APPOINTMENT AT BLOODSTAR

Volume five of The classic Family d'Alembert series

By E.E. 'Doc' Smith

With Stephen Goldin

CHAPTER 1

The Thousand-Point Test

The man stood in the darkened room, nervously awaiting the events to come. His

compact body, product of a high-gravity world, was clad in a skintight bodysuit that

allowed maximum freedom of movement. He had spent the past four months preparing

for this moment, and now all his acquired knowledge would be put to the ultimate test.

For better or worse, the outcome of this trial would affect the rest of his career. His lips

were dry, no matter how often he extended his tongue to moisten them.

Suddenly a bright light shone straight into his eyes. Even as he blinked, some instinct

told him he was an easy target standing up in the glare. Without even knowing where

he was going, he crouched and sprang forward in the direction of the light. As he did so,

he heard the buzzing sound of a stun-gun, but felt none of the effects. Had he remained

where he was, the test would have been over the instant it had begun.

Now that he was moving, he realized that his only hope of passing was to remain in

motion. There would be more traps ahead to overcome, and he dared not slow down to

let them reach him. Safety, he had been taught, lay in speed. But not blind speed; his

reflexes had to be in complete linkage with his brain to achieve the finesse that many

delicate situations required. He had to think as he moved, so that thought and deed

could be accomplished as close to simultaneously as possible.

He knew of only one thing in this darkness besides himself-the light that was still

shining almost directly into his eyes. As long as that light was on him he would be in

constant danger. It made sense, therefore, to move toward the light and put it out of

commission before the stun-gun's owner put him out of commission.

His leap forward brought him down on his right shoulder. He rolled as he'd been taught

and came up in a low crouch, prepared to move again. He took a few quick steps to his

right, then zigzagged back to his left. The short buzzes of the stunner kept sounding

out, proving that he was far from home free; but by keeping his movements in a random

pattern, he rendered his would-be destroyer unable to hit him.

The light was much closer now. One more small leap took him to a point just beside it.

It turned out to be a small spotlight some thirty centimeters in diameter. Lifting his foot

in an arc that would have made a ballet dancer jealous, he gave the bulb a vicious kick.

The plastic covering shattered and the light burned out instantly, leaving him once more

in darkness broken only by the blue spot before his eyes, the afterimage of the

spotlight.

The sound of the stunner ceased with the extinguishing of the light. The man on trial

moved away from the spotlight once more and paused for a few deep breaths, waiting

for the next development. He did not have to wait long.

Lights came on all around him-not the blinding glare of a spotlight, but a diffuse glow

that illuminated all the surroundings. The man blinked and looked suspiciously around.

To his left, the room he had just traversed in order to reach the spotlight was still dark.

Before him was a corridor three meters wide and about forty long; at the far end was a

doorway to another room. The walls on either side of the corridor were six meters high

too tall for him to jump over even in this gravity that was forty percent of what he

considered normal. There were only two directions in which he could move: either back

the way he had come or down this new corridor.

The decision was made for him by a blaster bolt that sizzled the air and burned into the

ground at his feet. It came out of the blackness he had just left; flying into the face of

that kind of armament when another course presented itself would be tantamount to

suicide. Without hesitation, the man chose to proceed down the corridor.

This path was scarcely safe either, though. He had hardly begun down it when he found

objects springing up in his way. First a pile of boxes rose from the floor, completely

blocking the path. There was no way to go around them, so he began climbing over the

pile. To complicate matters still further, light beams seared out at him. They were

intended to simulate blaster bolts, and the man got the message instantly. There was to

be no tarrying in this corridor, either.

His climb became a scramble as he finally reached the top of the pile of boxes. Not

standing on ceremony, he jumped down to the ground again, narrowly missing the row

of sharp knives that sprang up from the ground just as he leaped. More of the light

beams were firing at him, making realistic crackling sounds as they passed by.

He ran at top speed, his eyes surveying the path before him in a series of darting

glances. He'd gone nearly ten meters without further incident when he noticed that one

patch of flooring was a slightly different color than the rest. In midstride just before he

reached it, his back foot kicked out, lifting him in an off-balance leap over the one-meter

patch of discoloration. He landed awkwardly on the other side, scrambled to his feet,

and continued on before the light beams had a chance to zero in on him. In one

desperate dash he made it the rest of the way down the corridor and turned to the right

through the doorway into the next room.

Without warning he felt the ground go out from under him. As he fell, he hit water with

an enormous splash. He submerged for an instant, then came up gasping for air. The

water was icy, a cold shock to his tensed nervous system. It left a briny taste on his

tongue and stung his eyes as he tried to look around and get his bearings in this new

environment.

The room was dimmer than the corridor had been, but still had light enough to see by.

The door through which he had entered had slid automatically shut, and the ceiling had

lowered to just half a meter above the surface of the water, barely room for him to lift

his head and breathe. The walls were perfectly smooth, without a break or a handhold

in them. There was no sign of an exit anywhere.

The man continued treading water as he puzzled out this dilemma. There had to be

some way out of here; if it wasn't above water, then it must be below. Taking a deep

breath, he dipped below the surface to search for the exit.

The salt water stung his eyes, so he had to proceed by feel. The room was small,

basically a cube three meters on a side, and all but filled with water. But the water could

not occur here naturally; it had to come in from somewhere. He searched with his

fingers for the vent.

There! His hands had been passing over the smooth surface of the walls when

suddenly they encountered an empty space. Taking his time to explore the opening

fully, he ran his fingers around the edge. The hole was not quite a meter wide and less

than half of that high. It would be a tight squeeze, but he could manage to get out of

there. He surfaced once more for a gasp of air, then dived and pushed himself through

the opening.

At first, this narrow passageway continued level, and he despaired of its going

anywhere; but, after a couple of meters, it started sloping upward. Finally his head

broke the surface once more and he could breathe sweet, fresh air. Feeling both

mentally and physically exhausted, he dragged himself up the ramp onto a dry floor,

dreading whatever ordeal might be next in store for him.

There was only one door in the room, twenty meters away; unless he chose to return to

the water he would have to go through it. With a sigh he set out but, though the room

was bare of furnishings, it was not as easy to cross as it first appeared.

An ultragrav unit had been planted under the floor, causing a gravity gradient as he

approached the door. Where he had emerged from the water the force was only one

Earth gravity, but it rose quickly as he moved. Within only a couple of meters it was up

to two and a half gravities. That in itself would not have been too bad, because that was

the gravitational strength on his own native world; but it went up still further as he

progressed. Within another few meters it was up to five gees, and the doorway looked

no nearer than it had before.

He felt as though he had a twin brother riding on his back. Coming on top of all his

previous exertions, this was torture. Keeping his head up was a major effort; moving his

limbs was a near miracle. He moved with a relentless determination to reach the portal.

Once there, he was sure, the ultragrav would shut off and he would return to Earth

standard gravity. He didn't care what other traps might await him there; they couldn't be

any worse than this.

Still the gravity increased, and he sank slowly to his knees to crawl forward. Although

the floor looked perfectly level, it felt uphill all the way.

At seven gravities his eyes were refusing to focus. He continued forward out of habit

and willpower rather than by any conscious plan. Even holding himself up on his hands

and knees seemed too much of an effort. He slid down on his belly and pulled himself

along. Sometimes he felt he was barely making any progress at all, but he did move

forward, however slowly.

After a dozen eons the force on his body suddenly eased. Startled, he looked around

and found that he had passed through the doorway into a well-lit room. There were two

chairs and a desk there. The desktop was littered with papers. Before him stood his

teacher, George Wilson, in a clean uniform, looking down on him with a smile on his

face.

"Congratulations," Wilson said. "You seem to have made it in relatively one piece." He

extended a hand to the man's prostrate form. "Would you like some help up?"

"No, thanks. I can manage." The testee pulled himself shakily to his feet and, at his

teacher's nod, walked over to one of the chairs and sat down.

Wilson took the other chair and started shuffling through the papers. "Now for the

evaluation," he said. "You didn't do too badly, actually. You made very good time

against the spotlight. You were a bit clumsy jumping over the electrified plate in lap two,

but results are more important than form in something like that. You were quick to find

your way out of the water chamber, and you had the stamina to pull your way through

the grav room. Which leaves only..."

And before he had said another word he was pulling a blaster from a concealed holster.

He was still smiling, but now the smile seemed cold and heartless. Wilson would have

loved nothing better than to direct a blaster beam straight through his student's heart.

Tired though he was, the testee reacted to this new and totally unexpected threat. All

through his training, his teachers had warned him against complacency. "Expect

anything at any time," they told him. "In our business, you won't go far wrong that way."

From a totally relaxed position, the testee quickly pushed his chair backwards and slid

under the desk. Arching his back upwards, he lifted the entire desk off the floor and

slammed it into his instructor. Wilson was prepared for the trouble and knew how to fall.

The blaster flew from his hand and landed on the far side of the room. Both men

scrambled for it, but the student got there first. Picking up the weapon, he aimed it

squarely at his teacher. "Khorosho," he said between pants, "maybe now you'll tell me

what's going on."

In the control center, a host of technicians kept a careful watch on the events of the

test, making sure everything started when it should and that nothing, no matter how

dangerous it seemed, would cause any serious harm to the participant. The purpose

was not to kill him, but to discover exactly what his capabilities were in field action. The

Service of the Empire had to know what its agents could do before it sent them out on

their assignments. With the safety and security of the entire Empire at stake, it could

hardly afford any miscalculations.

Overlooking the rows of technicians monitoring their instruments was a VIP booth,

where special visitors could also witness the proceedings. At present there were three

very interested spectators: two women and a man.

One of the women was a tall, slender aristocrat with long black hair and a handsome

face. Helena von Wilmenhorst was the daughter of, and chief assistant to, the Head of

the Service of the Empire. Despite the fact that she was only twenty-one years old, she

was rapidly maturing into one of the most capable planners and administrators the

Service had ever seen, thanks to the able tutelage of her father. Helena owed her life to

the man now being tested, and no power in the universe would have kept her away

from observing his final tests.

The other two people in the booth were similarly indebted to the young man and

likewise had a great deal of interest in the outcome. Jules and Yvette d'Alembert, the

brother-sister team from the heavy gravity planet DesPlaines, were the top two agents

in SOTE's mighty arsenal. Not only were they naturally strong and quick, as people

from high-grav worlds tended to be, but they'd had a rigorous training almost from the

moment of their births that few people in the galaxy were privileged to undergo. The

d'Alembert family were the owners of, and principal performers in, the Circus of the

Galaxy.

In addition to being the top entertainment attraction on any planet it played, the Circus

bad another function: almost since its inception centuries ago, it had been the

ultra-top-secret right arm of SOTE. Jules and Yvette had been the star aerialists for

years before leaving to move up to their true jobs as agents of the Emperor.

They did not look physically imposing. Jules d'Alembert stood only a hundred and

seventy-three centimeters tall, though he massed a respectable hundred kilograms; his

sister Yvette was ten centimeters shorter and thirty kilos lighter. But the two of them

were in a more superb condition, both mentally and physically, than any mere mortal

had a right to expect. On the thousand point test, Jules was the only person living to

have scored a perfect thousand. Yvette was only an eyelash behind him at 999.

Now they watched eagerly as their friend, Pias Bavol, went through the final stages of

that same test. Although they had met him less than five months ago, the young man

had won their friendship and, indeed, saved their lives in a couple of situations on their

last assignment. Though he had not had the lifetime background in undercover work

that they had, he showed such a proclivity for it that induction into the Service was a

logical result. The fact that he and Yvette had fallen in love and were going to be

married made it necessary as well.

The three spectators watched anxiously on their trivision monitors as Pias Bavol began

his ordeal. Each of the three had undergone this on his own, and knew exactly how

harrowing it could be. There was no passing or failing mark on the thousand-point test,

particularly this final section. Pias Bavol had already done well enough on the written

and aptitude tests to qualify for a good job with the Service. This test, though, would be

crucial to his ultimate placement. If he ranked low in field skills, he would be assigned to

some less demanding job in administration. Only the select few who could handle

themselves well under such arduous conditions could be allowed to undertake field

assignments that might put their lives in peril.

Helena laid a hand gently on Yvette's shoulder. "I hope he makes it," she said. "I know

you'd like to have him working with you in the field rather than staying at a desk job

while you go out on assignments."

Yvette nodded. "He'll be smooth, I'm sure. Anyone who could get to Sanctuary and do

everything he did without any formal training at all just has to be a natural-born field

agent." But her words projected more confidence than she actually felt.

"In a way, I almost hope he doesn't make it," Jules said softly.

His sister turned to look at him aghast. "Julie, what a rotten thing to say! Are you

jealous?"

Jules smiled at her, defusing her powder keg. "Damned right I am. You and I are the

best team going, and I hate the thought of splitting it up."

"You mean to tell me you object to teaming up with Vonnie?" Yvette countered.

A dopey grin appeared on Jules's face at the mere thought of his fiancee, Yvonne

Roumenier. "Well, I must admit there will be certain compensations......

Yvette gave him a triumphant snort. "I thought as much. But you'd better watch out.

Whenever you're with her you keep stumbling over your own feet because you can't

look at anything else. Some team you'll make."

Helena interrupted to bring an end to this good-natured sibling banter. "It's starting," she

said simply. Jules and Yvette turned their attention back to the screens. They watched

as Pias Bavol survived his first encounter with the spotlight in the darkened room and

then made his way rapidly down the long, treacherous corridor. "Good!" Yvette called

out at one point. "I knew he'd spot that electrified plate. He's going to make it, Julie, he's

going to make it."

Jules nodded slowly. There'd never been any doubt in his mind about Pias's abilities.

"If he does well enough," Helena commented, "my father has a personal gift for you and

him, Yvette two round-trip tickets to Newforest."

Yvette turned away from the screen for a moment to stare at her friend openmouthed.

Newforest was Pias's home planet; he was the eldest son of that world's duke. Pias had

not been home for close to three years, ever since he had left to seek revenge for the

death of his former fiancee. Now Yvette would be returning with him in triumph, to meet

his family and share that much more a part of his life. "Oh Helena, I don't know what to

say."

"Then watch the screen and don't say anything. Father knew how grateful you'd be. It's

part of his thanks to you and Pias for saving my life on Sanctuary. And my thanks too,

of course."

Yvette looked back to the screen, where Pias was now immersed in water and looking

for a way out. It was Jules's turn to look at Helena. "I saved your life, too," he said with

mock jealousy. "Don't I get any paid vacations?"

"I think father has something in mind for you maybe not as much fun, but just as easy.

He'll be calling you in to tell you about it tomorrow. Now shut up and let me see how

Pias is making out."

The three young people watched and chortled triumphantly as their friend found his way

out through the pipe into the gravity chamber. As he made his tedious way to the exit,

all three were groaning in sympathy, shouting encouragement that they knew he could

not hear. When he finally made it through the portal, Yvette let out a small cheer. "Only

one more to go," she whispered. "Please don't let him be fooled."

They watched with bated breath as the final scene between Pias and his instructor

played itself out. As Pias grabbed the gun and turned it on Wilson, Yvette sagged in her

chair with visible relief. Helena leaned forward and punched at a row of buttons in the

console before her. Her screen went blank, and a moment later a series of numbers

appeared. "Would you like to see how he made out?" she asked her two friends.

"I'm almost afraid to," Yvette said, but she looked anyway. There were several rows of

numbers on the screen, indicating Pias's scores on separate parts of the test. Yvette

ignored those and, instead, checked only the bottom line: "INTEGRATED SCORE:

994."

With a whoop of pure joy, Yvette bounded out of her chair and through the door leading

downstairs to the evaluation room where she could see her lover again. "I think we'd

better follow her," Jules said in a more restrained but still jubilant voice, "before she

hurts herself." He and Helena left the room at a saner pace, listening to the echoes of

Yvette's footsteps leading the way.

