RSV

 

Acorna's quest / Anne McCaffrey and Margaret Ball.

 

 

A short recounting of events that took place prior to the opening of this book, events that are fully detailed in the novel Acorna, also by Anne McCaffrey and Margaret Ball:

 

Three asteroid miners Calum Baird, Declan "Gill" and Ratif Nadezda were at the beginning of one of their long collecting journeys when they discovered, floating in space near the asteroid where they were working, a life-support escape pod of unknown origin and its single, sleeping occupant. The occupant was clearly humanoid yet not quite human; this was not as much of a problem for the miners as the fact that they had suddenly been saddled with the care of an infant-and a female one at that! Yet, having no desire to stop working a profitable asteroid belt to bring the child back to their base, they had no choice but to keep and care for her as best they could. In a few days, they loved her as they would a child of thenown. Then the child's unusual qualities became obvious-she could purify water and air, she learned with astonishing speed, and she matured even faster. Within the single year of their voyage she grew as tall and mature as an adolescent human girl.

 

When they did finally have a large and valuable enough load to return to their base, they found that MME had been taken over by a larger company, Amalgamated Mining. This change in ownership, as well as Amalgamated s desire to assume all control over the waif whom they had named Acorna, proved unacceptable to the three miners. When they and their "ward" fled, officials at Amalgamated pursued them with claims to ownership of the ship, which was the miners' only means of livelihood-untrue claims which could nevertheless keep Gill, Rank, and Calum tied up in Federation courts while their resources were drained by legal expenses. In desperation the miners turned to Rank's remarkable

 

Uncle Hafiz, the wealthy and more than slightly shady owner of an interstellar financial empire.

 

Hafiz arranged to swap the identifying beacon of their ship for one belonging to a wrecked vessel with Kezdet registration. Although the miners were uneasy about adopting the registration of a planetary system with which they had had some difficulty in the past-a small matter of disputed mining claims-they had no option but to accept the offer and pay part of the price Hafiz demanded-a substantial percentage of their profits from the last mining journey. The rest of his price, though, was unacceptable to them. A dedicated collector of rarities and one-of-a-kind treasures, Hafiz was fascinated by Acorna's short horn and delighted by her precocious ability to understand the numbers he loved most-gambling odds. He demanded that the miners leave Acorna with him and clearly planned to keep them prisoner until they complied. Rafik outwitted his uncle in a series of clever maneuvers which freed them but left them on the run from even more enemies than they had had before: not only the minions of Amalgamated Mining, but also the Kezdet magnates who had caused the wreck of the ship whose identity they had "borrowed." In addition, they had a third enemy they did not even know about. Hafiz Harakamian was so impressed by the way in which Rafik had outwitted him that he decided this nephew was quite clever and crooked enough to be a worthy heir to the Harakamian financial empire -in contrast to his worthless, bungling son, Tapha. Hearing about his father's plans to disinherit him in favor of Rafik, Tapha decided that the only way to keep his inheritance was to find his cousin and kill him.

 

After a precarious time spent moving from system to system, trying to sell off their payload without being caught by any of their numerous pursuers, the miners were finally captured by Pal Kendoro, a young man working for Delszaki Li. Li had been a friend of the real owner of the ship whose identity they had borrowed, and when his agents discovered the ship's beacon again in use they assumed the miners had killed the owner and hijacked the ship.

 

Although based on Kezdet, Delszaki Li was no friend of the Kezdet government and their quasi-military police, the so-called Guardians of the Peace. In fact, he had quietly funded an organization which worked to subvert the ruling class of Kezdet. The wealth of Kezdet s few was based on the sufferings of the many; its low-tech mines and factories were served by unwanted children brought from nearby systems and kept in bondage by a semilegal system which treated them as debtors who must work off their debts. The factory owners saw to it that the children's nominal wages were so low and the charges against them for food and shelter so high that they never "worked off any debt, but remained in perpetual bondage. Few survived to adulthood, and those who did were so debilitated by years of poor food and crippling work that they had no energy to challenge the system that had enslaved them.

 

Heir to a financial empire tnat rivaled that of Hafiz Harakamian, Delszaki Li had first freed his own interests of any connection -with the Kezdet child-labor system, then had begun working secretly to help the enslaved children in any way he could. Although physically disabled by a wasting neurological disease which had almost totally paralyzed him, he -was still brilliant and wealthy and was able to recruit others to his cause-among them Pal Kendoro and his two sisters, Mercy and Judit. The Kendoro siblings had been among the orphans brought to Kezdet for slave labor, but Judit had escaped by winning one of the scholarships established by Delszaki Li to encourage education among the bonded children, and by hard work she had soon earned enough to buy her young brother and sister free. Now grown, all three were determined to take whatever risks were necessary to free the children who remained in bondage.

 

Their attempts to effect peaceful change by educating the enslaved children and helping them to demand better conditions were continually frustrated by the wealthy class that controlled Kezdet s government, and by the time he encountered Acoma, Delszaki Li was on the verge of despair. It seemed as though nothing short of a revolution would free the children-and it would take a miracle to overthrow the solidly entrenched government of Kezdet.

 

In Acorna, Delszaki Li thought that he recognized that miracle. Half-Chinese, he saw in her a ki-lin-the legendary unicorn of China, whose appearance is an omen of great and beneficent change. The fact that she came accompanied by three asteroid miners only increased his belief that she was sent by the heavens to bring good fortune to his enterprise, for it happened that he was in particular need of such expertise as they might supply. Before he met Acoma, Mr. Li had subtly acquired the mineral and mining nghts to Kezdets three moons-Maganos, Saganos, and Tianos- seeing in them a possible place for the children he wished to rescue from Kezdet s factories and mines. None of the planetary mining companies wanted to bother with the problems of building moon bases when it was so cheap to use child labor on ... or rather below .. . the surface of the planet. But Li's plan was ambitious as well as altruistic. He meant to use his great fortune to create mining bases on the three moons, where the children he freed could work part-time and be schooled part-time. With love and care and decent nourishment, upon reaching adulthood they should be ready to take over the mining bases and make them truly self-sufficient. But until he met the three asteroid miners and their "ward," the mysterious unicorn girl, Acorna, Mr. Li's plans had moved so slowly that he despaired of their coming to fruition in his lifetime. There were too many problems for one man to overcome: the entrenched opposition of the wealthy families of Kezdet, the bureaucratic obstacles which the Kezdet government threw in his path, and, most of all, the fears of the children who had been taught from arrival on Kezdet to flee strangers-even benevolent ones. When the factory owners would not admit to employing children, and the children themselves had been trained to hide, how could they be found and freed?

 

Once it was clear that Calum, Gill, and Rank had not caused harm to his friend, but had merely exchanged identities with the wrecked and derelict spacecraft in an effort to evade their own pursuers, Li recruited them as his allies and offered to adopt Acorna as his own ward. Recognizing that the child they had raised was now maturing to the point where she needed a permanent home and an education in the ways of "normal"-i.e., planetside-civilization, the miners agreed to help Mr. Li with his project. But when Acoma learned of the plight of Kezdet s enslaved children, she precipitated a crisis that affected all of Delszaki Li's slow and careful plans. Unable to wait and do nothing where she saw obvious cases of need, she became entangled in any number of projects that aroused the wrathful attention of Kezdet s ruling class-rescuing one child from a brothel, another from begging on the streets, giving shoes to the barefoot slaves of a glass factory and using her hom to heal their wounds. The furor aroused by her actions forced the Child Liberation League to forgo their years of patience and incremental improvements in favor of a bold stroke for freedom.

 

While the miners worked desperately to get the first of the planned moon bases in condition to receive children, and Delszaki Li fought Kezdet s bureaucracy to get permission to open the base, Acoma solved the problem of finding and freeing the children. They might have been taught to flee strangers, but the mystical rumors which identified Acorna with the protective saints and goddesses of the children's manifold belief systems ensured that she alone, of all the beings on Kezdet, was accepted by all of them. Believing that the silver-haired girl with the horn on her forehead was an earthly manifestation of Lukia of the Lights, or Epona, or Sita Ram, at her call they came willingly from mines and factories and followed her without fear. With the help of Calum, Rafik, and Gill to implement plans for a working mining base on Maganos Moon, and the sometimes overenthusiastic help of Acoma to reach out to the neglected children of Kezdet, Delszaki Li had the immense gratification of seeing his plan become a reality. He also saw that he had made many implacable enemies among those formerly wealthy who were now, as a result of his machinations, merely well-to-do. But it did not appear that this fact disturbed him particularly.

 

By the time that Maganos Moon Base became a reality, the miners' lives as well as Delszaki Li's had been changed-as much by Pal Kendoro's two sisters, Judit and Mercy, as by the implementation of the moon-base plan. Gill and Judit Kendoro had agreed to act as foster parents to the children brought to Maganos. Rafik s cousin Tapha had died in an attempt to assassinate him, and Rafik felt it was his responsibility to work with his uncle Hafiz and learn the ins and outs of the Harakamian family businesses that he was now slated to inherit. As for Calum, he was as taken with the shy, quiet Mercy as Gill was with her more outgoing sister, but he felt that with the defection of his comrades it was even more his responsibility to help Acorna in the search for her home, especially as it was his mathematical analysis of the partial results given them by Dr. Zip that had narrowed down the possible location of her home planet to a searchable sector of space.

 

Even Acorna was not romantically untouched; Pal Kendoro had fallen in love with her, and she was, like any young girl, flattered though distressed by his devotion . . . but unlike most young girls, she had to wonder whether their two species were even compatible ! In any case she felt that she could not commit herself and her life to this young human while she still did not know where, or even if, others like her might exist.

 

Where did she truly belong? And how much time did she have to find a suitable mate? In the three years that had elapsed since the establishment of Maganos Moon Base, she had matured from an adolescent into what appeared to be a fully adult female other kind. Knowing nothing of her origins, she had no way to guess whether

 

her body would stabilize or whether she would age and die as rapidly as she had matured.

 

Although the search for her home world was of prime importance to Acoma and almost as much to Calum, Acorna's other friends and guardians were reluctant to see them start out on such a long and potentially perilous journey. They had become used to protecting Acorna-not only from the enemies she and Delszaki Li had made on Kezdet, but from the genuinely ill who wanted access to her healing powers and the charlatans who thought to grow wealthy by exploiting her unusual capabilities.

 

To protect her from wearing herself out in an attempt to heal everyone who might approach her, they had grown into the habit of shielding her from the world, screening her mail, and otherwise treating her as someone to be sheltered and hidden. Sometimes it seemed that it would take another revolution to free Acoma from her well-meaning friends, and as, Accrual Qiwf begins, just such a revolution is about to take place. . . .

 

 

Maganos, Unified Federation. Date 33. 05.11

 

Acorna's office in the Dehoney facility Maganos Moon Base was far too full for her ' comfort, and the meeting had been going on so long that she was developing an alluring fantasy about escaping the comfort of the base for the freedom of a good planetside gallop-any planet, anywhere, just so it offered her clean firm earth to run on and a horizon very far away. The need for earth and sky and open space was becoming almost an obsession for her as the meeting dragged on -just as dreaming up all these new ways to stop her and Calum from starting on their mission to find her species' home world had become an obsession for Pal

 

She tried to compose herself, remembering that it was probably even worse for Calum. He considered finding her home world his first duty to her, even before his love for Mercy. The sooner Acorna could release Calum from that self-imposed quest, the sooner he and Mercy could marry. Acorna understood why some other friends were reluctant to see the Acad&cki depart. Gill and Judit were happily settled now, overseeing the care and education of the bondchildren still arriving to study and work at Maganos; and Rafik was presumably satisfied with his new career as assistant and heir apparent to his uncle Hafiz, the head of House Harakamian. But couldn't they see that Calum needed to complete his quest for her home planet-and that she needed to find her own people before she could be content anywhere?

 

Pal continued inexorably to read on from the notepad in his hand. "Supplies and munitions are still not completed. But right now"-and he looked directly at Acorna and then Calum, shaking his head sadly-"the worst problem is that of reinstalling and testing the AcaSecki's defense system. My people estimate it will take at least four weeks to be certain that the new defenses are accurately installed this time."

 

"Wait a bleeding minute!" Calum jumped to his feet. He and Acorna exchanged a glance that told her he felt sure this was yet another one of the many phony little delaying tactics thought up by Pal in collaboration with his sister Judit and Gill. Possibly even Delszaki Li had had a hand in this one; although the AcaSecki had been supplied by Hafiz Harakamian, Mr. Li had offered to finance its refitting to make it the perfect vessel for this long-distance quest. Had that generous offer really been a sneaky way of seeing that Delszaki Li retained control over the ship and could drag out the refitting until they gave up the search?

 

Calufti shot a second, almost accusing glance at Mr. Li, who was floating quietly in the chair which allowed him such mobility as his increasing paralysis permitted. Some people had made the mistake-sometimes a fatal mistake-of underestimating Delszaki Li because of his great age and the debilitating neurological disease which had all but paralyzed him. Not Calum! He was all too aware of the clear, penetrating mind encased in that ancient body. Delszaki Li was a force to be reckoned with- benevolent, powerful, astute, and, Calum thought wryly, about as straightforward as a spiral staircase in an Escher print.

 

Calum knew that Mr. Li found it hard-deep in the heart which Acorna's beauty, charm, bravery, and intelligence had thawed-to let her start out upon her search. He did make every appearance of helping to secure her ambition of finding her folk; but he was easily tempted into thinking up new ways to delay her actual departure. And Pal Kendoro, his personal assistant, was not limited by even the pretense of wanting to help Acorna on her quest! He considered himself in love with Acorna, could not or would not see why she couldn't settle down happily with him while remaining in ignorance about her own race, and absolutely did not want her going off alone for months, possibly years, with Calum. Neither of Pal's sisters could convince him that Calum Baird had absolutely no interest in Acorna, apart from completing his self-imposed task of finding her species.

 

Cal might seem totally immersed in technologies, improvements, designs, star systems and analyses thereof, but he wasn't oblivious to Pal's obvious jealousy, and he did his best to defuse situations which fed that unreasonable attitude. Sometimes he wondered if it wouldn't be better to openly declare his love for Pal's youngest sister Mercy and his desire to marry her as soon as he had completed this mission-though that would not be fair to Mercy; she should not be tied down while he went away on a quest of unknown duration. But right now, all Calum's good intentions of calm, rational behavior had gone out the nearest air vent as, once again, Pal seemed to be sabotaging the start of their voyage.

 

"If you think," Calum went on, his anger apparent in his acid tone of voice, "that a lousy defence system is going to stall us another few months, you're crazy. Crazy!" And he scissored his hands to emphasize his denial.

 

"Why we should require a defence system," Acorna jumped in to support him, "so far beyond what was originally designed for that class of ship, I do not know."

 

"Is not sensible to send you so far without every possible consideration taken for your safe return," Mr. Li said,

 

"We have communications devices that can reach a habitable system soon enough to summon help if the long-range missiles, the mines, the warheads, and the laser cannon do not dissuade a pirate," Calum went on. He was seething with resentment.

 

"First"-and Acorna held up one of her blunt, two-jointed digits - "what could a ship the size of our scout possibly have that anyone would want?"

 

"You," Pal said in an unequivocal tone.

 

"Second," Acorna said, ignoring that, "the built-in weaponry already installed allows us to defend ourselves against ships with three times our capability. ..."

 

"Not to mention our built-in speed," Calum interjected. "Why, that drive could outstrip the fastest drone ever manufactured. And that's saying something." He gave an extra nod in emphasis.

 

"Third, Uncle Hafiz has supplied us," Acorna continued, "with so many identities and drive-variation signatures that anyone looking for us from one port of call would never recognize our ship in the next one. And he has already taken long enough to supply such multitudinous identities!"

 

"You, Acorna, are valuable for so many reasons and to so many people," Pal said, his tone almost as angry as Calum s had been, "that of course House Harakamian desired to support you with alternate documentation and drive-emission camouflages."

 

"Nineteen of them? Requiring six months to develop? To be any safer, I would have to be dead already!" Acorna said, unusually sarcastic for her characteristically gentle self. "You can stay

 

here, safely, and let Calum find your folk," Pal said, desperation creeping into his tone.

 

Acorna straightened her narrow shoulders, tossing the magnificent mane of silvery hair behind her. "These are my people we are trying to find. How will they know that Cal is on a genuine search unless I am with him to represent myself? We know so little about my circumstances." She shook her head sadly. Her brilliant silvery eyes filmed over, ever so slightly, with the melancholy that was deepening within her daily, almost drowning her with an urgent need to be resolved. Sometimes, at night,

 

she was nearly overwhelmed by the intensity other need to find her own kind.

