"Mmm, what's that?" Mirina asked, putting down her coffee cup. She pointed at a light blinking on Carialle's imaginary console.
"Communications," Carialle said in his ear.
"Communications," Keff echoed, springing up. "The Lady!" He went to one of the real control boards, and punched a button. That one normally activated the lights in the cargo bay, but Mirina wouldn't know that. One of the screens blanked, then filled with the image of Carialle's Lady Fair. Keff blinked. She wore an up-to-date coiffure, and tunic set of gauzy blue fabric with flowing sleeves, plus plenty of sparkling jewelry. She looked expensive, impatient, and very efficient.
"Keff? Is that you?" Carialle's voice asked impatiently.
"Yes, ma'am," Keff said, speaking with his mouth close to the audio pickup just for effect.
"My ship is in range of this planet, ETA two hours. I want a full report. What's this meeting supposed to be about?" Her eyes flicked past Keff to Mirina. "Who is that woman?"
"She's, uh, she's a representative of the other group," Keff said. "The Melange. Mirina Don, er, Carialle."
"Madam," Mirina said.
"Greetings." The eyes returned to Keff. "I'll expect a full briefing in an hour. The meeting will commence when I make orbit. Do you understand?"
"I do, ma'am," Keff said, humbly. The screen blanked. He turned to Mirina. She looked pleased.
"I'll go tell Bisman," she said.
Carialle had her suit-clad image smile at Bisman and his cronies as they stalked into the central cabin. The half-dozen human raiders shed oily, yellow-brown mud from their boots everywhere. She cast her eyes upward in disgust, and enjoyed the scowl on the leader's face as he slung himself into one of the crash couches.
"Upscale meets bargain basement," she said to Keff over the aural link. "You'll have to tidy that after the meeting's over," she added out loud.
"Yes, ma'am," Keff said, standing obsequiously beside the holographic chair in which her image seated itself. Carialle had set almost all her projective cameras over the end of the room where her painting apparatus usually stood. The rack, and all of her personal paintings, were stowed hastily in the small storeroom behind Keff's cabin. It left her image plenty of room to roam.
"I am Carialle," she said, with a nod of her head. "Greetings, gentlemen, and madam." Carialle nodded to Mirina, clad in a similar shipsuit to the one she'd had on the night before. The ex-brawn seated herself beside her brother at the dining table clear across the cabin. The younger Don was a dark-haired, lanky young man who didn't seem to know what to do with his long arms and legs. Bisman wore a knee-length coat over an open-necked shirt and trousers tucked into his muddy boots. The garments were clean but worn, adding to the impression Mirina had given them of an organization too big for its budget. The only non-human was the young Thelerie, Sunset. "You are all welcome."
"Say, wait a minute," Bisman said, turning his head to the right. He'd made himself comfortable, but something caught his eye. He propelled himself forward to wave a hand through Carialle's midsection. "She's a hologram!" he exclaimed, turning on Keff. "I thought we were meeting with the real thing!"
"You're hearing my real voice," Carialle said, with a trace of haughty annoyance. "And seeing my face. I'm not about to make myself vulnerable to strangers. I'm sure you understand."
"Not being vulnerable, yeah," Bisman said, sitting down again, but not so far back in the couch. He held up one hand and showed them a small commlink on his wrist. "I don't like tricks, either. I want you to know I'm in radio contact with my ship. If something happens, or if my communications are cut off, my people have orders to attack. We are well armed."
Carialle also read the energy trace of a sidearm concealed under the flap of the coat the man wore. She accorded him another gracious nod. "I understand," she said. "We won't shield transmissions. Sounds like they have the third Core," she told Keff privately. "We'll have to get it away from them."
"Yes, ma'am," Keff said, with a respectful bow.
"Why are you here?" Bisman asked Thunderstorm, who sat on his haunches between the airlock and the corridor to the sleeping cabins.
"I represent Thelerie," the Space Sayas said, very nervously. "As I have for many years."
"This was going to be a discussion between our two organizations, wasn't it?" Bisman asked Carialle.
"Of course, but this being makes a valid point," Carialle said, with a polite gesture toward Thunderstorm. "We are occupying his world, after all."
"Okay," Bisman said, crossing his heels on the console. "He can stay."
"Thank you," Carialle said, politely. She made a point of lifting the corner of her lip delicately at his dirty boots, and he grinned. "Shall we begin?"
Keff bowed again. "Shall I serve refreshments?"
"Go ahead. Thank you. Gentles?" Carialle manifested a glass in her image's hand. The visitors declined beverages, and Keff resumed his stand beside his "employer."
"We're here to talk," Bisman said, impatiently. He tilted his head toward Keff. "Your drone here landed on a world we have an exclusive arrangement with."
"Isn't it up to the inhabitants as to whom they do business with?" Carialle asked, with a lift of her eyebrows. "Thunderstorm, what do you say?"
"I…" the Thelerie trembled violently and clattered his clawtips together. "I do not say anything just now."
Bisman's blood pressure rose slightly, as did the temperature in his face. He had a bad temper, but he controlled it. His associates were watching their leader closely. Their muscle tension was high: in Mirina's case, almost dangerously so. The former brawn was under a lot of stress.
"The Melange has made a lot of progress with them," Bisman said, with emphasis. "We don't like someone just walking in and benefiting from all our work."
"But when there's profit in it…?" Carialle asked.
"Yeah, but we intend to keep it just the way it's been," Bisman said. His blood pressure drew down to normal again. He was on his own ground here, Carialle thought.
"The resources on this planet are very attractive, n'est ce pas? For example, fuel of very high quality."
"Ours. Our refinery, our investment," Bisman said, flatly.
Carialle spread her hands prettily. "But can't we make a bargain?" she asked. "We might like to buy some of this fine fuel. And these people, the Thelerie, are good customers."
"Not a chance," Bisman said. "There's not enough production to supply all of us. The Thelerie need it to run their lamps and heating units. I've got more than sixty ships. How many have you got?"
"Enough," Carialle said. "You'll forgive me not giving out too much information until I know who I'm dealing with."
"We've been around a long time," the older man said, narrowing his eyes at her. He jabbed a finger toward Keff. "I have never heard of you people until we landed and found him here. You come out of nowhere, into established territory, and you act like you've had a mandate from the Invisible Hosts."
Carialle smiled austerely. "Perhaps it does seem as if we've been keeping undercover a little too much."
"Nonexistent, is what I call it." Bisman's voice rose threateningly. Carialle picked up signs of distress from Thunderstorm, who watched the man with wide eyes. He was terrified of Bisman, and Carialle couldn't blame him. He was dangerous.
"And yet, here we are," Carialle said. Her sensors picked up the expected ship orbiting and entering atmosphere. The engine vibration matched patrol ships she'd encountered at many space stations. She listened for an official hail, hoping it was the CW military ship at last. It was curious that there hadn't been any advance instructions for her. She strained her external cameras upward and outward, searching for a glimpse of the descending craft. "Now that we've found one another, we should make arrangements for cooperation where our paths cross."