“Actually, I dislike the word ‘pirate’ and its connotations,” said the Yankee Clipper, leaning back in his chair and sipping an Altairian brandy. “I consider myself to be a simple, hard-working businessman.”

The Mouse and Penelope were sitting in a luxurious lounge aboard the pirate ship. There were tables, chairs, couches, picture frames, all of shining, polished chrome. The carpeting—the first the Mouse had ever seen on a ship—was formal and muted in color. The bulkheads were covered with paintings and holographs—both naturalistic and abstract—from a hundred worlds, and all about the lounge were objets d'art, each plundered from a different planet.

“Simple businessmen don't own spacecraft like this,” answered the Mouse. “This room alone is larger than most ships I've been on.”

“I've been very fortunate,” replied the Yankee Clipper. “And of course, I've been quite aggressive in my pursuit of financial security.” He uttered a brief command to his computer, and suddenly the room was filled with the sound of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony.

“Well, I'll give you this much,” said the Mouse; “you're not at all like any other pirate I've known.”

He smiled. “I take that as a compliment.” The Yankee Clipper withdrew a large cigar from a pocket, held it lovingly in his hand for a moment, and finally lit it. “Excellent!” he said. “Anyone who doubts the wisdom of subjugating alien races need only smoke a single Antarrean cigar and he'll become an instant convert to the somewhat hazy principles upon which our beloved Democracy was founded.”

“A Democracy that you loot and plunder,” noted the Mouse.

“Well, I do have my disagreements with them,” he replied easily, “but I'm glad to say that we do see eye-to-eye on the subject of fine tobaccos.” He paused. “Would you believe that I used to work for them?”

“Them?” repeated the Mouse. “You mean the Antarrean tobacco farms?”

He chuckled. “No—the Democracy. I spent more than a decade as a part of its bureaucracy.”

“In the Navy?”

“Why should you think so?”

“Well, you do command a ship,” answered the Mouse.

“Anyone can command this ship,” he replied. “You just activate the Captain's computer and say, ‘Go here’ or ‘Go there’ or ‘Destroy such-and-such a vessel.’ One hardly needs any training to be a ship's captain.” He paused and smiled again. “I prefer to own the entire fleet, and let my subordinates worry about how to get it from one point to another.”

“What kind of job prepared you for that?” asked the Mouse.

“None,” answered the Yankee Clipper, noticing that his cigar had gone out and relighting it. “Actually, I was a tax collector. I worked my way up through the ranks until I was in charge of the entire Taxation Bureau on Nilander IV. Then I decided that I'd much rather be an entrepreneur than a wage slave, so I appropriated a few million credits and began contemplating various new enterprises.” He took a sip of his brandy, then turned to Penelope, who had been sitting perfectly still. “I'm sure we must be boring you. You're at liberty to inspect the entire ship, as long as you ask permission before touching anything.”

“I'll stay with my friend,” said Penelope, reaching out and holding the Mouse's hand.

The Yankee Clipper shrugged. “As you wish.” He turned back to the Mouse. “It took them almost two years to discover what I had done, during which time I had ample opportunity to consider my options.”

“They took that long to find out you had robbed the treasury?” asked the Mouse.

“I'm surprised they found out so quickly,” he replied. “I was quite good at fixing the records, and they were trying to administer some 50,000 worlds from Deluros VIII, which was half a galaxy away.” He put his cigar down in a crystal ashtray and picked up his brandy glass. “At first I simply planned to rob the planetary treasury on a regular basis, but Nilander IV is a poor planet when all is said and done, and I decided that I could never satisfy my financial ambitions in such a situation. So I purchased a ship—not this one, to be sure—and took my leave of the Nilander System.” He paused, smiling pleasantly at the recollection. “I was in a totally liquid financial position, so I began to look around to see where I might receive the best return on my investment. My, ah, shall we say, questionable status, seemed to dictate a profession beyond the physical limits of the Democracy. I've never liked the Outer Frontier—the Rim was always such a desolate place—and the Spiral Arm is too sparsely populated, so I decided upon the Inner Frontier. I spent some time in the Binder system, reviewing my options, and I finally decided to become what you refer to as a pirate. After careful consideration I even acquired a piratical name, as seemed to be the custom out here.” He paused. “I took it right after that regretable incident near New Botswana.”

“You were the one who destroyed the Navy convoy?”

“Most regretable,” he said with obvious insincerity. “But they had posted a reward for me. I viewed it as an object lesson.”

“An object lesson during which more than 4,000 men lost their lives,” she said.

“Oh, I very much doubt that the total came to much more than 2,500,” he said, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. “Still,” he added thoughtfully, “that was the day I officially became a pirate in the eyes of the Democracy. Prior to that I was merely a thief.”

“You must admit they had some justification for the term,” said the Mouse.

“I suppose so,” sighed the Yankee Clipper. “But there's such an unsavory connotation to it. Most pirates are such low, vulgar types. I decided from the start to run my enterprise like a business, to assess each risk coldly and rationally, to never allow pride or emotion to influence me.” He paused and took another puff of his cigar. “And I must admit that I'm wealthier than even I had anticipated.”

“I thought all pirates were rich,” remarked the Mouse. “Or dead.”

The Yankee Clipper shook his head. “Most of them are destitute on any given day.” A note of contempt came into his voice. “They waste what they plunder and then have to go out and do it all over again. I decided that there had to be a better way. So I assembled my crew, hiring ex-Navy men whenever I could—men who understood discipline and could execute orders without arguing—and paid them exorbitantly. Half of the profits from our little ventures are divided among my crew and myself, and the other half goes into what I think I shall term capital expansion.”

“More ships?” suggested the Mouse.

“And more men.”

“It sounds very businesslike.”

“It is. I run it more efficiently than the Democracy runs its government or Navy, and we have an exceptionally high return on investment, all things considered.” He paused as an officer entered the room, presented him with a pair of papers requiring his signature, and then saluted and departed. “I realize that this does not fit your preconceptions about piracy, but it's the wave of the future. Even my competitors—those who are still alive and at large—are borrowing my methods.”

“When you describe it like that, it makes it very hard for me to remember that your business is killing and looting,” said the Mouse.

