But by dinnertime, she had finished deciphering the report. She ate with Zed in the small dining alcove on the first floor. It looked into the garden.

The moon was gibbous, and brilliant overhead; by its light, the dragoncats moved silently, weaving feral patterns among the shadows and beneath the trees.

"There's something going on at Gemit," she said.

"They ran out of gold," suggested Zed.

"No. I wouldn't want that -- I think. No, it's internal. One of their researchers has come up with a new twist in the refining process. It will halve the time it takes to separate the pure metal from the ore, but the initial outlay of money to equip is enormous. The Dur accountants think it's a waste of money and refused to authorize the funds. The head of the research department resigned in protest. They're fighting."

"How nice for them," said Zed.

"Maybe," Rhani said, "that's what Ferris Dur wants to talk with me about."

"To ask your advice?"

Rhani grinned. "Not likely, no."

"What possible interest would _you_ have in the Gemit mines? Open interest, that is."

"Maybe he wants to trade," Rhani said. "I get an executive power struggle; he gets a cageful of dead kerits."

"You think he knows about that?" Zed speared the last bits of meat from his plate and pushed it from him. Amri took it.

"He must. I'm sure he has spies in Sovka, just as I do in Gemit. Not good ones," she added, "I hope." She turned in the chair. "Amri, tell Immeld to make egg tarts for tomorrow's breakfast."

"Yes, Rhani-ka," called the girl, and Zed smiled. He was a glutton for Immeld's egg custard tarts.

"You know," Rhani went on, "if the Hype cops do chase all the runners out of Sector Sardonyx, we'll have to make arrangements to use another drug, one of the dorazine derivatives, for the Net. We might even be able to buy the patent from whoever owns it."

"None of them works very well," said Zed.

"But they're better than nothing."

Zed managed to look both thoughtful and doubtful. "The best of them is pentathine."

"I'll tell Binkie to find out who owns the patent."

"But I think you overestimate Michel A-Rae."

Rhani brandished her fork at him. "You said he was a fanatic, dedicated!"

"He is. But the Hype drug cops have to cover eight sectors, and there are a lot of illegal drugs in the Living Worlds. He can't spend all his time and funds concentrating on dorazine. He's been at his job a few months, and while he may have shut down traffic here, it's got to be thriving elsewhere. The other sector worlds aren't going to like that, and pretty soon one or more of them is going to complain."

Rhani shook her head. "Obsessives don't think like that, Zed-ka. He'll keep on until he's circ.u.mvented or stopped."

"He's being paid to do a job. Eventually he'll have to do it," Zed argued.

Rhani spread her hands. She was not going to argue about obsessions with her brother: the only ones he understood were his own. "Maybe," she temporized.

"I will certainly think about what you say."

Dana Ikoro sat in the kitchen, wondering what they were talking about, and -- he thought -- going a little mad.

After Zed had sent him from the terrace, it had taken him half an hour to stop shaking. During that time, he hid in his room. When he felt strong enough to move, he went into the garden, like a dog seeking a hole to hide in. He met Timithos, a st.u.r.dy, dark man with dirt under his nails and hair burned pale as straw by the sun. When Dana spoke with him, he simply smiled and did not speak.

The dragoncats came by to sniff at him; Dana found a string and dragged it for them, and they consented to some regal play, but they grew bored before he did.

The inactivity made him itch. He wanted to ask permission to visit the hangar behind the house, but to do that he would have to seek out Zed. He also started to walk through the front gate, just for the h.e.l.l of it, but a vestige of sense held him back.

Finally Cara took pity on him. "Come," she said and brought him to the kitchen. Cutting vegetables did not make him feel better, but at least it gave him something to do. He had begun to comprehend Immeld's constant curiosity about Zed and Rhani's talk. During their meal, the slaves gathered in the kitchen to eat. Amri ate first, since she served the meal. Dana wondered what would happen if, in the middle of the meal, he screamed.

He decided he was not yet crazy enough to want to find out.

"Here," said Immeld, thrusting a dish between his hands. His fingers closed automatically. He glanced down; it was sherbet topped with nuts.

"Why are you giving me this?" he said.

"Because I'm sick of you hanging around," she said. "Go spoon it into those gla.s.s bowls over there."

He did as he was told. Binkie, seated on a stool, smiled a private, ironic smile.

"Now what?" Dana said.

"Now take it into the alcove," said Cara. "What are you, a moron? That's dessert."

"Oh," Dana said. "Right." He wondered what Rhani would say to see him march out with the dishes. He wondered if Zed would comment. Sweet mother, he told himself, it's nothing, you're simply going to serve a meal! He walked from kitchen to alcove and set the first dish in front of Rhani, the second in front of Zed. The Net commander didn't bother to look up. Relieved, Dana returned to the kitchen. Timithos had come in, a dragoncat at his heels. Immeld gave him food in a brown, covered pot. He smiled at them all, murmured something incomprehensible, and left.

Binkie said, "That man's a fool. He can barely talk. He won't even sleep in the house."

Amri said, "The garden's nice at night."

"Would you sleep there?"

"I can't. I have my work to do."

"Yes. Well, Timithos likes his work too much."

Amri said, "What's wrong with that? I like my work."

