Timothy Zahn - Angelmass

All right?"

"Ah... yes, sir," Hanan said. "I'll try."

"Good," Forsythe nodded. "It might help for you to pretend I'm just someone who's interested in angel hunting and came along to see what the business was like."

Hanan smiled wanly. "First thing I'd do is try to talk you out of it. Far too much work involved.

Thank you, High Senator." His eyes flicked to Kosta. "We'll put them in cabins one and two. Get Chandris to help you change the bunks." With a nod, he turned and hurried down the corridor.

Forsythe felt a quiet chill run through him. Chandris. As in Chandris Lalasha, as in the Xirrus's stowaway. He'd predicted to Pirbazari that she and Kosta were working together; now, it seemed, that prediction had been borne out.

She was aboard... and he was going to be spending several days cooped up on this ship with them.

He shook away the momentary twinge of uncertainty. These were con artists, after all. Con artists were almost never violent.

Ronyon was looking at him, uncertainties of his own puckering his face. We're going to be staying aboard the ship for a few days, Forsythe signed to him. This is Mr. Kosta—he's going to take us to our rooms. The other man who was here is named Mr. Daviee.

Ronyon nodded, and Forsythe turned to Kosta. "Whenever you're ready."

"Right," Kosta said, his eyes lingering on Ronyon for just a second too long.

Which meant he very much wanted to ask, but wasn't sure of how to do so. "Ronyon is deaf,"

Forsythe said, saving him the trouble. "Also somewhat retarded. If you need to say anything to him that can't be communicated by simple gestures, you'll have to do it through me." Which wasn't entirely true, of course. But there was no need for Kosta to know that.

"I understand," Kosta said. "Uh... if you'll follow me, the cabins are back this way."

They retraced their steps back to the now-sealed hatchway and continued a short way past it to one of several identical cross corridors. The first door along it opened into a small but cozily furnished cabin. "This is normally Ornina's room," Kosta said as he ushered them in. "Hanan's is across the corridor. Let me call Chandris and find out where fresh bedding is kept."

"All right," Forsythe said as Kosta stepped around him and went to the bedside intercom. He wasn't really happy with the idea of throwing Hanan and his sister out of their rooms; but this too was a reaction he'd run into before, and he knew that they'd feel far more uncomfortable if he insisted on taking less than the best accommodations they had to offer.

Kosta finished his conversation and looked up. "She'll be along in a few minutes," he told Forsythe.

"You can wait here, or else I can take you to the control cabin and introduce you to Ornina."

"Let's do the control cabin," Forsythe decided. "After that, perhaps you'd be good enough to pull up the specs for this ship and let me start learning my way around."

"Certainly," Kosta said. "This way, please."

They had again passed the hatchway and turned inward toward the center of the ship when, turning a corner, they came face to face with a young woman, a stack of linens in her arms. "There you are,"

Kosta said, turning back to Forsythe. "These are our guests: High Senator Forsythe and—ah—"

"His name is Ronyon," Forsythe supplied, giving the girl a quick onceover. In her mid to late teens, he estimated, attractive enough in an immature sort of way, her posture exuding confidence and control. Clearly, she belonged here on the Gazelle; and for a brief moment he wondered if he'd jumped to the wrong conclusion about who she was.

And then he took another, longer look at her face, with that neutral-polite expression, and those coldly calculating eyes. It was the measuring look of a professional politician... or a highly competent con artist.

No, there'd been no mistake. "And you, I take it," he added, "must be Chandris."

"Yes," the woman said, her gaze flicking once to Ronyon. "The Gazelle is honored by your presence. May I ask what brings a High Senator aboard our humble ship?"

"Circumstances, plus an interest in Mr. Kosta's work," Forsythe told her. "I'll try not to get in your way."

"I'm sure there'll be no problems," she said coolly. Her eyes dropped to the pendant around his neck, perhaps to reassure herself that he really was who he claimed to be. "If you'll excuse me, there are still several things that need my attention before we hit the launch strip."

"Of course," Forsythe nodded, stepping to the side of the corridor to let her pass. "If that's the bedding for our rooms, though, you can just give it to Ronyon. There's no need for you to take it there personally."

"All right." Stepping to Ronyon, she offered him the bedding.

The big man looked questioningly at Forsythe. Take it back to our rooms, Forsythe signed to him.

You remember the way?

Sure, Ronyon signed, accepting the bundle and tucking it under one arm. Should I wait there then?

he signed one-handed.

Might as well. I'll come back for you in a little while.

Chandris was still standing close to Ronyon, an odd look on her face. "He's deaf," Forsythe explained. "If you need to talk to him, you'll have to do so through me."

"I see," she said. "I'd better get back to work, then. Are you sure Ronyon can find his way back to your cabin alone?"

"He's got a good sense of direction," Forsythe assured her.

"Ah," she nodded. "Well, I'm going back that direction anyway."

"All right." Forsythe caught Ronyon's eye. This is Chandris, he signed. She'll walk with you back to the rooms.

Ronyon nodded, and together he and Chandris headed down the corridor. "And now, as I recall,"

Forsythe said, turning back to Kosta, "we were heading for the control cabin."

Kosta was staring down the corridor at the departing twosome. "Right," he said, bringing his attention back to Forsythe with obvious effort. "If you'll follow me, sir...?"

And as they walked, Forsythe permitted himself a brief grimace. Kosta and Chandris were up to something, all right. He could read it in their reactions to him as readily as he could read Ronyon's signing. All he had to do was to figure out exactly what it was.

And hope like fury that whatever it was wouldn't interfere with his plans to stop the flow of angels.

Outside, the tow car took up the slack; and with a jerk, the Gazelle started rolling. Ronyon, still carrying the bedding, was caught off-guard by the sudden motion and staggered slightly, bumping into the corridor wall.

It was the opportunity Chandris had been waiting for. In an instant she was at his side, steadying his arm and pressing against him.

A couple of seconds were all she got before he was back on balance again and she had to pull away.

But a couple of seconds were all she needed. Her senses had not, in fact, played her false during that conversation a minute ago with Kosta and High Senator Forsythe.

Ronyon was carrying an angel.

An angel. She repeated the word silently to herself, her thoughts spinning with old plans and fresh possibilities. An angel. Not the Daviees' spare, which she'd promised herself not to take, but a government angel. One of thousands. One that would probably never be missed.

All it would take, Hanan had told her, would be some highly specialized neural surgery and six months of intensive treatment... and two million ruya to pay for all of it.

I'm reformed, she reminded herself. But the words sounded hollow and meaningless. And anyway, she'd never said she was reformed. The only reason she hadn't stolen anything lately was that she hadn't happened across anything worth the effort.

Until now.

They reached Hanan's cabin and Ronyon went inside, smiling cheerfully at Chandris as he set the bundle of bedding on the desk. "You want me to do the beds?" Chandris asked before remembering he couldn't hear her. But even as she tried to think of how best to act out the question, Ronyon shook his head and tapped his own chest. Turning to the bunk, he began to strip it.