“Only when absolutely necessary,” said the Clipper. “We much prefer to sell our protection to isolated worlds on the Frontier. After all,” he added, “once you've killed a man, you can never make a profit from him again. But if you enter into a long-term business relationship...” He smiled and let his voice trail off.

“And just what kind of business relationship do you think you've entered into with us?” asked the Mouse as an intercom light began pulsating on the pirate's wrist radio and he deactivated it without paying it any apparent attention.

“The very best kind,” answered the Yankee Clipper. “A profitable one.”

“You freed me from that ship, and you helped Penelope and me get away from King Tout and his friends, and we're very grateful,” said the Mouse. “But as I see it, you were paid in advance.”

“Have I asked for more money?” said the Yankee Clipper.

“No,” said the Mouse. She paused and stared at him. “That's what puzzles me.”

“Well, put your mind at ease,” said the Yankee Clipper. “You are my guests, not my prisoners, and you have free run of the ship. Your quarters are spacious and luxurious, and contain all the amenities. We possess a galley equal to that of any cruise ship, and there is even a small fitness room filled with the very finest equipment.”

“And that's it?” said the Mouse suspiciously. “Now we're even?”

“Certainly. You are free agents, and you will not be charged a single credit during your stay here as my personal guests.” He paused. “We have a small commissary on the fourth level. Select anything you like from it, gratis.”

“Gratis?” repeated the Mouse suspiciously.

“I repeat: you are my guests.”

“Where are we bound for?” asked the Mouse.

“The Quinellus Cluster,” said Penelope.

The Yankee Clipper looked down at the little girl and smiled. “You're absolutely right, my dear.” He turned his attention back to the Mouse. “The Quinellus Cluster is my base of operations, and we'll all be much safer back there. I've made some discreet inqueries since we left the Starboat, and it seems that quite a lot of people have an interest in your lovely little traveling companion.” He smiled at Penelope. “You haven't a thing to worry about, my dear. You're perfectly safe as long as you remain with me.”

“We appreciate your hospitality,” said the Mouse, “but I think we'd like to be let off on the first colony planet we come to as soon as you reach the Cluster. We have arrangements to make, and a friend to contact.”

“I won't hear of it,” said the Yankee Clipper. “My subspace radio is at your disposal. Contact your friend right from the ship.”

“I think as long as all our accounts are even, we'd rather not trouble you any further.”

“It's no trouble at all,” insisted the pirate.

“Just the same, we'd rather be let off as soon as you reach the Cluster.”

“Well, of course, if you insist,” said the Yankee Clipper with an eloquent shrug.

“Let's say that we strongly request it,” answered the Mouse.

“Your wish is my command,” said the Yankee Clipper. He paused. “Five million.”

“Five million what?”

“Five million credits, of course.”

“All right,” said the Mouse. “What about five million credits?”

“That's my fee for letting you off the ship.”

“You said we didn't owe you anything.”

“You don't.”

“And that we were your guests.”

“Indeed you are,” he replied, finally draining his brandy glass and setting it down on a polished chrome surface. “But of course, once you decline my hospitality and leave the comfort and safety of my ship, you're no longer my guests, are you?” He smiled. “You know and I know that young Penelope here is worth millions to various interested parties. I'm perfectly willing to play host to you so long as her value continues to appreciate—but if I'm to part with that potential profit, then I'll have to charge you a minimum fee of five million credits.”

The Mouse stared at him without speaking. Suddenly she felt Penelope's hand squeezing her own.

“It's all right,” said the little girl.

The Mouse looked down at her. “You knew he was going to do this, didn't you?”

“We needed him,” said Penelope, ignoring the question.

“But we're virtually prisoners on his ship.”

“It's all right,” repeated Penelope. “At least the Iceman didn't catch us.”

“The Iceman?” interrupted the Yankee Clipper. “Who's the Iceman.”

“A very bad man,” said Penelope. “He wants to hurt me.”

“Then you've made a very wise choice, my dear,” said the pirate. “I wouldn't dream of hurting you, or indeed of letting any harm come to you from any source whatsoever.”

“I know.”

“I am, after all, not without compassion for a child in your situation,” continued the Yankee Clipper. He paused thoughtfully. “Also, I suspect your value would decrease if you were harmed.”

The Mouse glared at him. “So we're just going to fly around the Quinellus Cluster with you until you decide that she's worth enough to part with?” she demanded.

“Essentially,” answered the Yankee Clipper. “I've already sent discreet messages to various interested parties.”

“They'll blow your ship apart,” said the Mouse.

The pirate smiled. “Not while she's aboard it, they won't.” He paused. “But before I deny myself the pleasure of your company, it seems only reasonable that we establish a fair market value for the little girl. I could hardly do that without informing everyone that she's ... ah ... available for the right price.”

“Unless we come up with five million credits first,” said the Mouse.

“Certainly,” agreed the Yankee Clipper. “I'm not an unreasonable man, and a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. This lovely child could contract a fatal disease, or attempt to kill herself, or simply lose her remarkable ability.” He paused and smiled. “Of course, I don't see how you can possibly produce such a sum, given your present situation, but I'm always willing to admit I'm wrong.”

“If you'd play cards or roulette, I could help you win five million credits,” said Penelope.

“I hardly think so, my dear,” answered the Yankee Clipper easily. “Everyone knows who and what you are.” He sighed. “And that does make it difficult to find volunteers for a game of chance while you're aboard the ship.”

Penelope frowned. “You're no better than King Tout was.”

“On the contrary, I'm much better,” he corrected her. “For one thing, I'm providing you with every comfort at my disposal. For another, I've already given you my word that no physical harm will come to you. But mostly, I'm better than King Tout because I learn from other people's mistakes.”

“What are you talking about?” demanded the Mouse.

“I should think that would be obvious. The reason you're here instead of back at the Starboat is because lovely little Penelope here somehow manipulated events so that I would rescue you.” He stared at the little girl, and though his voice remained cordial and conversational, there was a sudden hardness about his eyes. “I must warn you, my dear child, that if I notice any irregularity aboard my ship, any irregularity at all—if I should trip and break a leg, or flinch while shaving, or if this mysterious Iceman should approach too closely—then I will take you to the Deepsleep Chamber and freeze you cryogenically until such time as I have completed my transaction with whoever wants you the most desperately. Deepsleep is absolutely painless—we use it for extended voyages in deep space—but I rather suspect that when your brain is sound asleep and your metabolism is slowed to a crawl, you will be in no position to influence events as you did with King Tout.”

