"Colder at night without house heaters," Noonday said. "Less cohesive among our people."
"The coms," Thunderstorm explained. "Most families have one now."
Keff sighed. "The CW won't actually take something like those away from a people, would they, Cari?"
"Probably not. There's no destructive potential in personal communications or home furnaces. The spaceships, on the other hand, will have to go."
"All these are good things that the Melange shares with us," Noonday said, the beatific smile on her face. "We joined with them, and it has been of benefit to us all. They always assured us that the gifts they brought were traded from outposts, or scavenged from floating space debris."
"I was some of that debris," Carialle screamed.
Keff winced as his aural implant went into overload. "They couldn't know, Cari," he reminded her. It was the first crack in the reserve she'd shown since they had landed.
"How dare the Melange force this lovely people into piracy," Carialle said furiously. "It violates fifty-seven sections of interplanetary law, it's immoral, and it violates the Prime Directive."
"That's fictional," Keff pointed out.
"I don't care. It's still a good idea. I want these people, and I want to be the one who brings them in to Central Worlds. Now there's no excuse for having picked away at my exoskeleton: there isn't a spacer who flies in the Central Worlds who wouldn't recognize a shell capsule."
"We don't know what happened," Keff said, soothingly. "We'll find out. You must understand, Noonday, that spaceship parts don't just become available. Our evidence shows that at least some of them were the fruit of ambush and murder. Thunderstorm will admit he knows about that.
"To my shame," the Space Sayas said, covering his eyes. "Forgive me, parent." His voice was muffled behind the folds of his wings.
"Will you help us to stop such crimes?" Keff asked, looking intently at Noonday.
"We always wish to follow the laws," Noonday said, but the Thelerie was uneasy. Keff was convinced she never really knew that their gifts were stolen merchandise. He waited. He knew the griffins were fascinated by humans, and admired them, so he smiled his most charming smile. It worked. The rectangular pupil widened. "We will do anything we can."
"Thank you," Keff said.
Noonday's sweet smile was sad now. "We dreamed of space travel, and when it was given to us, that dream was fulfilled. But it is wrong to accept technology in advance of our understanding, as you say."
"But you don't understand," said Thunderstorm, rising to his feet. "Some of our greatest triumphs! Some of our most reknowned heroes…"
"… were flying in stolen ships," Noonday finished gently. "It is over. Sit down, child."
"Fifty years," Keff said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. He shook his head.
"Certainly long enough to be an established concern by the time I came to grief," Carialle said.
"We will stop taking from the traders, but you must convince your own kind to stop bringing it to us," Noonday said. "For as long as it continues to be available, someone will buy it. We cannot police everyone. But so long as there is no source, then no one can buy."
"Then we need to find this Melange, and stop the illicit trade," Keff said. "How do you know when they are coming?"
Thunderstorm rose and opened a low cabinet behind his desk. In it was a communications unit.
"I activate this once a day to receive messages, if there are any."
"Cari!" Keff said, hovering over it.
"Of course, Keff. Tell him to turn it on."
Keff conveyed the order, and the Thelerie tweaked an old-fashioned knob with his claw. He winced at the rising growl that came from the set as its tubes-tubes-warmed up. It was of ancient design, possibly of ancient manufacture as well. But it would last nearly forever in this environment, if not subjected to harsh treatment.
"I have the frequency. It's specific, and common, if you happen to hail from Central Worlds. It's in the educational transmissions band."
"Very sly," Keff said. "If a mysterious broadcast comes in over this band, most monitors will think it's kids playing pranks."
"Yes," Carialle said. "In the meantime, I can stay open on that frequency and hear the moment anyone in range uses it."
"Do you ever send a message yourself on this unit?" Keff asked.
"No, never," Thunderstorm said. "I speak to Zonzalo when he calls me, but I do not summon them."
"We have a name," Carialle said. "I can send to the nearest space station for criminal files. Zonzalo what?"
"Don," Thunderstorm said. "He speaks for the leaders, Aldon Fisman and Mirina Don. Mirina is senior sibling of Zonzalo."
"Fisman?" Keff asked. "Related to the first Fisman?"
"Child of that one," Thunderstorm explained. "He is my friend. Strong and fierce, with less warmth than the parent. Mirina embraces the apprentices. She is kindhearted."
"Kindhearted pirates," Carialle said ironically.
"Hush, Cari," Keff said, soothingly. "We have names. Get on to CenCom and let's see how far their records go back."
Carialle opened up her receivers on the frequency she had gleaned from Thunderstorm's unit. With so little on-air traffic on this planet, it should be easy to detect another transmitter. Yes, there it was. Carialle couldn't tell precisely where it was, but she could guess approximately how far away in the direction of the strongest signal, where the antenna lay. She triangulated the location on the maps she had made of Thelerie, and made her best guess. If she had to, she could make a flyover of that region to be certain.
"Got one," she said to Keff, interrupting another information dump from Thunderstorm. From being taciturn and cagey, the Sayas of the space program had become almost too eager to help.
"Only one?" Keff asked. She saw his hand go up in front of his chest with one finger raised, a request for the Thelerie to pause.
"Only one base," Thunderstorm said, as his newfound friend fell silent, communing with the internal voice again. "I will show it to you, if you wish."
"Only one, not too high powered, so our friends count on getting very close to this planet before making contact," Carialle said, running through a quick calculation. "It's north-northeast of you, probably a couple hundred klicks. They're very sure no one will sneak up on them."
"Well, they're wrong," Keff said, smacking one hand into another. "This time, we'll be lying in wait."
"And we freeze them in place," Big Voice said, extending his two fists out in front of him." He rose off the floor above everyone's head, and spun in a circle.
"No, no!" Keff exclaimed, diving for the councillor's globe before it crashed into one of the pavilion's supports. "We need information from them. We can only do that if they're free to move and speak."
"Oh," Big Voice said, looking disappointed as Keff put him back on the floor. "It would be simpler. But how can we do this?"
"I have a cunning plan," Keff said, grinning at the little party in the pavilion. "What do the Melange come here for?"
"To gas up, and to pick up a supply of natural navigators," Carialle said at once.
"Well, to trade," Keff said, clarifying for the others. He sat down in his sling again and held out both hands. "We don't want them to cut and run, we want to talk to them. We're unarmed, and besides, policing is not our job. We gather information. So, what if the next time they come, they find someone here in their particular, secret treasure house, ready to undercut any price they ask for better goods?"
Carialle sounded amused. "They wouldn't automatically identify traders as CW personnel."
"Exactly," Keff said, lifting himself into a pike position with his hands braced on the supports of the sling-chair. "They'd land and try to find out who we are and where we come from.