'An occupational hazard, surely. I am Pack Leader Velmeran of the Methryn. This is Pack Leader Dveyella, of special tactics.'
'Special tactics?' Lake asked. Even his nephew looked at her with interest. 'I do look forward to hearing any tales you might see fit to share. Tonight, then?'
'But of course,' Velmeran replied. 'Dinner with Councilor Lake at seven. Attire is black armor. We would not miss it for this or any world.'
'How did you manage that?' Dveyella asked when the two worthies had continued on their way.
'I did not manage it,' he insisted. 'He asked, and I leaped at the opportunity with due and proper grace.'
'High Councilors and Sector Commanders are not in the habit of inviting Starwolves to dinner,' Dveyella continued persistently. 'Why did he?'
Velmeran shrugged. 'He offered for the same reason that I accepted. We are both insatiably curious and are fascinated by the chance to probe each other's secrets.'
'No doubt,' she agreed. 'And at least you seem well able to fence words with that old man.'
'He is quick and bright, and no doubt quite dangerous in his own way. But I am willing to take him on. The only thing that worries me is if they will be serving something for dinner I like.'
10
As small as they were, Kelvessan had to eat prodigiously to maintain their fierce metabolisms. While on port leave, they would often eat at two or three different places in the course of one meal to hide how much they had to consume to satisfy their enormous hunger. In fact, a large part of what they spent on leave went to feed their deceptively small stomachs. Naturally, they would not willingly pass up a chance for a free meal.
This was one invitation that Velmeran would not pass up, with no regard for what was placed on the table before him. Dveyella was less certain about the matter; she had every intention of going, but she did not share her companion's enthusiasm. By Starwolf reckoning, the Sector Commanders and members of the High Council were the enemy, the ones who made the decisions and determined the policies of the Union. They ran the trade monopolies, ordered the invasions of the fringe worlds and set the traps by which Starwolves died. She could not deny that she feared these two more than she feared anyone in all space, and she marveled that Velmeran seemed ready and willing to meet them in their own element. Still, she would do her best to support him in what she expected to be a fierce battle of minds and wills.
The Lake family had ruled this sector since the days of Unification. The seat of the High Council was the hereditary right of the head of the family, and all other appointments were his to make. Lesser members of the clan controlled the sector trade monopoly, Farstell Freight and Trade, as well as the network of industry that served it. The name of the ruling family had changed often in that time. But the line had remained unbroken, so that Jon Lake, the current patriarch, could trace his ancestry back even before the Union, to the earliest days of colonization.
Word had indeed been left that the two Starwolves were expected. They were greeted politely by the guards at the main entrance and one guard accompanied them up, for he had one of the few keys that unlocked the controls that allowed the elevator to ascend to this upper floor.
Dveyella rang the bell, and a long moment passed before the door opened. It was neither the older Lake nor his nephew who faced them, but a servant in black formal clothing. He occupied the years between young and old, was just slightly tall for the human norm, and he had a nose like a bird of prey and a hairline in the process of a hasty retreat. His look of surprise quickly turned to one of disgust, as if he had found beggars at the door.
'We have come for dinner,' Velmeran said.
'Dinner?' the hawk-nosed servant asked incredulously. 'As if piracy was not enough, now they present themselves at the door asking to be fed!'
'It's all right, Javarns,' Councilor Lake called from somewhere within. 'They are expected.'
'Starwolves?' Javarns was plainly skeptical, but he grudgingly stepped aside. 'Somehow it does not surprise me as much as it should.'
'It should not surprise you at all, since we have been cooking for them all afternoon,' Jon Lake said as he crossed the room to greet his guests. 'I am so glad that you could come. I was afraid that you would not take my invitation seriously.'
'We would not think of missing this,' Velmeran said as he quickly glanced about the room.
'Well, you are just in time,' Lake continued excitedly, as if he were entertaining old and beloved friends. 'Do excuse me a moment. Javarns will show you where you can wash your hands.'
'A major undertaking, I am sure,' Javarns mumbled peevishly. 'Is there anything you require? Will you un- shell, or are you in the habit of wearing space suits at the table?'
'We are fine, thank you.'
'As you wish, sir. Shall I take your gloves, capes or guns?'
Dveyella smiled pleasantly. 'We have two rules about our guns. First, we never leave the ship unless we are armed.'
'I can appreciate that,' Javarns agreed. 'And the second rule?'
'We shoot anyone who asks twice.'
'Oh.' Javarns straightened and pulled his jacket into place. 'This way, please.'
It seemed that they were indeed just in time for dinner. The Sector Commander was already at the table, drink in hand. He seemed to be in a better temper, now that he had adjusted to the loss of his prisoner, and neither of the two visitors knew just how great a loss that had been to his plans. He even assisted them with their chairs; the furniture of the apartment was all slightly oversized for the convenience of its inhabitants. A pair of firm cushions solved that problem.
Velmeran quickly realized that he needed to revise his opinion about this Sector Commander. He had thought of Donalt Trace as thoroughly military in the worst sense of the word, the perfect, obedient soldier. Obviously there was much of his uncle in him, the intelligence, wisdom and depth of insight that made him a giver of orders. Certainly he was less philosophical than his uncle, blunter and more passionate in both his devotions and his prejudices.
He was also the less dangerous of the two, since there was no danger that the Starwolf could forget that they were enemies.
'You really are a small people,' he observed. He meant nothing unkind by that; it was purely an honest observation.
'We were made that way,' Velmeran replied.
'I have never met Starwolves before,' Trace continued, frowning as he considered the problem. 'You know, speaking with you finally makes me realize that you are people. I never thought of you as people before. Starwolves have always been just the enemy, something that will get you if you don't watch out. As…'
'As machines?' Velmeran asked when he hesitated.
Trace glanced at him in surprise. 'Yes, I suppose so. I am at a disadvantage. You know more about us than we know of you.'
'Perhaps not,' the Starwolf answered. 'The Union has always been just machines to me. Machines are all I ever see, freighters and warships, and it is easy to forget that there are lives in those machines.'
'Perhaps it's easier on the conscience not to think of your enemies as people,' Trace said, then laughed at himself. 'Listen to me! I'm not usually one to carry on this way. And with you, of all people!'
Councilor Lake returned from the kitchen at that moment, still struggling into a leisure jacket of some odd design. He quickly took his seat at the head of the table, the two Starwolves to his right and his nephew to his left. The battle lines were drawn.
'I have an excellent dinner prepared for you,' he explained as he took a decanter from the center of the table to pour wine for himself and Trace. He knew better than to offer alcohol to Starwolves. 'Vinthran follycrab, cooked in the shell, with a butter sauce that is my own invention.'
'Follycrab?' Velmeran asked.