Suddenly the Yankee Clipper got to his feet. “But enough about business. You are my honored guests, and I look forward to your company at dinner this evening. In the meantime"—he shot them a final smile as he walked to the door, which slid into a bulkhead—"please do make yourselves comfortable. I expect you'll be staying with me for quite some time.”

Then he was gone, and Penelope and the Mouse were left alone in the huge, empty lounge.

“Did you see this coming, back at the Starboat?” asked the Mouse.

“Not exactly,” answered Penelope. “I knew he would rescue us, and I knew that he wouldn't hurt us.”

“But you didn't know that he'd sell you to the highest bidder?” she continued.

“It doesn't matter,” said the little girl. “He's taking us in the right direction. That's all that matters.”

“The right direction?” repeated the Mouse.

Penelope nodded.

“The right direction for what?”

“I don't know yet,” replied Penelope. “But I know it's the right direction.” She tightened her grip on the Mouse's hand. “Don't worry. I won't let anyone hurt you.”

The Mouse suddenly realized that she believed her—and that realization made her more uneasy than the thought of being at the Yankee Clipper's mercy.

The Mouse led Penelope through the small commissary, past the meager supply of clothing and toiletries and the even smaller stock of books and tapes, until she came to the area that, had it borne a label, would have been marked “Miscellaneous".

“But what are we looking for?” asked the little girl.

“You'll see,” said the Mouse with a smile.

She began rummaging through what were obviously the unwanted spoils of conquest, and finally she found what she had been looking for.

“Oh, they're beautiful!” exclaimed Penelope as the Mouse stepped aside and revealed four exquisite dolls, each dressed in colorful robes and bright jewelry.

“I think they're from New Kenya,” said the Mouse, “but I could be wrong. I'm sure someone can tell us.”

“They're very large,” said Penelope. “Much bigger than Jennifer was.”

“Well, they were made to be displayed, not played with,” replied the Mouse. “That's why they're so stiff. My guess is that they were part of a collection. Perhaps the others were destroyed, or maybe they had real jewelry and they're in some crewman's quarters.”

“I love their necklaces,” said Penelope, gingerly fingering a beaded necklace on one of the dolls.

“I would imagine each of them represents some nation or religion,” said the Mouse.

“And their robes are so pretty!” continued the little girl. Then her gaze fell on something else that lay half-buried beneath a neatly-folded length of silk.

“Well,” said the Mouse, “take your choice. You can have any of them you want—or all four, if your like.”

“I want this one,” said Penelope, reaching beneath the silk and withdrawing a small rag doll that had a tiny scrap of red cloth wrapped around it.

“I didn't even see that one,” said the Mouse.

“I did.”

“It's not as pretty as the others.”

“I know.”

“Why don't you take them all?” suggested the Mouse.

“This is the one I want,” said Penelope firmly. “The others are for grown-ups. This one is for little girls.”

“And it reminds you of Jennifer?” asked the Mouse with a smile.

Penelope nodded.

“All right, it's yours.” She looked around. “I wonder where we pay for it?”

“We don't,” said Penelope. “Remember what the Yankee Clipper said? We can have anything we want for free.”

“I know. But I'd still like to find a shopkeeper or a cashier or something and explain it to him, so we don't get shot for robbing the store.”

“We won't,” said Penelope.

The Mouse shrugged. “Oh, well—you haven't been wrong yet.” She paused. “What are you going to call her? Jennifer?”

Penelope shook her head. “Jennifer's gone. I need a new name for this one.” She frowned, concentrating on the doll, then looked up at the Mouse. “What's your name?”

“Mouse.”

“I mean your real name.”

“Oh, it's not a very special name at all,” replied the Mouse. “I got rid of it the day I arrived on the Inner Frontier.”

“I'd still like to know.”

The Mouse shrugged. “Maryanne,” she said distastefully.

“Maryanne,” repeated Penelope thoughtfully. “Maryanne.” She nodded her head approvingly. “That's what I'll call her.”

“You're sure?”

“Yes. That way even when you're not with me, Maryanne will remind me of you.”

“What's this talk of not being with you?” said the Mouse. “We're a team, remember?”

“But you told me about how sometimes you have to leave someone you love behind, the way I had to leave Jennifer.” The little girl paused. “You left Merlin. Someday maybe you'll leave me behind, too.”

“Not a chance,” said the Mouse reassuringly. She put her arms around Penelope. “I didn't love Merlin. And besides, we'll be rejoining him soon.”

“I don't think so,” said Penelope. “He's not in any of the futures I can see.”

“But you can only see a little way ahead,” noted the Mouse.

“Sometimes I can see longer.”

“Oh?”

“Not always, but sometimes.”

“More often than you used to be able to?” asked the Mouse.

“Yes.” Penelope paused. “I wonder why?”

“It's just a sign that you're growing up, I suppose,” said the Mouse. “You can run faster and eat more food and say bigger words that you used to, so why shouldn't you be able to see farther ahead, too?”

Penelope shrugged. “I don't know.”

“That was a rhetorical question,” said the Mouse with a smile.

“I don't know what that means.”

“It means you don't have to answer it.” She looked at the other four dolls again. “You're sure you don't want anything else?”

“All I want is Maryanne,” answered Penelope, cradling the doll in her arms.

The Mouse winced. “God, I hate that name!”

“It's a pretty name, and since you don't want it, it should go to a pretty doll.”

“You're the boss,” said the Mouse with a sigh of defeat.

“Am I really?” asked Penelope.

“Well, you're the boss about which doll you get to keep and what you want to name it,” said the Mouse. She paused. “And if Carlos were here, he'd probably try to convince me that you could become the boss of the whole galaxy if you wanted to.”

“That's silly,” said Penelope.

“I agree.” The Mouse looked around the commissary one last time. “All right, let's go back to our cabin.”

“You go ahead,” said Penelope. “I want to show Maryanne around the ship.”

“I'll come with you,” volunteered the Mouse.

