The Starwolves (21 page)

"Your pardon," the older man said, and the two Starwolves turned
as if noticing for the first time. He nodded to them politely. "I am sorry
to disturb you. You are just in port, are you not?"

"We have been in less than two hours," Velmeran replied, trying to
hide his amazement at their height. Even the older man had to glance down at
him, while the one in uniform was indeed a towering giant of about two meters,
a head and a half taller over Velmeran.

"Are you, perhaps, recently out of the planet Bineck?" the
older man asked, surprisingly straightforward.

"Yes, we have just come from there," he replied, equally direct.

"Oh? I should like to hear more about it. Could you possibly come to
dinner tonight?"

"Of course," Velmeran replied quickly, not pausing to consider
whether or not he should. Dveyella looked surprised, although she did not seem
inclined to protest.

"Would the seventh hour, local time, be too early for you?" the
older man asked. "My residence is on the twelfth floor of the adjacent
building, the rather conspicuously pink one. Ask for Jon Lake. I will leave word
that you are expected."

"Councilor Lake?" Velmeran asked.

"The same," he answered, and glanced at his companion. "This
brooding spartan is my nephew, Sector Commander Donalt Trace. You must excuse
his ill temper, but he was born with it. And it has recently been aggravated by
distressing news."

"An occupational hazard, surely. I am Pack Leader Velmeran of the
Methryn. This is Pack Leader Dveyella, of special tactics."

"Special tactics?" Lake asked. Even his nephew looked at her with
interest. "I do look forward to hearing any tales you might see fit to
share. Tonight, then?"

"But of course," Velmeran replied. "Dinner with Councilor
Lake at seven. Attire is black armor. We would not miss it for this or any
world."

"How did you manage that?" Dveyella asked when the two worthies
had continued on their way.

"I did not manage it," he insisted. "He asked, and I leaped
at the opportunity with due and proper grace."

"High Councilors and Sector Commanders are not in the habit of inviting
Starwolves to dinner," Dveyella continued persistently. "Why did
he?"

Velmeran shrugged. "He offered for the same reason that I accepted. We
are both insatiably curious and are fascinated by the chance to probe each
other's secrets."

"No doubt," she agreed. "And at least you seem well able to
fence words with that old man."

"He is quick and bright, and no doubt quite dangerous in his own way.
But I am willing to take him on. The only thing that worries me is if they will
be serving something for dinner I like."

As small as they were, Kelvessan had to eat prodigiously to maintain their
fierce metabolisms. While on port leave, they would often eat at two or three
different places in the course of one meal to hide how much they had to consume
to satisfy their enormous hunger. In fact, a large part of what they spent on
leave went to feed their deceptively small stomachs. Naturally, they would not
willingly pass up a chance for a free meal.

This was one invitation that Velmeran would not pass up, with no regard for
what was placed on the table before him. Dveyella was less certain about the
matter; she had every intention of going, but she did not share her companion's
enthusiasm. By Starwolf reckoning, the Sector Commanders and members of the
High Council were the enemy, the ones who made the decisions and determined the
policies of the Union. They ran the trade monopolies, ordered the invasions of
the fringe worlds and set the traps by which Starwolves died. She could not
deny that she feared these two more than she feared anyone in all space, and
she marveled that Velmeran seemed ready and willing to meet them in their own
element. Still, she would do her best to support him in what she expected to be
a fierce battle of minds and wills.

The Lake family had ruled this sector since the days of Unification. The
seat of the High Council was the hereditary right of the head of the family,
and all other appointments were his to make. Lesser members of the clan
controlled the sector trade monopoly, Farstell Freight and Trade, as well as
the network of industry that served it. The name of the ruling family had
changed often in that time. But the line had remained unbroken, so that Jon
Lake, the current patriarch, could trace his ancestry back even before the
Union, to the earliest days of colonization.

Word had indeed been left that the two Starwolves were expected. They were
greeted politely by the guards at the main entrance and one guard accompanied
them up, for he had one of the few keys that unlocked the controls that allowed
the elevator to ascend to this upper floor.