Back down in the room, Pias was still holding the gun warily on Wilson. A loudspeaker

blared mechanically out of the wall, "This section of the test is over. Applicant is to

proceed to evaluation room for final processing."

Wilson smiled at his student. "It's over now. Sorry to have to do that to you, but it is a

necessary part of the test. In our business you can't really trust anyone completely."

"Then how do I know to trust you now?" Pias was not about to let go of the gun.

"You could try shooting me if you like; the gun doesn't work. I'm just going to stay here

while you go through that door. I'm told there'll be someone there who may convince

you, although I'm not allowed to see who it is."

Pias backed carefully to the door, not taking his eyes off the other until he reached it.

Then, as a test, he aimed the blaster at the floor and fired. Nothing happened. With a

grin, he tossed the blaster lightly back to his teacher. "Thanks for all you've taught me,"

he said.

In reply, Wilson raised his hand in the air in a general salute. "Here's to tomorrow,

fellow and friend," he said.

"May we both live to see it," Pias finished the Service toast. Then, without further ado,

he turned and went through the door.

Almost immediately he was being smothered by a passionate female. "Hey, I thought

the test was over," he protested. "I didn't know I'd have to risk being kissed to death as

well."

"You're all wet-literally," Yvette laughed between kisses. "It's a good thing I love you so

much, you sopping specimen of humanity." She went right back to kissing him, and

Pias, despite his general fatigue, resigned himself to his fate. If he were going to be

kissed, he might as well enjoy it.

CHAPTER 2

Abelard the Librarian

A less touching encounter was taking place fifteen thousand kilometers away, on

another continent of Earth, in a tastefully decorated suite of offices. The woman who

was known to most people only as Lady A sat behind a large desk whose top was

abnormally tidy. She used the desk largely as a prop, to put more social distance

between herself and whoever else was in the room. It gave the impression that she was

unapproachable-which was all but true anyway.

Abel Howard, the man she was currently interviewing, seemed unimpressed by the

trappings of her office: He was a big man with wide shoulders and a narrow intellect,

and he was not accustomed to thinking of women as anything more than kitchen help

or playthings. The fact that he was being hired by one was an anomaly, but he

expected the situation to right itself very shortly.

Lady A sized Howard up. She had seen his like many times before. Unfortunately, in

her line, she frequently had to deal with society's outcasts to accomplish her purpose.

She was patient, however; she could wait for the proper moment to assert her authority.

"You say you have ten men at your disposal?" she asked.

"That's right." Howard leaned his knuckles on the end of her desk like a gorilla, which

he resembled in more ways than one. "You couldn't ask for better."

"I need a gang with more muscle than that," she said, a sweet smile spreading across

her face. Anyone who knew her would have dreaded that smile. "Some of the targets

you'll be after will be pretty well guarded. I'd suggest at least twice that number."

"I'll take that under consideration, gospozha, but as far as my gang goes, I make the

decisions."

Lady A decided that his insolence had gone far enough. Pushing her chair back, she

stood up behind the desk and walked around to the front until she was beside Howard.

She came barely up to the big man's shoulders. "You realize that you came to me

highly recommended."

Howard grinned. "You won't find better on Earth for any money."

"So I'm told, which is why I've tolerated your behavior thus far. However, there is a

certain natural order of things that must be remembered." She ran one hand

sensuously over the front of Howard's shirt. The man's grin broadened. "That order is,

when I pay the money, I make the decisions."

As she spoke, she suddenly grabbed the front of Howard's shirt and pulled him forward.

Her other hand grabbed a fistful of hair and jerked his head back, exposing a wide

expanse of throat. Howard gurgled a little for breath at the unexpected attack and tried

to struggle, but he found that the grip of this seemingly delicate woman was

unbreakable.

"Now listen to me, you blubbering baboon," Lady A said in cold, measured tones. "I

could break you in half more easily than you could snap a twig-and don't think I haven't

been tempted. I will be paying you good money, for which I shall expect decent return

without insolence. I will be obeyed without question. Do I make myself understood?"

Howard could barely choke out an answer. "Yes." "And another thing. From now on,

you are to address me as `Your Ladyship.' Is that clear?"

"Yes, Your Ladyship."

"Good." She let go of him suddenly and Howard fell to his knees, gasping for air. Lady

A meanwhile walked casually back behind her desk and sat down, waiting for his

choking spasm to stop before she continued.

"Now, as I said, you will have twenty men available, though you may not need them all

on each assignment. If you have to hire more, that is your concern."

She took an envelope out of one drawer of the desk. "Here are the instructions for your

first target. You are to burn them immediately after reading them. There is to be no

trace left of any connection between us. That's all. You may go now."

"Yes, Your Ladyship." And Howard backed out the door bowing, a very changed man.

Lady A smiled. She actually welcomed the chance to have gotten a little hostility out of

her system. And sometimes a show of force was necessary to keep the hired help in

line.

The Empire's Primary Computer Complex was one of the most incredible feats of

engineering ever at= tempted by -man. But enormous problems require equally

enormous solutions. In order to govern a realm spread out over more than thirteen

hundred worlds, vast amounts of information were needed. The information had to be

instantly accessible, conveniently located and readily correlated. It would have to be

defended against possible attack from enemies seeking to cripple the Empire by

depriving it of the very information it needed to survive. And above all, it had to be

accurate.

The Complex was built and put into operation a few years before the death of Emperor

Stanley IX. An asteroid twenty-five kilometers in diameter was moved out of its orbit

between Mars and Jupiter and put into orbit circling the Earth. The interior was hollowed

out by a series of carefully calculated nuclear explosions, then lined with lead to prevent

later contamination. Inside this immense hollow planetoid was constructed the largest,

most efficient computer ever conceived. Teams of experts had designed it to the

ultimate in technological sophistication; even now, nearly fifty years after its completion,

it was still said that no one man could ever fully understand its workings.

The exterior of the planetoid was bristling with weaponry, all under the control of the

computer itself. Should any hostile force attack it, the computer would fight back with

the most impressive array of armament humans had ever designed. And if fighting

proved impossible, the computer/planetoid was prepared to flee. Its own nuclear

engines and subspace drive gave it a superb capacity for flight. Access to the computer

facilities was strictly limited, and an applicant could only receive a pass after undergoing

a thorough security check, thus safeguarding against sabotage to the computer from

the inside. It was said that the Primary Computer Complex was the safest spot in the

Empire and that included the Imperial Palace.

It was now a week after Pias Bavol had undergone the final part of his thousand-point

test. Immediately thereafter, he and Yvette had left for Newforest for a well-deserved

vacation. Jules d'Alembert, in the meantime, had been working on another assignment.

No one familiar with the DesPlainian agent would ever have recognized him. His

wrinkled, ill-fitting clothes had been padded to make him look twenty kilos fatter than he

really was. Skilled makeup had aged him fifteen years; there were puffy, dark circles

under his eyes and worry lines on a receding hairline that was really a superb wig. His

front teeth were slightly more protruding than usual, and he wore thick, gold-rimmed

spectacles. His walk was not the springy, active bounce of a young man in prime

physical condition, but instead the slow, shuffling gait of an older man who is undecided

where he's going and not even sure he wants to get there.

He stepped forward out of the shuttle that had brought him and a dozen others up to

the Complex from Earth, then waited in line patiently to get through the checkpoint.

When his turn came he stepped up to the window and offered his ID pass. The clerk

took it and put it in the scanner, then began asking the same routine questions he'd

asked every day for a week since Jules had started coming up here. "Name?"

"Pierre Abelard." "Occupation?" "Librarian." "Reason for using computer facilities?"

"Research project 1557-FA-724G."

Jules's voice was fed through a microphone, and the voiceprint was compared to the

"known" voiceprint of the fictitious Pierre Abelard. When the green light lit up to indicate

a match, the clerk inserted Jules's ID pass into a retinoscope. "Look into here, please."

Jules did as instructed, and the clerk measured his retinal patterns against those on the

card. It was another match. "Smooth, you're cleared through to Checkpoint B-16. Here's

your card back. Take the tram to your right."

Jules took back his card, walked through the gate and went over to the small automated

cart the clerk had indicated. He punched his destination into the cart's control box and

sat back as his conveyance carried him to the designated area. As he passed through

the enormous corridors he could almost sense the feverish activity . being carried on

through the Complex all around him. Data were constantly being fed into the memory

banks by an army of operators-information on every conceivable subject: rainfall

statistics for the planet Belange, birth records for the past month in Sector Twelve,

financial reports for the leading industrial firms on the Imperial Stock Exchange, retinal

patterns for the latest group of felons exiled to Gastonia-anything and everything that

could conceivably be of importance or interest to the Empire was recorded here for

posterity. Some early critics of the facility had worried about the invasion of privacy that

might stem from the use of this computer, but the sheer volume of data had put an end

to those fears. A full cross-check on any individual was too involved a procedure to be

done on a whim. The anonymity of the average individual was assured by the very

complexity of the system.

Jules's cart stopped at Checkpoint B-16 as directed, and Jules went through another

identification check similar to the first. When he had assured these new people that he

was who he claimed to be, a guard escorted him to his study cubicle and locked him in.

From now until he signaled to be let out, Jules would be totally alone.

The cubicle was equipped for the basic human needs. A small 'fresher unit stood in one

corner and a food dispenser was built into the wall to satisfy his appetites. There were a

lounge chair, should he grow tired, and a bookreel viewer mounted on the wall. A small

desk served as his work area; from there he could link into the computer and receive

information either in display form on a small viewing screen or printed onto bookreel

tape for a more permanent record. A decidedly uncomfortable chair went with the desk;

Jules wondered briefly why institutional furniture was never designed to accommodate

the human body properly.

He sat down at the desk and began his researches. Ever since his and Yvette's

adventure on Sanctuary, the top SOTE command was aware that there was a

broad-based conspiracy, previously unsuspected, acting within the Empire. Its goals

were not yet known, but that it boded no good for the present regime was an obvious

conclusion. One of its highest officers, if not the actual leader, was the mysterious Lady

A. This archtraitor knew the identity of the Head of SOTE and seemed to have an

excellent working knowledge of the Service's activities. The Service, in turn, knew

nothing about her. That situation would have to change.

To maintain utter secrecy, only five people within the Empire's forces were allowed to

know of Lady A's existence: The Emperor, the Head, Helena, Jules, and Yvette. The

information had not even been fed into this computer Jules was now using, lest Lady

A's conspiracy had somehow managed to tap into its resources. Only as long as Lady A

thought her existence was still unknown to SOTE would the Service have any

advantage over her at all.

They were grasping at straws, and the Head admitted it. As long as Lady A knew what

SOTS was doing, she could act with relative impunity. They would have to plug the

leak, and fast, but to do that, they needed to know more about Lady A herself.

To that end, Jules was going through this elaborate disguise to get information that

rightfully should have been his for the asking. The Service would have to get its

information in roundabout ways. If they simply ran an identity check on all people who

looked like Lady A, it could warn their quarry and spoil the element of surprise. So

instead, Jules had to content himself with peripheral glances, hoping to find enough

small clues to fill in the larger puzzle.

Their starting base was abysmally small. They knew what Lady A looked and sounded

like from a captured recording of her actions. She was a strikingly beautiful woman of

indeterminate age, with a cold voice and an imperious manner. They knew she ranked

high in the underground organization, and that she knew the identities of the Head and

his Girl Friday and some of SOTE's inner workings. And they knew from her clothing

that she kept abreast of the latest fashions at the Imperial Court, which required her

presence at court functions occasionally, since fashion was constantly changing. That

was all.

In his cover identity as Pierre Abelard, Jules was ostensibly researching attendance at

various court activities as a function of season and other social factors; in fact, he was

poring over all the pictures taken at such events, hoping for a glimpse of the elusive

Lady A, and then checking guest lists for some clue to her identity.

The search was not very rewarding. After a week, all he had to show for his efforts were

a couple of faces off to the side or in one corner that might be his quarry. The guest

lists themselves were worse than useless because they were invariably incomplete.

There were always gate-crashers, or last-minute invitees who never made it onto the

lists, or people who did not show up and gave their invitations to others at the last

moment (without, naturally, notifying their hosts), so that names and faces bore almost

no correlation whatsoever to one another.

Jules was getting heartily sick of looking at pictures that produced no positive results.

He would almost rather face an army of villains armed with heavy duty Wasters than

have to look at another dull crowd shot of another senseless party. But he knew that the

dull parts came with every job, and that for every second of excitement in the field,

there were hours of backup research work at some desk. With a tired sigh, he clicked

off the current picture and summoned up the next from the computer's memory.

And suddenly he sat bolt upright. There she was, in a full-face shot. She was far in the

background, to be sure, but there was no mistaking the cold beauty of her face, the

expression of superiority and self-confidence. He had found that she was definitely on

Earth at an official court function at some time in the recent past.

He cross-checked the date of the picture and groaned. It had been taken four months

ago in Bloodstar Hall at the official announcement of the Crown Princess's engagement

to Choyen Liu, a mystical young man from the planet Anares. There would be no pos-

sible way for him to check the guest list for that event; it had, by tradition, been a public

gathering, open to all who could come. Most of the attendees were the nobility, who

found it easier to wangle their way in; but that did not preclude Lady A from being

anyone else on the entire planet.

Jules felt very frustrated at having a vital clue be handed to him and then snatched

away again before he could make anything of it. He recorded the data number of the

picture in case he should ever need to refer to it again, then went doggedly on to the

next picture.

By the end of the day he had found no new leads and was utterly exhausted. It never

failed to amaze him how research work like this could be more tiring than any amount of

fighting. Bundling up his notes, he signaled to be let out. Several minutes later a guard

came and unlocked his door, and he reversed his path to the shuttle entrance. He

waited more than an hour for the next craft down to Canaveral Spaceport, and from

there took a taxi to the shabby apartment where "Pierre Abelard" made his home.

A coded note had been slipped into his mailbox. Quickly deciphering it, he learned that

the Head wanted to see him as soon as possible, top priority. Jules shed his makeup in

a hurry-a pleasure, since it itched unmercifully anyway-and left the apartment cloaked in

the all-concealing robes of a Delfian. He rushed down to his car-insofar as any Delfian

can be said to rush and gunned off into the balmy Florida night.

Jules's car looked like a late sports model Frascati, but there were some crucial

differences. As soon as he was out alone on the open highway, he activated a series of

switches and his car turned into a small personal jet, taking off rapidly in the direction of

Miami and the secret headquarters for all of SOTE.

HQ was located in the skyscraper that also housed the Hall of State for Sector

Four-with good reason. The Head of the Service of the Empire was the Grand Duke of

Sector Four, Zander von Wilmenhorst himself. From this imposing edifice he was able

to control the direction, not only of his own sphere of influence, but also of the multilevel

operations of SOTE.

Jules had radioed ahead to let headquarters know he was coming, so his small craft

was allowed to fly unchallenged toward the tall building and land without incident on the

roof. From there he took a private elevator tube down to his boss's office.

Zander von Wilmenhorst decorated with a certain elegant style. The walls and the

beamed ceiling were all paneled with rich brown solentawood, with original oil paintings

by the best contemporary artists hanging on two of the walls. The eastern wall was a

large picture window looking down on a view of the Atlantic Ocean. Curtains now

covered the picture window, though; the Head did not want even the possibility of

telephoto pictures being taken of one of his top secret agents. The large solentawood

desk was, as usual, covered with reports and papers, all stamped to indicate some

degree of urgency. The Shield of Empire was inlaid on the wall behind the desk. And

standing beside the desk was the Head of SOTE, Zander von Wilmenhorst.

