“We’ll get you back, Doc.”

The keying on a console brought Jay’s head around in time to see Zabb place a communication headset over his gilt hair, pull the thread-thin mike to his lips. In Sham’al he said, “This is Network *** amp;$%#@* number nine two seven five seven wanting…” (No, that couldn’t be right, thought Jay. Ah, requesting!) “Standard ** amp;%^ $#’.”

There’s something very frustrating about hearing a language with which you have a passing acquaintance. You want to understand, you ought to understand, ultimately you don’t understand. Comprehending one word in three was driving Jay nuts. He stepped in and tapped Tachyon on the shoulder. She jumped like a scalded cat. Turned to look at him with a blank, fixed stare that seemed to communicate that she couldn’t recall who he was or why he was there.

“Hello, translation please.”

There was a leitmotiv of Takisian broadcasting on an open channel. Tach listened, shook her head.

“It’s just standard landing protocols -”

“I want to hear it.”

She shrugged. “Okay. We read you – I can’t translate the Network word. I think it’s the ship’s name – you are cleared for docking at hangar bay twenty-three.” Zabb warbled back. Tachyon repeated in English. “Transferring computer control to station beacon.”

More singing from the station, and Tachyon gave a short gurgle of laughter, then translated, “Your accent is passable, shopkeeper, I congratulate you.”

Zabb glared, and the words came in a sudden glissando. “It’s better than passable, you childless, motherless ass. What a diplomat you’d make.”

Jay realized that Tach had added the final remark as a sarcastic commentary on Zabb’s social skills. It had the expected result – Zabb’s glare shifted to Tachyon.

“Get off my bridge,” Zabb ordered, but Tachyon wasn’t listening.

Her expression held all the joy of a Bernadette the first time she saw the virgin. “Listen!”

Jay listened. Meadows was listening so hard, he held his breath. Jay heard himself breathing, the subtle humming of the equipment.

“What?” he whispered. “Am I listening to?”

“Ships… singing… telling stories… Ancestors, I really am home.” Joy rang in the words, but then she swayed like a stalk of blowing wheat. Jay got an arm around her, supported her until the faintness passed. She drew a thumb across her hairline – so disconcerting, it was a Tachyon gesture – nodded thanks, and scuttled out of the circle of his arm.

The ship altered course again, obedient to the invisible reins of data transmitting from the Takisian station. The station slid into view from the bottom of the screen. Jay knew up and down were relative terms in space. He knew the ship was moving, not the station – (well, but wait, the station was also moving around the planet – too confusing) – but it still had a Jaws-like quality of an attack from below, a gaping maw opening to receive the little silver minnow. The image was reinforced by the organic quality of the station. No right angles here, no sharp edges or glitter of metal. Whatever this thing was, it had been grown, not welded, into place.

“That’s not an overgrown ship, is it?” Trips asked.

“No, the ships are a separate sentient race, although rather substantially genetically altered by us. This is nanotech at its apex.” She flashed that little porpoise smile. “We’re cultivators, not mechanics.”

“And every family has one of these mothers?” asked Jay.

“Yes, but not so large.”

“Then this isn’t Ilkazam?” Trips asked.

“No, this is the Bonded station. It was primarily built as a buffer for the Network, but we use it to do business House to House as well.” Again the smile. “We don’t like tourists on our turf.”

Jay asked the logical question. “So what about us?”

“I’ve adopted Trips, which makes him family.”

“And you’re invited,” put in Zabb. He stretched, stood, and crossed to them with that grace that always had Jay thinking nervously of the white tiger in the Central Park Zoo. “The only absolute prohibition is against any member race of the Network.”

“Or any individual who has sworn service to the Network,” Tach added, and from the looks she and her cousin were exchanging, Jay had a feeling that a lot more was being exchanged than mere words.

“You’ve really got a hard-on about these Network dudes,” Jay said.

“We despise them only somewhat less than we hate the Swarm,” drawled Zabb.

“And you’re the only Takisian to have done business with both,” Tach said, and sweet malice dripped off the edges of the consonants.

Zabb returned Tach’s smile. “I’m quite a legendary fellow.” And to Jay’s surprise Tachyon gave a sudden yip of laughter like a fox’s cry.

Trips was frowning. “So we might run into some Vayawand?”

Tach sobered. “Entirely possible.”

“Isn’t that, like, a problem?”

“Bonded means peace as well as money. This is the one place all the families can come together at any time and do business without threat of violence. An insurance consortium holds bond money from each family, and it would bankrupt a House if they violated the peace.”

“We’re violent, but pragmatic,” Zabb added.

Braking jets fired, and the ship gave a lurch as it settled onto the floor of the docking bay. Tachyon stumbled, and Zabb threw out a hand to steady her. She jerked away, and he jerked back his hand before contact could be made. Jay decided it was a good thing they were saying adios to the Takisian just real soon now.

Meadows broke into his worried thoughts about the little Takisian soap opera. “Jay, we’ve done it. We’ve made it. We’ve reached another planet!”

“Yeah… swell.”

Chapter Seventeen

At the foot of the ship’s ramp Tachyon felt anxiety fall away like snow sliding off a roof. It still wasn’t solid ground underfoot and open sky overhead, but at least she was off that ship. Away from him. She looked back at Zabb and inclined her head regally.

“Thank you for your services.”

“The pleasure was mine.”

She led the two humans toward the bay doors, then became aware of the steady rap of Zabb’s boot heels on the floor behind her. She whirled. Nesfa and her people were eagerly tumbling out the lock, chattering in their own language.

“Zabb, you’ve done your job. You’ve delivered me to Takis. Now go away.”

“It’s a free station. I’ve a mind to buy a new hat. Besides, you aren’t home yet.”

“And just what does that mean?”

He shrugged. “Also, I have to keep an eye on my happy groundlings on an outing.” He jerked a chin toward the giggling Viand.

Chewing down irritation, Tach resumed her stately waddle for the door. They were on the perimeter of the station – little to see but maintenance vehicles, automated loaders, an occasional mechanic – both genetic and mechanical. Tach realized she didn’t want to hike all the way to the central hub, and she was sick of listening to Zabb and his mudcrawlers march after her. She reached a pedestrian strip and slid a hand across the wall. A schematic of the station appeared, delicate veins of color running beneath the skin of the wall. She traced a travel path and keyed the strip to move. The strip moved slower than a walking man. Zabb waved as he passed them. The Viand observed the gesture, looked at each other, waved.

Fifteen minutes later they were in the heart of the bustle. The central hub combined the beauty and reverence of a Gothic cathedral, the manic energy of the floor of the New York Stock Exchange, and the conspicuous consumption of a stroll down Rodeo Drive. The walls arched toward a tapering point hundreds of feet overhead. The ribbed material softly glowed, throwing an iridescent light over the throngs of people strolling across the glass-like floor, entering and exiting the exotic buildings, pausing by carved fountains to exchange greetings, supping in the cafйs, examining the bounty of a hundred worlds laid out in elegant, eye-tempting display.