admitted there was a problem. Governmental resources

might not be able to pay for all the protection the

colonists needed — but over eighty percent of the

inhabitants carried hazard insurance, and the insurance

companies should pay for protection for their clients.

 

That was half of the answer. The other half?

 

Another firm with multi-planet outlets, and a load of

old-fashioned synthesizers in a warehouse within ship-

ping distance. They didn't produce much in the way of

variety, but load them up with raw materials, carbon

 

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159

 

from coal or oil, minerals, protein from yeast and fiber

from other vat-grown products, and you had some-

thing basic to eat — or wear — or make into

furnishings....

 

She set her scheme in motion. Butwof through Beta,

her supervisor, but through Lars and his.

 

Before Alex returned, she had made all the arrange-

ments; and she had included carefully worded letters

to the two companies she had chosen — plus all of the

publicly available records. She tried to convey a warn-

ing without sounding like some kind of crazed hysteric

 

Of course, the fact that she was investing in their

firms should at least convey the idea that she was an

hysteric with money....

 

If they had any sense, they would be able to put the

story together for themselves from the records, and

they would believe her. Hopefully, they would be

ready.

 

She transmitted the last of the messages, just as Alex

arrived at her airlock.

 

"Permission to come aboard, ma'am," he called

cheerfully, as she opened the lock for him. He ran up

the stairs two at a time, and when he burst into the

main cabin, she told herself that fashions would surely

change, soon — he was dressed in a chrome yellow

tunic with neon-red piping, and neon-red trousers

with chrome-yellow piping. Both bright enough to

hurt the eyes and dazzle the pickups, and she was

grateful she could tune down die intensity of her visual

receptors.

 

"How was your reunion?" she asked, once his

clothes weren't blinding her.

 

"There weren't more than a half dozen of them," he

told her, continuing through the hall and down to his

own cabin. He pitched both his bags on his bed, and

returned. "We just missed Chria by a hair. But we had a

good time."

 

"I'm surprised you didn't come back with a hang-

over."

He widened his eyes with surprise. "Not me! I'm the

 

Academy designated driver — or at any rate, I make

sure people get on the right shuttles. Never touch the

stuff, myself, or almost never. Clogs die synapses."

Tia felt irrationally pleased to hear that

"So, did you miss me? I missed you. Did you have

enough to do?" He flung himself down in his chair and

put his feet up on the console." I hope you didn't spend

all your time reading Institute papers."

 

"Oh," she replied lightly, "I found a few other things

to occupy my time...."

 

The comlink was live, and Alex was on his very best

behavior — including a fresh, and only marginally

rumpled, uniform. He sat quietly in his chair, the very

picture of a sober Academy graduate and responsible

CS brawn.

 

Tia reflected that it was just as well she'd bullied him

into that uniform. The transmission was shared by

Professor Barton Glasov y Verona-Gras, head of the

Institute, and a gray-haired, dark-tunicked man the

professor identified as Central Systems Sector

Administrator Joshua Elliot-Rosen y Sinor. Very high

in administration. And just now, very concerned about

something, although he hid his concern well. Alex had

snapped to a kind of seated "attention" the moment his

face appeared on the screen.

 

"Alexander, Hypatia — we're going to be sending

you a long file of stills and holos," Professor Barton

began. "But for now, the object you see here on my

desk is representative of our problem."

 

The "object" in question was a perfectly lovely little

vase. The style was distinctive; skewed, but with a very

sensuous sinuousity, as if someone had fused Art

Nouveau with Salvador Dali. It seemed — as nearly as

 

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Tia could tell from the transmission — to be made of

multiple layers of opalescent glass or ceramic.

 

It also had the patina that only something that has

been buried for a very long time achieves.

 

Or something with a chemically faked patina. But would

the professor himself have called them if all he was

worried about were fake antiquities? Not likely.

 

The only problem with the vase—if it was a genuine

artifact — was that it did not match the style of any

known artifact in any of Tia's files.

 

"You know that smuggling and site-robbing has

always been a big problem for us," Professor Barton

continued. "It's very frustrating to come on a site and

find it's already been looted. But this — this is doubly

frustrating. Because, as I'm sure Hypatia has already

realized, the style of this piece does not match that of

any known civilization."

 

"A few weeks ago, hundreds of artifacts in this style

flooded the black market," Sinor said smoothly.

"Analysis showed them to be quite ancient — this piece

for instance was made some time when Ramses the

Second was Pharaoh."

 

The professor was not wringing his hands, but his

distress was fairly obvious. "There are hundreds of these

objects!" he blurted. "Everything from cups to votive

offerings, from jewelry to statuary! We not only don't

know where they've come from, but we don't even

know any thing about the people that made them!"

 

"Most of the objects are not as well-preserved as this

one, of course," Sinor continued, sitting with that

incredible stillness that only a professional politician or

actor achieves. "But besides being incredibly valuable,

and not incidentally, funneling money into the

criminal subculture, there is something else rather dis-

tressing associated with these artifacts."

 

Tia knew what it had to be as soon as the words were

out of the man's mouth. Plague.

 

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161

 

"Plague," he said solemnly. "So far, this has not been

a fetal disease, at least, not to the folk who bought these

little trinkets. They have private physicians and

iii-house medicomps, obviously."

 

High families, Tia surmised. So the High Families are

iiaxedupmthis.

 

"The objects really aren't dangerous, once they've

been through proper decontam procedures," the

professor added hastily. "But whoever is digging these

things up isn't even bothering with a run under the

U V gun. He's just cleaning them up — "

 

Tia winced inwardly, and saw Alex wince. To tell an

archeologist that a smuggler had "cleaned up" an

artifact, was like telling a coin collector that his nephew

Joey had gotten out the wire brush and shined up his

collection for him.

 

*• — cleaning them up, putting them in cases, and

selling them." Professor Barton sighed. "I have no idea

why his helpers aren't coming down with this. Maybe

they're immune. Whatever the reason, the receivers of

these pieces are, they are not happy about it, and they

want something done."

 

His expression told Tia more than his words did.

The High Families who had bought artifacts they must

have known were smuggled and possibly stolen, and

some members of their circle, had gotten sick. And

because the Institute was the official organization in

charge of ancient relics, they expected the Institute to

find the smuggler and deal with him.

 

Not that any of them would tell us how and where they found

out about these treasures. Nor would they ever admit that they

knew they were gray market, if not black. And if they'd stop

buying smuggled artifacts, they-wouldn't get sick.

 

But none of that meant anything when it came to the

High Families, of course. They were too wealthy and

too powerful to ever find themselves dealing with such

simple concepts as cause and effect.

 

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Hmm. Except once in a great while — tike now — when it

rises upand bites them.

 

"In spite of the threat of disease associated with these

pieces, they are still in very high demand," Sinor said.

 

Because someone in the High families spread the word that

you'd better run the thing through decontamination after you

buy it, so you can have your pretty without penalty. But there

was something wrong with this story. Something that

didn't quite fit. But she couldn't figure out what it was.

 

Meanwhile, the transmission continued. "But I don't

have to tell either of you how dangerous it is to have

these things out there," Professor Barton added. "It's

fairly obvious that the smugglers are not taking even

the barest of precautions with the artifacts. It becomes

increasingly likely with every piece sold at a high price

that someone will steal one, or find out where the

source is, or take one to a disadvantaged area to sell it"

 

A slum, you mean, Professor. Was he putting too much

emphasis on this?

 

Tia decided to show that both she and her brawn

were paying attention. "I can see what could happen

then, gentlemen," she countered. "Disease spreads

very quickly in areas of that sort, and what might not be

particularly dangerous for someone of means will kill

the impoverished."

 

And then we have afutir-scale epidemic and a panic on our

hands. But he had to know how she felt about this. He

knew who she was — there weren't too many

"Hypatias" in the world, and he had been the immedi-

ate boss of Pota and Braddon's superior. He had to

know the story. He was probably trading on it

 

"Precisely, Hypatia," said Sinor, in an eerie "answer"

to her own thoughts.

 

"I hope you aren't planning on using us as smuggler

hunters," Alex replied, slowly. "I couldn't pass as High

Family in a million years, so I couldn't be in on the pur-

chasing end. And we aren't allowed to be armed — I

 

know I don't want to take on the smuggling end

without a locker full of artillery!*

 

In other words, gentlemen, "we ain't stupid, we ain't

expendable, and we ain't gain'." But this was all sounding a

litde too pat, a little too contrived. If Sinor told them

that they weren't expected to catch the smugglers them-

selves .. •

 

»No — " Sinor said soothingly—and a little too has-

tily. "No, we have some teams in the Enforcement

Division going at both ends. However, it is entirely pos-

sible that the source for these artifacts is someone—or

rather, several someones—working on Exploration or

Evaluation teams. Since the artifacts showed up in this

sector first, it is logical to assume that they originate

here."

 

Too smooth. Too pat. This isatta story. But a/Ay?

 

"So you want us to keep our eyes peeled when we

make our deliveries," Alex filled in.

 

"You two are uniquely suited," Professor Barton

pointed out "You both have backgrounds in archeol-

ogy. Hypatia, you know how digs work, intimately.

Once you know how to identify these artifacts, if you

see even a hint of them — shards, perhaps, or broken

bits of jewelry — you'll know what they are and where

they came from."

 

"We can do that," Tia replied, carefully. "We can be a

litde snoopy, I think, without arousing any suspicions."

 

"Good. That was what we needed," Professor Barton

sounded very relieved. "I suppose I don't need to add

that there is a bonus in this for you."

 

"I can live with a bonus," Alex responded cheerfully.

 

The two VIPs signed off, and Alex turned immedi-

ately to Tla.

 

"Did that sound as phony to you as it did to me?" he

demanded.

 

"Well, the objects they want are certainly real

enough," she replied, playing back her internal

 

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AmeMcCaffrey 6f Mercedes Lackey

 

recording of the conversation and analyzing every

word. "But whether they really are artifacts is another

question. There's definitely more going on than

they're wUling to tell us."

 

Alex leaned back in his chair and put his hands

behind his head. "Are these things financing espionage

or insurrection?" he hazarded. "Or buying weapons?"

 

She stopped her recording; there was something

about the artifact that bothered her. She enhanced the

picture and threw it up on the screen.

 

"What's wrong with this?" she demanded. Alex

leaned forward to have a look.

 

"Is that a hole bored in the base?" he said. "Bored in,

then patched over?"

 

"Could be." She enhanced her picture again. "Does

it seem to you that the base is awfully thick?"

 

"Could be," he replied. "You know... we have only

their word that these are 'alien artifacts.' What if they

are nothing of the sort?"

 

"They wouldn't be worth much of anything then —

unless — "

 

The answer came to her so quickly that it brought its

own fireworks display with it. "Got it!" she exclaimed,

and quickly accessed the Institute library for a certain

old news program.

 

She remembered this one from her own childhood;

both for the fact that it had been an ingenious way to

smuggle and because Pota had caught her watching it,

realized what the story was about, and shut it off. But

not before Tia had gotten the gist of it.

 

One of the Institute archeologists had been sub-

verted by a major drug-smuggler who wanted a way to

get his supply to Central. In another case where there

were small digs on the same planets as colonies, the

archeologist had himselfbecome addicted to the mood-

altering drug called "Paradise," and had made himself

open to blackmail.

 

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165

 

The blackmail came from the supplier-producer

himself. Out there in the fringe, it was easy enough to

hide his smuggled supplies in ordinary shipments of

agri-goods, but the nearer one got to civilization, the

harder it became. Publicly available transport was out

of the question.

 

But there were other shipments going straight to the

heart of civilization. Shipments that were so innocent,

and so fragile, they never saw a custom's inspector.

Such as... Institute artifacts.

 

So the drug-dealer molded his product in the like-

ness of pottery shards. And the archeologist on-site

made sure they got packed like any other artifacts and

shipped — although they were never cataloged. Once

the shipment arrived at the Institute, a worker inside

the receiving area would set the crates with particular

marks aside and leave them on the loading dock over-

night. They would, of course, disappear, but since they

had never been cataloged, they were never missed.

 

The only reason the archeologist in question had

been caught was because an overzealous graduate stu-

dent had cataloged the phony shards, and when they

came up missing at the Institute, the police became in-

volved.

 

Tia ran the news clip for Alex, who watched it atten-

tively. "What do you think?" she asked, when it was

over.

 

"I think our friend in the dull blue-striped tunic had

a strangely fit look about him. The look that says

'police' to yours truly." Alex nodded. "I think you're

right. I think someone is trying the artifact-switch

again, except that this time they're coming in on the

black market."

 

She did a quick access to the nets, and began search-

ing for a politician named Sinor. She found one — but

he did not match the man she had seen on the trans-

mission.

 

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Aime McCaffrey & Mercedes Lackey

 

"The trick is probably that if someone sees a crate

full of smuggled glassware, they don't think of drugs."

Tia felt very smug over her deduction, and her iden-

tification of Sinor as a ringer. Of course, there was no

way of knowing if her guess was right or wrong, but

still. . - - "The worst that is likely to happen to an

artifact-smuggler is a fine and a slap on the wrist. They

aren't taken very seriously, even though there's serious

money in it and the smugglers may have killed to get

them,"

 

"That's assuming inspectors even find the artifacts.

So where were we supposed to fit in to all this?" Alex

ran his hand through his hair. "Do they think we're

going to find this guy?"

 

"1 think that they think he's working with one of the

small-dig people again. By the way, you were right

about Sinor. Or rather, the Sinor we saw is not the one

of record." Another thought occurred to her. "You

know — their story may very well have been genuine.

There's not a lot of room in jewelry to hide drugs.

Whoever is doing this may have started by smuggling

out the artifacts, freelance — got tangled up with some

crime syndicate, and now he's been forced to deal the

fake, drug-carrying artifacts along with the real ones."

 

"Now thai makes sense!" Alex exclaimed. "That fits

all the parameters. Do we still play along?"

 

"Ye-es," she replied slowly. "But in a severely limited

sense, I'd say. We aren't trained in law enforcement,

and we don't carry weapons. If we see something, we

report it, and get the heck out"

 

"Sounds good to me, lady," Alex replied, with patent

relief. "I'm not a coward — but I'm not stupid. And I

didn't sign up with the BB program to get ventilated by

some low-down punk. If I wanted to do that, all I have

to do is stroll into certain neighborhoods and flash

some glitter. Tia — why all that nonsense about

plague?"

 

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167

 

"Partially to hook us in, I think," she said, after a

moment. "They know we were the team that got the

Zombie Bug—we'll feel strongly about plague. And par-

dally to keep us from touching these objects. If we don't

mess with them, we won't know about the drug link."

 

He made a sound of disgust. "You'd think they'd

have trusted us with the real story. I'm half tempted to

blow this whole thing off, just because they didn't. I

won't—" he added hastily, "but I'm tempted."

 

He began warming up the boards, preparatory to

taking off. Tia opened a channel to traffic control —

but while she did so, she was silently wondering if there

was even more to the story thanshe had guessed.

 

There was something bothering Alex, and as they

continued on their rounds, he tried to put his finger on

it It was only after he replayed the recorded transmis-

sion of Professor Barton and the bogus "Sinor" that he

realized what it was.

 

Tia had known that Professor Barton was genuine

— without checking. And Barton had said things that

indicated he knew who she was.

