"They're not responding."

"That is unacceptable. Get them on the line."

"But if they won't respon—"

Zoran's large hand clamped down on the back of Rojam's neck, and the latter felt as if his head was about to be torn from his shoulders. "Providence has delivered Si Cwan to us," snarled Zoran, "and I will not have him escape. Now get them on the line!"

Never had Rojam been more convinced that his demise was imminent. And then, as if in answer to unvoiced prayers, a gravelly voice came over the speaker. "This is Lieutenant Kebron of the Marquand.Sit tight, Kayven Ryin.We're just dealing with a communique from our main vessel. Kebron out."

"Raise them again!" urged Zoran.

"I can't. The channel's gone dead."

"If they get away," Zoran said meaningfully, "that channel won't be the only thing around here that's dead."

Si Cwan stroked his chin thoughtfully. "The Nelkarites, eh?"

"You know them?" Calhoun's voice came over the subspace radio. "Are they trustworthy?"

"Nowadays, there are few in Sector 221-G whom I would consider absolutely trustworthy," Si Cwan told him. "Relatively speaking, the Nelkar had been fairly harmless. Never started any wars, more than happy to accept Thallonian rule. However . . ."

"However?" prompted Calhoun when the word seemed simply to dangle there.

"Well . . . they're a scavenger race, by and large. Fairly limited in their design and potential. They tend to cobble their vessels together from whatever they can find, using technology that they don't always understand."

Soleta's voice was audible over the link as she commented, "That would explain the somewhat haphazard design of their vessel."

"Does that answer your questions, Captain?" asked Si Cwan, not quite able to keep the urgency out of his voice. "Because if it's all the same to you—"

"Stay on station. Do not proceed to the Kayven Ryinuntil you hear back from us."

"But Captain—!"

"I want to get matters sorted out on this end before you board that vessel, and I want to know I can get in touch with you. If the comm system on the Kayven Ryingoes out, you'll be incommunicado."

"Captain—!" Si Cwan tried to protest.

But Calhoun wouldn't hear any of it. Instead he said preemptively, "Did you copy those orders, Lieutenant Kebron?"

Without hesitation, Kebron said, "Understood, Captain."

"Excaliburout."

Making no attempt to cover his anger, Si Cwan sprang to his feet and slammed his fists into the ceiling of the shuttle craft. Kebron watched him impassively. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm getting angry!" snapped Si Cwan. He began to pace the interior of the shuttle craft like a tiger. "Why, don't you ever get angry?"

"I try not to," said Kebron evenly. "If I lose control, things tend to get broken."

"Things. What kinds of things," demanded Si Cwan without much interest.

"Oh . . . heads . . . backs . . . necks . . ."

Captain Hufmin of the damaged vessel Cambon,along with two of the refugees—a husband and wife named Boretskee and Gary, who had developed into a kind of leaders-by-default—sat in the conference lounge with Calhoun and Shelby. On the screen was Laheera of Nelkar, and it was quite apparent to Calhoun that Hufmin and company were spellbound by her.

"You understand that we were only concerned about the welfare of your passengers," Laheera said to Calhoun in that wonderfully musical voice of hers. "Let us not lose sight of one simple truth: This is our sector of space. You are merely a visitor here. It is to our interest to watch out for one another. It is difficult to know whom to trust."

"Understood," Calhoun said neutrally.

"Captain Hufmin . . . I extend to you and your . . . cargo,"she seemed amused by the notion, "sanctuary on Nelkar. We welcome you with open arms."

Boretskee and Gary looked at each other with undisguised joy and relief. "We accept your offer," they said.

"Excellent. I shall inform my homeworld." The screen shimmered and she was gone.

"Now, wait a minute," said Shelby. "Are you quite certain about this?"

"Commander, we are not pioneers," Gary replied. "We are not intrepid adventurers like yourselves. We're just trying to survive, that's all. Whether we survive on their world or somewhere outside of the Thallonian Empire, what difference does it make?"

"Isn't there an old Earth saying about any port in a storm?" Hufmin reminded them.

"Yes, and there's also one about fools rushing in," said Calhoun.

Boretskee bristled a bit. "I can't say I appreciate being considered a 'fool,' Captain."

"I didn't say that—"

Cary cut in. "We are grateful to you for all you've done for us. You saved our lives. For that our next generation of children will be named for you. But, Captain," and Cary gestured as if trying to encompass the whole of the galaxy, "this environment you sail through—space—you're comfortable in it. You've made your peace with it. But myself, Boretskee, the others in our group . . . we're not spacefaring types. This vacuum . . . it presses on us. Intimidates us. We almost died in it. If the Nelkarites offer us safe escort and a life on their world, we'll happily embrace it."

Hufmin took in both Shelby and Calhoun with a bland shrug. "Look . . . I'm just a hired gun here. They're the passengers. Barring desires that run contrary to the safety of my vessel, I'm obligated to take them where they want to go.''

"Perhaps. But I'm not," Calhoun said. They looked at him, a bit appalled. "Captain . . . you wouldn't," said Boretskee.

"I have to do what I think is right. And I'm loath to thrust you into a potentially dangerous situation . . ."

"We're already in a potentially dangerous situation," Gary pointed out. "We're in the depths of space. That's dangerous enough as far as we're concerned. It almost killed us once. We have no desire to give it a second opportunity."

"With all respect, Captain, this shouldn't be your decision," Boretskee said.

"With all respect, sir . . . that is precisely what it is," replied Calhoun. He rose from his seat and turned away from them, his hands draped behind his back. "I'll let you know what I decide presently. That will be all."

"Now wait one minute—"

"I believe, sir, that the captain said that would be all," Shelby said calmly, her fingers interlaced on the table in front of her. "Temporary quarters have been set up to house you and your fellow passengers. Perhaps the time could be well spent discussing your options with them . . . just in the event that you're not all of the same mind."

"Apparently what we decide is irrelevant," said Boretskee challengingly. His fists were tightly clenched; it was clear that he was a bit of a scrapper, just waiting for Calhoun to react in some aggressive manner. When Calhoun did not even turn, however, Boretskee continued angrily, "Wouldn't you say so, Captain?"

Calhoun turned to look at him, and his purple eyes were as sympathetic as a black hole. "Yes. I would." The air turned more frigid with each word.

To his credit, Boretskee didn't seem inclined to back down. But Gary headed off any continuing hostility as she tugged on Boretskee's arm and he allowed himself to be led out of the room. Captain Hufmin paused at the door long enough to say, "Look, Captain . . . I don't give a damn either way. I'm making almost no money on this job as it is. But for what it's worth, these are people who have lost everything. Be a shame if they lost their self-respect, too."