“It's not necessary,” said Penelope. “I won't get lost, and the Yankee Clipper has told everyone that we're his guests.”

“I don't mind coming with you,” said the Mouse. “It's no trouble.”

“It's really not necessary,” repeated Penelope firmly.

“You're sure you'll be all right?” asked the Mouse in concerned tones.

“I'll be all right.”

The Mouse stared at the little girl for a moment, and then shrugged.

“Well, I suppose everyone deserves a little time to themselves,” she said at last. “Maybe I'll go back to our room and take a little nap.”

The Mouse hugged Penelope and headed off in the direction of their cabin, while the little girl, still holding the doll as if it were made of crystal and might be expected to shatter at any moment, began going the opposite direction. She passed the infirmary, then rode an airlift to the top deck and turned to her left. There was much more activity here, for this was the Operations Level, and crewmen were continuously moving purposefully from one area to another, paying no attention to her at all.

Penelope, moving with equal purpose, walked down the corridor that led to the Observation Deck, a relatively large room filled with some fifteen viewscreens, each displaying a section of space that an external holocamera transmitted, all of them together showing the ship's surroundings for more than a parsec in every direction.

Standing alone in the middle of the room was the slender man that she had approached aboard the Starboat.

“Good afternoon,” he said when he noticed that she had joined him.

“Good afternoon,” she replied formally.

“That looks like a new doll.”

“Her name's Maryanne,” said Penelope, holding up the doll for the man to see.

“You know, I've never asked you what your name was.”

“Penelope.”

“Welcome to the ship, Penelope,” said the man. “My name's Potemkin—Mischa Potemkin.”

“That sounds like a real name,” she said, surprised.

“It is.”

“I thought hardly anyone out here used their real name—except for me and Maryanne, anyway.”

“That's precisely why I choose to,” said Potemkin with a smile. “I think it makes me very distinctive.”

“It does,” agreed Penelope.

“Well, Penelope, what are you doing here all by yourself?”

“I'm not by myself,” answered the girl. “Maryanne's with me.”

“I apologize,” said Potemkin. “Where are you and Maryanne doing here?”

“I'm talking to you, and Maryanne is looking at all the viewscreens.”

Potemkin chuckled. “That isn't what I meant.”

Penelope stared at him politely, waiting for him to explain himself.

“I mean,” he said at last, “why are you on the Observation Deck at all?”

“I saw you here, and everyone else seems so busy, so I thought I'd talk to you.”

“What do you want to talk about?” asked Potemkin.

“Oh, I don't know,” said Penelope, looking around the room. Her gaze fell on a viewscreen. “How does this work?” she asked, pointing to the screen. “I mean, it can't be a window, because we're in the middle of the ship.”

“It's just like a holograph projection screen in your home,” explained Potemkin. “We have cameras outside the ship, and they transmit what they see to the various screens.”

“But you can't change the channels.”

He smiled. “That's why we have so many screens.”

“How do you fix a camera when it breaks?”

“We don't,” said Potemkin. “We just cast it off and attach a new one.”

“Do you attach it?”

Potemkin looked amused. “That's not my job.”

“What is your job?” asked Penelope. “Everyone else seems to be working very hard, and you're just standing around looking at the screens. Are you the man who warns the captain when we're approaching a meteor swarm?”

“No, the ship does that automatically.”

“Then what do you do?”

“Nothing, for the moment.”

“Are you a passenger, then?” she persisted.

“No,” said Potemkin. “I'm the War Chief.”

“War Chief?”

He smiled. “Back in the Democracy, I suppose they'd call me a military advisor. I don't work until we're attacking someone, or under attack ourselves—but when that happens, I work very hard indeed.”

“So if you tell the Yankee Clipper to attack someone, he does it—and if you say not to, he doesn't?”

“Usually.”

“That makes you very important,” she said admiringly.

“From time to time.”

She paused, staring at him. “What happens if you give him the wrong advice?”

“Then we lose.”

“Lose?” she repeated.

“Die.”

“And do you make lots of money?”

“I hardly see that that's any of your business, young lady,” said Potemkin.

“Not yet,” agreed Penelope.

“What is that supposed to mean?” demanded Potemkin.

Penelope looked down solicitously at her doll. “I think she's hungry,” she announced.

“She can wait,” said Potemkin. “What did you mean—'not yet'?”

“You know what I meant,” said Penelope, still looking at her doll.

“Suppose you tell me anyway.”

“Sometimes you could give him the wrong advice.”

“It's possible,” admitted Potemkin. “Nobody's right all the time.”

“I am,” said Penelope, with no trace of smugness.

“Bunk.”

“I feel very sorry for you, Mr. Potemkin,” she said sincerely.

“Oh? Why?”

“Because one day soon—maybe tomorrow, maybe even tonight—the Yankee Clipper will remember what I did in the casino, and he'll realize that I would be a better War Chief than you.”

Potemkin laughed harshly. “You don't know the first thing about military tactics.”

“But I know all about the future,” she pointed out. “If he can win a battle, I'll know how. And if he can't, I'll know that, too.”

Potemkin stared at her through narrowed eyes for a long moment.

“You didn't just find me here by accident, did you?” he said at last.

“No, I didn't,” admitted the little girl. “I knew you'd be here.”

“And you knew we'd have this conversation?”

“Sort of,” answered Penelope. “I didn't know what the words would be, but I knew we'd talk if I wanted us to.”

“Do you know that I've killed people who have threatened my position?”

“No,” she replied. “But I believe it. You have good manners, but you're not a very nice man.”

“If I decide you're right,” continued Potemkin, “what makes you think that I won't kill you, too?”

“You're not nice,” repeated Penelope, “but you're smart. If you kill me, you know that the Yankee Clipper will figure out why you did it and then he'll kill you, because you'll have killed someone who could have made sure he never lost a battle.”

“I might take my chances on that,” said Potemkin ominously. “It's better than going back to being a common crewman.”

“You don't have to kill me or be a crewman,” said Penelope.

“Oh?”

“All you have to do is let me and my friends off on a planet.”

“Friends?”

“Mouse and Maryanne,” she replied, indicating the doll.

Potemkin shook his head. “I don't think I'm inclined to do that,” he said. “You're worth a couple of million credits, maybe more. For all I know, the Clipper had already contacted some of the people who are looking for you.”