The Grand Duke of Sector Four was an inconspicuous man, who took great pains to

remain that way. He was totally bald and conservatively dressed, of medium height and

build, in his late forties. The only sign that there was more than an average brain within

that body was his eyes; they had a glowing intelligence that could not be denied. In

point of fact, Zander von Wilmenhorst was one of the Emperor's premier policy

advisors, and had as much of a hand in shaping interstellar events as the Emperor

himself.

The Head greeted Jules warmly and motioned him to have a seat. "I'm afraid I don't

have time tonight to be as sociable as I'd like," he said. "With the wedding coming up so

soon, there are a billion and one security details that must be taken care of no later

than the day before yesterday. Most of them are routine but time-consuming. We've

handled worse affairs before. But all of a sudden, about five days ago, we were handed

an unexpected problem that I don't like the looks of at all."

He leaned back in his huge chair, lacing the fingers of both hands together behind his

neck. "With Princess Edna the only child of the Emperor, and heir to the throne, her

marriage in seventeen days will be the biggest social event of the decade. And, as you

might expect, the nobility is flocking to Earth in record numbers. Even the most minor

barons who can scrape together enough cash are going into hock to come. There are

going to be more titles in our hotels than in our libraries.

"We expected this, of course, and have been preparing our security precautions for

months. What we didn't expect is that someone would be making a determined effort to

kill certain select members of the nobility."

Jules grimaced with the appropriate concern, and after a moment his boss continued.

"One marquis stepped into a sabotaged elevator tube and plummeted twenty-eight

stories to his death. A viscountess died in a fire that turns out to have been deliberately

set. Those two deaths might have been considered coincidence, but there were three

other incidents that were far less subtle-a countess and two dukes were victims of

blatant attacks by gangs of thugs who struck, performed their assassinations, and got

away again before we could marshal our own forces.

"One possibility we're looking into is the terrorist/ nationalist organizations that, for one

reason or another, want their own worlds to break away from the Empire. We've got the

local offices checking on that angle, but frankly I don't hold much hope for that

explanation. The coordination makes it all suspect. Plus, there's the fact that the victims

were all carefully chosen."

"In what way?"

"Each victim was getting along in years. Each was among the staunchest supporters of

the Emperor, above the faintest taint of suspicion, even during the Banion scandal. And

each will be succeeded, according to law, by an heir who is, from our point of view, less

than satisfactory. One heir is wavering just this side of mental incompetence. One is, by

private reports, a drug addict, and another is a public alcoholic. The remaining two are

spineless cowards. And, with the possible exception of the drug addict, there is nothing

we can do to legally intervene and prevent these people from gaining their inheritances.

The Emperor can disentitle anyone he chooses, of course, but to fly in the teeth of the

Stanley Doctrine without any hard evidence to back him up would cause serious

repercussions. It would cause at least a minor revolt among some lords who count on

the Doctrine as a shield against imperial displeasure. If they felt they could no longer be

certain of safety there, open warfare might result."

Jules nodded. The Stanley Doctrine, established two centuries ago by Empress Stanley

Three, laid down strict rules for inheritance of titles and division of lands. It legitimized

every title now in existence. For the Emperor to set that aside without just cause would

make the entire structure of nobility insecure. Revolts had been organized on weaker

grounds than that.

"So we're stuck with these new people. Any evidence that they're traitors?"

"None at present. But they're the sort of people who could easily be persuaded to fall in

with the wrong company."

"You suspect, then, that some conspiracy has gotten tired of waiting for the older

nobles to die off and has taken advantage of the Princess's wedding to give them a little

help?"

"Precisely. For all I know, Lady A herself might be involved."

"Speaking of her, I can't say I've found anything dramatic on my research assignment,

but I did come across one item of interest." He told the Head about the picture taken at

the engagement announcement where Lady A had unmistakably been present.

Zander von Wilmenhorst listened with great attention to the report. When Jules had

concluded, the Head was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, that seems to fit. I'm

more inclined now than ever to believe she's mixed up in this business. She showed an

obvious interest in the Princess's wedding, which provides us with a tentative tie-in. The

murders are the kind of long-range planning her organization seems interested in, too.

If I were a gambling man, I'd put a nice sum of money on her being at the bottom of

this."

Jules smiled slightly. What were they all in this organization if not gamblers? Every

agent and officer in SOTE had to risk his life and/or reputation on a wild hunch

sometimes. If that wasn't gambling, he didn't know what was.

The Head stood up and walked around to the front of the desk, standing in front of

Jules. He leaned back against the desk top, saying, "We've done some analyses of

likely targets, and we're putting extra guards around the names who came out on top.

There's one man, though, whom I'd put on the top of my personal list to be hit-Duke

Hanforth of Melenaria. He's an old man, a bit eccentric, but totally devoted to the Em-

pire. His son squanders money on fast women and fast living as though he had inside

information the ruble would be devalued tomorrow. No indications that he's dishonest or

disloyal, but if his debts grow too badly he'd be easy prey for some blackmailer.

Besides, I'd like to keep Hanforth alive for personal reasons; he's a longtime friend.

"I'm assigning you to guard the duke yourself, in addition to the security team I've

already assigned. You can pretend to be his valet or personal servant; Bozhe knows,

he can use someone to tidy up after him. Think you can handle that?"

"Sounds simple enough. But is he a real problem?" The Head laughed. "The Empire

should have more problems like that. You'll like him, believe me. Oh, and I've taken the

liberty of assigning you a new partner while Yvette's off on Newforest. Any objections

_to working with Yvonne Roumenier?"

Jules's eyes lit up with delight. "I should say not!" "Good. I was able to send a

speedship out for her even before this trouble began; I wanted her on hand . just in

case. I'm told she'll be arriving at Canaveral in an hour or so. You should just have time

to make it before she gets there if you leave right now."

Jules was eager to get moving, but his formal training kept him rigidly in place. "If

there's nothing else you have for me, sir."

"Just some good wishes and a little advice." The Head grew deadly serious for a

moment. "This assignment looks like a milk run compared to your other ones. I'm

praying it will be. But I'm assigning someone of your caliber to it because it has the

potential to explode in all our faces. Keep the lid on it, Jules." Then his smile returned.

"Stop in at Wardrobe on the sixtyfirst floor and pick up some appropriate livery for a

valet and a secretary. Then you'd better get going. Vonnie won't like it if you're late."

CHAPTER 3

Homecoming

The voyage from Earth to Newforest took eight days by cruiser. After being away for

nearly three years, Pias had very ambivalent feelings about his return. On the one hand

it would feel good to return to his old surroundings and to the bosom of his family once

more. On the other, he was very aware of how drastically people and relationships

could change during a three-year absence, and he was almost dreading the alterations

he would find.

Yvette tried gamely to ease him over the troubled moments by keeping his mind on

other things-most particularly herself. The two young lovers were in each other's

company almost constantly during the trip. They had known each other for such a

comparatively short while that they had two lifetimes of catching up to do. Yvette told

Pias about the Circus; he was to be a member of the family very soon in any case, and

he had been cleared by the Head, so she had no fears at all about letting the secret

out. She told him stories of traveling around the Galaxy, giving shows and seeing the

sights of hundreds of exotic worlds before she was even ten years old. She told him of

her father and her training, and the exciting missions she had performed for the

Service.

In return, Pias told her about his own upbringing on Newforest. His had been a quiet,

backward world, almost primitive in many respects. Newforest had been founded by a

dissident group of tinkers and Gypsies almost at the beginning of interstellar travel, and

had kept itself hidden from the Empire until fifty years ago. Many of the old customs and

traditions were still observed.

As the duke's oldest child, Pias had been brought up with the concept that one day he

would rule this planet. But though his people were settled now at last, some of the

Gypsy heritage remained in his blood. Though he never left the planet physically, he

read every bookreel he could find about life in the outside universe. He fantasized

untold volumes of epics with himself as the hero. But he had no hope that they would

ever be fulfilled.

Then a tragedy struck, so terrible that even now, years later, talking about it was

painful. Miri, his fiancee, had been killed by a space pirate, in so bloodthirsty a fashion

that Pias's soul had cried out for revenge. With his father's blessing, he left his home

world and set out across the Galaxy to track down the killer, and, in the process of

successfully doing so, his fate had become inextricably entwined with Yvette's. In

satisfying his old revenge, he had gained both a new fianc‚e and a new cause to

champion-the security of the Empire itself.

After an uneventful voyage, their ship landed at Garridan Spaceport, and Yvette and

Pias debarked. To both of them, the feeling of Newforest's higher gravity -two and a half

times that of Earth-was a welcome sensation. Both had been spending too much time

of late on lighter gravity worlds; the renewed intensity here had a steadying effect.

Walking with heavy steps, they descended the passenger ramp and arrived at the

customs checkpoint.

Yvette, feeling very nervous at the prospect of meeting her future in-laws, had chosen

her outfit most carefully: a formal turquoise tunic-jacket and a white silk shirt, with

matching turquoise slacks and boots. She was bareheaded and wore no jewelry,

hoping to give the impression of calm sensibility. Beside her, Pias wore the standard

fashion he'd adopted in his travels: a sleeveless chocolate brown jumpsuit with a deep

U neckline over a pale orange ruffled shirt. He wore a yellow scarf about his neck and a

waist-length brocade cape in swirls of brown, gold, and orange. On his head was a

broad-brimmed brown hat with an orange rose tucked into the band.

Pias had not messaged ahead to let his family know he was coming; but a sharp-eyed

customs official had spotted his name on the incoming passenger roster and alerted

both the family and the news media. As Pias and Yvette walked through the doors, a

cheer went up and they suddenly found themselves surrounded by well-wishers.

Yvette watched her fianc‚ almost vanish beneath a swarm of people that materialized

from out of nowhere. Women ranging in age from ten to thirty, all in brightly colored

blouses and skirts, were doing their utmost to throw their arms around Pias and

smother him with kisses, babbling in the native language that Yvette did not

understand. Pias was not struggling noticeably to get away from their grasp.

"I didn't realize you were this popular with the ladies," Yvette said, letting a trace of

good-natured jealousy creep into her voice.

Pias finally made a halfhearted attempt to drag himself out from under the pile of

femininity. "They're all sisters and cousins."

"Sure they are."

"Well, maybe a few of them are old friends," he grinned and Yvette laughed at his

embarrassment.

Before all of the women could have their chance to kiss him, however, they were being

elbowed aside by an equally friendly group of men, who proceeded to give Pias a series

of bear hugs so thorough that Yvette felt sure her fianc‚'s ribs would feel bruised for a

week. They pounded him on the back, kissed his cheeks, laughed and made what were

obviously ribald comments about all the things that must have happened to him while

he was away. Yvette found herself being pushed very much into the background, but

she didn't mind. This was Pias's show, and he should be given the chance to enjoy the

spotlight for a while.

One young man held back from the admiring group, and Yvette had the opportunity to

give him some attention. He was about the same height as Pias, though with darker,

straighter hair; he had a gold earring in his left earlobe and a neatly trimmed mustache.

There was a brooding melancholy about his eyes, quite the opposite of Pias's normal

cheerfulness, but otherwise his features showed a strong similarity to those of her

fianc‚. From all Pias had told her, Yvette surmised that this must be Pias's younger

brother Tas. He was dressed in black coveralls, in stark contrast to the festive apparel

of the others.

After several minutes, Pias was finally able to break away from the throng of

well-wishers. Taking Yvette by the hand, he led her over to the comer where the other

young man stood. Pias embraced him, but the other's return embrace was purely

perfunctory. As Pias backed away again, he turned to his fianc‚e and said, in Empirese

so Yvette could understand, "This is my brother Tas. Tas, I'd like you to meet Yvette

Dupres from the planet DesPlaines."

Yvette had warned Pias against giving her real name, even to his family. Officially,

"Yvette d'Alembert" was still starring in the Circus of the Galaxy along with her brother

Jules. There had been a Jules and Yvette ever since the Circus had been formed, with

new performers taking over the roles every decade or so. The current pair were Yvette's

younger cousins, while the older Jules and Yvette were serving as SOTE's top agents.

Yvette had not even her name to call her own any more, but she hardly gave that a

thought. There was, after all, more to herself than just a name.

Tas Bavol gave her a look that would have made an ice cube shiver. "Pleased to meet

you," he said in Empirese with cold formality. His voice had a thick accent; he was

obviously unused to speaking the Empire's official language, though like most people in

the upper classes he had a thorough education in it.

Pias could detect the hostility in his brother's voice, but deliberately ignored it. "Where's

Poppa?" he asked. "Poppa's ill, very ill," Tas informed him. "He's been that way for the

past year. All he can talk about is wanting to see his precious Pias again."

Pias became very concerned at the news, so concerned that he paid little attention to

the jealousy exuding from his brother's voice. Yvette noticed it, however, and filed the

fact away for future reference. Pias had not told her about any sibling rivalry between

himself and his brother, and she wondered exactly what sort of family she was marrying

into.

"I must get to him at once," Pias said. "Is there a copter ready?"

"Yes, out this way."

Tas started out a gateway and Pias followed him. As Yvette started after the brothers, a

customs guard stopped her. She was a little startled, and Pias had to turn back and tell

the guard, "She's with me." Only then was Yvette allowed to accompany the two men to

the waiting copter.

"Don't worry, darling," Pias told her. "I won't let them separate us." Tas, upon seeing

that interchange, grew even colder toward Yvette than he'd been before.

Outside, although it was midday, Yvette was hit by the impression of late afternoon.

Newforest's sun was a dim red star, and the illumination it provided was weak at best.

There was a slight chill in the air reminiscent of late autumn, though Yvette was not

sure what season it actually was. The red sun gave everything a sunset hue.

As the copter lifted into the air, she got her first clear view of Garridan and had to

struggle to hide her surprise. Garridan was little more than a town, scattered in a

rambling way over only a couple of dozen square kilometers. There didn't seem to be

any buildings over four stories tall, with the vast majority being simple one-story affairs.

For the capital city of an entire planet, it was remarkably primitive; Yvette had to remind

herself of Pias's description of Newforest as a planet where the people still clung to

their simpler lifestyle. They'd been out of the mainstream of civilized life for centuries,

and only within the last generation had they been brought back into contact with the

Empire. The entire planet retained the casual, backwater flavor of an outlying province.

The impression that struck her next was of the color. The brown of Newforest's soil

mingled with the brilliant red of the native vegetation. Greens and blues were almost

nonexistent except on some of the buildings, and even then, the red sunlight gave a

funny cast to their hues. Newforest, though a gentle place, seemed to be a planet that

bathed regularly in blood.

Looking down at her own clothes, Yvette frowned. The turquoise outfit she'd chosen so

carefully looked like a washed-out shade of purple in this light, making her seem

positively drab in comparison with the other women she'd seen at the spaceport. In

addition, local custom seemed to dictate skirts for women rather than slacks, making

her feel out of fashion.

By contrast, the lighting made Pias look even more resplendent. The brown of his

jumpsuit and hat verged on black, the orange of his shirt and cape flared into red: He

had lived most-of his life here and knew how to use the lighting to best effect. Yvette

found herself wishing she'd at least worn a bright scarf or some flashy jewelry.

Hardly a word was spoken within the copter as the pilot flew them toward Pias's home.

The returning marquis was lost in his concern over his father, and his normally cheerful

expression was replaced by a somber one. Occasionally, when he appeared too wor-

ried, Yvette would reach out and squeeze his hand reassuringly; Pias would smile at

her and, for a moment or two, put his family troubles further back in his mind. Tas,

meanwhile, took in every detail with his deep set, glowing eyes. He said nothing, but the

emotions smoldering under the surface were more than obvious-and a little

worrisome-to Yvette.

After a ten minute flight, the copter descended toward a spacious estate, well forested.