 

Alex had never really wondered about her back-

ground. He'd always assumed that she was just like

every other shellperson he'd ever known; popped into

her shell at birth, because of fatal birth-defects, with

parents who rather would forget she had ever been

born. Who were just as pleased that she was someone

else's problem.

 

What was it that the professor had said, though? You

both have backgrounds in archeology. Hypatia, you know how

digs work, intimately.

 

From everything that Jon Chernov had said, the

shellperson program was so learning-intensive that

there was no time for hobbies. A shellperson only

aojuired hobbies after he got out in the real world and

had leisure time for them. The Lab Schools' program

 

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Anne McCaffrty &? Mercedes Lackey

 

was so intensive that even play was scheduled and

games were choreographed, planned, and taught just

Uke classes. There was no room to foster an "interest"

in archeology. And it was not on the normal course cur-

riculum.

 

The only way you knew how digs worked "inti-

mately" was to work on them yoursel£

 

Or be the child of archeologists who kept you on-site

with them.

 

That was when it hit him; something Tia had said.

The Cades met while they were recovering from Henderson's

Chorea. That kind of information would not be the sort

of thing someone who made a hobby of archeology

would know. Details of archeologists' lives were of

interest only to people who knew them.

 

Under cover of running a search on EsKay digs, he

pulled up the information on the personnel — back-

tracking to the last EsKay dig the Cades had been on.

 

And there it was. C-121 - Active personnel, Braddon

Maartens-Cade, Pota Andropolous-Cade. Dependent,

Hypatia Cade, age seven.

 

Hypatia Cade; evacuated to station-hospital Pride of

Albion by MedService AI-drone. Victim of some

unknown disease. Braddon and Pota put in isolation—

Hypatia never heard from again. Perhaps she died —

but that wasn't likely.

 

There could not be very many girls named

"Hypatia" in the galaxy. The odds of two of them being

evacuated to the same hospital-ship were tiny; the odds

that his Tia's best friend, Doctor Rennet Uhua-Sorg —

who was chief of Neurology and Neurosurgery —

would have been the same doctor in charge of that

other Tia's case were so minuscule he wasn't prepared

to try to calculate them.

 

He replaced the file and logged off the boards feel-

ing as if he had just been hit in the back of the head with

aboard.

 

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169

 

Oh, spirits of space. When she took me as brawn, I made a

toast to our partnership — "may it be as long and fruitful as the

Cades'." Oh, decom it. Tun surprised she didn't bounce me out

the airlock right then and there.

 

"Tia," he said carefully into the silent cabin. "I — uh

— I'd like to apologize — "

 

"So, you found me out, did you?" To his surprise and

profound relief, she sounded amused. "Yes, I'm

Hypatia Cade. I'd thought about telling you, but then I

was afraid you'd feel really badly about verbally falling

over your own feet You do realize that you can't access

any data without my being aware of it, don't you?"

 

"Well, heck, and I thought I was being so sneaky." He

managed a weak grin. "I thought I'd really been cover-

ing my tracks well enough that you wouldn't notice. I —

uh—really am sorry if I made you feel badly."

 

"Oh, Alex, it would only have been tacky and taste-

less — or stupid and insensitive — if you'd done it on

purpose." She laughed; he'd come to like her laugh, it

was a deep, rich one. He'd often cold her BB jokes just

so he could hear it. "So it's neither; it'sjust one of those

things. I assume that you're curious now. What is it you

want to know about me?"

 

"Everything!" he blurted, and then flushed with

embarrassment. "Unless you'd rather not talk about it."

 

"Alex, I don't mind at all! I had a very happy

childhood, and frankly, it will be a lot more comfortable

being able to talk about Mum and Dad — or with Mum

and Dad — without trying to hide them from you." She

giggled this time, instead of laughing. "Sometimes I felt

as if I was trying to hide a secret lover, only in reverse!"

 

"So you still stay in contact with your parents?" Alex

was fascinated; this went against everything he'd been

told about shellpersons, either at the academy or

directly from Jon Chernov. Shellpersons didn't have

families; their supervisors and their classmates were

their families.

 

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"Of course I still stay in contact with them. I'm their

biggest fen. If archeologists can have fens." Her center

screen came up; on it was a shot of Pota and Braddon,

proudly displaying an ornate set of body-armor.

"Here's something from their latest letter; they just

uncovered the armory, and what they found is going to

set the scholastic world on its collective ears. That's iron

plates you see on Bronze Age armor."

 

"No — "He stared in fascination, and not just at the

armor. At Pota and Braddon, smiling and waving like

any other parents for their child. Pota pointed to some-

thing on the armor, while Braddon's mouth moved,

explaining something. Tia had the sound off, and the

definition wasn't good enough for Alex to lip-read.

 

"That's not my real interest though," she continued.

"I was telling you the truth. I'm after the EsKay

homeworld, but 1 want it because I want to find the bug

that got me." The two side-screens came up, both with

older pictures. "Before you ask, dear, there I am. The

one on the right is my seventh birthday party, the one

on the left, as you can see, is a picture of me with

Theodore Bear and Moira's brawn Tbmas—Ted was a

present from both of them." She paused for a moment

"just checking. Yes, that's the last good picture that was

taken of me. The rest are all in the hospital, and I

wouldn't inflict them on anyone but a neurologist."

 

Alex studied the two pictures, each of which showed

the same bright-eyed, elfin child. An incredibly pretty

child, dark-haired, blue-eyed, with a thin, delicate fece

and a smile that wouldn't stop. "How did you get into

the shellperson program?" he asked. "I thought they

didn't take anyone after the age of one!"

 

"They didn't, until me," she replied. "That was Doc-

tor Kenny's doing, and Lars, the systems manager for

the hospital; they were convinced that I was flexible

enough to make the transition—since I was intelligent

enough to understand what had happened to me, and

 

what it meant Which was — " she added,"—complete

life-support. No mobility."

 

He shuddered. "I can see why you wouldn't want

that to happen to anyone else ever again."

 

"Precisely." She blanked the screens before he had a

chance to study the pictures further. "After I turned out

so well, Lab Schools started considering older children

on a case-by-case basis. They've taken three, so far, but

none as old as me."

 

"Well, my lady — as remarkable as you are now, you

must have been just as remarkable a child," he told her,

meaning every word.

 

"Flatterer," she said, but she sounded pleased.

 

"I mean it," he insisted. "I interviewed with two

other ships, you know. None of them had your per-

sonality. 1 was looking for someone like Jon Chernov;

they were more like AI drones."

 

"You've mentioned Jon before — " she replied, puz-

zled. 'Just what does he have to do with us?"

 

"Didn't I tell you?" he blurted — then hit himself in the

forehead with his hand. "Decom it, I didn't! Jon's a shell-

person too; he was the supervisor and systems manager

on the research station where my parents worked!"

 

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "So that's why — "

 

"Why what?"

 

"Why you treat me like you do — facing my column,

asking permission to come aboard, asking me what

kind of music I want in the main cabin — "

 

"Oh, you bet!" he said with a grin. 'Jon made darn

sure I had good shell-soft manners before he let me go off

to the Academy. He'd have verbally blistered my hide if I

ever forgot you're here — and that you're the pan of the

team that can't go offto her own cabin to be alone."

 

"Tell me about him," she urged.

 

He had to think hard to remember the first time he

ever started talking to Jon. "I think 1 first realized that

he was around when I was about three, maybe two. My

 

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folks are chemtechs at one of the Lily-Baer research

stations — there weren't a lot of kids around at the

time, because it was a new station and most of the per-

sonnel were unattached. There weren't a lot of facilities

for kids, and I guess what must have happened was

that Jon volunteered to sort ofbabysit while my parents

were at work. Wasn't that hard—basically all he had to

do was make sure that the door to my room stayed

locked except when he sent in servos to feed me and so

forth. But I guess I kind of fascinated him, and he

started talking to me, telling me stories — then direct-

ing the servos in playing with me." He laughed. "For a

while my folks thought I was going through the 'in-

visible friend' stage. Then they got worried, because I

didn't grow out of it, and were going to send me to a

headshrinker. That was when Jon interrupted while

they were trying to make the appointment and told

them that he was the invisible friend."

 

Tia laughed. "You already knew that Moira and I

have known each other for a long time—well, she was

the CS ship that always serviced my folks' digs, that was

how I got to know her."

 

"Gets you used to having a friend that you can't see,

but can talk to," he agreed. "Well, once I started pre-

school, Jon lost interest for a while, until I started

learning to play chess. He is quite a player himself;

when he saw that I was beating the computer regularly,

he remembered who I was and stepped in, right in the

middle of a game. I was winning until he took over," he

recalled, still a little aggrieved.

 

"What can I say?" she asked rhetorically.

 

"I suppose I shouldn't complain. He became my best

friend. He was the one that encouraged my interest in

archeology — and when it became obvious my parents

weren't going to be able to afford all the university

courses that would take, he helped get me into the

Academy. Did you know that a recommendation from

 

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a shellperson counts twice as much as a recommenda-

tion from anyone but a PTA and up?"

 

"No, I didn't!" She sounded surprised and amused.

"Evidently they trust our judgment."

 

"Well, you've heard his messages. He's probably as

pleased with how things turned out as I am." He

spread his hands wide. "And that's all there is to know

about me."

 

"Hardly," she retorted dryly. "But it does dear up a

few mysteries."

 

When Alex hit his bunk that night, he found he was

having a hard time getting to sleep. He'd always

thought of Tia as a person — but now he had a face to

put with the name.

 

Jon Chernov had shown him, once, what Jon would

have looked like ifhe could have survived outside the shell.

Alex had known that it was going to be hideous, and had

managed not to shudder or turn away, but it had taken a

major effort of will. After that it had just been easier not to

put a face with the voice. There were completely non-

human races that looked more human than poor Jon.

 

ButTia hadbeena captivatingly pretty child. She would

have grown up into a stunning adult Shoot, mide that shell,

sheprobabfy'KastmnbigadiiU.Astimnxng, lifeless adiiU. like a

puppet with no strings; a sex-companion android with no hookups.

He had no desire to crack her column; he was not the sort

to be attracted by anything lifeless. Feelie-porn had given

him the creeps, and his one adolescent try with a sex-droid

had sent him away feeling dirty and used.

 

Butit made the tragedy of what had happened to her all

the more poignant Jon's defects were such that it was a

relieffor everyone that he was in the shell. Tia, though...

 

But she was happy. She was as happy as any of his

classmates in the Academy. So where was the tragedy?

Only in his mind.

 

Only in his mind....

 

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CHAPTERSIX

 

Alex would have been perfectly happy if the past

twelve hours had never happened.

 

He and Tia returned to Diogenes Base after an

uneventful trip expecting to be sent out on another

series of message-runs, only to learn that on this run,

they would be carrying passengers. Those passengers

were on the way from Central and the Institute by way

of commercial liner and would not arrive for another

couple of days.

 

That had given him a window of opportunity for a

little shore leave, in a base-town that catered to some

fairly heavy space-going traffic, and he had taken it.

 

Now he was sorry he had... oh, not for any serious

reasons. He hadn't gotten drunk, or mugged, or into

trouble. No, he'd only made a fool out of himself

 

Only.

 

He'd gone out looking for company in the spaceport

section, hanging around in the pubs and food-bars.

He'd gotten more than one invitation, too, but the one

he had followed up on was from a dark-haired, blue-

eyed, elfin little creature with an infectious laugh and a

nonstop smile. "Bet" was her name, and she was a

fourth-generation spacer, following in her family's

footloose tradition.

 

He hadn't wondered what had prompted his choice

— hadn't even wondered why he had so deviated from

his normal "type" of brown-haired, brown-eyed and

athletic. He and the girl — who it turned out was the

crew chief of an Al-freighter — had a good time

 

together. They hit a show, had some dinner — and by

mutual agreement, wound up in the same hotel room.

 

He stitt hadn't thought about his choice of company;

then came the moment of revelation.

 

When, in the midst of intimacy, he called her Tia."

 

He could have died, right then and there. For-

tunately the young lady was understanding; Bet just

giggled, called him "Giorgi" back, and they went on

from there. And when they parted, she kissed him, and

told him that his "Tia" was a lucky wench, and to give

her Bet's regards.

 

Thank the spirits of space he didn't have to tell her

the truth. All she'd seen was the CS uniform and the

spacer habits and speech patterns; he could have been

anything. She certainly wasn't thinking "brawn" when

she had picked him up, and he hadn't told her what he

did for the Courier Service.

 

Instead of going straight back to the ship, he

dawdled; visited a multi-virtual amusement park, and

took five of the wildest adventures it offered. It took all

five to wash the embarrassment of his slip out of his

recent memory, to put it into perspective.

 

But nothing would erase the meaning of what he had

done. And it was just his good fortune—andTia's—that

his partner hadn't known who Tia was. Brawns had un-

dergone Counseling for a lot less. CS had a nasty

reputation for dealing with slips like that one. They

wouldn't risk one of their precious shellpersons in the

hands of someone who might become so obsessed with

her that he would try to get at the physical body.

 

He returned to the docks in a decidedly mixed state

of mind, and with no ideas at all about what — if any-

thing — he could do about it.

 

Tia greeted her brawn cheerfully as soon as he came

aboard, but she left him alone for a little while he got

himself organized — or as organized as Alex ever got

 

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"I've got the passenger roster," she said, once he'd

stowed his gear. "Want to see them, see what we're get-

ting for the next couple of weeks?"

 

"Sure," Alex replied, perking up visibly. He had

looked tired when he came in; Tia reckoned shrewdly

that he had been celebrating his shore leave a little too

heavily. He wasn't suffering from a hangover, but it

looked to her as if he'd done his two-day pass to the

max, squeezing twenty-two hours of fun into every

twenty-four hour period. He dropped down into his

chair and she brought up her screens for him.

 

"Here's our team leader, Doctor Izak Hollister-

Aspen." The Evaluation team leader was an elderly

man; a quad-doc, as thin as a grass stem, clean-shaven,

silver-haired, and so frail-looking Tia was half-afraid

he might break in the first high wind. "He's got four

doctorates, he's published twelve books and about two

hundred papers, and he's been head of twenty-odd

teams already. He also seems to have a pretty good

sense of humor. Listen."

 

She let the file-fragment run. "I must admit," Aspen

said, in a cracked and quavery voice, "there are any

number of my colleagues who would say that I should

sit behind my desk and let younger bodies take over

this dig. Well," he continued, cracking a smile. "I am

going to do something like that. I'm going to sit behind

my desk in my dome, and let the younger bodies of my

team members take over the digging. Seems to me

that's dose enough to count."

 

Alex chuckled. "I like him already. I was afraid this

trip was going to be a bore."

 

"Not likely, with him around. Well, this is our

second-in-command, double-doc Siegfried Haakon-

Fritz. And if this lad had been in charge, I think it might

have been a truly dismal trip." She brought up the

image of Fritz, who was a square-jawed, steely-eyed,

stern-faced monument. He could have been used as

 

the model for any ortho-Communist memorial statue

to The Glorious Worker In Service To The State. Or

maybe the Self-Righteous In Search Of A Convert.

There was nothing like humor anywhere in the man's

expression. It looked to her as if his head might crack

in half if he ever smiled. "This is all I have, five minutes

of silent watching. He didn't say a word. But maybe he

doesn't believe in talking when it's being recorded."

 

"Why not?" Alex asked curiously. "Is he paranoid

about being recorded or something?"

