"But—" Chandris looked back and forth between them, totally lost now.

Ornina frowned at her for a moment. Then her face cleared. "Oh, I see. It wasn't any kind of con game, Chandris. Just a very low form of alleged humor called a practical joke."

Chandris blinked. "A practical joke?"

"Uh-huh," Hanan said. "Why, don't they have practical jokes where you grew up?"

"Oh, sure," she told him, hearing an edge of bitterness creep into her voice. "Tripping people or halfpoisoning them or setting fires. Most of the time it ends up in a knife fight."

"Good Lord," Hanan breathed, looking shocked. "Those aren't practical jokes. That's just plain cruelly."

"Sending a new employee into a tizzy-fit isn't?" Ornina put in.

"Of course not," Hanan said indignantly. "It's an important object lesson." He looked at Chandris.

"You see, Chandris, this trick only works if the victim is too proud to admit he doesn't know everything. Which is, when you think about it, the normal state of life in this universe. The minute he's willing to admit to some ignorance and asks a supervisor—hey, the game's over. It's a valuable lesson in humility."

"If you want to disagree with him, feel free," Ornina advised dryly. "I don't buy any of it, myself.

That stunt, in particular, deserves to be retired."

"You're right," Hanan agreed blandly. "I'm going to have to come up with something else. Most of the other receivers are still willing to play along, but I think the supervisors are getting tired of it."

"I should think so," Ornina sniffed. "I never liked the ones that humiliate a single person, anyway."

"I'm not trying to humiliate anyone," Hanan insisted.

Ornina shrugged. "I'll bet it looks that way from the other side." She looked at Chandris. "Don't worry—he was much worse when he was younger. He's actually mellowed some with age."

"And I'm certainly not going to try pulling anything on you," Hanan added. "Not after that reference to knife fights."

"That's comforting," Chandris murmured, still a little uncertain about the whole thing.

"Anyway; back to work." Hanan looked at his watch. "I stopped by Serhanabi's on the way back, Ornina, and they're not going to be able to get those conduyner coils for us for at least a week. It turns out that there are a pair across town at Khohl Supply, but they can't deliver. If you can spare Chandris for an hour, she and I can go over and get them and I can start installing them this afternoon."

Something flashed across Ornina's face, too quickly for Chandris to decipher. "Sure," she said, her voice sounding a little odd. "I'm just showing her around the work areas." She glanced at Chandris.

"But wouldn't it make more sense for you to stay here and start the prep work while she and I go to Khohl?"

"Not really," Hanan said, getting to his feet. "There's nothing I can do until we have the underwrap in hand. Besides, don't you still have some work to do on the Senamaec?"

The look flickered again. "Yes," Ornina said.

"That's settled, then." Hanan looked at Chandris. "Let's get out there before someone else beats us to them."

A vehicle that looked something like a sawed-off truck was sitting outside the gate. "TransTruck,"

Hanan identified it as he opened the door for her. "Like a line car, but privately owned by Gabriel instead of being public. Button number four on the inlock phone if you ever need to call one."

Chandris nodded absently, her mind still back on Ornina. She'd seen that same look two nights ago, when they were offering her a job.

"You all right?"

She came to, realized with a start that they were already out of the service yard area. "Sorry," she muttered, annoyed with herself for getting distracted. "I was just... wondering."

"About that little scene just before we left?"

She looked at him, a strange feeling curling her stomach. "Yes, actually."

"Don't worry about it," he assured her. "That had nothing to do with you. Ornina's just got this idea that I shouldn't be lifting heavy objects like conduyner coils, that's all."

Chandris looked over at him. At the ends of the exobraces sticking a couple of centimeters out of his shirt sleeves...

"It's a degenerative nerve disease," he told her. His voice was very matter-of-fact, but Chandris could see a tightness around his mouth. "Hit me, oh, twenty-one years ago and has been wearing out my arms and legs ever since. Not at all contagious, I might add."

"I wasn't worried," Chandris said.

"I know. Actually, it's more nuisance than anything else, and you can see for yourself that it's being dealt with. The exobrace system compensates for the muscular weakness and also reroutes most of the neural traffic to my hands and feet. Otherwise I wouldn't have much control or feeling there."

"Can't they do anything else? The doctors, I mean."

"Oh, there are probably some nerve implant things or some such. Waste of time and effort."

"And money?" she added without thinking.

He cocked an eyebrow. "For someone who didn't think she was worth hiring, you know, you're pretty sharp."

Chandris bristled. "Who said I didn't think—?"

She broke off as it suddenly hit her. "You just changed the subject, didn't you?"

He grinned. "Well, I tried." The grin faded, and he grew serious. "Gabriel treats its people more than fairly, Chandris, but this isn't something they can be expected to deal with. Unlike your stereotypical giant corporation, they run their operation right at the edge of break-even." He grinned again, briefly.

"One of those wonderful balances you get when you work with angels. No matter how rare or valuable the things are, the people handling them don't line their own pockets at everyone else's expense."

"What about your extra angel?" Chandris asked. "Couldn't you sell that?"

He hesitated. Just a split second, but enough. "It wouldn't be worth enough."

"I thought Ornina said you never lie."

He threw her a sideways look. "You are sharp, aren't you? But that wasn't a lie, just a—well, a creative phrasing of the truth." He took a deep breath. "You see, Chandris, I'm the only family Ornina's got left. She's spent half her life taking care of me; first supporting me in school, then helping me adjust to my illness. Somehow, in all that, she never had the time or the money to have a family of her own."

And suddenly it clicked. "Is that why you invited me aboard the Gazelle?" Chandris demanded. "So she can pretend I'm her family?"

"Does that bother you?"

Chandris bit down on her lip. "I don't know," she had to admit.

"She's not really pretending, you know," he said. "At least not in the sense that she's deluding herself. But it gives her the chance to care for someone else. Someone who—well, never mind."

"Someone who desperately needs her?" Chandris finished for him, a slightly sour taste in her mouth.

"Don't be offended. If it helps any, you're in much better shape than most of the others have been.

You at least had a marketable skill, even if it was just stealing."

Another piece clicked into place. "So that's why you need to keep the extra angel. Right? Because otherwise you might take someone aboard someday who'd knife you both in your sleep."

He shrugged. "Something like that. Though of course we do try to screen our guests a shade better than that."

"The angel helps you there, too, I suppose?"

"Actually, no," he shook his head. "Angels don't seem to do anything quite that active." He grinned lopsidedly. "To tell you the truth, what's helped most was all the practical jokes I used to pull when I was younger. You learn how to read people when you're trying to rig a thimble on them. Don't tell Ornina that, though."

"Yeah, well, if you ask me your practical jokes sound just like scoring a track," Chandris told him.