“Tella has been given the task of retrieving the stolen hardware. You will provide all necessary assistance.”
“You know,” Jim said to both Tella and Liz, “that the Turcanian thinks he is the legitimate owner now? He believes he bought the stuff fair and square.”
“I doubt that,” said Liz. “I think he will know very well the merchandise was hot. He didn’t get it from a store.”
“I know, but...,” Jim responded.
Tella interrupted. “I know how the sale was made. It was a secret rendezvous. It was a secret exchange. It had been arranged at a private meeting. Is this how business is performed on Turcanis Major Five-One?”
“Who knows? Sometimes it may be. If the seller didn’t tell Sopha that the stuff was stolen, I don’t imagine he would think to ask.”
“Would he have cared?” asked Liz.
Jim hesitated. “No. I don’t think anything would stop him. He is a...dedicated individual.”
“An obsessive nutcase,” Liz suggested.
“You might think so,” Jim said, a little more harshly than he meant.
Tella’s head turned from one to the other in the silence that followed, the impassive pale face graying slightly.
Liz stood up. “Consider yourself part of Tella’s team. Bring back the hardware.”
The meeting was over.
As they stood outside, Jim looked up at Tella. “What’s the plan, boss?”
Tella smiled, the thin pale lips barely distinguishable. “Plan?”
“Yes, what do we do first?”
“Ah, first we eat lunch. Then tonight we meet and get drunk. Tomorrow we take our hangovers to Turcanis Major Five-One. Will that suffice?”
Jim laughed out loud. “Oh my! You read my thoughts.”
It was at lunch that Jim learned the basic facts about Tella. The inhabitants of Tella’s homeworld referred to it as Neraff. The chameleon characteristics marked Tella as a part of a persecuted subspecies. The majority on Neraff were physically similar but remained almost colorless. Tella had been working for the EIA for three years, after an indeterminate period spent hitchhiking through space.
Near the end of the meal in the OEA canteen, Jim finally got around to the question foremost on his mind.
“Tella, excuse me, but are you male or female?”
Tella’s eyes narrowed. “That is not a question you may ask without giving offense.”
“Oh...sorry. But how do I introduce you? Do I say ‘This is Tella, he’s from Neraff’ or ‘she’s from Neraff’?”
“No. You may say ‘This is Tella, from Neraff.’ Nothing more is required.”
“Well, I may get that wrong sometimes. Don’t be upset; it’s not something I’m used to.”
“I understand. In our first years of contact with other races, that matter was one that caused much misunderstanding. I am familiar with the problems that other races have in thinking in different terms.”
Jim was not sure if this partnership was going to work. As he prepared for the evening, he kept wondering if he was going out on a date.
Alcohol seemed to affect the Neraffan the same way it did Jim. Tella could match him drink for drink, stupid bar game for stupid bar game. They spent long periods of the evening exaggerating tales of appalling alien food and its disastrous effects on their digestive systems. All evening Jim saw that whatever came close to, or in contact with, the alien’s skin had its color reflected back in a delicate dance. At one point, demonstrating the active nature of its skin’s ability, Tella held up a tall amber beer, and its hand glowed with a similar hue. To Jim’s amusement, small pale dots ran up the hand, paralleling the bubbles rising in the glass.
Jim never could remember the end of the evening. The journey to the spaceport the next morning was long, loud, and painful.
Tella met him at the terminal and took him through an unmarked door, where a security team was waiting.
“Welcome to the world of the EIA, Jim,” said Tella. They were ushered through various scanners and into the secure terminal.
“Aren’t we renting a commercial flier?”
“I’m not allowed to travel in commercial vehicles. I can only use agency fliers.”
“Oh. It avoids questions, I suppose.”
“It allows me to be insured. Earth-owned companies still discriminate against aliens. The courts may soon intervene, but until then, I am restricted in many things.”
“I didn’t realize.”
They were led to a departure gate. As Jim saw the agency flier through the window, his mind immediately turned to his business interests on TMV-I.
“The toy makers are going to love this!”
“Would you repeat that?” asked Tella.
“Oh...nothing. I’ll explain later.”
The flier was from the same exclusive ship maker as Sopha’s. It had several suspicious bulges—perhaps covering scanners, perhaps concealing weapons.
Tella watched as Jim admired the machine. “It is a PR555 stealth flier. It has full covert-operation capabilities. It is also very fast.” The Neraffan smiled. “Will it do?”
“Oh yes, this will do. Can you fly it?”
“Maybe.”
Jim smiled in return. He had no doubt that his new friend was quite able to handle such a machine.
***
Jim and Tella did not go directly to Turcanis Major. Tella insisted that they go first to the Horsehead Nebula. Jim’s protests that they were wasting two days of travel in each direction held no sway.
Jim had never been to the Horsehead Nebula, but he had heard bad things about it. A large trading post had grown up around the Hawkins Array. No one had planned it, and the authorities had apathetically watched it happen. Businesses would open up by docking alongside existing structures and negotiating passage through each other’s modules for customers and stock. It had become a labyrinth of odd-sized compartments and walkways. Older businesses became frozen in place by the concessions and contracts as unchangeable as the positions of docking clamps and open airlocks. Various sections had become derelict—dark holes kept serviceable by neighbors motivated solely by the fear of atmospheric leaks. As with any community, the bigger it got, the more people came. With people came the need for a large police unit. If he hadn’t had to, Jim would have gone nowhere near it.
Tella arranged with the patrol commandant for Jim to interview the rogue police officer who had sold the stolen
