waited in pain for the words that would free her from him.
"You were my people," he said. "I should have known I would
never have one for long. I'm a sundog, and it's my way, not
yours. I knew you wouldn't come." He leaned his head against
the bare fingers of his artificial arm. Piercing highlights glinted
off the harsh iron. "Stay and fight, then. You could win, I
think."
It was the first time he had lied to her. "But I can win," she
said. "It won't be easy, we won't have all we had, but we're not
beaten yet. Stay, Abelard, please. Please! I need you. Ask me for
anything except to give up fighting."
I can't ask you to change," her husband said. "People only
change if you give them time. Someday this thing that's haunted
us will wear away, if we both live. I think the love is stronger
than the guilt. If it is, and someday you feel your obligations no
longer need you, then come after me. Find me. . . ."
"I will I promise it. Abelard. ... If I'm killed like the others
and you live on safely then say you won't forget me "
"Never. I swear it by everything we had between us "
"Goodbye, then." She climbed up into the huge Investor chair
to kiss him. She felt his steel hand go around her wrist like a
manacle. She kissed him lightly. Then she tugged, and he let go.
CHAPTER SIX
AN INVESTOR TRADE SHIP: 29-9-'53
Lindsay lay on the floor of his cavernous stateroom, breathing
deeply. The ozone-charged air of the Investor ship stung his
nose, which was sunburned despite his oils. The stateroom walls
were blackened metal, studded with armored orifices. From one
of them a freshet of distilled water trickled, cascading limply in
the heavy gravity.
This stateroom had seen a lot of use. Faint scratches
cuneiformed the floor and walls, almost to the ceiling. Humans
were not the only passengers to pay Investor fare.
If modern Shaper exosociology was right, the Investors them-
selves were not the first owners of these starships. Covered in
vainglorious mosaics and metal bas-reliefs, each Investor craft
looked unique. But close analysis showed the underlying basic
structure: blunt hexagons at bow and stern, with six long rectangular sides. Current thought held that the Investors had bought,
found, or stolen them.
The ship's Ensign had given him a pallet, a broad flat mattress
patterned in brown-and-white hexagons, built for Investors. Its
surface was as harsh as burlap. It smelted faintly of Investor scale-oil.
Lindsay had tested the metal wall of his stateroom, wondering
about the scratches. Though it felt faintly grainy, the steel zips
of his foot-gloves slid on it like glass. Still, it might be softer
under extremes of temperature and pressure. A very large taloned beast afloat in a pool of high-pressure liquid ethane, for
instance, might have scratched the walls in an attempt to burrow
out.
The gravity was painful, but the stateroom lights had been
turned down. The cabin was huge and unfurnished; his scattering of clothes on magnetic hooks seemed like pathetic scraps.
It was odd of the Investors to leave a room empty, even if it
doubled as a zoo. Lindsay lay quietly, trying to catch his breath,
thinking about it.
The armored hatchway rang, then shunted open. Lindsay
levered himself up with the artificial arm, the only limb not sore
from gravity. He smiled. "Yes, Ensign? News?"
The Ensign entered the room. He was small for an Ensign, a
mere forearm's length taller than Lindsay himself, and his wiry
build was accented by his birdlike habit of ducking his head. He
looked more like a crewman than an Ensign. Lindsay studied
him thoughtfully.
Academics still speculated about the Investor ranking system.
The Ship's Commanders were always female, the only females
aboard ship. They were twice the size of crewmen, massively
built. With their size went a sluggish calm, a laconic assumption
of power. Ensigns were second in command, as combination
diplomats and ministers. The rest of the crew formed an adoring
male harem. The scampering crewmen with their bead-bright
eyes weighed three times as much as a man, but around their
monstrous commanders they almost seemed to flutter.
The frills were the central kinesic display. The reptilian Investors had long ribbed frills behind their heads, rainbow-tinted
translucent skin netted with blood vessels. Frills had evolved for
temperature control; they could be spread to absorb sunlight or
opened in shade to dispel heat. In civilized Investor life they
were a relic, like the human eyebrow, which had evolved to
deflect sweat. Like the eyebrow, their social use was now paramount.
The Ensign's frill bothered Lindsay. It flickered too much.
Rapid flickering was usually interpreted as a sign of amusement.
In human beings, bad laughter kinesics were a sign of deep
stress. Lindsay, despite his professional interest, had no desire to
be the first to witness an Investor's hysteria. He hoped it was
simply a repulsive mannerism. This ship was new to the Solar
System and its crew was unused to humanity.
"No news, Artist," the Ensign said in pained trade English. "A
further discussion of payment."
"Good business," Lindsay said in Investor. His throat ached
from the high-pitched fluting, but he preferred it to the Ensign's
eerie attempts to master human language.
This Ensign was not like the first he had met. That Investor
had been smooth and urbane, his vocabulary heavy with glib
cliches gleaned from human video broadcasts. This new Ensign
was visibly struggling.
Clearly the Investors had sent in their best to make first
contact. After thirty-seven years, it seemed that the Solar System
was now considered safe for Investor fringe elements. "Our
Commander wants you on tape," the Ensign said in English.
Lindsay reached automatically for the thin chain around his
neck. His video monocle, with its treasured film of Nora, hung
there. "I have a tape which is mostly blank. I can't surrender it,
but-"
"Our Commander is very fond of her tape. Her tape has many
other images but not one of your species. She will study it."
"I'd like another audience with the Commander," Lindsay
said. "The first was so brief. I will gladly submit to the tape. You
have your camera?"
The Ensign blinked, the lucid nictitating membrane flickering
upward over his dark, bulging eyeball. The dimness of the room
seemed to upset him. "I have the tape." He opened his over-
the-shoulder valise and produced a flat round canister. He
grasped the canister with two of his huge toes and set it on the
black gunmetal floor. "You will open the canister. You will then
make amusing and characteristic movements of your species,
which the tape will see. Continue to do this until the tape
understands you."
Lindsay wobbled his jaw from side to side in imitation of the
Investor nod. The Investor seemed satisfied. "Language is not
necessary. The tape does not hear sound." The Investor turned
to the door. "I will return for the tape in two of your hours."
Left alone, Lindsay studied the canister. The ridged and gilded
metal lop was as wide as both outstretched hands. Before opening it he waited a moment, savoring his disgust. It was as much self-directed as aimed at his hosts.
The Investors had not asked to be deified; they had merely
pursued their own gain. They had been aware of mankind for centuries. They were much older than mankind, but they had
thoughtfully refrained from interfering until they saw that they