Talking to Sharrol: Lifeless as she was, maybe it wasn’t quite as crazy as talking to myself. I couldn’t talk to the others. They—“You remember that night we planned it all? Feather was lucid then. Comparatively. We were there for her as people. On the trip to Mars she was a lot wilder. She was a hell of an active lover, but I never really got the feeling that I was there for her.”

We never talked about each other’s lovers. In truth, it was easier to say these things to Sharrol when she wasn’t here.

“But most of the way to Fafnir, Feather was fine. But she wasn’t sleeping with me. Just Carlos. She could hold a conversation, no problem there, but I was randy, love, and frustrated. She liked that. I caught a look when Carlos wasn’t looking. So I didn’t want to talk to her. And she was always up against Carlos, and Carlos, he was a bit embarrassed about it all. We talked about plans, but for anything personal there was just you. Sleeping Beauty.”

The night was warm and clear. By convention, boats would show any color except lamplighter yellow. I couldn’t miss seeing a boat’s lights.

“Then, fifteen hours out from the drop point, that night I found her floating in my sleeping plates. I suppose I could have sent her to her own room, I mean it was within the laws of physics, but I didn’t. I acted like conversation was the last thing I’d be interested in. But so did Feather.

“And the next morning it was all business, and a frantic business it was. We came in in devious fashion, and got off behind the moon. Boy George went on alone, decelerating. Passed too close to an ARM base on Claim 226 that even Feather wasn’t supposed to know about. Turned around and accelerated away in clear and obvious terror, heading off in the general direction of Hrooshpith—pithtcha—of another of those used-to-be-kzinti systems where they’ve never got the population records straightened out. No doubt the ARM is waiting for us there.

“And of course you missed the ride down…but my point is that nothing ever got said.

“Okay. This whole scheme was schemed by Feather, carried through by Feather. It—” I stared into the black night. “Oh.” I really should have seen this earlier. Why did Feather need Carlos?

Through the ARM spy net Feather Filip had found a family of six Shashters ready to emigrate. Why not look for one or two? Where Carlos insisted on taking his children and Sharrol and me, another man might be more reasonable.