eyes staring right into my eyes. "You want to see some other settings?" he asked, in a tone of voice that demanded I say no, so I did. "Okay." And then he stopped.
I stood up and backed away to get a little more space. "One question, Dane. You probably have a reason for telling me all this before it gets to be public information. What is it?"
"Right," he said. "I want what's-her-name for crew if I go in a Three or a Five."
"Klara Moynlin."
"Whatever. She handles herself well, doesn't take up much room, knows — well, she knows how to get along with people better than I do. I sometimes have difficulty in interpersonal relationships," he explained. "Of course, that's only if I take a Three or a Five. I don't particularly want to. If I can find a One, that's what I'm going to take out. But if there isn't a One with a good setting available, I want somebody along I can rely on, who won't get in my hair, who knows the ropes, can handle a ship — all that. You can come, too, if you want."
When I got back to my own room Shicky turned up almost before I started to unpack. He was glad to see me. "I am sorry your trip was unfruitful," he said out of his endless stock of gentleness and warmth. "It is too bad about your friend Kahane." He had brought me a flask of tea, and then perched on the chest across from my hammock, just like the first time.
I mind was spinning with with visions of sugarplums coming out of my talk with Dane Metchnikov. I couldn't help talking about it; I told Shicky everything Dane had said.
He listened like a child to a fairy tale, his black eyes shining. "How interesting," he said. "I had heard rumors that there was to be a new briefing for everyone. Just think, if we can go out without fear of death or—" He hesitated, fluttering his wing-gauze.
"It isn't that sure, Shicky," I said.
"No, of course not. But it is an improvement, I think you will agree?" He hesitated, watching me take a pull from the flask of almost flavorless Japanese tea. "Rob," he said, "if you go on such a trip and need an extra man… Well, it is true that I would not be of much use in a lander. But in orbit I am as good as anybody."
"I know you are, Shicky." I tried to put it tactfully. "Does the Corporation know that?"
"They would accept me as crew on a mission no one else wanted."
"I see." I didn't say that I didn't really want to go on a mission no one else wanted. Shicky knew that. He was one of the real oldtimers on Gateway. According to the rumor he had had a big wad stashed away, enough for Full Medical and everything. But he had given it away or lost it, and stayed on, and stayed a cripple. I know that he understood what I was thinking, but I was a long way from understanding Shikitei Bakin.
He moved out of my way while I stowed my things, and we gossiped about mutual friends. Sheri's ship had not returned. Nothing to worry about yet, of course. It could easily be out another several weeks without disaster. A Congolese couple from just beyond the star-point in the corridor had brought back a huge shipment of prayer fans from a previously unknown Heechee warren, on a planet around an F-2 star in the end of the Orion spiral arm. They had split a million dollars three ways, and had taken their share back to Mungbere. The Forehands…
Louise Forehand stopped in while we were talking about them. "Heard your voices," she said, craning over to kiss me. "Too bad about your trip."
"Breaks of the game."
"Well, welcome home, anyway. I didn't do any better than you, I'm afraid. Dumb little star, no planets that we could find, can't think why in the world the Heechee had a course setting for it." She smiled, and stroked the muscles at the back of my neck fondly. "Can I give you a welcome-home party tonight? Or are you and Klara—?"
"I'd love it if you did," I said, and she didn't pursue the question of Klara. No doubt the rumor had already got around; the Gateway tom-toms beat day and night. She left after a few minutes. "Nice lady," I said to Shicky, looking after her.