The house, though only two stories tall, was still the largest single building Yvette had

seen since her arrival. On any other world, she would have thought it the manor of

some prosperous baron or count; but here she correctly guessed it was the ducal home

of the reigning family of Newforest. Even the d'Alembert castle on DesPlaines, modest

though it was for such a structure, looked regal by comparison.

As the copter landed on a broad lawn in front of the manor, a handful of servants

dressed in motley came out to greet them; only the distinctive earrings they wore served

notice that they belonged to this particular household. Pias took Yvette's hand and led

her over to one of the servants, an older man with gray hair and laugh wrinkles around

his eyes. "Yuri, this is Yvette," Pias said in Empirese. "Take her and her things to the

best guest room available and see that she's comfortable. Is my father in his bedroom?"

The servant nodded, and Pias turned to Yvette. "I have to go see him at once. You

understand. Let Yuri make you comfortable, and I'll be back with you as soon as I can.

He speaks some Empirese, and you can trust him to answer any questions you have;

he's known me all my life and he's the closest friend I have in the Universe." So saying,

he kissed her quickly and raced into the building.

Yuri turned to Yvette and gave her a smile. The man was old-at least in his eighties-and

looked like nothing so much as a taller-than-average pixie. His smile and the youthful

gleam in his eyes, though, belied his age. Yvette decided on the spot that she liked this

man, and that Pias's faith in him had been well placed. She smiled back at him and

allowed him to carry her lighter suitcase; she insisted on carrying the heavier one her-

self. She could feel Tas's eyes focused on the back of her neck as she entered the

building, leaving him behind.

What she could see of the inside of the manor was as unprepossessing as the outside.

Even the largest of the formal rooms would not have held more than forty or fifty

people, and all were decorated to give a feeling of homey comfort rather than ducal

dignity. There were no ostentatious displays of art or wealth; handwoven blankets and

collections of baskets were the only decorations hanging on the walls, while smoked

sausages, braided cloves of garlic, and onions hung anachronistically from the ceiling.

The fireplaces in the main rooms looked well used rather than ornamental, and a slight,

pleasant odor of woodsmoke clung to the stone walls. The floors were rough slate,

uneven in spots, and she had to constantly watch her step to avoid tripping. Shelves

and small niches were filled with odd knickknacks, wooden carvings of animals, and

toys.

I've been in grander castles, Yvette decided, but certainly never in one that made me

feel at home more quickly.    ,.

"You know Pias long?" Yuri asked in strained Empirese as they walked.

"Only a few months-not nearly long enough, as far as I'm concerned. I hope to make it

a whole lot longer." She was reluctant to spell out her relationship in more detail. Pias

had wanted to keep their engagement quiet until he could tell his father first and get his

approval.

Yuri did not seem the prying sort, though. His Empirese was not good, and

conversation was a struggle for him. "He look healthy, despite being away. I only hope

situation back here won't cause hurt."

"Well, it was quite a blow to learn about his father . . ."

"Not what I meant. Well, partly, but are other things, too."

Yuri threw open a door and led Yvette into a charming bedroom with stone walls and

windows that overlooked a tiny garden. A small fireplace was set in one wall. "This be

your room, gospozha. If you need anything, just ring bellpull there."

As he turned to go, Yvette caught him by the elbow. "You mentioned some problems

here at home. Is there anything in particular Pias should know about?"

Yuri stopped and looked her over, sizing her up for trustworthiness much as she had

done to him a short while ago. She knew she was being judged for how worthy she was

of Yuri's master; the servant would also be taking into account Pias's kissing her before

running off to see his father. Finally, Yuri decided to open up slightly and trust her. "It be

his brother. Tas be . . . changed since Pias go away. They never got on well; Tas

always be a wild one. Pias used to hold him back so there be no problem; but with no

Pias these last few years, Tas get even worse."

The old man shook his head. "Never did like Tas. Should have be strangled in cradle

like changeling." He looked Yvette straight in the eyes. "Tell Pias, watch out for Tas; he

do no good." Then, without further ado, the servant turned and left the room. Yvette sat

down on the edge of her bed and debated what to make of her future in-laws.

Pias ran down the familiar hallways and bounded up the stairs two at a time to get to his

father's bedroom. The door to the room was closed, and there was a nurse seated

outside, reading. He looked up at Pias's approach and recognized the young marquis

immediately.

"Is he awake? Can I go in?" Pias asked.

"Yes, Your Excellency-yes to both questions." "What ... what does he have?"

"Mottle fever, I'm afraid."

Pias groaned. Mottle fever was a disease peculiar to Newforest. So far as was known it

was not contagious. It was only seldom contracted, but invariably fatal. Its course was

unpredictable; the victim might die within months, or he could live on for a decade or

more while the disease ravaged his body. But eventually it would kill him.

Thanking the nurse for the information, Pias entered the room. It was dark inside, kept

that way because mottle fever affected the eyes, making them ultrasensitive to light.

Pias waited inside the door until his eyes adjusted to the lower illumination, then looked

around.

The room was very much as he remembered it: handwoven area rugs covering the hard

slate floor; the large ebonwood bureau against the north wall with its mirror in the

elaborately carved frame; the portrait of his late mother on the south wall, surrounded

by smaller portraits of all the children; and the massive wooden bed directly in front of

him, with the richly embroidered canopy and drapes that had so impressed him as a

small child.

His father lay on the bed, very still. Duke Kistur Bavol was in his middle sixties. When

Pias had left home almost three years earlier, the duke could have been mistaken for a

man in his forties, but now he looked every year of his true age. His hair, which had

been light brown, was now a mane of white, and his leathery skin was mottled with the

dark patches that gave his disease its name. His eyes, which before had missed

nothing, now seemed watery and lusterless.

As Pias stood there silently, not knowing what to say, the old man slowly propped

himself up and peered out at him. "Who's there?" he asked weakly.

"It's me, Poppa. Pias."

The duke peered at him with rheumy eyes. His mouth moved, but no sounds came out.

Breaking down completely, Pias practically flew across the room and put his arms

around his father. The two men wept openly for several minutes before any more could

be said. Finally the old man pushed himself slightly back from his son and looked

directly into his eyes. "Did you find him?" he asked.

Pias nodded. "Yes. Miri has been avenged."

That was all the information the duke required. "Good. Now that you have done what

was needed, you are back here where you belong. I need you here with me, Pias."

Pias felt a sudden chill as he was caught in a storm of conflicting emotions. In order to

become engaged to Yvette, he'd had to undergo Service training and swear a loyalty

oath to SOTE. He'd vowed to serve the cause of the Empire now, and his life was not

entirely his own. "I ... I can't stay here, Poppa."

The old man looked confused. "What do you mean?

You found the man and avenged our honor. This is your home again."

"But I can't stay, Poppa. I'll have to be leaving again, very soon."

"Why? Why must you leave your home, your family? What drives you out?"

"I made a promise."

"To whom?" The old man was sitting up now, anger creeping into his voice. Some of

the old fire was returning, but Pias was not happy at having it directed at him. "Who is

more important to you than your father?"

Pias was about to tell him the truth when he became aware of a third person in the

room. Tas had entered quietly behind them while Pias and his father had been talking,

and was now a presence lurking in the shadows. The duke had always been loyal, and

Pias would have trusted him with the knowledge that he was working for SOTE; but he

had an instinctive distrust of what his brother would do with that same knowledge.

Lamely, he merely said, "I can't tell you now."

"Maybe it's that gadii, that outsider woman he brought with him," Tas suggested. His

voice was pure acid.

Pias repressed an urge to strangle his younger brother. He had meant to bring up the

issue of Yvette separately, once he'd managed to convince his father of the rightness of

his actions. Now Tas had muddied the water still further-deliberately.

"A gadii? And you brought her here?" The duke was furious. "Have you deserted your

own people entirely, then?"

"Poppa, you taught me everything I know about kindness and hospitality to strangers,"

Pias protested. "And Yvette is. . ."

But he could get no further in his explanation. The old man, in his rage, started in on a

coughing fit. His nurse ran in from the hallway and quickly came to the duke's side. "I

don't know what you said to him," he told the two younger men, "but he's not supposed

to get upset. You'd both better leave, at once."

Reluctantly, Pias let the nurse shoo him out, along with Tas. The two men stood alone

outside in the hallway, facing each other appraisingly like two wrestlers in a ring. Pias

thought of and discarded a dozen different questions before finally asking, "Why? Why

did you hurt him so badly?"

"Me?" Tas laughed strangely. "You'd better check your pronouns. My only target is you.

Welcome home, brother Pias." Turning quickly, he marched off down the hall, leaving

Pias no chance for response.

Pias shook his head. It was true that his father's anger had hurt him, but he knew down

deep that it had hurt the duke even worse to feel betrayed by his oldest son. Pias had a

sudden insight into just how much his brother must hate him, if he was willing to torment

their father to such depths just to indirectly hurt his brother. He had known Tas was a

brat even before he left Newforest, but his younger brother had apparently sunk even

lower during Pias's absence.

With a feeling of great sadness, Pias started down the hallway toward his own room. As

he passed one open doorway, he heard a sultry female voice say, "Aren't you even

going to say hello, Pias?"

Turning, Pias eyed the speaker. She was a beautiful, dark-skinned woman in her early

thirties, with jet black hair flowing smoothly down her back to the waist of her brightly

colored skirt. Her eyes had an easy, knowing look about them, and her patchwork

blouse was so open down the front that it exposed more cleavage than even the liberal

customs of Newforest tolerated.

Despite his worries about his father and brother, Pias forced himself to be cheerful.

"Hello, Gitana. I'd been hoping to see you again. I wasn't sure what to think when you

weren't there at the spaceport with everyone else."

Gitana walked toward him, closing the gap until the two of them were just touching. She

put her arms around his waist and said, "I was hoping to give you a little more private

kind of welcome." Her throaty chuckle left little doubt as to her meaning.

Coming on top of the painful reunion with his father, this new circumstance left Pias

even more confused. There had been a time, years ago, when he and Gitana had been

very much in love-but that was before he'd fallen in love with, and become engaged to,

her sister Miri. Gitana had felt bitter then, and now that her sister was safely dead, she

obviously intended to take up where they'd left off.

Pias's love for Yvette, though, made that impossible. Feeling very embarrassed, he

said, "Aren't you even going to ask me whether I found Miri's killer?"

"I assume you did; you said you wouldn't come home again until you'd killed him." She

began kissing him lightly at the base of the neck. "You're a man of your word. Usually."

"Usually?" Pias tried gently to extricate himself from Gitana's embrace, but his former

lover would not take the hint.

"You once said you'd love me until the end of time itself."

"That was a long time ago, Gitana. People change, sometimes."

"I haven't." Gitana pulled him more tightly to her, and started backing both of them into

the room she'd come from. "I still love you, Pias."

"But I don't love you." The words were out of his mouth before he could hold them back.

He could feel Gitana stiffen against his body. Her fingernails dug painfully into his back.

"Who, then? That little simp of a gadji I saw you get out of the copter with? Why settle

for a thin-blooded little prissy foot when you can have a real woman?"

Yvette's five times the woman you'll ever be, Pias thought, but this time kept the words

diplomatically to himself. He'd hurt her badly enough already; there was no need to add

to the insult further.

Instead, with a decisive gesture, he pulled away from her and said, "Gitana, please.

We're only hurting ourselves more by dredging up old ghosts and old sorrows. You're a

beautiful woman with dozens of men at your feet. I can't be all that special; there are

probably plenty of them better for you than I am."

Gitana backed one step away. Her eyes showed clearly the volcano smoldering within

her soul. "Then you reject me again?"

"It's not a question of rejection. . . ."

But Gitana was gone, vanished back into the room from which she'd emerged. The

door slammed behind her, a final exclamation point to their conversation.

Pias went back to his old room and found it all in order. He lay down on the bed for half

an hour, trying to regroup his thoughts and emotions after the disastrous events of the

afternoon. Then he went in search of Yvette.

He found her just as she finished unpacking. She could tell instantly that he was not as

happy as he should be on coming home after such a long time, but she said nothing

about it. She spoke instead about how nice she thought Yuri was and how pleasant the

manor house itself made her feel, waiting for him to open up about his troubles.

Finally he did so, telling her the story of his reunion with his father. He told her of the

increased hatred his brother felt for him, and how he seemed determined to turn their

father against him. Pias chose, however, not to say anything about the equally

disturbing encounter he'd had with Gitana.

Yvette repeated what Yuri had told her about Tas, which only increased Pias's

depression. "I never even got the chance to explain about you," he moaned. "All my

father knows is that you're a gadji-it's a derogatory term for women not of our own

people. The sickness must be worse than I thought; my father's always been

tradition-bound, but he's at least been open-minded about people. I didn't tell you,

because I didn't want to worry you, but I knew he would be less than pleased about our

engagement at first; I had thought that some gentle persuasion would be able to

change his mind. That's why I wanted you to come here and meet him; I was sure that

as soon as he got to know you, he'd see how wonderful you are. But now..."

He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. I just don't know anything. It's as

though there's been a slow poison at work on his brain, and I suspect its name is Tas."

Yvette held him gently and did what she could to soothe him until it was time to change

for dinner. It turned out that all the clothing she'd brought with her was inappropriate for

Newforest society; she settled on a yellow tunic-suit as being the best of the lot. Pias,

as always, looked dashing in brown slacks and a flowing shirt that had been

hand-embroidered for him by his late mother.

Yvette wanted to enter the dining room arm in arm with him, but Pias thought it might be

more diplomatic, considering his father's present feelings, if they did not show too much

public affection at once. They walked in side by side and sat down next to one another

at the long, crowded table.

A few of the people there were quite friendly. Pias introduced Yvette-whom he called

his friend-to his sisters. The youngest one, a teenager named Beti, was pleasant and

friendly, but the two older ones, both married to men Pias had privately described as

louts, were stiff and formal. Others at the main table were also relatives, mostly uncles

and aunts who also served as the duke's advisors; the family unit was very strong on

Newforest, Pias had explained, and nepotism was not only taken for granted, it was

expected.

Very few of the other relatives showed Yvette anything more than surface politeness.

She guessed that brother Tas had been busily at work poisoning their minds against

her before she'd even had a chance to defend herself. Pias's homecoming, which

should have been a joyous occasion, was quickly turning into a nightmare.

The chair at the head of the table, where the duke would normally have sat, was

conspicuously empty, and had been, Beti told them, since the old man's illness began.

Nevertheless, proper deference was shown to the duke's place, and every so often a

diner would nod his head out of respect toward the empty chair.

Yvette had never felt quite as out of place anywhere as she did here, but she resolved

not to show it. Her strong social upbringing in a noble family enabled her to ignore the

slights as though they were not there. Still, the knowledge that Pias's family was

rejecting her hurt considerably. She could only begin to imagine what it was doing to

Pias.

They were almost finished with the meal when a beautiful dark woman seated down

near the end of the, table stood up and glared at Yvette. "I challenge the presence of

this gadji in our midst," she said.

There was a muffled gasp down the long table as the various diners reacted to the

statement. Beside her, Yvette could see Pias struggling to remain calm as he said,

"Gitana, stop making a fool of yourself."

Gitana now looked at him. "I claim you, Pias. I claim you by the oaths you took many

years ago and by the fact that you were my sister's fiancee."

She then looked straight back at Yvette. "Is there any real woman who would dispute

my claim?"

Yvette refused to be daunted. With an expression of supreme calm, she said softly,

"Pias is a free human being. He chooses his own consorts. No one has the right to

claim him for anything."

"Stay out of this, Eve," Pias whispered. "Traditions are different here. You'll only make

things worse." Yvette's words had already inflamed Gitana beyond the point of reason.

