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crisscrossed with anchoring webs from which were suspended individual pieces of cargo. He recognized the articles almost immediately—Lifecybe organic computer cores, each in a fried-egg-shaped cradle connected by umbilical to a central life-maintenance unit. He was surprised; he had not guessed that the cargo was that valuable.
    Cephean was on the far side of the hold, hunched over one of the cradles. Carlyle started that way, ducking and threading his way among the anchoring strands. Suddenly he was stopped in midstride by a snap of light, a flash from nowhere which danced in a quick series of circles about the room, then vanished—and for a moment he totally forgot his purpose, his destination. When he shook his head and completed the stride with his left leg, the spell evaporated and he was aware again. But what? Oh—the light was external stimulation for the computer cores. Mesmerizing but, one hoped, not dangerous.
    He crossed over to the cynthian. Cephean looked up at him, eyes dark, glinting.
    A welter of emotion crawled through his mind: loathing, curiosity, scorn, anger. A mixture of his own feelings and Cephean's. He struggled to sound diplomatic, thinking of the precarious position they were in. "Cephean, what in hell are you doing?" He heard a whisper, and looked down at the two riffmar, who rustled quickly around behind Cephean. (He sensed disconcertment, frustration. )
    The cynthian's whiskers curled, and he hissed, dipping his head, the words coming out in a sigh. "Caharleel—hyor com-ffusor noss hwork."
    Carlyle scowled. "Of course not . . . now. They'll work when they're installed in computer tanks. Right now they're just being kept alive for shipment."
    "D-heds now," Cephean insisted.
    Carlyle froze, eyeing the cynthian. What was that supposed to mean— dead? He shoved past Cephean and looked into the nearest cradle. The neural tissue of the core, visible beneath a clear dome, quivered faintly; it was dark and smoky. A glance at the cradle monitor confirmed that the core was indeed dead. He turned slowly, raising his eyes to the cynthian.
    Cephean's ears were flattened to the sides, the fur along their edges trembling. His whiskers twitched. "Hi h-make miss-thake," he hissed. His eyes darted about the room, his foreclaws extended and retracted quickly, clicking softly on the deck.
    Carlyle's breath escaped in gasps: "You . . . made . . . a mistake?" He caught the cynthian's eye and held it. "You what?" He glared, infuriated by Cephean's sullen gaze. "What did you try to do? "
    Cephean sputtered and pawed his nose. He half snarled an answer, incomprehensible. The riffmar lurched forward, rustling, then retreated. Carlyle was startled, but he demanded an answer. Cephean broke from his gaze and cried, "Hiss whoodens hans-ser h-me!" He hunched mournfully and shook his head. The golden flecks in his eyes gleamed like flames. Guilt , Carlyle thought scornfully.
    He circled around to check the other Lifecybe units. He found one more ruined and he returned, confounded, to Cephean. "Why are you wrecking my cargo?" he shouted. Even if the cargo didn't matter in the end, what did this creature think he was doing?
    Cephean sputtered. "Hi hask ssem."
    "The computer cores? Asked them what?"
    "H-insfor-m-hationss. H-abouss sshiff," he hissed. "H-how iss ffly."
    This was incredible. "What did you want to know? Why didn't you ask me? This is just a mass of nerve tissue—only works when it's part of a system. It's delicate! You can't just—it doesn't even have information! And what did you want to know, anyway?"
    The cynthian made no reply. Carlyle shook his head in disgust. The two cores were an expensive loss, but more appalling was Cephean's lack of understanding or of good sense—which probably went a long way toward explaining his incompetence in the net. Cephean peered at him. ( Resentment , he felt.)
    "Damn it!" Carlyle said, making his decision. "Time we got some things straight!" Cephean looked