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here just to get over your fear of heavyworlders. Ireta would have left you even worse. You could not care that much how we experience coldsleep or what it does to us. You are here for a purpose. Either your own, or someone else’s, and I must know that if I am to keep you safe.”

“You’ve told me your government wants you to use our old relationship. How can you ask me to confide in you first?” That was lame, but the best she could do with cannibalism still on her mind.

“I want my grandchildren to live! Really live. I want them to have enough food, freedom to travel, to get education, to work where they want. You want that for your descendants. In that we agree. If war breaks out between our peoples, none of our descendants will have the lives we want for them. Can’t you see that?”

Lunzie nodded slowly. “Yes, but unless your people quit working with planet pirates I don’t see what’s to stop it.”

“Which they won’t do, unless they see a better future. Lunzie, I want you to be our advocate, our spokeswoman to the Council. You have suffered from us but you have also seen, perhaps understood, what we are, what we could be. I want you to say ‘Give the heavyworlders hope! Give them access to normal-G worlds they can live on, worlds like Ireta. Then they won’t have reason to steal them.’ But as long as you are here to collect evidence proving how bad we are.”

“Not all of you.”

Lunzie caught a flicker of movement near them, above them, and curled into Zebara’s embrace. Perhaps someone needed the restrooms, sidling along between the seat sections. Or perhaps someone wanted to know what they were saying.

“You’re different. The patients I’ve met here are not like those who hurt me.” She felt under her hands his slight tension. He, too, had noticed that shadowy form edging past them.

“Dear Lunzie.” That ended in a kiss, a curiously grandfatherly kiss of dry lips. Then he sighed, moved as if slightly cramped, and laid his hand back on her hair.

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