"Who is this gadii who seeks to instruct me? Am I not daughter of Stiggur, of a noble

line and lineage? Am I not of the chosen family for Pias Bavol's mate? Would she deny

me my rights by all our ancient customs?"

With a quick flick of her wrist, Gitana sent a dagger hurtling through the air at Yvette.

The female SOTS agent gauged its flight path with an experienced aerialist's eye, and

did not twitch a muscle as the dagger landed mere centimeters from her hand and

sheathed itself in the tabletop.

"If she insults me thus, let her back up her words with actions," Gitana raged. She had

another blade in her hand, and was in a fighter's crouch.

Yvette was taken aback by this sudden turn of events. She didn't know much about who

this Gitana was, but she was being placed in the position of having to fight for the_ man

she wanted. From Gitana's pose, she was obviously skilled at fighting with knives-and

she was deadly serious about this duel.

CHAPTER 4

The Duke of Melenaria

After leaving headquarters, Jules raced his car as fast as the laws would permit to the

Canaveral Spaceport to meet his darling Vonnie. Even so he was ten minutes late for

the appointed time; fortunately, the ship's arrival was even later, and she was not left

standing around to wait for him.

When finally she did emerge from the customs checkpoint, he ran over to her and they

embraced like any ordinary pair of long-separated lovers. They had not seen each other

since their assignment together protecting Princess Edna on Ansegria nearly eight

months before. They had each stored up a great deal of emotion during that interval

and, in the first few minutes, they almost completely forgot they were in a public place.

After a while, however, sanity returned, and Jules pulled back a step to look her over

once more. Yvonne Roumenier was the same height as himself, with brown hair,

almond-shaped eyes, an exquisitely beautiful face, and a figure that matched it. Like

him, she was also a DesPlainian, and the child of a noble family. Her father, Ebert

Roumenier, was the baron of Nouveau Calais, one of the most important cities on

DesPlaines.

As the oldest child, she stood to inherit his title one day.

But it was neither her lineage nor her beauty nor the fact that she was engaged to Jules

d'Alembert that had led the Head to choose her for this assignment. Yvonne Roumenier

had scored 989 on the thousand point test, making her one of the most capable agents

at his disposal. The fact that she and Jules made such a compatible team was at most

a secondary consideration.

"I could stand here looking at you all day," Jules said at last, "but we've got an

assignment that we should be on as soon as possible-meaning ten minutes ago."

"Before I even get a chance to unpack?" Vonnie asked. She was still a little breathless

from Jules's kisses, and was unprepared for such a rush.

"Relax, that's part of the assignment. We're live-in bodyguards for Duke Hanforth of

Melenaria, so we go straight to our assignment and check in there. I've already got a

uniform for you; you can change in back while I'm driving."

Jules took her suitcases out to his car and packed them neatly in the back. As they

drove to the outskirts of town, Jules explained as much of the Head's theories as

Vonnie needed to know-that someone seemed to be in the assassination business, and

that Duke Hanforth appeared to be the next prime target. The two of them were being

assigned as personal servants to the duke in addition to a regular SOTE team of

security agents; the regulars would not know Jules and Vonnie were on their side, for

the security of all concerned.

Once out in the open countryside, Jules converted his car once more into an aircraft,

and the two of them began zooming through the uppermost reaches of the atmosphere

toward the Angeles-Diego complex where Duke Hanforth would be staying. The journey

took them all night, but they hardly minded that; they had a lot of news to catch up on,

and a lot of stored-up love to express, now that they were alone. In those spare

moments between kisses, Jules told Vonnie about Yvette's new fianc‚, and Vonnie was

delighted at the news. "Maybe we can have a double wedding ceremony," she

exclaimed.

They arrived in Angeles-Diego just after sunrise the next day. Jules drove to the Luxoria

Hotel, where the duke was supposed to be registered, but he was in for a bit of a

surprise when he inquired at the front desk.

"No, that old windsucker isn't here," the clerk snorted, "and I'm just as glad. He called

our hotel a chrome-plated rubbish heap."

"Why did he do that?" Vonnie asked.

"Because we didn't have any accommodations for him on the ground floor, and he

hates elevator tubes, that's why. Said it was bad enough he had to travel in a metal

boxcar all the way from Melenaria and a flying lawn mower from-the spaceport to here;

he didn't want to have to ride on magic carpets just to get to and from his room." The

clerk sniffed as though his personal honor had been assaulted.

"Do you know where he is staying, then?" Jules asked, becoming a little concerned

about finding the man he was supposed to guard before anything could happen to him.

"Someplace without an elevator tube, obviously. Probably without even running water, if

he has his way. It's crazy old blots like him that make you question the rationale for

hereditary aristocracy." The clerk turned away and refused to say any more to them.

Jules and Vonnie spent the next two and a half hours calling all around Angeles-Diego

trying to locate their wayward duke. Finally Vonnie contacted a rental agent who had

leased the duke a private villa near the ocean at Malibu-a sprawling one-story estate

surrounded by lush gardens, and probably costing five times what the duke would have

spent for the most elegant suite at the Luxoria.

"Well," Jules shrugged, "the Head warned me' our duke was an eccentric sort; I guess

we're finding out just how eccentric he is."

They drove to the address the rental agent had given them and were challenged at the

gate by the regular SOTS people, who had already managed to find and attach

themselves to the man they were protecting. Jules showed the phony ID cards he'd

been given, establishing himself and Vonnie as Fedor and Karolina Khermikov from the

Star Lane Temporary Employment Agency. Fedor was hired to be the duke's valet while

the old man was visiting Earth; Karolina was to be his personal secretary. Both of them

were given a thorough screening before they were allowed to pass through the gate

and go to the house itself.

The beautiful exterior of the house-well worth every cent the duke was paying for

it-gave no indication of the chaos the two agents found as they entered. Suitcases and

trunks lay scattered about the floor throughout the hallways, making walking difficult.

Some had been opened, their contents thrown randomly about as though by a hasty

burglar. Articles of clothing lay where they'd been thrown, either on the floor or draped

at cockeyed angles across pieces of expensive furniture. Jules and Vonnie exchanged

curious glances. Had the house already been broken into, without the knowledge of the

guards at the gate?

Just then a figure burst energetically out of one room. He seemed like a scarecrow

parody of a man, tall and gangly and constructed of odd-lot pieces. His hair was silvery

white and straggled in wisps over the top of his partially bald head. His clothing looked

as though he'd dressed in the middle of a rummage sale the tight pants sported a

codpiece more appropriate for a teenager; the sweater was thirty years out of date and

trimmed with moldering fur; the shoes were ballet slippers, two sizes too large for the

feet they were on. The man moved at a swift pace, though, that belied the look of age

about his features.

"Pirates and thieves," the man ranted. "I'm surrounded by pirates and thieves." Then,

catching sight of Jules and Vonnie, he confronted them. "Are you here to rob me, too?"

"No," Jules said, his voice showing the sudden concern he felt. "Has somebody robbed

you?"

"Everybody has robbed me! Hotel clerks, restaurant owners, rental agents, cab drivers,

porters, bell captains. The entire population of the Earth divides itself into two classes:

the pirates and thieves in one class, the fools and incompetents in the other. If you're

not pirates and thieves, you must be fools and incompetents." He gave a brisk nod of

his head, as though having just proved an abstruse point of law before a jury.

"I should hope not!" Vonnie exclaimed, to which Jules added, "You are, I trust, Duke

Hanforth?"

"If you trust, young man, you're bound to go astray on this sorry planet." He moved off

quickly to another room, and Vonnie and Jules had to hurry to keep pace with him.

"Yes, I'm Duke Hanforth, for whatever that's worth, and it seems to be worth less every

hour I'm alive. Who are you, and how much of my money are you laying claim to?"

The two agents were taken slightly aback by the duke's brusque manner, but were

resolved not to be outdone. "I'm Fedor Khermikov," said Jules, equally crisply, "and this

is my wife Karolina. We're here as..."

"I know, I know. Valet and secretary. As if I'd know what to do with them."

Jules cleared his throat. "May I speak confidentially, Your Grace?"

"And how much will that cost me?" the Duke harrumphed. "I've learned that whenever

anyone asks to speak to you confidentially, he's out to swindle you." "No money

involved, Your Grace," Vonnie said, struggling hard to maintain her temper in the face

of this old man's continuing accusations. "It's about who we really are. We're. . ."

"You're special bodyguards from SOTS," the duke said contemptuously. "Young lady,

do me the favor of not belaboring the obvious. I was a veteran of political intrigues

before your grandparents even tied the knot-if they ever did. I spent five years as Prime

Councilor to Stanley IX, and I was one of the four people to survive that so-called

accident of his."

Jules was impressed with the duke's credentials. The accident he referred to was the

famous one in which the previous emperor had been killed. He'd been on his way back

to Earth after observing some naval training maneuvers, and his private

superdreadnaught had materialized from subspace in the exact path of a drifting

derelict ship. Before the deflector screens could be activated, the ship was destroyed,

and only four people managed to escape alive-Duke Hanforth among them, apparently.

It was a billions-to-one encounter, but SOTE's intensive investigations had proved it

was an accident, not an assassination; there was simply no way all the possible factors

could have been calculated beforehand.

"'So-called'?" Vonnie said. "Then you don't believe it really was an accident?"

The duke snorted. "Nothing is ever an accident, especially where the Stanley family is

concerned. I've lived under three Emperors and known most of their relatives, and, with

the exception of this current chap, they're the most underhanded crew I've ever seen."

"Yet you served as Prime Councilor for five years?" Vonnie was incredulous. "Why did

you do that, if you disliked them so much?"

"Because he was my Emperor." The duke drew himself up straight, like an old soldier

coming to attention. "I'd serve a dung beetle if it were my true Emperor, and believe me,

Stanley IX came close. Hardly a year went by without at least six assassination plots,

some barely foiled in time. I don't know who finally did it or how they worked the trick,

but there are no accidents around the Stanley family-you mark my words on that."

He gave another snort and looked at the two of them as though they were paramecia

under a microscope. "And you two DesPlainians are going to keep me safe from this

gang that's been murdering nobility, eh?"

"You know about them, then?" Jules asked. As angry as the crusty old man made him,

he could not help but be impressed with his intelligence.

"Of course I do. I can read the newsrolls; my eyes haven't gone out on me yet. I can

add facts well enough. I may be old, young man, but I'm not stupid. Stupidity's for the

young, though I admit they don't hold the monopoly yet. They're working awfully hard at

it, though......

His voice trailed off and, for a moment, he stared into space at a point somewhere

between Jules and Vonnie. Then his mind snapped abruptly back to the present.

"Khorosho, you're supposed to be my valet. Do something to prove it. Groom me into a

nobleman of leisure if you can-or don't they teach you anything at the Academy but

muscle stuff?"

Jules rose to the challenge. "Your hair's the first thing needing attention," he said in a

businesslike tone, completely ignoring the dare the other had thrown him. "It wouldn't

look too bad if it were neatly arranged. Your clothing, however, is another matter

entirely. You may have been an imperial advisor, but you have no sartorial taste

whatsoever. I expect your entire wardrobe will have to be revised."

"You would speak that way to a duke, with no trace of respect?"

"No, I would not speak that way to a duke. I would, however, talk to a cantankerous old

curmudgeon like that, because I have a feeling that's the only way you'll listen. And as

for respect, I trade it in equal quantities only."

"You." The duke turned to Vonnie and poked her in the ribs with one long, bony finger.

"Are you merely a pleasant conglomeration of curves or do you actually have some

secretarial skills?"

"Try me, Your Grace."

"Khorosho, I will. Make a memo to fire my valet after he saves my life, and not a

moment before. Now, are you really married to him, or are you free to fool around?"

"At the moment, Your Grace," Vonnie said coldly, "neither."

"Good. At least you're honest. Let's go." Duke Hanforth started toward the door.

"Where?" Jules asked.

"You said I needed a new wardrobe. We're going out to buy one. We'll see if your taste

is any better than mine."

He led them at a brisk pace out the front door to the large gray limousine that SOTS

had put at his disposal. The driver and bodyguard-both skilled SOTE agents-were

lounging about, but snapped to attention the moment the duke appeared. "Do you know

of any good clothing stores in the area?" he asked the driver.

"The best is Haversham's," she replied. "It's about an hour's drive."

"The whole thing's one big damned conspiracy," the old man grumbled. "All of Earth is

ruled by the transportation industry. You can't walk anywhere; you can't even get a

horse drawn vehicle if you want one. Nothing but those damned machines. They're

starting to take over. I tell you, nothing good will ever come of giving machines too

much power." But despite his objections he climbed into the back seat of the limo, and

Jules and Vonnie got in on either side of him.

Duke Hanforth kept up a steady tirade as they drove, enumerating his complaints, real

or imagined, against the conspiracies that ran the Earth. When they reached the shop

and Jules started picking out a new wardrobe befitting a man of Duke Hanforth's age

and station, the duke found something wrong with every selection. Either he didn't like

the color or it didn't feel comfortable or the line was all wrong for him or the material

was sleazy or the price was too ludicrous. That last complaint was the one most

frequently used, and Jules several times was tempted to say he'd pay the difference out

of his own pocket just to get the duke outfitted properly. He could see now why the

duke's wardrobe was so outrageous; he must have driven all his tailors crazy with his

impossible demands.

Finally a compromise was reached that was neither too unacceptable to the duke nor

too outr‚ for Jules's sense of fashion: a set of stylish caftans with fancy embroidery on

the sleeves and down the front. The head salesman, with great relief, promised to have

the clothes made up to the duke's measurements and delivered to the villa within two

days. That matter settled, the duke's party left the shop and started the drive back to

their villa.

They found, though, that they would have to take a detour because a broken water

main had temporarily closed a number of streets. Jules and Vonnie were instantly

suspicious of the circumstance and kept extra alert as they drove.

The car ended up traveling through some of the poorer sections of the city. Buildings

were rundown, people wore rags, drunks and drug addicts slept in the gutters. It was

not a pretty sight.

Duke Hanforth was oddly silent as they drove through, though his eyes darted back and

forth, missing no details. As they drove out of the slum into a more presentable section,

Jules and Vonnie relaxed their guard slightly. Then Duke Hanforth spoke up. "How can

they tolerate conditions like that?"

"Most of the people were born there and have lived there all their lives," Vonnie began.

"I don't mean them. People can live almost anywhere if they have to. I mean the

authorities-the baron, count, earl and so forth, all the way up to the Emperor himself.

How can they dare to let people under their protection live that way?"

"Earth has a population now of nine billion," Jules said quietly. "There is chronic

underemployment, starvation, crime. There are relief organizations of various kinds, but

the job is so vast and their funds are so limited. . . ." He shuddered. "I've seen worse.

The planet Chandakha makes what we just saw look like heaven itself."

The old man snorted. "Secretary, take a memo. Remind me to donate half a million

rubles to these relief agencies."

"Half a million?" Vonnie was startled. This was a man who had just been haggling over

a ten-ruble price difference in clothing.

"Khorosho, make it a million then. And twice as much to some agency that will help

Chandakha." Closing his eyes, the old man leaned back in his seat and said not

another word all the way back to the villa.

Over the next two days, Jules and Vonnie were constantly amazed at the multiple

paradoxes that comprised the Duke of Melenaria. He was old in terms of years and yet,

in some of his enthusiasms, he had the spirit and energy of a child. He could be

parsimonious to the point of absurdity in his everyday dealings, then suddenly turn

around and perform an act of incredible generosity on a grand scale. He saw

conspiracies against himself under every bush, and yet was possessed of insight that

sometimes made Jules frankly jealous. All these contradictions and more went into

making up the extraordinary person who ruled the planet Melenaria.

"I think I like him," Jules said to Vonnie after their second day on the job. "Most of the

time, that is."

