In truth, Velmeran hardly knew what to think. The Union had always underestimated the Starwolves, much to their own detriment. Why change things now? The Union could easily battle itself to an early death. On the other hand, if Union High Command had a better understanding of its enemy, it might be a little more interested in an early surrender. Velmeran quickly decided that he had already said enough the night before.
"Do you allow nonhumans in the military?" Velmeran asked suddenly after they had been talking casually for well over an hour.
"What?" Trace glanced up, startled. "Nonhumans? You know the Terms of Unification. Each race is a society in itself. Members of one race have no business in the affairs of another."
"With exceptions," Dveyella pointed out.
"With a very few exceptions," Trace corrected her.
"And yet several races are under Union rule," Velmeran observed.
"That is different. We control on the governmental level, but we do not interfere on the cultural level. Damn it, Starwolf, face facts. We cannot allow hostile alien elements within our own space. The Kalfethki would drive us mad with their ritual murder and terrorism if we allowed them free travel."
"The Feldennye are hardly a threat."
"And we make sure of that," the Commander said firmly. "How can you tell who will be a threat and who won't? Knowing you two, if I were to come upon a civdization of your kind, alone and untroubled, I would suspect that you would be the most peaceful, harmless souls — if you have souls — in all space. But I also know better."
"An interesting point. Although, for the likes of Feldennye and ourselves, it takes an enemy to make us fight," Velmeran said. "But returning to my original question, which you did not answer. In this sector you have the Kalfethki and two Feldennye worlds. I do not see you as one not to take advantage of a resource, and each does have something to offer."
"True enough, and I do admit it. We have been using Feldennye in clerical and highly skilled technical areas for some time now. We have no choice. Our own people can no longer do what they can. The Kalfethki are useful in some tasks, but they are also a tremendous security problem. I think that our new Shepherd sentries are much better."
"I did not find them all that dangerous," Dveyella commented.
"You did not?" Trace asked, eyeing her skeptically. "Do you think that we would do better with Kalfethki guards?"
"No, your sentries are superior to Kalfethki warriors — which, I am afraid, is not saying much. Your machines are loyal and more difficult to kill."
Trace laughed in private amusement. "I would suspect you of smoke-screening me, if I didn't know what you did to my sentries at Bineck. One, they say, was picked up and tossed down a stairwell."
Now Dveyella laughed, pointing to her contrite mate. "Ask him about that!"
Trace stared at him in amazement. "You picked that thing up yourself? My dear Starwolf, those mechanical beasts weigh over two tons!"
Velmeran shrugged. "It was not all that heavy. I thought that you had a better idea of just how strong we are."
"So I've heard." He paused for a moment, frowning at his own thoughts. "Does it never bother you, knowing that your race was made for a purpose?"
Velmeran frowned as he considered that. "Yes, we do think about it often enough. We know that we were made for a specific purpose, and that we would not exist at all except for that purpose. But I prefer to think that we were designed not for the specific purpose of flying starfighters, but for the more general function of space travel. Consider the independent traders, who have lived aboard their ships for tens of thousands of years now. They have become as much like us as nature can manage: small, strong and quick."
"And yet it seems to me that you are still as tied to your assigned task as if you had been a living machine," Trace observed. "Having been born a Starwolf aboard a Starwolf ship, you had little choice in the matter."
"Actually, very few of us are pilots."
"True, but you are a warrior and a leader. I can see that clearly enough just talking with you."
"Then, in a sense, our destinies are largely guided by our abilities and opportunities," Velmeran said. "My choices were no greater or less than your own. You are of the Lake clan, and you are the warrior of your generation. And so you were destined to be what you have become, or were shaped to be. Where then is your freedom?"
"I could have refused," Trace insisted.
"Could you? Have you ever thought about what your other choices might have been?"
"I cannot be anything but what I am," Commander Trace said, perhaps to avoid a more direct answer.
"That is also the truth for me," Velmeran said, and rose from his chair. "I am afraid that we must go now, since we both have packs waiting that must be back to the ship by noon port time."
Trace rose as well to stand towering above the two Kelvessan. "Then this must be our final farewell as friends, for if we ever meet again it will be as enemies. You are at least my equal. Time will tell which of us is the better."
"And who will that be?" Velmeran asked.
"The one who makes the fewest mistakes, of course."
"Well, what do you make of it all now?" Dveyella asked as they made their way quickly to the tram port.
"I think that Councilor Lake was telling us the truth after all," Velmeran replied absently. "Donalt Trace has something very much on his mind, something far beyond the petty mischief that Sector Commanders have always made for us. He is making plans for that last big battle. Götterdämmerung."
"What?" Dveyella asked.
"Ragnarok," he added, to her complete mystification.
He seemed to have resorted to a language that was neither human nor alien.
Dveyella would have asked for further explanation, but they were within sight of the tram platform and their packs were waiting. They had been in port less than a day, but to Velmeran it seemed like several. He wanted to collect his students and retreat to the ship before anything else could happen.
The first thing he saw was that Tregloran had ignored the warning about bringing home small, furry animals. Then he saw that this particular animal was neither alive nor real.
"Treg, what is that… that beast?" he demanded.
"Ah, Captain!" Tregloran replied jovially. "This is my wolf."
"Your what?"
"My wolf," the younger pilot replied. "An authentic replica of a real Terran red wolf, about one-tenth life-size and handmade by the nicest lady you could ever hope to meet… for a human."
"That is a fox, authentic in detail and about life-size," Dveyella said.
Tregloran returned an exaggerated look of indignation. "I have her word!"
"Let me tell you a story," Dveyella said, indicating for them to proceed up the ramp to the tram. "I read this many years ago, although I do not recall who wrote it. I am inclined to say Aesop, although I know that it was one of the Roman poets.
"It seemed that there was once a nursemaid who was having trouble with an unruly child. Finally she threatened to feed him to the wolves. A credulous wolf, passing by at that moment, overheard and sat by the door all night, waiting for a free meal that never came."
Tregloran glanced back. "Meaning?"
"Meaning that if you are a gullible wolf, do not believe everything a human tells you. Especially if it sounds like a bargain."
The Starwolves filed into a tram waiting at the bottom of the inclined shaft, the other passengers allowing them a car to themselves. The students' first port leave was drawing to an end.
"What does this do to the Councilor's theory of the decline of human intelligence?" Dveyella asked as the tram began its rapid ascent.