Tach laughed. "No." His expression went flat. "But we can invite them to a duel."

"Huh?"

"Hush a moment. I must think on this."

And he finally did what he should have done from the beginning. He thought like a Takisian instead of like an Earthman.

"Got it?" Trips asked when he again opened his eyes. "Yes."

He lay back down, and probed for a familiar mind. Turtle. There's a way out of this.

Yeah? The mental tone was one of utter defeat and hopelessness.

The device you had, it can send you home. Yeah, but it's-

Just shut up, and listen. We're all going to be in the cargo bay-

Why?

Would you stop! Because I'm going to get us there. The attention will be on me, and while it is you must get that device.

Now?

You know how. I can't!

Tom, you must! It's our only hope.

It's not possible. The Great and Powerful Turtle could do it, but I'm just Thomas Tudbury-the Great and Powerful Turtle.

No, I'm just an ordinary man who's on the wrong side of forty, drinks too much beer, doesn't eat right, and who works at a fucking electronics repair shop. I'm no fucking hero.

You are to me. You gave me back my sanity and probably my life.

That was the Turtle.

Tom, the Turtle is a conglomeration of iron plates, TV cameras, lights, and speakers. What makes Turtle, Turtle is the man inside. You're the ace, Tom, it's time to come out of the shell.

Terror was coming off the man's mind in powerful waves, battering at Tach's shields, making him doubt his own plan. I can't. Leave me alone.

No, I'm going through with this, and you're going to have to come up to scratch, because if you don't, I will have died for nothing.

Died! What do you…

He broke the telepathic link wondering if he might have put too much pressure on Turtle's- fragile emotions. Too late to worry about it now.

Kibr?

What, boy?

We find your tone to be less than pleasing, Ajayiz'et Benaf'saj.

She moderated her tone, adding a formal overlay of respect, if not for him, at least for his position. What is it you wish, clan head?

Summon the crew, there is a ceremony of adoption to be observed.

What trick are you up to?

Wait and see, or deny me, and be forever curious, he said impudently.

Her laughter glittered in his mind. A challenge. Very well, my little prince, we will see just what it is you are up to.

They had all gathered in the bay. Tom looked about, and let out an anguished cry, "My shell!"

Zabb's lips skinned back in a harsh smile. "We jettisoned it. It was taking up far too much room."

Tach paid little attention to Turtle's distress. His eyes roved quickly about the room ascertaining that the singularity shifter was still in its place.

"It had infrared and zoom lenses, and tuck-and-roll upholstery, and-" Zabb laughed. "You puke!"

Zabb stepped forward, fist upraised.

"Zabb brant Sabina sek Shaza sek Risala, touch my stirps, and I will not give you the courtesy of facing me. I will kill you like a cur in the street." Zabb froze, and turned slowly to face his small cousin.

"What farce is this?"

"As a breeding member of the house of Ilkazam I exercise my right to add, by blood and bone, to my line."

"You would embrace these humans?" asked Benaf'saj.

"I would. "

She raked them with an imperious glance. "They will, I think, add little to your consequence."

Tach stepped between Trips and Turtle, and gripped them by their wrists. "I would rather have them bound and bonded to me than many who can make a greater claim to that right."

His eyes slid to Zabb.

"Very well, it is your right." The old woman settled herself on a stool that Hellcat obligingly extruded for her. "Do you agree to this adoption, understanding the duties and obligations of those so honored?"

Three pairs of eyes stared at Tach, and he nodded slightly.

"We do," Asta said firmly when the two men continued to stand and dither.

"Know then that you, and all your heirs and assigns, are forever bound to the house of Ilkazam, line of Sennari through its son, Tisianne. In all matters be great, and bring glory and service to this house."

"Are we, like, Takisians now, man?" asked Trips in a penetrating whisper.

"This ritual is to bind the psi-blind to a house. You would not be permitted to mate with any member of the mentat class, but you are deserving of our aid and protection."

"So we're serfs," Tom rasped.

"No, more like equerries. Mere servants are never formally adopted." He turned on his heel, and pinned Zabb with a hard glance. "But by my fathers, you, cousin, have given me insult, and shown both contempt and abuse toward my stirps, and I will have satisfaction."

Before Zabb could move, Benaf'saj spoke up. "You need not accept this challenge. Courtesy does not apply retroactively to the psi-blind."

The commander swept her a bow. "But, Ajayiz'et, it will give me the greatest pleasure to meet my beloved cousin. Rabdan, you will act for me?"

"Yes, Commander."

"And Sedjur, you will act for me?" Tachyon asked. The old man managed a nod.

The two men moved quickly to an arms locker, and Tach joined his friends. As he kicked off his shoes, stripped out of his coat and brocaded waistcoat, and began tucking up his ruffles, he said quietly, "Stay well together. Tom, you know what you must do, but for god's sake act quickly." He ignored the human's frantic head shakings. "Fortunately the small sword gives the advantage to the defense, but I will be hardpressed to hold off Zabb. The attention of my family will be focused on me. No one should notice your actions, and once you have the device I will send you home."

"What about you?" muttered Tom.

Tachyon shrugged. "I stay here. It is, after all, a matter of honor. I won't run."

"I hate fucking heroes."

"Has someone something with which to tie back my hair?" Asta dropped to one knee, and rummaged about in her capacious dance bag. Pulling out a toe shoe, she tore the pink ribbon from the shoe, and held it out to the Takisian. It clashed horribly with his metallic red curls.

"Sir," Sedjur said softly. He was holding out a chain-mail sleeve which covered the sword arm up to the elbow, and a beautifully etched and hammered sword. The hilt was inlaid with semiprecious stones, and the filigree work on the basket was so fine that it looked like lace.

"Don't look so depressed, old friend."

"How can I not? You're no match for him."

"Unkind of you to say so. Especially when you trained me."

"And him; and I say again, you are no match for him."

"It is necessary." His tone indicated that the subject was closed, and he stared autocratically over the old retainer's head while the armor was strapped to his right forearm.

Asta giggled hysterically when a resin box was brought over, and Tach carefully coated the soles of his stockinged feet. She clapped her hands over her mouth, and subsided.

Tach, moving to the center of the room, hefted his rapier several times to accustom himself to its weight, and to remind his muscles of old skills, long unused. He didn't blame Asta for tittering. To modern humans this archaic ritual fought with archaic weapons must seem strange, especially in a spacefaring race. But there were sound reasons for the Takisian devotion to bladed weapons. They had atomic and laser weapons, but for hand-to-hand combat inside the skin of one of the living ships, a weapon that did not exceed the reach of the arm was better. An indiscriminate firing of projectile or coherent light weapon could badly damage a ship, and then it wouldn't much matter if the crew had won or not. There was also the Takisian love of drama. Virtually any fool could learn to fire a gun. It took real skill to be a swordsman.

Zabb joined him, and said in an undertone, "I have been looking forward to this moment for years."