 

"Why was my life pod evacuated from the ship in the first place? Who did it? Enemy or friend? Why was it done? To save me or to destroy me without trace? Why have no vestiges of my kind been discovered with all the explorations that are being undertaken in every direction of this galaxy? "

 

"That's another point," Gill said, speaking for the first time and squeezing Judit's hand in his big one. "You may not even come from this galaxy. The search could take decades."

 

"Decades it could be," Delszaki Li said, sadly nodding.

 

"Oh, Mr. Li." Acorna leapt from the chair she was seated in and lowered his float so she could take his almost useless right hand in hers and stroke it lovingly. "I will not tarry a moment longer than necessary to hurry back to Kezdet and you. You will receive a message the moment we have found my home world."

 

"I know this, Acorna," Mr. Li said in a gentle, understanding voice. He nodded as if he were patting her hand, an action he could no longer perform.

 

Acorna bent her head, touching his hand with her horn, wishing she had the power to eradicate completely the wasting disease which slowly consumed him. She could, and did, ease his discomfort. But she need not stay for that; there were medicines which did as much as she could to alleviate his pain. And she was more and more "urged" to begin the search. Before it was too late? The phrase sprang into her mind. Startled, she looked up at Mr. Li's black eyes, wondering if he had a vestige of telepathy. But she saw nothing other than his real love and concern for her.

 

"Acorna, my love," thundered Declan Giloglie, "you're not going without the best defenses we can fit you out with, and that's me final word on the subject!"

 

Calum heaved a dramatic sigh. "I see there's no changing your minds."

 

Acorna glanced at Calum, aghast at this apparent collapse of resistance. The side of his face that was turned toward her, away from the rest of the group, flickered in what might have been a brief wink.

 

"I suppose you are right," she said, bo-wing gracefully toward Mr. Li. "Please forgive me for causing you anxiety. It was indeed extremely selfish of me to wish to find my own people before I die of advanced old age." She could not restrain that comment, even though she recognized as she made it that her words might destroy Calum's pretense at acquiescence ... if it was indeed pretense?

 

"Women!" Calum said in a disgusted tone. "All sentiment, no logic. But I do see the force of your arguments, and I'll explain it all to our pretty one here until she understands."

 

"Oh, no, you won't," Pal said. "That's my job."

 

"Convince me later, Pal," Acorna said sweetly. "Right now- since we are all agreed on the necessity for installing the revised defense systems-I wish to go over some matters of the ship's living space with Calum. I am afraid we may need to completely remodel a portion of the interior."

 

"By all means," said Delszaki Li, beaming in a way that reinforced Acorna s belief that this talk of the new defense system

 

was just another taradiddle designed to delay her departure yet again.

 

"Make whatever changes you wish. My architect will accommodate. " Li bowed to Acorna.

 

Once they were alone on the Aca()ecki, Calum looked at Acorna.

 

"You didn't really -want to redesign the living space again, I trust?"

 

"You don't really want to wait six more weeks, which •will

 

probably turn into six months if Mr. Li and Pal can arrange it, before we take off, do you?"

 

"No I" they both said in chorus.

 

"We're well enough supplied for the initial voyage right now," Calum said thoughtfully.

 

"If something happened to distract the others for just a little while ..." Acorna murmured.

 

On their return to the base, it seemed that distraction might just be at hand. Pal and Gill were fuming out loud at one of the

 

corn techs, who had innocently sent the requested acknowledgment for delivery of a message to Acorna.

 

"What is the problem with this?" Acorna asked. "It seems perfectly standard behavior to me."

 

Gill gave her a disgusted glance. "For people who aren't celebrities, maybe. For you-the acknowledgment tells whoeverthis-is that they have found your Lattice node. Now you'll be inundated with junk mail and worse. Damn it, people send these test messages out like confetti, hitting every node where they think they might find their target, and I thought we had trained all the corn techs never to acknowledge anonymous messages!"

 

Acorna put her hand on the techs shoulder. He was young enough to have been trained at Maganos in the past two years, thin enough to have come from one of Kezdet's factories before that, and he was shaking under her hand. She sent soothing, calming impulses to the boy until she could feel that he was steadier.

 

"If you upset the people who work here for no reason at all, Gill," she said, "how can you expect them to remember your wishes? Do not worry," she said to the tech, "it is a small matter, soon forgotten."

 

"That's what you think!" said Pal darkly.

 

Acorna shrugged. "I've never had an anonymous message before, so there is no reason to suppose this one is the beginning of a flood."

 

"Never-had-" Gill plunged both hands into his curly red beard and tugged as if he were trying to root it out. "Why, we must have bounced half a hundred of these confetti jobs back in the last week alone!" He glared at the younger man. "Didn't you tell her, Pal?"

 

"I didn't think," Pal said unhappily, "it would be a good idea to mention that we were screening her mail. ..."

 

"You were WHAT?" Acorna demanded in outraged tones. "Gill, whatever gave you the colossal gall to intercept my personal messages? And Pal, did you think that because I hadn't absolutely rejected your declarations, you owned me and my communications ? "

 

"See here, Acorna acushia," put in Gill, "you can't be talking to me that way, me that bathed you when you were a baby and that's not so very long ago neither!"

 

In a few short, scathing sentences Acorna demonstrated that she could and would talk to Gill that way and worse. By the time she stalked away, Gill's face was as red as his beard, and Pal later swore that he had seen small puffs of steam coming out of the miner's ears.

 

"I knew it wasn't a good idea to tell her," Pal said.

 

Gill glared at him. "You could have explained why we had to doit!"

 

"Did you hear her give me a chance to get a word in edgewise?" he replied. "Besides, you could have explained, too, and I didn't hear you saying anything!"

 

Gill's deep laugh rumbled through the coin center, and he wiped his sweating forehead. "You've a point there, young Pal. Tell you what, let's get a printout of all the messages we've deleted in the past ten days or so. That'll explain it to her without us having to get that word in past the young lady's offended fury."  ,

 

"Where'11 we send it? The mood she's in- "

 

"No matter what kind of a mood she's in," Gill said, "you can't stalk off very far on a lunar mining base. And you should be able to guess as well as I where she'll go to let off steam. Why don't you give your sister a call, let her know what to expect?"

 

He leaned over the desk and began explaining to the corn tech exactly what arcane procedures he'd have to follow in order to retrieve the massive amounts of "junk mail" that he and Pal had deleted from Acorna's files before she ever saw them.

 

"They treat me like an infant," Acorna declared, stalking around the circular floor of the main dome in the living space Judit Kendoro shared with Gill. "I am not to search for my own people ... I am not to read my own mail ... I will not have it!" Her head came up, her nostrils flared, and the silvery mane that cascaded down her back quivered with the force of her indignation.

 

"Of course you will not," Judit agreed, taking Acorna by the hand and leading her to a comfortable couch designed with her equine proportions in mind, "but perhaps you will have a cooling drink before you quite explode with indignation? Iced kava, perhaps, or madigadijuice?"

 

"If you are trying to make me forget about it," Acorna said, seating herself, "I should tell you that it will not work! I am no longer to be treated as an ignorant child!"

 

"Of course you are not," said Judit Kendoro understandingly. "You have grown up quite amazingly in the last two years. You never lose yourself galloping in the park anymore, or get into fights with street vendors, or ..."

 

Laughing, Acorna stopped her. "Enough, please! I do not deny that I did some very foolish things when I first came to live with Mr. Li-but remember that nearly two years aboard a   mining ship is not much preparation for social life on a planet! And I was much younger then."

 

"That's true," said Judit, "and Gill and Pal now realize that they were wrong to screen your mail for you."

 

Acorna looked at her suspiciously, "Then why did they not say so? And how do you know?"

 

"Did you give them a chance to apologize?" Judit asked. "Or did you just stalk off in high dudgeon, 0 mature and sober woman of the world? Pal guessed where you would go and called to tell me that he and Gill would be sending your intercepted mail from the last ten days over as soon as it could be retrieved and printed-and here it is now," she said as the delivery bell chimed to signal arrival of a parcel.

 

And chimed.

 

And chimed.

 

And chimed. . . .

 

"Two dozen boxes!" Acorna exclaimed when the last of the boxes of printouts had been dumped on Judit's floor. "Impossible! I do not know two dozen people apart from the children, and most of those people I know are right here on Maganos and would have no need to send me any mail. Gill is making a joke."

 

"Well, this one seems to be addressed to you," Judit said, picking a flimsy at random from one of the boxes. "Don't you want to read it?"

 

"Let Karina, Psychic Healer, make your fortune?" Acorna read aloud. "What is this about? I do not know any Karina, and if I did, why would I wish to join in partnership with her to sell my healing abilities at so much for each millisecond of time expended? It sounds like a most immoral notion to me!"

 

"It may not be the most immoral notion you come across today," Judit said softly. "Read some more."

 

By the time Acorna had worked her way through half a box full of requests for money, suggestions for a line of gilt plastiflex visors called "Acornas," offers of partnership, and demands that she submit herself to some research institute or other for immediate examination, she began to understand why Gill and Pal had been so protective.

 

Judit, for her part, silently blessed the men for leaving all the heartrending pleas for help and healing at the bottom of the heaviest box, where with any luck Acorna would never see them. She would never be able to resist those cries for help . . . yet to heal even one percent of those who needed her would so sap her, energy that she would be unable to do anything else. We miutfim) a better eolation for her, thought Judit. We cannot go on hQing her from the worl^-the war 13 L) catching up with her, aru) it will destroy her.

 

But, of course, Judit realized, with a catch in her breath and a queer ache in her heart, the solution was there-had been there all along. If they hadn't been interfering with Acorna's desire to go and find her people, she would long since have left Maganos Moon Base to explore distant regions where even junk mail had not yet penetrated. And now that one of these messages had been acknowledged, whoever had sent it was sure to be on his or her way to Maganos ... to be followed by newscasters, charlatans, and the terminally ill. The fiction that Acorna's healing abilities had faded as she matured would be exploded the first time Acorna's soft heart was touched and she touched her horn to an ill or injured person.

 

The only solution, after all, was for Acorna to leave Maganos before she was tracked down here. And even if she never came back . . . she would come back. Judit blinked away incipient tears and set about the task of persuading the lost youngling of an alien species, whom she had come to love like a younger sister, to leave immediately.

 

It was not, after all, much of a task. So, feeling as if she was doing something heinous, she contacted Pal's missile-defense supplier and told him that Mr. Li wished that the installation would take longer.

 

Mendaciously, she also told Pal that she had received a call to that effect: there was some difficulty in supply. She told Calum, who exploded, and Acorna, who gratified her by assuming the most rebellious expression ever seen on that lovely, tranquil face. Judit decided that frustration would have the desired result.

 

It did. Calum and Acorna made discreet plans, stowed the few items they wished to take with them on this history-making voyage, and took off without waiting for permission. The AcaSecki had been "ready" for all practical purposes for weeks. The hydroponics tanks had even been replanted since the original plants had gotten out of control in size or disuse, and some of Acorna's favorites had gone to seed. The alfalfa had had to be harvested three times already and was back to lawn height.

 

Since the Acaoecki had long been in one of the Dehoney takeoff bays, it had been no trouble at all to board her. Nor had the Tower seen anything odd in a request for her launch, since the Acaoecki was constantly being taken out for trial runs on this, that, or the other new ramification to its engines, corn units, whatever. Calum and Acorna were up, up, and away and into the star-studded sky while those nearest and dearest to them slept.

 

Calum had spent the entire first few hours whistling happily or chortling at having escaped so deviously. It eased Acorna's nagging conscience that he evidently suffered from no guilt about their precipitous departure. She herself still felt pangs of grief and guilt about sneaking away without a proper farewell to Gill and Pal and Mr. Li-not to mention Rafik, who had been away, as usual, on business for his uncle Hafiz. But she could not have said good-bye without warning them . . . and it had seemed essential to take advantage of Judit's offer to keep all three men busy and out of communication until the AcaPecki was well clear of Maganos.

 

"Are you sure even Rafik won't be able to deduce our course, Calum?" Acorna had asked when they were outside the heliopause of the Kezdetian primary.

 

"Not even Rafik, Acorna. He may be subtle in dealing with people, but I'm the engineer and navigator," Calum said proudly.

 

"But they all know our destination: the Coma Berenices quadrant."

 

"Ah,"-Calum s smile was devious as he held up one finger-"there are nine and sixty ways of getting there, and we're taking almost, but not quite, the most illogical. I don't trust Rafik not to think of the most illogical, so I plotted in the course he is least likely to suspect. Therefore, there is no logical or illogical way for him to figure out what way we did go. See-here's the space we're navigating in." He put his hands in a position to encircle a globe, then drew out the left side.

 

"Milky Way," he explained, "then we are going down ..." He let his right hand describe a direct downward line. "That is NOT the shortest distance to where we want to be." And his right hand made his planned deviation. "Except that, actually and spatially, it will be. But I don't have to make a course cor<rection for a few days."

 

"Well, in that case ..." Acorna allowed herself to be reassured, at least that they could not be followed and talked out of their project by Rafik's eloquence. "I am surprised, now that we've been gone nine hours, that they haven't discovered we've gone."

 

The corn unit bleeped. "You spoke too soon," Calum said. "Urgent you return to Dehoney immediately. Ace-" Calum's hand disconnected the corn unit. "Well, I'm surprised it took them so long."

 

"'Ace?'" Acorna asked, blinking a little anxiously. "Maybe we should at least listen to the message? It sounded like Provola."

 

"So? They all know we respect Provola and might listen to her, where we've given UP listening to them!" His tone was caustic.

 

"But she's never been an alarmist," Acorna responded, weighed down once again -with guilt about their stealthy action.

 

Calum shrugged. Provola Quero was now in charge of the Saganos operation; she couldn't have anything that urgent to say to them; she was probably just relaying the expectable protests from Acorna's other "guardians."

 

"We can't swerve from this departure, Acorna, love, or they'll just find another way of stopping us."

 

It was not until the third day out that their euphoria at escaping so neatly received a slight check. Acorna had by then used up the greens and vegetables that she had brought on board. She also needed to replenish Calum s supplies from the storage area. She came rushing back into the main cabin.

 

"It's not there anymore," she cried, her silvery eyes wide with distress. "What could have happened to it?"

 

Calum rose from the pilot s chair and took her by her slender arms, which were far stronger than they looked. "Easy, girl, what's not where?" "My escape pod."

 

"What? But it was there when I inspected the ship five days ago.

 

She followed him as he ran to where he knew, damned well certain he knew, that the escape pod in which they had found her five years ago had been carefully netted in. The net was still there, but the escape pod was not.

 

"Blast Pal and his retrofitting nonsense. It was there." He picked up a piece of the netting as if by shaking it he could restore the missing escape pod. "They must have removed it for safety before they started their damned defense installations. The tubes would have had to be settled against the inner hull. Damn!" And he forcefully threw the netting down again.

 

"Oh, well, it is not all that essential," she said, now taking the role of comforter. "After all, there is no counterfeiting me," she said, giggling as she swept her hand down her obviously alien length.

 

"Yes, but the glyphs . . . they might establish your lineage or rank or something."

 

"We have holos of them in the files. For that matter, I can draw them quite well, you know."

 

"Yes, petal, I know you can." Calum absently patted her arm. But he, too, was shaken by the disappearance of the pod-not crucial in itself, but what else might they have overlooked in their eagerness to get away?

 

The second shock to their seemingly smooth escape was the failure of the legume crops to sprout any pods as they should have done by this point in their growth, followed the next day by a decided yellowing in the stalks of alfalfa. Acorna spent a good deal of time on the agri channel and the microscope, trying to determine why that crop was failing.

 

"Somehow, the valve to the nutrient reservoir has been tampered with. Damn it."

 

Her mild cussword surprised Calum enough, but the fact that she had not spotted the problem earlier was even more unnerving to him. Acorna was usually instantly aware of the slightest change in atmosphere or water.

 

"It's just fed the entire stock of trace elements into the water supply at once-zinc sulfate, copper sulfate ... no wonder the chard looks so sick!" Acorna sighed deeply.             

 

"Something the matter with your famous nose?" Calum asked, since Acorna could often just smell an imbalance.

 

"The ship has many new smells, most of them chemical. I guess I thought it was just normal." She paused, thinking. "Maybe we should listen to Provola's entire message. 'Ace* . . . where you shut her off, could have been the beginning of 'accident' as well as the start of my name."

 

"So we will now dutifully listen." Calum keyed in the interrupted message.

 

Urgent you return to Dehoney. Supervisors report lists a. broken valve in the hydroponics' unit, which was to have been repaired first thing this morning. Only you left before they couQ repair It. There was a hint of humor in that final sentence, and Acorna winced. Advise immediate return to effect such minor repairs which cou0 totally Damage entire hydroponics ano grazings if not maae. It won't take long.

 

The plea was unmistakable even in Provola's unmistakably prosaic tone.

 

"Now, now, petal," Calum reassured her. "At least it was a mistake."

 

"Like unloading my pod?" Acorna asked, then thinned her lips over her front teeth.

