Lipsey shrugged, turning his face from the rising breeze. "The Xeelee fighter was found derelict -- a long way from here. The Qax paid well for it."

I laughed. "I'll bet they did."

"And they'll pay you well for flying it."

"Prove it exists."

Furtively he dug inside his coat of soft leather and produced a plastic-wrapped package. "This was found aboard," he said. "Take a look."

I peeled back the packaging. Inside was a delicate handgun sculpted from a marblelike material. The butt was wrapped in a hair-thin coil. Fine buttons were inlaid into the barrel, too small for human fingers.

"Xeelee construction material." Lipsey's gray eyes were fixed on my face. "Controls built to the Xeelee's usual small scale."

"What is it?"

"We don't know. There is synchrotron radiation when the thing's operated at its lowest power setting, so the Qax think the coil around the butt is a miniature particle accelerator. They haven't had the courage to try the higher settings." His face lit up briefly at that. He put away the artifact and pulled his coat tight around him. "The ship's in orbit around the Qax home sun. The Qax will tell you the rest when you get there. I've a flitter waiting at Seoul spaceport; we can leave straight away."

"Just like that?"

He studied me with a frank knowledge. "You have someone to say goodbye to?"

"...No. I guess you know that. But tell me one thing. Why don't the Qax fly the damn ship themselves?"

He stared at me. "Have you ever seen a Qax?"

A million years ago the race we call the Spline made a strategic decision.

They were ocean-going at that time, great whalelike creatures with articulated limbs. They'd already been space travelers for millennia.

Then they rebuilt themselves.

They plated over their flesh, hardened their internal organs... and left the surface of their planet, rising like mile-wide, eye-studded balloons. Now they're living ships, feeding patiently on the thin substance that drifts between the planets.

Since then they've hired themselves out to fifty races, including the Qax; but since they're not dependent on any one world, or star, or type of environment, they're their own masters -- and always will be.

But there are drawbacks... mostly for their passengers.

Our cabin was a red-lit hole scooped out of the Spline's gut. Our journey to the Qax home world meant three days in that stinking gloom. It was like being swallowed.

As a precondition of accepting our commission, the Spline sold us each an emergency beacon. It was a sort of limp bracelet. "It's a quantum-inseparability beacon. You work it by squeezing its mid-portion," Lipsey said. "The Spline guarantee your rescue, anywhere within the Galaxy. Of course, the price of the rescue's negotiable. Higher if you don't want the Qax to know about it."

"I don't want this."

He shrugged. "Have it on credit. You might need it one day."