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identified herself and neither the Gray Goose nor the Iniomi port officer had mentioned any other ship in the vicinity.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” asked Eve, and I realized that I was hesitating and looking puzzled.
    â€œAnother ship,” I said. “Coming for us like a bat out of hell. Could hardly be a passer-by in a junk system like this.”
    â€œIt’s the Cicindel ,” said Ecdyon. He hadn’t said a word since takeoff. Every eye was suddenly turned upon him.
    â€œA Gallacellan ship?” I asked.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhat’s a Gallacellan ship doing loitering in the outer system?” I asked.
    â€œWe have a base on Iniomi,” he said, very reasonably. “Why should we not have ships in the system?”
    â€œWhy is he answering a mayday call?” I asked, although there was no real reason to be suspicious. Everybody answers a call for help, and if a Gallacellan spaceman knew no other word in an alien language, he would surely know what a mayday call was. On the other hand, though I knew what a Khormon cry for help sounded like, one Gallacellan click sounded just like any other to me.
    â€œWe’re wasting time,” said Nick.
    â€œTrue,” I said, shelving my suspicion and getting back to the matter in hand. “All right, let’s suit up and go knock on the door. Eve, take the cradle. Don’t get jumpy, but stay ready to move away fast if we tell you to. Johnny, make sure everything stays perfect. Don’t lose concentration.”
    They both signaled their acquiescence with the slightly reproachful manner of people who do not need to be told how to handle themselves.
    Nick and I descended to the lockers and suited up.
    â€œOpen circuit,” I said. “May as well hear everything as it happens instead of waiting for the ship.” On a suit set, of course, we could pick up calls coming in from Pallant or wherever, but we had only the power to send as far as the Swan —or the Gray Goose , when she down-transferred.
    We went into the lock together, and locked our chains into the side irons. We had about a thousand yards of cable, but we were only a couple of hundred feet away from the Saberwing .
    â€œYou ever jumped before?” I asked him.
    â€œOnly practicing,” he admitted.
    â€œWell, it’s exactly the same as practicing. Just don’t get nervous.”
    â€œIt’s a long way down,” he said.
    â€œHa, ha,” I said. I didn’t think it was funny. But then, I’m a spaceman. He was basically a grounder.
    We jumped together, but I didn’t insult him by offering to hold his hand. Anyhow, if he had made a mistake, holding his hand would have only sent us both wrong.
    We both made it. No trouble. We hit the skin and we both managed to stick. Nick cursed as he bumped—he’d pushed off a little harder than was necessary—but he covered up his imperfection. I began to worm my way over the skin of the ship toward the lock. It was a small ship—a pleasure boat or an interplanetary hopper. Maybe an executive craft—the Pallant officer had said Ferrier was a big cheese, and that usually meant big business, seeing as monarchies are out of fashion.
    Inside of a couple of minutes I had the outer lock all ready to open, and I had my hand on the handle, when a message suddenly came in. It was aimed at the ship, but it was definitely meant for us.
    â€œPallant to Hooded Swan . Urgent message follows on bleep.”
    â€œBloody idiot,” I said. “Now we’ll have to wait for them to play it back.”
    â€œComing over now,” said Eve, having rewound promptly.
    There was a string of figures and identity codes that I didn’t bother listening to. It was a police message directed to the port authority on Pallant.
    â€œWe have located Ferrier and the captain of the ship. The Saberwing has been stolen. Repeat, the Saberwing has been stolen. Advise