The official nodded primly. "Thank you."

Grimly, Dana said, "If your inspectors damage my ship, I'll personally wring your neck."

The official sniffed. He then inserted a second disc and punched out a code which registered the Port's guarantee that the inspection would be orderly and nothing on _Zipper_ would be disturbed. h.e.l.l, Dana thought, this is silly. No one smuggles drugs to Chabad this way. Besides, if the Chabadese ever decide to uphold Section D, Article 49307 of the Federation Code, the economy of the whole d.a.m.n planet'll fall apart.

"Are you finished?" he said. "May I go?"

The official said coldly, "LandingPort Station takes responsibility for the safety of your ship until released by you, except in cases of uncontrollable accident, malice, fraud, insurrection, or act of G.o.d. Directions within Port are available from any Port employee and from the wall panels. Corridors are color- coded; please follow the arrows and do not pa.s.s beyond designated points. The blue stripe will lead you to the shuttleship loading port."

"Thanks," said Dana. He thought, His mother probably runs dorazine on the side.

"You're welcome. Enjoy your stay on Chabad."

"Up yours, too."

Glaring, the man slapped the wall plate, releasing the door lock. Dana smiled at him. At the corridor's end he turned right, following the pathway traced by the blue stripe.

The Yago Net arrived at Chabad's moon on time.

In Abanat the clocks were striking five. Zed Yago stood by a pilot's vision screen, looking -- his eyes said _down_ but his training said: _No, not down_ -- at his planet, itself in phase relative to the position of its moon, a white and blue and orange quarter. Abanat lay in shadow. If it were daylight, he would even now be talking with Rhani. In the corridors he heard voices, orders, the shuffle of feet. The transport of nearly four thousand slaves from the Net to the Barracks in Abanat, by shuttleship, had begun. It would take five days.

At the end of those days, he and Jo and Genji Kiyohara, the chief pilot, would leave the Net, and a cleaning crew would board her. Zed disliked these days of transition; the functions of Port, the arrival of the tourists, had long ceased to interest him. He wanted to get home.

He gazed at the bright, thick crescent of his world, irritatedly willing it to turn.

"Zed-ka." Jo had come up behind him. Of all the Net crew, she alone called him by his first name. To everyone he was "Commander;" to the other medics he was "Senior Yago." She had been his second for nine years, as long as he had been the Net's commander.

"Yes."

"There is a direct-line call for the commander of the Yago Net from a police officer by the name of Michel A-Rae."

"The -- " Jo was nodding.

"The very same."

Zed scowled. Every five years or so the Federation gave the job of head of drug control to someone else. This was the latest holder of the job. "What does he want?"

"I don't know," Jo said.

Zed stepped to the com-unit, touching a b.u.t.ton to blank the distracting vision screen. He tried to recall what he knew of the man, but came up with nothing except the memory of a blurred image from a PIN transmission. None of A- Rae's predecessors had ever called the Net. "I'll take it."

Maybe, he thought, A-Rae was about to tell him where all the dorazine had gone. The compscreen image cleared. Zed felt Jo move to gaze over his shoulder.

There was a soft whisper through the room as the pilots heard what was going on.

Zed said to the image, "I'm Zed Yago, Net commander."

The man on the screen said, "I'm Michel A-Rae."

Zed thought, I know that voice. He replayed the sentence in his mind -- but nothing about it stood out, and even as he struggled to identify it, it lost its familiarity. A-Rae's face was unremarkable: he had the smooth brown complexion common to many Enchanteans. From the minute transmission lag, Zed knew his ship had to be quite close by. "Did you want to tell me something?" he said.

"Not precisely," A-Rae said. He stepped back, so that Zed saw him en- framed. His uniform was plain, black without trim, and he wore the silver insignia of his rank on his chest. Behind him shadows moved, his ship's crew and staff hovering at his elbows as Jo loomed at Zed's, not in focus and barely seen. "You do know who I am."

Does he think me a fool? Zed thought. "You are head of the drug detail of the police arm of the Federation of Living Worlds," he said.

A-Rae tucked his hands into his black hide belt. "With jurisdiction over all inter-sector transport and sale of prohibited drugs in the galaxy."

Zed said, "The Yago Net respects the directive of the Federation. The Yago Net transports dorazine to the prisons of Sector Sardonyx, and nowhere else." By now he was sure he did not know A-Rae. Beside him, Jo was scowling.

"I know that, Commander," A-Rae said. "But let's not play with each other, if you please. Family Yago does not produce dorazine on Chabad, or even elsewhere in the sector. The Yago Net obtains dorazine from its dealers, and they from runners, and the runners get it from The Pharmacy, being thus linked in a vicious and illegal chain." His voice acquired a fanatic's ring. "As you must be aware, my people are watching the s.p.a.celanes for known runners. I persuaded the Federation to increase my staff, and it has done so. We intend to break that chain, Commander. I doubt that those who profit off such evils as drugs and slaves will be able to stop us."

