Sweet Starfire

an intellectual debate. And it was even better, she was discovering, when conducted over a mug of ale. “The glitterbugs mutate in an effort to reestablish the basic harmony humans have destroyed with pesticides.”
    “Nonsense. The mutation occurs as a means of adaptation in an effort to continue exploiting and conquering. If glitterbugs had a brain and a set of vocal cords, they’d tell you they could care less about harmony. They’re out to take over as much of the world as they can get. Just like everything else that’s really viable.”
    “But philosophically that’s an approach that leads to a constant state of imbalance, even warfare among various life forms.
    It is a destructive theory and leads to a destructive methodology of exploration.”
    “Maybe that’s why Harmonics don’t visit Renaissance very often. They can’t quite approve of the way we’re attacking the planet. The principles of company exploration don’t follow the principles of the Klinian Laws. The folks back in Clementia are hungry for new knowledge, but getting it sometimes conflicts with their basic beliefs.”
    “It can be an uncomfortable quandary,” Cidra explained diffidently.
    “You bet your Book of Ritual it can.”
    Cidra smiled. “You’ve studied it?”
    “Had to a long time ago.” Desma chuckled. “My husband, Fence, and I were married in a full-scale Harmonic High Ritual wedding ceremony. Well, almost full-scale. We did skip the two hours of meditation and telepathic communion that’s supposed to take place in the middle. The guests would have been bored stiff during the meditation, and nobody present was telepathic.”
    “It’s a very beautiful ceremony,” Cidra said softly, knowing many non-Harmonics used it to lend solemnity and ritual to the nuptials.
    “It’s supposed to be a lucky way to start marriage, and I guess it’s worked so far for us. I’m still married to the man, although he can be a pain in the rump on occasion.”
    “Luck? There’s no luck involved in a High Ritual ceremony! It’s a matter of philosophy and focusing, not luck.”
    Desma grinned. “Another matter of adaptation. Wolves use the ceremony because they think it’s lucky, among other things.”
    “That’s a terrible misunderstanding of the underlying philosophy of the ceremony,” Cidra protested.
    “Ummm.” But Desma was no longer paying any attention to her companion. She was gazing with narrowed eyes at a man who was levering himself away from the bar and starting toward the table occupied by the two women. “Speaking of unharmonious principles,” Desma murmured, “did Severance ever tell you he once had a partner?”
    “You mean his brother?”
    “No. A man named Racer.”
    Cidra frowned thoughtfully and turned to glance at the man in a khaki ship suit who was weaving his way through the crowd. “Severance mentioned something about a partnership that was dissolved some time back. He didn’t talk much about it or about the other man.”
    “Hardly surprising. The two of them hate each other’s guts.” Desma leaned forward conspiratorially. “Do me a favor. If Severance ever asks what you did or who you met this evening, don’t mention Racer.”
    Cidra wrinkled her brow. “You want me to lie to him?”
    “You will if you’re at all interested in maintaining any semblance of harmony in the universe.” Desma broke off with a superficial smile as the man halted beside the table. “Hello, Racer. I didn’t know you were in port.”
    “Life,” said Cord Racer, looking down at Cidra, “is just one renegade’s surprise after another.”
    Severance stepped out onto the tough membrane that served as pavement on the streets of Try Again. Behind him the door panel of the building mat had once housed the offices of ExcellEx snapped shut to the accompanying hiss of the antibug deflector screens. Severance wished that the local ExcellEx rep were a bug. He’d like to see him sizzled by the screen’s electronic impulses. Damn Quench, and damn the whole fast-moving ExcellEx corporation.
    Severance kept to the side of the street although it wasn’t difficult to dodge the few runners and sleds that were zipping from one end of town to the other. Try Again was not big enough to warrant a lot of vehicular traffic. Most people walked from one point to the other.
    Above him the night sky proudly displayed Renaissance’s twin moons, Borgia and Medici. A record of the words had survived the colony ship’s crash