“Is money that important to you?” asked Penelope.

“It's one of my favorite things.”

She stared into his eyes. “In one of the futures I can see, you put us down on a planet along with the Yankee Clipper, and you become the captain of the ship and take over all his money.”

“Do you see if I live out the day after I do that?” he asked sardonically.

She shook her head. “I can't see your future once I leave you.” She paused. “But I can see lots of futures in which I become the War Chief, and lots more in which the Yankee Clipper kills you because you hurt me.”

“Do you see any in which we just stay the way we are, and finally sell you to the highest bidder?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I'm not looking for them.”

“Well, you'd better start looking,” said Potemkin. “Because that's the way it's going to be.”

“I don't think so,” said Penelope seriously. “Very soon now the Yankee Clipper will decide I would be a better War Chief than you.” She paused. “Long before you have a chance to sell me.” She looked at the doll again. “I really have to go and feed her,” she said apologetically, and began walking toward the doorway through which she had entered.

Potemkin watched her walk away. Then, just before she stepped into the corridor, he called out:

“Not that I believe any of this for an instant—but if I did, which planet do you think I'd let you off on?”

She re-entered the room and walked to the viewscreen at which she had originally been staring. She peered intently at it for a moment, then pointed to a yellow star.

“There are eleven planets circling this star,” she said. “We want the fourth one.”

“Have you been there before?” he asked.

“No.”

“Then why did you pick it out from all the rest?”

She smiled at him. “It looks very pretty.”

“It looks like every other Class G star in the Cluster.” He stared at her. “Are you sure you don't have any friends there?”

“I'm sure.”

“But you'll find some?” he continued.

“One, maybe.”

“Just one?” he said disbelievingly.

“Sometimes one is enough,” said Penelope. She cuddled the doll again. “I really have to go now, or Maryanne is going to be mad at me.”

She left the room as Potemkin stared silently after her, and a few minutes later she was back in her own spacious quarters. The Mouse, who had been napping on her bed, sat up abruptly at the sound of the door sliding into the wall.

“I'm sorry,” said Penelope. “I didn't mean to wake you.”

“It's just as well,” replied the Mouse, throwing back her tufted satin comforter. “If you hadn't, I'd never have been able to get to sleep tonight.”

“It's always night in space,” Penelope pointed out.

“This is a military ship. It runs on Galactic Standard time.” The Mouse rubbed her eyes. “How are you and Maryanne getting along?”

“She needs some new clothes,” said Penelope. “She can't go around just wearing part of a blanket.”

“Then we'll make some for her.”

“Could we?” asked the little girl eagerly.

“I don't know why not,” said the Mouse, looking around the room. “You know, if we could find some of the fabric they used for our furniture, she'd be better dressed than anyone else on the ship.”

“That would be nice,” agreed Penelope.

“How did Maryanne enjoy her tour of the ship?”

“I don't think she likes it here very much,” said Penelope.

“I'm sorry to hear that, because I've got a feeling she's stuck here for a while.”

“Maybe not,” said the little girl.

The Mouse stared at her. “Oh?”

“There's a very pretty planet not far away,” continued Penelope. “I think that Maryanne would be much happier there.”

“Who do you think is going to let Maryanne off on this very pretty planet?” asked the Mouse cautiously.

“Oh, I don't know,” answered the little girl. “Someone.”

“Someone like the Yankee Clipper?” persisted the Mouse.

Penelope shook her head. “No. I don't think so.”

“I know he seems pleasant, Penelope, but he's a very dangerous man.”

“He won't hurt you,” said Penelope. “You're my only friend.” She suddenly remembered Maryanne. “Well, my best friend, anyway. I'd never let anyone hurt you.”

The Mouse smiled ruefully. “That's what I'm supposed to say to you.”

“I'm sorry,” said Penelope, flustered. “I didn't mean to be bossy. Not with you.”

The Mouse got up, walked across the wide expanse of floor separating them, and hugged her warmly. “You're not being bossy, Penelope. You're being caring, and that's a good thing to be. I just don't want you endangering yourself. You have a marvelous gift, but you're still a little girl, and you don't know what some of these people can be like when you make them mad.”

“Yes I do,” said Penelope. “I can see what they're like.” She placed a finger to her temple. “In here.”

“Then you know better than to cross them.”

“But we have to get to the planet.”

“What's so important about this planet?”

Penelope shrugged. “I don't know yet.”

“But you're sure we should go there?” persisted the Mouse.

The girl nodded her head. “Yes.”

“When do you think you'll know why?”

“Soon,” said Penelope with total conviction. “Very soon.”

Then she remembered Maryanne, and as the Mouse watched her with a puzzled expression on her face, she spent the next few minutes cleaning the doll and readjusting its tiny robe, to all outward appearances a little blonde girl without a care in the world, rather than a valuable prisoner aboard the most powerful pirate ship in the Quinellus Cluster.

Penelope was sound asleep when a hand reached out and shook her gently by the shoulder. She moaned and turned away, but the hand continued shaking her.

“Go away!” she muttered.

“Wake up, kid,” whispered a masculine voice.

“Leave me alone!”

“We've got to talk.”

The Mouse awoke, sat up, looked across the relatively spacious cabin, and saw the slender man sitting on the edge of Penelope's bed.

“What do you want?” she demanded.

“This doesn't concern you,” answered Potemkin.

“Anything to do with her concerns me.”

“I'm not going to hurt her, lady,” said Potemkin. “But I've got to talk to her.”

“Go away,” said Penelope again.

“Kid, you can wake up peacefully, or I can turn the lights on and throw a bucket of cold water over you,” said Potemkin. “It's up to you.”

Penelope slowly sat up in her bed, rubbing her eyes.

“Oh,” she said, upon recognizing Potemkin. “It's you.”

“Penelope, if you don't want to talk to him, I can call for help,” said the Mouse.

“He is help,” said Penelope, leaving the Mouse totally confused.

“Maybe I am, maybe I'm not,” said Potemkin. “First I've got a couple of questions to ask.”

“You expected him?” asked the Mouse.

“Not this soon, but yes,” said Penelope.

“Does this have something to do with that walk around the ship you took this afternoon?” persisted the Mouse.

