'What do you mean?' Baressa asked anxiously, misunderstanding her.
'I mean that if he works out as well as I expect, I might not be willing to let him go again,' she explained. 'I will still be shorthanded even when Baress comes back to work.'
No one was more surprised to hear her say that than Velmeran himself. He had already known that he had two futures for the choosing, but he considered that choice a purely personal and private one. He certainly did not consider it to be a matter of contention between two and possibly three factions aboard this ship.
'Velmeran, is this what you want?' Baressa asked gently, startling him out of his own thoughts. He was surprised by her apparent concern for his desires.
'Yes, I want it,' he admitted slowly. 'But I also want… what we talked about. I do not know which.'
'But you think you will be able to decide after you fly with Dveyella's pack this first time?' she inquired with the same gentleness, as if all she wanted was what pleased him most.
'No, I doubt it,' he admitted frankly. 'That will only make it harder for me to decide. And yet I also know that I am not going to be able to decide until I do.'
Baressa considered that and nodded thoughtfully. 'Do what you feel you must, and have faith that you have made the right choice.'
She turned to leave, but Consherra, nearly speechless with indignation, blocked her path.
'What are you doing?' the first officer demanded. 'You said that you were going to talk to him.'
'And so I did,' Baressa answered impatiently as she forced her way past. 'But I said nothing about coercing him to do what you want of him.'
'You know how much we need him,' Consherra insisted.
'Of course. But I also…'
But I also believe that he will, in the end, do what is expected of him. Or so Velmeran finished for her in his mind, after her soft voice was lost beneath the music that his students were playing rather loudly, or perhaps, he realized, his conscience was only too willing to supply that answer, because he knew it to be true. Doing what he wanted might satisfy his desires, but doing what was expected of him, what he took to be his duty, satisfied his needs. And ultimately he wanted the future that would allow him to accomplish the most.
'Is this your room?' Dveyella asked suddenly, glancing at the door to her right.
'Yes, it is. Would you like to see?' Velmeran was quick to seize upon that as a chance to escape the others, if not his own thoughts.
As Dveyella followed him into the cabin, she happened to see Consherra, still conferring hotly with the others, staring at her in sudden alarm. Resisting the temptation to stick out her tongue, she ducked into the room quickly, stepping away from the door so that it would close.
As pack leader, Velmeran had the largest room in the suite. As always, the small bed folded into the wall; Kelvessan did not sleep unless driven to the point of exhaustion. There were two large reclining chairs and a fairly large desk with a terminal for access to the ship's computers. As outside, the floor was carpeted and portions of the wood were trimmed with real wood. There were two suit racks near the bed, one holding his old armor while the other displayed the new. A small kitchen area was partially removed from the rest of the room by cabinets, a welcome luxury for a people who had to eat tremendously, while a bathroom and closets filled the wall adjacent to the bed.
That was all standard, and Dveyella had seen its like on many ships. What did interest her were the things that he had done to make it his home. Curtains closed off an entire blank wall to the left of the door, suggesting that a large window lay beyond rather than a metal bulkhead. He had also brought in his own audio equipment, and enclosed shelves that contained his generous selection of books. A drawing table was mounted near the desk, so that she wondered if he had done the handful of paintings that hung about the room. One showed nine girls, obviously human, in some manner of archaic armor, each one bearing a spear, their golden capes flowing in the wind as they rode flying horses through a dark, stormy sky. Another depicted a dragon seated atop a mound of gold, glaring menacingly at a tiny figure that was so nearly invisible as to be just a vague shadow. Velmeran apparently liked fanciful subjects.
'Do you like it?' Velmeran asked.
'Yes, very much,' she agreed. 'It reminds me of why I wish that I had a home of my own.'
'And something that I would have to give up, if I went with you,' he reflected thoughtfully.
Dveyella turned to look at him. 'Could you really leave, with so many people counting on you to become Commander-designate?'
'I really do not know,' Velmeran said, indicating for her to take one of the two large chairs. 'I know that Mayelna plans to retire in twenty years, more or less. And that is a little soon for me. I think that I might be ready to command this ship in twenty years. And yet…'
'Yes? What would you like most?' Dveyella prompted him when he hesitated.
'I want to fly — I have to fly — for a time yet to come,' he explained haltingly. 'I would prefer to be Baressa's Commander-designate when she takes command of the Methryn after Mayelna retires. I would be her present age before she is ready to retire. But that would be asking too much.'
'Not at all,' Dveyella insisted. 'In fact, that sounds very good to me. This is what we should do. You fly with me this time. Then, if things work out and it is still what you want, we will get together with Baressa and Valthyrra and work out a deal.'
'Do you think that they would agree to that?'
'I imagine so, as long as you are willing to return when Mayelna retires.'
Velmeran nodded thoughtfully. 'Fair enough. But is that fair to you, that I should fly with you only twenty years?'
Dveyella shrugged, unconcerned. 'Twenty more years and I will be more than willing to retire from special tactics myself. Then we will return.'
Velmeran glanced up at her. 'We?'
'The Methryn seems like a good ship to retire to,' she said quickly, reluctant to be too forward out of fear of frightening the boy. But that plan suited her very well indeed. She could have him entirely to herself, away from the Methryn and Consherra, for twenty yearsor until he grew up. The only remaining question was why she thought she needed him so much in the first place.
Sector Commander Trace handed the message file to Councilor Lake and leaned back against the edge of his desk as he considered the problem. In his possession was one Starwolf, old but undamaged from his impact with a carrier, as well as one fighter that had not fared as well. A damaged fighter was unimportant; Union technicians could understand and appreciate Starwolf technology, but they could not reproduce it. They could build fighters that were a rough approximation of the black wolf ships, but no pilot could fly such a ship and even the best computer guidance systems were inadequate. He needed his own genetically engineered pilots. And he needed this captured Starwolf to show him how to make his own.
'Sir?' the messenger prompted him gently.
'Be patient, son,' Donah Trace said. 'It will take you a few days to overtake that carrier, so we can spare a few minutes to find the best answer.'
'Well, at least they showed more sense than I thought they would,' the Councilor said as he shut the lid on the message file. 'Not such a bad plan, actually. A very good plan, in fact, if you make the mistake of underestimating the abilities of the Starwolves.'
'But not good enough, since we're not going to make that mistake,' Donalt answered, and struck the edge of the desk in frustration. 'Damn! While they were trying to use their brains, why didn't they just stick him in this courier. He could have been right here now, in the one place in the entire sector where the Starwolves cannot get at him. Was that idea even mentioned?'
'Yes, sir,' the messenger admitted reluctantly, fearful of the Sector Commander's displeasure.
'And there was, I suppose, some reason why that was not done?'
'Yes, sir. It was felt that the five guards my courier can carry would not be enough to keep the prisoner under control. There was no military escort to protect my ship, and no cargo facilities for the wreckage of the fighter.'
'The fighter? That fighter is of no value to me. But no one has ever kept a five Starwolf.' He paused and glanced shrewdly at his uncle. 'If they are following at a discreet distance, is it most likely that they are using a
