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Brooks was surprised to hear the name of the famous archaeologist, turning again to see the man as he approached.

Farland’s face was weathered, his bright blue eyes set in a rough, handsome face.

The man was famous throughout known space; the Dr. Farland who had found the ruins of lost civilization on Tenoch VII, rescued lost relics from rapacious hoarders in border space – and a thousand other tales too tall to believe.

Yet, here in the flesh, Brooks found himself believing that the man could have pulled them off.

“Captain-Mayor Brooks,” Farland said, regarding him in such a commonplace way that Brooks found it refreshing.

Brooks offered a hand, getting a firm grip in return.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Captain,” Farland said.

“And I about you,” Brooks replied.  “Though stories, in any case, often have only a grain of truth to them – good or not.”

The man nodded, and glanced to Xatier.  “Romon,” he said.  He sounded sour.

“We meet again, old friend,” Romon said with a sneer.  “Only this time there is no bad blood between us, I hope?”

At Brooks’s quizzical look, Farland elaborated.  “Romon Xatier was the intended recipient of a great deal of antiques that had gone missing from a dig site on Xiphos.  I helped make sure they ended up in a museum instead of his private collection.”

“I was as surprised as anyone to learn they were stolen, of course,” Romon replied, his mocking smile making clear the lie.  “And I am most grateful to Dr. Farland for setting the matter straight.”

Brooks nodded, but then Romon continued.

“Captain, you’ve been to Xiphos before, haven’t you?”

Brooks froze for a moment as he realized the trap.

He turned again fully to Romon.  “That’s right,” he said.

“And what was the work you were in at that time?  I believe you were a . . . freelance purveyor of goods, yes?”

Brooks could feel the glare and shock from Dr. Farland on the back of his head.

“You don’t need to sugarcoat it,” Brooks said calmly.  “I was a smuggler there, long before I joined the Union Voidfleet.  I made two runs to the planet as first officer of an expedition to find lost artifacts to sell on the black market.”

He turned to look at Farland.  “We have an unfortunate connection then.  Though I’m glad I never encountered you or anyone else – I wouldn’t have wanted to fight for thieving from a dead civilization.”

Brooks felt a strange calmness within as the trap closed.  Perhaps Romon had thought to upset him, and he had certainly managed to make Farland angry; the accusing glare from the man said more than words.

“I didn’t figure the Union would hire grave robbers,” Farland said.  “I guess I rated them too highly.”

“They didn’t ask and I didn’t tell.  But I am not going to beg for forgiveness, anyway.  The civilization there are all dead – there was no one to suffer the indignity of having their culture stolen from their hands.”

“Do you think robbing those tombs is justified by the fact that they’re gone?” Farland demanded.

“I think that I, and the others with me, needed the money, and that was one of the few options we had that didn’t involve hurting anyone living,” Brooks replied.

“Fattening your pockets, huh?  Well, hell of a thing to be proud of.”

Brooks finally felt his anger rise.  “You say that as if people only ever need money for the wrong reasons.  That was not our situation at all – it’s not the situation of most people out here.  We needed money to simply live, and thanks to the greed of people like Mr. Xatier here, honest work did not provide that.  So when it comes to a choice between my people starving or robbing the dead – I would make that choice again without hesitation.”

He saw the fist coming, but did nothing to avoid it.  Farland’s punch hit his jaw like a freight train, and Brooks saw stars, stumbling.  Gasps and a single cry came from the crowd as people saw the attack, but Brooks did not fall.  Standing back upright, he met the man’s eyes.

“I’ll give you that one, Doctor,” Brooks said calmly.  “But if you try another then you’ll have to earn it.”

A woman came hurrying up.  She was beautiful, notably younger than any of the three, and she put a hand on Farland.  “Nade, what’s going on?” she asked.

Farland was still glaring at Brooks, and Brooks kept his gaze locked with the man, feeling that his anger had evaporated.

He was not proud of everything in his past, but he could not change it, either.  And he’d had good reasons for what he did.

“It’s nothing,” Farland said, turning away.  He let the young woman lead him off, her fussing while he said something that made her smile – though concern remained in her eyes.

“This evening has gotten more interesting than I anticipated,” Romon said, smirking still.

Brooks looked at him like the vermin he was.  Movement past him caught his eye, however, and he looked past Romon to see the Qlerning playwright, Klezul Hoshe, approaching.

Qlerning expressions were often very hard for a human to read, but the concern of the alien seemed quite obvious.

“Are you all right, Captain-Mayor Brooks?” the being asked.  “I saw Dr. Farland assault you . . .”

“Just a minor disagreement,” Brooks said with a smile.  “Nothing to concern yourself about.  But I am pleased to get a chance to speak with you, Master Playwright.”

The Qlerning bowed humbly.  “As I am to speak with one of your reputation.”  The being leaned closer and spoke in a whisper.  “These Gohhians are insufferable . . . walk with me, we can do each other a favor.”

Brooks grinned, for the first time the night not feeling an outcast.  “I’d be glad to.”

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