It wasn't beautiful. It was pale and heart-shaped, framed in a mass of
unruly red-gold hair. There were long, grey eyes under dark-gold brows
that had never been plucked, and a red, sullen mouth.
Her teeth were white and uneven, when she smiled. He liked them. The
red of her sullen lips was their own. She wore a short tunic the color
of Tokay grapes, and the body under it was long and clean-cut. Her
arms and throat had the whiteness of pearl.
Marah said quietly, "Contact Zard. Tell him to throw the PA system wide
open and say we're taking the ship, now, to get the Kraylens!"
* * * * *
Stella stood absolutely still. Her grey eyes took on an eerie, remote
look, and Campbell shivered slightly. He'd seen telepathy often enough
in the System's backwaters, but it never seemed normal.
Presently she said, "It's done," and became human again. The green
light went out. "Power," she explained. "Besides, we don't need it.
Give me your hand, Mister Campbell."
He did, with absolutely no aversion. "My friends," he said, "generally
call me Roy." She laughed, and they started off, moving with quick
sureness in the black, icy darkness.
The ship, it seemed, was up on the second level, on the edge of the
living quarters. Down here was all the machinery that kept Romany
alive--heat, light, water, air, and cooling systems--and a lot of
storage hulks.
The third tier was a vast hydroponic farm, growing the grain and fruit
and vegetables that fed the Romany thousands.
Stumbling through pipes and dismantled hulks that smelled of sacking
and dried vegetables and oil, Campbell filled in the gaps.
The leaders of the rebel element had held a meeting down here, in
secret. Marah and the girl had been coming from it when Campbell
blundered into them. The decision had been to rescue the Kraylens no
matter what happened.
They'd known about the Kraylens long before Campbell had. Gypsies
trading in Lhi had brought word. Now the Kraylens were a symbol over
which two points of view were clashing in deadly earnest.
Remembering Tredrick's thin, harsh face, Campbell wondered uneasily how
many of them _would_ live to take that ship away.
He became aware gradually of a broken, rhythmic tap and clank
transmitted along the metal walls.
"Hammers," said Stella softly. "Hammers and riveters and welders,
fighting rust and age to keep Romany alive. There's no scrap of this
world that wasn't discarded as junk, and reclaimed by us."