him the gift of herself for a long night of lovemaking, yet another one of life's sacred pleasures he'd had to go without on the long voyage.
"Bridge to Captain B'Kah." His engineer appeared on the viewscreen positioned near the soundproofed ceiling.
Rom rubbed his head with a towel, then draped it over his shoulders, combing his fingers through his damp, spiky hair. "Go, Terz."
"Fleet Commander Lahdo is on the line, sir."
Rom exchanged surprised glances with Gann. "Mr. Composure, himself," he said under his breath. "Put the commander through, Terz."
Lahdo appeared on-screen, looking harried but triumphant. "Earth has cleared us to land."
"Well done, Lahdo, on keeping the Earth astronauts happy and healthy. Am I correct in assuming the quarantine experts on their homeworld have concluded we won't infect the general population?"
Lahdo's face fell. "No. Until an establishment they call the Center for Disease Control completes its final study, we will be placed in quarantine. A restricted area designated"—Lahdo squinted at a viewscreen on his wristband—"Andrews Air Force Base."
"Andrews ..." Rom committed the odd-sounding name to memory.
"I will forward the coordinates," Lahdo continued. "Earth's astronauts will pilot the lead vessel, the class-three ship I gave to them. I want you to move into position and follow the fleet." He thrust out his chin. "Now remember, B'Kah, I expect nothing short of full compliance from your ship and crew."
Rom lifted his palms and smiled reassuringly. "No worries, Commander. No worries. You can depend on us to do our part."
The viewscreen went blank, and Rom whooped heartily. "Frontier time!" Lighthearted for the first time in— by all the heavens, he'd lost count how long—he snapped his towel against his friend's solid back. "All right, Gann, let's find ourselves a nice bit of cargo while we're there. I'm in a profit-making mood."
* * *
Jas slid onto a bench seat next to Dan Brady, making sure she had a clear view of the big-screen television in his microbrewery, a side business he operated out of sheer entrepreneurial enjoyment. Fortifying herself with a swallow of beer, she watched a replay of the arrival of eleven huge but sleek delta-shaped spacecraft. Trailing whirling ribbons of condensation, they floated out of the sky like exotic petals, settling onto an unused runway
of Andrews Air Force Base, the installation near Washington, D.C., that housed Air Force One. Even the smallest interstellar vessel was larger than a 747 airliner, but the command ship Lucre was said to be as big as five U.S. Navy aircraft carriers. It had stayed behind in an orbit around Earth because no one had been able to figure out where to put it. "This is incredible— spectacular," she said, vainly searching for words worthy of the event.
Abruptly the scene changed to an aerial view of the highways in and out of Maryland, backed up for miles in each direction. Tens of thousands of people were fleeing what they called an alien invasion, but an even greater number were flocking to get a glimpse of the spacecraft. "And that's chaos," she said to Dan out the corner of her mouth.
"I pictured worse, considering how fast this was approved."
Two months of worldwide protests, bureaucratic snarls, misunderstandings, and emergency orders had ended abruptly in a unanimous invitation extended to the Vash. The decision had rocked the planet. "Our backs were to the wall; only idiots would risk losing a light-speed starship and the cure for cancer."
Dan's eyes lit up. "The Vash knew that from the start. I doubt we're the first technologically inferior planet they've 'discovered.' They understand the power of gifts."
Thoughtful, Jas tucked her jean-clad legs beneath her. "A ship and some shared medical tech—small potatoes compared to the minerals they claim permeate the asteroids between Mars and Jupiter." The rights to which the