failure of the system causes an internal protector to preserve the memory indefinitely. The Union has never been able to get at that memory, and they gave up trying long ago. But we can access that memory easily. In fact, we can restore the Vardon to life by installing that unit in a new ship. We have allowed it to remain here until we find a way that we are certain to get it out in a single try, and until we need it enough to make the attempt.'
'What is to stop us from trying?' Tregloran asked, as if he thought that attempt might be an interesting way to spend their port leave. At least, Velmeran thought, he had daring.
Dveyella shrugged. 'Access is the main problem. The only apparent way of getting our ships inside the cavern is through the dome, which is protected by reenforcing shields comparable to a carrier's forward battle shield. And it would take the concentrated power of a carrier's main cannons to pierce that shield, cooking the city beneath in the process. All this, mind you, while the planetary defenses and a quarter of the sector fleet is hammering away at us.'
'I do comprehend the situation,' Tregloran replied soberly. The results of such an attempt were obvious, since the Union knew the only way into the city and had planned their defenses around it. The Starwolves could do it, if they were prepared to pay the price.
Dveyella allowed them several minutes to walk about the chamber and view the unit from every side. Soon their thoughts would return to the more immediate problem of port leave, but in times to come they would think often of the memory cell and devise complex and devious schemes to recover it with little or no risk. Such thoughts had occupied the minds of Starwolves for four thousand years, and yet the unit remained where it was.
After a time Dveyella led them down to a lower level of the building, where they waited in a terraced foyer near the main entrance to the sector defense offices. Minutes later a Starwolf in white armor got off an elevator leading down from those offices, somewhat to their surprise. Soon they saw that it was Veyndayk, the cargo supervisor.
'Business done,' he said, stepping up to join Velmeran and Dveyella at the rail where they had been watching traffic pass on the level below.
'Did you sell Keth back to the Sector Commander?' Velmeran asked.
Veyndayk laughed. 'No, although that might be a good use for old Starwolves. Farstell Freight and Trade bought back a shipment of clothing, conveniently packed in their own shipping containers. And fleet ordnance has just now payed us a finder's fee for an intact cutter.'
'A cutter?' Velmeran asked. Cutters were the smallest of the military ships, hardly bigger than a transport, and generally used only for police work.
'My little joke,' Veyndayk explained. 'We took two intact cutters as riders on salvaged battleships, and one we have had sitting in a forward bay for the last year. We took them apart down to the smallest bolt and rebuilt the ships by taking parts at random. Now I am going to collect finder's fees on those ships in three different ports. That should give the boys in fleet ordnance fits, when they cross-check serial numbers of those parts.'
That appealed to Dveyella, who liked frustrating Union officials best of all. 'You know, they will not be able to use those ships until they take them apart and rebuild them as they originally were.'
'You laugh, but that is probably the truth,' the cargo officer said. 'Are your pilots ready?'
Veyndayk, as the conductor of the ship's business, always took those on their first port leave about the city to introduce them to the workings of commerce. Buying and selling were new experiences; on board ship, anything they needed was easily gotten from ship's stores. Young Starwolves were also very gullible and in need of careful guidance. Their only protection lay in the fact that not many people would dare to try to take advantage of them.
'Ready?' Velmeran asked. 'They have been ready for days.'
'Seven at once,' Veyndayk muttered to himself, glancing at the group of young pilots. 'Well, we already have plans to divide them into three groups. Baress and Baressa will have Tregloran and his sister, Marlena and Threl will have two more, while Dyenlerra and I will have the remaining three.'
'And what about me?' Velmeran asked.
'Dveyella will take care of you,' the cargo officer said. 'My word, Pack Leader, you have watched over this herd day in, day out for months now. This is your port leave, and I expect that you have it coming. Fair?'
Velmeran agreed reluctantly. Veyndayk called the pack together, gave them his primary instructions and took them away in less than a minute. They would take the tram back to the port entrance, where they would find the rest of their appointed guardians.
'Well, that is safely done. Now we have a night and a day to ourselves,' Dveyella said. She stepped over to stand before a thick column covered by panels of Beldiian quartz, rare and expensive and as highly polished as a mirror. Using its reflection, she carefully pulled her long, thick hair out of the collar of her suit, arranging most of its length to cascade over her black cape.
'Baress and Baressa are keeping company?' Velmeran asked. 'What do they have in common — besides the same name?'
'Is that not sufficient for a beginning?' Dveyella asked.
'Ordinarily, no. Not for Baressa. She is very careful of the company she keeps. Pack leaders as a rule, although she has briefly entertained officers from other ships.'
'Oh? Has she been after you?' Dveyella asked mischievously.
'Hardly! I am too young for her.'
'I would never think so.'
'Perhaps you do not have very high standards,' Velmeran teased in return, realizing too late how that reflected back on him.
'Starwolves!'
Velmeran and Dveyella both froze as their ears picked up that single voice some distance behind them. Ordinarily they would not have noticed, but there was something about the way that single word had been said. In amazement, certainly. But it was also an accusation, and an acknowledgment of defeat.
'Coincidence?' another, older voice asked. 'Neither of us believe that, obviously. You have lost your captive, it seems. A courier should be in soon.'
Velmeran saw that Dveyella was staring into the mirrored surface of the column, and unobtrusively shifted his stance so that he could see the image reflected there. The stone was dark, and the images were indistinct. The older man was richly dressed, slightly bent with age but still taller than himself. Beside him, glaring at the two Starwolves, stood a giant of a man to match the deep, forceful voice. Tall and gaunt, he was clearly a warrior. And, judging by the uniform, this was no less than the Sector Commander.
'They have their nerve to come hopping in here!' the tall man declared.
'So? And what can we do about it?' the older one asked. 'Come along. Why don't we ask them to dinner?'
Velmeran did not know what to make of that final statement, but the two were indeed approaching. After this, he began to believe that his kind had been given enhanced hearing for the sole purpose of eavesdropping.
'Your pardon,' the older man said, and the two Starwolves turned as if noticing for the first time. He nodded to them politely. 'I am sorry to disturb you. You are just in port, are you not?'
'We have been in less than two hours,' Velmeran replied, trying to hide his amazement at their height. Even the older man had to glance down at him, while the one in uniform was indeed a towering giant of about two meters, a head and a half taller over Velmeran.
'Are you, perhaps, recently out of the planet Bineck?' the older man asked, surprisingly straightforward.
'Yes, we have just come from there,' he replied, equally direct.
'Oh? I should like to hear more about it. Could you possibly come to dinner tonight?'
'Of course,' Velmeran replied quickly, not pausing to consider whether or not he should. Dveyella looked surprised, although she did not seem inclined to protest.
'Would the seventh hour, local time, be too early for you?' the older man asked. 'My residence is on the twelfth floor of the adjacent building, the rather conspicuously pink one. Ask for Jon Lake. I will leave word that you are expected.'
'Councilor Lake?' Velmeran asked.
'The same,' he answered, and glanced at his companion. 'This brooding spartan is my nephew, Sector Commander Donalt Trace. You must excuse his ill temper, but he was born with it. And it has recently been aggravated by distressing news.'