“Ask your questions later, lady,” said Potemkin. “I'm in a hurry.”

“It's all right, Mouse,” said Penelope reassuringly. “Really it is. He won't hurt us.”

“Don't be too sure of that,” said Potemkin.

“If you were going to hurt us, I'd know,” said Penelope with no trace of fear or apprehension. “You're here to talk.”

“I could change my mind.”

“You're a smart man, and that would be a stupid thing to do,” said the little girl, staring at him unblinking.

He met her gaze for a moment, then lowered his eyes briefly.

“All right,” he said. “I need some answers, and I need them fast.”

“I'll answer anything I can,” said Penelope.

“Don't answer anything yet,” said the Mouse. She turned to Potemkin. “I've already found three spy devices, and I've probably missed some.”

“No problem,” said Potemkin. “My own man will monitoring us during this watch.” He turned to Penelope. “I'm not ready to take on the Clipper yet. He's got too many people loyal to him. I don't think I can pull it off.”

“Are you sure?” said the girl.

“Damn it—we're talking about mutiny against the most successful pirate in the Cluster! It's not worth the risk, unless you can guarantee that I'll succeed.”

“I told you—I can't see what will happen after I'm not with you any longer.”

“I know ... but I came up with another way to get you to your planet.”

“Whose planet?” interjected the Mouse.

“Shut up, lady—I'm talking to the girl!” Potemkin turned back to Penelope. “What if I arrange for the auction to take place on the planet?” He paused. “The Clipper would have to take you there to deliver you.”

“He wouldn't take us alone,” said Penelope. “He'd have lots of guards.”

Potemkin laughed mirthlessly. “Are you trying to convince me at this late date that you can't get away from a bunch of guards if you want to? Hell, you've gotten away from bounty hunters all across the Democracy and the Inner Frontier.”

“I just said that he'd have a lot of guards with him.”

“What will happen to him on the planet?”

Penelope shrugged. “I don't know.”

“I don't believe that for a second,” said Potemkin. “Will he live or die?”

“In some futures he lives, in some he dies. In some I can't tell.”

“In how many of these futures does he figure out that he's on the planet because I don't want you on the ship?”

“Very few,” said Penelope.

“And in those very few, what kind of action does he take against me?”

“Once he leaves me, I can't see what he'll do.”

“If he dies, how will you kill him?” demanded Potemkin. “Is there any way it can be connected to me?”

“I won't kill him at all,” said Penelope. “I'm just a little girl.”

He jerked a thumb in the Mouse's direction. “Does she do it?”

“No.”

“You're sure?”

“I'm sure.”

“So if he dies on the planet, it can't be blamed on me?” continued Potemkin.

“If he dies on the planet, it can't be blamed on you,” agreed Penelope.

“And if he doesn't die and you get away, it still won't be blamed on me?”

“I don't know. But if he doesn't know that you chose the planet, if he thinks the others did...”

“Okay,” said Potemkin. “That's what I needed to know.”

“Will you arrange to set us down there?” asked Penelope.

“I'll have to think about it.”

“You really don't want us to stay on the ship.”

“I know.”

“And you don't want to hurt us.”

“I said I'd think about it,” said Potemkin irritably. He got to his feet and walked to the door. “You'll know when I've made up my mind.”

Then he was out in the corridor and the door slid shut behind him, and the Mouse was staring at Penelope, a puzzled expression on her face.

“Do you want to tell me about that?” she asked at last.

“We have to get to the planet I told you about,” answered Penelope. “Potemkin will see to it that we do.”

“Potemkin? Is that his name?”

Penelope nodded. “Mischa Potemkin. Isn't that a funny name?”

“You're sure he'll set us down on this planet that you're so anxious to reach?”

“Pretty sure,” said Penelope with a shrug, as she picked up Maryanne and began straightening her tiny red blanket.

The Mouse frowned again. “You're the Yankee Clipper's prisoner, and Potemkin works for the Clipper. They stand to make millions of credits by selling you to any of the people who are trying to find you. Why should he suddenly be willing to put you off on a planet and never see you again?”

“I explained to him why it would be a smart thing to do,” said Penelope, smoothing Maryanne's hair. “When can we get Maryanne some new outfits?”

“I don't know,” said the Mouse distractedly. “We can look around the ship tomorrow and see if there's any material we can use.”

“Will it hurt her if I wash her in the Dryshower?”

“No, I don't suppose so. Can we go back to talking about Potemkin for a minute?”

Penelope sighed. “If you want.” She held Maryanne up and stared at her. “But I want to wash her soon. She needs a bath every day, or she might get sick.”

“Try to pay attention, Penelope,” said the Mouse, keeping her voice calm and soothing with some effort. “A very dangerous man is willing to cost his even more dangerous boss millions of credits and set us down on a strange planet.” She paused briefly. “Can you tell me why he would do such a thing?”

“If I told you, you'd laugh,” said Penelope.

“Not even if I thought it was funny,” the Mouse assured her.

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“He's afraid of me,” said Penelope. She giggled. “Isn't that funny—a pirate being afraid of a little girl?”

“Why is he afraid of you?” asked the Mouse sharply. “What did you two talk about this afternoon?”

“Oh, lots of things.” Penelope seemed to lose interest. “I really have to wash Maryanne now, Mouse.” She walked to the bathroom compartment and paused at the door. “Do you want to come into the Dryshower with us?”

The Mouse shook her head. “No, you go ahead.”

“You'll still be here when I get out?”

“Where would I go?” asked the Mouse ironically.

“I don't know,” said the little girl. “But sometimes I think you're upset with me, and I'm afraid you'll leave me and I'll be alone again.”

“I'll never leave you, Penelope,” said the Mouse sincerely. “If you can see the future, you know that.”

“I can hardly ever see the good things,” explained Penelope. “Just the bad ones.”

“Well, if leaving you is a bad thing, you should be able to see it if I was going to do it.”

Penelope's face brightened suddenly. “That's right!” she exclaimed happily. She ran over to the Mouse and threw her arms around her. “I love you, Mouse!”

“I love you, Penelope,” said the Mouse, returning her hug. “Now go take your Dryshower, and then maybe we'll talk some more.”

Penelope emerged from the Dryshower a few minutes later, dressed in a fresh outfit.

