"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 stuff's 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 kid 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 Mirina'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 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."
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 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 Mirina 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," Mirina 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 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. Mirina sighed, her heart and shoulders equally heavy. Maybe not. She went to tell Zonzalo of her decision.
Mirina 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. Mirina's 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 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 state's 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 packing 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 fool. Ignored by the bridge crew, Mirina went back to her cabin and locked herself in.
"Mirina?" Sunset's 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."
Mirina 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."
Mirina 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 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 being's 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."
"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.
Mirina 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, 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."
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, Mirina 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 Mirina 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."
"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 character's 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 bodyguard 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."
"It is natural to think they would be as morally good as yourself," Long Hand said 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 Keff's 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's pulses 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 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."