Dveyella rang the bell, and a long moment passed before the door opened. It
was neither the older Lake nor his nephew who faced them, but a servant in
black formal clothing. He occupied the years between young and old, was just
slightly tall for the human norm, and he had a nose like a bird of prey and a
hairline in the process of a hasty retreat. His look of surprise quickly turned
to one of disgust, as if he had found beggars at the door.

"We have come for dinner," Velmeran said.

"Dinner?" the hawk-nosed servant asked incredulously. "As if
piracy was not enough, now they present themselves at the door asking to be
fed!"

"It's all right, Javarns," Councilor Lake called from somewhere
within. "They are expected."

"Starwolves?" Javarns was plainly skeptical, but he grudgingly
stepped aside. "Somehow it does not surprise me as much as it
should."

"It should not surprise you at all, since we have been cooking for them
all afternoon," Jon Lake said as he crossed the room to greet his guests.
"I am so glad that you could come. I was afraid that you would not take my
invitation seriously."

"We would not think of missing this," Velmeran said as he quickly
glanced about the room.

"Well, you are just in time," Lake continued excitedly, as if he
were entertaining old and beloved friends. "Do excuse me a moment. Javarns
will show you where you can wash your hands."

"A major undertaking, I am sure," Javarns mumbled peevishly.
"Is there anything you require? Will you un-shell, or are you in the habit
of wearing space suits at the table?"

"We are fine, thank you."

"As you wish, sir. Shall I take your gloves, capes or guns?"

Dveyella smiled pleasantly. "We have two rules about our guns. First,
we never leave the ship unless we are armed."

"I can appreciate that," Javarns agreed. "And the second
rule?"

"We shoot anyone who asks twice."

"Oh." Javarns straightened and pulled his jacket into place.
"This way, please."

It seemed that they were indeed just in time for dinner. The Sector
Commander was already at the table, drink in hand. He seemed to be in a better
temper, now that he had adjusted to the loss of his prisoner, and neither of
the two visitors knew just how great a loss that had been to his plans. He even
assisted them with their chairs; the furniture of the apartment was all
slightly oversized for the convenience of its inhabitants. A pair of firm
cushions solved that problem.

Velmeran quickly realized that he needed to revise his opinion about this
Sector Commander. He had thought of Donalt Trace as thoroughly military in the
worst sense of the word, the perfect, obedient soldier. Obviously there was
much of his uncle in him, the intelligence, wisdom and depth of insight that
made him a giver of orders. Certainly he was less philosophical than his uncle,
blunter and more passionate in both his devotions and his prejudices.

He was also the less dangerous of the two, since there was no danger that
the Starwolf could forget that they were enemies.

"You really are a small people," he observed. He meant nothing
unkind by that; it was purely an honest observation.

"We were made that way," Velmeran replied.

"I have never met Starwolves before," Trace continued, frowning as
he considered the problem. "You know, speaking with you finally makes me
realize that you are people. I never thought of you as people before.
Starwolves have always been just the enemy, something that will get you if you
don't watch out. As..."

"As machines?" Velmeran asked when he hesitated.

Trace glanced at him in surprise. "Yes, I suppose so. I am at a
disadvantage. You know more about us than we know of you."

"Perhaps not," the Starwolf answered. "The Union has always
been just machines to me. Machines are all I ever see, freighters and warships,
and it is easy to forget that there are lives in those machines."

"Perhaps it's easier on the conscience not to think of your enemies as
people," Trace said, then laughed at himself. "Listen to me! I'm not
usually one to carry on this way. And with you, of all people!"

Councilor Lake returned from the kitchen at that moment, still struggling
into a leisure jacket of some odd design. He quickly took his seat at the head
of the table, the two Starwolves to his right and his nephew to his left. The
battle lines were drawn.

"I have an excellent dinner prepared for you," he explained as he
took a decanter from the center of the table to pour wine for himself and
Trace. He knew better than to offer alcohol to Starwolves. "Vinthran
follycrab, cooked in the shell, with a butter sauce that is my own
invention."

