He shuddered.

"I'm sorry, Sheen," he said slowly. "I truly am. But—"

"But you're not going to leave us the full fee," she said sourly.

"Damn it, I don't make the rules. I've a treeful of supplies up there; I'm ready to give you what I get back in iron, at the agreed exchange rate."

She hissed through clenched teeth, her eyes fixed on her drink. "Pallis, I hate to beg. You've no idea how much I hate to beg. But we need those supplies. We've got sewage coming out of our spigots; we've got sick and dying—"

He gulped down the last of his drink. "Leave it, Sheen," he said, more harshly than he'd intended.

She raised her head and fixed him with eyes reduced to slits. "You need our metal, Raft man. Don't forget that."

He took a deep breath. "Sheen, we've another source. You know that. The early Crew found two star kernels in neat circular orbits around the Core—"

She laughed quietly. "And you know the other mine isn't producing any more. Is it, Pallis? We don't know what happened to it, yet, but we've picked up that much. So let's not play games."

Shame rose like a bubble inside him; he felt his face redden and he imagined his scars emerging as a livid net. So they knew. At least, he reflected gloomily, at least we evacuated the Nebula's only other mine when that star fell too close. At least we were honorable enough for that. Although not honorable enough to avoid lying about all that pain in order to keep our advantage over these people—

"Sheen, we're getting nowhere. I'm just doing my job, and this is out of iny control." He handed back his drink globe. "You have a shift to decide whether to accept my terms. Then I leave regardless. And — look, Sheen, just remember something. We can recycle our iron a hell of a lot easier than you can recycle your food and water."

She studied him dispassionately. "I hope they suck on your bones, Raft man."