 

"How bad is it?" Calum asked anxiously.

 

"Well, the chard could be toxic. The old, tough spinach leaves"-Acorna wrinkled her nose-"should be okay since they were fully grown when we left, and one vat of timothy was well grown before the trace-element dump, but the rest I'm not sure about. I'll have to purify the rest of the 'ponies . . . and the alfalfa will have to go; if it's picked up even a small percentage of that zinc, I'll come out in spots."

 

"Now just a moment," Cal said soothingly, and twirled his chair around to the astrogation-control panel. A flash of knowing fingers across the touch pads, and he beamed. "We're not that far, spatially speaking, from Rushima. We can stop there . . . two, three days. Basic agri world, colonized by the Shenjemi Federation. It'll have everything we could possibly need."

 

"Well, I suppose I can exist on what's available," Acorna said with a sigh. She swallowed hard and scratched a bit, thinking about how near she'd been to chewing her way through her original notion of lunch-a long swath down the alfalfa bed.

 

SI ~~ he unused 'ponies tank was cold and hard. The lightweight protective mat that covered it and  hid Markel also blocked the warmth of the sunlamps that fed the plants in the working tanks with a steady diet of golden, artificially balanced light. He had padded his sleeping place as best he could with fragments of worn-out mats, but it was still so cold that he was unable to take advantage of the space he'd exulted in when he found this hideout. He slept, when he slept at all, curled around himself like a sprout coiled within its pod, trying to hold on to the warmth of his own body. It was so dark and cold under the mats . . . almost as cold as the empty space that surrounded the Haven. . . . He was not, he told himself firmly, going to think about that. He curled up, arms wrapped around his knees, and drifted off into an uneasy doze. The hard white surface of the tank was soft, he was floating, spinning, and the stars floated around his head. ... No, they didn't. If you were spaced without protective suiting, your eyes and everything else exploded, and you couldn't see anything!

 

Markel jerked awake, shivering. He wasn't going to think about his father, Illart, floating forever in absolute cold and darkness, empty eyes gazing unseeingly on the stars that he had loved. He wasn't going to think about anything except the immediate practical problems of surviving another day on the Haven without getting caught.

 

Huddled in another cramped position, he worried at the problem with his conscious mind. A person could get warm enough in the heating vents that led to the food center. He would try that in a little while, but he didn't dare now; he was so tired, he might fall asleep in the vent and be scalded to death when the steam blasted through to clean and sterilize it. He would have to wait, and if he timed it right, he might be able to nip out of the vents and steal some scraps of food from the recycling bins. His body needed protein to supplement the fresh greens he stole from the working 'ponies tanks in tiny nips and pinches.

 

And he needed to steal a blanket from somewhere. Due to recent events, there should be enough to spare now . . . enough blankets and warm clothes for anybody. He wondered if one of Nueva's lieutenants had moved into his family's old quarters, or if he dared try and make it back there to get some of his clothes. . . . No, not his clothes, that might make them suspicious. Illart's. They knew his father was dead-everybody knew, had seen. . . .

 

Markel struggled soundlessly against the dream of space, the cold and the brightness of distant suns and the pressure of his own blood exploding outward; he snapped out of the nightmare once more and felt his heart thumping in his chest. It had all happened so fast, almost as quickly as the dreams that trapped him whenever he tried to sleep.

 

Only three, no, five shifts ago he had been safe in his own quarters, and the only thing that worried him about the quarrel between Illart and Sengrat was that Ximena would take her father's side. She'll never look. at me now, he had thought-as though she had ever noticed him before! But he'd been a child then. Five shifts ago. Or was it six? It seemed terribly important to remember.

 

Somebody had to remember. Somebody had to tell the truth, counteract the lies they meant to spread about. . . about the ones who could not speak for themselves anymore. The ones who would never be warm again.

 

The quarters Markel had shared with his father were spacious by Haven standards, as befitted Illart's rank as one of the three Speakers of the Council. Naturally there were separate sleep bunks for the two of them, with their own carefully engineered storage areas for personal belongings; any citizen among the Starfarers was entitled to that much space, and any working citizen, or parent raising small children, was also allotted a private sitting space and a desk console.

 

But nobody else Markel knew, even Third Speaker Andrezhuria, had a space so large that all three Speakers could sit down at one time without even feeling crowded. Where else, except in a public hall, could a person enjoy such luxury? Market could never understand his father's wry comments about how his rank in Council as First Speaker bought him almost enough room to swing a cat. But then, Markel's only knowledge of cats came from the vids he called up on his personal console, and he never had figured out why anybody would want to swing one.

 

The Old-timer generation was full of quaint sayings like that, like their insistence on calling a period of two and a half shifts a "day." Ximena said it was better just to humor the old folks and not to demand explanations for all their quaint old folk sayings.

 

Anyway, it wasn't the presence of the other two Speakers that had made the sitting area so crowded that Markel had retreated to his sleep tube with his personal console; it was Sengrat. Really, Markel thought, it was Sengrats overinflated ego that seemed to fill up all the space and use up all the oxygen. The man had a voice like a file going through sheet metal; once you started letting it get to you, it could saw through earplugs and ruin your enjoyment of a good classic music vid. Markel blinked twice to stop the vid. No sense in letting his pleasure in the ancient music be ruined by irritation at Sengrat. He would just wait until the visitors left.

 

Sengrat was always going on about something; it seemed he never agreed with any of the Council decisions. And Illart said he wouldn't speak up during open Council; he just sat there and simmered and waited to buttonhole one of the Speakers in private, later, and tell them how wrong they were. Right now he was disputing the decision to leave their present orbit as soon as the nav officer on duty identified a good pattern for quadrant departure.

 

"We've done -what we came to Khang Kieaan for, Sengrat," Andrezhuria said wearily. "We've presented our case, we have the promise of their support in the next Federation meeting. ..."

 

Sengrat snorted. "'Presented our case,'" he mimicked Andrezhuna's precise, cold tones. '"Zhuria, wake up and smell the kava! We've been presenting our case for ten years now. All the moral support in the world won't make Amalgamated Mining cede Esperantza back to us-and if they did, they couldn't repair the damage they've already done to the planet. Its time to move on, make a new life for ourselves."

 

"Are you saying we should have accepted Amalgamated s joke of a resettlement offer?" Gerezan, Second Speaker, inquired. "A bit late to be arguing that, don't you think?"

 

Markel could tell without looking that Sengrat would have flushed a deep purple. His anger came out in the plummy resonance of his next words. "Don't twist my words, Second! I'm not the one who's living in the past-you three, and the Council members who follow you around like dullbots, are the ones who do that. You're still talking as if we could get Esperantza back and settle to dirt farming. I don't want to do that. I'm not even interested in that. Our 'case' against Amalgamated was settled in Federation court - "

 

"Unfairly," Andrezhuria cut in. "If we can get evidence of the bribes Amalgamated paid out and the records they had doctored, we'll have grounds to reopen it. And we will get it; the kids in my data study group are sharper than any dirtside hackers, and they're getting through Amalgamated's data firewalls one at a time. Until then, our mission is to keep the story of Esperantza alive. Not to let anybody forget what an injustice was done, not to let Amalgamated get away with it!"

 

"You're dead wrong, my dear 'Zhuria," Sengrat drawled. "Our mission is to survive. Anything else comes second. And in the interests of survival, as Chief Maintenance Officer, it is my duty to point out that the Haven is long overdue for retrofit and replacement."

 

"Well, I hardly think we should request permission to dock on Khang Kieaan for maintenance work," Illart said, chuckling. "Even if we could afford it, some of the folks down there may just not feel too friendly toward us after the way we took over their planetary communications system to state our case. Sure, we got a lot of popular sympathy, but I bet the government's going to be nervouser and nervouser the longer we hang around here. All three governments," he corrected himself after a moment's mental review of Khang Kieaan's troubled political situation.

 

"We don't need to request anything of Khang Kieaan," Sengrat snapped. "We had their communications system under total control. That should have paid for all the maintenance we need."

 

"Exactly how do you figure that?" Gerezan asked. "They weren't going to pay us to run their planetary communications when they had a perfectly good working system of their own."

 

"But they didn't, 'Zan," Sengrat purred. The rasping tone was gone from his voice now, and Markel pulled the vid plugs out of his ears to hear better. When Sengrat's voice softened, he was happy; when Sengrat was happy, there was trouble coming.

 

Sengrat'd sounded just that way, smooth and velvety and jovial, when he told Markel that Ximena was too old for him, and he didn't want any good-for-nothing teenage kids hanging around his daughter.

 

"They didn't have a working system of their own," Sengrat went on, "not while we'd intercepted all communications to make our own 'cast. With a little diplomacy, we could have gotten a contract from the Night Sky Lightning party granting them exclusive use ofplanetside communications . . . through us."

 

"You're talking about making them pay us to stop disrupting communications? We're not racketeers," Illart said sharply.

 

"And just what do you think the Sun Behind Clouds and the Spring Rains parties would have done about that deal?" Gerezan demanded.

 

"Nothing," Sengrat said simply. "I checked. Night Sky Lightning is the only group with the technology to attack us in orbit; the other two parties are exhausted from three generations of constant fighting. The NSL is the clear technological leader; with a little help from us, they could control Khang Kieaan now.

 

We'd be doing a public service, really. End the fighting now, instead of two or three generations down the line. And ensure Haven's survival." He sounded as though he was beaming, turning his face this way and that so that all three Speakers could get the benefit of his confident looks.

 

"We don't interfere in other planets' internal affairs," Illart said. "In case you've forgotten, that is part of the original charter agreed upon when we decided to refuse Amalgamated's resettlement offer and live on our colony ship until we got justice. We offer to all other peoples the respect and noninterference we desired for ourselves. That is the way of the Starfarers."

 

"Your way, you mean," snapped Sengrat.

 

"The Council's way," Illart corrected him. "You wish to discuss changes in the charter, Sengrat? If so, you should have convened a full Council meeting instead of buttonholing the three of us privately. Nothing less can change the original charter."

 

"Nothing is less likely to change it," Sengrat riposted. "I already know it's no use going through the Council; they'll do whatever you three want. And you're living in the past. I should warn you that not all the original Starfarers see things your way. And the political refugees we've taken in from other places- why should they care about a dead planet they've never seen? People like Nueva Fallona aren't interested in being permanent refugees crowded into a ship that's turning into a slum, Illart."

 

"If we hadn't taken in Nueva and the other refugees from Palomella, the ship wouldn't be so crowded," Andrezhuria pointed out. "If it weren't for our charter and our commitment to aid other victims of political injustice, she wouldn't be here. Perhaps she should bear that in mind before agitating to change the charter."

 

"She said you'd do that." The metallic rasp was back in Sengrat's voice. "That's why I was chosen to .present the opposition point of view to you. The Palomellese and other newcomers are underrepresented in Council - "

 

"That will change with time," Gerezan put in quietly. "They have the same voting rights as any other Starfarers."

 

"Some of us," Sengrat said, "don't think we should wait any longer. Some people don't see any point in trying to work hrough the Council; whoever s elected, it's you three Speakers who run it, and Nueva was right-your minds are stuck in the past. I'm looking toward a future in which the Starfarers are truly free, not begging for favors from the Federation, but expanding in space and answerable to no planetary bureaucrats. If you're wise, you three, you'll join me. It's past time for some real changes around here."

 

"Always so pleasant chatting with you and hearing your views, Sengrat," Illart said. "Are you sure you can't stay for kava? It's a new strain, compliments of the genetic researchers from Sun Behind Clouds. They think we might actually be able to get enough yields from this strain to justify raising our own kava onboard. Of course they don't understand dark-roasting, so I'm afraid it's not as strong as you like it, but there's a nutty flavor reminiscent of hazelnuts that I personally find quite enticing.

 

Sengrat's rejoinder about frivolities and frippery was drowned out by the crackle of the shipboard corn system. Sengrat wasn't all wrong, Markel reflected as he stretched out in his tube and reached for the earplugs. Like far too many systems on the Haven, the corn speakers desperately needed upgrading and refurbishment. The Starfarers might have the scientific and technical know-how to take over entire planetary systems and hack into intergalactic corporate data bases, but their own equipment was held together by duct tape and prayers. The speaker in Illart's quarters was so bad that whole words and phrases were drowned out by static. All Markel could make out was, "Kava shipment. . . message. . . . Xong . . . join. . . .

 

Oh, great, he thought. Another political refugee, sneaking a cry for help out in the kava be-aiu. Ju^t what they neeoeS, one, more person on the overcrowded Haven. Or maybe fourteen or fifteen more people, he reflected gloomily. These Kieaanese ran to large families.

 

He had just inserted one earplug when his father's yell of excitement all but pierced the other ear. "Xong who?"

 

"Not Hoo," the voice on the speaker crackled, "Hoa. Ngaen Xong Hoa."

 

Gerezan and Andrezhuria burst into excited babbling until Illart hushed them. Whoever this Ngaen Xong Hoa might be, they seemed to think he would be worth his space on the Haven. Markel put the vid system aside again and wriggled out of his tube. Might as well find out what all the fuss was about. He would take his vid off into one of the service tunnels later and enjoy it in peace and quiet. The desire for privacy had long ago inspired Market to explore all the nooks and crannies of the Haven -where a slender boy could fit unobserved. He knew every supposedly unusable space where outmoded equipment had been yanked out and sold for scrap, as well as the whole system of the narrow air vents and the crawl spaces designed for access to the ship's electrical system.

 

The three Speakers were grinning and hugging one another when Market entered the sitting area.

 

"Such a pity Sengrat didn't stay a little longer," Andrezhuria said happily. "Then he could have heard the news ahead of everybody else!" She looked almost as young as Ximena, flushed with excitement, curly tendrils of her blond hair escaping from their severe braids to frame her face in light.

 

"Just as well," said Gerezan. "Why give him extra time to think about some way to put Ngaen Xong Hoa's research to unethical uses?"

 

"Oh, come off it, Gerezan. Even Sengrat couldn't think of a way to misuse a weather-prediction system!"

 

Illart cleared his throat. "I'm not so sure about that." He tapped the data screen set into the wall behind Gerezan. "Here's the complete text of his message."

 

Although still slender enough to fit into the air vents, Markel was already a good head taller than Andrezhuria. He had no trouble seeing the screen over her head. Ngaen Xong Hoa-and Markel still didn't know who he was-requested political asylum on the Haven because he feared that one of the three governments of Khang Kieaan would misuse the results of his latest research.

 

"Oh, he's just saying that to make sure we'll have him," Andrezhuria said blithely. "And of course we will. If he's finished the model he was discussing at the Chaos and Control Seminar, we should be able to sell it to agri planets for enough to take care of all the Haven's maintenance problems forever!"

 

"Not sell," Gerezan said. "Rent. We keep control of the model."

 

"Are we counting our chickens before they're hatched?" Illart inquired dryly. "We don't even know he's still working on the same thing. He may have given up on the chaos-theory problem and turned to some other line of research entirely."

 

In the brief silence that greeted this suggestion, Market finally got a word in edgewise. "Who is this Ngaen Xong Hoa, anyway?"

 

Illart reached out to put an arm round his son's shoulders. "It's kind of hard to explain if you don't remember living planetside," he said, "but... I guess you'd call him a weatherman."

 

"And that's all he would say about it," Markel complained later to Johnny Greene. Even if Johnny was of the same generation as his father, he wasn't as stodgy as the original settlers. He'd only joined the Haven a few years earlier, after a nearcalamitous escape from MME when Amalgamated had taken over the large mining company and caused huge redundancies among the specialists. In some ways Market found Johnny could bridge the gap between his father's generation, who could remember digging and growing things in dirt, and the young people of his own generation, who had been raised in space. "What's a weatherman, anyway? I looked it up on the ship's net, and all I could find was some junk about solar winds. I don't see how that's going to make us rich!"

 

"Oh, that's space weather," Johnny Greene said. "Ngaen Xong Hoa's work is on planetary weather systems, and he's the prime researcher in the field. Although last I heard, even he hadn't solved the chaos aspects."

 

"Who cares about planetary weather?" Markel demanded. If dirtsiders didn't like being rained on, why didn't they live in space like all sensible folk?

 

"Markel," Johnny said sharply, "stop pouting and use your brains! I know you've got some, heard 'em rattling round in there just the other day. Turn on a couple of processing bits, will you? Okay, so space colony ships like Haven don't care about dirtside weather, neither do lunar colonies or high-tech cities in domes. But there are still plenty of people out there who live by growing food or raising animals on planetary surfaces, who have to guess right about the upcoming weather if they and their children are going to eat next year. Ninety percent of Khang Khieaan's habitable surface is good agricultural land; naturally they care about knowing whether it's going to rain enough to raise their crops ... or enough to drown them."

