerie, including Noonday and most of the Ro-
  sayo, swirled in to flit about the ship as soon as the engines shut off. Three security 
  officers in full environment kit and gleaming armored suits trotted out onto the ramp, 
  careful not to step off into the shining goo. They looked up at the gathering crowd, 
  and stared. It only took a moment for them to realize they were looking at three 
  different species of beings. The youngest among them, a thin-faced rating with 
  freckles, stared openmouthed at Cridi and Thelerie until his CO elbowed him. The 
  young man came on guard, his long-barreled gun leveled over his forearm. The CO let 
  out a sharp all-clear whistle, and two more space-suited humans emerged. One, in 
  black armor, must have been the commander of the ship. The other, in official blue 
  and red, was the Inspector General.
  "Cari, I'm a little worried," Keff said into his sub-lingual link as he made a little salute 
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  to the ship's crew. The gangplank, under the additional weight of the IG, sank an 
  additional quarter meter into the mud. "Will you be able to handle seeing Maxwell-
  Corey face-to-face?"
  "Oh, don't worry, Keff," Carialle said, confidently. "This time I'm ready for him. 
  Bring him along! And, Keff?"
  "Yes?" Keff asked.
  "Let him walk!"
  The End
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SOURCE: textdata/thevault/Vault2.0.-.Fiction-and-audiobooks/Books/M/Mccaffrey, Anne/Anne McCaffrey - Ship 7 - The Ship Errant.pdf