The attack came suddenly, late at night when all in the house were asleep but the

guards at the gate. Had they been ordinary guards without SOTE's special training or

equipment, they would have succumbed immediately. But, with the special equipment

the Service had provided them, they were able to detect the trouble almost from the

onset.

The sweetish smell of tirascaline, a powerful sleep gas, activated alarm circuits in the

guardhouse even before it reached a density high enough to affect human beings. The

SOTE people were jolted instantly out of their complacency by the sounds of the alarms

all over the estate. So quickly were they able to reach for their gas masks that only one

guard was overcome by the vapor and left unconscious for several hours.

A large copter descended to the open space in front of the house and immediately

disgorged a dozen of the toughest armed killers Abel Howard had been able to find.

The men had hoped that their tirascaline attack would incapacitate the opposition

enough to make their job simpler, but they came prepared for any eventuality. Clad in

battle armor, they immediately drew their blasters and began raying anything that

moved.

The guards fired back with blasters of their own. Normal strength weapons would have

been almost useless against the armor of the attackers, but these guards were armed

with Service heavy-duty specials. A direct hit from one of them could pierce all but the

toughest space armor-and these agents were all graduates of the Service Academy

with top grades in marksmanship. Although they were slightly outnumbered, they were

not to be outfought.

The air in the courtyard sizzled as beams of incalculable energy were traded back and

forth by both sides. Where stray beams hit vegetation small fires broke out, and soon

there were dozens of them scattered about the grounds. The combatants ignored them;

the true danger, they knew, was from each other's weaponry.

After ten minutes of virtual stalemate, the duke's "chauffeur" made a daring move.

Filling the beamproof limousine full of her comrades, she drove recklessly straight at the

knot of attackers. As the enemy scrambled out of her way, the doors opened and the

SOTE agents flew out, blasters beaming.

What had started as an even contest quickly became a rout. The attackers, realizing

their forces had been dispersed, raced back to their copter, their only thoughts now

being ones of escape. Three of their number lay dead in the courtyard by the time the

rest made it to their craft and started lifting rapidly into the air, but that was as close to

safety as they got. A deadly beam from the muzzle of one SOTE agent's gun hit a

propeller blade, slicing it off cleanly. The disabled copter crashed to earth again and

erupted in a giant ball of flame from which no survivors could be expected.

The instant the alarms went off, Jules and Vonnie were also prepared for action. They

came sprinting out of their room, guns at the ready. Their only thought was the

protection of the duke. Along with him they watched the exciting action in the courtyard

outside, but they took no part in it. Though Jules was itching for action, he knew that his

assignment was to be the last line of defense at Duke Hanforth's side at all times. It was

well that they stayed at their posts, too, for the entire courtyard battle had been just a

diversion. While all attention was focused in front of the house, three other assassins

crept in through the back entrance. They came boldly, not worrying about the alarms on

the back door; there was already so much noise and confusion that no one would be

able to notice.

These three assassins were all DesPlainians. Just as people from the d'Alemberts'

home world were in demand as bodyguards and spies, so criminals from that

heavy-grav planet were wanted by the underworld to accomplish a variety of nefarious

deeds. DesPlainian crooks possessed the same attributes of quickness and strength as

their more honest compatriots, and they could name their own price for their services.

As the trio of assassins burst into the room, Jules and Vonnie whirled to face them.

Jules leaped to one side, knocking Duke Hanforth to the ground just as a blaster beam

sliced through the air where he'd been standing an instant previously. Vonnie,

meanwhile, had also jumped to avoid a blaster beam, but she had gone straight up.

Catching hold of the curtain at the peak of her leap, she clung there looking down on

the room as she raised her own weapon into position and fired back.

The assassins had been hoping their sheer speed would gain their objective. Having

now lost that element of surprise, they hastily took cover from Vonnie's counterattack

and settled in for what might be, comparatively, a long battle.

Vonnie knew she could not stay where she was; her position was too exposed. With a

sharp tug, she pulled the curtain from its fastenings, and both she and the drapes fell to

the floor. She landed in a crouch, gun in one hand while her other hand still clung to the

curtain fabric.

Jules had managed, during the brief interlude, to slide both himself and the duke

behind a solid solentawood table. The heavy wood would not be proof against

concentrated blaster fire, but Jules was not about to allow the three assassins the

opportunity to make a concerted attack. Reaching around the side of the table, he fired

at their covered positions.

The explosion of the copter outside startled everyone The assassins were not sure

what to make of it but, like most criminals, they were cowards at base. Such an

explosion was not part of any plans that had been developed for this strike. One side or

another must have made a decisive maneuver. If it was their side, then more of their

own men would be coming in here soon and could take over the job; if it was the

defenders, the assassins knew they would soon be greatly outnumbered. In either case,

they saw no profit in sticking around here and fighting against other DesPlainians who

seemed more than a match for them. Their thoughts turned instantly to flight.

Before they could act on their impulses, though, Vonnie was doing some pretty fancy

tricks of her own. Whipping the curtain fabric around her head like an ancient gladiator

would whirl his net, she hurled it in the direction of the three killers. The heavy material

did not behave precisely as Vonnie had hoped, but the results were satisfactory

enough. As it hit its targets, it knocked into them with sufficient impact to push them off

their feet and jar the guns loose from their hands.

Jules and Vonnie raced over to the fallen men. They still had their own guns, but were

reluctant to use them-not because they felt any sympathy for these hardened crooks,

but because they both knew that they needed at least one of these assailants left alive

if they hoped to gain any further leads to the mastermind behind this plot.

So, instead of simply shooting them while they were down, they launched a personal

attack. Vonnie leaped on one thug, raining a sharp series of blows down on him and

rendering him almost instantly unconscious. Jules, with the precision of a skilled

aerialist, sprang at a second man in a low dive that ended with Jules's head butting into

the would-be assassin's solar plexus. That unfortunate wight was out cold even before

the air had finished whooshing out of his lungs.

The third man made use of both his own DesPlainian reflexes and the time the SOTE

team had devoted to his two friends. By the time Jules and Vonnie had finished with

their initial antagonists and whirled to look for him, he had already gotten back up onto

his feet and retrieved his blaster. The first target he saw was Vonnie, lying on the

ground entangled with the assassin she'd just knocked out. Without hesitation, the third

killer fired directly at her.

Only her equally fast reflexes saved her. Her peripheral vision caught sight of his

motion as he raised his arm to shoot, and she acted instinctively. Rolling over on her

back, she raised her unconscious antagonist on top of her to act as a shield. The

blaster beam hit the hapless foe squarely in the back. The stench of burning flesh

seared Vonnie's nostrils, but the bulk of her late enemy's body protected her from the

blast.

Even this minuscule delay had given Jules time enough to act. Though he had dropped

his gun when he'd butted his head into the man on the ground, he still had his body-a

formidable weapon indeed. Springing quickly to his feet, he leaped at the killer even as

the latter was starting to fire at Vonnie. The man tried to swivel and catch Jules in his

beam, too, but he was the merest fraction of a second too late. Jules's hundred-kilo

body rammed into him and the two men went sprawling on the floor.

Had they been fighting in an open area, the outcome would have been a foregone

conclusion. But in this room crowded with expensive furniture, Jules happened to come

down with his head bumping hard against the leg of a chair. The blow only stunned him

momentarily, and against a foe from a light-grav world it would hardly have mattered.

But against another DesPlainian it was almost a fatal mishap.

His opponent took perfect advantage of the tiny lapse to extricate himself from the

tangle and raise himself up on his knees. He lifted his blaster to fire once more, but

before he could do so he was cut down by a beam from across the room. Vonnie had

relocated her own weapon and shot the thug before he could fulfill his murderous intent.

Then she ran across the room and knelt beside her fianc‚. "Are you all smooth?" she

asked.

Jules nodded his head and climbed slowly to his feet. He looked over at the

unconscious body of the man he'd butted with his head. "Well, it looks like we got one

alive, at least."

Then the two of them looked over to the duke, who stood behind the overturned table

where Jules had left him. The old man had a small blaster drawn and had been

covering the entire fight scene, just to make sure it didn't get out of hand. Now that the

fight was over, he was tucking the gun safely away again.

"You had that the whole time, didn't you?" Jules exclaimed angrily. "You could have

helped us against those guys, you know."

"Nonsense," said the Duke of Melenaria. "You were the ones being paid to save my life.

I wanted to make sure I was getting my money's worth, after all."

CHAPTER 5

The Kriss

With the blade from the thrown knife still quivering in the tabletop just centimeters from

her hand, and Gitana glaring at her with a look that would have scorched lead, Yvette

risked a quick glance back at Pias. "What's going on?" she whispered. "Can she get

away with this?"

Pias nodded. "Unfortunately, by ancient tradition she has the right to duel with anyone

who has besmirched her honor or stolen the love of the man she thinks is rightfully

hers. As far as I know that tradition hasn't been invoked in more than a century-but it

does exist."

Gitana was coming nearer, still ranting. "If the gadji sow wants my man, she can have

him only over my own bleeding corpse. Or I will have him over hers."

Yvette looked quickly around the table, but was met with looks of stony impassivity. She

was not popular here, and no one was about to so much as lift a finger in her behalf.

Regardless of whether the tradition was obsolete or not, they sensed that Yvette was

somehow a threat to their old established ways, and they would feel no great loss at her

death.

She would have preferred to avoid this fight. She had no real complaint against this

Gitana, whoever she was, and Yvette risked her life often enough in the service of her

Emperor to feel no need to test herself in private grudge matches. But there were other

factors involved here-and her beloved Pias was chief among them. Although she was

not certain of all the social ramifications, she knew that backing down here would

shame not only herself but Pias in the eyes of his family and friends. This homecoming

had already been enough of a disaster for him; she didn't want to add to it.

Grabbing the hilt of the knife from the tabletop, she pulled the blade free and stood up

from her place. "I don't like fighting," she said evenly. "But I will fight to protect me and

mine."

In front of her, Gitana gave a smug grin. Behind her, Yvette could detect Pias's anguish.

He obviously didn't want her to fight any more than she did, but, like her, he recognized

the necessity for this match. "Be careful, Eve," he whispered. "She's good."

Yvette had already surmised that simply from the manner in which Gitana moved as

she approached. Her blade was held point upward for a quick slash or jab, her stance

was a slight crouch that would let her spring quickly forward or to either side, depending

on circumstance. Her gaze was fixed squarely on Yvette; she would let nothing distract

her from her goal of victory. Yvette was not surprised to see these signs of expertise; it

only stood to reason that Gitana would challenge her opponent to a form of combat in

which she herself was an expert. It's known as hedging your bets, Yvette thought

cynically.

Yvette moved away from the table toward an open area of the room where she'd have

more space to maneuver. Gitana turned slightly and continued coming after her.

Around them, the room had grown deathly quiet in anticipation of the blood sport that

was to ensue.

The two women circled one another warily, spiraling inward toward the center of a small

imaginary circle. Each was looking for-some weakness in the other's defense, and each

was having a hard time finding one. Yvette was patient, however; she hadn't wanted to

have this fight, anyway. She could afford to wait all night if necessary for the right

moment to move, and she refused to strike first.

Gitana was not blessed with her opponent's patience. After circling for almost two

minutes, she grew tired of the waiting game and decided to force Yvette's hand. With a

sudden lunge, her knife lashed out at the DesPlainian's eyes.

Yvette was ready for the move. She had spotted the tiny muscle tensions that preceded

the strike, and could predict almost the instant it would come. As Gitana's blade came

sweeping toward her face, she took a slight step back with her right foot and lifted her

left arm to block her opponent's motion.

Gitana's move, though, was a feint; even as Yvette was reacting to the supposed threat

to her eyes, Gitana's hand was drawing back and her-left leg was lifting for a vicious

kick to Yvette's midsection. Not even Yvette's reflexes were fast enough to completely

ward off the effects of the blow; the best she could do was start to fall backward as she

saw the foot approach. The kick did not land as hard as Gitana had intended, but it did

have enough force behind it to knock Yvette to the floor.

On a high-gravity world like Newforest, with a surface gravity two and a half times that

of Earth, any fall was a serious accident. Even ten or twenty generations had not

completely acclimated the inhabitants to such brutal conditions. While their bones were

thicker and, to some extent, tougher, they were still basically the same calcium

compounds that had evolved over millions of years on Earth. They could-and did- still

break when allowed to fall victim to the crushing force of high-grav.

The only thing that kept the fight from being over then and there was Yvette's circus

training. Gitana's kick had pushed her off balance. There was no way to prevent the

impending fall from happening, but she did know ways to keep it from being disastrous.

Using her skills as an accomplished acrobat, she tucked her body up in a compact ball

that allowed her to land on the softer portions of her anatomy, cushioning the impact on

her more fragile bones. At the same time, she utilized the momentum imparted to her

by Gitana's kick to let her roll backward. In one fluid motion she had fallen, rolled and

sprung to her feet again, prepared to do battle once more.

I've been underestimating her and overestimating myself, Yvette criticized severely. I've

been so used to working on low-grav worlds these past few years, and so used to

fighting people whose reflexes aren't as fast as my own, that coming back to a

high-grav planet requires an adjustment. Gitana has lived in high-grav all her life, and

she's more used to it right now than I am. Her reflexes are every bit as fast as mine. I'll

have to watch that.

The only advantage she could count on now, she knew, was her extra training as a

circus performer and her greater experience in life-or-death situations. There was a

great deal to be said in favor of such experience, but it could not completely

compensate for overconfidence.

Gitana was upset that her trick had not worked. The feint and kick was the prime tactic

in her repertoire, and she had hoped to use it to end this fight quickly. Now they were in

for a more protracted battle. Gitana was still confident of her ability to win, but she had

gained at least a slight measure of respect for her antagonist.

She made another feint, but this time Yvette did not respond to it. Gitana pulled back,

and the two women began circling one another again. Yvette felt a little more secure

now; having analyzed her opponent, she knew that the other's major weakness was her

impatience. She wanted to make something happen fast, and that, Yvette knew, could

be Gitana's undoing. Things would happen quickly enough, to be sure; but it would be a

calculated quickness on Yvette's part, not a quickness born of impetuosity.

Gitana made a slight body feint with her left shoulder, then lunged savagely into an

attack. It was no feint this time; her knife was slashing for real as her hand ripped

downward in a sweeping motion.

But Yvette was no longer there. She had moved into the feint instead of away from it,

so that her body was closer than Gitana had anticipated it would be. Yvette came up

under the slashing arm, knife at the ready. Gitana, her own reflexes lightning quick,

pulled quickly away-but not quickly enough. Yvette's blade raked the side of her arm,

leaving a gash fifteen centimeters long and drawing blood.

Gitana howled with the pain and pulled rapidly away from the encounter. The wound

seemed only to have doubled her determination to kill Yvette; she glared at the

DesPlainian with intensified ferocity. Let her get angry, Yvette thought coldly. The

madder she is, the more impatient and careless she'll become. All the better for me.

The Newforester made another lunge, which Yvette easily sidestepped. As Gitana

came rushing by, Yvette gave her a blow to the back of the head with her right fist,

causing her foe to stumble into the wall a few meters away. Gitana's apparent

clumsiness invoked a couple of quiet laughs from the audience. They were quickly

hushed, but they had reached Gitana's ears and infuriated her still further. She would

not be humiliated this way.

Gitana regained her balance and started what seemed like another blind charge at

Yvette. The latter was all prepared to sidestep once more but, at the last moment, she

saw Gitana flip her knife expertly from right to left hand. She's ambidextrous! Yvette

thought-and that thought in itself was almost too late.

She had been set to move one way to avoid the knife, and suddenly it was coming at

her from another angle altogether. She barely had time to pull her head back as

Gitana's blade slashed for her throat. The point just did nick the skin, and a drop of red

appeared.