 

"Sounds like a simple enough question to me," said Market. "Just model the atmosphere and the ground surface and plug in your numbers. Nothing like as complicated as plotting a course through four-space to shortcut from one quadrant to another without meeting a neutron star."

 

"You think so, do you?" said Johnny. "Well, here. I'll give you references to the latest weather-modeling theories, and you can download a complete data set on Khang Kieaan's current weather. We'll likely be here another two-three shifts to collect Hoa, so you'll have plenty of time to predict . . . oh, the rainfall over the Green Sea, and the expected high temperature in the central plains area, that'll do for starters. Just take a look at the models, decide which one works best, and . . . what was it you said? . . . plug in the numbers. Then we'll see how close you came."

 

Markel hadn't come to Johnny for extra homework, but he'd learned that if he did what Johnny Greene suggested, it usually worked out to his benefit in the long run. Besides which, once Johnny had given him a learning assignment like that he wouldn't talk to Market at all, not even to tell tales of mining adventure among the asteroids, until Markel could show that he'd done the work. So he copied the references over to his private storage files, set the system to download Khang Kieaan's current weather data, and skimmed papers on weather modeling while he waited for the data to come in.

 

He was waiting when Johnny came off duty two shifts later. "This stuff is crazy," he complained. "Look, I programmed three different models-well, okay, I didn't have to do them from scratch, most of the code was in files attached to the papers -and fed in the same numbers, and look at the results! This one says the Green Sea is going to get two inches of rain between dawn and noon tomorrow, this one says thirty percent chance of typhoons and doesn't tell me anything about rain, and this one"-he waved the printout for emphasis-"this one only says, 'If a butterfly flutters its wings in the rain forest, what is the probability of snow in Alaska?'"

 

Johnny laughed. "Okay. Welcome to chaos theory. That last one is telling you it doesn't have enough data."

 

"I gave it the same data set the others had."

 

"It's more persnickety. The other two models are designed to give you their best guesses regardless of how close on they are - sort of the way traditional weathermen operate. This third one"-Johnny tapped the printout-"won't give a prediction that can't be relied upon. And it just happens that planetary weather is what we call a chaotic system-meaning that its adjacent solutions diverge exponentially in time. Such a system is very sensitive to the initial conditions, which means that a very slight change in the starting point-like the fluttering of a butterfly's wing-can lead to enormously different outcomes."

 

"Then this last model is a joke," Markel muttered.

 

"Nope. It's making a point: that none of the existing models is accurate. Did you look at the author's name?"

 

"Ngaen Xong Hoa. That's the guy who's supposed to be delivered with the last load of supplies from dirtside," Markel said before realizing that he probably wasn't supposed to have read the memo detailing exactly how the Haven planned to collect their scientist . . . even if there was nothing particularly new about the plan. "So?" Markel went on hastily to distract Johnny from the fact he'd been hacking into Council memoranda again. "They're all excited about getting somebody who tells you Zen proverbs about the sound of one butterfly wing clapping?"

 

"I think," Johnny said cheerfully, "they're excited about the chance that he's solved the problem by now. And even if he hasn't. .. take another look at that model. I bet you incorporated the code without reading it thoroughly. Want to bring it up on the screen in my quarters, take a second look?"

 

A few minutes later Markel was following lines of code as they scrawled across Johnny's screen in the highly abbreviated rormat of upper-level languages. "I don't see the point in untangling this code," he grumbled under his breath, "it's just what he says in the paper. Put the data into canonical form, apply a series of nonlinear equations, and . . . oh." "Now you see it?"

 

Markel nodded. "If you don't stop with the initial data set, but keep entering small changes as they're monitored . . . but then you have too many variables. In fact, you could have an infinite series of variables. So you can't define your nonlinear system until you know how many variables you're dealing with, but you can't tell how many variables you need until you've defined your nonlinear system, but . . . my head hurts," he groaned. "But, okay, okay, I see what you mean. If you follow this path through the program, you don't get a Zen proverb, anyway."

 

"Good. What do you get?"

 

"Probably a system crash," Markel said absently, studying the complex system of data structures and temporary processors that would have to be created, and then, "Johnny! You told me to implement a model that would've brought the Haven's computer system down?"

 

"Actually," Johnny confessed, "I didn't think you'd get that far. I thought you'd get bored by the time you'd implemented even one model, and then you'd bring the results back, and then we could have looked at the discrepancies between the prediction and what was actually happening dirtside, and that -would be enough to convince you it wasn't so simple."

 

"And then," Markel said, "you'd have implied that I screwed up by not following through all three models in rigorous detail, and I'd have been embarrassed and quit bugging you about this stuff. John Greene," he said slowly, "you are one twisty, devious s.o.b."

 

Johnny beamed. "Thank you, son. Does my heart good to have somebody recognize my true talents. And by the way . . . that last model wouldn't have brought the whole system down. We do have fail-safes against infinitely expanding neural networks. Can't ever tell what some kid might code in to run his sim games, you know," he chuckled, referring to the time Markel had used up sixty percent of the system's resources to simulate a series of space battles in real time for one of his war games.

 

Markel flushed. "That was a long time ago," he muttered. "I was just a kid then . . . fifteen. ..."

 

"Last year," Johnny grinned. "Sixteen is, of course, ever so much older and wiser than fifteen."

 

There was a tap on the door.

 

"Johnny?" called a soft voice that sent Markel's heart rate into fifth gear.

 

Ximena Sengrat opened the door a crack. "I am sorry to disturb you," she said, "but the corn unit to your quarters is malfunctioning again."

 

Johnny snapped his fingers. "Damn wiring!" he said. "I really gotta get in there with some duct tape."

 

As Markel, Ximena, and everybody else knew, Johnny had the highly unauthorized habit of disabling the com system in his personal quarters whenever he got tired of the continuous flow of scratchy, squeaky announcements from Central; so they gave this "explanation" all the attention it deserved.

 

"My father thought you would wish to know," Ximena went on, "that Dr. Hoa is now on board, and he has brought with him the code for his new weather-modeling system. The Council feels it might be tactless to try to sell the results to Khang Kieaan." She smiled and brushed her dark hair back, revealing more of the perfect oval of her face. One curling lock clung to her neck;

 

Markel could have leaned forward and moved it with one finger. Instead he hunched over the data console and piled his printouts on his lap. "It has been suggested we should visit Rushima instead. As a primarily agricultural colony, they should be in desperate need of our services, and certainly the Shenjemi Federation can afford to pay for them."

 

If he didn't know Ximena was only four years older than he was, Market thought, he would've taken her for a Council member herself instead of just somebody's kid running an errand. She sounded as if she'd been in on the discussions. Sengrat was probably right . . . she was too old for him. She'd never look at a sixteen-year-old kid.

 

"They want all our best mathematicians and computechs to familiarize themselves with Dr. Hoa's model en route," Ximena went on. "So I'm afraid you two will have to give up your sim game, or whatever you were playing at."

 

Markel wanted to protest that he had not been playing sim games, he "was way too old for that kid stuff, but realized saving so would only make him sound younger.

 

"You're supposed to study the math, Johnny," Ximena said, "and Markel, you're assigned to the team to analyze the code."

 

"Me?" Markel's voice broke on the word in a humiliating croak, the sort of thing that hadn't happened to him since he was thirteen . . . except around Ximena.

 

"But of course," Ximena said, dark eyes wide as if she couldn't imagine why he was surprised. "We couldn't do without you on this, Markel Illart. Everybody knows you're the fastest computech on the ship."

 

A part of Markel's mind noticed the way Ximena said "we," as if she identified herself with the Council, but most of his mind was floating off into hyperspace. She knew? who he was-not just his name, but what he was good at-and she respected it!

 

"Even if you are the youngest," Ximena added, and Markel came back into ordinary flat three-space with a dull thud.

 

For the three shifts it took them to reach Rushima and attain a stable orbit, Market was lost in the efficient beauty of Dr. Ngaen Xong Hoa's approach to modeling atmospheric processes in terms of their electronic-potential differences. The paper which had been issued to him, modestly entitled, "On Certain Aspects of Chaotic Systems and Operations Theory," outlined a global-weather model that was both more general and much more elegant than the one Johnny Greene had had Markel working from. And yet. . . ?

 

Markel frowned at the screen. Once you cut through the code to the underlying structure and mathematics of the model, this seemed essentially the same as the one in the earlier paper. True, Hoa had replaced his flip comment about the butterfly with weather predictions graded by reliability, but it was still true that until you got into the infinite loop of adding variables and revising the nonlinear-equations system, there were no predictions Hoa graded as reliable enough by his standards. He still had not solved the problem of the unpredictably large results owing to small variations that, according to Johnny, plagued all attempts to model complex chaotic systems.

 

Markel had just reached that point in his reasoning when Illart announced that it was time for their sleep shift. Under the circumstances, the only thing he could possibly do was wait until his father started snoring and then sneak a portable console into his sleep tube to try out the new model for himself. Despite Johnny Greene's certainty that the built-in checks in the system would prevent his inadvertently crashing the ship's computers, he decided that it would not be prudent to test the new model directly. Besides, it would take half the shift to download the amount of weather data he'd need. Instead, he wrote a quick and dirty driver program that would simulate the running and systems requirements of both Dr. Hoa's models, given unlimited data.

 

The results were almost identical. The new version could handle more nonlinear equations than the old one before it crashed, but it still didn't get anywhere near the predictions stage of the program. Markel switched off the portable console and lay with his arms behind his head, thinking. If Dr. Hoa's work was this far from completion, why had he found it necessary to flee Khang Kieaan?

 

Next shift, the Haven was settling into orbit around Rushima, and Illart was too busy preparing to negotiate for the Council with Rushima to answer Market's questions. Markel wound up, as usual, perched on Johnny Greene's cluttered worktable in the CaN, or Computation and Navigation.

 

"Hoa hasn't actually been working much on the prediction model since that paper you first saw," Johnny said, supporting Markel's deductions of the shift before. "He's a meteorologist by trade, not a mathematician, and he says what that model needs is some new mathematical insights-and he sure hasn't got them."

 

"Then why did he really want to leave Khang Kieaan? The original work has been out for over a year. Isn't it a little late for him to worry about somebody misusing his research? Besides," Markel added, as snidely as befitted somebody who'd been up for most of his sleep shift comparing a cleverly disguised "new model" with its virtually identical predecessor, "you can't even use this one, let alone misuse it."

 

"Oh, don't underrate Hoa's work," Johnny said, "it's the best weather-prediction model going, and even if it's not long-range or perfect, it ought to be a considerable improvement on •whatever the Rushimese are currently using."

 

"I still don't get why he had to be smuggled out in a sack of kava beans."

 

Johnny sighed and touched his console with one finger to halt the program he was running. "And you're not going to stop asking why until you get some answers, are you? Pestilential brat," he added, but his voice was warm. "What you need is a walk in the Garden. Get some exercise. You've been staring at your data console all night again, haven't you? You'll addle your brains that way."

 

"I'm not- " Markel began. Johnny hushed him with a hand signal that dated back to the time of his first arrival on the Haven, when he'd spent hours playing Miners and Martians with a lonely kid whose father was wrapped up in Council business and in grieving for a mother Markel could barely remember. That waggle of the fingers, Markel remembered, meant, "Hush, we are observed." And the slight crook in the thumb meant "Follow me silently."

 

The "Garden" was actually the part of the Havens hydroponics unit that was open to general view: a network of narrow trails on the spongy damp flooring of the unit, past flowers and fruits and greens that had been carefully trained to drape over the edges of their ugly tubs. Markel had never seen the point of it, but the Starfarers of his father's generation, who had actually wanted-wanted! he thought in amazement-to become dirt farmers, who remembered living dirtside in the inefficient alternation of light and darkness that didn't fit human biorhythms, insisted they needed this gardenlike section to remind them of their past lives.

 

Today, though, there were no visitors other than Johnny and him. Probably everybody was too busy 'preparing for the Rushima negotiations, or too anxious to hear the results, to take time for smelling the flowers.

 

"You're not cleared for this information," Johnny began abruptly once he had ascertained that there were no other visitors to the Garden. "I'm only telling you because I know how hard it is to stop you when you've got your teeth in a problem, so I know you'll be worse trouble and probably uncover more stuff if I don't give you a little now. But I'd hate to have to explain to the Council that I couldn't head off a sixteen-year-old's ' 'satiable curiosity,' so just keep it to yourself, will you. Elephant's Child?"

 

The nickname came from an old story Johnny had once told Markel, about a baby elephant who got into terrible trouble and had its nose pulled until it became a trunk, all because it refused to stop asking annoying questions.

 

"You haven't actually told me anything yet," Markel pointed out, "except that there's something to tell. Now that I know that, of course I'm going to be curious." He grinned at Johnny.

 

"All right. I told you Hoa hasn't been working on the weather-prediction model for over a year, and that's true. This paper we've been given to read is just a rehash and slight improvement of his earlier stuff, put out to convince the heads of his research lab on Khang Kieaan that his more recent work has not been productive and that he is going back to the prediction model. The fact is that his experiments have been quite successful. Terribly successful," Johnny added in somber tones. "He didn't want them to fall into the hands of any of the three Khang Kieaan parties for fear that whichever party had it would use his work to destroy the other governments, and probably destroy the planet in the process. And there were too many people involved in the work to keep it secret indefinitely; even though he was the only one who knew all the parts of the project and could put it together, he was afraid some lab assistant or graduate student would let out enough to get the head of the lab interested. He had already converted his notes to a single datacube and erased all his working files, and he was prepared to blow up the datacube and himself if they came for him before he found a way off-planet. You can imagine that he was very glad to learn of the Haven's visit."

 

"Okay, okay." Markel was practically dancing with impatience. "But what is this 'terribly successful' work, and when do I get to see it?"

 

"You're not having these papers," Johnny told him. "Nobody but Council heads and a few selected experts have been invited "Like who?"

 

"Well . . . yours truly, for one, which is how come I know enough to know that you shouldn't be asking questions right now. Sengrat, because if we can find a useful application for the work, he'll be in charge of building the equipment needed. J don't know who else. Not many."

 

Markel could tell when he was beaten. "You could at least tell me what its about."

 

"I could at least get my head ripped off by your father for breaching security to the extent I already have," Johnny muttered. "Look, kid. If I tell you the general area Hoa's been working on, do I have your word of honor that you'll stop asking questions, and you won't hack into the ship's system to get any more information on it, until it's released for public consumption? He's taking a big step here. He doesn't trust his own people to use this work wisely, but he does trust the Starfarers. Do you have any idea what that says about the reputation men like your father have built up in a decade of fighting for justice? And do you see what a betrayal of Hoa's trust it would be if we let word of the results spread as soon as we knew what he'd been working on?"

 

Dry-mouthed, Markel nodded. "Okay," he said. "You have my word I won't ask any more." The next thing cost him an effort to say, but he managed it anyway. "You don't even have to tell me what it's about, if you don't want to. Besides," he couldn't resist adding, "I bet I can guess."

 

"Anything but that," Johnny exclaimed in mock horror. "Better you should know than we should be subjected to the guesses you'll dream up. . . . He's moved from studying weather prediction to studying weather manipulation. Everybody knows that if you zap a planet's ionosphere with enough energy you can disrupt communications and cause unusual* weather patterns;

 

well, Hoa's been refining on that, getting more accuracy, working -with a series of targeted laser beams and precise timing sequences. From what I've seen of the preliminary results, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that he can call down lightning out of the heavens."

 

True to his word, Markel did no more investigating of Dr. Hoa's recent research. Instead, he put in a casual quarter of an hour answering the questions the electronic math tutor had Allocated for that week, then decided to revert to last year's childish pursuits and play a few rounds of SimArmageddon. But the console beeped a warning at him instead of bringing up the sim game, and neon green capital letters flashed a message on the screen.

 

YOUR ACCESS TO GAMES HAS BEEN RESTRICTED UNTIL YOU WRITE THAT TERM PAPER FOR THE LANGUAGE AND COMPOSITION TUTOR. LOVE, ILLART.

 

Markel hated actually composing papers-language was so clumsy compared to the pure, sparse beauty and rigorous meanings of mathematics and computer languages. He felt sure that he could easily enough hack his way around whatever restrictions Illart had imposed. No First-Gen Starfarer could know his way around the Haven's computers the way the children of the Starfarers did. But Illart would probably consider that dishonorable.

 

With a sigh Markel settled down to think over the assignment. Research am) write the biography of an aault with whom you are personally acquainted. Verify all statements with documentation am) interviews. Where there if a conflict between documentation am) the personal account, resolve the conflict without either falsifying the Documented facts or offending the interviewee. Oh, great. Not only was he going to have to write complete sentences and paragraphs and do footnotes, he was going to have to practice Tact and Diplomacy 101.

