“I’d guessed that.”

“Now look,” she said heatedly. “I admit Porsupah and I might not always have been right on top of the situation . . . what are you laughing at?”

Mal had doubled over. Long, basso peals of amusement filled the cabin.

“Listen to me, he-who-struts-like-an-ape!” she yelled.

“About that reward. I’m not much in need of credit yet,” Philip interrupted hurriedly. “There wasn’t much to spend on, here. I’ve enough put away to keep me floating for a while.”

“It needn’t be in the form of credit, if you wish,” said Kitten, calming slightly but still keeping a jaundiced eye on the snorting ship-Captain. He was trying unsuccessfully to muffle his laughter. “Something equitable can always be worked out.”

“Okay, then. I want you.”

Mal stopped chuckling. Porsupah only twitched his first pair of whiskers.

“I beg your pardon?” said Kitten.

The voice of the young engineer had changed slightly. It was no longer distant, half-subservient. Not that it had deepened or changed physically. But the inflections were different, assured, more confident.

“I said I want you. The government owes me a reward, promised, in your name.”

“Well, sure, but . . . hey, you’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Look, lad,” began Mal.

“My name is Philip, captain.” He looked evenly at Mal. “In certain situations I respond to lad, kid, youngster, young fella, and many analogous appellations. This isn’t one of them. The young lady can be no more than a year or two older than I—if that. It’s rare enough that one chances across someone so attractive, intelligent, and, yes, of a compatible size. I want to take advantage of it.”

“Now just a minute, Philip—”

“Just a minute yourself, Captain,” interrupted Kitten, a trifle upset. “I don’t need you or anyone else to bargain or moralize for me.” She turned and looked over at Philip. He stared back unflinchingly. “It’s up to me to decide whether I want to reject the proposal or not. Under the circumstances, I think it carries the flavor of an almost forgotten gallantry. Not to mention compliment. I accept your offer, Philip.”

“Thank you, Miss Kai-sung,” he replied gravely, executing an awkward half-bow.

“Under the circumstances, don’t you think you ought to,” she glanced archly at Mal, “call me by my first name?”

“Agreed . . . Kitten.” He smiled broadly.

“You’re quite right,” Mal said evenly. “It’s none of my business. Go and fantasize, if you will.”

Kitten stood up and stretched . . . lazily, languorously. Mal gazed unswervingly at the ocean, which gazed back.

“There’s room in the storage area, wouldn’t you say, Philip?”

“I believe so, Kitten.” He unfolded himself, extended a hand. She took it.

“See you shortly, gentlemen. This won’t take long.” She pulled the sliding panel closed behind them.

Takaharu hadn’t budged throughout the entire exchange. Mal continued an unprecedented fascination with the sea. Porsupah stifled a laugh.

“You’d best get used to this if you expect to be around sweet Kitten awhile, Captain,” the Tolian offered. His whiskers twitched. “I don’t doubt that she agreed partially to enjoy your anticipated reaction. You came through in marvelous style.”