“Good. Zebara, will you clear everyone else out for a moment?”

Puzzled, the captain complied. “But I’m staying,” he announced when everyone had left.

“As you wish.” Lunzie resigned herself to his presence. “Flor can’t hear us, can she?”

Zebara glanced at the set of indicator lights above the thick quartz glass panel. “No.”

“All right. Poll, look at me.” Lunzie stared into the heavyworlder’s eyes and called upon the Discipline techniques she had learned on Tau Ceti. Keeping the small hypospray out of Flor’s line of sight, she showed it to Pollili. “Just something to help you relax. I promise you it’s not harmful.” Pollili nodded uneasily. Lunzie pressed the head of the hypospray against the big woman’s forearm. Pollili sagged back, her eyes heavy and glassy. Flor stared curiously from the other side of the panel and reached for a control. Zebara forestalled her with a gesture and she sat back in her chair, watching.

Lunzie kept her voice low and gentle. “Relax. Concentrate. You are Quinada, servant and aide to lenois of the Parchandri Merchant Families. You landed here with a crew of twenty-five. Eight have already died of the bacterial plague, all heavyworlders. Arabesk, the Governor’s personal representative, has just succumbed. Nine lightweights, the oldest and weakest ones, are also dead and the clone-types are showing at least the first symptoms of infection. You have a pernicious, deep-lung cough which strikes whenever you get excited. The bacteria is found only within thirty feet of the ground.” Lunzie turned to Zebara. “That’s too low for a probe to fly safely. With topographical variances, it’s more likely to crash into a tree or a rock outcropping.” Zebara nodded approval.

Lunzie turned back to programming Pollili. “The bacteria multiplies in direct relation to warmer temperatures. It’s 22 degrees Celsius here right now. Optimum breeding time. You, Quinada, have connections with the faction in the Tau Ceti sector. You are something of a bully so you are not easily cowed by the inferior dogsbodies of any pirate vessel.” Now Lunzie signalled to Flor to open the channel to the communications booth. “Remember, your name is Quinada, and you don’t take guff from anyone, especially the weakling lightweights. You respect only your master, and he is one of those who is ill. You know and trust those of us here in the ship. We are your friends and business associates. When you hear your real name again, you will regain your original memories. I will touch you now and you will reply as circumstances require.”

“We seek Diplomat Arabesk,” the tinny voice said again. Pollili roused the instant Lunzie touched her arm. The medic leaned out of range of the video pickup and crept from her side.

“Arabesk is dead. Who is this?”

“Who speaks?” the voice demanded, surprised.

“Quinada!” Pollili said with great authority and some annoyance.

“Who is this Quinada?” Zebara asked in a low voice as Pollili’s expression assumed a suitably Quinadian scowl.

“Just who I said she is,” Lunzie whispered, crossing her fingers as she watched the heavyworlder female lean forward, prepared to dominate. “She works for a merchant who knew about Ambrosia more than two weeks before I left Tau Ceti for the ARCT-10. I must now assume that lenois has direct lines with pirates from here, the ARCT-10 and Alpha Centauri. Since he’s got such a wide family, I’d be willing to bet someone of his kin were involved in setting up the Phoenix double-deal.”

“This Quinada must have made quite an impression on you,” Zebara replied wryly. “However did you impose her on Poll?”

“A Discipline technique.”

“Not one of which I’ve ever heard. You must be an Adept. Oh, don’t worry,” Zebara assured her as she began to protest. “I can keep secrets. More than one, if your information on this merchant is true.”

“Do I have to repeat everything to you denseheads? I am Quinada,” Pollili said, scowling and pulling her brows together in an excellent imitation of her model. “Servant to lenois, senior Administrator in the eminent Parchandri Merchant Families. Who are you to challenge me?” There was a long pause during which the audio was cut off.

“We know of your master and we know your name,” the voice announced at last, “though not your face. What are you doing on this planet?”

“My master’s affairs. My last duty to him,” Pollili answered crisply. “No more of that. Arabesk is dead and I speak for those still alive.”