Conflict Of Honors by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee Page A

laconic, is she?"

    "Maybe she's trying to make up for you," Priscilla suggested, then bit her lip in horror.

    Shan yos'Galan laughed. "Could be. Could be. Some one should, I guess. Are you working a double shift? Even so, you're allowed an hour to eat—ship's policy. And there's really not much to do here now, is there?" He glanced vaguely at the gray screen. "Seems to be in hand. Why not take a shift or two for yourself?"

    "Thank you, Captain," she said. "I will. Good shift."

    "Good shift, Ms. Mendoza." He raised his glass to her.
    * * *

    She was to meet Lina and Rusty for prime at Seventeenth Hour. Priscilla turned left, away from the lift. There was time for a walk to stretch legs cramped by hours in the pilot's chair.

    Hugging her recent accomplishment to herself, she wandered down a quarter mile of hallway, took a down-lift when the way deadended, and smiled at dour old Ken Rik when she stepped off one level below.

    I feel good, she ventured, probing the thought as if it were a shattered bone. A mere quiver of pain answered, to be quickly blotted out by another warm thought.

    I have a friend. The first real friend since her girlhood on Sintia. The friendship existed independently of the sudden physical relationship. She'd had bed-mates from time to random time, and it was very nice to be loved and petted and—made comfortable. And it was wholly delightful to be permitted to return that grace as best as she was able. But this was not the thing that was precious, that prompted her now to reexamine the plans she had laid out for herself.

    Again she heard the sleepy voice of her friend: "Priscilla? Go back to sleep, denubia. All is well."

    All is well. For the first time in many years she allowed herself to think that it could, in time, be well. If she remained a member of this ship, with its odd captain, and clumsy Rusty Morgenstern and Gordy and the old cargo master and Master Frodo and Lina—of course, Lina . . . .

    Perhaps if she stayed there . . . if she put Sav Rid Olanek and Dagmar Collier out of mind and concentrated on a future full of friendship, where all might be well. . .

    "What are you doing here?"

    The sharp voice brought her up short. She blinked at the unfamiliar hallway to which her unheeded feet had brought her, then looked back at Kayzin Ne'Zame and inclined her head. "I'm very sorry. I was thinking and lost my way. Is it restricted? I'll go away."

    "Will you?" The first mate was tight-lipped with anger. "You will just walk away, is it so? I asked what you are doing here. I expect an answer. Now."

    "I am sorry, Kayzin Ne'Zame," she said carefully. "I gave you an answer: I was walking as I thought, and lost the way."

    "And you so conveniently lost the way in such a manner that you come to the main computer bank. I will have truth from you, Priscilla Mendoza. Again—what do you here?"

    "I don't think that's your business," Priscilla flared. "Since you won't believe the truth, why should I keep repeating it?"

    "You!" If she had been angry before, the mate was livid now. "How much does he pay you?" she demanded, her accent thicker by the second.

    The Terran looked at her in blank astonishment. "One-tenth cantra, when we reach Solcintra—"

    "Have done!" There was a pause while Kayzin looked her up and down. The set lines of her face did not alter; she opened her mouth to speak further, then closed it, eyes going over Priscilla's shoulder.

    "Go!" she snapped. "And mind you do not lose your way to this place again. Do you hear me?"

    "I hear you, Kayzin Ne'Zame," Priscilla replied evenly. She inclined her head and turned away.

    Shan yos'Galan was leaning against the wall, glass of wine held negligently in one hand, arms crossed over his chest.

    Priscilla took a breath. "Good shift, Captain."

    "Good shift, Ms. Mendoza," he said neutrally. She walked past him and down the intersecting hallway.

    He turned to Kayzin. "Correct me if I'm wrong," he said softly. "The crew is