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his glass and waved at him to continue.

    Gordy nodded. "Also, the face has an— erotic —significance to Liadens. There are certain social situations where it's okay to touch between Liadens where Terran code of behavior would forbid. But only extreme intimates—like family members—touch hand to face or face to face." He took another breath. "So it follows that Liadens would be particularly careful about keeping their faces clean. Terrans, whose cultures don't include a strong facial taboo, are less strict."

    There was a small pause while Shan yos'Galan raised the glass to his lips. "'Taboo' is rather strong," he commented. "I think perhaps 'tradition' does nicely. Liadens love tradition, while you're dealing in generalizations, Gordy." He raised his glass again, and this time, Priscilla saw, he drank.

    "As far as it goes, your grasp of the information seems sound," he continued thoughtfully. "However, I'm not sure your inferences are correct. That tends to happen when you extrapolate from general, rather than specific. In any case, I have found—again, through independent observation, not to say experience—that it feels nicer to be clean than it feels to be dirty. Also, I have found that I prefer looking at clean faces as opposed to dirty faces. This is, I believe, a personal preference. I may be wrong. Since I am captain of this ship, though, I think I have the rank to indulge in a few harmless eccentricities. So, for the fourth time: Gordon, I would very much prefer that you endeavor to keep your person as smear-free as possible." He raised the glass again. "The next time, I'll have to dock you. What do you think might be a reasonable sum?"

    The boy looked down. He rubbed at his soiled sleeve, then looked up. "Tenbit?"

    "Fair enough." The captain grinned. "I detect the makings of a gambler in you. Or a Trader. We'll want lunch in half an hour or so."

    Gordy blinked. "Lunch?"

    "Yes, lunch. Did I use the wrong word? Cheese, fruit, rolls—that sort of thing. Speak to BillyJo; I repose all faith in her ability to resolve the matter for you. Now jet."

    "Yessir." And he was gone, the door sighing shut behind him.

    Shan yos'Galan shook his head. "It's my fate to raise small boys." He lifted his glass. "Are you ready to be interviewed, Ms. Mendoza? Or have you changed your mind?"

    Priscilla sipped her wine, then met his gaze straightly. "I'm ready to be interviewed, Captain."

    "Brave heart." He extended a long arm and flipped two switches set along the desk top. "Your name, please, and planet of origin."

    "My name is Priscilla Delacroix y Mendoza. I was born on Sintia. I am a Terran citizen."

    "Do you honor the Goddess, then?" His face was sharp with interest. "Hold to her teaching exclusively?"

    "I did," she said carefully. "After all, She's part of everyday life . . . But I've been on trading ships since I was sixteen. And the Goddess isn't as powerful in the galaxy as She is on Sintia."

    "Since you were sixteen," he repeated, abandoning the Goddess abruptly. "What do you know?"

    She raised her brows. "I know how to cook for a crew of twenty, how to wash up for a crew of thirty-three, how to decode messages, how to code messages. I can drive a jitney, calculate weight distributions, figure loading capacities. Whenever possible, I've pursued pilot training. My marksmanship rating is ninety percent accuracy at two hundred paces with a standard pellet gun. I speak Trade, Terran, Crenish, and Sintian. I understand Liaden better than I speak it. If I have to, I can shoot astrogation."

    He nodded. "Your last position?"

    "Cargo master on Daxflan, out of Chonselta City."

    "And you held that post how long?"

    "Four months," she said with determined serenity. "I signed on at Tulon."

    "Did you?" He raised his glass to his lips. "And what brings you to apply for work on the Passage?"

    "I don't have any choice."

    The slanted brows pulled together. "Has Mr. Saunderson still got that impressment operation