 

Well, let's see. Doing Ximena would give him an excuse to "interview" her . . . but he felt sure the tutor would not count a Starfarer of his generation as an "adult," even if she was four years older than him and inclined to identify herself with the older generation. Johnny Greene wouldn't take offense at anything Markel wrote, but he was a slippery customer; Markel had already discovered that Johnny was vague about certain episodes in his past and that a lot of his life had somehow slipped through the bureaucratic meshes of the galactic Lattice.

 

Everybody else would be doing some First-Gen Starfarers; Markel cringed at the thought of hearing all those histories of the Theft of Esperantza from various points of view. He would have to do something different . . . there was that woman Sengrat had mentioned, Nueva Fallona of Palomella. She must be quite old, at least thirty, but Markel wouldn't mind interviewing her one bit. He thought about glimpses of a curtain of straight, iridescent, reddish bronze hair, a firm chin, eyes that always seemed to be looking into some distance only she could see. And she was intriguing, with that slight limp and the elegant cane she used, made of a reddish bronze to match her hair, turning her disability into an affectation. Probably she'd been tortured by the Palomellese government and was too proud to talk about her past sufferings. Yes, she'd definitely be an interesting subject. Besides, Markel would bet nobody else in his age class would think of doing a Palomellese; it wouldn't have occurred to them that they could access Palomella's databases via the Lattice. True, there'd be just a little hacking involved . . . but it was research for an assigned paper, Markel told himself virtuously.

 

And the Haven's computer-tutor seemed to agree, or else Illart hadn't thought of restricting Markel's access to anything other than games, for it let him access a gateway to the Lattice with no trouble at all. He didn't really have to start working until he reached Palomella's first level of security. When Illart returned upset from a two-shift-long Council meeting, Markel's mood was somber enough to match his.

 

"How did it go?" Market asked from the tube, where he'd been lounging and watching old music vids. "You missed our mess time. Want me to go to the kitchens and get a bowl of hotchpotch for you?"

 

"No, thanks," Illart said. "They sent in food between shifts, so we wouldn't have to break for mess."

 

"How come?" Market thought he knew the answer, but he wanted the satisfaction of hearing it from his father. "You always said it was a good idea to break up long meetings, give everybody a chance to simmer down."

 

Illart rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, and Markel knew from the gesture that his father was suffering one of the agonizing tension headaches that had plagued him ever since he took over from Andrezhuria as First Speaker. Perhaps it was time he handed over to Gerezan. Markel slipped out of his tube and squatted behind Illart to rub the tense cords of muscle in his neck.

 

Illart sighed with relief. "That's better. You've your mother's touch. When I came in hot and sweaty and aching from the fields, Aiora used to rub the ache out of my muscles as lightly as a butterfly's wing."

 

Markel could almost remember the scene -or was it just that Illart had reminisced about it so many times? All that Markel could truly remember of their life on Esperantza was the communal creche where Illart had left him for the long hours of daylight after his mother died. He couldn't even remember what his father had been like in those days; he was usually asleep by the time Illart came in from the fields to collect him. He'd been looking forward to turning five, when he would be old enough to follow Illart into the fields and collect stones, or help with some other farming task, instead of staying in the creche with the babies. Life on the Haven had been a joyous adventure of freedom and exploration compared to that, an unexpected boon from the heavens. . . .

 

Markel abruptly switched his thoughts back to the present, as he always did when his reminiscences reached that point. It seemed disloyal to Illart and the others who had given more than ten years of their lives seeking justice, to admit that he for one didn't really want to go back to Esperantza or any other dirtside life. Crowded and dilapidated the Haven might be, but it was far more home to Markel than any vague memories of dirtside life.

 

And he mustn't let Illart guess that, ever. It would hurt him too much.

 

"So tell me about the meeting," he said instead. "How come you didn't break for mess, and didn't 'cast any of the discussion?" Usually, although not always, the Council meetings were broadcast on a separate channel for any interested citizen to view through the data console.

 

"We were discussing . . . classified matters," Illart said. "Why would the negotiations with Rushima be classified?"

 

-Market asked in his most innocent voice. "After all, everybody knows that's what we're here for."

 

"They're not going well," Illart said.

 

"I'm not surprised. After I looked at Dr. Hoa's weatherprediction model, I can see why they might not want to pay for it. Its not that much of an improvement on current systems.'

 

"Yes, but they don't know that yet," Illart said. "They haven't seen the code . . . they just said no thank you, they've had three years of bad harvests planetwide and they owe so many back taxes to the Shenjemi Federation that they can't even imagine throwing away their credits on high-tech frills. The wording," he added dryly, "is Rushimese, not ours."

 

"So it took two full shifts for them to turn us down?" "Oh, no. That happened about ten minutes after we opened negotiations. The rest of the meeting," Illart said wearily, "concerned what we do next."

 

"Try somewhere else ? " Markel hazarded. "That seems to me our only option. But Nueva Fallona had another idea. You see, Hoa brought with him the results of some other research he's been doing recently... I can't tell you exactly what, you're not cleared, but it has to do with actually modifying weather patterns rather than just predicting them. Nueva and some of the other Council members thought we might be able to use that research to convince the Rushimese that they needed our services." Illart sighed again. "If Hoa's work were accurate enough for us to guarantee a season's worth of good growing weather, and if we could afford to wait around during that growing season, it might not be such a bad idea. But he doesn't have that kind of control yet, as Nueva ought to know; she's seen the abstracts Johnny Greene put together for all the Council members. I pointed out that we couldn't predict what would happen if we started discharging pulsed energy into Rushimas ionosphere-we could cause terrible catastrophes on the surface- and do you know what that woman said?" Illart s voice rose in indignation. "That it didn't matter what happened; if we could make their weather interesting enough, they'd be very happy to pay for our services. As if we'd stoop to running a 'protection' racket-pay us or we'll destroy your climate! None of the original Starfarers would stoop to such a thing. Naturally, Andrezhuria and I quashed that idea. But it took forever. Some of the Council actually couldn't see that Nueva was proposing to threaten Rushima until I spelled it out for them in plain language, over and over. The funny thing is," Illart said, yawning hugely, "Nueva herself didn't seem to be that unhappy when I made it clear that we'd never consider such an unethical procedure. The other Palomellese on the Council were griping and muttering, but Nueva actually seemed pleased that I wouldn't even consider her proposal."

 

In view of what Markel had learned about Nueva during his afternoon of hacking into Palomella's secure data bases, this surprised him even more than it did Illart; but his father fell asleep before he had a chance to tell him what the Palomellese aboard ship had been tactfully not mentioning.

 

Later he thought that he might never forgive himself for that omission.

 

A dream of flashing lights, laser pulses calling lightning from the clouds, cities going up in silent waves of flame, resolved into the steady three-pulsed flash of the cabin lights that signaled an emergency alert. Markel half fell out of his sleep tube, rubbing his eyes, and turned to Illart for an explanation of this emergency.

 

Only Illart wasn't there. He must already have gone to deal with the problem . . . but what sort of emergency could call the First Speaker out in the middle of his sleep shift? For engineering problems, Sengrat would have been called; for computer systems, Johnny Greene or one of the other hotshots who carried the CaN. Much as Markel respected his father, he knew that Illart's high position on the Haven was due not to technical expertise but to his reputation for probity and plain speaking. Illart wasn't even that much of a diplomat; when they needed somebody to weasel-word around some system's regulations, Gerezan was the Speaker they called upon to phrase the careful sentences.

 

Well, it was dumb to stand there trying to guess what had happened instead of using the ship's information channels. Markel turned toward the main data console built into the wall of the sitting area, but before he touched it, the screen came to life of its own, casting an eerie pale glow over the darkened chamber. "FREE CITIZENS OF THE HAVEN\" blared the speakers. For once, the sounds came through clear as a bell, with no ominous cracklings in the background. "Please assemble before your screens for an important announcement!" The emergency lights flashed three more times, a siren went off, and the lights pulsed again before the gray background of the screen dissolved to show . . . not the Council chambers, as Markel had expected, but one of the cargo bays where technical equipment and supplies were stowed. Confused-looking people, disheveled from sleep, stood to one side of the bay; among them Markel saw his father and Andrezhuria, the Second Speaker. On the other side of the bay stood those who must have been on shift when the emergency, whatever it was, had occurred; their faces were bright and alert, and they were wearing crisply pressed black fatigues. The majority of them seemed to be Palomellese, although Markel recognized Gerezan, Third Speaker, and Sengrat standing with them. With mounting disbelief Markel saw that two of the Palomellese had drawn phasers and were aiming them at the other side of the bay. He had no time to see more before Nueva Fallona's sharply chiseled features filled the screen.

 

"Free citizens of the Haven," she began crisply, "you have been betrayed, not once, but over and over again through the years, by those who pretended to care for your welfare above their own. This ship, our only home, is in grave disrepair, and the Haven has no funds for refitting and repair. Yet the Speakers of Council who are supposed to guard your fate have paid no attention to your desperate situation; they care more about acting the part of noble and disinterested statesmen than they do about protecting those who depend on them! Furthermore, though they pretend to have a system of democratic elections, the fact is that the power of Council is controlled by the three Speakers, and they have not changed since the first charter of the Starfarers."

 

Markel frowned. That was true, now he came to think of it. Andrezhuria, Gerezan, and his father had shifted the burden of being First Speaker from one to another over the years, but he could not remember any other Speakers ever being elected. In fact, nobody ever ran for the office; it was the lesser Council posts that were disputed in the lengthy political debates the older people loved so well. But Nueva didn't understand. Who'd -want to be a Speaker? It was a heavy responsibility, one that had lined Illart's face before his time, one that had broken up Andrezhuria's marriage to Ezkerra when he complained that she cared more about the Starfarers en masse than about her husband.

 

"As a loyal Starfarer, I can no longer stand aside and see this travesty of a government go on until our tanks are empty of -water and our atmosphere is poisoned by failing recyclers," Nueva went on. An abstract part of Markel's mind was impressed by the way she harped on the issues that would immediately excite any space-faring group, while the rest of him was beginning to panic. Something terrible was going to happen. He knew about Nueva and the rest of the Palomellese now; he had to tell Illart immediately, before whatever this was went any further.

 

The cabin door would not move under his hand. He tugged at the latch to no avail; it wasn't stuck, it was electronically locked. Probably by a command from Central Systems.

 

"At the eleventh hour we have found a way to salvage ourselves through the work of a new Starfarer, Dr. Ngaen Xong Hoa," Nueva said from the screen. "Proper application of his . research can give us the power to control the weather and communications of any planet we visit. Rushima and many others will pay well for the use of this technology, but the fainthearts who control the Council will not permit it. They would rather see you suffocate in a dying ship than take the risk of using new technology!"

 

Illart started forward. "No!" he shouted. "That's a lie, Nueva, and you know it! Tell them what Hoa's system will actually do to a planet! Tell them that you don't know the effects of using it, that nobody can predict-"

 

A Palomellese swung his phaser up into Illart's face. "No interrup' La Fallona!"

 

Markel held his breath until Illart subsided. For a moment he'd thought he was about to see his father murdered before his eyes.

 

"We, the loyal Starfarers, have been forced to take over from the Council in this emergency," said Nueva. "Those who are with us stand here. Those who are not with us may now leave the Haven."

 

Markel exhaled a long sigh of relief. The Palomellese might be criminals, but they weren't homicidal maniacs. They meant to exile the Speakers to Rushima. It was a crazy plan, but it wouldn't-it couldn't-last long. The Starfarers would never stand for this . . . would they? For the first time he felt uneasy about the sight of Gerezan and Sengrat, fully dressed and alert, standing comfortably among all these armed Palomellese.

 

Andrezhuria spoke into the silence left by Nueva's last words. "I will happily take a lifeboat to any system you name," she announced, "rather than lend my countenance to your extortion schemes. But we'll be back when the Starfarers realize what you're up to!"

 

Nueva's smile did not reach her eyes. "Back? Oh, no, I don't think so," she said softly. "Whatever gave you the idea we meant to waste precious resources like lifeboats and oxygen tanks on the fools who have already wasted so much of the Haven's substance? If you won't earn the air you breathe, then you can find your own-out there." She gestured with her phaser toward the door to air locks at the end of the cargo bay.

 

"Now, just a minute, Nueva," Gerezan protested uneasily. "I never meant - "

 

"No? Then you, too, are a fool," Nueva said. "Perhaps in sentimental vids people leave their enemies alive, to recover and strike at them again. On Palomellawe learned better." She nodded at one of the other armed Palomellese. "Esposito, the prisoners here are those who cannot be rehabilitated. You may escort them to the air locks." She turned back to the screen. "Citizens, you have been confined to quarters for your own security during this changeover. As soon as the prisoners have been disposed of, members of the new Council will come among you to release you from your quarters and take your oaths of loyally."

 

Markel stood like an idiot, staring at the screen as he saw the men and women in their sleeping clothes shuffle forward under the phasers of the Palomellese guards. He recognized nearly all the faces in the group: Council members, First-Generation Starfarers from Esperantza, the sort of people who would have agreed with Illart that it was unthinkable to use Hoa's weather control as a weapon against peaceful planets. How much of this had been planned? An extended Council meeting, to make sure that all the dissenting members would be sleeping on the next shift; easy then to surprise the CaN and Engineering departments, and to round up unsuspecting, sleeping people for. . . .

 

"NO!" Markel hammered at the door, weeping tears of rage and fury. On the screen, the image of his father said, "Esposito, quit waving that thing around, somebody's going to get hurt. If you're going to run this ship, you'd better learn to think ahead."

 

Illart sounded so calm that Markel thought for a minute he had secret control of the situation, that in a moment he would snap his fingers and the Palomellese would discover themselves outmanned by a large force of armed Starfarers.

 

But instead, Illart strolled toward the air lock as casually as if he were going for a walk in the Garden. "Aiora, my love," he said to the slowly opening door, "it has been too long." He looked directly toward the screen for just a moment. "And we leave those behind who will remember and avenge this treachery."

 

That was his farewell to Markel. Later Markel realized that Illart had not mentioned his name because he did not wish to remind Nueva Fallona that he left a son who would never forgive his execution. At the time he only watched, eyes blinded by tears, as his father passed beyond the inner doors of the air lock and out of his life forever.

 

Behind Illart, Andrezhuria shook off the Palomellese who had a hand on her arm. "I go with the First Speaker," she said coldly. Her eyes glanced at the group of Palomellese. "Gerezan, your honor goes with us. Will you not accompany it?"

 

"I did try to get you to see reason, 'Zhuria," Gerezan mumbled.

 

Andrezhuria lifted her chin and tossed the tumble of blond nnglets back over her shoulders. Without another word she stepped forward through the inner doors of the air lock, hand in hand with her former husband Ezkerra. The other prisoners followed her, one by one, some protesting, others accepting their fate in benumbed silence.

 

When the inner doors closed behind them. Market went temporarily mad, beating on the unyielding door and twisting at the walls until his hands were raw and bruised. This could not be happening-it was some sort of nightmare!

 

"No nightmare," said a raw voice he hardly recognized as his own. "You knew -what Nueva Fallona was. You knew, and you did not tell Illart." He had a debt to pay for that failure, a task Illart had laid on him in those last words: to remember and avenge.

 

And he could accomplish nothing by crying like a baby or wrestling with the doors as if they could hear his desperation. Markel put his grief aside, and with it the last of his childhood, because he did not have very long to decide -what to do before the new guards came for him. They must know that he -would never swear loyalty to the regime that had killed his father. Even if they were blind enough to believe in any oath he took, wouldn't the words choke him?

 

There was only one alternative: he must not be there when they came. It was a good thing he knew the secret insides of the Haven so well. In the icy calm that he had imposed on himself, Markel mentally went over at least three separate ways to exit the cabin without using the locked doors, any one of which would leave no trace. But just to confuse the issue, he would hack into the central computer and see what trouble he could make before leaving. No telling when he'd next get a chance at a data console.

 

 

Three

 

Labour, Unified\ Federation Date334.05.12

 

 

House Harakamian received an emergency call from the senior members of the secluded and elusive planet of Laboue, where Hafiz Harakamian made his home when he was not scouring the galaxy in search of rarities for his collection and profits for his businesses.

 

"Surprised by your call? Why, no, my dear Quiabriel," Hafiz said urbanely. "I assume you wish to enlist my help in communicating with the strange ship that has been in orbit about our world for the past six hours."

 

An irritated crackle came from the speaker, ending on a note of inquiry.

 

"But of course I am aware of it. House Harakamian's defenses are, as I am sure you are aware, planetwide; and information, my dear Quiabriel, is the first requisite for proper selfdefense."

 

But Hafiz had not been aware of the reason why Quiabriel was enlisting his aid. When he learned of it, his eyebrows rose in surprise-not so much at the news that beings similar to the horned girl Hafiz had once sheltered were apparent in vids transmitted from the strange ship, as at the discovery that Quiabriel knew all about his unicorn visitor of four years previously. Something was very wrong with the Harakamian security arrangements, to allow Quiabriel access to such information!

