Changeling by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee and Steve Miller

leather jacket, earrings, uptown
clothes. Blonde hair going gray; one of them enameled rings, like
the House bosses wear. Talked Trade, and I wouldn't call him
polite. Seemed proud of his accent. Reeled off your license number
like it tasted bad and wanted to know if it was registered here."
Christopher shrugged. "Might've told him no--ain't any business of
his who flies outta this hall--but your number was right up there
on the board, with today's flight schedule. He didn't talk Terran,
but he could read numbers quick enough."
    Jabun? was Ren Zel's first
thought--a thought he shook away, forcefully. There was no reason
for Jabun to seek him; he was dead and it was witnessed by the Eyes. Surely Jabun, of
all the Clans on Casia, knew that.
    In the meantime, Christopher was awaiting an
explanation, and his co-pilot was awaiting him at the ship they
were contracted to lift in a very short while.
    "I--do not know," he told
the roster boss, with what he hoped was plain truth. "There is no
one-- no one --who
has cause to seek me here. Or to seek me anywhere. I am ... outside
of Balance." He hesitated, recalled his co-pilot's phrase and
offered it up as something that might be sensible to another
Terran: " I am no longer a
player ."
    "Huh." The boss considered that for a moment,
then shook his head. "OK, but it better not happen again." He
glanced to one side. "Look at the clock, willya? You gonna lift
that ship on time, Pilot?"
    "Yes," said Ren Zel, taking that for
dismissal. He turned and strode quickly toward the gate. The leg
that had been crushed had not--entirely--healed, and was prone to
betray him at awkward moments, so he did not quite dare run, though
he did move into a trot as he passed the gate onto the field.
    The client's ship--a packet somewhat older
than the one that had belonged to Elsu Meriandra--was mercifully
near the gate, the ramp down and the hatch open. Ren Zel clattered
up-ramp, slapped the hatch closed as he sped through and hit the
pilot's chair a heartbeat later, automatically reaching over his
shoulder for the shock strap.
    "Tower's online," Suzan said, her fingers
busy and capable on the second's board. "We got a go in two
minutes, Pilot."
    "Yes." He called up his board, flickering
through the checks; reviewing the flight plan and locking it;
pulling in traffic, weather and status reports. "Cargo?"
    "Port proctor's seal on it."
    "Good. Please tell the Tower we are
ready."
    He and Suzan had flown together
before--indeed, they were already seen as a team among certain of
the clients, who had made a point to ask Christopher to "send the
pilots we had last time." This was good; they made a name for
themselves--and a few extra dex.
    Suzan was a solid second classer with more
flight time on her license than the first class for whom she sat
co-pilot. She flew a clean, no-nonsense board, utterly dependable;
and Ren Zel, cautiously, liked her. From time to time, she
displayed a tendency to come the elder kin with him, which he
supposed was natural enough, considering that she overtopped him,
outmassed him, and could easily have given him twelve
Standards.
    "Got the go," she said now.
    "Then we go," Ren Zel replied, and engaged
the gyros.
    * * *
    NIGHT PORT WAS IN its last hours when Ren Zel
and Suzan walked through the gate and into the company's office.
Christopher's second, a dour person called Atwood, waved them over
to the counter.
    "Guy in here looking for you, Ren Zel."
    His blood chilled. Gods, no. Let it not be
that Christopher was forced to send him away.
    Some of his distress must have shown on his
face, more shame to him, for Suzan frowned and put her big hand on
his sleeve. "Pilot?"
    He shook her off, staring at Atwood, trying
to calm his pounding heart. "A--guy. The same who asked
before?"
    Atwood shook her head. "New. Chris says," she
glanced down, reading the message off the computer screen: "Tell
Ren Zel there's another guy looking for him. This one's a
gentleman. Asked for him by name. Might be a