Zed said, "I think you mean me. I appreciate the warning, I a.s.sure you.

But why give it? I'm not frightened by threats."

"I know that," said the man in black. "I know a lot about you, about Family Yago, and about Chabad. You must know I am an Enchantean. No, Commander, I didn't expect to scare you. I just wanted to meet an enemy." The screen grayed.

"He has a taste for melodrama," Zed said. The man's afterimage lingered in his mind for a moment. "That _was_ interesting." He had a flair. It was unfortunate that he had been able to sway the Federation to his way of thinking.

This explained where all the runners had gone: A-Rae's people in their fast little ships had scared them away. He could tell Rhani that, thought she would not be pleased.

In a few hours it would be dawn on Chabad. He could call her then.

Again, Jo said, "Zed-ka."

"Yes, Jo." The last few days on the Net tended to be full of trivia, all of which seemed to demand his personal intervention.

"It has been brought to my attention by an inspector here: a type-MPL starship just landed in Port, owned and piloted by one Starcaptain Dana Ikoro.

Records show that Ikoro is a drug runner who usually works Sector Cinnabar, running comine, tabac, and Verdian nightshade. He bought shuttleship pa.s.sage to Abanat; claims he's a tourist. His ship contains an empty dorazine cooler."

"How odd." Occasionally, dorazine addicts in other sectors (of which there were a wealthy few) sent runners to Abanat to buy one load of dorazine.

But if A-Rae's people were picking up the runners, surely a smuggler would know that there wasn't any dorazine for sale or even theft...."Jo?" He swung around.

"Did you view that microfiche before you gave it to me?"

"Yes, Zed-ka."

"It said 'F-Y-E-O.'"

Jo shrugged.

Zed shook his head at her. "I could order you not to do that again, I suppose, but I know you won't obey me. Talk to that Starcaptain. I can't believe he's just a tourist. Find out what he's doing. He's an anomaly. I don't like anomalies."

"Clear, Zed-ka." "And feed the conversation through to my room. I want to hear it."

Jo inclined her grizzled head. Zed stepped away from the bank of vision screens, returning them once more to the pilots.

The Net made Dana Ikoro claustrophobic.

He was used to curving walls; all MPL starships had them. In _Zipper_ he was as much at home as a nesting bird. But the long Net corridors curved before and behind him, endless as a treadmill. Sometimes they met. He felt as if geometry had somehow been abrogated, as if the great silver structure existed in another dimension, as if he were walking inside a hollow Moebius strip.

He glanced at the crew members beside him, wondering where they were taking him. They had met him at the shuttleship loading port. "Starcaptain Ikoro?" the woman said.

"That's me," he agreed.

"Will you follow us, please? Your presence is requested aboard the Yago Net."

He could, he supposed, have refused. But their manner, so imperious, made him hesitate, and the errand they had come on made him curious. They had put him on a private shuttle and brought him to the Net. At the lock of the silver wheel they had pa.s.sed prisoners, waiting for the shuttleships which would carry them to Port. None of them looked at him. They were dressed alike, in blue coveralls.

Even their expressions seemed the same, as if the Net, or the dorazine, had leached away their individuality and replaced it with -- he didn't know what.

He was cold. He rubbed his arms, wondering where the h.e.l.l he was being led to. He was sure it would do no good to ask his escorts. The corridor gave no clues: it was featureless, lined with red, blue, green, and yellow doors. The crew member ahead of him stopped. Dana nearly b.u.mped into him; embarra.s.sed, he caught himself in mid-step. A blue door slid aside. "Go in," said the crewman.

As he stepped through, Dana heard the door hiss behind him. He looked swiftly around for another exit -- and his attention was riveted by the presence of the largest Hyper he'd ever seen.

She was much taller than he, and ma.s.sively boned, but she was all in proportion -- as a mountain is in proportion to itself. She seated herself at a table, and gestured for him to do the same. Her joints appeared to move on steel bearings. Dana had seen Skellians before, but never this close. It was rare to find them in s.p.a.ce. They worked Port cities all over the Living Worlds, but almost never trained as Hypers: frequent exposure to null-grav weakened them. It drove the calcium from their bones, turning them brittle.

This woman seemed unaged, or ageless. "My name is Jehosophat Leiakanawa,"

she said. Her voice was melodic and deep. "I am second-in-command of the Yago Net. You, I know, are Starcaptain Dana Ikoro." She pressed controls in the tabletop, and a pitcher and gla.s.ses rose from a hidden compartment. "It was gracious of you to agree to interrupt your flight to Abanat. Please accept the Net's thanks for your help."

