Part 2 (1/2)

”You can give me work!” Jael snapped, ignoring his intimation. She was suddenly aware of an increasing number of people looking in her direction, but she no longer cared. ”Onthis side,” she said, a little more softly. ”I've earned it.”

The steward's eyes narrowed.

”My ratings are good enough.”

He shrugged. ”Maybe.”

”You know they're good enough.” She was pus.h.i.+ng her luck, she knew. But what did she have to lose?

”I'll see what I can do,” he muttered, and turned away.

She started to call after him. But the steward had already dismissed her. She returned to the lounge and took a seat in silence. Almost, she made the room go away by retreating to her inner mind, but something told her not to let it go that easily; even as she called to mind happier images, she kept one eye on the steward's corner. She would not let him think that she had quit, or forgotten.

The next three hours pa.s.sed slowly indeed.

”LeBrae.” Poke.”Jael.” Poke.

Her eyes flew open. She was being nudged awake in her chair by the young rigger she'd seen the other day, Toni Gilen. ”What? What is it?” she murmured.

”Over there.” Toni was pointing in the direction of the registration area. ”They asked me to come getyou.”

”Who did?” Jael asked. But she already saw who Toni was pointing at. Beyond the lounge area, the steward she'd talked to was standing beside a large, bearded man dressed in a black tunic-length vesta robe over loose black pants. They were discussing something, and glancing in her direction. ”They want to see me?” she asked Toni.

The younger rigger's eyes widened, and she took a seat without saying anything more.

Very well, then, Jael thought. They want to see me. She straightened her clothes and strode toward the two men.

”Is this the one?” the large man asked the steward as she approached.

The steward's lips curled into a self-satisfied smile. ”This is Miss LeBrae.”

”LeBrae?” said the other man. He nodded, as though in thought. ”What's your first name, Miss?” he asked, in a gravelly voice.

”Jael. Jael LeBrae,” she said. ”Qualified for Cla.s.s Three single and Cla.s.s Five multiple.” Her voice trembled slightly, and she struggled to keep it steady.

The s.h.i.+pper pursed his lips. ”Would you be interested in flying a Cla.s.s Three single, Jael?”

Her heart thumped, and she almost squawked, Yes! But caution made her swallow the urge, and she stammered, ”Could you tell me ... please ... the particulars on your s.h.i.+p?” She glanced at the steward, who was supposed to act as the provider of such information.

The steward's gaze was guarded, but his voice was needle-sharp. ”I thought you were anxious to fly.”

”I'll tell you everything you want to know,” the s.h.i.+pper boomed, interrupting. ”My name is Captain Deuteronomous Mogurn, and I'm flying a freighter,Ca.s.sandra. She's out in docking bay 27 right now, ready to go as soon as she's crewed.”

”And your cargo?” the steward intoned, fulfilling his role sarcastically.

”Artifact goods of substantial value,” Mogurn said with a wink. It wasn't clear whether the wink was meant for Jael or for the steward. But the cargo description was as much as he was required to give, and no more. No specifics were required to be given the rigger, though there was no reason to expect secrecy, either.

Jael blinked, considering his answer. ”And ... your registry information?”

The two men exchanged glances. Then Mogurn slowly smiled. ”Perhaps we should step over here to discuss that,” he said, gesturing away from the rigger area.

Jael froze, and for the s.p.a.ce of perhaps three seconds, she was aware of nothing except the pounding of her heart. What did that mean? Unregistered? Registry stewards were not supposed to engage in solicitation for unregistered s.h.i.+pping. Was someone being paid off here?What are you doing to me?

The two stood waiting for her response, their expressions betraying nothing. She tried to find her voice, and at last managed, ”Why can't we talk about it here?”

For an instant, the two men seemed taken aback. Then the steward's smile widened slightly, and he answered, ”Well, Miss LeBrae, what we're offering you is something a little different. And you have todiscuss it over there - if you want to go to s.p.a.ce, that is.”

I told you, she whispered to herself, then realized that she hadn't spoken the words aloud. She cleared her throat. ”I don't want to fly unregulated. I said that before.”

”This isn't, perhaps, what you think it is,” Captain Mogurn said in a dry voice. ”Won't you even hear us out?”

As she looked back at him, she couldn't tell whether she should dismiss him out of hand or not. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to hear what he was offering; after all, no one could force her to fly. ”Okay,” she mumbled reluctantly, and followed the s.h.i.+pper a short distance away from the rigger lounge. The steward bowed, and somewhat to her relief, left them.

Mogurn led her to a quiet corner, then turned, and for a moment seemed to examine her critically, looking her up and down. Jael felt her face growing warm under the scrutiny; she was aware, more than ever, of her slight stature, of her youth. After a moment he said, ”Do you mind telling me, Jael, why you wish to go into s.p.a.ce?”

The question took her by surprise. She'd expected to be asked about her record, her skills - but not this, not so bluntly. How could she explain a burning desperation to fly - to see s.p.a.ce again, to witness the landscapes of the Flux? Her voice caught a little, as she tried to answer. ”I suppose it's really ... the only thing that interests me.”

”The chance to see all those worlds?”

”Yes ... I guess. But mostly it's the flying. It's what I'm good at. I don't ...” She hesitated.

”Don't what, Jael?”

She groped for words. ”I ... don't know what I'd do if I couldn't rig.” And at once she regretted her forthrightness. She didn't even know this man!

Mogurn chuckled softly. ”You wouldn't turn inward like a vegetable, would you, like some of your peers?” His thick eyebrows quivered, and she couldn't tell if he was laughing at her, or at all riggers who couldn't live without their chosen work.

She shrugged indignantly.

”Well,” Mogurn said, his tone changing to one of accommodation, ”would it surprise you to know that I understand how you feel? That I know what it's like to want, even toneed to do something? That something like that got me into s.p.a.ce in the first place?” He stroked the front of his vesta robe, scowling.

A slight twitch had appeared in the corner of his left eye, and he rubbed at it for a moment with his fingertips. ”This is all a long-winded way of saying, maybe you shouldn't lump all s.h.i.+ppers in the same category. There are some unregistereds who are better than some of your fully registered s.h.i.+ppers.”

”Well -”

”There are s.h.i.+ppers here, I imagine, that someone like you should never come near. Registered s.h.i.+ppers.

People who would use you and throw you out like an old dog when you were no longer useful to them.”

Mogurn's eyes, which were blue-grey and more than a little bloodshot, squinted at her. ”Stay away from those people, Jael! No good can come of dealing with them!”

She blinked, unable to answer. Of course there were s.h.i.+ppers like that. Her own father had been one of them. Was Mogurn claiming to be different?”But don't throw the good out with the bad,” Mogurn continued, gazing across the lobby. He stood beside her now, as though standingwith her. He glanced back over toward the rigger area. ”It's not always so great over on that side, either.”

”What do you mean?”

His breath hissed out heavily; he was a very solidly built man, but he seemed slightly asthmatic. She wondered how old he was. Fifty, maybe? Sixty? ”Don't you know?” he asked. ”I think you do.” And he paused, as though to make the point, ”Regulated, unregulated - there's no guarantee you'll be treated fairly either way. Wouldn't you agree?”