ing the starlanes, not perpetually hopping back and forth
between two planets in the same solar system.
They did not belong on a simple mail run, either. They
had been glad enough to take it in the need of the moment
and had done better than might have been expected with
it, but profits were small, and the work brought little satis-
faction. It was time and past time for them to return to
Trade as they knew it, with all its hardships and with the
chimera of either fabulous fortune or sudden, maybe highly
unpleasant death shimmering over every voyage. If they
were forced to accept another long mail contract because
they could not dispose of their sister ship, it could be the
ruin of them as a crew, a team, but if the careful feelers he
and Van Rycke were sending out failed to pull in a buyer,
they would have no other option. Better that than be un-
able to meet their port fees and have to turn miners in order
to keep body and soul together.
His spirits lightened abruptly when his attention shifted
for a moment to the Cargo-Master. Van Rycke was not quite
whistling, but there was a distinct air of triumph about
him.
The big man felt his gaze and met it. His brows, white-
blond like his thinning hair, lifted. "Something on your
mind, Captain?"
"Just wondering about what's on yours. You look like
you've just found a fistful of sunstones in a bag of salt."
The other chuckled. "Nothing quite that dramatic, but I
12 Andre Norton &P.M. Griffin
might be able to add a bright line or two to our catalog of
prospects."
"Spill it, then," Jellico snapped. Far be it from him to
begrudge his friend the pleasure of dazzling them all with
yet another of his miracles, but when the welfare of his
ship was concerned, he preferred to be kept informed . . .
Van Rycke's eyes sparkled. "In due time. Captain." He
sobered immediately. "We have a potential buyer for the
Wrack."
"What! ч Why in space . . ."