Yvette, off balance once more, reached out and grabbed the other woman's arm as it

went past. This accomplished two purposes: it helped steady Yvette to prevent her from

falling again and, at the same time, it yanked Gitana slightly off her stride. Yvette, with

the unbreakable grip of a star aerialist, held Gitana and, planting her feet, began to

swing the Newforester around her in a circle. Within another few seconds, Yvette was

able to grab Gitana's other wrist as well and began applying as much of her strength as

she could to the pressure point there. Gitana felt herself caught between two needs: the

need to retain her balance against Yvette's whirling her around and the need to hold

onto her knife despite the pain in her hand from Yvette's viselike grip. It was her attempt

to do both at once that proved her undoing. Yanking her arms in toward her body, she

tried to break free of Yvette's grasp. But Yvette would not let go and, instead, Gitana's

struggles only made her knife slip accidentally from her hand. She groaned and tried to

grab for it, but once again Yvette proved quicker.

The instant she saw the knife begin to fall, Yvette released Gitana's right hand and

transferred her hold, instead, to the other's throat. As her arm clamped around the

Newforester's neck in an elbow lock, she pulled backward, lifting her opponent

completely off the ground and thus depriving her of a badly needed leverage point.

Gitana began gagging, but as Yvette put her own knife to the other woman's throat

even that sound stopped. The room was totally silent at her unexpected victory.

"I suppose, under whatever rules govern these things, that I have the right to kill you,"

Yvette said, loudly enough for everyone to hear. "I certainly have no great motivation to

spare you. You attacked me without provocation, and I have every right to defend

myself.

"However," she went on, "as far as I can determine, your main reason for attacking me

was that you love Pias-or think you do. In all fairness, I don't think that should be a

capital offense; I'm guilty of it myself, after all. You're just a little more demonstrative

about it. So I'll make you a deal. I'll spare your life if, in return, you'll promise to

relinquish to me any and all claim you may have held on Pias. Do I have your word on

that?" To emphasize her point, she took Gitana's left arm and gave it an extra hard twist

behind the Newforester's back. As Gitana winced, Yvette whispered privately in her ear,

"If you don't agree, I'll snap it off right here and now."

"Yes," Gitana said through gritted teeth. "You have my word."

Yvette relaxed her grip and pushed the other woman slightly away from her. "Thank

you, Gitana. I appreciate that."

Then she gazed around the rest of the room, looking over a sea of unreadable faces. "I

believe I've had enough of this delicious meal," she said calmly. "And I'm afraid all this

exercise has tired me out. If you don't mind, I'd like to excuse myself and get some

rest."

"I'll go with you and show you the way in case you've forgotten," Pias said quickly.

Taking her arm, he escorted her out the door, turning his back on the anger and

hostility raging within his family.

Later that evening, Tas Bavol knocked on Gitana's door, and let himself in without

waiting for an invitation. Gitana was lying face down on her bed, crying. A bandage had

been wrapped around the knife gash Yvette had made on her arm. As Tas entered, she

looked up and wiped at her eyes in an effort to hide her misery. "What do you want?"

she asked bitterly.

"A few words about our common problem."

"You mean the gadji?" Gitana propped herself up on the elbow of her good arm to look

at him better.

"In part," Tas agreed. "But she's only a portion of a larger problem-namely, what we're

going to do, about Pias."

"He's no longer my concern," Gitana said, rolling petulantly onto her back and staring

up at the ceiling. "You heard me tonight; I relinquished all claim to him."

"You're still a Newforester, aren't you?"

"I'm beginning to wonder if I'm anything at all."

Tas sat down on the edge of the bed, grabbed her by the shoulders and started shaking

her. "My father has mottle fever. He could die at any time. By law, then, Pias would be

our duke. He's already told my father he doesn't want to stay here; he's perfectly willing

to betray our world and our people for something he refuses to explain. Is that the sort

of man you want as your ruler?"

Gitana sniffed back the remainder of her tears as she considered what Tas was saying.

Pias had already betrayed her twice: once by dropping her in favor of her younger

sister, and now by taking up with this loathsome gadji. No, she realized, she did not

want him to become the next duke of Newforest.

"What did you have in mind?" she asked Tas.

"We'll call for a kriss. Surely there are enough grounds for that." Gitana looked a bit

uncertain, so Tas pressed on quickly, "If I called for one, no one would listen. My

feelings about him are well known, and besides, I'm next in line. I would stand to inherit

if the decision goes against him. Obvious bias. But your father is the most influential

marquis on the planet. If you could persuade him to call for the kriss, they'd all listen.

They'd all come. Once they hear everything Pias has done, they're sure to vote against

him."

"Yes," Gitana whispered, staring up at the ceiling. "Yes, that would serve him right, the

bastard. I'll call my father first thing in the morning. I'm sure he'll be as shocked at all of

this as I am."

Tas began stroking her cheek gently with two fingers. "And once I'm confirmed as the

new marquis and future duke," he said softly, looking directly into her eyes, "I could

make you the future duchess."

It took a moment for the full implication of his words to sink into her misery-numbed

mind. Then she looked more closely at his face. He was not Pias, but the family

resemblance was strong. He was far from unattractive, and if she squinted long enough

she could forget the slight differences. . . .

Tas bent over to kiss her. She knew one slight moment of further uncertainty, then gave

herself in to the situation. Reaching her arms up around his shoulders, she pulled him

down on top of her and returned the kiss with all the frustrated passion she had felt for

his brother.

The next day Pias and Yvette strove hard to put all the unpleasantness of the past

twenty-four hours out of their minds. They stayed completely away from the rest of the

Bavol family, hoping that events would be forgotten and that the anger and resentment

would cool in their absence. It was a forlorn hope, and both knew it, but neither said a

word about it.

During the morning, Pias showed Yvette around the estate, with a special tour of the

elaborate gardens. Yvette was fascinated by the redness of all the vegetation. Because

the radiation curve from Newforest's sun peaked in the infrared portion of the spectrum,

the local variety of chlorophyll-which allowed the native plants to use this light as their

food and energy source-reflected light at a lower frequency. It seemed strange at first to

see so many multicolored flowers atop red stems and sprouting red leaves, but Yvette

had seen many strange sights in her travels around the galaxy so far, and quickly

accustomed herself to it. Pias took great delight in naming all the flowers and explaining

to her some of their peculiar characteristics.

"The red color is one of the main reasons why I love Earth roses so much," he

explained. While he had been traveling through the Empire on his quest, he had made

it his custom to wear a fresh red rose every day, either in his hat brim or on his sleeve.

"It's something unmistakably Earthly, and yet its color captures the quintessence of my

home planet. I once tried to have the gardeners plant rose bushes here in our garden,

but the gravity and the strange sunlight were too much for them and they never grew

properly." He sighed wistfully. "Things I love just don't seem to transplant well to

Newforest." And then he changed the subject abruptly.

After consuming the delightful picnic lunch Yuri had packed for them, Pias took Yvette

into the capital city of Garridan for an afternoon of shopping and sightseeing. There

were no museums or architectural wonders to visit, but Yvette took immense interest in

seeing the shops of the local craftsmen. Newforest was still so sparsely settled a world

that it had no heavy industry; virtually all the local goods were handmade. Yvette spent

a fascinating hour watching a glassblower work at her trade. She visited the local

weavers and admired their cloth and rugs. A potter offered to give her a free lesson in

ceramics, and Yvette sculpted a slightly off-kilter pot; the man nodded politely to her,

but Yvette was sure he would probably remold it once she had left. She had spent so

much time on the more populated, more progressive planets that she had forgotten how

much tranquillity could exist on the simpler ones.

Pias was recognized everywhere they went. Word of his return had spread throughout

the city, and everyone seemed to greet him like a long-lost relative. If there had been

any news of trouble among the duke's family, it had not filtered down to the populace.

The ordinary people of Newforest loved Pias, even if his relatives did not.

The pair returned to the Bavol manor to find a large number of private copters sitting in

the front courtyard. Pias recognized most of the heraldic devices on the sides which

marked the vehicles as belonging to some of the most important nobles on the planet.

Perhaps at that moment he had some notion of what was about to happen; but if the

idea crossed his mind, he kept it entirely to himself. Yvette, too, noted the abundance of

nobility, but she resolved not to say anything unless Pias first brought the subject up.

They had their dinner privately, alone together in Pias's room, and as they ate they

could hear the arrival of still more copters. Pias began feeling very jittery. After dinner

he showed off his collection of bookreels, but his eyes kept wandering to the door, as

though expecting someone to come at any moment.

Finally his fears were confirmed. Two of his uncles came into the room without knocking

and stood to either side of the doorway. "Pias Bavol," one said, "you are summoned to

the kriss."

Pias gave a slight shudder, then closed his eyes and nodded slowly. "Khorosho, IT be

down in a few minutes."

"You'll come with us now."

Pias looked for a moment as though he'd explode with anger; then suddenly that look

vanished, to be replaced by an expression of resignation. As he started to walk toward

his two uncles, Yvette grabbed his arm. "What's the kriss?" she asked.

"It means `the law.' It's a throwback to the old tribal system of justice, where the

elders-or, in the present case, the nobles-sit in judgment of some offender. It's a trial for

the violation of tribal tradition."

"But what have you done that's so wrong?" Yvette persisted. She looked at the two men

standing by the door, but they gave her no indication.

"I'm not precisely sure, though I can make a few guesses. Tas will come up with some

interesting charges, I'm sure. I can see his not-so-subtle hand behind all of this."

As he again moved toward the door, Yvette said, "Let me come with you. This is partly

because of me, I know it. . . ."

Pias shook his head. "The kriss is for men only another old tribal throwback. And even if

women were allowed, they'd still bar you; you're a stranger, an outsider, and therefore

unwelcome. This is something I have to face for myself. Wait here for me."

Yvette wanted to ask him what this tribunal could do to him if it decided against him; but

he and his two uncles were out the door so quickly that the question died unborn on her

lips. It couldn't be too bad or he would have put up a fight, she was sure of that. So the

only thing left for her was to do as he'd suggested, wait here for his return.

Minutes dragged by- for her like years. She tried to interest herself in one of Pias's

bookreels, but none of them seemed worthwhile at the moment. She paced the room,

staring out the window at the darkness beyond and trying to make sense out of

everything that had happened since she and Pias had arrived on Newforest. She

wished she were fighting ten of Lady A's most ferocious minions-anything seemed

preferable to facing this unmitigated torture.

The upper floor of the house seemed deserted. Every time a board creaked or the

house made some minor settling noise she would jump up and run to the door hoping

to see her fianc‚ returning. All of her finely tuned senses were on alert, awaiting some

sign that he was coming back to her unharmed.

An hour passed, then two. Were there loud noises downstairs, the sounds of an

argument? Yvette could not tell; her imagination was afire, and every slight stirring only

served to feed the flames. She tried to picture Pias standing before the kriss, arguing

against his brother. How would he do it? Would he be defiant or contrite? Sincere or

flippant? Would the confrontation devolve to a knife fight as had her duel with Gitana?

Or would it remain a verbal duel only? Over and over, her unasked question returned to

her mind: what could they do to him if they found him guilty of some violation? Could

they kill him? And how many of them would she kill if they did?

At last she heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hall at a rapid pace, a pace

that connoted violent emotions. She tensed, preparing herself for instant action should

any enemy come through the door. She was not a part of their barbaric system, and

she certainly wouldn't give in to them without a fight.

The door flew open and Pias stormed in. His face held an expression of anger she

would have thought totally alien to his normally happy-go-lucky personality. "The little

bastard," he muttered. "The drapping little. . ."

"What happened?" Yvette asked, crossing the room quickly to stand by his side.

Pias smacked his palm with his fist and seemed for a moment not to have heard her. "I

never would have thought so much cruelty could exist in one spot!" He looked at Yvette

as though seeing her for the first time. "Do you know what that younger brother of mine

did?" "No. That's why I asked you."

Her calm voice took some of the edge off his anger. He put his hands on her shoulders

and she could feel him still trembling with rage. He stopped for a moment and tried to

organize his thoughts. "My father, as duke, had to preside over the kriss. They brought

him down from his sickbed especially for the occasion. I don't mind anything Tas can do

to me; he's always been a brat. But taking my father apart in public like that ... our

father. . ."

He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. "I was accused," he said in more level

tones, "of betraying my people. Tas told them that, while I was away looking for Rowe

Carnery, I grew to hate my own people and to look down on them as being too

provincial. He said I only came back here because I'd heard my father was dead and

that I was going to inherit, and that once I learned it wasn't so I was all set to leave

again immediately. He said that bringing my . . . that bringing you here-his term was

even less complimentary than gadii-was a slap in the face for all Newforest women.

"I tried to counter all his arguments, but there was little I could do. I told them that I

loved Newforest and my father, but that I had to leave again soon and I couldn't tell

them why. I had to admit that I loved you and had asked you to marry me, and yet I

couldn't tell them anything about you." He gave a small, mirthless laugh. "It sounded

pretty lame even to me.

"And there they were, nearly two dozen men I've known and respected all my life. Many

of them liked me and were trying ' to help me wriggle out of the mess, but because of

the Service's secrecy I couldn't give them any information that would help. They didn't

want to condemn me, but I wasn't able to provide them with any strong alternative. The

vote, in the end, was unanimous."

The anger started to grow inside him once more as he continued, "But that wasn't

enough for my damned, self-serving bastard of a brother. There would have been

plenty of ways to implement the decision, but Tas insisted that my father pronounce the

final decree. My dying father, who was always so proud of me and my

accomplishments, who's in constant pain these days . . . the others all tried to talk him

out of it, but Tas wouldn't let go. My father, no matter how much it pained him, was

going to have to be the one to pronounce my sentence, no matter how much it hurt him

to do so. I didn't dream Tas could be so cruel as to force him to do that."

"What . . . what is the sentence?" Yvette asked. "They're not going to kill you, are they?"

His anger against his brother vented, Pias seemed to lose some of his steam. Walking

over to the edge of his bed, he sat down and held his head in his hands. "No, but they

might as well have. I've been disowned by my father and my family. They've burned my

baby clothes and my wedding shirt and destroyed all pictures of me. I've been banished

from the planet, with all traces of me wiped from their memories. No one of my

acquaintance will speak to me or even acknowledge my presence."

He lifted his head again and his eyes had a deep, hollow look to them. "Eve, it's as

though I ceased to exist any more."

CHAPTER 6

The Chanteuse of the Iron Angel

Jules left Vonnie to watch over Duke Hanforth and guard their one surviving prisoner

while he went out to his car and put a scramble call through to the Head. It took several

minutes before Grand Duke Zander von Wilmenhorst could actually get to the

vidicom-the hour was late, and he'd been enjoying the small bit of sleep his dual role of

Grand Duke and Head of SOTE permitted him. Once on the line, though, he was wide

awake and listening with interest as Jules described the events of the evening.

"Get your captive down to our regional office there, pronto," the Head said when Jules

had finished. "I'll dispatch someone there to handle the interrogation; I know Yvette

usually handles that for you, and I want this done as expertly as possible. In the

meantime, we've got to put out some sort of cover story to keep the opposition

guessing. They'll know by now that their team has run into some trouble. We'll have to

keep them from trying again."

After a brief discussion with Jules, they decided to leak to the press the story that Duke

Hanforth of Melenaria had indeed been killed during a premeditated attack on his villa.

Although all the attackers had died in the attempt, they had nonetheless been

successful in eliminating their target. Meanwhile, the still-living duke would be kept

tightly under wraps-or at least as tightly as anyone could manage to keep him-until the

day of the wedding. In the meantime, Jules and Vonnie would be pulled off that

assignment and instead be given the job of tracking down further the chain of command

in the assassination conspiracy.

