"And what about me?" Velmeran asked.
"Dveyella will take care of you," the cargo officer said. "My word, Pack Leader, you have watched over this herd day in, day out for months now. This is your port leave, and I expect that you have it coming. Fair?"
Velmeran agreed reluctantly. Veyndayk called the pack together, gave them his primary instructions and took them away in less than a minute. They would take the tram back to the port entrance, where they would find the rest of their appointed guardians.
"Well, that is safely done. Now we have a night and a day to ourselves," Dveyella said. She stepped over to stand before a thick column covered by panels of Beldiian quartz, rare and expensive and as highly polished as a mirror. Using its reflection, she carefully pulled her long, thick hair out of the collar of her suit, arranging most of its length to cascade over her black cape.
"Baress and Baressa are keeping company?" Velmeran asked. "What do they have in common — besides the same name?"
"Is that not sufficient for a beginning?" Dveyella asked.
"Ordinarily, no. Not for Baressa. She is very careful of the company she keeps. Pack leaders as a rule, although she has briefly entertained officers from other ships."
"Oh? Has she been after you?" Dveyella asked mischievously.
"Hardly! I am too young for her."
"I would never think so."
"Perhaps you do not have very high standards," Velmeran teased in return, realizing too late how that reflected back on him.
"Starwolves!"
Velmeran and Dveyella both froze as their ears picked up that single voice some distance behind them. Ordinarily they would not have noticed, but there was something about the way that single word had been said. In amazement, certainly. But it was also an accusation, and an acknowledgment of defeat.
"Coincidence?" another, older voice asked. "Neither of us believe that, obviously. You have lost your captive, it seems. A courier should be in soon."
Velmeran saw that Dveyella was staring into the mirrored surface of the column, and unobtrusively shifted his stance so that he could see the image reflected there. The stone was dark, and the images were indistinct. The older man was richly dressed, slightly bent with age but still taller than himself. Beside him, glaring at the two Starwolves, stood a giant of a man to match the deep, forceful voice. Tall and gaunt, he was clearly a warrior. And, judging by the uniform, this was no less than the Sector Commander.
"They have their nerve to come hopping in here!" the tall man declared.
"So? And what can we do about it?" the older one asked. "Come along. Why don't we ask them to dinner?"
Velmeran did not know what to make of that final statement, but the two were indeed approaching. After this, he began to believe that his kind had been given enhanced hearing for the sole purpose of eavesdropping.
"Your pardon," the older man said, and the two Starwolves turned as if noticing for the first time. He nodded to them politely. "I am sorry to disturb you. You are just in port, are you not?"
"We have been in less than two hours," Velmeran replied, trying to hide his amazement at their height. Even the older man had to glance down at him, while the one in uniform was indeed a towering giant of about two meters, a head and a half taller over Velmeran.
"Are you, perhaps, recently out of the planet Bineck?" the older man asked, surprisingly straightforward.
"Yes, we have just come from there," he replied, equally direct.
"Oh? I should like to hear more about it. Could you possibly come to dinner tonight?"
"Of course," Velmeran replied quickly, not pausing to consider whether or not he should. Dveyella looked surprised, although she did not seem inclined to protest.
"Would the seventh hour, local time, be too early for you?" the older man asked. "My residence is on the twelfth floor of the adjacent building, the rather conspicuously pink one. Ask for Jon Lake. I will leave word that you are expected."
"Councilor Lake?" Velmeran asked.
"The same," he answered, and glanced at his companion. "This brooding spartan is my nephew, Sector Commander Donalt Trace. You must excuse his ill temper, but he was born with it. And it has recently been aggravated by distressing news."
"An occupational hazard, surely. I am Pack Leader Velmeran of the Methryn. This is Pack Leader Dveyella, of special tactics."
"Special tactics?" Lake asked. Even his nephew looked at her with interest. "I do look forward to hearing any tales you might see fit to share. Tonight, then?"
"But of course," Velmeran replied. "Dinner with Councilor Lake at seven. Attire is black armor. We would not miss it for this or any world."
"How did you manage that?" Dveyella asked when the two worthies had continued on their way.
"I did not manage it," he insisted. "He asked, and I leaped at the opportunity with due and proper grace."
"High Councilors and Sector Commanders are not in the habit of inviting Starwolves to dinner," Dveyella continued persistently. "Why did he?"
Velmeran shrugged. "He offered for the same reason that I accepted. We are both insatiably curious and are fascinated by the chance to probe each other's secrets."
"No doubt," she agreed. "And at least you seem well able to fence words with that old man."
"He is quick and bright, and no doubt quite dangerous in his own way. But I am willing to take him on. The only thing that worries me is if they will be serving something for dinner I like."
As small as they were, Kelvessan had to eat prodigiously to maintain their fierce metabolisms. While on port leave, they would often eat at two or three different places in the course of one meal to hide how much they had to consume to satisfy their enormous hunger. In fact, a large part of what they spent on leave went to feed their deceptively small stomachs. Naturally, they would not willingly pass up a chance for a free meal.
This was one invitation that Velmeran would not pass up, with no regard for what was placed on the table before him. Dveyella was less certain about the matter; she had every intention of going, but she did not share her companion's enthusiasm. By Starwolf reckoning, the Sector Commanders and members of the High Council were the enemy, the ones who made the decisions and determined the policies of the Union. They ran the trade monopolies, ordered the invasions of the fringe worlds and set the traps by which Starwolves died. She could not deny that she feared these two more than she feared anyone in all space, and she marveled that Velmeran seemed ready and willing to meet them in their own element. Still, she would do her best to support him in what she expected to be a fierce battle of minds and wills.
The Lake family had ruled this sector since the days of Unification. The seat of the High Council was the hereditary right of the head of the family, and all other appointments were his to make. Lesser members of the clan controlled the sector trade monopoly, Farstell Freight and Trade, as well as the network of industry that served it. The name of the ruling family had changed often in that time. But the line had remained unbroken, so that Jon Lake, the current patriarch, could trace his ancestry back even before the Union, to the earliest days of colonization.
Word had indeed been left that the two Starwolves were expected. They were greeted politely by the guards at the main entrance and one guard accompanied them up, for he had one of the few keys that unlocked the controls that allowed the elevator to ascend to this upper floor.
Dveyella rang the bell, and a long moment passed before the door opened. It was neither the older Lake nor his nephew who faced them, but a servant in black formal clothing. He occupied the years between young and old, was just slightly tall for the human norm, and he had a nose like a bird of prey and a hairline in the process of a hasty retreat. His look of surprise quickly turned to one of disgust, as if he had found beggars at the door.
"We have come for dinner," Velmeran said.
"Dinner?" the hawk-nosed servant asked incredulously. "As if piracy was not enough, now they present themselves at the door asking to be fed!"
"It's all right, Javarns," Councilor Lake called from somewhere within. "They are expected."
"Starwolves?" Javarns was plainly skeptical, but he grudgingly stepped aside. "Somehow it does not surprise me as much as it should."
"It should not surprise you at all, since we have been cooking for them all afternoon," Jon Lake said as he crossed the room to greet his guests. "I am so glad that you could come. I was afraid that you would not take my invitation seriously."
"We would not think of missing this," Velmeran said as he quickly glanced about the room.
"Well, you are just in time," Lake continued excitedly, as if he were entertaining old and beloved friends. "Do excuse me a moment. Javarns will show you where you can wash your hands."
"A major undertaking, I am sure," Javarns mumbled peevishly. "Is there anything you require? Will you un-shell, or are you in the habit of wearing space suits at the table?"