She spoke as formally as a Federation diplomat. Dana said, deliberately ingracious, "It doesn't matter. There are always shuttleships."

"Of course," she agreed. "And you're not in a hurry." She had the Hyper skill at making questions sound like statements. "The Auction is three weeks away. The hotels are very crowded; I hope you have friends in Abanat."

"I'll manage," Dana said shortly. All this courtesy was beginning to frighten him. The palms of his hands started to sweat.

What was he doing on this -- this jail? Despite the filtered air, he could smell the characteristic prison scent, made of equal parts of boredom, hopelessness, and fear. "How may I help the Yago Net, Commander?"

"Navigator," Leiakanawa corrected. "The commander abroad this ship is Zed Yago." She laid ma.s.sive forearms on the table. "This is embarra.s.sing." She did not sound the least embarra.s.sed. "You said, at Port, you are a tourist, Starcaptain. But your activities -- let's say, your reputation -- in other sectors has preceded you to Chabad."

That d.a.m.ned son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h inspector, Dana thought.

"Let me say, it would surprise no one on Chabad if, while you are in Abanat, you decide to mix business with your pleasure."

I hope to, Dana thought. "Navigator, I plan to watch the Auction," he said.

"Of course," she said approvingly. "Everyone on Chabad goes to the Auction." She leaned back a little in the chair. It groaned. "Let me come to the point."

Do, Dana thought.

"You are known to our Port police as a drug runner, Starcaptain. I am prepared to pay for any information that you can give me about the current state of the drug market."

Dana's heart made a funny little jump in his chest. His mouth grew dry.

He pulled the pitcher to him, poured himself a gla.s.s of the clear liquid in it, and drank. It was cold water, as he had hoped.

"Is this conversation being recorded?" he said.

"Of course," the Skellian said. "But you are in no danger, Starcaptain.

There are no Hype cops on the Net."

Dana nodded. He wanted to help; the trouble was, he didn't know very much. "Who wants this information, really?" he said.

"Family Yago."

Dana wondered what they wanted to know. "What are they prepared to pay me?" he said. It was always a sensible question.

"Five hundred credits," Leiakanawa said promptly.

Five hundred credits would repay him for what he'd spent on that d.a.m.n cooling unit, at least. Dana licked his lips. d.a.m.n, his mouth was dry. He drank more water, wishing Tori Lamonica were sitting here in his place. "Suppose I say I don't want to talk to you?" he said.

Leiakanawa folded her hands in her lap. She reminded Dana of Terran bears he'd seen in a zoo on Pellin: possessed even in repose of a fluid and terrifying strength. "It's not wise to offend Family Yago," she said.

Dana knew very little about Family Yago. Four Families ran Chabad: the Yago Family was one of them. But they ran the Auction; they owned the Net. They bought dorazine.

It wouldn't do to seem too eager to talk.

"Six hundred credits," he suggested.

"Is your information worth that much?" she said dryly.

"In the business I'm in, it's bad practice to be buyable."

"So you want to set a high price. All right. Six hundred credits."

Dana said, "I'm going to Chabad to pick up a shipment of nightshade."

"I need to know your buyer's name and the name of your contact in Abanat."

"You don't need to know my buyer's name. My buyer isn't even in Sector Sardonyx. I don't know my contact's name. I've never met him. I'm supposed to meet him in a bar. A friend of mine -- I won't say who -- gave me a set of recognition signals that he always uses." He went on interlacing nonsense with truth about a run he'd made in Sector Cinnabar half a year ago. "How the h.e.l.l do I know this'll stay private?" he said suddenly.

"Why shouldn't it?" said Leiakanawa.

"Listen, I know it's all going down on tape, every word I'm saying. How do I know you won't just sell me to the cops?"

"You forget," said Leiakanawa, "our offer of money for information makes the Net an accessory to everything you're saying." "Well, I don't know." He clasped and unclasped his hands, pretending nervousness. It was only part pretense. It's this d.a.m.n ship, he thought. Built like a metal sausage.

The door opened without warning. A man walked in. Leiakanawa, who had started to say something soothing, fell instantly silent. The man moved like a Hyper, all grace and strut. He was lean, not very tall, with russet hair held in a silver clip at the back of his head. He had tremendous, top-heavy, muscular shoulders, and striking, amber eyes. He said, "Starcaptain, you missed your vocation. You should have been an actor."

Dana stared at him blankly, held the stare, and then decided to get angry. Theatrically he clenched his fists, pushed the chair back, and stood. He was slightly taller than the other man. "Are you calling me a liar?"

"Yes," said the intruder. "Verdian nightshade comes from a plant that can't be grown on Chabad, Starcaptain. You aren't buying it here. There's a cooling unit for dorazine sitting in your ship."

"I was getting to that -- "