Mack frowned.
“Then how...”
It was Treivani who answered.
“There are rivalries inside every house. Andreus made some rather rash promises to Melari’s main rival, and was, unfortunately, believed.” She raised a hand as Mack opened his mouth to protest, continuing as he subsided. “We don’t need you to deal with the girl who put my sister in jeopardy; we just need you to get my sister out of Corovan’s hands, before he can marry her and consummate the wedding. My people will deal with the other side of the problem.”
She smiled, and it was not a very nice smile.
“Let’s just say that another alliance is about to be made, and that the bride might not be so pleased with her future partner—and that, my dear Mack, is none of your concern.”
The look on her face made my stomach do an uneasy flip, and I was glad such vengeful glee was not aimed at me. I took note to stay out of the future Lady Skymander’s bad books. The Lord Skymander, in the meantime, smiled softly as he stroked a gentle hand over his lady’s hair.
“My lady adores her little sister,” he said, when he caught me staring. “Melari will join us, if she survives Blaedergil’s successor.”
Blaedergil’s what? I looked towards Mack, but he studiously avoided my gaze, as did Tens.
“Do not judge what you do not understand!” Skymander snapped. “It is essential if our world is to survive.”
I swallowed a retort that would have suggested it might be better if a world that required such practices did not survive. Keeping my mouth firmly shut, I listened as Mack brought the discussion back to what Skymander needed.
“Last we saw, Melari was still inside a stasis pod,” he said. “We don’t know if she’s infectious, or what she might have.”
“Trust me,” Treivani told him. “She’s infectious. You’ll need to take precautions.”
“I’ll also have the Corovan compound quarantined,” Mack said.
“Not until you’re out of there with my sister,” Treivani ordered, “or you won’t be leaving, otherwise. This is not the first dealing the clans have had with a plague master from Magnus 19. Quarantine is very...” She exchanged a look with Sandoval. “... thorough.”
What disturbed me most about that, was that she’d said a plague master, as in one of many, as in there were more. I’d been happy thinking Blaedergil had been the only one. I listened to Sandoval, Mack and Treivani dicker some more about price, conditions, bonuses and penalties, and was surprised when Skymander told Mack the ship’s repairs were almost done.
“I didn’t order any,” Mack said.
“But you would have, if you hadn’t been shot,” Skymander told him, “so I had your engineers tell me what they needed, and then worked within your usual budget.”
“My usual...” Mack shot Tens a frustrated glare, but Skymander was quick to offer an explanation.
“Your people did a good job of locking your ship’s systems down,” he said, “but they had limited time, and weren’t on hand to counter any incursions—and my people are just as good.”
Tens glared at him, as though questioning that last statement, but Mack gave him a look that said he’d better keep his mouth shut, so Tens said nothing. Sandoval looked amused, but returned to the matter of repairs.
“You needed to fix the drives, and repair the hull, after the damage they took from whatever you did to get here by the route you did, and then from the damage you took from the fighters.”
We’d taken damage from the fighters? Well, that was news to me. I guess Tens had meant it when he’d said Case couldn’t keep dodging forever. I think I’d been in the tank for that. Funny how he’d avoided mentioning the damage we’d taken from the battleship. That I knew about. I’d been awake for that.
“Send me the repair bill and the docking fees,” Mack said, and, again, he sounded tired. “I’ll cover them.”
But Sandoval shook his head.
“No. I’ll be taking them out of your fees for retrieving Melari.”
“I’d prefer...” Mack began, but the look on Sandoval’s face said it would be pointless for him to continue.
Mack sighed.
“Fine. Send me a copy of the final bill.”
There was a moment’s stillness, and then Mack spoke.
“Thank you.”
I heard undertones in those two simple words that I didn’t understand, and I wondered what Skymander had done to earn them. The best news was that Mack didn’t seem angry, either about what had been done, or about the cost, so I figured that everything met with his approval, however grudging that might be.
“If that is all...” Mack said, but Skymander shook his head.
“You will be contacted by the clans—both Hazerna and Corovan,” he said. “I want you to supervise the negotiations between us.”
“You want me to represent your interests?”
Sandoval shook his head.
“No, I want you to guide the discussions, ensure we all have our say, clarify the points we are trying to make, when one or the other of us chooses not to understand, and to keep us on track. I notice you have no fee for that in your schedules, so I will pay you the price Odyssey asks for such services, since you are aligned most closely with them. Here.”
And Mack grew still, in that way all people did when they opened files in their heads. I saw his throat move as he swallowed, watched him blink as he processed what he was reading—and, like Tens, I waited.
“Done,” Mack said, and the Skymander stood and crossed to a cabinet set into the cruiser’s wall.
From one shelf, he took a bottle and five glasses, and set them on a tray. From a second shelf, he took a tablet-sized computer and two black-and-gold-colored pens, and, from the printer, a thick sheaf of paper. He set these beside the glasses and bottle, and brought the tray over to where we sat.
“Time to sign,” he said.
21—The Drunk Tank
The crew was out of stasis when we arrived, and
