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of the vengeful party. Should the dishonor attending a balancing of accounts prove so vast that one has no other choice—" He shrugged. "Well." He set the glass aside and looked closely at her. "I will not have a murderer on this ship."

    Priscilla stared at him. "But you will have a thief?"

    "You said it was a lie. Or did I misunderstand? Perhaps something else was a lie?"

    The shaking was worse, extending up her arms and down her legs. Did he believe her? Or the record? It was impossible to read the expression on his face.

    "Daxflan 's record—that I was stealing and then jumped ship— that's the lie."

    "Do you want to say so officially?" he asked again.

    Priscilla shook her head. "I can't prove it—how can I? 'Suspected larceny'? His word against mine—and he's the Trader. 'Jumped ship'?" She produced a wan grin. "I'm not there now, am I? Though why anyone with three consecutive thoughts in her head would jump ship on a place like Jankalim, with twobits in her pocket. . ."

    "And no earrings in her ears," he agreed. "But maybe you saw they were on to you and were frightened. Jankalim might have been your last chance for free flight—leg irons are so cumbersome. There are excuses for a bit of poor planning . . . ." He tipped his head. "But why did Sav Rid order the second mate to hit you over the head, Ms. Mendoza? At your direction, I dismiss avaricious thoughts regarding your earrings."

    "I can't prove it," she said again. "I think they were running contraband."

    "Do you? What a peculiar thing to think. You told Sav Rid, and he was—quite understandably—annoyed. Thus the second mate, the warehouse. . ."

    "I'm not that stupid," Priscilla muttered, and wondered why he grinned. "There was sealed cargo," she continued. "I had the manifests—I knew what was supposed to be there. But—something seemed wrong. I didn't know exactly what. So I got the idea of checking the piloting equations, just to prove to myself that I was imagining things."

    "And you found what to be the case?"

    "I found the equations were so far off that the captain had to be a reckless fool. Or she had to know exactly what she was doing." She took a breath. "So I checked the densities of the cargo."

    "Did you?" He leaned forward. "Now why—no, you've had some pilot training. And I'm interrupting. Forgive me, Ms. Mendoza—you checked the densities, matched them to the captain's equations, and?"

    "The captain knew what she was doing. The densities didn't match the substances that were supposed to be in the cargo. Daxflan ships mostly pharmaceuticals. I started going through the list, checking the numbers . . . ." She shook her head. "I think there's Bellaquesa onboard. It's listed as Aserzerine on the manifest. Everything's all wrong for Aserzerine, though. Bellaquesa matches—but so does sugar. But why would you call sugar Aserzerine?. . ."

    She shrugged. "It all looked interesting—but I can't prove any of it. I never saw the stuff. And I'll lay my last bit the data's not locked under my personal file anymore."

    He nodded and leaned back in the chair again, staring blankly at the ceiling. Priscilla finished her wine and carefully put the glass aside. Now what? she wondered. She forced herself to sit loosely in the chair, hands relaxed on her knees.

    Abruptly, he spun to face her. "We leave Jankalim in fourteen hours," he said slowly. "Before the two of us can discuss specifics, there are several tests required. They are rather lengthy, and, unfortunately, my presence is demanded worldside this evening. If you feel able, you may take the tests directly after lunch. The ship will extend a cabin for you to guest in, and we can speak again at Seventh Hour. Agreed?"

    "Agreed."

    He nodded and seemed about to speak further when the door opened to admit a clean-faced Gordy behind a wheeled cart piled high with eatables.

    "In the nick of time!" Shan yos'Galan cried, flipping off the toggles. "Now you offer brandy,