"Follycrab?" Velmeran asked.

Lake shrugged. "The things crawl up on the beach in early morning, and
then seem to forget the way back to the sea. Since they live well out of water,
they often march inland for days. It is to their credit, I might add, that if
they do find moving water, they will follow it to the sea.

"Now, let me see." The Councilor, glass in hand, turned to the two
Starwolves. "I remember that you are Velmeran. But you I cannot recall...
"

"Dveyella," she answered.

"De-vay-ella." Lake did his best with the name, and shook his
head. "That's not an easy one for a native speaker of Terran."

Just then Javarns appeared from the kitchen, pushing a small cart that bore
their plates. He served the two Starwolves with obvious reluctance, almost as
if he expected a bitten hand for his reward. He clearly disapproved of their
gloves lined up around their plates like the towers of a fortress wall,
reaching skyward as they stood upright on their metal cuffs.

They, in turn, eyed their dinner with much the same hesitation, and for
better reason. Follycrab, cooked in the shell, nearly filled an entire plate.
Their blunt, thick bodies were carried on two sets of legs, and they were armed
with two pairs of powerful pincers. Shell plates as intricately articulated as
Starwolf armor covered a large swimming tail, half the creature's total length.

"Will there be anything else?" Javarns asked.

"No, not for the moment," the Councilor replied.

"Very well, sir," the servant said as he departed. "I will be
in the kitchen, hiding the good silver."

"Good man, that Javarns. Been with me for years. I should have replaced
him with a robot long ago," Lake muttered. Then he noticed that the two
Starwolves were staring at the creatures on their plates. "Well, what do
you think?"

"Icky-poo!" Dveyella declared, simple and to the point.

"Oh, trust me to be a better host than that!" Councilor Lake
declared, laughing. "You must realize that in all the time you people have
been coming here on leave, we have watched you very closely. It is the only
part of your lives that we ever see. I looked up those records and found that
Starwolves do eat follycrab, and they appear to like it. I am also aware of how
much you eat, so do not fear. There are two more crabs for each of you."

The poor Starwolves did not know whether to count their blessings or curse
their ill fortune. Dveyella had lived long enough and been on enough port
leaves to have developed a healthy caution. Her rule was to be wary of anything
hidden in a stew, under gravy or sauce, had eyes to stare back from the plate
or came recommended by humans. Follycrab ran afoul of the final two of those
rules, and she feared that the folly would be her own. Velmeran was still young
enough to like taking a chance. After a moment of observing the tactics of the
Sector Commander, he set about uncrating his own.

"Ah, yes! One of my finest efforts," Lake declared. "Do you
not agree?"

"It is all right," Dveyella reluctantly agreed.

"What did I say?" Lake insisted jovially. The two Starwolves were
becoming entranced, for the Councilor had a rubbery face that could change
instantly to a wide variety of exaggerated expressions. "Though far be it
for me to neglect my duties as a proper host, Iwas wondering if you would mind
answering a few silly and possibly personal questions?"

"Not at all," Velmeran replied. "Ask whatever you wish,
although we may not answer."

Lake considered that and shrugged. "Fair enough. First, let me see if I
have this right. You are Velmeran, and you are Devayella. Male and
female?"

"As far as I know," he answered. "Is it so hard to
tell?"

"Well, yes," he admitted. "Starwolves may look very different
to other Starwolves, but you all look very much alike to me. I will grant that
your armor hides the more telling features. Your height, your appearance, even
the length of your hair is the same."

Velmeran glanced at his companion, surprised. "The differences are very
obvious to me. If I had to guess, you are misled by looking for the wrong
things. Do we both look female to you?"

"Strictly speaking, neither of you look either male or female,"
Lake said, looking hard at first one and then the other. "There are
certain childlike qualities to your features... "

"Velmeran is hardly more than a child," Dveyella said. "But I
am nearly as old as you are."