nearly as godforsaken as Angalia, isn't it? My brilliant little cousin-on-his-way-up," he added remotely.
"Ah, but we all know I'm the black sheep of the family," Blaize countered, "a modern-day remittance man.
You, on the other hand, are supposed to be the pride of the de Gras-Waldheims, the last and finest flower of those entwined family trees, bursting with military potential and — umm — hybrid vigor."
"At least the Academy taught me not to mix my metaphors," Polyon said.
"It must be some super-secret military base," Blaize decided aloud. "Nothing less would suit for a de Gras-Waldheim's first posting. So classified even the droneship doesn't know why you're going there.**
Alpha noticed that his eyes flicked towards the central titanium column as though he expected an answer through the ship's speakers. Well, she conceded, it was as likely that the drone would take part in the conversation as that Polyon would tell his cousin anything he didn't want to. Likelier.
She yawned and fiddled with the joyball, rolling the 44
Anne McCaffrey 6f Margaret Ball
PARTNERSHIP
45
SPACED OUT display from the Mountains of Momen-tum to Asteroid Hall and back. This conversation was boring. Polyon wasn't going to tell them anything. He wasn't even going to smash his cousin into the wall. No information, no amusement. Alpha was about ready to go back to her cabin and take a nap. There was little enough else to do on this stupid droneship.
"No secret military plans," Polyon said. "No secrets at all, Blaize, sorry to disappoint you. But if it'll shut you up, I'll try to explain what I'm going to do in terms you'll be able to understand.... Leaving out the technical terms, let's just say that I'm going to manage the metachip plant attached to the Shemali prison. Governor Lyautey is out of his depth. He knows how to run a prison. He doesn't know anything about metachip manufacturing. And the productivity record shows it I'm going to set things straight, that's all."
Alpha sighed. The man's discretion was so perfect, she almost believed him; except that Blaize was right, it didn't compute for a de Gras-Waldheim to take a job as a factory manager.
"Ann, now I understand," Blaize almost purred.
"The governor is to take lessons from you in the finer points of chip manufacture, and you're to take lessons from him in the finer points of... ahhh... torture and degradation of prisoners? Or do I have it wrong?
Maybe it's the other way round."
Polyon smiled. "If the governor wants an expert in nagging prisoners to death, I'll advise him to send for you."
"What a pity, though," Blaize prodded. "All that military training going to waste. Seems the family could have arranged something a little better for you.
Unless there's something you're not telling us about your Academy record...."
Polyon's perfectly shaped ears turned red and Alpha raised her head, suddenly alert. The flush of rage didn't improve Polyon's looks, but that was all right with her; if anything, his face in repose was a little tJo perfect And now he looked ready to kill somebody _ or tell something. Alpha mentally applauded.
Blaize had finally hit on a nerve!
"And what better position might the family have arranged foryou, dear cousin?" Polyon inquired. "Save a Utde of that pity for yourself. When your posting at Angalia is finished — if you ever do get off that godforsaken planet — you'll have nothing but your savings.
Granted, they should be considerable, since there's nothing to spend money on there, but how much can a PTA-l7's monthly salary add up to?"
"About as much as a factory supervisor's, I should imagine. Face the facts, Polyon. We've both been screwed over by our respective families. For once you're in the same boat I'm in, regardless of that pretty face and stiff back. I know why I'm here. What I'd dearly like to know is why they did it to you."
Alpha, too. She leaned forward, tensing slighdy in anticipation of the answer, but Polyon
"Ah, but we all know I'm the black sheep of the family," Blaize countered, "a modern-day remittance man.
You, on the other hand, are supposed to be the pride of the de Gras-Waldheims, the last and finest flower of those entwined family trees, bursting with military potential and — umm — hybrid vigor."
"At least the Academy taught me not to mix my metaphors," Polyon said.
"It must be some super-secret military base," Blaize decided aloud. "Nothing less would suit for a de Gras-Waldheim's first posting. So classified even the droneship doesn't know why you're going there.**
Alpha noticed that his eyes flicked towards the central titanium column as though he expected an answer through the ship's speakers. Well, she conceded, it was as likely that the drone would take part in the conversation as that Polyon would tell his cousin anything he didn't want to. Likelier.
She yawned and fiddled with the joyball, rolling the 44
Anne McCaffrey 6f Margaret Ball
PARTNERSHIP
45
SPACED OUT display from the Mountains of Momen-tum to Asteroid Hall and back. This conversation was boring. Polyon wasn't going to tell them anything. He wasn't even going to smash his cousin into the wall. No information, no amusement. Alpha was about ready to go back to her cabin and take a nap. There was little enough else to do on this stupid droneship.
"No secret military plans," Polyon said. "No secrets at all, Blaize, sorry to disappoint you. But if it'll shut you up, I'll try to explain what I'm going to do in terms you'll be able to understand.... Leaving out the technical terms, let's just say that I'm going to manage the metachip plant attached to the Shemali prison. Governor Lyautey is out of his depth. He knows how to run a prison. He doesn't know anything about metachip manufacturing. And the productivity record shows it I'm going to set things straight, that's all."
Alpha sighed. The man's discretion was so perfect, she almost believed him; except that Blaize was right, it didn't compute for a de Gras-Waldheim to take a job as a factory manager.
"Ann, now I understand," Blaize almost purred.
"The governor is to take lessons from you in the finer points of chip manufacture, and you're to take lessons from him in the finer points of... ahhh... torture and degradation of prisoners? Or do I have it wrong?
Maybe it's the other way round."
Polyon smiled. "If the governor wants an expert in nagging prisoners to death, I'll advise him to send for you."
"What a pity, though," Blaize prodded. "All that military training going to waste. Seems the family could have arranged something a little better for you.
Unless there's something you're not telling us about your Academy record...."
Polyon's perfectly shaped ears turned red and Alpha raised her head, suddenly alert. The flush of rage didn't improve Polyon's looks, but that was all right with her; if anything, his face in repose was a little tJo perfect And now he looked ready to kill somebody _ or tell something. Alpha mentally applauded.
Blaize had finally hit on a nerve!
"And what better position might the family have arranged foryou, dear cousin?" Polyon inquired. "Save a Utde of that pity for yourself. When your posting at Angalia is finished — if you ever do get off that godforsaken planet — you'll have nothing but your savings.
Granted, they should be considerable, since there's nothing to spend money on there, but how much can a PTA-l7's monthly salary add up to?"
"About as much as a factory supervisor's, I should imagine. Face the facts, Polyon. We've both been screwed over by our respective families. For once you're in the same boat I'm in, regardless of that pretty face and stiff back. I know why I'm here. What I'd dearly like to know is why they did it to you."
Alpha, too. She leaned forward, tensing slighdy in anticipation of the answer, but Polyon
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