He picked up his pace, striding confidently up to the loader. "Good fullarc," he said briskly to the two Zhirrzh. "I've come for a final cargo check."

"You're a little late," one of the workers said, the last word coming out as a grunt as he and his partner lifted one of the Optronics containers off the loader. "We're nearly finished."

"Besides, it's already been checked once," the other added.

"I know that," Thrr-tulkoj said in a patient tone tinged with just the right edge of official exasperation. "That's why it's called the final check. Shut off that conveyor and let me up." Without waiting for them to comply, he reached up, grabbed hold of the railing, and swung himself up toward the hatchway—

And with a startled curse dropped back to the ground, the palm of his right hand welling with blood.

"What happened?" one of the Zhirrzh yelped.

"What do you think?" Thrr-tulkoj snapped back. "I cut my hand. Shut it off, blast it."

They had already set the container hastily back down again, and now one of them grabbed for the control switch. "How bad is it?" he asked anxiously as the conveyor slowed to a stop.

"Bad enough," Thrr-tulkoj said, wincing dramatically as he peered at the blood. "I caught it on the flange edge. I told you to shut it down."

"You didn't give us a chance," one of the workers objected. But to Thrr't-rokik the words sounded automatic, with no real conviction behind them. Someone had gotten injured at their workstation, and no matter whose fault it was, it was going to reflect badly on them. "Let me call an Elder and get a healer over here."

"Don't bother the healers," Thrr-tulkoj said, peering briefly at his list board and then setting it down on the Optronics container. "I can handle this. Get that end container open."

The two Zhirrzh exchanged startled glances. "Open a container? But—"

"There are medical supplies in there," Thrr-tulkoj cut him off impatiently. "All I need is a small length of pressure bandage. Now quit arguing and get it open before I bleed myself to Eldership."

The Zhirrzh looked at each other again, then silently moved to the indicated container. Twenty beats later they had it open.

"There—that one," Thrr-tulkoj said, peering into the container and flicking his tongue at a bandage roll tucked into one edge. "Get it out of the sealer and give it to me."

"This is supposed to be for the war effort," one of the Zhirrzh said, glancing around nervously as he pulled the roll out of its plastic sealer and handed it to Thrr-tulkoj.

"What do you think all the rest of us are doing?" Thrr-tulkoj countered, carefully unrolling the end of the bandage and rerolling it around his hand. "It's all war effort these fullarcs, my friend, every bit of it."

He finished the wrapping and tore off the bandage, pressing the loose end against his hand to secure it. "There," he said, holding the hand up for inspection. "Good as new." A short length of the bandage hung loose from the roll; shifting the roll to his bandaged right hand, he smoothed it back into place with his left hand.

And as he did so, he slid the palmed fsss cutting neatly inside the roll.

"All right," he said, handing the roll back to the Zhirrzh holding the plastic sealer. "Seal it up, put it back, close the container, and let's get back to work."

"Well," Thrr-tulkoj said. "Unless there's something else..."

"No, I don't think so," Thrr't-rokik told him, looking around. They were near the main entrance to the landing area, at the very limit of Thrr't-rokik's anchorline, temporarily out of earshot of any of the workers. "I'm all set; and the longer you wait, the better the chance someone's going to ask what you're doing here."

"I suppose so," Thrr-tulkoj said. "I just—well, you know—"

"You got us here," Thrr't-rokik reminded him. "I couldn't have done any of that. This next part's up to me."

"I know," Thrr-tulkoj sighed. "I just feel so... useless."

"The last part will again be yours," Thrr't-rokik reminded him. "Just make sure you're waiting in Cliffside Dales when I get those names."

"Understood," Thrr-tulkoj nodded. "It'll take me about a fullarc and a half to get back; but once I'm there, I won't leave."

"Good." Thrr't-rokik hesitated. "And if you happen to go by Thrr-pifix-a's house on your way back, give her my love. And tell her not to lose hope."

"I'll make sure to go by there," Thrr-tulkoj promised. "Good luck to you."

"And to you."

Thrr-tulkoj turned and walked away. Thrr't-rokik waited until he was safely past the predator fence, then flicked back to the Willing Servant. For a few beats he circled the ship, noting that the hatchways and other external openings had been sealed and all support vehicles had been moved out of the way. Liftoff could be only a few hunbeats away.

And then, to his surprise, one of the hatchways opened up again.

A beat later he was inside, flicking through the ship as he searched for the two passengers, a horrible suspicion chewing into him. Stateroom Four, Hexagon Two, the ship commander had said—

There they were, walking down a corridor with the ship commander, their travel bags again slung over their shoulders. "—very sorry about this," the ship commander was saying as Thrr't-rokik eased unobtrusively into a half-concealed position in the ceiling behind them. "But the orders came directly from Warrior Command, and there's nothing I can do about it."

"Your apologies are not required, Ship Commander," the taller of the Zhirrzh assured him. "The Mrachani contact mission is of extreme importance to the war effort. If Warrior Command has chosen the Willing Servant to take supplies to them, then you must obey not only willingly but eagerly."

"Personally, I think it's merely the Overclan Prime playing politics with the Dhaa'rr again," the ship commander grumbled. "I wouldn't put it past him to divert a Dhaa'rr warship at the last beat just for the fun of it."

"A warrior warship, Ship Commander," the taller Zhirrzh corrected him mildly. "We're all unified under Warrior Command."

"Of course," the ship commander said, flicking his tongue sardonically. "I sometimes forget."

"At any rate, don't worry about us," the shorter Zhirrzh said. "We can get other transportation. You just be careful in this rendezvous with the Mrachanis."

"We will," the ship commander promised. "Farewell, and good luck to you."

They reached the ramp, and the two Zhirrzh headed down.

And suddenly the whole carefully contrived scheme had been burned to ashes.

Thrr't-rokik followed the two Zhirrzh as they walked across the landing area, trying unsuccessfully to listen to their quiet conversation over the noise of the landing area. They reached the length of his anchorline, and he watched helplessly as they continued on past it. Heading to their transport, perhaps, or else to one of the service buildings beyond the predator fence. And from there to another ship, and another world, and a convenient fading into oblivion.

He'd lost them.

He sighed deep within himself, too emotionally drained even to be angry. He'd lost, and that was all there was to it. Thrr-tulkoj was long gone; and even if he hadn't been, the ship and its cargo hatchways were all sealed. The Willing Servant was headed for a rendezvous with the alien Mrachanis, and Thrr't-rokik's fsss cutting was going with them.

He could abandon the whole idea, of course. Flick back to his main fsss at the Thrr-family shrine, and mark down these last few fullarcs to experience and memory and wasted time. His cutting was trapped, but considering how it was situated, there was probably an even chance it would simply fall out unnoticed the next time someone unrolled part of the pressure bandage. And there was certainly no reason anymore for him to stay with the ship.