"You would." "Don't torment the child," said Cara. Immeld banged the lid on a cook- pot, frowning.

"Don't you like your work?" asked Amri.

Binkie said, "It has its advantages."

Immeld said, "What are they talking about tonight?"

"About the mines at Gemit," said Amri, "and about dorazine."

"The shortage," said Immeld.

Cara said, "It won't affect us."

Binkie said, "It wouldn't affect you anyway, Cara,"

Cara said, "Don't snip at me." She glanced at the white scar on her own arm. "It did once."

"Yes, I know," said the secretary. "You were lucky." He looked at Dana.

"Cara was so devoted to the Yagos she stayed on as steward after her contract ended."

Cara said, "It's a good job."

"So's my job," said Binkie. His tone was ironic, brittle as gla.s.s. "But when my contract runs out, Chabad will never see me again, and Sector Sardonyx and Family Yago can go to h.e.l.l!"

Cara said softly, "You'll get into trouble talking like that."

Binkie's lips tightened. He swung around and left the kitchen for the dark slaves' hall.

"Poor Binkie," said Amri. She trotted from the room, and returned with the plates. "They're going upstairs."

Immeld put the leftovers into containers, and the containers into a cooler. "That's done till tomorrow," she said, sighing. She and Cara walked toward the slaves' hall, their arms around each other.

Amri cleaned the table, and wiped the kitchen counters. Dana wiped the pots and dishes clean. It only took a few moments. "What Binkie said -- " he hesitated.

"About what?"

"About Cara -- did he mean she's not a slave?"

"Yes," said Amri. "Immey told me. She was a slave when Isobel Yago, Rhani-ka's mother, died. Then her contract was canceled. That's the law. You go free if your owner dies. Her contract had three more years to run. But she stayed. She's been here all this time."

"If Rhani died, would you stay?"

Amri looked shocked. "Don't talk like that," she said. "It's bad luck to talk about somebody dying."

"I'm sorry," said Dana. "Do you want me to stop talking?"

"No." She sat on a stool. "I like it. Cara and Immey don't talk to me much."

"How long have you worked for the Yagos?"

"Three years." said the girl. "They bought me to help Immeld." Reaching out, she dimmed the kitchen lights.

"What do you do?"

"I do the housekeeping. I straighten the rooms, I do the laundry. I water the plants inside. Wash the windows. I'll show you. You can come with me tomorrow."

"I'd like that," Dana said. "Can I ask you something else?"

"Sure."

"What happened to Binkie?"

Amri bowed her head. Her hands twisted in her lap. Dana was not sure she had understood him. Finally, she said, "It was Zed."

"Oh." I should have known, he thought.

"He tried to run away. Out the front gate. It was stupid, you can't live out there, it's too hot. He left at night. In the morning, Zed took the bubble and brought him back. His lips were all b.l.o.o.d.y where he had bitten them for moisture, and he was sick, because he tried to eat the plants. Zed took care of him until he was stronger and then -- "

"You don't have to tell me," Dana said.

" -- punished him," finished Amri. "Rhani was angry. She and Zed had an awful fight."

"Good," said Dana grimly.

"It wasn't," protested Amri. "It's horrible when they fight. But then Zed went to Abanat, ice climbing, and when he came back it was all right. He leaves Binkie alone, but Binkie hates him."

Dana said, "I can see why. When was that?"

"About a year ago, I think." Amri frowned. "I can't remember. It was sometime before the last Auction. When there isn't any weather, all the times seem alike."

In the dim kitchen, the sentence, spoken in Amri's high child's voice, was poignant as a cry. "Where are you from?" Dana asked.

She twisted her hands. "We're not supposed to talk about that." Her huge gray eyes, pupils wide in the darkened room, stared past him. "Belle," she whispered. "It rains there, all the time. I miss it."

He put his arm around her. "Don't cry."

She stiffened. "I'm _not_ crying!" She sounded very much like one of Dana's younger brothers. She yawned, a great jaw-cracking shuddering yawn. She put a belated palm up to hide it.

"You should go to sleep." He walked her to her door. She clung to him a moment in the hushed hall.

"I like you," she said. He kissed the top of her head lightly. Her hair smelled of cinnamon. "Good night."

"Good night." Silent as a ghost, she slid inside her room. Again Dana wondered what she had done to come to Chabad. What sort of system made slaves of children?

There were lights on in Binkie's room, none in Immeld's, a flicker of a candle in Cara's. Dana went to his room. He sat on the bed. He didn't think he could endure ten years of this: kicking around a lonely house, doing nothing, piloting Rhani Yago once in a while, fighting off shudders whenever Zed came near him. He would go mad. n.o.body could live like that.

Tears of rage and despair swelled into his throat. He stood up violently.

The bed rocked. Don't cry!" he ordered himself, as he had Amri. He had no use for tears; he had cried enough.

The panic -- that was what it was -- halted.

Through the jitter of misery in his head, Dana heard music.

He heard it clearly; Stratta's "Concerto in A Minor." It grew in strength: a soft, precise, intransigent construct of song. It stopped the tears.

His head and his bowed spirits lifted of their own accord. He listened until it stuttered in his mind, and was lost. Walking to the washroom, he scrubbed his face. A somber reflection looked at him from the mirror. He made it grin. You won't go mad, he told himself.