Big Voice snapped his fingers, making the gold fingerstalls click. "We do not need your ship. Carialle will bring us back to Cridi."
"I will, if necessary," Carialle promised the anguished captain. "But your craft will be restored as soon as possible."
"I am not happy," Narrow Leg said. He hunched up his kness and wrapped his skinny arms around them. The small bundle shot off the console and disappeared into the lap of the crash couch behind him.
"Leave him alone," Big Eyes signed, flitting away from the chair like a tadpole swimming in a pond. "It is no use communicating with him when he is like this."
"He should be adaptable, like me," Big Voice said aloud.
From inside the huge chair came a disbelieving "Hah!"
"My child looks nervous," Noonday said, speaking up timidly. "He has shown disrespect to humans, and it weighs upon his conscience." The Sayas and two of her Ro-sayo sat in the corner, out of the way of the Cridi. Noonday occupied Keff's weight bench; and the Ro-sayo, a spare mattress pad from the cargo hold. Carialle switched her monitor away from the conversation Keff was having with the raiders, and zoomed in on Thunderstorm. The Space Sayas went about his shopping as he'd been told to do, but he wasn't happy.
"He's doing fine," Carialle assured his parent, enlarging the view on the screen nearest the weight bench for the sake of the Thelerie visitors. "He did exactly what he was supposed to, to make the Melange jealous. We don't want them thinking too clearly. People blurt things out when they are angry."
"Flurt?" Noonday asked, her beautiful eyes puzzled.
"Speak forcefully without thinking," Carialle said, slowly.
"These learn," Small Spot said, proudly. He sat as close to the Thelerie as they would allow him. "I teach them more Standard, which I know."
"You're doing fine, too," Carialle assured him, privately amused.
"I cannot believe the beauty of this ship, Carialle," Noonday said. "I see, but my eyes must lie-such things as this and the Cridi ship, they are as dreams."
Narrow Leg was somewhat soothed by the compliments. His wrinkled, green face appeared over the top of the crash couch.
"Not a dream. State-of-the-art for now," he peeped. "We move ahead, always ahead." Carialle transposed the voice to a baritone register and amplified it so Noonday and the others could listen without pain.
"We are getting used to them," Noonday said, to the air. Carialle could tell that she still didn't really understand a human who lived in the walls, nor one who could look like a frog at will, but followed the Cridi's example of behaving as if Carialle was there in the room with them. Shellperson existence was a facet of human experience that had never yet come their way.
She wondered what the CenCom would make of Thelerie, and if they would try to withdraw the technology humans had given them to date, on the grounds that they wouldn't have evolved it yet themselves. She hoped not, but bureaucrats could be so rulebound!
Carialle herself had become completely comfortable with Thelerie. Having had Noonday, Thunderstorm, the Ro-Sayo, and a large number of former members of the Melange tour through her ship during the last several days, she was convinced that none of their gaits matched the footsteps she remembered transiting what was left of her hull after her accident, not even accounting for weightlessness and grav-boots. They were absolved. The question remained: who?
"Well, we might have an offer for you ourselves," Bisman said, rocking back on his heels and staring up at the sun. "We'll take the whole line off your hands, on condition that you take it, and don't come back."
"I can't do that," Keff said. "I have obligations to fulfill."
"The Circuit," Bisman said. Keff nodded. "Where's it based?"
"Oh, here and there," Keff said, too casually.
"Well, it won't be here," Bisman said, not at all fooled. "You have two days, then I want to see your tail-rockets up there." He pointed toward the sky.
"No can do," Keff said, looking pathetically at both leaders. Mirina wasn't moved. "The lady who runs the Circuit would make life miserable for me. You'll understand." And he flashed that insouciant grin once again.
Mirina found that they were getting nowhere with the trader. It stood to reason that a traveler who went around in a fancy ship like that with top-shelf goods like these on the edge of nowhere wouldn't be easy to bluff, but was he too cocky? Bisman might get so frustrated that he would attack him right here. She could stop him, but couldn't prevent the rest of the crew piling in on a fight. At least Zonzalo and Sunset would stay out of it. She'd been very firm in her orders. For whatever reason, neither one argued.
Bisman started some low-level threats on Keff, nothing overt or too nasty, and found his sallies thrown back in his face. Mirina stood by, turning over the odd component or two with her toe. He had some of the damnedest things for sale. Oil paintings? She bent to examine them. A small space-scape caught her eye. She thought she recognized the subject as Dimitri DMK-504-R. Piled anyhow underneath it were the study of a planet she couldn't identify, a lake at sunset, a beautifully detailed portrait of a cat stalking a leaf, and a color sketch of a couple in yellow and silver, holding a baby dressed in deep, burgundy red.
"You've wandered into our patch," Bisman was saying over her head.
"Did you paint these?" Mirina asked, suddenly, interrupting them. She nudged the pile with the side of her foot. "They're good!"
She was rewarded with the warm grin. "No. A friend of mine does them."
"He has talent," Mirina said.
"She. Thank you. I'll pass the compliment along. Maybe you'd like to buy something?" Keff asked, with just the right air of hope.
"Maybe not," Mirina said, crossing her arms again. Good God, he was pushy!
"Oh, then on my next stop here," he said, cheerfully, not at all put off. "You folks get around here much?"
"Now, listen, friend," Bisman said, poking Keff in the chest to get his attention. "There won't be another stop here for you."
"Really?" Keff asked. "I won't ask, 'you and what army,' because I've been watching your toughs gather around me for the last ten minutes, and I promise you I'm just not as green as I am cabbage-looking."
"What?" Mirina demanded, having followed his conversation up until then.
"Save the ancient colloquialisms yourself," Carialle growled in his ear. Keff clicked his tongue in acknowledgement. He had his hand on the top of the red box marked "Medical Waste," where Tall Eyebrow was concealed. One rap, and these brutes would be frozen in place. He hated to show his trump card right away. He would never get what he needed if he was too cocky.
"Sorry," he said, smiling at the woman. "I mean, I was not born yesterday. You don't think for a minute that I don't know how defenseless I look." She paused. Keff noticed Bisman's hand sweep down in a gesture that looked casual, but all the other spacers stopped moving toward them.
"So you have some kind of defense in that fancy airplane of yours," Bisman said casually.
"Airplane, hah," Carialle said. "Look at the flying refuse heap he came in."
"Shh!…sssure," Keff said. "My… employer wouldn't let me out without adequate protection."
"The Circuit," Bisman said flatly.
"You've heard of us?"
"No, I haven't. You could be a fly-by-night operation with one ship and an attitude. I've seen your kind before."
"Started that way yourself, did you?" Keff asked, and had the satisfaction of seeing the pirate start violently.
"The Melange comes from an old family tradition," Bisman corrected him with a sharp look.
"Ah! Your father," Keff translated.
The present-day Bisman breasted up to Keff and glared down at him. "Listen, character, you gather up all your debris, and you lift off of this world within thirty Standard hours."