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growled at his wife. "Look! The bastard took our sign down!"
    Mary Voss, who was even more angry than her husband, gave a short jerky nod, and sat tight-lipped while the offending sign grew steadily larger. Red fingernails rattled against plastic until the first officer chose another camera shot. Mistakes had been made, and Mary took full responsibility. Howard, bless his loyal heart, was blameless. She was the one who had approved the terraforming project only to discover that the engineers had minimized the technical problems while the managers exaggerated revenue. All of which had bled Voss Lines dry and left its owners teetering on the edge of bankruptcy.
    All was not lost, however. Not yet, anyway. The largest gem in a once guttering crown would save them yet. The wormhole known as the Mescalero Gap was theirs by right of discovery. The warp, and the advantage it conveyed to Voss Line ships, was the key to the future, which explained why Mary Voss refused to sell it. Not when a loan secured by the wormhole's value would do the trick, and Voss Lines could and would be rebuilt. Mary smiled grimly. Rebuild, hell; they'd create something better, and wipe the sneers off their creditors' faces!
    The freighter bumped the dock as tractor beams locked the ship in place. Howard Voss released his harness and stood. He was a big man with a big man's strength and forceful persona. He had bright blue eyes hidden beneath bushy brows. "We have an hour before our meeting with Nat. Better get a move on."
    Mary nodded, removed her harness, and followed her husband. It was too bad about Natalie's rebellious ways, but what could one expect? Natalie was her mother's daughter, and that meant independent. Perhaps Dorn would make the more reliable heir, not that Mary had any intention of relinquishing control in the near future, or later on for that matter. A limo stood waiting. They entered and were whisked away. It was sunny, and the day had definite possibilities.
    Ka-Di felt the fur rise along the back of his neck as he followed Sa-Lo into the medical clinic. The act of walking into an enemy cave-home-fortress made him nervous. Alien odors assailed his nostrils, and a naturally produced stimulant entered his bloodstream.
    Above and beyond the physical reactions to an alien environment, Ka-Di felt the persistent emptiness caused by La-Ma's death, and wondered what sort of counsel she would provide. The warrior didn't know why, or what alternatives might exist, but something told him she would disapprove. That made Ka-Di uncomfortable because La-Ma had been more than the mother of the triad's cub. She'd been his doorway to another world, a place where life came after death, and words made magic.
    Now Ka-Di saw nothing but darkness. If the race had been outnumbered before, the loss of the Philosopher Sept made a bad situation worse, and left the survivors with no choice. Survival through domination. The strategy made sense to the remaining Traa and should have been comforting. It wasn't.
    The warrior wore a knee-length cloak. It was projectile-resistant, and side slits provided access to twin hand weapons belted around his waist. They were ceramic and nearly undetectable. The knowledge made him feel better. A lot of aliens would die if they chose to attack.
    The commercial being known as Sa-Lo saw the reception desk, made a quick calculation involving materials, labor, and durability, factored in cultural norms such as "face," and concluded that too much money had been spent. This was knowledge to be filed and used later. An alien rose to greet them, a female. She had flat, undistinguished features, what looked like a pair of chest tumors, and white furless flesh. Disgusting.
    "Citizen Sa-Lo? Citizen Ka-Di? The chairman is expecting you. Please follow me."
    Like all members of the Commercial Sept, Sa-Lo spoke flawless standard. "Thank you."
    There was no sign of anything even remotely medical as the alien led them down a richly paneled hallway.