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other passengers were still sleeping off their departure-night Stemerald party, snoring and thrashing as the last doses of the stimulant worked its way out of their exhausted bodies. Polyon had recovered remarkably early. Like any good Academy graduate, he'd been up at 0600 ship's time, washed in the shower cubicle and dressed in his neatly pressed undress grays before presenting himself in public. Nancia had shut down visual sensors in the cabins to allow her passengers the privacy they would be expecting, but the auditory sensors brought her enough small sounds to enable her to follow Polyon through his early-morning routine.

    Nancia caught her first glimpse of Polyon as he swung down the passageway to the central cabin. This was public space; she had no compunction about leaving all sensors activated here. And Polyon de Gras-Waldheim was certainly a treat for the sensors.
    Just a shade under two meters tall, with his golden hair ruthlessly cropped in the Academy bristle cut, he was a happy blend of the best in the Waldheim and de Gras family lines: Waldheim height and rugged strength, de Gras refinement and quick awareness. Nancia felt a moment of regret. Polyon was a Space Academy graduate; he might have been her brawn.

    A de Gras-Waldheim? jeered an inner voice. What are you dreaming of, girl ? A young man who combined those two bloodlines could look fiar higher than command of 24

    Arme McCajfrey &? Margaret Baft

    PARTNERSHIP

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    a single brainship. He should have been destined for a staff position somewhere, being groomed for high command.

    The short databurst of information about her passengers and their destinations didn't explain why, instead of joining a Fleet General staff, Polyon was headed out to be the technical overseer for a prison metachip plant in a remote subspace. Oh, well, there must be some good reason for the assignment. Maybe there's more going on in Vega subspace than I realized. Nancia remembered that interrupted newsbyte about Vega and her resolve to study it in depth, now that she was her own ship, fm Courier Service now; fd better start keeping up with public affairs. But just at the moment, watching her cousin was more interesting than pulling up files of old newsbeams.

    Polyon glanced about die cabin and his body relaxed imperceptibly as he scanned the area; a human observer might not have noticed die slight change, but Nancia —
    by now scanning for muscle tension and autonomic nervous system response as well as for the usual visual and auditory cues — was immediately aware of his relaxation. That must be Academy training, that alertness upon entering any unfamiliar territory. She should have expected no less of one trained in the High Families' tradition of service; just as she should not have been surprised that Polyon wakened at a regulation hour, no matter what he'd been indulging in the night before. The other passengers might be soft and self-indulgent, but this one, at least, was a credit to his training. That's the de Gras blood in him, she thought with a trace of smugness; Daddy had always stressed the value of Nancia's connection, through her mother, with the House of de Gras.

    Polyon glanced once more around the room—if he hadn't been a de Gras-Waldheim, Nancia would have described his second look as furtive — and then sat down, not in the pilot's chair facing the central console, but in one of the spectator seats to the side of die room. He nodded once, sharply, as if to say, "That's all rieht, then," and spoke in a low voice that no softperson could have heard.

    "Computer, open master file, pass 47321-Aleithos-Hex242."

    The automatic security system that guarded the ship's main computer acknowledged Polyon's command. Hardly believing what she observed, Nancia let the computer act without overriding it. How had Polyon learned the master file password? Perhaps there was a secret side to her mission, something only another member of the High Families could be trusted