Sharon Lee - - Prologue

He gave her a grin and a nod.

"You're good to go! Good lift!"

"Safe landing!"

She bent to unwrap Podesta again, bowed solemnly to Hevelin, who sat in his nest, watching her alertly, waved once more to Arndy Slayn, and left, a Guild member in good standing.

Among the info she had collected with her card was a complete map of Codrescu, which was both bigger and more complex than she'd realized. Arndy Slayn had pointed out several places as having decent launch food—that meant they specialized in not serving stimulants and sedatives along with their meals—in case she wanted to take something back to her ship.

A quick study of the map showed her a more straightforward route back to Berth Sixteen, and soon she was walking past shops displaying prices almost as bad as they were on Vashtara , and a couple of noisy bars. A small shop had maize buttons on offer, and she had to grab a dozen of those. Nibbling, she walked on, passing another noisy place, this one featuring music and dancing and other frivolities.

Behind the racket was the constant station talk, now letting her know that " Thurstan , eight clear clear green, Drosselmare four, clear clear yellow . . ." and more stuff she didn't need to know.

Cherpa 's berth was down this way, the map illustrating a series of T-intersections as well as the semicircular way she'd gone to the office. There were north-south T's and east-west T's, each T offering berths at the ends of the T-arm. Cherpa was on the second east-west.

She sealed the rest of the maize buttons into their bag and turned into the first T-section, walking more briskly now, but still feeling mellow, which was probably Hevelin's influence.

From behind came the clattering of several people in a hurry. Theo glanced over her shoulder, seeing two uniformed men carrying gear and food. A two-minute gong sounded, and underneath it all she heard one man scolding the other:

"No girls for a billion miles where we're going and you gotta freak off the only one that even looked at us. We gonna be . . . look!"

" Drosselmare , two, clear clear yellow. Thurstan , six, clear clear clear."

The maize buttons felt heavy in her hands, and her back itched. Theo began moving a little faster, but they were hurrying for a ship and she really ought to give them right of way . . .

"Gazo, you think? We're away in a minute!" The sound of their footsteps increased.

"Hey, lady, you, girl! You need a new ride? Best thing that ever happened to you, a ship of eight—we'll make you a queen, we will . . ."

Theo glanced behind.

They were only a few steps away now, running, but not as steady as they might be. The second warning tick went off up one of the T-arms. The guy who might've been Gazo said, "Now!" and dropped his gear.

Theo swung to the side, her back against the wall. "You have right of way," she said, tensing, hoping the camera—but the other guy had his jacket over the camera, and—

The guy who'd dropped his gear was on her, now, arms wide, like he was going to get her in a hug, and it was already too late—she threw the maize buttons into his face and twitched to one side.

"Beecha da plaza!" he yelled, grabbing for her again, but even here in the low grav she felt the move coming, saw his fist as if it was some poorly thrown bowli ball, grabbed and threw him against the wall, danced the second motion, spinning, got a foot up in time to catch his arm there and—

Crack!

Somewhere, a gong chimed, and someone was yelling, "Gazo, you're dead if you don't make the tick!"

Gazo wailed, and went running; there was a bosun at the end of the T, waving at them as the next tick went off and . . .

The second man had a gun. Theo swung, faster than she expected in the lighter gravity, and slammed it out of his hand. He shouted; Theo grabbed his shoulders and threw him with all her might down the T-arm; her momentum taking her to the weapon. Instinct honed by dozens of bowli ball games scooped the thing up, and—

"Ferkistsake, don't shoot! We're gone!"

And they were gone, their backs disappearing into a hastily sealed airlock, the warning gong signaling closed and locked. Vibration ran down the hall and an odd clang sounded as the ship let go grapples, and then more noise nearby . . .

There was a noise behind her. She spun—

Arndy Slayn held up one hand, the other holding the twin of yos'Senchul's data case. He grinned.

"You are dangerous," he said approvingly. "And you really needed a gun."

Twenty-Seven

Codrescu Station

Eylot Nearspace

"Brine Batzer."

Theo's hands moved on their own say again repeat .

Arndy Slayn laughed.

"It is an Eylot-sounding name, isn't it? Brine Batzer; I can't say this behind the desk, but he's one of the most active of the cheap pod-breaking ship agents. It's a wonder that he'd move two whole pods at the same time, but I guess he got lucky. Anyway, that's who you'd have to start with if you wanted to pursue something against Drosslemare as a ship—well, look at that!"

Theo was not as buzzed up as she thought she'd be nor feeling any need to explain herself. The pilots were treating this as a serious but manageable event; so could she.

Since Slayn was witness, he sat at ease on a chair half camouflaged by the norbear's greenery, using a mobile set, while Guild Master Peltzer stood unmoving with hand on ear, listening to news from Codrescu's control rooms.

When he did move, his fingers ordered, back here, both , while out loud he said, "Mister Slayn, please be careful. Batzer and Peltzer, Flatzer, Mertzer are all well-known, even historic names on Eylot; please do not dismiss someone because of the name, no matter how local it may be!"

As he spoke he pushed against a section of wall, which slid open to reveal a short hall. There was a snort, and Theo felt a tug at her knee—not a muscle strain or knee injury, but Hevelin, politely tapping, and pressing with his gripping paw.

Peltzer laughed.

"Let him come along if you like; but not Podesta. The yoster still needs to learn manners!"

Theo carried Hevelin, who weighed less than the gun she'd taken from the guy in the corridor, down the short hall, following the Guild Master.

At the end of the hall was a workmanlike office with multiple screens and a three-dimensional projection showing what must be Codrescu nearspace—and the chronometer ticking away said it was in real time.

"Pilot Waitley, since one of your admirers is to hand, we'll add him to the discussion; he already requested attention and he's on his way. What wonder have you discovered, Mister Slayn?"

Slayn stood near a screen, shaking his head.

"Batzer's not listed as agent for Drosslemare any longer; looks the termination was effective immediately the last pod-connect was confirmed. Since the incident occurred after that confirmation . . ."

"Mister Slayn, I suggest you do a statistical analysis of the 'pod-breakers' and see if you don't find a connect/disconnect relationship on many of the ships they handle. Some of them do trade for the family ships, that's true—they don't count for this—but the real meteor-shreds are almost as leery of their agents as their agents are of them."

Theo found herself and Hevelin a seat with a view of the projection, curling into a repurposed lift chair. As soon as she sat, she regretted not being more advertent: Slayn had dragged the recovered bag in with him and sat on one of the broad-cushioned file sections that lined one wall.

Peltzer's perch was just that: a tall stool that looked like it was stolen from a port bar. He sat, turned about, quick eyes checking the real time, hand tapping at the spot on his shoulder that brought him, and him alone, information from somewhere.