Timothy Zahn - Angelmass

"I doubt it," the woman said. "There really isn't all that much information available on angels that most people don't already know from the news and learning channels."

"I guess not," Chandris agreed. "But there must be some other files here somewhere. I mean, you people study angels all day, don't you?"

"Sometimes far into the night, too," the other woman said wryly. "The problem is that most of what's done here is still in the preliminary stage. They prefer to wait until they're sure about something before releasing it to the general public. Otherwise you get conflicting stories and retractions and general confusion all around."

"I understand," Chandris told her, letting a bit of pleading creep into her tone. "But I'm not just general public. I'm a crewer on a huntership. Isn't there—oh, I don't know; some kind of special procedure for us to get the information we need to do our jobs safely?"

The receptionist's forehead wrinkled in thought. She was on Chandris's side now—her body language showed that much. The question was whether there was anything she could do to help.

Keeping quiet, Chandris waited, letting her work through it.

"There isn't any way to let you into the main computer files," the woman said at last. "However—"

Her eyes flicked past Chandris's shoulder, her hand darting up to beckon someone over.

Chandris's muscles tensed, and she had to fight to keep from turning around to look. If the receptionist had recognized her—if that was a guard coming over—she'd have a better chance if she looked harmless and blissfully unaware that anything was going down. A fist-sized decorative crystal adorned the receptionist's desk; easing a few centimeters to her left brought Chandris within reach of it.

"—maybe one of our researchers can tell you what you need to know."

"That would be wonderful," Chandris said, keeping her voice steady and her eyes on the receptionist's face. It still might be a trap, but if it was the woman was a nurking good actress.

Footsteps sounded behind her now; casually, she turned around—

And froze. The man approaching was not, as she'd feared, a guard.

It was worse.

It was the young man from the spaceport. The one she'd scored into getting her past the guards.

Nurk! she thought viciously, twisting way too quickly back toward the desk to try and hide her face.

Nurk, nurk, damn, nurk! If he remembered her...

He did. The footsteps behind her faltered suddenly, then came to an abrupt stop. Chandris kept her eyes on the receptionist's face, waiting for her to realize there was something wrong—

"Mr. Kosta, this is a huntership crewer who's looking for some information about angels," the woman said. "I saw you heading upstairs and thought you might have a few minutes to talk with her."

There was just the slightest pause. "I see," the man said from behind her. No mistake; it was his voice. "Well... sure, why not? Miss—ah—?"

Chandris ground her teeth. "Chandris," she told him, turning around.

His eyes seemed to dig into her face, his expression stony but with an odd undercoating of nervousness to it. She met the gaze evenly; and he blinked first. "Right," he said, and turned away.

"Come on."

He led the way across the entrance foyer toward what looked like a small lounge, his whole back a solid mass of tight muscles. Chandris followed, wondering why she was following him instead of going for a straight chop and hop.

Though if she did, chances were she wouldn't even make it outside the building.

They went into the lounge, Kosta heading back toward an unoccupied corner. "Have a seat," he grunted, pointing her to a chair as he eased himself down into the one facing it.

"Thank you." Chandris sat down, casually taking in her surroundings as she did so. The archway to the entrance foyer and one unmarked door nearby seemed to be the only exits, aside from several tall and probably unbreakable windows.

"So you're a huntership crewer today, are you?"

She focused on him. "As a matter of fact, I am," she said, annoyed despite herself at his tone. "Is that so hard to believe?"

He snorted. "Coming from you?" he asked pointedly.

Chandris unhooked the phone from her belt and held it out. "Huntership Service Yard Number S-

33," she told him. "The ship's named the Gazelle; operators are Hanan and Ornina Daviee. Go ahead—call them. I'll wait."

Kosta's eyes flicked to the phone. "Maybe I should just call security instead."

She could take him, she knew. She could stand up—he would stand up, too—a short, quick jab in the stomach with the tapered top end of the phone—"Maybe you should," she said. "But you won't."

"What makes you so sure?"

She looked him straight in the eye. "Because if you didn't turn me in at the spaceport, you won't turn me in here."

He glared at her. But his tight throat muscles showed that she was right. "I'll answer your questions," he bit out. "But when you walk out that door I don't ever want to see you again. Is that clear?"

Chandris felt her lip twitch with contempt. A typical over-schooled cloud-head, the type who'd rather look the other way than get involved with anything sticky. "Perfectly," she told him.

"Actually, all I want to know is whether angels can make people love each other."

His jaw dropped. "Make them do what?"

"Love each other. What, are you deaf?"

"What, are you stupid?" he shot back. "There are a dozen aphrodisiac perfumes on the market. Go use one of those."

With an effort, Chandris held her temper. She'd hit something in there, all right, something all his noise couldn't quite cover up. If she could just wheedle it out of him...

"You misunderstand," she said, putting her best imitation of quiet professional dignity into her face and voice. "Let me explain. As I mentioned, the owner/operators of the Gazelle are named Hanan and Ornina Daviee. Brother and sister, both in their forties, and they've apparently been working together for quite a few years. As you may or may not know, angel hunting is grueling work, the sort that tends to enhance personality differences between people. You understand?"

"Yes," Kosta nodded. He was falling for it, Chandris saw; slipping into a student/professor pattern in reaction to her newly adopted persona. He must not be all that long out of school for the pattern to have kicked in so quickly.

"All right," she continued, fine-tuning her act a bit. "Now, during the past few days I've noticed several strong personality differences between the two of them, differences I would consider strong enough to put a strain on their relationship. Yet they stay together, working for the most part in harmony. The obvious question arises as to whether their close work with angels has something to do with this continued partnership."

Kosta frowned slightly, his eyes not quite focused on anything. He really had fallen for it. "Have you been with them on any actual angel hunts yet?" he asked.

"Yes, two of them."

"Did they behave any differently before and after they had an angel aboard the ship?"

Chandris hesitated. She definitely didn't want to tell Kosta about the Daviees' hidden angel. "It's difficult to say," she said instead. "There are many other factors that come in at that point, unfortunately. The pre-capture tension, for example, which largely disappears once the angel's aboard." She shrugged. "That's why I came here. I thought the Institute might have done some studies on this phenomenon."

"No," Kosta said, shaking his head. "At least, nothing I'm aware of. I suppose it could fit in with the general framework of the Acchaa theory, though. That kind of love could be one of several factors making up this theoretical 'good' we're supposedly quantizing. I don't know, though."