 

But concerns about his private security system vanished when the broadcasts coming from the ship were transmitted forward to the Harakamian house screens.

 

What it was broadcasting was not a known language but files of the most awful atrocities he'd ever seen committed, inflicted by vicious-looking members of an alien race on what Hafiz instantly identified as members of Acorna's species. Some, and these must be the males writhing within their torture structures, had larger horns, were obviously taller than Acorna, but helpless. Then the awful visions altered to a spatial map, showing the planet Laboue where House Harakamian was sited. Clearly displayed were the bridge of a ship occupied by members of Acorna's species, and then a second view of the galactic area in which this solar system was located as well as a five-ship vanguard of what had to be the vicious torturers aiming straight at this retreat. Then images of the unicorn people, this time standing upright and free, appeared, their arms outspread in what appeared to be a gesture of greeting-or a cry for help.

 

"So?" asked Misra Affrendi, a trusted family retainer who had recently celebrated his 11 Oth year of life, "what do we do?"

 

Misra didn't sound desperate, but there was an edge to his voice.

 

"Is there a channel from our satellite open to the horned ones' ship?"

 

"Of course, and everyone with any linguistic ability is trying to analyze their language."

 

Hafiz grimaced. He did have a cube of Acorna opening the Maganos Mining, but he didn't have Rafik, who might or might not remember the few words Acorna had initially used before she had sopped up Basic Universal Interlingua like a sponge. And, as far as Hafiz knew, the escape pod was at Maganos Moon Base, too, and he'd no cube of THAT to display.

 

Quiabriel had wondered if the vids were some form of threat, but to Hafiz it was obvious that the horned folk felt some warning was required to another sapient race standing in the path of such a viciously predatory race as those videoed. Hafiz shuddered at the thought of Acorna's lovely slender body encased in any of the instruments of torture displayed. And then at the thought of his own in a similar condition.

 

"What else is being done?" Hafiz huffed. "As the Third Prophet said, 'Before thine own life and thine own honor, redeem and protect the house from whence thou earnest.' First we must protect House Harakamian-then we can analyze this message at length and attempt to establish communication."

 

"That has already been taken care of. We've activated the Shield, of course," Misra said, his elderly voice croaking with impatience.

 

"Have we warned all our shipping and affiliates?"

 

"Those in immediate peril, yes."

 

"But once the Shield goes up, no one can get in or out."

 

"Exactly," Misra said with great satisfaction.

 

"I must contact my heir immediately. ..."

 

"You have six minutes before the Shield goes up."

 

For the first time in his life, Hafiz wondered if the Shield, which had cost so much and had been kept so secret, would prove sufficient to the need. As soon as he sent a message to Rafik, he would initiate his own special invasion procedures. They would have been sufficient against any known hazard, but he didn't like the look of these new predators. Especially if the little Horn ship had felt obliged to warn any other sapient species it encountered.

 

Why could he not remember the few words that Acorna had said to him in her own language?

 

"Ah!" Now they came floating back to him. "Awi," she had cried in her sleep once. "Awi, Lalli..."

 

"Misra, I must speak to these Horned Ones!"

 

"Why? Have you suddenly a method of learning their language unknown to us?"

 

"For once, Methusalitic relic of a thousand of an era no longer even understood, stop asking questions! PATCH ME THROUGH!"

 

If the beauty of the four obviously mature specimens of Acorna's species startled Hafiz, they were dumbfounded to hear him use the two words of their language that he knew.

 

"Aavi," one of them repeated, giving the word a slightly different emphasis that made her sound exactly like Acorna. "Laali?" Then, blast it, she started chattering their gibberish at high speed.

 

"What is she saying, what is she saying?" demanded Misra.

 

"I have no idea," said Hafiz, although in fact he was pretty sure she was saying the Horned Ones' equivalent of "Praise to Allah, at last someone who speaks a civilized language!"

 

That attempt at communication had backfired, but at least he had a vid of Acorna to show, taken secretly two years ago -when she had visited him, and kept by Hafiz for his private enjoyment. When he displayed the pictures of young Acorna romping on the grass and dancing to her own music on the Singing Stones of Skarness, he saw the amazement of the envoys increase. They fell silent, but their moving eyes and animated gestures indicated that a lively discussion was going on. Why could he not hear it? Oh, well, what difference would it make if he could? He wouldn't have understood what they were saying anyway.

 

When he also produced the graphic of the inscription on her escape pod, they became so agitated that he wondered if he had turned the information about Acorna over to the wrong sort of Horned Ones.

 

Hafiz had never been good with charades as a method of communication, but he had the sense to record the movements: the blunt two-jointed hands mimicked a small member of their species, then outspread and uplifted arms and a universally understood expression of query.

 

In response he nodded, smiled, and gestured to the latest height of Acorna to indicate her maturity.

 

Then they obviously were trying to extract from him her current location, showing him star maps and pointing urgently at them. They spoke all the time in their own liquid language, slightly nasal, as Acorna's Basic was, but he was totally out of his depth. He'd always left navigation to his highly trained space crew and wished desperately that he had Rafik to hand just then.

 

A chance look at the timepiece showed him he had little time to fool with gestures and expressions. He compressed their interview into a message cube, slotted it in with the Uhuru's code, and sent it off. No sooner had he done that than a great shadow seemed to float through the window and over his house. The Shield had been put in place.

 

Lost was any contact with the courier ship, and he could not be certain that the message had made it through that device and on to Rafik.

 

"Well," Misra's acid voice now violated his ears, "did you find out anything?"

 

"If I did, that damned Shield, ten thousand djinnis fly away with it and drop it into the hell of molten rock, may have prevented it getting through to where this information will be most valuable. Rafik HAS to have that information."

 

"They call themselves Linyaari," Misra said with that odiously superior tone he so often adopted. "We know their planet of origin, but it has been totally destroyed by these invaders whom they call the Khieevi. They have reestablished a home world only to be forced to run again from these . . . these things. They thought to warn us, and they have other couriers doing the same task in the hope of finding some group strong enough, or militaristically advanced enough, to overcome the threat the Khieevi so obviously are. Let me remind you that all communications would now cease even if the Shield were not in place, in case these . . . predators . . . have equipment able to detect even planetary-based signals."

 

"That," Hafiz said, "could prove as expensive as not having the Shield at all." No communications meant no trade, and how long could Rafik carry all the burdens of House Harakamian's multitudinous business schemes by himself? Not only that, but he would be absolutely unable to complete some agreements without Hafiz's personal authorization, and there were others he had not been told of. ... Well, the boy had already proved his worth as heir to House Harakamian; he wouldn't be a worthy heir if he didn't have, somewhere, a source of information about ALL the House's business plans, as well as a code key that would allow him to forge his uncle's authorization. In that sense at least, one could always trust one's family. . . . But to do exactly what? Rafik couldn't protect Acorna and manage Hafiz's business simultaneously. Hafiz paced his study and could not decide which choice would cause him most distress.

 

Rafik was somewhat surprised to receive a message from his uncle, who should know that the Uhuru was already orbiting Laboue and that Rafik would be reporting in person shortly. The message had obviously suffered some damage in transit, and the only word that came through unmutilated was "Acorna's ..."

 

Rafik fired off a request for a repetition of the message while he waited for confirmation of his first message, requesting permission to land.

 

The com board gave a warning beep; Rafik glanced over to see that his second message had been returned as undeliverable. There was still no response to the first one ... and a new series of beeps alerted him to the possibility that there would be none. Laboues main communications satellite had stopped transmitting. "Check alternates, display visuals, trace," Rafik snapped, and the visual-display screen came up showing a sphere of cloudy gray, to all appearances completely enclosing the green planet where he had just been preparing to land. The test of alternate communications routes returned a null; apparently none of the backup satellites was transmitting or receiving messages either. The red tracer line that showed the futile progress of his communications burst from one possible node to another also showed a strange ship, one whose beacon signal, if any, was unknown to the Uhuru's computer . . . and Rafik would have sworn that his uncle Hafiz had access to every ship-recognition code, registered or unregistered, in known space.

 

What sort of threat had that little ship posed, to make Hafiz take the unprecedented step of shutting, Laboue off from the rest of the universe with the Shield? Should he stay and try to help from here? After a moments agonizing debate, Rafik decided against it. He had every confidence in Uncle Hafiz s ability to take care of himself. Besides, if this confidence should prove to be misplaced for once, Hafiz would surely not be pleased to see his heir run into the same noose that had captured him. And that garbled message had said something about Acorna... perhaps to warn of some danger threatening her? Clearly his duty was to return to Maganos Moon Base at once, to check up on Acorna, and once there perhaps to enlist Delszaki Li's aid in finding out what disaster had cut off his uncle's communications.

 

On board the Balakiire, joy and confusion almost overwhelmed the Linyaari envoys at this evidence that one had survived who had long been considered dead to them. They were not, however, so overset that Mehreenya, the communications specialist, failed to copy and trace the single message that emerged before a shield impenetrable even to their sophisticated equipment blanked out transmissions from the planet below.

 

Among themselves they did not bother to speak aloud; after so many months of travel, the small crew were all perfectly attuned to one another's thought-patterns, so that the rudimentary short-distance telepathic communication of their kind was even less effort than speaking.

 

(That pod was marked with the names of Feriila and Vaanye.) That was Neeva, Feriila's sister, one of the two senior members of the envoy team. The hope that some member of her family might have survived had overpowered her emotions; her golden eyes were narrowed to vertical slits, and the gilt tendrils other mane quivered in the still air of the ship.

 

(But we know they destroyed their ship rather than be captured by the Khieevi. How could one of the survival pods have come so far, to be in the possession of these barbarians?) Thariinye, young and beautiful and arrogantly male, prided himself on his unemotional analytical reasoning.

 

The thought-streams of the whole crew blended, coalescing and separating like partial conversations at a very crowded party.

 

(We don't know they are barbarians. They may be perfectly civilized people.) The thought-shape that accompanied this concept was of a group of hornless unicorns with flimsy, soft hands and feet. If Khaari had been speaking, the words that went with this thought-shape would have been "people like us." (Then why won't they treat with us? Anyway, they look like carnivores to me. Did you see those pointy side teeth?)

 

(We still don't know all the properties of the device Vaanye used to destroy the ship; his research notes went with him. But we can postulate it was developed as an offshoot of his research into space topology and transportation.)

 

(Who cares about the research! I want to find Feriila's child!)

 

(Neeva, calm yourself. That they have a vid does not prove that they have the child, only that there has been some previous contact with our kind. The vid was of a young girl; its been three ghaanyi since the explosion; if Feriila's youngling had lived, she would be fully grown by now.)

 

(My point about the research was, Vaanye said the new weapon worked by folding space to make two distant points contiguous, but there were still a few minor problems to be solved.)

 

(So?)

 

(So maybe what he meant by "a few minor problems" was that objects close to the fold might be unpredictably transported to an unknown distant point. Physicists think like that, you know. And when he used his experimental weapon to blow up his ship and the Khieevi attackers, maybe as a side effect, the youngling's escape pod was transported into this sector.)

 

(A lot of "maybes" there.)

 

(Okay, you explain how they got hold of a pod from a ship that was supposed to have been destroyed down to the molecular level three ghaanyi ago.)

 

(I'm sure she survived. I'm sure of it. The barbarian was holding his hand up to show us how much she'd grown. And that word he kept saying-"Acorna"-that must be what they called her.)

 

("Acorna"? That word was in the transmission that was sent just before the Shield closed down. It was the only signal I picked up clearly. But it was enough to send that neighboring ship out of orbit.)

 

(Can we follow it?)

 

(Of course we can, if Melireenya will give me details of the ship's signal. I didn't get this for nothing.) Khaari tapped the crescent-shaped silver medal that proclaimed her a senior tutor in the Navigators' Guild.

 

(Might as well do so, then. It certainly doesn't look as if we're going to get any more out of this lot of barbarians. Why did you have to scare them with those vids of Khieevi tortures, Melireenya?)

 

(Me? I like that! It was your idea to start with vids instead of first collecting enough samples of the language to run the LAANYE, Thariinye!)

 

(Well, they're scared now, no matter whose idea it was,) Neeva interposed pacifically. (We'd better cloak the ship; if this one notices us following, he might think we have hostile intentions toward him.)

 

(Why don't we just capture him for our language sample?)

 

(Thariinye. I. Want. To. See. Where. He. Goes. All right?)

 

Thariinye s handsome young face flushed dark, and his silvery pupils narrowed to slits at Neeva's scolding tone, but he realized the justice in it. His attempt at first contact with the barbarians had failed miserably. In the democratic fashion of the Linyaari, it was now Neeva's turn to take the lead, and he was obliged to support whatever decisions she made in her own attempt to initiate contact-even if those decisions did seem to him, as now, to be excessively guided by personal concerns.

 

To be even more than fair, Thariinye reminded himself that a possible missing one of the Linyaari should be of the greatest importance to them all. It was just coincidence that this particular one, if she lived, might turn out to be Neeva's sister-child.

 

All the same, he felt embarrassed both at his failure and at this public reprimand, and was eager to distinguish himself before the older envoys; a desire which was to cause far more trouble than this brief squabble on board the ship.

 

Cloaked and shielded, the Balakiire followed Rafik's Uhara at a discreet distance, a momentary darkness in space that hovered always in the other ship's blind spot. For fear of alerting their quarry, the Linyaari shut down transmissions with their home base, difficult in any case at this great distance from the civilized world; but within the ship, they discussed their next step endlessly until everybody's thought-patterns converged by minute increments onto the same plan. They had been mistaken to try and skip the language-acquisition phase of initiating contact with a new people; this would, therefore, have to be their first priority after they discovered the other ship's destination.

 

For many generations the Linyaari had relied more and more upon their late-evolving telepathic abilities and less and less upon spoken language, except as a way of communicating with younglings whose brains were not yet mature enough for thought-speech. Only when they first came into contact with other races did they discover the problem presented by their total inability to make thought-contact with Others who showed signs of being as "linyarii," in their own way, as the Linyaari themselves. With highly advanced technology but no experience in learning second languages, they had taken the obvious step of devising a learning device that, given a sample of an alien language, could be used in a few overnight sleep-training sessions to connect the forms of that language with the thought-forms of basic Linyaari communication. The device did have the one minor drawback-that it was necessary to establish some rudimentary dialogue with one of the aliens first, as a basis for further learning; and they had learned through experience that it could be extremely difficult to get cooperation before proper communication was established. The nesters of Khorma V had been sedentary creatures, the adults bonded to their nests by a complex set of chemical interactions. That first translation task had been easy enough; the Linyaari envoys needed only to camp beside a large nest and wait until the inhabitants grew curious enough to begin interaction. But the scurrying little dharmakoi of Galleni had been shy, easily frightened little creatures with a unique ability to disappear into shadows. The Linyaari had slowly established trust over a long period of cautious contacts, until the dharmakoi learned that not all Others were predators and came trustingly to converse with the large horned ones ... a lesson the Linyaari now regretted teaching them, since the dharmakoi had greeted the first Khieevi with the same trust and hence were now extinct.

 

Memories of the time it had taken to gain the trust of the dharmakoi had inspired Thariinye's suggestion that they initiate contact with vids from Khieevi torture ships, showing these barbarians what a mutual enemy they and the Linyaari had. At the time it had seemed like an excellent idea. Now they had returned to their basic contact methods, with a slight difference that was argued out while they followed the other ship.

 

(We don't have time to spend months taming a barbarian. Besides, they are many, and we are only four-in this sector. What if they decide -we're dangerous and try to kill us? We have to establish communications right away,) Tharunye argued.

 

(I'm not even going to mention where I've heard that idea before, or what just happened when we tried it.) Neeva's thought-images were accompanied by an emotion, or rather, by the haughty repression of all emotion; they seemed to float in a cold empty space.

 

(It wasn't a total failure,) Melireenya pointed out. (We did learn that your sister-child may be alive and in this sector, Neeva.)

 

(I'm just saying that next time I'd like to have a little more meaningful dialogue and a little less hand waving, all right? It's clear we can't do anything until we have their language.)

 

(I didn't say we don't need the language, I said we don't have time to sit outside their burrows and win their trust little by little, like the Second Envoys did with the dharmakoi.)

 

(So what do you suggest, Thariinye-always-in-a-hurry?)

 

(Isn't it obvious? We'll have to catch one. The one -we're following is handy.)

 

(That's unethical! We can't deprive a sapient being of liberty without its understanding and consent!)

 

(So we'll calm it down until it consents.)

 

(Wait a minute, Neeva. Thariinye has a valid point. It could take a long time to win these barbarians' trust. . . and they seem to have formidable weapons systems. If they are more khievn than linyarii [more like vermin than like us, the People] then they might -well exterminate us before we can even begin negotiations.)

