Heath and Gelmann knelt to examine her. “No active bleeding,” he declared after a few moments. “No sign of any weapons either.” Hawkins thought to say something but this time decided to check his instinctive response.

As one grew older it became more difficult to guess the age of others, but Iranaputra was certain she couldn’t be more than thirty, if that.

Gelmann was wiping at the woman’s forehead, using the hem of her blouse. “Messy, but not deep. Scalp wounds bleed a lot.”

“We should probably get her out of that suit,” said Hawkins eagerly, wishing to confirm his initial topographic evaluation.

Gelmann eyed him reproachfully. “Wesley says the bleeding’s stopped. So there’s no reason.”

“Her eyelids are flickering,” Shimoda observed.

Heath and Gelmann stepped back. As they looked on, the woman blinked, let out a groan, and struggled to sit up, using her hands against the sand. Fingers traveled tentatively to the head wound, exploring cautiously. Then she noticed the concerned faces staring down at her.

“Where am I?” Iranaputra thought her voice girlish but confident. She turned to take in the cliffs, the beach, the sea beyond. “The alien vessel, I thought …”

“You’re on board, dear,” Gelmann assured her. “This ship’s big enough to hold everything else. Why not an ocean?” She smiled.

The woman moaned again, wincing. “Well, all of you look right anyway.”

“What do you mean, we look right?” wondered Iranaputra.

“There are dossiers on all of you. All the leagues have them. Everyone knows about you.” She felt gingerly of her left arm. “I think I sprained something.”

“Are you with the First Federals or the Keiretsu?” Shimoda inquired curiously.

“Federals? No, I’m a Candomblean.”

“Clever of them, what?” murmured Heath. “They can’t hope to match the strength of the larger leagues, so they try subtlety instead. Tell me, young lady, did you volunteer for this mission or were you ordered to take it upon yourself?”

She made a derisive noise. “What do you think? No one in their free mind would do something like this. Everybody knows what happened to the Chakans.” She paused, seemed to be waiting for a response. “Well? Are you going to kill me?”

“Oh, I think not.” Heath beamed down at her. “Not as long as you cooperate.”

“What’s your name, dear?” Gelmann asked her.

“Zabela Ashili. Do you want my rank and ident number as well?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Quite a pretty child, Gelmann thought privately. “Can you stand?”

“I know I can stand. I just don’t want to, if you don’t mind.” She began to absorb her surroundings more thoroughly. “What is this place?”

“We’re not sure. Perhaps it was some kind of recreation area for the crew, or simply an oversize kinetic sculpture. We haven’t worried about it.”

“Incredible. Speaking of the crew …” She looked around as she felt of her forehead.

“There is no crew.” Shimoda was studying her thoughtfully.

“But you were overheard talking to something on board.”

“The Autothor.” Iranaputra beckoned to the blue ellipse. The young woman flinched at its initial approach, but when she saw how indifferent the oldsters were to its presence, she relaxed. “It is some kind of command and communications device. Since we cannot see very far into it, we cannot tell if it is a physicality or simply organized energy. Needless to say, none of us is very knowledgeable in such matters.”

“It only listens to us, so don’t get any funny ideas,” Hawkins warned her.

She made a face. “How could I get any ‘funny ideas’? There’s five of you and only one of me, you’re all bigger than me, I’m unarmed, I have no idea what you can make that thing do”—she indicated the silent Autothor—”and I’m pretty badly banged up. The only ‘funny idea’ is the thought that I could have any funny ideas. I could do with a good laugh, except I hurt too much. I’m just glad to be alive.”

“That’s good, dear.” Gelmann indicated her companions. “Because Wesley is a trained military man” (after a moment’s surprise Heath straightened officiously) “and Mr. Shimoda is very good at sumo.”

“You don’t have to threaten me.” Ashili spoke crossly as she tested her right knee. “I was just sent here to gather information.”

“Well, you’re certainly gathering it.” Gelmann smiled down at her. “Eventually I guess we’ll let you take it back with you.”

“How did I get here anyway?”

“The Autothor brought your ship aboard and winkled you out of what was left of it. At our direction, of course,” Iranaputra reminded her. “What happened to you out there?”

“Drive malfunction. Ship they gave me was supposed to be self-diagnosing and self-repairing, except that the AI dysynapsed and that was that. I was losing air so fast I barely had time to scramble into a suit.”

“That’s tough.” Hawkins leaned toward her. “Sure you don’t want to stand up?”

“I think I’d better sit for a while yet. But I’d give a year’s pay for a glass of water.”

Iranaputra’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, we can do better than that.” He turned to the Autothor. “A selection of cold drinks, please.”

A few minutes later the familiar high-speed serving platform arrived, laden with a glistening assortment of synthesized chilled refreshments.

Their new guest gaped at the display. “That’s the most astonishing thing I’ve ever seen outside this ship itself. It just responds to your verbal requests?”

“So far,” Heath admitted. “I do believe it’s becoming rather fond of us.”

Delicately she sampled the taste of a tall tumbler full of pale red fluid. Her eyes brightened and she quickly downed the contents entire, putting the empty container aside with a sigh.

“I was the lowest ranking qualified,” she informed them without prompting as she browsed among the other glasses. “They didn’t give me any choice.”

“I know how that is.” Hawkins let out a heartfelt sigh of his own.

“You’re all being awfully nice to me,” she purred. Iranaputra thought her winsome smile radiant.

“It’s not like you attacked us, young lady,” Heath harrumphed. “Not like those bellicose Chakans. Now, then: What world are you from?”

She beamed at him. “Yemanja.”

“Never been there, what?”

“It’s the Candomblean water world. Not much population, but very pretty.” Her expression sank. “I don’t imagine I’ll ever see it again.”

“Don’t talk like that,” said Shimoda. “If your people won’t take you back, we’ll see about making other arrangements for you.”

“As I said, you’re very kind.” She favored Shimoda with a smile so lustrous he tried to suck in his colossal belly somewhat, a disruption of physical reality akin to reversing entropy.