“Most of you find it less disturbing than when I speak in your mind.”

Ship’s intimate voice issued from the vocoder in front of her. For some reason, the calm and rational tone angered her.

“We’re just pets! What happens when we become a nuisance?”

“How could you become a nuisance?”

The answer was there without considering it: “By losing our respect for Ship.”

There was no reply.

This cooled her anger. She sat in silent contemplation for a moment, then: “Who are You, Ship?”

“Who? Not quite the proper term, Hali. I was alive in the minds of the first humans. It required time for the right events to occur, but only time.”

“What do You respect, Ship?”

“I respect the consciousness which brought Me into your awareness. My respect is made manifest by My decision to interfere as little as possible in that consciousness.”

“Is that how I’m supposed to respect You, Ship?”

“Do you believe you can interfere with My consciousness, Hali?”

She let out a long breath.

“I do interfere, don’t I.” It was a statement, not a question.

With a sudden sensation of sinking, as though the realization occurred because she let it happen and not because she willed it, Hali saw the lesson of the Hill of Skulls.

“The consequences of too much interference,” she whispered.

“You please Me, Hali. You please Me as much as Kerro Panille ever pleased Me.”

“Hali!”

It was Ferry’s voice shouting at her over the pribox speaker at her hip. “Get to Sickbay!”

She was out the concealed hatch and halfway down the storage aisle before she realized she had broken away from Ship in mid-conversation. Ship had spoken personally with very few people, and she had the impudence to jump up and leave. Even as this thought flashed through her mind, she laughed at herself. She couldn’t leave Ship.

Ferry met her at the main hatchway into Sickbay. He was wearing the heavier groundside blue and carried another suit of it under his arm. He thrust it at her and Hali saw then that the suits had been fitted for helmets of hazardous flight.

She accepted the suit as Ferry thrust it at her. The old man appeared to be in the grip of deep agitation, his face flushed, hands trembling.

The groundside fabric felt rough in her hands, so different from the shipcloth. The detachable slicker and hood were contrastingly slippery.

“What’s . . . what’s happening?” she asked.

“We have to get Waela off ship. Murdoch’s going to kill her.”

She was a blink accepting the import of his words. Then doubts filled her. Why would this fearful old man oppose Murdoch? And by implication oppose Oakes!

“Why would you help?” she asked.

“They’re demoting me groundside, sending me to Lab One.”

Hali had heard the rumors of Lab One—clone experiments, some wild stories, but Ferry was visibly terrified. Did he know something definite about Lab One?