Conflict Of Honors by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee Page A

flaming.

    "You keep it on a short leash," the Trader commented. "How much do you pay it? Or does it serve for the pleasure of looking at your beautiful face?"

    The captain shook his head. "On Priscilla Mendoza's home world, Sav Rid, you would have just now uttered an insult demanding your death for balance. It's fortunate, isn't it, that her knowledge of our tongue is a scholar's? But I am forgetting my manners again! You are acquainted!" The light eyes were on her. "Have you no greeting for the honored Trader?"

    She stared at him. Did he really expect her— And then she smiled, recalling another of Fin Ton's lessons. Loosing Gordy's hand, she bowed low.

    "Forgive me the situation, Master Trader," she said in her careful High Liaden, "and believe me all joy to see you."

    "What!" Sav Rid cried, visibly shaken. "How is it possible that—"

    "Gentles," the magistrate said. "I must insist that we keep to the matter at hand."

    "Of course, sir." The captain was contrite. "Do forgive us. My colleague is an avid student of lineage and sought enlightenment regarding Gordon's place in the family tree. To continue, indeed. The lady with the torn shirt is Priscilla Delacroix y Mendoza. She is under personal contract to the captain of the Dutiful Passage, serving as librarian, pilot, and apprentice second mate." He smiled. "I'm quite happy to speak for both of them."

    What was this? Pilot? Second mate in training? Priscilla tried to recall the precise phrasing of her contract, but the magistrate's voice defeated the effort.

    "As all three have someone in authority to speak for them, the hearing now commences. What we know is this: Yonder knife is the property of Dagmar Collier. We have taken imprint readings and find it to be so. She does not deny it.

    "It is important to note that two other sets of prints are found on the hilt, besides those of the arresting officer: those of Gordon Arbuthnot, and a faint, very blurred set which we believe to be those of Priscilla Mendoza." The magistrate paused to clear his throat importantly.

    "We will hear from the arresting officer."

    The cop's statement was brief and to the point. He had been hailed by Gordon Arbuthnot, who cried that there was a fight in Halvington Street. Arriving on the scene, he had found "those two persons there" in close embrace, the larger apparently engaged in squeezing the smaller breathless. The arresting officer was of the opinion that this project was near completion and so had administered a judicial stunner blast to the larger person, hand-ironed both combatants, and turned to find Gordon Arbuthnot with "that knife, there, sir," in his hand. So, in the interest of fair play, Gordy had been ironed as well, and all three brought in. The officer paused, scratched his head, and added that he had also taken from Gordon Arbuthnot a small rectangular object with a belt clip—very likely a portable comm and no harm to it. But at the time he had seen no reason to take unnecessary chances.

    "Quite right," the captain said approvingly, and the cop grinned shyly.

    The magistrate motioned him back. "We will now hear from Dagmar Collier."

    Dagmar came forward slowly and darted a glance at Trader Olanek. He did not meet her eyes.

    She made a woeful attempt to square her shoulders. Her voice when she spoke was hoarse, the words mushy. I hope I broke every tooth in her mouth, Priscilla thought.

    "Prissy and me are old friends," Dagmar was telling the magistrate. "Used to serve on Daxflan together. It was just natural for me to go over and say 'hey' when I saw her walkin' down the street." She shrugged. "Must've been drunk, I guess, Your Honor, 'cause she just hauled off and hit me."

    There was a short pause before the magistrate asked dryly, "Is that your statement of the affair?"

    Dagmar blinked. "Yessir."

    "I see. We are willing to hear you again, should something else occur to you after Priscilla Mendoza speaks."

    Priscilla stood forward. "Ms. Collier and I