 

"He's a Practical Darwinist," she told him.

 

"Oh, brother," Alex replied with disgust The Practical

Darwinists had their own sort of notoriety, and Tia was

frankly surprised to find one in the Institute at all.

They were generally concentrated in the soft sciences

— when they were in the sciences at all. Personally, Tia

did not consider political science to be particularly

scientific....

 

"His political background is kind of dubious," she

continued, "but since there's nothing anyone can hang

on him, it simply says in the file that his politics have not

always been those of the Institute. That's bureaucratic

double-talk for someone they would rather not trust,

but have no reason to keep them out of positions of

authority."

 

"Got you." Alec nodded. "So, we'll just not mention

politics around him, and we'll make sure it's one of the

forbidden subjects in the main cabin. Who's next?"

 

"These are our post-docs; they have their hard

science doctorates, and now they're working on their

archeology doctorates." She split her center screen and

installed them both on it at once. "On the right, Les

Dimand-Taylor, human; on the right, Treel rish-Yr nal-

Leert, Rayanthan. Treel is female. Les has a Bio Doc,

and Treel Xenology."

 

"Hmm, for Treel wouldn't Xenology be the study of

humans?" Alex pointed out. Les was a very intense

 

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fellow, thin, heavily tanned, very fit-looking, but with

haunted eyes. Treel's base-type seemed to be cold-

weather mammalian, as she had a pelt of very fine,

dense brown fur that extended down onto her cheek-

bones. Her round, black eyes stared directly into the

lens, seeing everything, and giving the viewer the

impression that she was cataloging it all.

 

"No audio on the post-docs, just static file pictures,"

she continued. "They're attached to Aspen."

 

"Not to Old Stone Face?" Alex asked. "Never mind,

Any grad student or post-doc he'd have would be a

clonal copy of himself. I can't imagine any other type

staying with him for long."

 

"And here are our grad students." Again she split the

screen. "Still working on the first doctorate. Both male.

Aldon Reese-Tambuto, human; and Fred, from

Dushayne."

 

"fted?" Alex spluttered. Understandably. The

Dushaynese could not possibly have looked less human;

he had a square, flat head—literally. Flat on top, flat face,

flattened sides. He was bright green and had no mouth,

just a tiny hole below his nostril slits. Dushaynese were

vegetarian to an extreme; on their homeworld they lived

on tree sap and fruit juice. Out in the larger galaxy they

did very well on sucrose-water and other liquids. They

had, as a whole, very good senses of humor.

 

"Fred?" Alex repeated.

 

"Fred," she said firmly. "Very few humans would be

able to reproduce his real name. His vocal organ is a

vibrating membrane in the top of his head. He does

human speech just fine, but we can't manage his." She

blanked her screens. "I'll spare you their speeches;

they are very eager, very typical young grad students

and this will be their first dig."

 

"Save me—" Alex moaned.

 

"Be nice," she said firmly. "Don't disillusion them.

Let the next two years take care of that**

 

He waved his hands vigorously. "Far be it from me to

let them know what gruesome fete awaits them. What

^yas the chance of death on a dig? Twenty percent? And

there's six of them?"

 

The chance of catching something non-fetal is a lot

higher," she pointed out "Actually, the honor of being

the fatality usually goes to the post-docs or the second-

in-command; they're the ones doing the major

explorations when a dig hits something like a tomb.

The grad students usually are put to sifting sand and

cataloging pottery shards."

 

Alex didn't get a chance to respond to that, for the

first members of the team arrived at the lock at that

moment, and he went down the lift to welcome them

aboard, while Tia directed the servos in storing most of

their baggage in the one remaining empty hold. As

they came up the lift, both the young "men" were chat-

tering away at high speed, with Alex in the middle,

nodding sagely from time to time and dearly not catch-

ing more than half of what they said. Tia decided to

rescue him.

 

"Welcome aboard, Fred, Aldon," she said, cutting

through the chatter with her own, higher-pitched

voice.

 

Silence, as both the grad students looked around for

the speaker.

 

Fred caught on first, and while his face remained

completely without expression, he had already learned

the knack of displaying human-type emotions with his

voice. "My word!" he exclaimed with delight, "you are

a brainship, are you not, dear lady?"

 

As a final incongruity, he had adopted a clipped

British accent to go along with his voice.

 

"Precisely, sir," she replied. "AH One-Oh-Three-

Three at your service, so to speak."

 

"Wow," Aldon responded, dearly awestruck. "We

get to ride in a brainship? They've actually put us on a

 

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brainship? Wow, PTAs don't even get rides from brain-

ships! I've never even seen a brainship before — Uh,

hi, what's your real name?" He turned slowly, trying to

figure out which way to face.

 

"Hypatia, Tia for short," she replied, tickled by the

young beings' responses. "Don't worry about where to

look, just assume I'm the whole ship. I am, you know. \

even have eyes in your quarters — " she chuckled at

Aldon's flush of embarrassment" — but don't worry, I

won't use them. Your complete privacy is important to us."

 

"I can show you the cabins, and you can pick the

ones you want," Alex offered. "They're all the same;

I'm just reserving the one nearest the main cabin for

Doctor Hollister-Aspen."

 

"Stellar!" Aldon enthused. "Wow, this is better than

the liner coming in! I had to share a cabin with Fred

and two other guys."

 

"Quite correct," Fred seconded. "I enjoyed Aldon's

company, but the other two were — dare I say —

spoiled young reprobates? High Family affectations

without the style, the connections, or the Family.

Deadly bores, I assure you, and a spot of privacy will be

welcome. Shall we, then?"

 

The two grad students were unpacking their carry-

on baggage when the two post-docs arrived, this time

singly. Treel arrived first, accepted the greetings with

the calm, intense demeanor of a Zen Master, and took

the first cabin she was offered.

 

Les Dimand-Taylor was another case altogether. It

was obvious to Tia the moment he came aboard —

without the automatic salute he made to her column —

that he was ex-military. He confirmed her assumption

as soon as Alex offered him a cabin.

 

"Anything will do, old man," he said, with a kind of

nervous cheer. "Better than barracks, that's for sure.

Unless—lady Tia, you don'thave anything thatmakes an

unexpected noise in the middle of the night, do you? I'm

 

i—"he laughed a little shakily"—I'mafiaid I'mjust

a little twitchy about noises when I'm asleep. What they

euphemistically call 'unfortunate experiences.' I'll keep

my door locked soldon'tdisturbanyonebut—"

 

"Give him the cabin next to Treel, Alex," she said

firmly. "Doctor Dimand-Taylor—"

 

"Les, my dear," he replied, with a thin smile. "Les to

you and your colleagues, always. Pulled me out of a tight

spot, one of you BB teams did. Besides, when people

hear my title they tend to start telling me about their

backs and innards. Hate to have to tell them that I'd only

care about their backs if the too, too solid flesh had been

melted off the bones for the past thousand years or so."

 

"Les, then," she said. "I assume you know Treel?"

 

"Very well. A kind and considerate lady. If you have

her assigned as my neighbor, she's so quiet I never

know she's there." He seemed relieved that Tia didn't

press him for details on the "tight spot" he'd been in.

 

"That cabin and hers are buried in the sound-proof-

ing around the holds," Tia told him. "You shouldn't

hear anything — and I can generate white-noise for

you at night, if you'd like."

 

He relaxed visibly. "That would be charming of you,

thanks awfully. My superior, Doc Aspen, told the others

about my litde eccentricities, so they know not to startle

me. So we should be fine."

 

He went about his unpacking, and Alex returned to

the main cabin.

 

"Commando," Tia said succinctly.

 

"That in his records?" Alex asked. "I'm surprised they

left that there. Not saying where, though, are they?"

 

"If you know where to look and what to look at, the

feet that he was a commando is in his records," she told

her brawn. "But where — that's not in the Institute file.

It's probably logged somewhere. Remember not to

walk quietly, my dear."

 

"Since I'd rather not get karate-chopped across the

 

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throat, that sounds like a good idea." He thought for a

moment and went off to his cabin, returning with what

looked like a bracelet with a bell on it. "These things

went into fashion a couple of months ago, and I bought

one, but I didn't like it." He bent over to fasten it

around his boot. "There. Now he'll hear me coming, in

case I forget to stamp." The bell was not a loud one, but

it was definitely producing an audible sound.

 

"Good idea — ah, here's the Man himself— Alex,

hefs going to need some help."

 

Alex hurried down to the lift area and gave Doctor

Aspen a hand with his luggage. There wasn't much of

it, but Doctor Aspen was not capable of carrying much

for long. Tia wondered what could have possessed the

Institute to permit this man to go out into the field

again.

 

She found out, once he was aboard. His staffimme-

diately dustered around him, fired with enthusiasm, as

soon as he was settled in his cabin. He asked permission

of Tia and Alex to move the convocation into the main

cabin and use one of her screens.

 

"Certainly," Tia answered, when Alex deferred to

her- She was quite charmed by Doctor Aspen, who

called her "my lady," and accorded to her all the atten-

tion and politeness he gave his students and

underlings.

 

As they moved into main room, Doctor Aspen

turned toward her column. "I am told that you have

some interest and education in archeology, my lady

Tia,"* he said, as he settled into a seat near one of the

side screens. "And you, too, Alex. Please, since you'll be

on-site with us, feel free to participate. And if you know

something we should, or notice something we miss,

feel tree to contribute."

 

Alex was obviously surprised; Tia wasn't She had

gleaned some of this from the records. Aspen's

students stayed with him, went to enormous lengths to

 

an on-site with him, went on to careers of their own full

of warm praise for their mentor. Aspen was evidendy

that rarest of birds: the exceptional, inspirational

teacher who was also a solid researcher and scientist

 

Within moments, Aspen had drawn them all into his

charmed circle, calling up the first team's records,

drawing his students — and even Alex — into making

observations. Tia kept a sharp eye out for the missing

member of the party, however, for she had the feeling

that Haakon-Fritz had deliberately timed his entrance

to coincide with the gathering of Aspen's students. Tia

figured that he wanted an excuse to feel slighted. She

wasn't going to give it to him.

 

She could — and did — hook herself into the

spaceport surveillance system, and she spotted

Haakon-Fritz coming long before he was in range of

her own sensors. Plenty of time to interrupt the

animated discussion with a subtle, "Gentlebeings, Doc-

tar Haakon-Fritz is crossing the tarmac."

 

Treel and Les exchanged a wordless look, but said

nothing. Aspen simply smiled, and rose from his chair,

as Tia froze the recording they had been watching.

Alex hurried down the stairs to intercept Haakon-Fritz

at the lift

 

So instead of being greeted by the backs of those

deep in discussion, the man found himself greeted by

the Courier Service brawn, met at the top of the lift by

the rest of his party, and given an especially hearty

greeting by his superior.

 

His expression did not change so much as a hair, but

Tia had the distinct feeling that he was disgruntled.

"Welcome aboard, Doctor Haakon-Fritz," Ha said, as

he shook hands briefly with the other members of his

party. "We have a choice of five cabins for you, if you'd

 

"If you have more than one cabin available,"

Haakon-Fritz interrupted rudely, speaking not to Tia,

 

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who he ignored, but to Alex, "I would like to see them

all before I make a choice."

 

Tia knew Alex well enough by now to know that he

was angry, but he covered it beautifully. "Certainty;

Professor," he said, giving Haakon-Fritz the lesser of

his tides. "If you'll follow me—"

 

He led the way back into the cabin section, leaving

Haakon-Fritz to carry his own bags.

 

Treel made a little growl that sounded like disgust;

Fred rolled his eyes, which was the closest he could

come to a facial expression. "My word," Fred said, his

voice ripe with surprise. "That was certainly rude!"

 

"He ees a Practical Darweeneest," Tree! replied, with

a curl to her lip. "Your pardon, seer," she said to Aspen.

al know that you feel he ees a good scienteest, but I am

glad he ees not the one in scharge."

 

Fred was still baffled. "Practical Darwinist?" he said.

"Does someone want to explain to a baffled young veg-

gie just what that might be and why he was so rude to

lady Tia?"

 

Les took up the gauntlet with a sigh. "A Practical

Darwinist is one who believes that Darwin's Law

applies to everything. If someone is in an accident, they

shouldn't be helped, if an earthquake levels a city, no

aid should be sent, if a plague breaks out, only the cur-

rendy healthy should be inoculated; the victims should

be isolated and live or die as the case may be."

 

Fred's uneasy glance toward her column made Tia

decide to spare Les the embarrassment of stating the

obvious. "And as you have doubtless surmised, the

fanatical Practical Darwinists find the existence of

shellpersons to be horribly offensive. They won't even

acknowledge that we exist, given the option."

 

Professor Aspen shook his head sadly. "A brilliant

scientist, but tragically flawed by fanaticism," he said, as

he took his seat again. "Which is why he has gotten as

far as he will ever go. He had a chance — was given a

 

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solo Exploration dig — and refused to consider any

evidence that did not support his own peculiar party-

line. Now he is left to be the chief clerk of digs like

ours." He looked soberly into the faces of his four stu-

dents. "Let this be a lesson to you, gentlebeings. Never

let fanatic devotion blind you to truth."

 

"Or, in other words," Tia put in blithely, "the prob-

lem with a fanatic is that their brains turn to tofu and

they accept nothing as truth except what conforms to

their ideas. What makes them dangerous is not that

they'll die to prove their truth, but that they'll letyou die

_ or take you with them — to prove it"

 

"Well put, my lady." Doctor Aspen turned his atten-

tion back to the screen. "Now since I know from past

experience that Haakon-Fritz will spend the time until

takeoff sulking in his cabin — shall we continue with

our discussion?"

 

The Exploration team had left the site in good

shape; equipment stowed, domes inflated but sealed,

open trenches covered to protect them. The Evalua-

tion team erected two new living domes and a second

laboratory dome in short order, and settled down to

their work.

 

Everything seemed to be under control; now that

the team was on-site, even the sulky Haakon-Fritz fell

to and took on his share of the duties. There would

seem to have been no need for AH One-Oh-Three-

Three to remain on-planet when they could have been

making the rounds of "their" established digs.

 

But that was not what regulations called for, and

both Tia and Alex knew why, even if the members of

the team didn't. Regulations for a CS ship attached to

Institute duty hid a carefully concealed second agenda,

when the ship placed a new Exploration or Evaluation

team.

 

Archeological teams were put together with great

 

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care; not only because of the limited number of per-

sonnel, but because of their isolation. They were going

to be in clanger from any number of things—all of the

hazards that Tia had listed to Alex on their first mis-

sion. There was no point in exposing them to danger

from within.

 

So the prospective members of a given team were

probed, tested, and Psyched to a fair-thee-well, both for

individual stability and for interactive stability with the

rest of the team. Still, mistakes could be made, and had

been in the past. Sometimes those mistakes had led to a

murder, or at least, an attempted murder.

 

When a psychological problem surfaced, it was

usually right at the beginning of the stint, after the ini-

tial settling in period was over, and once a routine had

been established and the stresses of the dig started to

take their toll. About that time, if something was going

to go wrong, it did. The team had several weeks in

cramped quarters in transit to establish interpersonal

relations; ideal conditions for cabin fever. Ideal condi-

tions for stress to surface, and that stress could lead to

severe interpersonal problems.