“Where's Maryanne?” asked the Mouse.

“I left her there.”

“There? Where?”

“In the bathroom.”

“Why?”

“Because if you're going to talk about Potemkin and the Yankee Clipper, I don't want her to hear what you say. It might frighten her.”

“It doesn't frighten you, though, does it?” asked the Mouse.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because they're not going to hurt us.”

The Mouse frowned, trying to find the best way to keep Penelope's interest from flagging. “Well, it frightens me,” she said at last. “Maybe you can explain to me why I shouldn't be frightened.”

“The Yankee Clipper won't hurt us because we're worth so much money,” said the girl.

“He can hurt us without killing us.”

“He won't, though,” said Penelope. Then she added thoughtfully, “At least, not while we're on the ship. I can't see much farther ahead.”

“What about Potemkin?”

“He'd like to hurt us, but he's afraid to.”

“Why?”

“Why does he want to hurt us, or why is he afraid to?” asked Penelope.

“Both.”

“He wants to hurt us, because I explained to him that I would be a better War Chief than he is.”

“I see,” said the Mouse. She paused for a moment. “Did he believe you?”

“Why shouldn't he?” replied Penelope. “It's the truth.”

“Then why is he afraid to hurt you?”

“Because the Yankee Clipper knows that I can see the future. He hasn't figured out yet that I'd be a good War Chief, but if Potemkin hurts me, he'll try to think of why, and then pretty soon he'll know.”

“That must have been some conversation you had with Potemkin this afternoon,” said the Mouse.

“He was very upset,” said Penelope, smiling at the memory. Suddenly she giggled again. “You should have seen his face! It got all red.”

“I'll just bet it did,” said the Mouse with a smile. “So you convinced him the best way to get rid of you was to put you on a planet?”

“To put us on one,” Penelope corrected her. “I wouldn't ever leave you behind, Mouse.”

“I appreciate that,” said the Mouse. “Did you suggest that he take over the ship and put the Yankee Clipper down with us as well?”

Penelope shook her head. “That was his idea, but it wasn't a very good one. It makes more sense to let the Yankee Clipper take us there to deliver us to whoever wants to buy me.”

“You're not worried about that?” asked the Mouse.

“No,” answered the little girl.

“Why not?” persisted the Mouse. “He'll probably take twenty or thirty of his men down with him to guard us.”

“That's all right,” said Penelope with no show of concern.

“Why is it all right?”

“Because I'll find a friend there.”

“But you don't know who?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know this friend will be able to help us?”

Penelope shrugged. “I just know.”

“You're putting an awfully big burden on a friend you've never met,” said the Mouse.

“Oh, he's not the only one who can help us,” said Penelope with a shrug.

“He isn't?” said the Mouse, surprised. “Who else is there?”

“There's the Forever Kid.”

“He's on this planet?”

“He will be, once his ship tells him we've landed.”

“You didn't mention Carlos Mendoza,” noted the Mouse. “Isn't he still with the Kid?”

Penelope frowned. “Yes, he is—but he doesn't want to help me.”

“I've told you before: I won't let him hurt you.”

“You can't stop him,” said the girl. She sighed. “Maybe my new friend will be able to.”

“Don't worry about Carlos,” said the Mouse firmly. “Trust me: he does a lot of things I disapprove of, but killing children isn't one of them.”

“He frightens me.”

“I can't figure out why,” said the Mouse. “You've seen Three-Fisted Ollie and Cemetary Smith and the Golden Duke and all these other killers. Why does a small, middle-aged man frighten you worse than they do?”

“Because none of the others wanted to kill me,” explained Penelope. “They were just doing their jobs.”

“The Golden Duke would have killed you if King Tout had ordered him to.”

“That's different,” said Penelope.

“How?”

“He didn't hate me. Neither did any of the others, not even 32.” She paused. “But the Iceman doesn't want to kill me for money, or because someone tells him to.” A tear trickled down her cheek. “He doesn't even know me, and he wants me dead.” Two more tears followed the first one. “I don't know why. I've never done anything to him.”

“You're wrong,” said the Mouse soothingly. “He really doesn't want to hurt you.”

“I'm not wrong,” insisted Penelope.

“Then he's destined to be disappointed,” said the Mouse earnestly.

“Why did you ever like him, Mouse?” asked Penelope.

“I was lonely,” said the Mouse with a sigh, “and sometimes lonely people make poor choices.”

“Were you lonely when you found me?”

“No,” said the Mouse, hugging her. “You were the best choice I ever made.”

“Really?” asked Penelope, brightening somewhat.

“Really.”

“And we'll always be together?”

“Always,” promised the Mouse.

Then Penelope remembered Maryanne, and brought her out of the bathroom and began playing with her. The Mouse watched her for almost an hour as the little girl lavished her love and attention upon the rag doll. Then the Mouse fell asleep, and a few moments later Penelope followed suit.

It was early morning when the door slid into the wall and the Yankee Clipper entered their compartment.

“Doesn't anyone ever knock?” demanded the Mouse irritably.

“Wake up and pay attention,” announced the pirate, walking over he announced, walking over to a chair and seating himself. “There's been a change of plans: It seems that some of the parties who are interested in the girl have decided that they wouldn't feel comfortable transacting their business aboard what they consider to be the flagship of a pirate fleet.” He smiled wryly. “I suppose I'd feel much the same way if I were in their place.” He paused. “So we'll be transferring the two of you to a nearby planet, and we'll complete our business there.”

“Could you identify these parties?” asked the Mouse.

“Why bother yourselves with details?” he replied. “You'll know who makes the high bid for her, and the rest don't really matter.”

“So it's to be an auction?”

The Yankee Clipper laughed. “She won't be placed on a block, with an auctioneer showing off her teeth, if that's what you mean. I'll allow the various interested parties to ascertain that she's in my possession, and then I'll determine which reward I choose to accept.”

“The highest one, no doubt,” said the Mouse dryly.

“Not necessarily,” said the Yankee Clipper seriously. “The Democracy wants her, as does the Canphorite Confederation. I've had certain, shall we say, disagreements with both governments; a blanket pardon from either one, in addition to money, might weigh heavily in my consideration of the various rewards.”