 

(If they are so khievii that they kill strangers who come to them peacefully, there's no point in negotiating. Those are not the kind of allies we need.)   (Agreed, Neeva, but if you don't terribly mind, I would prefer not to die finding this out!) Khaari thought with a wry twist other mind that set all four Linyaari laughing in agreement.

 

(Perhaps if we could win the barbarian s consent after we have captured and tamed it. . . ?) Melireenya suggested.

 

(Bending our laws instead of breaking them, Melireenya?)

 

(Any good system must be flexible,) Melireenya stood up for herself.

 

(Hmm. Well. . . )

 

(We might want to use the barbarian as an envoy, too, rather than speaking with them directly. Just at first, while we're finding out what happened to your sister-child. It might be betterif they think it's one of their own people inquiring, then they won't get scared and hide her.)

 

(You're assuming a lot of cooperation from this captive barbarian whom we don't even have yet.)

 

(If this people are at all linyarii, then surely every one of them will be happy to reunite a youngling with her family.)

 

(And if they aren't?)

 

(Then it's best we find that out first-even if it does mean bending the Linyaari code of ethics slightly. After all, our forebears who devised the code governing first contacts never envisioned encountering something like the Khieevi.)

 

(I should hope not! Who could imagine anything like that?)

 

(But now that -we know such beings exist, it is only rational to amend our code accordingly. Ethical interspecies contact should not require that -we put ourselves into avoidable danger.)

 

(Ah, but which is more important-our danger, or the fear and anguish we shall inflict on this hypothetical captive barbarian who will have no idea what is going on?)

 

(We can dampen the fear and anguish.)

 

(Even if it were ethical to mess with its^ mind, we don't know the effects we might have on its memory. This one may know something about our little lost one; we daren't use it for a teaching tool.)

 

Eventually a compromise was reached. They would not attempt long-distance contact at first, but neither would they kidnap any members of this species. Nor would they approach whatever sentient beings were on the ship they were following, for fear that the necessary clouding of their minds would also cloud their memories of the desired information. Rather, they would ascertain the ships destination, then intercept and board some other ship headed for the same destination, relying on signs and whatever telepathic abilities this species might have to make it clear that they came in peace and meant to harm no one. If one of the barbarians on the ship would come with them willingly, they would use it for a language sample and maybe later employ its services as an envoy. If not, they would let the ship go on its way and try to think of some other stratagem. In either case, since they would be physically present on the vessel, they would have the power to heal any fear experienced by the barbarians during this brief captivity, as well as to blur their memories of the experience so that they would be hesitant to speak of it to others.

 

(What if we find we cannot heal this species?) Neeva fretted. (And even if we can, isn't it just as unethical to fool with their memories as it is to take one of them captive?)

 

(Bend, not break, Neeva,) Khaari said firmly.

 

The shuttle for Maganos was delayed on the launching pad, giving Karina ample time to suffer from the tasteless decor of deep red and orange that clashed horribly with her personal colors of lavender and creamy white. And the shuttle was fully booked, every seat filled, and in some cases overfilled; the old woman next to her filled up her own space and overflowed into Kanna's. And somebody quite nearby had been eating Thai food: the whiff of garlic and cilantro quite overpowered the usual shuttle smell of carpet cleaner and recycled air. Karina whiled away the long wait for takeoff by explaining to the old woman next to her, who was going up to try to identify a long-lost great-nephew or something of the sort, how extremely trying she found experiences like this, with the crowd of humanity pressing so close against her.

 

"I know just what you mean, dearie," the old bat said comfortably. She shifted position and propped her legs up on Karma's cariyall. "They don't make these shuttle seats near big enough for full-figured women like us, do they?"

 

Karma glanced at the old broad's shapeless bulk, bulging out of a shiny stretch dress two sizes too small and thirty years too young for her, then smoothed a reassuring hand down the flowing curves of lavender silk that she herself wore. Surely there could be no comparison . . . could there?

 

"Oh, it's not physical crowding that troubles me," she said with a little laugh that someone, a long time ago, had mistakenly likened to the gay tinkle of water falling onto smooth stones. Karina had been tinkling gaily ever since. "It is the presence of so many souls, each with its own weight of misery and secret fears and bodily pains. I am a Sensitive, you see: I can feel these things." She pressed a hand to her heart.

 

"Me too," her seatmate agreed amiably. "I feel it most particular after I eat fried foods. Looks like that's where it's getting you now. A burning pain, like, right under the breastbone?"

 

"Not in the slightest," Karina snapped. "Besides, I never eat animal fats or take alcohol."

 

"Can't be too careful when you get to our age, can you?" The old woman chuckled comfortably and reached into a capacious silver-mounted traveling bag. It looked as if she were bringing out her portable photo album . . . and it was huge.

 

Karina decided it would be hopeless to try and explain to the old bat that the pain she referred to was one of empathy, sharing the sorrows of humanity and knowing that her own poor talents would never suffice to heal the griefs of all those she encountered. In sheer self-preservation she was obliged to limit her healing work to those with whom she felt a certain spiritual oneness. At first she'd thought her seatmate might turn out to be one of those-the gaudy display of rainbow-flashing rings and bracelets on her fat white wrists and fingers suggested someone who could pay adequately for healing whatever pained her. Now Karina began to think it would be wiser to pass the rest of the flight in contemplative silence.

 

She announced that it was time for her personal meditation, leaned back, and closed her eyes, trying to ignore both the plump thigh pressing against hers and her seatmate s agreement that a little nap after lunch was a good thing at their age. Irritation would interfere with the alpha waves, and she wanted to arrive on Maganos projecting a serene calmness that would reassure this Acorna. Poor child, she had had no guidance in how to handle her psychic powers; no wonder she had fled to a remote lunar base! Indeed, a time of withdrawal from the world might have been most healing for her. But now it was time for her to come back to the world; Acorna herself must have sensed it, which was why she had acknowledged Karina's fifty-seventh message. Now she would take the unicorn girl under her wing, teach her how to use her powers for the good of all without exhausting herself and, above all, without simply giving it away as she'd done during her weeks on Kezdet two years ago. The very thought made Karina feel slightly ill. Never mind; once she and Acorna were partners the girl would learn better.

 

Karina fingered her pendant of opalescent moonstone set in silver and visualized a pink light of love all around herself, reaching out to envelop Acoma in its roseate glow. She felt an answering pulse, alien and surprisingly strong, and definitely welcoming. Wonderful! The shuttle couldn't be more than halfway to Maganos, and already she could feel Acoma's presence ... it had to be the unicorn girl, didn't it? Karina willed herself to sink deeper into trance. It was awfully hard to concentrate with that silly speaker squawking at them about minor course corrections and telling her not to panic. Of course she wasn't going to panic . . . strange! The seat felt as if it were dropping away from her. She must be achieving a really good trance, almost levitational. And there was definitely a sense of an alien presence, very close now and quite different from the babbling, grumbling minds all around her.

 

A firm tap on her shoulder and a warm, mint-flavored gust of breath broke the trance.

 

"Have one of these, dearie," her seatmate said, holding out a mint that had suffered from being clutched too long in a hot, sweaty palm. "Wonderful for the motion sickness, they say."

 

Before Karina could explain that she never permitted her mind to experience such illusions as motion sickness, the shuttle gave a sickening swoop and a sideways lurch that took her breath away, then steadied. Someone across the aisle made retching sounds. Karina had to close her eyes and remind herself firmly that she -was thinking of Higher Things and that motion sickness was a false messenger. Someone farther up the cabin gave a faint shriek that -was echoed from various seats around the body of the shuttle. Karina concentrated fiercely on her mental image ofAcoma, tall and silver-maned and welcoming her partnerto-be, before she allowed herself to open her eyes and see what the screaming was about.

 

Which was -why she, alone of all the shuttle passengers, was neither frightened nor amazed to see a tall, silver-maned being with a golden horn stepping lightly through a door that should have been closed and double-locked until the shuttle entered the artificial atmosphere of Maganos. Outside the open door could be seen a stable, sourceless, golden glow where there should have been empty space, blackness, and immediate death for all the shuttle passengers.

 

"Don't scream, you idiot, it's only Lady Lukia!" one of the passengers admonished another, using one of the names by which Acorna had been known during her brief stay on Kezdet.

 

"She's comin' to take me, and I don't want to be took!" cried the girl who'd first screamed, burying her head in her trembling arms.

 

The unicorn-person said something in a liquid, slightly nasal language, and touched the girl's head. She looked up, trembling, and met those golden eyes. Immediately her body relaxed, and she sat back in her seat, limp and smiling slightly.

 

Whatever had been done to the girl appeared to be contagious, for within seconds, the people sitting on either side of her were similarly relaxed and vacant-eyed.

 

The old lady beside Karina was clutching the arms of her seat, white-knuckled, and saying prayers under her breath. Karina realized that the other shuttle passengers had no idea what was really going on.

 

"Excuse me," she said tightly, pushing herself out of the seat and starting for the aisle. "Excuse me, please, thank you, if you could move your knees a little, sir, thank you. Sorry about that, there's nothing to worry about, it's me they've come for. ..."

 

Finally, disheveled and breathless, she reached the aisle amid disgruntled murmurs about people who didn't have the consideration to go before they got seated and people who ought to pay for two shuttle seats if they were going to take up all that space.

 

foiots, Karina thought. We've been lifted into Another Dimension a.n2 Acorna has come personally for me, an<) all they can think of if their paltry human bodies. Throwing up, screaming, anD kvetching about having their toes stepped on - what must she think of us7 It's up to me to show that some of us are Above All That.

 

Smiling resolutely, and ignoring the tiny part of her that squeaked that it, personally, was worried about its paltry human body and didn't want to go away with aliens no matter how benevolent, Karina walked down the aisle and held out one hand gracefully to the unicorn-person.

 

"It's all right," she said. "I know you've come for me. Don't worry about these others; they're not used to psychic manifestations on this plane of being."

 

Acorna-for surely it must be she: there was no other like her-tilted a long, shapely face and said something like, "Lllrivhanyithalli? "

 

"Charmed, I'm sure," Karina replied. Why hadn't anyone mentioned that Acorna didn't speak Basic Interlingua? Oh, well, they could communicate on a psychic level. She beamed and projected, as strongly as she could, the image of herself and Acorna together and surrounded by the rosy pink light of perfect love and accord. When Acorna still looked puzzled, she put one hand to her moonstone pendant and asked it to lend her its energies for the projection.

 

Acorna turned away from her!

 

(See, Neeva? This one wants to come with us! Can't you sense it?)

 

(It feels confused to me. If it can thought-talk at all, it's doing so very weakly. Are you sure about what it wants?)

 

(Thariinye, I'm not so sure either,) put in Melireenya. (From your thought-images, it seems to be baring its teeth. In carnivores, isn't that usually a threat?)

 

(Not in these carnivores.) Thariinye had watched randomly captured vids from intercepted satellite transmissions while they had followed the other ship across space to the lunar base where it had landed. (They bare their teeth to indicate sociability and greeting.)

 

(Oh, all right, if you say so. Anyway, I suppose we can reassure it later.)

 

Karina let out a sigh of relief as Acorna turned those large golden eyes back upon her and extended a ... hand? Whatever- the digits were thick and clumsy compared to human fingers, but soft like a hand. Karina grasped the offered hand and felt a twinge of unease. Was she picking up some trouble from Acoma's mind? Or was it the fact that Acorna s eyes were golden, not silver as in the stories? Or was it the fact that she seemed taller and more muscular than Karina had pictured her? Almost masculine in her aura. Perhaps it was the effect of the loose navy blue tunic she wore; it was so severe-looking, not the way you'd expect a young innocent girl to dress-unicorn or no. Well, perhaps Karina had been Sent to teach Acorna how to dress . . . among other things.

 

"Just a minute," she said firmly when Acorna beckoned her toward the open door. "I need to get my bag."

 

That occasioned another interlude of panting, wriggling, and apologizing as Karina fished her carryall out from among other passengers' feet. She emerged from the struggle flushed and anxious that Acorna would have become impatient, so she did not demur when Acorna gestured that she was to go first up the aisle and through the door. The golden glow outside the door blinded her, and she thought about Higher Powers and stepped into it with complete -well, nearly complete - Love and Trust anyway.

 

Only when the other ship appeared in the glowing light, when she saw even more unicorn-people excitedly awaiting her appearance, did Karina realize that she was just as badly off as the other passengers on the shuttle.

 

She didn't have a clue what was really going on.

 

four

 

Rudhlma, Unified Federation Date 334.05.17

 

While the Starfarer vessel was orbiting Rushima, it was not at the moment in a position to see the arrival of t}ie Aca^ecki. Nor did Calum bother to check on any orbiting spacecraft since the Galacticapedia resume on Rushima indicated the planet was in the early stages of its agricultural development and had only a message beacon. As he and Acorna saw no need to leave a message that would undoubtedly not be retrieved until whenever the colony remembered to look for messages, they thought they would simply identify a decent-sized settlement and land there. Rushima, being new with only one generation born on-planet, would not be startled or surprised by a single ship arriving. They could pay for anything they needed by transferring credits from the Li Alining Company to whatever credit institution the Rushimese nominated.

 

But as the Aca^ecki made its approach, Acorna frowned. "This is the sickest-looking agricultural planet I have ever seen. Whatever can they be growing? It looks all brown, and yet this is the summer for this hemisphere. Something should look green. Even the forests look sick."

 

"You're right. Maybe we should try the northern hemisphere. This planet, it says right here"-Calum pointed to the entry from Galactic which was displayed on another screen- "has little axial tilt, so it stays more or less the same temperate climate year-round. Hmm."

 

As they got closer, into the atmosphere, they spotted larger lake areas than were apparent in the official entry orbital scans. "What could have happened?" Acorna said. "Floods?" "Sure looks like 'em," Calum had to agree. "But planetwide?

 

That just doesn't figure into"-he tapped out some directions to the screen showing the Galactic - "the sort of weather they're supposed to have."

 

Then they overflew a vast wasteland with withered trees which had given up the struggle to survive without the rain they required. "If they don't do something quickly, erosion will ruin this land forever," Acoma said, for she had studied ecology along with many other subjects during her years aboard the mining ship. They continued on, over a low range of mountains, covered with sun-seared vegetation.

 

"Noah, you been at it again?" Calum said facetiously, to cover his shock at the devastation: one area of land drowning next to one that had been sun-baked to extinction.

 

"There's a sizable settlement over there, to the right, Calum. And what looks like an airfield."

 

As they closed the distance, Calum snorted. "A very wet airfield, but safe enough for us to land on. The settlement s not far away.

 

"Not far for aquatic animals," he amended later, when they opened the outer hatch and surveyed the lake which was the field: a rather muddy lake since their landing had stirred up the drowned soil.

 

"Phew!" Calum said, turning his head away from the smell that now rose to their nostrils. Acorna s nose twitched, but her main concern was food, not water.

 

"What's happened?" she asked. "Think the soaking's reached the sewage-disposal units?"

 

He pinched his nostrils. "I'll just get me a set of plugs." He paused as he passed Acorna: there were no plugs for her wider nostrils. But then she wasn't as particular about smells, bad or good, as he was. She seemed to like them all-the more intense, the better.

 

"There's no one around, either," Acorna said, shielding her eyes to peer around and adjusting to the odor. "I don't understand this."

 

Her digestive juices gurgled in complaint. She hadn't seen a need to ration what remained edible on board and had really been looking forward to a decent graze on Rushima. As far as her far-seeing eyes could perceive, there wasn't that much to tempt her. But she needed to eat something.

 

"Trees, over there, Acorna," Calum said, pointing beyond and behind the ship toward a distant hillock. "Look! You go see if there's anything edible there. I'll"-he looked down at the water surrounding them-"wade over to the buildings and see what I can see. Maybe even ground transport . . . delete that:

 

what we'd require is aquatic transport." He looked at the landing ramp. "Doesn't look all that deep." The ramp's edge was only centimeters into the flood.

 

Blithely he stepped off, into water up to his ankles. The next step had him in water up to his knees. And he grinned sheepishly back at Acorna.

 

"Must've been a rut or something," he said.

 

"Well, I can at least help us see where we're going," she said, and, kneeling on the ramp, bent over so that her horn touched the water. A few swirling motions and the silty, smelly floodplain cleared magically. She dropped her nose into the clear water and drank. "Hmm, rather nice without the effluvium. There were fertilizers dissolved in the water, too."

 

"Really? They must be in bad shape here. One-half the planet burned to a crisp and the rest of the real estate underwater. Something's peculiar. That's unnatural."

 

Acorna stepped off the ramp. "It feels cool around my hooves." She grinned with childlike pleasure. She rarely used footwear on the ship. "I shan't be long. Now that I can see -where I'm going, it's all about fetlock height across to the hill."

