A glint in the sky caught his eye. A huntership, gliding in for a landing on the huge field to the north.

Squinting against the sunlight, he could pick out half a dozen other points of light on similar approach paths.

Hunterships...

For a long moment he thought about it. It was a ridiculously long shot... but on the other hand, he had absolutely nothing to lose.

And maybe—just maybe—the laughing fates had missed one.

"Now this," Hanan said, pulling a lumpy metal stick out of his toolbox, "is what's known as a universal wrench. It can fit any bolt or nut you're likely to find outside an engine room, bend in seven different ways to get back into cubbyholes impossible for the human hand, and apply the kind of torque that had hitherto only been available if you knew a gorilla with a mechanic's certificate."

He turned it over, sending glints of sunlight into Chandris's eyes. "You can also stir paint with it, and it holds up remarkably well against being thrown across a room in frustration."

Chandris nodded, squinting against the reflections. Having learned everything there was to know about the inside of the Gazelle, at least according to Ornina, she'd been promoted to learning about the outside with Hanan. It was, in her opinion, a dubious honor at best. "How come they put stuff in places where people's hands won't go?" she asked.

"Because the designers don't have to work on the things themselves," Hanan grunted, bending the wrench at three of its joints and lifting it to the open access hatch above them. "Allow me to demonstrate."

"Excuse me?" a voice called from the direction of the service yard gate. Chandris craned her neck to look over Hanan's shoulder—

And froze. "Oh, nurk," she hissed.

"What?" Hanan asked, turning around to look. "Hello," he called to the visitor before she could answer. "Come on in."

"Thank you," the other called. He opened the gate, somewhat gingerly, and started toward them.

Chandris found her voice. "Get rid of him," she murmured to Hanan. "I mean it. He's trouble."

Hanan had just enough time to throw her a puzzled look; and then he was there.

"Hello," the young man said, his eyes flicking to Chandris and then quickly away. "My name's Jereko Kosta. Are you Hanan Daviee?"

"That's right," Hanan nodded. "This is Chandris, one of my associates."

"Yes," Kosta said, his eyes reluctantly meeting Chandris's again. "We've met."

"Ah," Hanan nodded pleasantly. If he noticed the tension in the air, he didn't show it. "What can I do for you, Mr. Kosta?"

"I'd like to talk to you about possibly going along on your next trip out to Angelmass," Kosta said. "I have a radiation detection experiment that I very much need to get out there—"

"Institute ship broken?" Chandris put in coolly.

"Well, no—"

"You're still with the Institute, aren't you?"

"Well—"

"Chandris." Hanan put a restraining hand on her arm. "At the very least he deserves a hearing. Please continue, Mr. Kosta."

She could see Kosta brace himself. "The fact of the matter," he said, the words coming out in a rush,

"is that some bureaucratic mistake has gotten my credit line frozen, and without an active credit line they won't let me aboard the Institute ship. It'll be another month before the next trip, and if I have to wait that long—"

Hanan silenced him with an upraised hand. "How much space will this experiment of yours take up?"

"Not too much," Kosta said, a note of cautious hope creeping into his voice. "About like so," he added, slicing off about a cubic meter of air with his hands. "I can't pay very much now, but as soon as my credit's been unfrozen—"

"No problem," Hanan cut him off. "We'll be lifting tomorrow afternoon at two; you can sleep aboard tonight if you need a bed. Will you need any help getting your equipment over here?"

Kosta blinked. Probably, Chandris thought sourly, he'd expected to have to do more persuading.

"Ah, actually, I could—" He glanced at Chandris, suddenly seemed to realize who Hanan would likely volunteer to go help him. "No, I can handle it myself," he amended. "And I've still got a room at the Institute."

"Good," Hanan said. "Then you'd better hop on back there and start getting everything together. We may be out there for a week, so pack accordingly."

Kosta seemed a little taken aback. "A week?"

"We're going there to hunt angels," Hanan reminded him. "No way to guarantee how long till we find one."

"No, of course not." Kosta threw Chandris another glance. "I understand. I just didn't realize I'd be imposing on you that long."

"If you can stand our company, I'm sure we can stand yours," Hanan said, solemnly straight-faced.

"Now if you'll excuse us, we have work to do here."

"Oh. Right." Kosta hesitated. "I'd better go get my equipment, I guess. And thank you."

He turned and left, carefully closing the gate behind him. "Seems pleasant enough," Hanan commented as they watched him hurry down the dusty street. "A little awkward, but pleasant enough." He looked at Chandris. "This isn't the one chasing you, is it?"

"Hardly," Chandris growled. "He came in on the Xirrus, that's all. Oh, and I talked to him awhile back when I went to the Institute to find out what they knew about angels."

"I gather you don't like him."

"I don't know him well enough to not like him," Chandris retorted. "The point is that I don't trust him."

Hanan waited, the question implicit in his face. "I saw him at the spaceport," Chandris sighed.

"Right after we got off the Xirrus. I—well, I sort of scored him into walking me out past the guards.

They were looking for a single woman, you know, and I figured a twosome would get past them easier. Anyway, we got outside and clear before it popped and he recognized me."

"And off he went, screaming for the police at the top of his lungs?"

Chandris shook her head. "That's just it: he didn't. He just stood there like a sfudd and watched me get into a line car. And he didn't turn me in at the Institute, either."

"Interesting," Hanan murmured. "You think maybe he was just giving you the benefit of the doubt?"

Chandris snorted. "What doubt? He saw me under arrest. Hell, I practically ran him down on my chop and hop."

"Um." Hanan rubbed thoughtfully at his cheek with the business end of the wrench, leaving a black smudge behind. "Well... I suppose he could just be the type who hates to get involved with anything messy."

"Or maybe he's already involved in something messy and doesn't want to draw attention to himself,"

Chandris countered. "There's something wrong about him, Hanan. I've scored academic types before, and there's something about him that doesn't fit the pattern."

"Because he showed you mercy?" Hanan asked, raising his eyebrows slightly.

"That's different," Chandris insisted. "You and Ornina were trying to reform me."

"Different question, then," Hanan said. "Do you think he's dangerous?"

"He's trouble. Isn't that enough?"

"You should know better than that," Hanan said, quietly reproving. "But is he dangerous?"

Chandris took a deep breath, trying to sort out her thoughts from her feelings. "If you mean is he going to knife us in our sleep... no, I don't think so."

Hanan shrugged. "Well, then, I don't really see how we can refuse him. Do you?"

Chandris looked him straight in the eye—"No," she murmured. "I guess not."

"Good," Hanan said cheerfully. "Then that's settled." He raised the wrench, made a small adjustment. "Now: watch closely and I'll show you how this is done."

"Right," Chandris said, putting on her best submissive student persona and trying hard not to let her clenched teeth sound through her voice. So that was how it was going to be. She'd called it, and she'd been right. The Daviees, heavily under the influence of their angel, were apparently incapable of protecting their ship anymore.