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considered secondary to her role as a warrior, a Security troop. Someone was probably going to offer sexual hospitality to her and so far as Lek knew Smish had as much interest in having sex with women as Stildyne did — or even less.
    “Thank you, sir.” Smish sounded a little confused overall. She wasn’t Dolgorukij. She wouldn’t know. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
    Koscuisko nodded. Then Koscuisko turned his attention to Lek himself, looking directly at him while speaking in general to the team. “There will be much that is strange. I can only guess, remembering how it was when first I left Azanry for the school at Mayon. I could not warn you about everything if I talked for three days, and I would rather have something to eat.”
    Home food, Lek thought suddenly, and smelled remembered fragrances in his imagination. Thin little cakes made with soured grain mash and cream. Thick soups of stewed root vegetables, and when times were good meat to go with cabbage and water–grass.
    “Therefore I will only say this, though I repeat myself. I request you all pay particular attention to what Lek does and says while we are home. In this way you can be sure of keeping your dignity in the land of the outlander.”
    It was a sensible suggestion, yes. But it was much more than that, though none of the other people here might realize it. Koscuisko told them all to point on him, Lek Kerenko, Sarvaw. That would be a sign to the Dolgorukij into whose territory Koscuisko was carrying them all, and Lek was grateful to Koscuisko for having thought of such a natural way to give him face in an unfriendly environment.
    “And now I mean to go and lie down. Perhaps Lek will consent to discuss with ship’s computers on your behalf and find out where the liquor has been stored. There are three days from here to Azanry, and we are on holiday.”
    Lek didn’t want liquor. He wanted root stew and cabbage–stuffed sausages; but this was an executive courier, and there was no hope of finding such homely food as that. He’d just have to make do with pearl–gray roe and cured fish wrapped in flour skins, he supposed. It was a hard task.
    But someone had to do it.

Chapter Three
    Reasonable People

    Admiral Brecinn stepped down into the observer’s pit at her headquarters at Pesadie Training Command with some inventory reports in hand. It had been a day since the anomalous incident had occurred; it was time to put the Ragnarok on notice. The inventories had put her on notice as well. She was going to need a strong bargaining position to hold her own against the reasonable people, when they demanded their merchandise. She didn’t know where she was going to find the leverage.
    “Contact the Ragnarok , if you please,” she said, nodding to the technician at the comm station. The full complement of observers were here, just for the sake of the formalities. The inventory had had to be done twice, which had complicated things. Once for the official record, and once for the other record, the real record, the one that showed her where she stood in the profit and loss registers in her dealings with undocumented trade.
    All right, illegal trade, but it was only illegal because people elected a too–narrow interpretation of the laws. Reasonable people knew how to conduct business without undue administrative procedure getting in the way.
    The signal cleared from the Ragnarok , its position in the training area highlighted by a pinpoint halo on the star map even as the interface screen opened across much of the forward display area. Projected in this way Jennet ap Rhiannon was about twice life–size, seated at the desk in the Captain’s office, her First Officer standing behind her, looking bored.
    Admiral Brecinn didn’t know much about the Ragnarok’s junior lieutenant and she didn’t really care. Reasonable people had hinted that ap Rhiannon was not the sort of intelligent and responsive officer Fleet needed, which was a shame. Fleet needed