“It’s all right. Fred and I aren’t overly sensitive to a little sweat. We’ve learned to take things in stride. I’m sure mat after a couple of days we’ll all be accustomed to each other.”

Cidra was appalled. “I can’t possibly go four days without a bath. You have to do something, Severance.”

“Such as?”

“Such as fix the spray! You keep telling me you’re the one in charge around here. Well, here’s your chance to prove it.”

He leaned against the bulkhead, arms crossed, and considered the situation. “What’s in it for me?”

“A clean passenger.”

“I was thinking of something a little more useful.”

She eyed him warily. “What do you want?”

“A kiss from my passenger.”

Cidra blinked in astonishment. “That’s all you want in exchange for fixing the spray?”

“Do we have a deal?”

“Maybe you can’t fix it. Maybe that’s why you’re teasing me like this.”

“A deal?” he persisted.

“Can you fix it?” she countered.

“Lady, I may not have your education, but I’m good with my hands. In a situation this critical, a few practical manual skills are a hell of a lot more important than a headful of fancy Harmonic philosophy.”

She smiled winningly up at him. “I have great respect for knowledge of any kind.”

“A deal?”

Cidra nodded once, very firmly. “A deal.” Severance straightened away from the wall. “Stand aside.” He had the spray working twenty minutes later. Cidra was elated. “You’re a magician, Teague Severance. Where did you learn such skills?”

He activated the spray experimentally to make sure it was now functioning properly. “Here and there,” he said vaguely.

“I’ve always had a knack for keeping machinery running. Comes in useful on Renaissance.”

“On Renaissance?”

“Yeah. That planet’s hell on machinery. The heat and humidity are enough to cause problems on their own, but there are also a whole bunch of corrosive plants and soil materials. A good mechanic can name his own price on Renaissance. Stuff is always breaking down.”

“Were you a mechanic for a while?”

“I told you. I spent a year as a bonus man.” He gave her a brief, hard smile.

“A bonus man is a mechanic?” she asked.

“In a way. He does whatever he gets paid to do.” He stepped back. “Your spray awaits, Otanna.”

“Thank you, Severance.” She hesitated and then quickly moved close to him. Balancing on her toes, she braced herself against his shoulders and brushed his mouth with her own.

Cidra had disappeared into the lav before Severance could catch hold of her and claim a more thorough kiss. He stood staring at the closed lav panel and tried to tell himself that it was just as well. No sense fueling the ache in his gut.

But a part of him didn’t buy that logic for a minute.

Chapter Seven

Cidra’s first impression of Renaissance was that it was too green. As the planet had filled the observation port during Severance Pay’s approach, some of that endless green had been broken up by the blue expanse of oceans. But once the ship had touched down, there was little to interfere with the sensation of endlessly lush, dark foliage, stretching forever in all directions.

Port Try Again was merely a drop of nongreen plunked down into the limitless jungle at the mouth of a major river. It would surely vanish at once if its human builders and maintainers ever departed. The jungle looked fully capable of washing over the pitifully frail-looking structures of gleaming triaton and diazite, gobbling up everything in its path and closing up the small wound. The tough triaton was an alloy formed from elemental metals wrested from the small polar regions of the planet. It had proven to be one of the few building materials capable of withstanding the corroding effects of the jungle. Its discovery had been a boon to company exploration teams, saving the firms the cost of importing heavy, expensive materials.

Try Again hardly seemed the major port city of a planet, Cidra decided as Severance Pay settled onto the landing strip. It was a small, shaggy boom town, the one place on Renaissance where employees of the highly competitive exploration and development companies supposedly mingled without risk of hostility or outright violence. Renaissance was a tough world, and the people imported by the companies to tame it had a reputation that matched the planet’s in many respects. Port Try Again had very few written laws but several unwritten ones. Among them was the understanding that the representatives of the different companies would coexist peacefully while in town. Chief among the written laws was that the town was the one place on the planet where it was illegal to carry a pulser. Outside the gates the sidearm was a familiar sight.

Everyone needed the clearing in the jungle that was Try Again. It was the point of shipping and receiving for the planet, a supply depot, a place where people could relax in safety. The town had been hacked out along the banks of the wide, silty river that offered a green-walled highway into the vast depths.

But even before Cidra had begun to take this all in, she noticed that there was something wrong with the air of Renaissance.

“You’ll get used to it,” Severance told her.

“It’s like breathing soup!” It wasn’t that bad, Cidra admonished herself as she followed Severance toward the terminal buildings. But the still, heavy muggy ness was a drastic change from the clean, crisp air of Port Valentine and an even greater change from the perfumed gardens of Clementia. With a sense of dismay she realized that the fine fabric of her formal midday surplice was already damp and clinging. The light, gossamer, green material seemed suddenly to have acquired a different texture. Green had been the wrong color to wear, anyway, she decided. There was far too much of it around.

She put the condition of her clothing out of her mind in favor of concentrating on the new and strange surroundings. In spite of the thick heat and the unrelenting backdrop of jungle, she felt a rush of anticipation. Renaissance was the first stop on her journey of discovery. Her quest had begun in earnest. “Stay in sight while I arrange to have the cargo put in time-lock storage. I’m going to be busy, and I don’t want to have to waste time wondering where you are.” Severance gave the order somewhat absently as he led her into the air-conditioned terminal building.

Cidra didn’t bother to acknowledge the instructions. She was too occupied with observing the jumble of people and luggage surrounding her. A commercial freighter had recently arrived, and the new load of mostly company employees was a mixed lot. The majority were wearing the distinctive uniforms that identified their employers on sight. Here and there amid the spiffy, dashing uniforms was a ship suit of dull gray or brown, similar to the one Severance wore. Independent pilots or a temporarily unemployed worker looking for a job, Cidra deduced. There were plenty of high-paying jobs to be had on Renaissance if a person was willing to work.