 

So regulations were that the courier, whether BB or

fully-manned, was to manufacture some excuse to stay

for several days, with the ship personnel staying inside

and out of sight, but with the site being fully monitored

from inside the ship. The things they were to look for

were obvious personality conflicts, new behavioral

quirks, or old ones going from "quirk" to "psychosis."

Making sure there was nothing that might give rise to a

midnight axe murder. It would not have been the first

time that someone snapped under stress.

 

Alex was most worried about Les, muttering things

about post-trauma syndrome and the fragility of com-

bat veterans. Tia had her own picks for trouble, ij

trouble came — either Fred or Aldon, for neither one

of them had ever been on-site in a small dig before, and

 

until he went to the Institute, Aldon had never even

been off-planet. Despite his unpleasantness to her,

Haakon-Fritz was brilliant and capable, and he had

been on several digs before without any trouble surfac-

ing. And now that they were all on-site, while he was

distant, he was also completely cooperative, and his

behavior in no way differed from his behavior on pre-

vious digs. There was no indication that he was likely to

take his fanatic beliefs into his professional life. Fred

and Aldon had only been part of a crew of hundreds

with an Excavation team — where there were more

people to interact with, fewer chances for personality

stress, and no real trials to face but the day to day

boredom of repetitive work.

 

For the first couple of days, everything seemed to be

just fine, not only as far as the personnel were con-

cerned, but as far as the conditions. Both Tia and Alex

breathed a sigh of relief.

 

Too soon by half.

 

For that night, the winter rains began.

 

Tia had been sifting through some of the records

she'd copied at the base, looking for another potential

investment prospect like Largo Draconis. It was late;

very late — the site was quiet and dark, and Alex had

called it a night. He was in his cabin, just about at the

dreaming stage, and Tia was considering shutting

down for her mandated three hours of DeepSleep —

when the storm struck.

 

"Struck" was the operative word, for a wall of wind

and rain hit her skin hard enough to rattle her for a

moment, and that was followed by a blast of lightning

and thunder that shook Alex out ofbed.

 

"What?" he yelped, coming up out of sleep with a

shout "How? Who?"

 

He shook his head to clear it, as another peal of

thunder made Tia's walls vibrate. "What's going on?"

 

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he asked, as Tia sank landing-spikes from her feet into

the ground beneath her, to stabilize her position. "Ait

we under attack or something?"

 

"No, it's a storm, Alex," she replied absently, making

certain that everything was locked down and all her

servos were inside. "One incredible thunderstorm, I've

never experienced anything like it!"

 

She turned on her external cameras and fed them to

her screens so he could watch, while she made certain

that she was well-insulated against lightning strikes and

that all was still well at the site. Alex wandered out into

the main cabin and sat in his chair, awestruck by the

display of raw power going on around them,

 

Multiple lightning strikes were going on all around

them; not only was the area as bright as day, it was often

brighter. Thunder boomed continuously, the wind

howled, and sheets — no, entire linen-closets—of rain

pounded the ground, not only baffling any attempt at a

visual scan of the site, but destroying any hope of any

other kind of check. With this much lightning in the an;

there was no point even in trying a radio call.

 

"What's happening down at the site?" Alex asked

anxiously.

 

"No way of telling," she said reluctantly. "The

Exploration team went through these rains once al-

ready, so I guess we can assume that the site itself isn't

going to wash away, or float away. For the rest — the

domes are insulated against lightning, but who knows

what's likely to happen to the equipment? Especially in

all this lightning."

 

Her words proved only too prophetic; for although

the rain lasted less than an hour, the deluge marked a

forty-degree drop in temperature, and the effects of

the lightning were permanent

 

When the storm cleared, the news from the site was

bad. Lightning had not only struck the ward-off field

generator, it had slagged it There was nothing left but a

 

f-melted pile of plasteel and duraloy. Tia didn't see

how one strike could have done that much damage; the

generator must have been hit over and over. The backup

^as corroded beyond any repair, though Haakon-Fritz

and Les labored over it for most of the night Too many

parts had been ruined — probably while it sat in its crate

through who-knew-how-many transfers. Never once

undated and checked — and now Doctor Aspen's team

paid the price for that neglect

 

Tia consulted with Doctor Aspen in person the next

morning. There was little sign of the damage from

where they sat, but the results were undeniable. No

ward-off generator. No protection from native fauna,

from insectoids to the big canids. And if the huge

grazers, the size of moose, were to become aggressive,

there would be no way to keep them out of die camp.

Ordinary fences would not hold against a herd of

determined grazers; the last team had proved that

 

"I don't have a spare in the holds," Tia told the team

leader. "I don't have even half the parts you need for

the corroded generator. There were no storms like the

one last night mentioned in the records of the previous

team, but we should assume there are going to be

more. How many of them can you handle? Winter is

coming on, and I can't predict what the native animals

are going to do. Do you want to pull the team out?"

 

Doctor Aspen pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I can't

think of any reason why we should, my lady," he

replied. "The only exterior equipment that had no

protection was the ward-off generator. The first team

stayed here without incident all winter—there's noth-

ing large enough to be a real threat to us, so far as I can

tell. We'll have a few insects, perhaps, until first hard

frost — I imagine those jackal-like beasts will lurk

about and make a nuisance of themselves. But they're

hardly a threat"

 

Alex, feet up on the console as usual, agreed with the

 

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archeologist. "I don't see any big threat here, either.

Unless lightning takes out something a lot more vital."

 

Tia didn't like it, but she didn't challenge them,

either. "If that's the way you want it," she agreed. "But

we'll stay until the rains are over, just in case."

 

Stay they did; but that was the first and the last of the

major storms. After the single, spectacular downpour,

the rains came gently, between midnight and dawn,

with hardly a peal of thunder to wake Alex. She had to

conclude that the first storm had been a freak occur-

rence, something no one could have predicted, and

lost a little of her ire over the lack of warning from the

previous team.

 

But that still didn't excuse the corroded generator.

 

Still, the weather stayed cold, and the rain left coatings of

ice on everything. It would be gone by midniorning, but

the difficulty in walking around the site meant that the

team changed their working hours—beginning around

ten-hundred and finishing about twenty-two-hundred.

Despite his recorded disclaimer, Doctor Aspen insisted on

working alongside his students, and no one, not even

Haakon-Fritz, wanted him to risk a fell on theice.

 

Meanwhile, Tia made note of a disturbing develop-

ment. The sudden cold had sent most of the small

game and pest animals into hiding or hibernation.

That left the normally solitary jackal-dogs without their

usual prey, and in what appeared to be seasonal

behavior, they began to pack up for the winter, so that

they could take down the larger grazers.

 

The disturbing part was that a very large pack began

lurking around the camp.

 

Now Tia regretted her choice of landing areas. The

site was between her and the camp; that was all very

well, especially for observing the team at work, but the

dogs were lurking in the hills around the camp. And

with no ward-off generator to keep them out of it—

 

She mentioned her worry to Alex, who pointed out

 

that the beasts always scattered at any sign of aggres-

sion on the part of a human. She mentioned it again to

Doctor Aspen, who said the animals were probably just

looking for something to scavenge and would leave the

alone once they realized there was nothing to eat

 

there-

 

She never had a chance to mention it again.

 

With two moons, both in different phases, the nights

were never dark unless it was raining. But the flood-

lights at the site made certain that the darkness was

driven away. And lately, the nights were never silent

either; the pack of jackal-dogs wailed from the moment

the sun went down to the moment the rains began. Tia

quickly became an expert on what those howls meant;

the yipping social-howl, the long, drawn-out rally-cry,

and most ominous, the deep-chested hunting call. She

was able to tell, just by the sounds, where they were,

whether they were in pursuit, and when the quarry

had won the chase, or lost it.

 

Tia wasn't too happy about them; the pack num-

bered about sixty now, and they weren't looking too

prosperous. Evidently the activity at the site had driven

away the larger grazers they normally preyed on; that

had the effect of making all the smaller packs join up

into one mega-pack — so there was always some food,

but none of them got very much of it They weren't at

the bony stage yet, but there was a certain desperate

gauntness about them. The grazers they did chase

were escaping five times out of six — and they weren't

getting in more than two hunts in a night

 

Should /suggest that the team feed them? Perhaps take a

grav-sled and go shoot something and drag it m once every

couple of days? But would that cause problems later? That

would be giving the pack the habit of dependence on

humans, and that wouldn't be good. Could they lure

the pack into another territory that way, though? Or —

would feeding them make them lose their fear of

 

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humans? She couldn't quite make up her mind about

that, but the few glimpses she'd had of the pack before

sunset had put her in mind of certain Russian folk-

tales — troikas in the snow, horses foaming with panic,

and wolves snapping at the runners. Meanwhile, the

pack got a little closer each night before they faded into

the darkness.

 

At least it was just about time for the team to break off for

the night Once they were in their domes, they'd be safe.

 

As if in answer to her thought, the huge lights

pivoted up and away from the site, as they were

programmed to do, lighting a dear path for the team

from the site to the camp. When everyone was safely in

the domes, Les would turn them off remotely. So far,

the lights alone had kept the jackal-dogs at bay. They

lurked just outside the path carved by the lights, but

would not venture inside.

 

As if to answer that thought, the pack howled just as

the First of the team members emerged from the

covered excavation area. It sounded awfully close —

 

Tia ran a quick infrared scan.

 

The pack was awfully close — right on the top of the

hill to the right of the site!

 

The beasts stared down at the team—and the leader

howled again. There was no mistaking that how], not

when all the rest answered it. It was the hunt-call.

Quarry sighted; time to begin the chase.

 

And the leader was staring right at the archeologists.

The team stared back, sensing that there was some-

thing different tonight. No one stirred; not

archeologists, nor jackal-dogs. The beasts' eyes glared

red in the darkness, reflection from the work lights, but

no less disturbing for having a known scientific

explanation.

 

"Alex," she said tightly. "Front and center. We have a

situation."

 

He emerged from his cabin as if shot from a gun,

 

took one look at the screen, and pelted for the hold

where they kept the HA grav-sled.

 

Then the pack poured down the hillside in a furry

avalanche.

 

Haakon-Fritz took offlike a world-class sprinter,

leaving the rest behind. For all the attention that he

paid them, the rest of his team might just as well have

not existed.

 

Shettcrack! Aspen can't run—

 

But Les and Treel were not about to leave Aspen to

become the a la carte special; as if they had rehearsed

the move, they each grabbed one arm and literally

picked him up off his feet between them and started

running. Fred and Aldon grabbed shovels to act as

some kind of flank-guard. With the jackal-dogs closing

on them with every passing moment, the entire group

pelted off for the shelters,

 

They were barely a quarter of the way there, with

the jackals halfway down the hill and gaining momen-

tum, when Haakon-Fritz reached the nearest shelter.

He hit the side of the dome with a crash and pawed the

door open. He flung himself inside—

 

And slammed it shut; the red light coming on over

the frame indicating that he had locked it.

 

lAlex!'"Tia cried in anguish, as the jackal-dogs bore

down upon their prey. "Alex, do something!" She had

never felt so horribly helpless.

 

Grav-sleds made no noise — but they had hedra-

players and powerful speakers, meant both to

entertain their drivers and to broadcast prerecorded

messages on the fly. A blast of raucous hard-wire shat-

ter-rock blared out from beneath her — she got her

underbelly cameras on just as Alex peeled out in the

sled at top speed, music screaming at top volume.

 

The unfamiliar shrieks and howls behind them

startled the pack for a moment, and they hesitated,

then came to a dead halt, peering over their shoulders.

 

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The rock musk was so unlike anything they had ever

heard before that they didn't know how to react; Alex

plowed straight through the middle of them and they

shied away to either side.

 

He was never going to be able to make a pickup on

the five still running for their lives without the pack

being on all of them — but while he was on the move

with music caterwauling, the jackal-dogs hesitated to

attack him. And while he was harassing them, their

attention was on him, not on their quarry.

 

That must have been what he had figured in the first

place — that he would starde them enough to give the

rest of the team a chance to get to safety inside that

second dome. While the archeologists ignored what

was going on behind them and kept right on to the

second shelter, Alex kept making dives at the pack —

scattering them when he could, keeping the sled

between them and the team. It was tricky flying —

stunt-flying with a grav-sled, pulling crazy maneuvers

less than a meter from the ground. Not a lot of margin

for error.

 

He cornered wildly; rocking the sled up on one side,

skewing it over in flat spins, feinting at the pack leader

and gunning away before the beast had a chance to

jump into the sled. Over the sound of the wild music,

the warning signals and overrides screamed objection

for what Alex was doing. Alex challenged the jackal-

dogs with the only weapon he had; the sled. Tia longed

for her ethological pack; still not approved for the

Institute ships. With a stun-needler, they could have at

least knocked some of the pack out.

 

The animals assumed that the attack was meant to

drive them off or kill them. They must have been

hungrier than any of them had guessed, for when

nothing happened to hurt or kill any of the pack, they

began making attempts to mob the sled, and they

seemed to be trying to think of ways to pull it down.

 

-fla knew why, then, in a flash of insight Alex had just

gone from "fellow predator" to "prey"; the jackal-dogs

wrere used to grazer-bulls charging them aggressively to

try to drive them away. Alex was imitating the behavior of

the bulls, though he did not know it — and in better

times, the pack probably umdd have responded by

moving to easier prey. But these were lean times, and any

imitation of prey-behavior meant they would try to catch

and kill what was taunting them.

 

Alex was now in real danger.

 

But Alex was a better flyer than Tia had ever

thought; he kept the sled just out of reach of a strong

jump, kept it moving in unpredictable turns and spins.

 

Then, one of the biggest beasts in the pack leapt —

and landed, feet scrabbling on the back bumper of the

sled.

 

"Akx!" Tla shrieked again. He glanced back over his

shoulder and saw his danger.

 

He sent the sled into a spin; the sled's protection

overrides objected strenuously, whining as they fought

him. The jackal-dog fought, too, hind-claws skidding

against the duraloy of the bumper. Alex watched

desperately over his shoulder as the beast's claws found

a hold, and it began hauling itself over the bumper

toward him.

 

In what was either a burst of inspiration or insanity,

he jammed on the braking motors. The sled stopped

dead in mid-spin, flinging him sideways against his

safety-belts—

 

And flinging the jackal-dog off the back of the sled

entirely, sending it flying into die pack, and tumbling at

least a dozen of them nose-over-tail.

 

At that moment the team reached the second dome.

 

The flash of light as they opened the door told Alex

they were safe, and he no longer had to make a target

of himself. Alex burned air back towards Tia; she

dropped open a cargo-bay, activated restraint-fields

 

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and hoped he'd be able to brake in time to keep from

hitting the back wall. At the speed he was coming—the

restraint-fields, meant to keep the sled from banging

around too much in rough flight, wouldn't do much.

 

He didn't even slow down as he hit the bay door,

which she slammed down behind him. Instead, he

killed the power and skidded to a halt on the sled's belly

in a shower of sparks. The sled skewed sideways and

crashed into the back wall — but between Alex's own

maneuver and the restraint-fields, the impact wasn't

bad enough to do more than dent her hold-wall. Once

again, Alex was hurled sideways against his seat-belts.

There were a half-dozen impacts on the cargo door,

indicating the leaders of the pack hitting it, unable to

stop.

 

He sat there for a moment, then sagged over the

steering wheel, breathing heavily. Nothing on Tia's

pickups made her think he was hurt, so she waited for

him to catch his breath.

