“Whew! What was in that, you offspring of a comet-cat?”

“Sorry, culinary secrets are reserved. Clan oaths, you know.”

“Clan oaths, my sweet Aunt’s grape juice!” She blinked several times. “Whoo!”

“What a quaint remarking!” said Porsupah. “That is a bit of terranglish slang that’s completely new to me.”

“It’s not really accepted slang, Pors. My Aunt . . . Jo, on my father’s side . . . was really sweet. She also drew produce from grapes. Only it wasn’t exactly . . . well, the vines wouldn’t have recognized the results of their efforts by the time she was finished with them. My father used to swear by it.”

She swung her long legs off the couch, wincing slightly. She breathed long and evenly. At this point she seemed to notice Hammurabi for the first time.

“Thanks . . . whoever you are.” Her gaze was direct, the feeling of thankfulness clear as quartz. It made him acutely uncomfortable. He squirmed. He’d hoped that when she sat up her evening outfit would show a little less flesh. No such luck. Gravity and the manufacturer conspired against it. Not that he’d mind, ordinarily. But whatever their situation was, it was not ordinary. He didn’t need anything taking his mind off the business at hand. Speaking of business and hands . . . there, see?

Despite the ordeal she’d just undergone, the girl was reacting calmly. This also was, not ordinary. He couldn’t rationalize it. This also made him nervous.

She was staring at him. “Well, telepathize my thighs if you must, but say something! I’m not asking for a biography, you know.”

“Qua? Oh, name’s Hammurabi. Malco . . . Mal Hammurabi. I’m captain and owner of the free-freighter Umbra. Puts you one up on me.”

“Kitten Kai-sung. And scrunching your eyebrows down like that doesn’t hide your line of sight at all.”

“Sun-father!” Mal sighed in frustration. He continued, a mite belligerently. “Does my staring at your legs make you so full-fission nervous?”

“No. Does it make you nervous?”

“Yes, goddammit, and we’re not in a position where I can spare time to do proper appreciation to them, and that makes me a deal more upset!”

Kitten rubbed the edge of her right index finger slowly over her lower lip.

“What sort of alternate position did you have in mind?”

“Give it up—Captain,” advised Porsupah, drink comfortably in hand. “She’ll drive you to null-hike.”

“Meaning I’m not free-floating already?” Mal responded. The pseudo-pserious atmosphere broke like a light fog, dissolving into laughter. No one minded that it tended a little too much to the hysterical.

“Okay,” Kitten said finally, gasping. “Truce declared. Lieutenant Porsupah here and I are both in the Intelligence Arm of the United Church. If that old bugger has this place wired he’s welcome to the information, since your presence has apparently persuaded him to let us live.” She glanced at her partner, then back at Mal. “Might as well tell you that our purpose was to try and tie this creature Rose to renewed traffic in bloodhype, an especially vile drug.”