 

With that, she started off, splashing through the water at a dead run, occasionally leaping a few strides, her delighted laughter trickling back to him.   Now that he could see through the water, Calum stepped over the minor ruts that had nearly sunk him before Acorna purified things. The grooves in the dirt had probably been made by vehicle wheels on the soft ground of the landing area. Odd that they wouldn't have paved this area over with something solid. Still, this was a new colony, and most likely it didn't have time or money for refinements.

 

Time or money for much at all, he decided when he saw the condition of the airfield buildings. They had an uninhabited and disused look to them, with dead vines clinging to the walls. The plants were little more than mushy stalks that hadn't yet fallen to join the rest of the plant in the mud. The building was on slightly higher ground, so the water had not yet quite reached it ... although it looked to have been flooded quite recently, perhaps during whatever disaster dumped all this water on what was supposed to have been growing here. A badly warped and distorted sign over the door, half-covered with mold, read,

 

LOADING CENTER WEST-AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

 

When he touched the door panel, it was slimy. Wiping his hand, he pressed harder for admittance, and, creaking badly, the door gradually opened. Obviously no one had been here for yonks. It must have been in use once, for there were benches, tables, openings in the sidewall which had led to a ticket counter, and to a weighing office. The size of the platform suggested heavy cargoes had been shifted through here.

 

Only one door was locked, and that gave -with just a little push, as the damp-soaked locking apparatus fell from the softened wood. Calum had hit pay dirt-he'd found the main office, to judge by all the files. Someone had spent time and energy to pile the plastic cabinets on footings to keep them above water level.

 

The room had several communication devices, good ones, but Calum had to wonder if they were still serviceable under all the mold. He brushed as much gunk as he could away and depressed the com toggle. It clicked uselessly several times before he decided that there was nothing powering it.

 

Frowning, he went back outside to see solar panels on the roof. Not much would rot or otherwise damage the materials from which such panels were usually manufactured, but they did have to have at least four hours of sun to operate. Clouds were already gathering to the west. Rather fast, he thought, remembering they'd landed in clear skies and hadn't even seen a weather front moving in on their approach from the west. Odd that! And there wasn't so much as a breeze to ruffle the flooded field.

 

He caught sight of Acorna in her grazing posture and was delighted that she, at least, had had some luck. He hoped he'd have his share as well. There had to be something wrong for the solar panels to fail. Possibly the cable connecting the panels to the reservoir had perished. Then he spotted the ladder attached to the gable end of the roof, which would give him access to the panels. He'd just check. Sure enough, the cable connections had fallen away from the rain-soft wood, and the cable itself lay half in a puddle, the insulation rotting away from it. Well, he had plenty of cable that size back at the ship, so he climbed down and splashed to the AcaSecki, got a belt of the tools he'd need, and waded back to the building.

 

It didn't take him long to splice the cable and, since he rather thought there'd been some sunlight, maybe he could just rouse someone on this planet on the com unit. He headed into the rundown building. Power he had, and he sent a brief message, asking to be met by someone in authority at the field so he could transact business in acquiring new seeds for a hydroponics tank system. Then he trudged back to the AccSecki to get himself a bit of lunch and await the arrival of anyone who'd heard the call.

 

That was why he didn't see Acorna waving frantically in his direction, or hear her distant voice trying to warn him of the flotilla of assorted water vessels heading in his direction, bristling with all sorts of makeshift weapons. The first he knew of danger was an unfriendly challenge from the leading boat:

 

Hold it right there, y'damned pirate!"

 

Whoops, Calum thought, suspecting that Kezdet's new improved interstellar reputation might not have spread as far as Rushima. For the first time he felt fervently grateful for the hasty departure that had precluded his suggesting that Mercy might accompany them on the journey-ostensibly to provide Acorna with feminine company, that would have been his excuse. His sweet, gentle Mercy had already been exposed to too many dangers in her time -as a spy for the Child Liberation League within the offices of the corrupt Kezdet police. She didn't need to deal with floods, famine, riots, and whatever else was now coming their way, clearly spoiling for a fight.

 

He girded himself quickly with an arms belt, snapped on the field that would keep them outside and him safely within the ship, and just made it to the hatch before the first of the paddled boats arrived with its cargo of many men and women. Most of them were carrying sharp-edged or heavy tools; all of them looked distinctly unfriendly. What had ticked them off so quickly? Were they that serious about that AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY, sign on the derelict loading shed?

 

"Hold it there yourselves," he called, raising both arms to show that he was not holding a weapon. Those at his belt could be clearly seen, and he wanted to keep folks far enough away from the ramp so that he could grab a stunner if he needed to.

 

"I'm Calum Baird ottheAcaSecki. We've had a 'ponies failure and need to buy plants and seeds from you."

 

"Plants and seeds, he wants," a bearded man cried, laughing almost hysterically. That was the general mood of those who poled or paddled their craft to surround the AcaDecki. They kept repeating his words with variations of derision and angry frustration.

 

"This is Rushima, isn't it?" Calum asked, perplexed. "What you bastards have left of Rushima, you mean," the spokesman said, and the muttered growls of his companions did nothing to reassure him as to the general hostile mood.

 

"We're from Maganos Moon Base at Kezdet on our way to Coma Berenices on a private mission," Calum went on, making his voice sound as reasonable as he could even though he was scared stiff. Why hadn't he listened to Pal about defense systems? Not that anything a spaceship carried would have been useful in his present circumstances.

 

"Pull the other one, it's got bells on," growled the spokesman.

 

"Hey, now, he could be telling the truth," a tenor voice suggested. A young man in a raft with ten-centimeter sides glided to the side of the Aca()eckt, and read out their current alpha-numeric identification code. "That's not a Starfarer ID. Could be from Kezdet."

 

"So could half the pirates in the galaxy," said the leader, who evidently was all too aware of Kezdet's lax registration laws, which attracted all sorts of illicit business, "and if those Starfarers are as far-flung as they keep telling us they are, could be one of theirs anyhow. But it's shortly going to be ours. ..." There was movement as some of the bigger men slipped into the water and started for the ramp.

 

"Hey, the water out here's clear," awoman said, astonishment and delight in her voice. She scooped up a handful, tasted it cautiously, and let out a •whoop. "How'dyou do this, mister?"

 

Immediately others were sampling the water. And then almost everyone, at the risk of tipping over their basically fragile craft, buried their faces to drink so thirstily that the sight transfixed Calum.

 

Water, water, everywhere nor any Drop to Drink-the phrase popped in from some distant corner of his brain.

 

"I did it." Acorna stepped gracefully around the after section of the ship. She also held her hands up, not that she could have hidden anything in the short, skintight tunic she was wearing.

 

"Purifying water is one of our skills."

 

Calum closed his eyes in what could have been prayerful exhortation. Acorna had learned a great deal about humans during her experiences 'with Kisia Manjari and Didi Badini's attempts to kill her, but she was still far too trusting. These people might have softened a little during their brief talk, but they had started out as a mob out for vengeance. And, if purifying water just happened to be a must for this section of a waterlogged planet, Acorna might find herself an unwilling resident of Rushima.

 

At least she had said "our," instead of "my" skills, so they might not be aware that she had the power to cleanse the water all by herself.

 

He eased himself slightly to the right side, where the controls were. If she could just get close enough to dive through the hatch, he could have the field off and on before anyone else could capture her. He gave her the slightest signal -with the fingers of one hand, trying to convey the necessity of boarding the ship as quickly as possible. Even the few who were out of their boats wouldn't be able to move as quickly through the water as Acorna could.

 

"Can you tell us what has happened to your planet? For something most disastrous has," she said in her sweet and calming voice. Kven Calum began to feel more serene, less anxious. He blinked. With water still dribbling down the corners of his mouth, the spokesman regarded her with considerably less animosity than he had accorded Calum.

 

"Them Starfarers"-he ^erked a finger heavenward- "they're running a bloody bandulu bidness." "Huh?"

 

"Protection racket," the young man who'd read iA\e AcaSecki's registration translated. "They offered to give us weather-prediction services for a fee, and when we said we didn't need 'em as our climate is so even- "

 

"That baggy on the com - "

 

"Woman," the younger man interpreted. "Give a nasty snigger, she did, and said we might be getting some climate changes. We've had nothing but rain since then . . . drowned all our winter crops before we could harvest anything, and there's no point in trying to raise anything in this." He pointed to the floodland. "And if we tried rice, they'd fry us."

 

"WHO?" Calum and Acorna said with such incredulity and outrage that their chorus provided more evidence of their innocence than any eloquence.

 

"Starfarers," was the universal reply. "They've been making a mess of the weather."

 

"Starfarers? I thought they -were just a political protest group," Calum said.

 

"They've been 'making it rain'?" Acorna was still dumbfounded and glanced at Calum, but she was also surreptitiously moving nearer the ramp.

 

"Can you manipulate weather like that?" she asked Calum with such incredulity that it provoked sour laughter from several sources.

 

"Not with any accuracy," Calum said, "and you have to work off existing weather conditions."

 

The spokesman gave a hollow laugh. "Well, then, they got 'em some kin' obeah beyond any you know. They got half our fields soaked and t'other half dried up like a desert, and it ain't gonna get better till we pays up."

 

"That's extortion," Acorna said indignantly. She had learned a good deal about extortion, blackmail, and such terrorizing activities on Kezdet, but those had been industrial or economic, not ecological. There was humorless laughter from the crowd, but Calum was relieved that the belligerence apparent at their arrival seemed to have eased.

 

"And how'd you fix the com unit? " the spokesman said.

 

"A new length of cable was all it needed, and the sun we had this morning."

 

"First sun we've seen in yonks." Then the man gestured to the flooded land. "Not that it'll do much good. We're promised"-and his expression was sour-". . . another six inches of rain if we fail to accept their 'protection.'"

 

"You say this has been going on since the Starfarers arrived?" Calum asked. "By the way, I'm Calum Baird, Li Moon Alining Enterprises, and this lovely lady is Acorna DelszakiHarakamian."

 

"Know those names," the younger man said. "You're connected with the House Harakamian?" he asked Acorna, and didn't seem to realize that she had edged closer to the side of the ship, nearer the ramp.

 

"Mr. Delszaki Li and the House Harakamian are my guardians," she said proudly. "If you know them, then you realize that we have nothing whatever to do with . . . this!"

 

"I'm Joshua Flouse, mayor of this." He gestured contemptuously at the lake. "Is that purifier device of yours on the market? "

 

"Why, yes, it is," Acorna said with a bright smile, taking one step closer to the ramp. "I'll just get you one, shall I?"

 

Calum's left hand depressed the field-generator switch, and he gave her a nod. With a nimble and unexpected leap, she was on the ramp and moving inside while Calum reinstated the protective field just in time to slow the startled Flouse, who had lunged forward after Acorna only to find his arms slowed as if swimming through cold molasses.

 

"That is," Calum said crisply, feeling more able to take a firni line now that Acorna was safe, "we'll trade our water-purification services for seeds-legumes and broad-leafed greens for choice. Oh, and zinc and copper sulfates to replace the trace elements our system accidentally dumped. We'd only need small quantities."

 

Flouse s expression showed his disappointment at Acorna s escape. But she was smiling at him so charmingly that he shook his head, abashed, and shrugged.

 

"Whaddawe got left?" he asked, turning to those in the boats around him.

 

"Just about everything we've been able to keep dry enough to plant if we ever get the chance," a woman said. "But right now I'd settle for clean water. Josh."

 

"We'll also undertake to inform the authorities of these Starfarers who are blackmailing you," Calum said. "Unauthorized interference with a developing planet is a serious offense."

 

"Tell them!" half a dozen voices chorused as even more fingers pointed skyward.

 

Joshua pointed to the group in one of the motorized boats. "Jason?" he called, and the man at the tiller answered with a loud"Yo!"

 

"You got the security code. Get us some chicka-chicka peas and greens seeds. And bring a few seedling chard and rhubarbs. And a canister of Solution B." He turned back to Calum and Acoma, showing his eagerness to complete the deal. "Anything else?"

 

"You wouldn't happen to have alfalfa seeds, would you?" Acorna asked wistfully.

 

"A sack of alfalfa it is, ma'am. Now, lemme see this purifier of yours'

 

"I'll just get one," she said, and before Calum could ask her what the hell she had in mind, she was down the companionway, moving in the direction of the storage compartment.

 

When Calum turned back to the flotilla, he saw that some children were splashing about in clear water up to their knees, laughing as they whooshed water at each other.

 

"It's been lack of clean water that's been the worst part to bear," Flouse said, shaking his head. "Boiled water isn't the same, and we couldn't even bathe or wash clothes without the smell staying in. Flooded out our sewage system by the third week, and we hadn't a chance of stopping it. Some folks"-Flouse jerked his head in a northerly direction-"have tried sending tankers just to get our water to keep crops going, but the convoys keep getting blown up by lightning. Midday, at that, and not a blink of warning. Just zap!" - he brought both hands together in a resounding slap that momentarily stopped the kids playing - "whole damned convoy's crisped."

 

"How do they expect you to pay them if they've ruined your economy? "

 

"They'll lift the weather controls if we agree to supply them with all their food and the other agricultural stuff we were producing to pay off our colonial debts."

 

Calum nodded, understanding the basic crunch of producing sufficient to feed themselves with an excess to export to acquit the indebtedness of the initial expense of colonial expansion.

 

"Only they're going to send . . . administrators to see that each town and county supplies the quotas they're setting."

 

From the dolorous expression on the faces of Flouse and the others, Calum quickly saw that the Rushimese would be left with barely enough to feed their own families. "Any idea where they came from?" "Dunno. They're mighty short on explanations." They both could hear metallic whangs and bangs echoing down the companionway, and Calum had to pretend he knew exactly what Acorna was doing . . . when he was dying of suspense and anxiety.

 

But while she was contrapting whatever she was making, he found out all he could extract from Flouse and the others. The return of the launch coincided with Acorna's reappearance at the hatch, carrying a length of ordinary three-centimeter pipe, with valves on each end which were obviously meant to be attached to an intake point of the main town water supply.   "Now, this purifier has interstellar patents from here to the last century," Acorna said, pointing to the center piece. "I wouldn't try to investigate, as the purifier is also delicate-useless once it has been unsealed. But I can guarantee that any water running through the purifier will come out one hundred percent pure."

 

The launch slowed beside the ramp and willing hands transferred the seeds, seedlings, and nutrient canister to Calum just as Acorna placed the "purifier" in Flouse's eager hands. That was when he noticed the small slice that she had taken from her horn. Was she going to be read a riot act when they were safely away from here!!! Calum did not forget to switch back on the field that separated them from the crowd. But they had what they needed, and so did the Aca()eck.l.

 

"I promise you, we'll send out word of this to the authorities as soon as we're clear of planetary interference," Calum said. "Now, if you'll just step back, we'd best be off."

 

Acorna had disappeared the instant she had the 'ponies' replacements, so it was up to him to get them safely away.

 

Calum carefully lifted the AcaSecki in low-energy mode before touching the thrusters lightly enough to move far enough away from the flooded land to start an ascent. He wasn't sure who he was maddest at: Acorna for using a piece of her own self to provide the purification for those poor farmers, or the frigging bastards holding an entire world to ransom with weather tricks. And where had they gotten such tricks FROM in the first place?

 

He was far too busy laying in a course to access the Galacticapedia, but he would as soon as he had a finger free. As far as he knew, there was no process that could deliver rain to one area of a planet, lightning on command to another, and relentless sun to bake a third. That was undoubtedly why he didn't check the screen until he felt the unmistakable yank of a tractor beam ... a very powerful tractor beam . . . snatching the AcaSeckl right off her ascent and inexorably into the maw of a massive spaceship, no doubt owned and manned by the Starfarers.

 

five

 

Haven, Unified Federation Date 334.05.17

 

Calum tried desperately to send a Mayday to Maganos, but they'd been ahead of him all along, and his signal bounced harmlessly back.

 

Calum was damning himself left, right, and center before Acorna came running to the bridge.

 

"What are you doing, Calum? I nearly lost the can ..." Her complaint trailed off as the lights from their captor nearly blinded her.

 

"The Starfarers?"

 

"Sorry about this, Acorna," he said, mortified. "Rafik and Gill would never have been so stupid as not to check the trajectory, much less the proximity screens."

 

"Well, I've a few choice words for such scummy piratical opportunists. ..."

 

She was so angry her horn glowed, and Calum buried his head in his arms. He'd done it now. Truly he'd done it. How was he going to save Acorna from this? He only hoped the Starfarers had been so busy with their felonious extortion that no hint of a strange species with a horn had reached their com unit.

 

"Acorna," and his voice cracked in his anxiety, "could you pretend to be a pet?"

 

"A pet?"

 

"It's the only thing I can think of."

 

Acorna stood very still, her tall form dwarfing him in the pilot's chair. She gave a little sniff, her wide silvery eyes regarding him. "I don't think they'd buy that."                    i

 

"Then let's play it as cool as possible."

 

"That makes sense."