"Who do I have the pleasure of thanking for this hospitality?" Keel asked.
"I am Finn Lonfinn," the man said. "I was one of Wang's servants and now have the task of caring for his quarters. And your young friend is ... ?"
"Brett Norton," Brett answered. "I was on my way to registration and processing when the alarm sounded."
Brett studied the room. He had never seen a place quite like it. In some respects, it was vaguely Islander - soft cushions, all the metal covered by woven hangings, many recognizably of topside manufacture. But the deck did not move. Only the faint sigh of air pulsing through vents.
"Do you have friends on Guemes?" Lonfinn asked.
"The C/P is from Guemes," Keel reminded him.
Lonfinn's eyebrows lifted and he turned his attention to Brett. Brett felt required to give a reply. "I don't think I know anyone from Guemes. We haven't been in proximate drift since I was born."
Lonfinn focused once more on Keel. "I asked about friends, not about the C/P."
In the man's tone, Brett heard the hard slam of a hatch between Merman and Islander. The word mutant lay in the air between them. Simone Rocksack was a Mute, possibly a friend of Mute Ward Keel ... probably not. Who could be friendly with someone who looked like that? The C/P could not be a normal object of friendship. Brett felt suddenly threatened.
Keel had realized with an abrupt shock that Lonfinn's assumptions of obvious Merman superiority were barbed. This attitude was a common one among less-traveled Mermen, but Keel felt himself filled with disquiet at an abrupt inner awakening.
I was ready to accept his judgment! Part of me has assumed all along that Mermen are naturally better.
An unconscious thing, borne for years, it had unfolded in Keel like an evil flower, showing a part of himself he had never suspected. The realization filled Keel with anger. Lonfinn had been asking: "Do you have any little friends on Guemes? How sad that some of your less fortunate playmates have been killed or maimed. But maiming and death are such an integral part of your lives."
"You say you were a servant," Keel said. "Are you telling me these quarters are no longer occupied?"
"They belong rightfully to Scudi Wang, I believe," Lonfinn said. "She says she doesn't care to live here. I presume they'll be leased before long and the income credited to Scudi."
Brett gave the man a startled look and glanced once more around these spacious quarters - everything so rich.
Still in shock at his inner revelation, Keel shuffled to a pile of blue cushions and eased himself onto them, stretching his aching legs in front of him.
"Lucky Guemes was a small Island," Lonfinn said.
"Lucky?" The word was jerked from Brett.
Lonfinn shrugged. "I mean, how much more terrible if it had been one of the bigger Islands ... even Vashon."
"We know what you mean," Keel said. He sighed. "I'm aware that Mermen call Guemes 'The Ghetto.'"
"It ... doesn't mean anything, really," Lonfinn said. There was an undertone of anger in his voice as he realized he had been put on the defensive.
"What it means is that the larger Islands have been called upon to help Guemes from time to time - basic foods and medical supplies," Keel pressed him.
"Not much trade with Guemes," Lonfinn admitted. Brett looked from one man to the other, detecting the subterranean argument boiling. There were things behind those words but Brett suspected that it would take more experience with Mermen before he understood just what those things were. He sensed only the fact of argument, the barely concealed anger. Some Islanders, Brett knew, made slanted references to Guemes as "Ship's Lifeboat." There was often laughter in the label, but Brett had understood it to mean that Guemes held a large number of WorShipers - very religious, fundamentalist people. It was no surprise that the C/P was a native of Guemes. Somehow, it was right for Islanders to joke about Guemes, but it rankled him to hear Lonfinn's intrusions.
Lonfinn strode across the room and tested the controls on a hatch. He turned. "The head's through this hatch and guest bedrooms are down the hallway here in case you wish to rest." He returned and looked down at Keel. "I imagine that thing around your neck becomes tiresome."
Keel rubbed his neck. "It does indeed. But I know we all must put up with tiresome things in our world."
Lonfinn scowled. "I wonder why a Merman has never been C/P?"
Brett spoke up, recalling Twisp's comment on this very question. He repeated it: "Maybe Mermen have too many other things to do and aren't interested."
"Not interested?" Lonfinn looked at Brett as though seeing him for the first time. "Young man, I don't think you're qualified to discuss political matters."
"I think the boy was really asking a question," Keel offered, smiling at Brett.
"Questions should be asked directly," Lonfinn muttered.
"And answered directly," Keel persisted. He looked at Brett. "This matter has always been in dispute among 'the faithful' and their political lobby. Most of Ship's faithful topside think it would be a disaster to turn over the C/P's power to a Merman. They have so much power over other aspects of our otherwise dreary lives."
Lonfinn smiled without humor. "A difficult political subject for a young man to understand," he said.
Brett gritted his teeth at the patronizing attitude.
Lonfinn crossed to the wall behind Keel, touched a depression there and a panel slid away. It revealed a huge port that looked out on an undersea courtyard with transparent ceiling and a watery center where clusters of small fishes flashed and turned among delicate, richly colored plants.
"I must be going," Lonfinn said. "Enjoy yourselves. This" - he indicated the area he had just exposed - "should keep you from feeling too enclosed. I find it restful myself." He turned to Brett, paused and said, "I'll see that the necessary forms and papers are sent for you to sign. No sense wasting time."
With that, Lonfinn departed, leaving by the same hatch they had entered.
Brett looked at Keel. "Have you filled out these papers? What are they?"
"The papers fulfill the Merman need to feel they have everything pinned down. Your name, your age, circumstances of your arrival down under, your work experience, any talents you might have, whether you desire to stay ..." Keel hesitated, cleared his throat. "... your parentage, their occupations and mutations. The severity of your own mutation."
Brett continued to regard the Chief Justice silently.
"And in answer to your other question," Keel continued, "no, they have not required this of me. I'm sure they have a long dossier on me giving all the important details ... and many unimportant tidbits, too."
Brett had fastened onto one thing in Keel's statement. "They may ask me to stay down under?"
"They may require you to work off the cost of your rescue. A lot of Islanders have settled down under, something I mean to look into before going topside. Life here can be very attractive, I know." He ran his fingers through the soft nap of carpet as if for emphasis.
Brett looked at the ceiling, wondering how it would be to live most of his life here away from the suns. Of course, people from down under did go topside lots of times, but still ...
"The best disaster-recovery team is composed mostly of ex-Islanders," Keel said. "So says Kareen Ale."
"I've heard the Mermen always want you to pay your own way," Brett said. "But it shouldn't take long to work off the cost of my ..." He suddenly thought of Scudi. How could he ever repay Scudi? There was no coin for that.
"Mermen have a great many ways of attracting desirable and acceptable Islanders," Keel said. "You appear to be someone they'd be interested in having aboard. However, that should not be your chief concern of the moment. By any chance, do you have medical training?"
"Just first aid and resuscitation through school."
Keel drew in a deep breath and expelled it quickly. "Not enough, I'm afraid. Guemes went down quite a while ago. I'm sure the survivors they're just now bringing in will require more expert attention."
Brett tried to swallow in a tight throat.