Tann Nakitt was smoking his calabash in the lounge.  It wasn't something that was allowed in that area, but the little weasel-like Geldorian had been doing it regularly and nobody had registered an objection.  There was a certain built-in threat the creature radiated, particularly when he thought he wasn't going to like what you were going to say.  Those beady eyes would light up as if on fire, and the multiple rows of sharp teeth behind the suddenly revealed fangs made one give pause before pressing a point.

Angel hated the smell the pipe gave off, and how it seemed to permeate everything around, but she had been trained by her sisterhood to tune out that which was personally offensive.  You never knew who you might have to live and work around, or where.

She did not, however, feel particularly threatened by the Geldorian.  Much of that spectacular facial stuff was for show, to avoid fights, since Geldorians were, after all, rather soft and vulnerable.  Also, she'd managed to use the ship's references to determine exactly how such a creature attacked if provoked, and was pretty sure she could handle him.  The real threat was in the venom; if it got into the bloodstream it would knock most warm-blooded oxygen breathers cold; Terrans and a few other races had a worse reaction - they'd regain consciousness and agreeably do whatever a Geldorian asked them to do.  The Geldorian venom had a knack for adapting to whatever form it was inside of, at least until the host rejected it.  So she knew to hold one by the neck and not let it bite.

But she didn't know if she should handle him; after all this time most of the passengers were easy to categorize, but not this one.  He didn't seem anxious to socialize with anybody, and he did not volunteer information.

She decided he couldn't be placed on the shelf any longer.  Time was running out, and moves would be made by one side or the other.

Nakitt saw her coming right to him, and in his usual knee-jerk, pissed-off reaction, his eyes lit up and his teeth came out while he held his pipe in his hand.  Almost immediatly, though, he turned the display off, sensing that this strange, hairless Terran female felt no fear of him at all.  That bothered Tann Nakitt; he was used to making everybody else nervous.  It was more than a defensive posture - it was his hobby.

"We have to talk," Angel said firmly, standing and facing him as he lounged on an ottoman.

Tann Nakitt took a drag and blew thick yellow smoke up and toward her face.  "No we don't," he responded.

She looked around.  There was nobody in the immediate area, certainly nobody paying attention to them or within conspicuous earshot.  "You are wrong.  I believe that if we do not have a talk, then there is almost no way you can survive the next full day."

The needle-nosed snout came up, but he didn't betray any emotion.  "Are you threatening me?"

"Yes."

He took another drag on the pipe, sensing that the smoke irritated her.  "I thought you were some kind of priestess or something.  I didn't think your type fought battles.  They just exhorted the gods and spirits to stir up other folks to go off and fight holy wars."

The insult had the opposite effect of what he'd intended.  She seemed more amused than upset by it.