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pointed to a row of metal storage
units covered with cushions, apparently serving double duty as a
couch. "There's the galley, the head, a shower." Tusk began
stuffing the mags, one by one, into the trash liquidator. "There's
a vid machine in the cockpit and—"
    "Me," said
the voice they had heard when they had come on board. "I'm also
located in the cockpit, and I expect to be introduced!"
    "Give the kid a
break, will you?" Tusk glared down another ladder that led below
the deck on which they were standing. "We had a long walk from
the warehouse. Go ahead and unpack, kid. Underneath where you're
sitting is—"
    "I don't have to
put up with this," the voice snapped.
    Everything went dark.
    "Damn!" Tusk
stood up and cracked his head smartly on an overhead pipe. It was
dark as hyperspace and so quiet he could hear the boy breathing. Too
quiet. "Turn the air back on!"
    "Not until I get
some respect," the voice answered. "And that's sealed shut,
too," it added smugly as Tusk made a move toward the hatch.
    "All right! We're
coming for'ard. But not until you turn on the lights, you son of a—"
    The lights flared,
nearly blinding them. Life-support began its comforting, purring hum.
Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Tusk motioned Dion to follow
him—warning the boy about the same overhead pipe—and slid
expertly down another, shorter ladder. Dion came after him,
descending one rung at a time, unable to slither down it like Tusk.
    The boy looked around
for the source of the voice, but the cockpit was empty except for a
fascinating array of dials, controls, and flashing lights.
    "Dion, XJ-27,"
Tusk said, pointing to what looked like a large blue box perched on
the side of a control panel. The box's blinking lights, buttons, and
audio grid gave it the facial expression of a startled monkey.
"XJ-27, meet Dion."
    "Kid got a last
name?" the computer asked.
    Tusk glanced sharply at
Dion, saw the blood drain from the boy's face.
    "No. And leave it
at that, okay?"
    "Hah!, I will not!
What if the kid croaks and we have to notify next of kin?"
    Tusk sucked in his
breath.
    "Sit down, kid,"
the computer ordered hastily, before Tusk could explode. "Punch
in your vital stats for my records. Follow the instructions on the
screen. I won't be here. I got work to do. I don't suppose you know,
offhand, how many respirations you take per minute?"
    "I don't. I'm
sorry."
    They were the first
words Dion had spoken since he and Tusk had left the warehouse. The
boy stood behind a chair, staring at the computer.
    "That figures!"
XJ's lights flashed irritably. "How'm I supposed to reprogram
life-support if you stupid humans don't know—"
    "Uh, I'm going to
go finish that welding, XJ," Tusk said, climbing back-up the
ladder. "Fix yourself whatever you want to eat, kid, if you're
hungry. If you're sleepy, lie down, take a nap. Watch a vid, read a
mag—"
    Dion heard the man
continuing to talk his way up the ladder, onto the living deck, up
the other ladder, and outside the hatch. And then it was quiet.
    Slowly, the boy sat
down before the computer screen. A keyboard slid out of nowhere,
appearing at his fingertips. Words flashed on the screen, scrolling
past Dion's eyes.
    NAME. LAST NAME FIRST.
FIRST NAME LAST:
    MOTHERS FULL NAME:
    FATHERS FULL NAME:
    DATE OF BIRTH:
    PLANET OF ORIGIN:
    Dion stared at the
screen, his fingers resting, unmoving, on the keys.
    Name. Last name
first. First name last.

    Tusk tightened the
loose bolt, his jet wrench whirring it into place, practically fusing
it to the metal. He thought briefly of what it would take to get the
bolt off again, then put it out of his mind. At least it was on,
that's all that mattered for the time being. Lying in the darkness
beneath his fighter, Tusk yawned and considered stealing a short nap
under the belly of the plane, where XJ couldn't see him.
    "Ouch!" A
mild electrical jolt tingled through Tusk's body. "What the—
Ouch! Stop that!"
    Sliding out from
beneath