to fix on an opposite
bulkhead.

"That takes care of the men." A woman's voice,
melodious, dulcet. "I'm Adari."

Sturdy, tightly curled hair and chocolate-toned
skin. Her soft, rounded features were dimpled,
cheerful, animated. Standing near a sleep
enclosure, her grin was infectious. She brought
long-absent grins, twinkles and nods from the
others.

Repeating her name slowly, she smiled invitingly
at the petite woman seated on a nearby bench.

"My, aren't we cautious," the little one said as
she looked up and returned Adari's grin. "I am
Kumiko," she shifted her eyes to take in the
others, "and I regret to say that I am not
particularly pleased to be among you." She
paused, looked down. "Nothing personal, mind
you, it's just that I did have other hopes."

Eyes shifted to the last of the group. Tall and
slender, olive-skinned, she paced the narrow space
between the wall and the cell's central section.
Her turn, no longer to be put off.

"Myra," she said flatly.

The silence closed back in.

Chapter FOUR

The meeting hall was roughly triangular, the rows
of form-fit seats molded into the deck which sloped
downward toward a slightly raised platform jammed
into a corner. Alongside the platform a meter-wide
view tank rose from the deck to merge with the
overhead. A single cable snaked from the view
tank's base and disappeared into the nearby
bulkhead.

The six inmates entered, milled about, silent,
their features without expressions. In their own
time, they each took seats, several empties apart.
The first three rows remained vacant.

Hodak broke the silence. "The Blue Plate Special
the Looie gave didn't sound right," he growled.
"I want to know more about what he was gettin' at
with that crack about our schedule 'being different'."

Adari turned, eyebrows raised, to stare at him
thoughtfully. She nodded slowly and turned back
to join the others to focus on a figure perched
on a high stool beside the view tank.

He looked tall, despite his being seated. A
slate-gray uniform covered him from neck to ankles;
his feet shod in high-top deck slippers that matched
the shade of his garment. He wore no insignia. Long,
crowded features and tawny space-worn skin formed
a face of planes and angles. His hairless head and
long hands looked like they might have been hacked
from a block of Mercurian tuscanite and left to
weather for a few million years in the sun's glare.

The hall quieted. Sati