Timothy Zahn - Angelmass

"Two accepted our offer," Ornina said. "They stayed a few months each before getting better jobs and moving on. The other three disappeared as soon as we returned them to Seraph."

"One of them did eventually get an honest job, though," Hanan offered. "We got a letter from him just two weeks ago."

"You see, that's the basic flaw in the whole idea of stealing angels," Ornina said. "Angels change you. I know there are people who don't believe that, people who think the angel program is some sort of massive con game Gabriel and the High Senate are running on the Empyrean. But they really do work." She indicated the torch in her hand. "You're living proof of that."

Chandris looked at the massive box behind her, a cold shiver running up her back. She'd been near the angel for barely ten minutes now...

Hanan might have been reading her mind. "No, no—they're fast, but not that fast," he assured her.

"Takes several hours of close contact, we've found, before these ingrained criminal tendencies even start to fade away."

Chandris stared at him... and, suddenly, it clicked. "You have another angel aboard."

"I told you you were smart," Hanan said, nodding. "Yes, it's one we found about six years ago. The second in that particular trip, which almost never happens."

"Why didn't you turn it in?"

Hanan shrugged. "We almost did. We talked about taking a nice vacation somewhere, or upgrading some of our equipment. But then we thought about the trips where you spend two weeks at Angelmass and come home empty anyway, so we decided to hang onto it. As it happened—" He looked at Ornina, shrugged again. "We just sort of never needed to use it."

Chandris eyed him. "Besides which, if you sold it you couldn't afford to let drifters like me anywhere near your ship?"

Ornina smiled. "Anyone ever tell you you have a cynical streak, Chandris?" she asked.

"Anyone ever tell you that you're a pair of open-faced soft touches?" Chandris countered.

"Many times," Hanan nodded. "The other angel hunters, mostly. But, then, they thought I was crazy before, so it wasn't that much of a change."

"If you'd like," Ornina said, "you can wait until we get back to Seraph to make up your mind."

Chandris shook her head. "No," she said, taking a deep breath. "No, I'm ready now. If you'll really have me... I guess I'll stay. For a while, at least."

"Wonderful," Ornina smiled. A genuine smile, Chandris noted, without any of that smug charitytype condescension she hated so much.

"Wonderful, indeed," Hanan agreed. "So. Can I have my dinner now?"

"Yes, you can have your dinner," Ornina said with that exaggerated-patience look she did so well.

"Just as soon as you confirm the autocourse and Chandris and I get the kitchen cleaned up." She looked at Chandris, cocked her head to the side. "Or would you prefer us to call you something else now?"

Chandris shook her head. " 'Chandris' is fine. It's as close to a real name as I have anymore."

"Well, then, Chandris," Ornina said. "Like I said before, there's a lot of work involved in running a huntership. Let's get to it."

After all, Chandris told herself as she followed Ornina down the corridor toward the kitchen, it wasn't like she had anywhere else to go at the moment. She might just as well hide out here as to try and find something better.

And besides, if she left now she would never know just exactly what the hidden catch to this deal was. She really ought to hang around until the Daviees tried to spring it on her. Just for curiosity's sake.

Across the darkened room, a door opened. "Commodore?" an all-too-familiar voice called.

Commodore Lleshi sighed. "Come in, Mr. Telthorst," he said.

"Thank you." The door slid shut, and the Adjutor's shadowy figure started across the floor, just visible against the stars turning slowly beneath them. "Quite a view," Telthorst commented. "What is this place, anyway?"

"Visual Command Operations Center," Lleshi told him, giving the room's official designation. Not that anyone aboard ship actually called it that, of course. Pompous official titles were reserved for use with equally pompous visiting dignitaries.

"Ah," Telthorst said, sliding a chair over next to Lleshi's and sitting down. "The military equivalent of an observation deck, I suppose. That spinning must be hard to get used to."

"Not really," Lleshi said, taking a sip of his tea. "Was there anything in particular you wanted?"

"As a matter of fact, there was," Telthorst said. "I understand a drop pod from Scintara came in this afternoon."

"It came into the system, yes," Lleshi told him. "It arrived on the far side, though, so all we've got is a remote data dump."

"Why haven't I received a copy?"

"The signal was rather messy," Lleshi said. "We got it decompressed, but then had to run it through a scrubber to clean out the extraneous noise. Too hard to read otherwise."

"How thoughtful of you to take such good care of my eyes," the Adjutor said dryly. "Dare I predict that this wonderfully clean copy won't be available until after you send the wiring crews out?"

Lleshi braced himself. Here it came. "I've already seen the unscrubbed version," he told Telthorst.

"There are no orders concerning your request."

"No actual orders, no," Telthorst agreed. "But they did authorize you to accept my recommendation."

Lleshi glared at him, a waste of effort in the dark. "Who told you that?"

"It doesn't matter," Telthorst said, his voice hardening. "What matters is that we now have the goahead.

And we're going to take it."

"My crew is working double shifts to get this damn catapult put together," Lleshi ground out.

"Shifting orbit now would cost us a minimum of two days. We'd have to haul all the loose equipment inside and tether the framework to the ship."

"It would have taken only fifteen hours if you'd accepted my recommendation when I first made it,"

Telthorst pointed out icily. "And if you let the actual wiring get started before you move, it could take as much as a week. I would think a military man like yourself wouldn't need to have the hazards of procrastination pointed out to him."

"It's a waste of time," Lleshi growled. "Of time, fuel, and effort. What's the point of moving the catapult closer in to a planet that'll never be developed anyway?"

In the dark, he sensed Telthorst shake his head. With a condescending look on his face, no doubt.

"You continue to assume, Commodore," the Adjutor said, his voice matching the imagined expression, "that colonization is the only practical use for a planet. I'm perfectly willing to concede that the place is probably too dark and chilly for most people's taste. Though I seem to remember the Niflheim colony surviving nearly fifteen years under even more rigorous conditions than these."

Lleshi felt his lip twist. Niflheim. "Oh, well, if you're going to define that as a profitable development—"

"They built an extractor, refinery, and linac tube before they gave up," Telthorst cut him off sharply.

"The metal the Pax has taken off since then has more than made up for the cost of sending the colony there in the first place. Anyway, that's beside the point. The point is that the probe shows enough surface metals to more than make up for the cost of the time and fuel you're so concerned with."

"And how do you put a price tag on my crewers' effort?" Lleshi demanded. "Or on their morale, when I have to tell them to unravel some of the hard work they've done just so you can move the Komitadji around?"

"Morale is not my concern, Commodore," Telthorst snapped. "But money is. This is a monstrously huge ship, with a totally unreasonable slice of the military budget required to keep it flying. Like everything else in the universe, it's required to earn its keep."