Heaven Chronicles

“I see.” The man nodded slowly, or bowed, looking vaguely surprised. He reached for a clipboard on a chain. “Do you want it shipped?”

“No, we can move it ourselves.”

“Where are you coming from?” The woman's voice was as fragile as her face, but with no hint of softness.

“Lansing.” Shadow Jack smiled, tall and thin and genuine, with one blue eye and one green.

“The Main Belt!” Brother and sister looked at them again; silent, this time, with a morbid awe. A newscast appeared on the screen behind them, flashing pictures between lines of print. “That's quite a trip,” the man said quietly. “How long'd it take you?”

“A long time.” Betha gestured up at worn, dirty faces, not needing to force the grating weariness into her voice. “And it'll be even longer going home. We'd like to get this settled as soon as we can.”

“Of course.” He hesitated. “What—er, what did you want to offer in trade? We're limited in what we can take, you understand.…”

Charity begins at home. She saw Shadow Jack's rigid smile twitch, as she pulled off her gloves. But who am I to blame them for that? She balanced Rusty's carrying case against the metal counter top and unsealed the lid, hearing the hiss as the pressure equalized. Rusty's mottled head rose over the edge, her dilated pupils black with excitement, flashing green in the light. Her nose quivered and she wriggled free, rising up into the air like a piece of windborne down. Betha heard the small gasp of the woman, and let the case drift away. “Will you take a cat?”

“An animal,” the woman whispered. “I never thought I'd ever see one.…” Shyly she put out a hand. Betha stroked Rusty, reassuring, pushed her toward them. Rusty butted softly up against the woman's palms, sniffing daintily, sidling in pleasure along the fine satin cloth of her sleeve.

“I think you've come to the right place.” The man's slender hands quivered. “Dad would give you the whole distillery for that animal.” He laughed. “But he'd make you pay shipping to the Main Belt.”

“Are there many animals left on Lansing?”

“No.” Betha smiled, felt it pull. “A load of hydrogen will be fine.”

“We have gardens,” Shadow Jack said. “Lansing's the only tent rock. We were the capital of all Heaven Belt, once.” He lifted his head.

“Sure,” the man said. “That's right, it was. I've seen pictures. Beautiful …”

Rusty slipped away from the woman, began to jab a paw through the holes of a mesh container for papers. The papers danced and she began to purr, smugly content at the center of the world's attention. Betha's eyes were drawn away to the newscast on the wall; she froze as she saw her own face projected on the screen, realized it was not coverage of their arrival on Mecca. With all her will she glanced casually away, reaching out to scratch Rusty under the chin.

The man caught her motion, turned to look up at the screen. Her eyes leaped after him, saw her image vanish into lines of print. The man looked back at her, puzzled; shook his head, grimacing politely. “Don't mind the screen. We like to get the news from all over, to see what the competition's up to. It's all static anyhow— mediamen'll say anythin' they're paid for.” He gestured at the printout settling gradually into a heap on the counter. Rusty pounced, overshooting, and swept it out into the air.

“Here, little thing, don't hurt yourself,” the woman murmured, her hands tightening with indecision.

“She'll be all right,” Betha said, irritable in her relief.

A small disapproval showed on the woman's face.

“Do you mind if we take a look at your ship?”

Betha looked back at the man. “No … but it's at the other end of the ast—of the rock.”

He nodded. “Easy to do.” There was a small control panel under the wall screen; he moved away toward it. “What's your designation?”

“Lansing 04.”

He changed settings, and the news report vanished. “Lansing 04 …” Betha saw their ship appear, an image in blinding contrasts on the sunbleached field. “I guess it's possible for you to move a thousand tons with a ship that size. How much does it mass?”

“Twenty tons without reaction mass or cargo.”

“We like to be sure, you know.” He looked up. “It's goin' to take you a lot of megasecs, though, to get back to Lansing.”

She watched his face for unease, saw only his easy solicitude. “We'll manage; we have to.”

“Sure.” His eyes moved from her to Shadow Jack, touching them, she saw, with a kind of admiration. “We'll start processing your shipment.”

Rusty crashed against the counter edge in a snarl of printouts and sneezed loudly.

“Hey, now.” The man turned away, reaching for Rusty almost desperately. “Dad would kill us if somethin' happened to—” His voice faded, he let her go, catching up a sheet. Betha saw her own face on the page between his hands, not disappearing this time. “… alien starship …” She heard Shadow Jack's soft curse of defeat. She drifted, clutching the counter edge until her fingers reddened.

The Tirikis turned back to her. “It's you,” the man said, staring. “You're from the starship.”

“And you've come to us,” the woman whispered.

An unconscious smile spread over their faces, the look of guileless greed Betha had seen on the woman in the shuttle. “I don't understand,” she said stubbornly. “You've seen our ship; we've come from the Main Belt. There were a lot of people taking our pictures on the field—”

“Not that picture.” The woman shook her head, her black hair rippling. Betha watched them remembering, reassessing. “We've heard about you ever since you came into the system over a megasec ago.”

“And you didn't get from there to here in a megasec in the ship we saw.” The man looked at Shadow Jack again. “You are from the Belt; maybe it's your ship. What are you, a snow pirate?”

“We're not pirating anything.” Betha caught Rusty, pinned her against her suit. “We offered you a deal, this cat for a load of hydrogen. We've got nothing else that would interest you, wherever we're from. Just let us make the deal and go—”

“I'm sorry.” The man looked down at the spiral of paper.

“I'm afraid we are interested in a ship that can go from Discus … to the Main Belt … to the Demarchy …” Betha saw his mind work out the parameters, “… in one and a half megaseconds.”

She wondered bleakly what he would think if he knew it had only taken a third of that. “What is it you want from us, then?” Knowing the answer, she knew now that she had failed, because there had never been a way to enter Mecca undetected.

“They want your ship! Let's get out of here.” Shadow Jack pushed away toward the door, pulled aside the flaps, froze. Betha turned. Facing him, in a wine-red jacket flawlessly embroidered, was the man who worked for the government. Impeccable … The man's eyes fixed on her in return, and on Shadow Jack. He stared, incredulous, and she knew that this time he was staring at wild, filthy hair and streaked faces. Not at her paleness—she knew from his eyes that her face held no surprises for him. “Captain Torgussen,” he nodded. “And not from Lansing— obviously.”

“You have the advantage of me,” Betha said. “I'm afraid I've forgotten your name.”

He smiled. It hardened as he turned to the Tirikis, making a bow. “And just what does Tiriki Distillates want with the starship?” His hand found the front of Shadow Jack's suit, pushed him back into the room. “I guess you weren't kidding, boy, when you told us what you do for a living.”

“Who are you?” the woman asked, indignant.

“Wadie Abdhiamal, representing the Demarchy government.”

“Government?” The man made a face. “Then this is none of your business, Abdhiamal. Butt out before you get into trouble.”

“That's monopolist talk, Tiriki. And I think you've got the ideas to go with it. I'm here on business—these people and their ship are what I came to Mecca to find. The government has claimed the ship in the name of all the people of the Demarchy.”

“Your government claims don't hold air, Abdhiamal.” The man glanced down at his reflection on the counter top, readjusting his soft beret. “You know you've got nothin' to back them up. We found these two first, and we're