 

When his breathing slowed, and he looked up, she

focused on his face. He was-flushed, but showed no

shock, and no sign of pain.

 

"Well," she said, keeping her voice calm and light,

"you certainly know how to make an entrance."

 

He blinked — then leaned back in his seat, and

began laughing.

 

It was no laughing matter the next day, when

Haakon-Fritz emerged from his shelter and was con-

fronted by the remainder of his team. He had no

choice; Tia had threatened to hole his dome if he

didn't, giving the beasts a way inside. It was an empty

threat, but he didn't know that; like any other fanatic

Practical Darwinist, he had never bothered to learn the

capabilities of brainships.

 

Les took charge of him before he had a chance to say

anything; using some kind of commando-tactics to get

 

a hold on the man that immobilized him, then frog-

marching him into the ship.

 

By common consent, everyone else waited until Les

and Tia had secured Haakon-Fritz in one of her cabins,

with access to what was going on in the main cabin, but

no way of interrupting the proceedings. Any time he

started in on one of his speeches, she could cut him ofi^

and he'd be preaching to the bare walls.

 

As the others gathered in the cabin, Doctor Aspen

looking particularly shaken and worn, Tia prepared to

give them the news. It wasn't completely bad ... but

they weren't going to like part of it

 

"We aren't pulling you out," she said, "although

we've got that authority. We understand your concern

about leaving this dig and losing essentially two years,

and we share it."

 

As she watched four of the five faces register their

mix of relief and anticipation, she wished she could

give them unmixed orders.

 

"That's the good news," Alex said, before anyone

could respond. "Here's the bad news. In order to stay

here, we're going to order you to stay in your domes

until the next courier shows up with your new gener-

ator and parts for the old one. We ordered one for you

when the old one slagged; the courier should arrive in

about a month or two with the new one."

 

"But—" Doctor Aspen started to object

 

"Doctor, it's that, or we pull you right this moment,"

Tia said firmly. "We will not leave you with those canids

on the prowl unless you, each of you, pledge us that.

You didn't see how those beasts attacked Alex in his

sled. They have no fear of humans now, and they're

hungry. They'll attack you without hesitation, and I

wouldn't bet on them waiting until dark to do it."

 

"What's better?" Alex asked shrewdly. "Lose two

months of work, or two years?"

 

With a sigh, Doctor Aspen gave his word, as did the

 

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rest — although Fred and Aldon did so with visible

relief.

 

"If they'd just supply us with damned guns..." Les

muttered under his breath.

 

"There are sophonts on the other continent. 1 didn't

make the rules, Les," Tia replied, and he flushed. "I

didn't make them, but I will enforce them. And by the

letter of those rules, I should be ordering you to pack

right now."

 

"Speaking of packing — " Alex picked up the cue.

"We need you to bundle Haakon-Fritz* things and stow

them in the hold. He's coming back with us."

 

Now Les made no attempt to hide his pleasure, but

Doctor Aspen looked troubled. "I don't see any

reason — "he began.

 

"Sorry, Doctor, but we do," Alex interrupted.

"Haakon-Fritz finally broke the rules. It's pretty

obvious to both of us that he attempted to turn his

politics into reality."

 

In his cabin, the subject of discussion got over his shock

and began a shouted tirade. As she had threatened, Tia cut

him off— but she kept the recorders going. At the

moment, they couldn't prove what had been on die man's

mind when he locked his colleagues out With any luck, his

own words mightcondemn him.

 

"Doctor, no matter what his motivations were, he

abandoned us," Les said firmly. "One more fighter

might have made a difference to the pack — and the

feet remains that when he reached shelter, instead of

doing anything helpful, he ran inside and locked the

door. The former might only have been cowardice —

but the latter is criminal."

 

"That's probably the way the Board of Inquiry will

see it," Tia agreed. "We'll see to it that he has justice,

but he can't be permitted to endanger anyone else's life

this way again."

 

After a bit more argument, Doctor Aspen agreed.

 

team left the shelter of the ship, gathered what

they could from the dig, and returned to the domes.

Well before sunset, Les and Fred returned with a grav-

sled laden with Haakon-Fritz' belongings stowed in

crates — and by the rattling they were making, the

goods hadn't been stowed any too carefully.

 

Ha didn't intend to expend too much effort in stow-

ing the crates either.

 

"You'll keep everyone in the domes for us, won't

you?" Tia asked Les anxiously. "You're the one I'm

really counting on. I don't trust Doctor Aspen's com-

mon sense to hold his curiosity at bay for too long."

 

"You read him right there, dear lady," Les replied,

tossing the last of the crates off the sled for the servo to

pick up, "But the rest of us have already agreed. Tree!

was the most likely hold-out, but even she agrees with

you on your reading of the way those jackal-dogs were

acting."

 

"What will happen to the unfortunate Haakon-

Fritz?" Fred asked curiously.

 

"That's going to depend on the board," she told him,

"I've got a recording of him ranting in his cabin about

survival and obsolescence, and pretty much spouting

the extremist version of the Practical Darwinism party

line. That isn't going to help him any, but how much of

it is admissible, I don't know."

 

"Probably none of it to a court," Les admitted after

thought. "But the board won't like it"

 

"All of it's been sent on ahead," she told him. "Hell

probably be met by police, even if, ultimately, there's

nothing he can be charged with."

 

"At the very least, after this little debacle, he'll be

dropped from the list of possible workers for anything

less than a Class Three dig," Fred observed cheerfully.

"They'll take away his seniority, if they have any sense,

and demote him back to general worker. Hell spend the

rest ofhis life with us undeigrads, sorting pot-shards."

 

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Arme McCaffrey & Mercedes Lackey

 

"Assuming he can find anyone who is willing to take a

chance on him," Alex responded. "Which I would

make no bets on."

 

He patted Tia's side. "Just be grateful you're not

having to go back with us," he concluded. "If you

thought the trip out was bad with Haakon-Fritz sulk-

ing, imagine what it's going to be like returning."

 

CHAPTER SEVEN

 

There was a message waiting for Tia when they

returned to the main base at Central, with Doctor

Haakon-Fritz still confined to quarters. A completely

mysterious message. Just the words, "Call this num-

ber," a voice-line number for somewhere in the L-5

colonies, and an ID-code she recognized as being from

Lars.

 

Now what was Lars up to?

 

Puzzled, she left the message in storage until Alex

completed the complicated transfer of their not-quite-

prisoner, and accompanied him and duplicate copies of

the records involving him down to the surface. Only

then, when she was alone, did she make the call.

 

"Friesner, Sherman, Stirling and Huff," said a

secretary on the first ring. There was no delay, so Tia

assumed that the office was somewhere in one of the

half-dozen stations or L-5 colonies nearby. "Invest-

ment brokers."

 

"I was told to call this number," Tia said cautiously. "I

— my name is Hypatia Cade — " She hesitated as she

almost gave her ship-numbers instead of her name.

 

"Ah, Miz Cade, of course," the secretary said, sound-

ing pleased. "We've been waiting for you to call. Let me

explain the mystery; Friesner, Sherman, Stirling and

Huff specialize in investments for shellpersons like

yourself. A Mister Lars Mendoza at Pride of Albion

opened an account for you here to manage the invest-

ments you had already made. If you'll hold, I'll see if

one of the partners is free — "

 

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Tia hated to be put on hold, but it wasn't for more

than a microsecond. "Miz Cade," said a hearty-sound-

ing male voice, "I'm Lee Stirling; I'm your broker if

you want to keep me on, and I have good news for you.

Your investments at Largo Draconis have done very

well. Probably much better than you expected."

 

"I don't know about that," she replied, letting a litde

humor leak through. "My expectations were pretty

high." There was something about that voice that

sounded familiar, but she couldn't identify it Was it an

accent—or rather, lack of one?

 

"But did you expect to triple your total investment?"

Lee Stirling countered. "Your little seed money grew

into quite the mighty oak tree while you were gone!*1

 

" Uh—" she said, taken so much by surprise that she

didn't know what to say. "What do you mean by total

investment?"

 

"Oh — your companies split their bonds two times

while you were gone; you had the option of cash or

bonds, and we judged you wanted the bonds, at least

while the value was still increasing." Stirling was trying

to sound matter-of-fact, but couldn't keep a trace of

gloating out of his voice. "Those bonds are now worth

three times what they were after the last split"

 

"Split?" she said faintly. "I — uh—really don't know

what that means. I'm—new at this."

 

Patiendy Stirling walked her through exacdy what

had happened to her investment "Now the question

you have in front of you is whether you want to sell out

now, while the value of the bond is still increasing, or

whether you want to wait."

 

"What's happening on Largo Draconis?" she asked.

After all, her investment had been based on what was

going to happen in the real world, not the strange and

unpredictable universe of the stock market And from

the little she had seen, the universe of the stock market

seemed to have very little to do with "real" reality.

 

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203

 

"I thought you'd ask that. Your companies have

nretty much saturated their market," Stirling told her.

"The situation has stabilized —just short of disaster,

thanks to them. The bond prices are going up, but a lot

more slowly. I think they're going to flatten out fairly

soon. I'd get out, if I were you."

 

"Doit," she said flady. "I'd like you to put everything

I earned into Moto-Prosthetics, preferred stock, with

voting rights. Hold onto the seed money until I contact

 

H

 

you.

 

"Taking care of it now — there. All logged in,

Hypatia. I'm looking forward to seeing what you're

going to invest in next." Stirling sounded quite satis-

fied. "I hope you'll stay with us. We're a new firm, but

we're solid, we have a lot of experience, and we intend

to service our clients with integrity. Miz Friesner was

formerly a senior partner in Weisskopf, Dixon, Fries-

ner and Jacobs, and the rest of us were her handpicked

proteges. She's our token softie."

 

"Token — oh! You're all — "

 

"Shellpersons, right, all except Miz Friesner. Oh, we

all worked on the stock, bond, and commodity ex-

changes, but as systems managers. We couldn't do any

investments while we were systems managers, but Miz

Friesner agreed to join us when we bought out our

contracts." Stirling chuckled. "We've been planning

this for a long time. Now we're relying on grapevine

communications within the shell-net for those like us

who want to invest, for whatever reasons—and would

rather not go through either their Counselors, then-

Supervisors, or their Advocates." He sent her a compli-

cated burst of emoticons conveying a combination of

disgust, weariness, annoyance, and impatience. "We

are adults, after all. We can think for ourselves. Just

because we're rooted to one spot or one structure, it

doesn't follow that all of us need keepers."

 

She sent back a burst that mirrored his—with the

 

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Anne McCaffrey fcf Mercedes Lackey

 

addition of amusement. "Some of us do — but not

anyone who's been out in the world for more than fifty

years or so, 7 wouldn't think. Well, 111 tell a couple of

friends of mine about you, that's for certain."

 

"Word of mouth, as I said." Stirling laughed. "I have

to tell you, after that phenomenal start, we're all very

interested in your next investment choice."

 

Til have it in a couple of days at most," she

promised, and signed off.

 

Well, now it was certainly time to start digging for

that second choice, and she couldn't hope to happen

on it the way she had the last time.

 

This time, it was going to take a combination of

stupidity on someone's part, and her own computa-

tional power. So she concentrated on sorting out those

colonies that had been in existence for less than a

hundred years. It was probably fair to assume that any-

thing repetitive that she would be able to take

advantage of would have to take place within that kind

of cycle.

 

That narrowed the field quite a bit — but it meant

that she was going to have to concentrate her search by

catagories. Floods were the first things that came to

mind, so she called up geological and climatological

records on all of her candidates and ran a search for

flood patterns.

 

Meanwhile she and Alex were also dealing with the

authorities on the Haakon-Fritz case — which looked

likely to put the Practical Darwinists out of business, at

least with the general public — and the Institute in

regards to resupply. Tia was determined not to leave

port this time without that ethological tagging kit Alex

was tired of dealing with each crisis barehanded.

 

He demanded a supply of firearms — locked up

until authorized if necessary, but he wanted to have

something to enforce his decisions or to defend himself

and others.

 

THE SHIP WHO SEARCHED

 

205

 

"What if Haakon-Fritz had gone berserk?" he asked.

"What if those canids had been more aggressive?"

 

Courier Services was agreeable, but the Institute was

fighting him; their long-time policy of absolute

pacifism was in direct conflict with any such demand.

The ban was clear; on any site where there were near-

by sophonts with an Iron Age civilization or above —

and "nearby" meant on the same continent — ab-

solutely no arms were to be permitted in association

with any Institute personnel, not even those under

contract And since the couriers hit at least one dig on

every run that came under the ban, they were not

allowed any weaponry at any time. Tia backed her

brawn, and she was lobbying with CS and the Lab

Schools to help. After all, her well-being was partially

dependent on his. The Institute, on the other hand,

was balking because there were those who would take

the presence of even small arms on board the courier

in the worst possible interpretation.

 

Tia could see their point — but Institute couriers

were the only ones not carrying some kind of hand

weaponry. They were likely at any time to run into

smugglers, who absolutely would be armed. If CS made

a ruling on the subject, there would be no way the

Institute could get around it

 

Meanwhile, on the subject of Haakon-Fritz, things

were definitely heating up. The recordings of his

Olympic sprint to shelter had somehow gotten leaked

to the media — fortunately, long after Tia had locked

down her copies — along with the following recording

of Alex's heroic dash to the rescue via grav-sled. Alex

was a minor celebrity for a day — but he successfully

avoided the media, and they soon grew tired of his self-

deprecating attitude, and his refusal to make himself

photogenic. Haakon-Fritz did not avoid the media, he

sought them out — and he became everyone's favorite

villain. The Institute could not keep the incident quiet

 

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Anne McCaffrey 6? Mercedes Lackey

 

The Practical Darwinists came to their proponent's res-

cue, and only made things worse with their public

statements of support and their rhetoric. People did

not care to hear that they were weaklings, failures, and

ought to be done away with for the good of the race. It

began to look as if there was going to be a public trial,

no matter how hard the Institute tried to avoid one.

 

It was on the eve of that trial that Tia finally found

her next investment project.

 

In the Azteca system, the third planet — predictably

Terran — known as Quetzecoad,

 

Interstellar Teleson, one of the major communica-

tions firms in their quadrant with cross-contracts and

reciprocal agreements across known space, had just

relocated their sector corporate headquarters on Quet-

zecoad. The location had a great deal to be said for it—

central, in the middle of a stable continental plate, good

climate. That, however, was not why they had relocated

there.

 

It was one of those secretly negotiated High Family

contracts, and Tia had no doubt that there was a lot

more at stake than just the area. Someone owed some-

one else a favor — or else someone wanted something

else kept quiet, and this was the price.

 

She was doubly sure when the location came up red-

flagged on her geological search. According to the survey

records, that lovely, flat plain was a flood basin. Quet-

zecoad did not have die kind of eccentric orbit that Largo

Draconis did —just a little tilt. One that didn't affect

anyone in the major setdements at all. But once every

hundred years, that tilt angled the north pole into the solar

plane tor a bit longer than usual. The glaciers would start

to melt The plain below wouldn't exactly "flood"—or at

least, notall at once. It would just get very, very soggy, slow-

ly — then, when the spring rains came, the water would

rise over the course of a week or two. Eventually the entire

plain would be under about two inches of water, and

 

THESHIP WHO SEARCHED

 

207

 

^ould remain that way for about three years, gradually

drying again for the fourth as the glaciers in die north

 

grew.

