It was a Diamond cruiser, Curosa-made, and twice as fast as anything available at the Station. Perhaps, Spider thought—although he had never given the matter much consideration before—humans had become too dependent on sector-gate technology. They were willing to lumber around within sectors in ships that had not essentially changed in centuries. Brandon Fischer’s name was on the exit visa and the authorization for this ship, but Spider had a strong feeling that if anything went wrong, that name would disappear quickly from the records.
Not that they were zipping around all that fast, he thought. Not following a mailship from Green Pastures to Harrow, taking its own sweet time. “At least, we hope it’s a mailship,” he muttered.
He did not mean that to be shared, but Tal said, “We have very good evidence.” Tal was sitting in the pilot’s seat, scanning the instruments every quarter hour, and reading a hand-held book.
‘That’s another thing,” said Spider. “I can’t believe you had Keylinn followed.”
“Is that a problem for you, Spider? Isn’t it a good thing for us all that I did?” He did not look up from the book.
Spider muttered something less intelligible. One did not follow one’s friends, even if the information turned out useful later. Keylinn’s maildrop contact in the cafeteria on Baret Station had led to an art store on an upper level, which led to a freighter pilot with a cargo bound for Harrow and an unusual flight plan. “We should’ve questioned the pilot.”
“I doubt if he knows much beyond where to jettison the mailbag. If I were a Graykey, I wouldn’t give strangers more information than they need.” He looked up, checked the instruments, verified the course of the mailship, and returned to his book.
Spider said, annoyed, “We’re getting farther and farther from Baret System. And they could be torturing Keylinn right now. Or they could’ve sentenced her to be burnt—she’s an unbeliever and a Graykey, they can justify doing anything they want.”
Tal did not respond.
Spider said, “She could be burning right now!”
Tal closed the book, leaving a finger in the page. “Since there’s nothing you personally can do about it, why don’t you go down the hold and check our packs and weapons.”
“I’ve checked them forty times.”
Tal looked at him for a few counts, then opened the book again.
“What are you reading?” asked Spider.
“Why don’t you check the damned packs!”
Spider’s eyes widened. It was the first time he’d ever heard Tal raise his voice. “It was just a question.”
Tal closed the book and put it down on the control panel. He said, more quietly, “I am reading an Old Earth book called Pride and Prejudice. It is a work of fiction that purports to describe the relationships between men and women of that particular era. Is this enough for you?”
“I never saw you read fiction before.”
“With good reason. Very little of it makes any sense. I include this book in that statement.”
“Then why are you reading it?”
Tal’s fingers tapped the surface of the control panel. “It was recommended to me by our mutual friend Keylinn Gray who, as you point out, may be burning at this very moment.”
“Oh,” said Spider weakly.
“She felt it displayed a perceptivity in regard to human motivations that might help me in dealing with them. Thus far it has not.”
“Oh.” Spider got up to go below, then looked again at the scanners. “He’s slowed.”
Tal’s hands were on the controls at once.
“He’s dumping something,” said Spider.
“I see it.”
Their quarry had jettisoned a small container, oblong, shown to be about thirty-six centimeters in length. Tal cut the drives. Spider said, “What if we’ve made the wrong decision, and we should be following the ship instead of the package?”
They were silent. A few seconds later the container started to broadcast a pickup signal. Tal said with satisfaction, “It’s doubtful, Spider. Very doubtful.”
The next step in the Graykey postal service came nine hours later, when a sleek and relatively speedy cruiser intercepted the jettisoned container. Tal dropped a little farther out of range; he had a higher opinion of Graykey intelligence than the regular human norm.
And eight and a half hours after that, they found themselves above a green and brown planet, considering their options.
“It’s down in the atlas as a mining world, belonging to a company I’ve never heard of,” said Tal. “But the company pays taxes to the Empire, so I suppose the Empire doesn’t really care how they list themselves.”
“I hate to be pushy,” said Spider. “But considering the time factor, don’t you think we should land?”
“Any world with no navy, no armed forces, and no large population must put a lot into their automatic weaponry. Let’s not alarm them.”
Spider said, “How do you know it’s not a large population?”
Their com panel lit up. “Attention,” said a voice, “attention. Foreign ship, please identify yourself and state your business.”
Tal said at once, “This is Tal Diamond, from the Diamond and the Three Cities. We want permission to land—”
“Refused. Please withdraw. This is a privately owned mining concern. Your continued presence will be regarded as unfriendly.”
Tal spoke with firmness. “We know this is the current home of the Graykey. I need to speak to someone in authority—”
Spider was looking at the board. He said in a strangled voice, “They seem to have fired something at us.” He looked longingly at the auto-execute, which was near his elbow.
Tal spared the board a quick, contemptuous glance. “It’ll take three minutes to reach us. Hold position. They’re just trying to scare us off.”
“Oh, really?”
Tal said, “I’m here on behalf of a member of your order. She calls herself Keylinn Gray. Does that push any buttons with anybody down there?”
There was silence from below. Spider said, “It’s still coming.”
“Hold position.”
At two minutes and forty-five seconds Spider said, “It’s getting a little cl—”
The missile swerved. The