As he'd been instructed, Jules took his prisoner to the SOTE branch office and stood by

while an expert interrogator subtly questioned the killer. Virtually every technique was

used short of nitrobarb-and the interrogator assured Jules that this man was not highly

enough placed to merit nitrobarb. He was squeezed clean of information even without it.

The information they did get was little enough. This DesPlainian had served one

function only in the organization-to kill his assigned targets. He had no political

convictions, no personal philosophy to uphold, no grudges against Duke Hanforth. He

was a total mercenary. His only contact with this organization was through one of the

men who had died in the copter crash, a man named Kojome. Kojome had been the

one to collect all payments and get the orders from the higher-ups. Under even more

intensive questioning, this killer did recall Kojome mentioning a place called the Iron

Angel and the name Howard, but whether that was a first name or a last name, he

didn't know. No matter how much more they questioned the man, nor how many threats

they issued, they could not get any more information out of him than that.

The local SOTE office did have a listing for a nightclub called the Iron Angel, a quite

respectable middleclass entertainment spot. There had been no previous suspicion that

the club might have any strong links to the underworld, although known bigwigs in local

crime organizations had been seen there upon occasion. Nevertheless, this was the

only lead they had; Jules and Vonnie would have to follow up on it.

It was midmorning by the time the interrogation was completed, and Jules put in

another call to the Head to discuss strategy and options. Within an hour they had a plan

mapped out and they broke connections again; the Head began the backup work to

implement the plan while Jules returned to Yvonne and explained what they had

learned.

"We're going to have to infiltrate that nightclub," Jules said. "The Head and I worked out

cover identities for you and me as singer and manager."

"It shouldn't be hard for me to guess which of us will be which," Vonnie laughed. "You

couldn't carry a tune if it had chrome-plated handles attached."

"How's your own voice these days?"

"I haven't done anything formally since leaving the college choir. How does this sound?"

She broke into a spontaneous rendition of the Imperial Anthem.

Jules listened and watched her with a dreamy expression on his face. "That's sweet

enough to make me want to spring to attention," he said. "You might not be destined to

be the recording idol of billions, but it will serve perfectly well for a lounge like the Iron

Angel."

"But I'll need an act, some kind of professional routine. .. ."

"All being planned. The Head is arranging for Honey Slocum to come up with

something for you; from what I'm told, she's one of the best show business arrangers

on Earth. You'll be fantastic, believe me."

"But how can we be sure the Iron Angel will even hire me?"

"With me as your manager, how could they possibly resist?" Jules grinned.

Two days later, the singer who normally performed at the Iron Angel received an

unexpected offer from a talent syndicate on the planet Rumfelt. One of their scouts had

spotted her while vacationing on Earth, they said, and he'd been very impressed with

her performance. They wanted to sign her to a multi-year exclusive contract involving

films, trivision, recordings, and personal appearances. The amount of money involved

was more than she had ever dreamed of earning-but she would have to leave

immediately, because the opening could not be held. Even had she stopped to think

about it, she would not have thought there was anything significant to the fact that the

planet Rumfelt was located in Sector Four-which was owned by Grand Duke Zander

von Wilmenhorst.

Her sudden departure from Earth caught the manager of the Iron Angel, a man named

Shorken, completely unprepared. He was angry at her for running out on him without

notice, and he was dreading the legions of talent agents who would soon be besieging

him with possible replacements. Out of nowhere, though, came a short, chunky man

named Willy Bledsoe claiming to have a performer all ready to fill the opening. Bledsoe

said he'd heard the spot was vacant from a friend of his on Rumfelt and had been

waiting for just such an opportunity. Desperately, Shorken agreed to an audition.

Vonnie, who would now be performing under the name of Lyla Beaumonde, had been

rehearsing constantly for two days under Honey Slocum's able direction. To her

pleasant voice had been added a flip, sultry style that was currently very popular among

singers on Earth, and a few simple dance routines to supplement the singing. Vonnie

was, fortunately, a quick study; Gospozha Slocum admitted she'd never had a more apt

pupil. Thus, by the time Lyla Beaumonde's audition was scheduled, Vonnie was ready

to perform.

"I don't think I've been this nervous since being in my grammar school play," she

admitted to Jules just before going on.

"Relax, and remember, you're not just a singer, you're a chanteuse-you've got style. Go

out there and knock 'em dead."

The act was not the most polished show business performance, but the Iron Angel's

manager was not in a position to demand perfection. As he watched and listened to

Vonnie, he went over the faked press clippings of her career on the planet Largo that

Jules had supplied to him. Everything was in order, and Lyla Beaumonde appeared to

have a satisfactory reputation as a steady performer. She would at least satisfy his

immediate needs. If she did well at the club, he could keep her on indefinitely; if she

didn't, she would at least fill the hole until he could round up some better talent. Before

Vonnie had even finished her full act, Shorken called Jules over and they signed a

ten-day contract.

If Vonnie had thought she was scared at the audition, the feeling had tripled in intensity

by the time of her first show that night. Fortunately it was a Tuesday night, and the

audience was only three-quarters of capacity. Still, she had some fidgety moments

before she finally overcame both stage fright and opening night jitters and settled down

to do her act. Her fears were all for naught; the audience loved her, calling her back for

two curtain calls. After that she settled down and took to her new career with a more

professional attitude.

Nine days passed and Lyla Beaumonde began acquiring a good reputation-but that was

not exactly what Jules and Vonnie had been aiming for. There were now only two days

to go before the Princess's wedding. There had been no assassination attempts against

any nobles since the try against Duke Hanforth; perhaps the enemy's forces had been

too depleted in that attack and hadn't been rebuilt quickly enough. Or, Jules thought,

perhaps they had gained as much as they thought they could and were biding their time

until the actual wedding ceremony. Both Jules and the Head were in agreement that

something was in store for that event, though neither could guess precisely what it was.

And their only lead-this nightclub-was turning cold. There had been no sign of any

activity suspicious enough to point the way to a treasonous conspiracy nothing more

criminal than watering the customers' drinks, Jules thought dismally. There had been no

sign of anyone named Howard, no sign of Lady A-no sign of any trouble whatsoever. If I

ever want a perfectly safe, boring evening, Jules thought, I'll sure know where to come.

Finally, on Thursday night just before her last show, Gospodin Shorken came to

Vonnie's dressing room. "Make it a good show tonight, Lyla," he said. "Abel Howard is

in the audience."

Though her heart jumped, Vonnie managed to keep her face expressionless as she

applied her makeup. "Who's he?" she asked casually.

"Gospodin Howard is one of our big customers and a very important man. If he likes

you, all sorts of good things come your way-provided you play ball with him, if you know

what I mean."

Vonnie knew precisely what he meant, but she knew that it didn't pay to look too smart.

"What do I have to do?" she asked.

"Nothing, just yet. Just go out there and do your act. If Howard likes you, he'll come

back here after the show and you can wing it from there."

As soon as Shorken was gone, Vonnie left her dressing room in search of Jules, who

was busy chatting with one of the musicians, slyly pumping him for any information

about shady dealings that might be occur ring around the club. Aside from a small

amount of illicit drugs and a minor call girl ring, the man knew nothing. Jules didn't

bother with those leads; he was fishing for bigger game.

Vonnie took her fiancee aside and told him of Shorken's visit. "I was beginning to

wonder whether this Howard was a myth," he said. "But it all depends on whether we

can draw him to our bait."

"And since when have I ever had trouble attracting a man?" Vonnie asked, rolling her

hips suggestively. "Go a little easier on that," Jules said, pretending to shade his eyes.

"We only want one man, not the entire audience, to come racing up onto the stage after

you." He paced up and down, trying to think of a plan. "Can you get him to come to your

hotel room?" he asked after a bit.

"Do bunnies hop? That's the least of my problems, lover. The more important question

is what we're going to do with him once I get him there."

"Leave all that to me. You just play the dumb, helpless female all the way, no matter

what happens. Do whatever he suggests. I'll make sure things don't get out of hand."

"You'd better," Vonnie said. "If I'm going to be unfaithful to you, I'd prefer it to be with

someone a little more classy than this Howard character."

That evening, Vonnie gave the most outstanding performance of her short career. She

was called back for six curtain calls and had projected enough sex appeal to have the

men standing in the aisles and whistling. If all that doesn't hook Howard, she thought,

I'd better grow a beard and start smoking cigars.

As she'd hoped, Howard came to her dressing room shortly after she'd finished

changing. She took an instant dislike to the big man; she'd seen his kind entirely too

many times in the past, and she despised their dehumanizing notions of how to deal

with women. But she was playing a role tonight, and she vowed she'd play it to the hilt.

After a remarkably short attempt at small talk, Howard got right to the point. "I like you,

lyubovnika," he said as though he were handing out the Imperial Medal of Honor.

"How'd you like to go to dinner with me?"

"I've already eaten, and my manager says that I have to watch my weight if I'm going to

keep my figure," she said, all innocent and little-girlish. "Besides, he's laid down very

strict rules for me. He says I'm supposed to go home and go to bed immediately after I

finish every night. That way, he says, I won't get all old and wrinkly looking."

"Sounds like a smooth guy," Howard cracked. "Look, did he specify you had to be

alone?"

Vonnie giggled coquettishly and shot him a smile that was both ingenuous and knowing

at the same time. "Now that you mention it, I don't believe he did. What did you have in

mind, you naughty man?"

Howard told her, in the crudest possible terms. Vonnie didn't have to act to make the

blush creep into her cheeks, but her theatrical abilities were taxed to the limit as she

forced herself to give him a civil and affirmative answer. Howard smiled, mentally

chalking up still another conquest.

They left the club together in his chauffeured car and drove straight to her hotel. She

snuggled up to him in the back seat and forced herself to smile as his clammy hands

were exploring her body. The things one does out of loyalty to the Empire! she thought.

I only hope Jules is quick about whatever plan he has worked out; if this bastard

breathes on me too much more, I know I'll throw tip.

They reached the hotel and took the elevator tube up to the eleventh floor where her

room was. They walked down the hall together, laughing, and then stood outside her

door for a minute as she fumbled through her purse trying to find the key. Finally she

located it and opened the door. They stepped inside and she reached for the light

switch, but he stopped her. "We don't need that, do we?" he said. He closed the door

behind them, pulled her body tightly against his, and began kissing her crudely. At the

same time his hands were behind her, clumsily unfastening her dress.

I f Jules doesn't do something soon, Vonnie thought distastefully, I'll take care of this

ape myself. Howard will be walking bowlegged for a week when I get through with him.

Just then the lights switched on and she heard Jules's voice across the room say, "Ahal

So that's what you've been up to while my back is turned, eh?"

Vonnie backed away from Howard, a look of mock horror on her face. "Willy, please!

You don't understand. . .."

"What's there to misunderstand? I've got a picture right here." He held up a

minicamera. "You in his arms ,with your dress half off. Thought you could cheat on me,

didn't you? Well, I'll fix you. When the newsrolls get their hands on that picture, your

career will be finished."

Howard had been standing aside during this interplay, eyeing the scene scrupulously.

He chose this moment to speak. "I don't think you'll be showing that picture to anyone,"

he said calmly.

"No woman cheats on me and gets away with it." "Toss it out the airlock," Howard

laughed cruelly. "I know what your ploy is, and I won't be bummed into it.."

"Ploy?" Vonnie said.

"Sure, I know the old badger game. Want me to tell you how the scene was going to go

from there? Lyla here would be pleading with you not to ruin her career, and you'd only

laugh at her. Then she'd turn to me and beg me to help. Then I'm supposed to offer to

buy the picture from you, and when you think you've taken me for enough money you

accept. That's one of the oldest scams around-only I ain't falling for it. You picked on

the wrong man, comrades. I'm out of your league altogether."

Jules, suddenly angry for real-or appearing so-rushed at the bigger man with murder in

his eyes. But it was not the sort of rush that he was capable of; to Vonnie's trained

eyes, Jules looked like a slow motion parody of himself. Howard was able to sidestep

him easily and deliver a punch to Jules's right side. Jules fell clumsily, then picked

himself up and lunged at the other man again. This time he was able to land a hard

blow to Howard's chin that sent the Earthman stumbling backward-but again, Vonnie

could tell that he had pulled the punch. Jules could have had Howard unconscious from

that blow; instead, the bigger man just shook his head to clear it of the muzziness and

came back for more.

The two men locked in combat in the middle of the floor, trading hard punches in rapid

succession. Vonnie was tempted to go to her boyfriend's aid but remembered his

instructions that she play the dumb female at all times. She had a glimmering now of

Jules's plan, so she meekly backed into a corner and watched, taking care to see that

the situation never got too far out of hand.

Both men had bloody lips, and Jules was bleeding from a cut near his eye as well. Each

of them appeared to be tiring; the blows were coming less often and the two men were

panting heavily. Finally Jules's guard dropped a fraction of a second too long and

Howard spotted the opening. He swung a vicious blow into Jules's midsection that

doubled the DesPlainian over, and Howard finished him off with a punch that knocked

Jules halfway across the room. Jules struggled to get back on his feet, but fell to the

ground again, helpless. He lay there, conscious but unmoving.

Howard moved in to finish the job, and Vonnie thought this was a good time to interfere.

"Please, don't kill him!" she exclaimed. .

Her voice made Howard stop. He looked back at her, then down at Jules's prostrate

form and realized the fight was effectively over. "You two picked on the wrong man," he

reiterated.

Then a thought crossed his mind. He bent down and lifted Jules up, then tossed him

easily across the bed. "Still, you fought pretty well," he went on.

"Not well enough," Jules moaned through lips that were already beginning to swell. "I

lost."

"Don't take it so personal, there's not many guys can beat me," Howard boasted. He

looked Jules over critically. "Are you a DesPlainian?"

"Yeah. Been away ten years, though. Ran into a little, uh, trouble there."

Howard nodded. "Yeah, I know how that is. Listen, I'm a little shorthanded at the

moment and I can use a guy who knows how to work with his fists. I still don't like what

you tried to do to me, but I figure I paid you back for that. How'd you like to work for

me?" "What do I have to do?"

"Nothing you'll need to grow a conscience for, believe me. All you do is follow orders

and get paid pretty well for it."

"What's `pretty well'?" "Three hundred a week."

Jules closed his eyes for a long moment to consider it. Finally he opened them again

and looked up at Howard. "You've got a deal, tovarishch."

Taking a card and stylus out of his pocket, Howard scribbled an address on the back

and then flipped it down beside Jules. "Be there tomorrow at 9 A.M. sharp, got that?"

He started wearily to the door, then turned and looked at Vonnie. "I'll see you some

other time, gossie, when there's fewer interruptions." And he left the room without

another word.

As soon as the door had closed behind him, Vonnie ran to get a damp washcloth to

clean up Jules's face. She daubed at the cuts as tenderly as she could, but even so

Jules could not help wincing.

"What's the matter, Julie?" she asked as she worked. "Are you slowing down in your old

age?"

"This is no time for impertinence, wench," Jules said weakly. "I-ow, that stings!-you

don't know how hard I had to work to make sure that dodo disguised as a baboon would

win. He was so slow and left me so many openings, I thought he was trying to lose, too.

I think he wins most of his fights by scalding his opponents to death with hot air."

He propped himself up on his elbows and grinned. "But I got what I wanted. I figured

that, after the disaster at Duke Hanforth's villa, he'd be in need of some more men. I

just had to prove I was crooked enough and a good enough fighter-though not too

good. That might have made me seem like a threat. Now that I'm one of his men, we

can be in on the inside plans."

"I still would have liked to take him in for questioning," Vonnie said. "There are all sorts

of interesting techniques I'd love to use on him."

Jules shook his head. "Not just yet. If he were to be picked up two days before the