 

But Interstellar Teleson's Corporate Standards dic-

tated that the most sensitive records and delicate

instruments, and all their computer equipment, be

installed permanently in sub-basements no less than

four stories below surface level, to avoid any possibility

of damage. Corporate Standards had been set to guard

against human interference, not nature's. Corporate

Standards evidently did not consider nature to be

important.

 

Whoever was in charge of this project apparently

completely disregarded the geological survey.

Engineers complained about seepage and warned of

flooding; the reaction was to order extra sump pumps.

Sump pumps were keeping the sub-basements

tolerably dry now, but Tia guessed that they were going

constantly just to keep up with ordinary groundwater.

They were not going to handle the flood.

 

Especially not when flood waters were seeping in

through the ground floor walls and creeping over the

doorsUls.

 

According to the meteorological data, the glaciers

were melting, and the spring rains were only a couple

of months away.

 

Meanwhile, half a continent away, there was a dis-

aster recovery firm that specialized in data and

equipment recovery. They advertised that they could

duplicate an existing system in a month, and recover

data from devices that had been immersed in saltwater

for over a year, or through major fires with extensive

smoke damage. Interstellar Teleson was going to need

them, and they didn't even know it. Besides, Tia liked

the name. Whoever these people were, they had one

heck of a sense of humor.

 

Chuckling to herself, Tia called Lee Stirling and

 

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THE SHIP WHO SEARCHED

 

209

 

made her investment — then sent out another care-

fully worded letter to Crash and Burn Data Recovery

Limited.

 

The public trial of Doctor Haakon-Fritz was a ten-

day circus — but by then, Tia and Alex had for more

serious things on their minds and no time to waste on

trivialities.

 

Tia's recordings — both at the site and in the main

cabin — were a matter of public record now, and that

was the only stake they had in the trial. The Institute

only wanted to keep from looking too foolish. In return

for the supply of small arms Alex demanded, they

asked that he not testify at the trial, since anything he

could say would only corroborate those records. They

both knew what the Institute people were thinking:

records were one thing, but a heroic participant, who

just might sound impassioned — no, that was some-

thing they didn't want to see. He was willing — he

reckoned it was a small price to pay. Besides, there was

little he could add, other than becoming another

source of media attention.

 

So while the media gathered, the quiet Institute

lawyers and spokesmen tried to downplay the entire

incident, Alex got his arms-locker, and Tia her

ethological kit as the price for their non-participation.

And as they prepared to head out on a new round of

duties, there came an urgent message.

 

The Institute contract was on hold; CS had another

use for them as the only B B ship on base.

 

And they suddenly found themselves, not only with

a new agenda — but an entirely new employer.

 

"Kenny, what is all this about?" Tia asked, when the

barrage of orders and follow-up orders concluded,

leaving them with a single destination, an empty flight

plan, and a "wait for briefing" message. So here they

 

ere docked with the Pride of Albion, and the briefing

orgs corning from Doctor Kennet Uhua-Sorg.

 

"This," Doctor Kennet replied, grimly, sending the

ijve-cam view of one of the isolation rooms.

 

Alex gasped. Tia didn't blame him.

 

The view that Doctor Kennet gave them of this, the

pride of Albion's newest isolation patient, was blessedly

brief- It had been a human at one point Now it was a

humanoid-shaped mass of suffering. Somewhere in

the mass of open sores were eyes, a mouth, a face.

Those had been hands, once—and feet

 

Tia was the first to recover. "Who is that," she asked

sharply, "and what happened to him?"

 

-Who — we don't know," Kenny replied, his face

completely without expression. "He was from a tramp

freighter that left him when he didn't get aboard by lift-

off time. We don't know if they expected something like

this, or if they were just worried because one of their

bogus crew turned up missing, but they burned out of

Yamahatchi Station with a speed that simply didn't

match their rather shabby exterior. He was under false

papers, of course — and there isn't enough of his

fingers or retinas left to identify him. And unless he's

ever been a murder or crime-of-violence suspect, his

DNA patterns could take years to match with his birth-

records."

 

Alex nodded. It wouldn't have been too difficult to

deduce his ship; anyone logging into a station hostel or

hotel had to list his ship-of-origin as well as filing his

papers. That information was instandy cross-checked

with the ship; the ship had to okay the crewman's ID

before he would be allowed to check in. Passengers, of

course, used an entirely separate set of hotels.

 

"That kind of speed probably means a pirate or a

smuggler," Alex said.

 

"I don't think there's much doubt of that," Kenny

replied. "Well, when his logged time at the cheap hostel

 

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THE SHIP WHO SEARCHED

 

211

 

he'd checked into ran out, they opened the door to his

room — found that — and very wisely slammed the

door and reported him."

 

"What about the hostel personnel?" Tia asked.

 

"We have them all in isolation, but so far, thank the

deity of your choice, none of them are showing any

signs of infection."

 

"For which favor, much thanks," Alex muttered.

 

*Just what is it that he's got?" Tia asked, keeping her

voice even and level.

 

Kenny shrugged. "Another plague with no name.

Symptoms are simple enough. Boils which become

superrating sores that seem to heal only to break open

again. A complex of viruses and bacteria, reinforced

with modified immune deficiency syndrome. So far, no

cure. Decontamination sterilized the hostel room com-

pletely, and we haven't seen anyone else come down

with this thing. And, thank the spirits of space, once he

checked into the hostel, door records show he never

left his room."

 

"There is no reason for a pirate to come down with

something like that," Tia pointed out, "but an artifact

smuggler—"

 

"Precisely why I asked for you two," Kenny replied,

"and precisely why the Institute loaned you to us. Oh,

Alex, in case you wondered, I'm in this because, despite

my specialty, I seem to have become the expert in dis-

eases associated with archeology."

 

Alex cast an inquiring glance at her column. Tia

knew what he was asking. Could this be the same dis-

ease their mysterious "Sinor" had told them about?

Could it be that the man had given them a true story,

though not his true name?

 

She printed her answer under Dr. Kenny's image.

It's a coincidence. Not the same as Smor's phony plague — he

would have been frantic if he truly had this to contend with.

 

He signaled his question with his eyes. Why?

 

deficiency. Contact or airborne. Think about it.

 

His eyes widened, and he nodded, slowly. The

nightmare that had haunted the human world since

the twentieth century; the specter of an immune

deficiency disease communicated by an airborne or

sjjnple-contact vector. No one wanted to think about it,

yet in the minds of anyone connected to the medical

professions, it was an ever-present threat.

 

"You two are a unique combination that I think has

the best chance to track this thing to its source," Kenny

said. "Medical Services will have more than one team

on this — but you're the only BB team available. The

Institute doesn't want any of their people to stumble on

the plague the hard way, so they subcontracted you to

Medical for the duration. I'm delegating the planning

of search patterns to you. Got any ideas on how to

start?"

 

"Right," Alex replied. "Then if that's what you want,

let's do this the smart way, instead of the hard way. First

off, what's the odds this could have come off a derelict

—station or ship—out in hard vacuum?"

 

"Odds? Not likely. Hard vacuum kills all of the bugs

involved. That does eliminate anything like an asteroid

or EsKay situation though, doesn't it?" Kenny looked

fairly surprised, as well as pleased. "Let me get Lars in

on this, he's been monitoring the poor devil."

 

It took a few moments for Lars to clear his boards

enough to have attention to devote to a vocal circuit

During that time, Tia thought of a few questions she'd

like to ask.

 

"Lars, has he said anything?" she asked, as soon as

Lars joined the conference call. "Something that could

give us clues?"

 

"Ravings mostly — do you think you can get any-

thing out of that?" Lars sounded fairly dubious. "It's

not as if he was an astrogator or anything. Mostly he's

been yammering on about the weather, besides the

 

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THE SHIP WHO SEARCHED

 

213

 

usual; either pain and hallucinations, or about

treasure and gold."

 

"The weather?" Tia responded immediately. "What

about it?"

 

"Here, I'll give you what I've got — cleaned up so

you can understand it, of course."

 

A new voice came over the circuit; harsh, with a gut-

tural accent. "Treasure... gold ... never saw s'much.

Piles'n'piles ... no moon, frag it, how c'n a guy see

anythin'.,. anythin' out there. No moon. Dark 'sa

wormhole. Crazy weather. Nothin' but crazy

weather ... snow, rain, snow, sleet, mud — how ya

s'pposed t' dig this stuffup in this?"

 

"That's basically it," Lars said, cutting the recording

off. "He talks about treasure, moonless, dark nights,

and crazy weather."

 

"Why not assume he's complaining about where he

was? Put that together with an atmosphere and — ?"

Tia prompted. "What do you get?"

 

"Right. Possible eccentric orbit, probably extreme

tilt, third-in Terra-type position, and no satellites."

Lars sounded pleased. "I'll get Survey on it."

 

"What about the likely range of the ship that left

him?" Tia asked. "Check with CenSec and Military; the

docks at Yamahatchi had to have external specs and so

forth on that ship. What kind of fuel did they take on, if

any? Docks should have external pictures. Military

ought to be able to guess at the range, based on that.

That should give us a search area."

 

"Good." Kenny made notes. "I've got another range

— how long it probably took for our victim to come

down with the disease once he was infected. Combine

that one with yours, and we should have a sphere

around Yamahatchi."

 

"Kenny, he couldn't possibly have shown any

symptoms while he was in space — they'd have pitched

him out the airlock," Tia pointed out. "That means he

 

probably went through incubation while they were in

pTL and only showed symptoms once they hit port."

 

"Right. I'll have that calculated for you and get you

the survey records for that sphere, then it'll be up to

you and the other teams." Kenny signed off, and Alex

swiveied his chair to face Tia's column.

 

"There's an information lag for that area," Alex

pointed out. "Yamahatchi is on the edge of known

space. Survey is still working out there — except for

really critical stuff, it's going to take weeks, months,

even years for information to make it here. We need a

search net, not just a couple of search teams."

 

"So — how about if we have Kenny call in not just

Medical Services, but Decontamination?" she asked.

"They don't have any BB teams either, but they do

have the AI drones and the med teams assigned to

them. They can run the net as well as we can, Slower,

but that may not be so bad."

 

"I'll get on it," Alex replied instantly. "He can be

mobilizing every free ship and team they've got while

we compute the likely targets."

 

"And Intelligence!" she added, as Alex got back on

the horn with Kenny and his team. "Get Kenny to get

in touch with Intel, and have their people inside that

sphere be on the watch for more victims, rumors of

plague or of plague ships, or ships that have

mysteriously lost half their crews!"

 

That would effectively increase their available eyes

and ears a hundred-thousandfold.

 

"Or of ships that vanish and don't come into port,"

Alex said grimly. "Somewhere along the line that so-

called tramp freighter is going to do just that; go into

hyper and never come out again. Or come out and

drift with no hand on the helm."

 

Tia wished she could still shiver; as it was, she felt

rather as if her hull temperature had just dropped to

absolute zero.

 

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THESHIP WHO SEARCHED

 

215

 

No computer could match the trained mind for

being able to identify or discard a prospect with no data

other than the basic survey records. Alex and Tia each

took cone-shaped segments of the calculated sphere

and began running their own kind of analysis on the

prospects the computer search came up with.

 

Some were obvious; geologic instability that would

uncover or completely bury the caches unpredictable

Weather that did not include snow, weather that did

not include rain. Occupied planets with relatively thick

settlements, or planets with no continents, only tiny

island chains.

 

Some were not so obvious. Terrain with no real

landmarks or landmarks subject to change. Terrain

with snow and rain, but with snow piling up twelve feet

thick in the winter; too deep to dig in. The original

trove must have been uncovered by accident — per-

haps during the construction of a rudimentary base—

or by someone just outside, kicking around dirt.

 

Places with freelance mining operations were on the list;

agri-colonies weren't Places marked by the Institute for

investigation were, places with full Institute teams weren't.

While Tia would not have put it past someone with

problems to sell out to smugglers, she didn't think that

they'd care to cover up a contagious disease this hideous.

 

As soon as they finished mapping a cone, it went

out to a team to cover. They had another plan in mind

for themselves: covering free-trade ports, looking for

another victim. They could cover the ports a lot faster

than any of the AI or softperson-piloted ships; the

only one fester would have been someone with a Sin-

gularity Drive. Since those were all fully occupied —

and since, as yet, they had only one victim and not a

full-scale plague in progress — there was no chance

of getting one reassigned to this duty. So AH One-Oh-

Three-Three would be doing what it could — and

 

trying to backtrack the "freighter" to its origin point.

They were running against the clock, and everyone

on the project knew it. If this disease got loose in a

jajve, space-going population, the chances of checking

it before millions died were slender.

 

"Alex," Tia called for the third time, raising the

volume of her voice a little more. This time he

answered, even though he didn't turn his dark-circled

eyes away from his work.

 

"What, m'love?" he said absently, his gaze glued to a

topographical map on the screen before him, despite

the feet that he could hardly keep his eyes open.

 

She overrode the screen controls, blanking the one

in front of him. He blinked and turned to stare at her

with weary accusation.

 

"Why did you do that?" he asked. "I was right in the

middle of studying the geography — "

 

"Alex!" she said with exasperation. "You hadn't

changed the screen in half an hour; you probably

hadn't really looked at it in all that time. Alex, you

haven't eaten anything in over six hours, you haven't

slept in twenty, and you haven't bathed or changed your

clothes in forty-eight!"

 

He rubbed his eyes and peered up at the blank

screen. "I'm fine," he protested feebly.

 

"You're not," she countered. "You can hardly hold

your head up. Look at your hand shake! Coffee is no

substitute for sleep!"

 

He clenched his Fist to stop the trembling of his

hand. "I'm fine," he repeated, stubbornly.

 

She made a rude noise and flashed her screens at

him, so that he winced. "There, see? You can't even

control your reactions. If you don't eat, you'll get sick, if

you don't sleep, you'll miss something vital, and if you

don't bathe and change your clothes I'm turning you

over to Decontam."

 

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Anne McCaffrey & Mercedes Lackey

 

"All right, love, all right," he sighed, reaching over

and patting her column. "Heat me up something; m

be in the galley shortly."

 

"How shortly?" she asked sharply.

 

"As long as it takes for a shower and fresh dothes." He

pried himself up out of his chair and stumbled for his

room. A moment later, she heard the shower running _

and when she surreptitiously checked, she discovered

that as she had suspected, he was running it on cold.

 

Trying to wake up, hmm? Not when I want you to relax,

She overrode the controls — not bringing it all the way

up to blood-heat, but enough that he wasn't standing

in something one degree above sleet. It must have

worked; when he stumbled out into the galley, freshly

clothed, he was yawning.

 

She fed him food laden with tryptophane; he was too

tired to notice. And even though he punched for it, he

got no coffee, only relaxing herbal teas.

 

He patted her auxiliary console — this time as if he

were patting someone's hand to get her attention. He'd

been doing that a lot, lately — that and touching her

column like the arm of an old and dear friend. "Tia,

love, don't you realize we're almost dirough with this?

Two cones to go—three if you count the one I'm work-

ing on now— "

 

"Which I can finish," she said firmly. "I don't need to

eat, and I only need three hours of DeepSleep in twen-

ty-four. Yes, I knew. But you aren't going to get teams

out there any faster by killing yourself— and if you

work yourself until you're exhausted, you are going to

miss what might be the important due."

