With one last bite, Raimey finished off the last trailing bit of ranshay. It was the first run of that particular plant he'd seen in a long time, and he guessed that it would likely be the last.

And Beltrenini was right. Without jeptris along to give it tang, the stuff was pretty bland.

He thought about that as he turned his right ear into the eddy winds again and continued his journey south. Why would plants like ranshay and jeptris be absent from the equatorial regions where he'd grown up? There was certainly a higher concentration of Qanska here than farther north; had they overgrazed the plants to extinction?

But that didn't make any sense. As he'd already seen, there was plenty of both types just a few ninedays' travel off the equator, plus at least five other species he'd never seen before. Was there simply not enough mixing of the atmosphere to bring them to the equator? That didn't seem likely.

But then, he was hardly a meteorological expert.

For that matter, he was hardly an expert on anything, at least not anything that was of any use here.

Why in the world had Faraday picked him for this mission in the first place?

He had no idea. But whatever the reason, the fact remained that he was the man on the spot. He was all they had; and when they found out that the stardrive really did exist, they would know he'd done his job.

At least, the first part of it. Now the real task would begin: actually finding the thing, wherever in the Deep they had hidden it.

In the gloom ahead, a dark shape moved. Raimey froze, letting the winds carry him as he peered at the figure. It was a Vuuka, probably about five-size long, laboriously working his way upward.

Probably heading up toward some herd above on Level One, hoping to snatch a newborn or to take a few bites out of a careless Youth straying too far from the edge of the group.

He smiled to himself with bittersweet memory. It had been a Vuuka of just about that same size who had attacked him his first ninepulse out of his Qanskan mother's womb. His introduction to this wonderful world he'd volunteered to go to.

Of course, there wouldn't be anyone with Counselor Latranesto's mass and bulk to trap and absorb this particular Vuuka. For a moment he considered taking the predator on himself, seeing if he could at least discourage it from raiding the nursery up above.

But no. There would be plenty of ten-size Protectors up there. The children would be safe enough.

Not that he really cared. He was a human, he reminded himself firmly, not a Qanska. He didn't care anymore what happened here, as long as it didn't happen to him.

Ahead, the Vuuka disappeared upward into the swirling air, and Raimey resumed his travel across the winds. He was seeing more Vuuka lurking around now, more than he'd run into while he was with Beltrenini and her Counselor friends. More Vuuka, while at the same time a smaller variety of food plants. Coincidence?

And fewer of those compact little Brolka things, too, come to think of it. In fact, he couldn't recall having seen any of them for the past nineday or so. He'd meant to ask Beltrenini about them, but somehow he'd never gotten around to it. Where did they fit into all this?

Impatiently, he shook the thoughts away. There was no point straining his brain on this one.

McCollum was the xenobiology expert, and she'd probably already figured it out. As soon as he got within hailing range of the station, he'd simply ask her.

Until then, it was find food, avoid predators, and keep swimming. That was his life now. Probably all the life he'd ever have.

Still, it beat sitting paralyzed in a walking chair with voice-actuated robotics doing everything for him. Probably.

"Colonel?"

Faraday looked up from his tasteless eggplant parmigiana to find Jen McCollum standing across the table from him, holding a meal tray of her own. "Good evening, sir," she said with strained politeness. "May I join you?"

"Ms. McCollum," he nodded back, his immediate reflex being to politely tell her he wasn't interested in company. Last week's confrontation with Liadof was still fresh in his mind, as was the memory of those four turned backs as Liadof verbally took him off at the knees.

It was a confrontation whose echoes still reverberated through the entire project. A formal stiffness had replaced the more casual atmosphere that had once existed in the Contact Room. The techs were walking on duck eggs, afraid to make any comment outside the narrow range of their specific duties.

Afraid of even challenging or arguing with each other.

Afraid of drawing Liadof's attention in their direction.

Bad enough that Liadof's presence had poisoned the Contact Room. Even worse was that the venom had also spilled over into off-duty relationships. Before her arrival, Faraday had had occasional meals with one or more of the techs, and had almost always paused to chat with them when they happened to bump into each other in corridor or meeting room. He'd never actually become friends with any of them, but he'd certainly considered them his colleagues.

Now, even when they were in the same room together, the others seemed completely unaware of his existence. The message had been sent and received: Colonel Faraday was on notice, and those who didn't wish to join him had better keep their distance.

And Jupiter Prime had become a very lonely place to be.

McCollum was still standing there, waiting for his reply. "Certainly," he said with a private sigh.

Personal feelings aside, he could hardly hold this against any of them. In their place, at their age, he probably would have been equally reluctant to make an enemy of someone as powerful as Liadof.

"Thank you, sir," McCollum said, pulling out the chair across from him and setting her tray on the table as she sat down. "I'll just take a moment of your time."

"No rush," he assured her. She wasn't planning on spending an entire meal with him, anyway, he saw now. Her tray contained only the remains of her own dinner: empty plates, a mostly empty cup, and a standard-issue cloth napkin, carelessly folded.

She might be willing to risk being seen with him, but she wasn't willing to push it.

"I just wanted to apologize for not speaking up in your defense last week," she said. "It wasn't very brave of me. Not very loyal, either."

"Don't worry about it," Faraday assured her, his resentment abating somewhat. At least she recognized what she'd done and felt guilty about it. If I can't have loyalty, he'd told Sprenkle, at least give me honesty. "I'm less worried about myself than I am about Raimey," he added. "I can at least stand up and defend myself. Raimey can't."

"I know." McCollum pursed her lips, her gaze avoiding his eyes. She'd slowed down a lot these days, he'd noticed, her movements more deliberate, even leaden. A far cry from the early days, when Beach had with perfect seriousness dubbed her the station's FMSO: Fast Moving Singing Object.

She didn't seem to be singing anymore, either, at least not in his presence.

"I see you got the parmigiana," she said. "How is it tonight?"

"Adequate," he said, cutting off another corner with his fork. So that was it for Raimey, at least as far as tonight's conversation was concerned. Hardly surprising: If they weren't going to stand up with Faraday the Living Legend, they certainly weren't going to do so for Raimey the Expendable Sacrifice. "Not as good as mother used to make; and she was Scots-Irish, without a drop of Italian in her. But I've tasted worse."

"Possibly even on this very station?" she suggested.

"Very definitely on this very station," Faraday confirmed, eying her closely. She seemed to be running a mix of deference and restlessness tonight, a very odd combination for her. "It was back during the Skydiver program, well before your time. One of the cooks couldn't make Italian to save his life, but insisted on weekly attempts at it anyway. For a while, every Thursday night brought serious talk of mutiny."