Conflict Of Honors by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee Page B

"How much will the ship charge for pilot training?"

    "If you fail to report for training every ninth shift, the captain will dock you twentybits. Three unexcused or unexplained absences will be grounds for immediate termination of your contract. Understand, please, Ms. Mendoza, that pilot training is an essential part of your duties while you are a member of this crew. I will not allow abandonment of that duty—the penalties are quite in earnest." He paused, his light eyes gauging her face. "You do understand?"

    "Yes, Captain." She bit her lip. "It's that I've been charged for training on every other ship I served on—and pursued it during my free time. Daxflan denied me permission to continue training while I shipped on her."

    "Sav Rid, Sav Rid." He shook his head. "However, this is not Daxflan, and her rules do not apply here. Now. Your supervisor—no. The ship will extend you credit for a Standard week's worth of clothing, to be reckoned against your share at the end of the route. Please draw what you need from general stores. Your supervisor will be Lina Faaldom, who is chief librarian."

    "I met her last night—"

    "Yes? She will introduce you to the residents of the pet library and acquaint you with your duties there. I don't believe the work to be arduous, so you'll be expected to take on other duties as necessary. Janice Weatherbee will be your piloting instructor. If she is called elsewhere upon occasion, I will take her place. I believe that's everything. Are the terms agreeable to you?"

    "Since I was almost certain I'd be back on Jankalim this morning, yes, Captain, the terms are agreeable to me." She paused, studying his face. Sometime during the interview the fear had dissipated, leaving her limp and slowly warming. "Do you really need a pet librarian?"

    "Well, we didn't have one," he said, spinning the screen toward her. "So I guess we do. Palmprint here, please."
    * * *

    Shan yos'Galan was tipped back in his chair, arms folded behind his head, eyes apparently resting on the crystalline mobile hanging in the far corner of the ceiling. The expression on his face was one of dreamy stupidity. He did not glance around at the hissing of the door; he did not even seem aware that he was no longer alone in the room.

    Kayzin Ne'Zame knew better than to be deceived by appearances. She sat in the seat that Priscilla Mendoza had recently vacated, her spine two inches from the chair back, and frowned at his profile.

    "You've signed her on?" she demanded in the High Tongue, each syllable icy with disapproval.

    "I did say that it was my intention to sign her on," the man reminded the mobile gently and in Terran. He spun the chair lazily around, unfolded his arms, and sat up. "What is it, Kayzin?"

    "She is too beautiful." The Terran words were no less cold.

    "But that's not her fault, is it? People can't choose their faces, can they? If they can, I want to know why I wasn't told about it."

    The older woman regarded him with something perilously close to amusement. "I am, in fact, to pity her."

    "What harm can it do?"

    "What harm! You ask it? Or is it the game again? Do not trouble yourself, I beg you . . . ." She paused, visibly taking herself in hand. "And what harm is it—to the ship, to the crew, to your Clan, and to Shan yos'Galan—should Sav Rid Olanek prove clever as well as dishonorable? What harm, should this so-pitiful, so-beautiful woman prove to be a tool in his hands—a blade at your throat? What harm—"

    "Kayzin . . . ." The big hands made a soothing motion; concern for her showed in his face.

    She slumped back in her chair. "Shan, it is my last trip. I prefer it to be an uneventful one."

    "There's no reason for it to be otherwise, old friend. Why should Sav Rid want to plant a—what? spy? assassin? —on the Passage? He's had his coup—and a very fine laugh. There's no reason for him to go to such trouble. No reason to think of the affair at all, except to chuckle and extend the