 

"But—** he protested, and was stopped by a yawn.

 

"No objections," she replied. "I can withhold the

data, and I will. No more data for another eight hours.

Consider the boards locked, brawn. I'm overriding

you, and if I have to, I'll get Medical to second me."

 

He was too tired to be angry, too tired even to object

 

THE SHIP WHO SEARCHED

 

217

 

In the past several days he had averaged about four

hours in each sleep period, with nervous energy

waking him long before he should have reawakened.

But the strain was taking its toll. She had the feeling he

was going to get that eight solid hours this time,

whether or not he intended to.

 

"You aren't going to accomplish anything half-

conscious," she reminded him. "You know what they

say in the Academy; do it right, or don't do it"

 

"I give up." He threw his hands up in the air and

shook his head. "You're too much for me, lover."

 

And with that, he wandered back into his cabin and

fell onto his bunk, still fully clothed. He was asleep the

moment he was prone.

 

She did something she had never done before; she

continued to watch him through her eye in his cabin,

brooding over him, trying to understand what had

been happening over the past several days.

 

She had forgotten that she was encased in a column,

not once, but for hours at a time. They had talked and

acted like — like ordinary people, not like brain and

brawn. Somehow, during that time, the unspoken,

unconscious barriers between them had disappeared.

 

And he had called her "love" or "lover" no less than

three times in the past ten minutes. He'd been calling

her by that particular pet name quite a bit

 

He had been patting her console or column quite a

bit, these past few days — as if he were touching

someone's hand to gain attention, soothe, or

emphasize a point.

 

She didn't think he realized that he was doing either

of those things. It seemed very absentminded, and very

natural. So she wasn't certain what to make or think of

it all. It could simply be healthy affection; some people

used pet names very casually. Up until now, Alex

hadn't, but perhaps until now he hadn't felt comfort-

able enough with her to do so. How long had they

 

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219

 

known each other anyway? Certainly not more than a

few months—even though it felt like a lifetime.

 

No, she told herself firmly. It doesn't mean a thing. Htfs

just finaUy gotten to know me well enough to bring all kis bar-

riers down.

 

But the sooner they completed their searches and

got out into space again, the sooner things would go

back to normal.

 

Let's see if I can't do two of those three cones before he wakes

tip....

 

Predictably, the port that the mysterious tramp

freighter had filed as its next port of call did not have

any record of it showing up. Tia hadn't really expected

it to; these tramps were subject to extreme changes of

flight plan, and if it had been a smuggler, it certainly

wouldn't log where it expected to go next.

 

She just hoped that it had foiled to show up because

the captain had lied—and not because they were drift-

ing out in space somewhere. She let Alex do all the

talking; he was developing a remarkable facility for

playing a part and very cleverly managed to tell the

absolute truth while conveying an impression that was

entirely different from the whole truth.

 

In this case, he left the station manager with the

impression that he was an agent for a collection agency

— one that meant to collect the entire ship, once he

caught up with it

 

Alex shut down the com to die station manager, and

turned his chair to face her screen and the plots of

available destinations.

 

"How do you do that?" she asked, finally. "How do

you make them think something entirely different

from the real truth?"

 

He laughed, while she pulled up the local map and

projected it as a holographic image. "I've been in

theater groups for as long as I can remember, once I

 

sot into school. My other hobby, the one I never took too

Seriously, even though they said I was pretty good. I

iust try to imagine myself as the person I want to be,

and figure out what of the truth fits that image."

 

"Well," she said, as they studied the ship's possible

destinations, "if I were a smuggler, where would I go?"

 

"Lermontov Station, Presley Station, Korngold Sta-

tion, Tung Station," he said, ticking them off on his

fingers. "They might turn up elsewhere, but the rest all

have Intel people on them; we'll know if they hit

there."

 

"Provided whoever Intel has posted there is worth

his paycheck. Why Presley Station?" she asked. "That's

just an asteroid-mining company headquarters."

 

"High Family in residence," he replied, leaning back

in his chair, and lacing his fingers behind his head.

"Money for valuable artifacts. Miners with money —

and not all of them are rock-rats."

 

"I thought miners were all—well, fairly crude," she

replied.

 

He shook his head. "Miners are people, and there

are all kinds out there. There are plenty of miners

looking to make a stake — and some of them outfit

their little tugs in ways that make a High Family yacht

look plain. They have money for pretties, and they don't

much care where the pretty came from. And one more

thing; the Presley-Lee y Black consortium will buy ore

hauls from anyone, including tramp prospectors, so

we have a chance that someone may actually stumble

on the trove itself. We can post a reward notice there,

and it'll be seen."

 

"Along with a danger warning," she told him. al only

hope these people believe it. Lermontov first, then

Tung, then Presley?"

 

"Your call, love," he replied comfortably, sending a

carefully worded notice to the station newsgrid. They

didn't want to cause a panic, but they did want people

 

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to turn in any due to the whereabouts of the freighter

And they didn't want anyone infected along the way. So

the news notice said that the ship in question might

have been contaminated with Anthrax Three, a

serious, but not fetal, variant of old Terran anthrax.

 

He finished posting his notice, and turned back to

her. "You're the pilot I'mjust along for the ride."

 

"It's the most efficient vector," she replied, logging

her flight plan with Traffic Control. "Three days to

Lermontov, one to Tung, a day and a half to Presley."

 

Despite Alex's disclaimer that he was only along for

the ride, the two of them did not spend the three days

to Lermontov idle. Instead, they sifted through all the

reports they'd gotten so far from the other teams, look-

ing for clues or hints that their mystery ship could have

made port anywhere else. Then, when they hit Ler-

montov, Alex went hunting on-station.

 

This time his cover was as a shady artifact dealer;

looking for entire consignments on die cheap. There

were plenty of people like him, traders with negotiable

ethics, who would buy up a lot of inexpensive artifacts

and forge papers for them, selling them on the open

market to middle-class collectors who wanted Co have

something to impress their friends and bosses with

their taste and education. Major pirates wouldn't deal

with them — at least, not for tike really valuable things.

But crewmen, who might pick up a load of pottery or

something else not worth the bigger men's time, would

be only too happy to see him. In this case, it was for-

tunate that Tia's hull was that of an older model

without a Singularity Drive; she looked completely

nondescript and a little shabby, just the sort of thing

such a man would lease for a trip to the Fringe.

 

Lermontov was a typical station for tramp freighters

and ships of dubious registration. Not precisely a pirate

station, since it was near a Singularity, it still had station

managers who looked the other way when certain

 

of ships made port, docks that accepted cash in

advance and didn't inquire too closely into papers, and

a series of bars and restaurants where deals could be

made with no fear of recording devices.

 

That was where Alex went — wearing one of his

neon outfits. Tia was terrified that he would be recog-

nized for what he was, but there was nothing she could

do about it. He couldn't even wear a contact-button;

the anti-surveillance equipment in every one of those

dives would short it out as soon as he crossed the

threshold. She could only monitor the station

newsgrids, look for more clues about "their" ship, and

hope his acting ability was as good as he thought it was.

 

Alex had learned the trick of drinking with someone

when you wanted to stay sober a long time ago. All it

took was a little sleight of hand. You let the quarry

drain his drink, switch his with yours, and let him drain

the second, then call for another round. After three

rounds, he wouldn't even notice you weren't drinking,

particularly not whenyou were buying the drinks.

 

Thank the spirits of space for a MedService credit account.

 

He started out in the "Pink Comet," whose neon

decorations more than outmatched his jumpsuit He

learned quickly enough there that the commodities he

wanted weren't being offered — although the rebuff

was friendly enough, coming from the bartender after

he had already stood the whole house a round. In feet,

the commodities being offered were more in the line of

quasi-legal services, rather than goods. The bartender

didn't know who might have what he wanted—but he

knew who would know and sent Alex on to the "Rim-

runners."

 

Several rounds later, he suffered through a comical

interlude where he encountered someone who

thought he was buying feelie-porn and sex-droids, and

another with an old rock-rat who insisted that what he

 

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THE SHIP WHO SEARCHED

 

223

 

wanted was not artifacts but primitive art "There's HQ

money in them arty-facts no more," the old boy in,

sisted, banging the table with a gnarled fist. "Then

accountants don't want arty-facts, the damn market's

gotg&tiad with 'em! I'mtellin'ya—primy-tiveaitisthe

next thing!"

 

It took Alex getting the old sot drunk to extract him-

self from the man — which might have been what the

rock-rat intended in the first place. By then he dis-

covered that the place he really wanted to be was the

"RockwalL"

 

In the "RockwalT he hit paydirt, all right — but not

precisely what he had been looking for.

 

The bar had an odd sort of quiet ambience; a no-

nonsense non-human bartender, an unobtrusive

bouncer who outweighed Alex by half again his own

weight, and a series of little enclosed table-nooks where

the acoustics were such that no sound escaped the table

area. Lighting was subdued, the place was immacu-

lately dean, the prices not outrageously inflated.

Whatever deals went on here, they were discrete.

 

Alex made it known to the bartender what he was

looking for and took a seat at one of the tables. In short

order, his credit account had paid for a gross of Betari

funeral urns, twenty soapstone figurines of Rg*kedan

snake-goddesses, three exquisite Utde crystal Kanathi

skulls that were probably worth enough that the

Institute and Medical would forgive him anything else

he bought, and — of all bizarre things to see out here

—a Hopi kachina figure of Owl Dancer from okl Terra

herself. The latter was probably stolen from another

crewman; Alex made a promise to himself to find the

owner and get it back to him — or her. It was not an

artifact as such, but it might well represent a precious

bit of tribal heritage to someone who was so far from

home and tribe that the loss of this kachina could be a

devastating blow.

 

His credit account had paid for these things — but

hose he did business with were paid in cash. Simply

nough done, as he discovered at the first transaction,

The seller ordered a "Rock'n'Run" — the bartender

came to the table with a cashbox. Alex signed a credit

chit for the amount of sale plus ten percent to the bar;

the bartender paid the seller. Everyone was happy.

 

He'd spoken with several more crewmen of various

odd ships, prompting, without seeming to, replies con-

cerning rumors of disease or of plague ships. He got

old stories he'd heard before, the Betan Dutchman, the

Hamecwwng, the Alice Bee. All ships and tales from pre-

vious decades; nothing new.

 

He stayed until closing, making the bartender

stretch his "lips" in a cheerful "smile" at the size of the

bills he was paying — and making the wait-beings

argue over who got to serve him next with the size of

his rips. He had remembered what Jon Chernov had

told him once about Intel people: They have to account

for every half-credit they spend, so they're as tightfisted as a cor-

porate accountant at tax time. If you're ever domg Intel work,

be a big spender. They'll never suspect you. And better a docked

paycheckfor overspending than a last look at the business end

of a needier.

 

Just before closing was when the Quiet Man came in,

As unobtrusive as they came, Alex didn't realize the man

was in the bar until he caught a glimpse of him talking

with the bartender. And he didn't realize that he was

coming towards Alex's table until he was standing there,

 

"I understand you're buying things," the Quiet Man

breathed. "I have some — things."

 

He opened his hand, briefly, to display a miniature

vase or bottle, a lovely thing with a rainbow sheen and a

style that seemed oddly familiar, although Alex

couldn't place it As if one had fused Art Nouveau with

Salvadore Dali, it had a skewed but fascinating

sinuousity.

 

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"That's the sort of merchandise I'm interested in, afl

right," Alex said agreeably, as he racked his brain, trying

to place where he had seen a piece like it before. "The

trouble is, it looks a little expensive for my pocket."

 

The Quiet Man slid in opposite Alex at a nod. "Not as

expensive as you think," the Quiet Man replied. "The

local market's glutted with this stuff." The Quiet Man's

exterior matched his speech; gray jumpsuit, pale skin,

colorless eyes and hair, features that were utterly

average. "I have about a hundred litde pieces like this

and I haven't been able to unload them, and that's a feet"

 

"I appreciate your honesty," Alex told him, allowing

his surprise to show through.

 

The Quiet Man shrugged. "You'd find it out sooner or

later. The bosses only wanted the big stuff. Some of the

other guys took jewelry; I thought they were crazy, since

it was only titanium, and the pieces weren't comfortable

to wear and a litde flimsy. But some of the earlier crews

must have brought back these perfume bottles, because I

haven't been able to dump even one. I was hoping if you

were buying for another sector, you'd be interested. I can

give you a good deal on the lot."

 

"What land of a good deal?" Alex asked.

 

The Quiet Man told him, and they began their bar-

gaining. They ended it a good half hour after the bar

was officially closed, but since Alex was willingly paying

liquor prices for fruit juice — all that was legal after-

hours — the bartender was happy to have him there.

The staff cleaned up around them, until he and the

Quiet Man shook hands on the deal.

 

"These aren't exactly ancient artifacts," the Quiet

Man had admitted under pressure from Alex, "They

can be doctored to look like 'em with a little acid-bath,

though. They're — oh — maybe eight, nine hundred

years old. Come from a place colonized by one of the

real early human slowships; colony did aU right for a

while, then got religion and had themselves a religious

 

u wiped each other out until there wasn't enough to

be self-sustaining. We figured the last of them died out

maybe two hundred years ago. Religion. Go figure."

 

Alex eyed his new acquisition with some surprise.

"This's human-made? Doesn't look id"

 

The Quiet Man shrugged. "Beats me. Bosses said

the colonists were some kind of artsy-craftsy back-to-

nature types. Had this kind of offshoot of an

earth-religion with sacramental hallucinogenics

thrown in to make it interesting, until somebody

decided he was the next great prophet and half the

colony didn't see it that way. I mean, who knows with

that kind? Crazies."

 

"Well, I can make something up that sounds pretty

exotic," Alex said cheerfully. "My clients won't give a

damn. So, what do you want to do about delivery?"

 

"You hire a lifter and a kid from SpaceCaps," the

Quiet Man said instantly. "I'll do the same. They meet

here, tomorrow, at twelve-hundred. Your kid gives

mine the credit slip, mine gives yours the box. Make

the slip out to the bar, the usual."

 

Since that was exactly the kind of arrangement Alex

had made for the gross of funeral urns, with only the

time of delivery differing, he agreed, and he and the

Quiet Man left the bar and went their separate ways.

 

When he returned to the ship, he took the stairs

instead of the lift, still trying to remember where he had

seen the style of die tiny vase.

 

"You look cheerful!" Tia said, relief at his safe return

quite evident in her voice.

 

"I feel cheerful. I picked up some artifacts on the

black market that I'm sure the Institute will be happy to

have." He emptied his pockets of everything but the

"perfume bottle" and laid out his "loot" where Tia

could use her close-up cameras on the objects. "And

this, I suspect, is stolen — " He unwrapped the

kachina. "See if you can find the owner, will you?*1

 

226      Anne McCaffreytf Mercedes Lackey

 

"No problem," she replied absently. "I've been foU

lowing your credit chit all over the station; that's how I

figured out how to keep track of you. Alex, the two end

skulls are forgeries, but the middle one is real, and

worth as much as everything you spent tonight"

 

"Glad to hear it" He chuckled. "I wasn't sure what I

was going to say to the Institute and Medical if they

found out I'd been overtipping and buying rounds for

the housel All right, here's my final find, and I have a

load of them coining over tomorrow. Doyou remember

what the devil this is?"

 

He placed the warped litde vase carefully on the con-

sole. Tia made a strange litde inarticulate gargle.

