Resurgence

Nenda could see now why Graves had hidden them. The woman in front of him was fresh-faced and slim. With her big blue eyes and curls of golden hair, she looked about sixteen years old. She ignored his question and stared at Atvar H’sial with obvious curiosity.

“So this is a Cecropian,” she said. “Funny, I thought he would be bigger.”

“She, not he. The only Cecropians you’ll ever meet away from their home world are females. You were standing in Atvar H’sial’s way.”

“No. She was in mine.”

“Same thing. You’re lucky she didn’t pick you up and squash you flat. Cecropians are strong, an’ they don’t have much patience with humans. Weren’t you briefed on this sort of thing before they let you out of the creche?”

The woman again ignored his words, but she did stop staring at Atvar H’sial. She turned those innocent blue eyes on Louis, and said, “I suppose you must be Nenda. Graves warned us about you.”

He knew it was a deliberate come-on, but he couldn’t resist. “Warned you of what about me?”

“Oh, that you are a thief, and a villain, and probably a murderer. Is it true?”

“Go to hell.”

“ Graves said that you would cuss and flame and generally act like an uncultured barbarian.”

“What do you mean, act? You got the real thing here.”

As they spoke, Nenda was reevaluating the woman in front of him and providing an edited pheromonal version of their conversation to Atvar H’sial. The impression of youth came partly from the pale and flawless skin, but beneath it he could see strong tendons in her bare arms. Her eyes might seem innocent, but they were everywhere, scanning him and Atvar H’sial. Her movements were unnaturally rapid and precise, and he guessed at hidden enhancements.

He said, “Do you have a name?” and as the woman in front of him answered he passed a pheromonal message to Atvar H’sial: “Keep crowding us forward along the umbilical. We definitely don’t want her near the Have-It-All.”

“I am Sinara Bellstock. Born on Miranda, trained on Persephone.”

“Louis, I do not like this human female. Her pheromones suggest a desire for continued badinage and intimate discourse with you.”

“That’s crazy. At, if I listened to you I’d never speak to a human woman.”

He said to Sinara Bellstock, “Trained to do what?” At the same time he moved past her, forcing her either to follow him or come into contact with Atvar H’sial. The Cecropian was gliding steadily forward and blocking the whole corridor.

“Trained in martial arts, trained in weapons, trained in diplomacy. Trained to endure pain, trained to be patient, trained to evaluate a situation quickly and then act. Trained to survive.”

But not trained to lie, and cheat, or disbelieve half the things that you are told? Then good luck, lady. Because you’re going to need it. Without all those other things you wouldn’t last ten minutes on half the worlds in the local arm.

Louis did not speak those words to Sinara Bellstock. Nor did he convey them pheromonally to Atvar H’sial, who continued to transmit bursts of suspicion and displeasure. They were at the end of the umbilical, and as they entered the docking chamber of the Pride of Orion he could see four people waiting for them. There was Julian Graves, and E.C. Tally, and behind those two were Darya Lang and Hans Rebka.

Louis Nenda experienced multiple feelings of relief. The effort of speaking to a human and simultaneously holding a pheromonal conversation on a different subject with Atvar H’sial made his head feel like it would split in two. It would be a luxury to sit for a while and just listen to what others had to say.

And then there was the behavior of Atvar H’sial herself. Preoccupied with Sinara Bellstock, for the first time in years the Cecropian was not reacting with suspicion and annoyance to the sight of Darya Lang.

Louis moved forward. He had never thought it could happen, but the sight of Hans Rebka’s scowl of greeting and of E.C. Tally eagerly poised to speak brought a smile to his face.

CHAPTER EIGHT Theories, theories, theories

With every passing hour, Hans Rebka became more convinced that his presence on the expedition to the Sag Arm was a mistake. Sure, it was nice to have been saved at the eleventh hour from what, even being optimistic, still looked like certain death by execution on Candela. But saved to do what? No one on the Pride of Orion seemed willing to let him do anything.

He had tried to make Julian Graves see reason. The Ethical Councilor simply shook his bald head and muttered to himself for a few moments.