 

"Alex!" she exclaimed. "That's one of Smor*s

 

artifacts!"

 

He slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand.

"Of course! That's why I couldn't remember what book

I'd seen it in! Spirits of space—Tia, I just made a deal

with the crewman of the ship that's running these

things in for a whole load of them! He said — and I

quote — 'the bosses only wanted the bigger stuff.1

They're not really artifacts, they're from some failed

human art-religious colony."

 

"I'm calling the contact number Sinor gave us," she

said firmly. "Keep your explanations until I get some-

one on the line."

 

Tia had been ready to start sending her servos to

pick lint out of the carpet with sheer nerves until she

figured out that she could trace Alex's whereabouts by

watching for his credit number in the station database.

She followed him to three different bars that way, wind-

ing up in one called "Rockwall," where he settled down

and began spending steadily. She called up the drink

prices there, and soon knew when he had made an

actual artifact purchase by the simple expedient of

which numbers didn't match some combination of the

 

THE SHIP WHO SEARCHED

 

227

 

drink prices. A couple of times the buys were obvious;

no amount of drinking was going to run up numbers

jjlte he'd just logged to his expense account

 

She had worried a litde when he didn't start back as

soon as the bar closed—but drinks kept getting logged

in, and she figured then, with a litde shiver of anticipa-

tion, that he must have gotten onto a hot deal.

 

When he returned, humming a little under his

breath, she knew he'd hit paydirt of some kind.

 

The artifacts he'd bought were enough to pacify the

Institute—but when he brought out the litde vase, she

thought her circuits were going to fry.

 

The thing's identification was so obvious to her that

she couldn't believe at first that he hadn't made the

connection himself. But then she remembered how fal-

lible sofiperson memory was....

 

Well, it didn't matter. That was one of the things she

was here for, after all. She grabbed a com circuit and

coded out the contact number Sinor had given her,

hoping it was something without too much of a lag time.

 

She could not be certain where her message went to

— but she got an answer so quickly that she suspected

it had to come from someone in the same real-space as

Lermontov. No visual coming through to them, of

course — which, if she still had been entertaining the

notion that this was really an Institute directive they

were following, would have severely shaken her con-

victions. But knowing it was probably the Drug

Enforcement Arm — she played along with the polite

fiction that the visual circuit on their end was mal-

functioning, and let Alex repeat the details of the deal

he had cut, as she offered only a close-up of the little

vase.

 

"Go through with it," their contact said, when Alex

was done. "You've done excellent work, and you'll be

getting that bonus. Go ahead and receive the consign-

ment; we'll take care of the rest and dear out the debits

 

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229

 

on that account for you. And don't worry; they'll never

know you weren't an ordinary buyer."

 

There was no mention of plague or any suggestions

that they should take precautions against contamina-

tion. Alex gave her a significant look,

 

"Very well, sir," he only said, with carefully formality.

"I hope we've accomplished something here for you."

 

"You have," the unknown said, and then signed off.

 

Alex picked up the little vase and turned it around

and around in his hands as he sat down in his chair and

put his feet up on the console. Tia made the arrange-

ments for the two messengers to come to the ship for

the credit chits and then to the bar for the pickups —

fortunately, not at the same time. That didn't take more

than a moment or two, and she turned her attention

back to Alex as soon as she was done.

 

"Was that stupid, dumb luck, coincidence, or were

we set up?" she asked suspiciously. "And where was that

agent? It sounded like he was in our back pocket!"

 

"I'm going to make some guesses," Alex said, care-

fully. "The first guess is that we did run into some plain

good luck. The Quiet Man had tried all the approved

outlets for his trinkets — oudets that the Arm doesn't

know about — and found them glutted. He was

desperate enough to try someone like me. I suspect his

ship pulls out tomorrow or the next day."

 

"Fine—but why go ahead and sell to you if he didn't

know you?" Tia asked.

 

"Because I was in the right bar, making all the right

moves, and I didn't act like the Arm or Intel." Alex

rubbed his thumb against the sides of the vase. "I was

willing to go through the barkeep to pay, which I don't

think Intel would do. I had the right 'feel,' and 1

suspect he was watching to see if any of his buddies got

picked up after they sold to me. And lastly, once again,

we were lucky. Because he doesn't know what his bosses

are using the phony artifacts for. He thought the worsr

 

that could happen is a wrist-slap and fine, for import-

ing art objects without paying customs duty on them."

 

"Maybe his bosses aren't using the artifacts for smug-

gling/ sne pointed out, thinking out all the

possibilities. "Maybe they are just passing them on to a

second party."

 

"In this station, that's very possible." Alex put the

vase down carefully. "At any rate, I think the Arm

suspected this duster of stations all along, and they've

got a ship out here somewhere — which is why we got

an answer so quickly. I thought that was a ship-contact

number when I saw it, but I didn't say anything."

 

"Hmm." Tia ran through all the things she would

have done next and came up with a possible answer.

"So now they just find the messenger that goes to

'RockwalT at noon from a ship that isn't ours, and tags

the ship for watching? Or is that too simple?"

 

Alex yawned and stretched. "Probably," he said,

plainly bored with the whole game now. "He probably

won't send the messenger from his ship. They'll do

their spy-work somehow; we just gave them what they

didn't have in the first place, a contact point. It's out of

our hands, which is just as well, since I'd rather not get

involved in a smuggler versus Intel shoot-out. I'm

tired"

 

"Then you should get some rest," she said immedi-

ately. "And get that jumpsuit out of my cabin before it

burns out my optics."

 

He laughed — but he also headed straight for his

bed.

 

Tia didn't even bother to wake her brawn as she

approached Presley Station and hailed their traffic

control. She expected the usual automated Al most

mining stations had; she got a human. Although it was

audio-only, there was no doubt that this was a real

human being and not an Al-augmented recording.

 

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Anne McCaffrey &? Mercedes Lackey

 

Because, from the strain in the voice, it was a very

nervous and unhappy human.

 

"AH-One-Oh-Three-Three, be advised we are under

a Code Five quarantine," the com officer said, with the

kind of hesitation that made her think he wasn't on a

microphone very often. "We can let you dock, and we

can refuel you with servos, but we can't permit you to

open your airlock. And we'd like you to move on to

some other station if you have the reserves."

 

He can't deny us docking under a Code Five, but he's

frightened. And he really wants us to go away.

 

Tia made a quick command decision. "Presley Sta-

tion, be advised that we are on assignment from

CenCom Medical. References coming now." She sent

over her credentials in a databurst. "We're coming in,

and we'd appreciate Presley Station's cooperation.

We'd like to be connected to your Chief Medical Officer

while we maneuver for docking, please."

 

"Uh — I — " There was a brief muttering, as if he was

speaking to someone else, then he came back on the mike.

"We can do that Stand by for docking instructions."

 

At that point the human left the com, and the Al took

over; she woke up Alex and briefed him, then gave him

a chance to get dressed and gulp some coffee while she

dealt with the no longer routine business of docking.

As she followed the AI's fairly simple instructions, she

wondered just what, exactly, was going on at Presley

Station.

 

Was this the start of the plague, or a false alarm?

 

Or—was this just one outbreak among many?

 

She waited, impatiently, for the com officer to return

online, while Alex gulped down three cups of coffee

and shook himself out of the fog of interrupted sleep. It

took forever, or at least it seemed that way.

 

Finally the com came alive again. "AH-One-Oh-

Three-Three, we have the Chief Medical Officer online

for you now." It was a different voice; one with more

 

THE SHIP WHO SEARCHED

 

231

 

authority. Before Tia could respond, both voice and

visual channels came alive, and she and Alex found

themselves looking into the face of a seriously

frightened man, a man wearing medical whites and the

insignia of a private physician.

 

"Hello?" the man said, tentatively. "You — you're

from MedServices? You don't look like a doctor."

 

"I'm not a doctor," Alex said promptly. "I've been

authorized by CenCom MedServices to investigate a

possible outbreak of a new infectious disease that

involves immune deficiency syndrome. We had reason

to believe that there's an infectious site somewhere in

this sphere, and we've been trying to track the path of

the last known victim."

 

There was no doubt about it; the doctor paled. "Let

me show you our patient," he whispered, and reached

for something below the screen. A second signal came

in, which Tia routed to her side screen.

 

The patient displayed suppurating boils virtually

identical to Kenny's victim; the only difference was that

this man was not nearly so far gone as the first one.

 

"Well, he matches the symptoms of the victim we've

been tracking," Alex said, calmly, while Tia made fran-

tic adjustments to her blood-chemistry levels to get her

heart calmed down, "I trust you have him in full isola-

tion and quarantine."

 

"Him and his ship," the doctor replied, visibly shak-

ing. "We haven't had any new cases, butdecom it, we

don't know what this is or what the vector is or—"

 

"I've got a contact number coming over to you right

now," Alex interrupted, typing quickly. "As soon as you

get off the line with me, get onto this line; it's a double-

bounce link up to MedServices and a Doctor Rennet

Uhua-Sorg. He's the man in charge of this; he has the

first case in his custody, and he'll know whatever there

is to know. What we'd like is this; we're the team in

charge of tracking this thing to its source. Do you know

 

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Anne McCaffreyf^ Mercedes Lackey

 

anything about where this patient came from, what he

was doing—"

 

"Not much," the doctor said, already looking

relieved at the idea that someone at CenCom was "in

charge" of this outbreak. Tia didn't have the heart to let

him know how little Kenny knew; she only hoped that

since they'd left, he'd come up with something more in

the way of a treatment. "He's a tramp prospector; he

came in here with a load we sealed off, and sick as a dog

— crawled into port under his own power, but he col-

lapsed on the dock as soon as he was out of the ship,

yelling for a medic. We didn't know he was sick when

we let him dock, of course — "

 

The man was babbling, or he wouldn't have let that

slip. Interstellar law decreed that victims of disease be

given safe harborage within quarantine, but Tia had

no doubt that if traffic control hadn't been an AI, the

prospector would have never gotten a berth. At best,

they would have denied him docking privileges; at

worst, they'd have sent a fighter out to blast him into

noninfectious atoms. She made a mental note to send

that information on to Kenny with their initial report

 

« — when he collapsed and one of the dockworkers

saw the sores, he hit the alarm and we sealed the dock

off, sent in a crew in decontam suits to get him and put

him into isolation. I sent off a Priority One to our PTA,

but it takes so long to get an answer from them—"

 

"Did he say where he thought he caught this?" Alex

said, interrupting him again.

 

The doctor shook his head. "He just said he was out

looking for a good stake when he stumbled across

something that looked like an interstellar rummage

sale, and he figures that was where he got hit- What he

meant by 'interstellar rummage sale' he won't say. Just

that it was a lot of 'stuff * he didn't recognize."

 

Well, that matched their guess as to the last victim.

 

"Can we talk to him?" Tia asked.

 

THE SHIP WHO SEARCHED

 

233

 

The doctor shrugged. "You can try. I'll give you

audiovisual access to the room. He's conscious and

coherent, but whether or not he'll be willing to tell you

anything, I can't say. He sure won't tell us much."

 

It was fairly obvious that he was itching to get to a

comset and get in contact with MedServices, thus, sym-

bolically at least, passing the problem up the line. If his

bosses cared about where the miner had picked up the

infection, they hadn't told him about it.

 

Not too surprising. He was a company doctor. He

was supposed to be treating execs for indigestion, while

his underlings patched up miners after bar fights and

set broken bones after industrial accidents. The worst

he was ever supposed to see was an epidemic of

whatever new influenza was going around. He was not

supposed to have to be dealing with a plague, at least,

not by his way of thinking. Traffic control was sup-

posed to be keeping plague ships from ever coming

near the station.

 

"Thanks for your cooperation, Doctor," Alex said

genially. "Get that link set up for us, if you would, and

we'll leave you to your work."

 

The doctor signed off— still without identifying

himself, not that Tia was worried. Her recordings were

enough for any legal purposes, and at this point, now

that he had passed authority on to them, he was a non-

entity. They didn't need to talk to him anymore. What

they needed was currently incarcerated in an isolation

room on that station — and they were going to have to

figure out how to get him to talk to them.

 

"Okay, Alex," she said when the screen was safely

blank. "You're a lot closer to being an expert on this

than I am. How do we get a rock-rat to tell us what we

want to know?"

 

"Hank, my name's Alex," the brawn said, watching

the screen and all the patient-status readouts

 

234

 

Anne McCaffrey & Merc&fa Lackey

 

alongside. "I'm a brawn from CS, on loan to Med-

Services; you'll hear another voice in a moment, and

that's my brainship, Tia."

 

"Hello, Hank," she said, very glad that she was safely

encased in her column with no reactions for Hank to

read. Alex was doing a good job of acting; one she knew

she would never be able to match. Just looking at Hank

made her feel — twitchy, shivery, and quite uncomfort-

able; sensations she hadn't known she could still have.

"I don't know if anyone bothered to tell you, but we

were sent out here because there's someone else with

what you've got; it's very contagious, and we're trying

to keep it from turning into a plague. Will you help

us?"

 

"Give him the straight story," Alex had said; Kenny had

agreed to that when they got hold of him, right after

the company doctor had called him. "There's no point in

trying to trick him. If he knows how bad off he is, he just might

be willing to cooperate."

 

The sores only grew worse when you bandaged

them, so Hank was lying in a gel-bed — a big pan fuU oi

goo, really, with a waterbed mattress beneath the goo.

Right now only the opaque green gel covering him was

keeping him from outraging modesty. The gel was a

burn-treatment, and something Kenny had come up

with for the other man. He was still alive, but no better

than when they had left. They still had no idea who or

what he was, besides horribly unlucky.

 

Hank peered up at the screen in the corner of hit

room, through a face grotesquely swollen and broken

out. "These company goons won't give me any kind o;

a straight story," he said hoarsely. "All they do is try an

brush me off. How bad offam I?"

 

"There's no cure," Alex said, flatly. "There's on<

other known victim. The other man is worse than you,

and they haven't found anything to reverse his condi

tion. That's the truth."

 

THE SHIP WHO SEARCHED

 

235

 

Hank cursed helplessly for about four or five

minutes straight before he ran out of breath and

words. Then he lay back in the gel-bed for another

couple of minutes with his eyes dosed.

 

Tia decided to break the silence. "I don't know how

you feel about the rest of the universe, Hank, but—we

need to know where you came down with this. If this

got loose in any kind of population—"

 

" 'Sail right, lady," he interrupted, eyes still closed.

"You're preachin' to the choir. Ain't no percentage in

keeping my mouth shut now." He sighed, a sound that

sounded perilously close to a sob. "I run across this

place by accident, and I ain't sure how I'd find it again

—but you guys might be able to. I give you what data I

got I'd surely hate t' see a kid in the shape I'm in right

now."

 

"Thanks, Hank," Alex said, with quiet gratitude. "I

wish there was something we could do for you. Can

you think of anything you'd like?"

 

Hank shook his head just a little. "Tell you what; I

got some serious hurt here, an' what they're given me

ain't doin' much, 'cause they're 'fraid I'm gonna get

hooked. You make these bozos give me all the pain

meds I ask for—if I ever get cured up, I'll dry outthen.

You think you can do that for me?"

 

"I'll authorize it," Tia said firmly. At Alex's raised

eyebrow, she printed: Kenny's authorizations include

patient treatments. We've got that power, and it seems cruel not

to give him that much relief.