“Why?” asked the Mouse, curious. “Do you plan to stop being a pirate?”

“Certainly not,” he answered. “But at the moment, I cannot invest my money within the Democracy or the Confederation without putting it at risk. Furthermore,” he added, “I would like to think that if worst came to worst, there would be a government somewhere that would allow me sanctuary.”

“Seems like a defeatist attitude to me,” said the Mouse.

“Does it?” asked the Yankee Clipper. “It seems like a fiscally and politically sound attitude to me. After all, who knows what tomorrow may bring,"—suddenly he grinned—"other than a certain little girl, that is?”

“When do we leave?” asked Penelope.

“1100 hours, ship's time,” answered the pirate. “This ship is too large to land, so we'll transfer to a shuttlecraft.”

“'We?'” repeated the Mouse.

“Absolutely,” said the Yankee Clipper. “I'm coming with you.” He smiled. “I know it's irregular for a captain to leave his vessel in unsecured territory, but I think unusual situations call for unusual responses.” He turned to Penelope. “I have no idea what you can do to me if I stay aboard the ship. Probably I have nothing to worry about, but I try never to deal in probabilities when I can deal in certainties. And it's certain that you won't cause the shuttlecraft to crash if you're in it, so I plan to be in it too.” He paused. “We're going to become great friends, Penelope, my child. I don't plan to let you out of my sight until the transaction is complete, and I'll always have at least half a dozen armed men surrounding us.” He smiled at her again. “If I choke on a meal, if I have a stroke, if anything at all untoward befalls me, they will have orders to kill you instantly. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” said Penelope.

“Good,” said the Yankee Clipper. “Then we might as well make the best of the circumstances.” He paused. “At least we shouldn't be bored. We'll be transacting our business on one of the most interesting planets in the Cluster.”

“Oh?” said the Mouse.

He nodded. “It's a world I've always meant to visit, but I simply haven't found the time until now.”

“What's it's name?” asked the Mouse.

“Calliope,” replied the Yankee Clipper.

Calliope was known throughout the Quinellus Cluster as a pleasure planet and, to be sure, it had more than its share of whorehouses and drug dens and perverse amusements—but that is a very narrow definition of the word “pleasure", and Calliope was, after all, not just a small section of a jaded city, but an entire planet.

In the western hemisphere it boasted a dinosaur park, a 22,000-square-mile reserve housing some 80,000 gargantuan, warm-blooded reptiles from the primeval planet of Quantos VIII. An inland ocean was filled with imported predators and prey from Pinnipes II, and each of the hundreds of hotels lining the beaches supplied not only a fleet of fishing boats but also a number of small but comfortable submarines for their clientele's viewing pleasure.

There were enormous ranches on which the customers could participate in real cattle drives, huge rings where the matadors would face the brave bulls (and whatever other brave but doomed animals were released in them), a dazzling array of safari excursions, and golf courses by the thousands.

Just beyond the 19,000-hectare amusement park near the eastern hemisphere's spaceport was a racetrack that could accomodate any of the seventeen species of animals from as many oxygen worlds upon which pari-mutual betting was permitted. There were even clones of the now-extinct horse of Earth, and Man o’ War, Citation, Secretariat and Seattle Slew met one another and their most famous competitors on a regular basis.

Fully one-third of the Great Eastern Continent was set aside as a hunting reserve for safari enthusiasts, and so well-known was it among the afficionados of blood sports that, far from bragging about the trophies that had been taken, the government actually boasted about the number of hunters who had been killed by the animals they were stalking.

Mount Ramsey boasted the second-longest continuous ski slope in the galaxy, and it was said that an enthusiast could begin his descent before dawn and still be racing downhill when nightfall occurred.

There were daily vehicle races on the salt flats, daily boat races down the River Jordan, daily sporting championships of a thousand different types in the dozen huge stadiums that had been erected across the planet. There were nine cities, of which Xanadu was the largest. Each city supplied an endless array of round-the-clock entertainment, restaurants, and shopping; two of the nine catered almost exclusively to aliens, while a third, which bore the name of New Gomorrah, possessed seven different multi-environment hotels as well as an enclosed amusement park for chlorine-breathers.

Though it was within the Quinellus Cluster and hence officially a part of the Inner Frontier, Calliope was actually run by a number of cartels from the Spiral Arm and the Galactic Rim, and was patronized, in increasing numbers, by vacationers and sightseers from within the Democracy itself.

The Yankee Clipper's party, consisting of himself, the Mouse, Penelope Bailey, and eighteen armed guards, landed at the space port near Xanadu, and soon checked into a very exclusive, very private hotel on the outskirts of the city, not too far from one of the smaller amusement parks. The Mouse and Penelope shared the pirate's palatial suite, but the doors and windows were under constant surveillance by his men, who worked their jobs in six-man shifts. Food, drink, and even new clothing for Maryanne, was brought to the suite, but neither Penelope nor the Mouse was allowed to leave it, and whenever the Yankee Clipper found it necessary to leave, one of his men entered and kept his weapon trained on the Mouse until the pirate returned.

On the morning of their second day there, the Yankee Clipper, his beard newly trimmed, his clothes even more brilliant than usual, entered the parlor of their suite and seated himself on a large leather sofa.

“Well, another day or two and you'll be on your way, young lady,” he said to Penelope.

“Who's bidding for her?” asked the Mouse.

The pirate chuckled. “You might better ask who isn't. This is a very popular little girl we've got here. The Democracy wants her, the Confederation wants her, two scientific institutions want her, a religious foundation wants her, and nine private parties want her.” He paused, lit a cigar, and balanced it on the edge of an equisite crystal ashtray. “Potemkin tells me that they should all have arrived here by tomorrow night. We'll have a nice dinner, exchange a few pleasantries, and transact our business—and then,” he added, “I can finally stop worrying about what you might do to me.”

“I can't do anything to you,” said Penelope, standing before a huge window that overlooked the city center. “I'm your prisoner.”

“You've been other people's prisoner in the past,” said the pirate. “Most of them aren't around to tell what happened to them, but I'll wager that it wasn't pleasant.”

“They were bad men,” said Penelope with a shrug.

“I hope you'll remember just how well I'm treating you,” said the Yankee Clipper.

“You're the worst of them all.”

“Nonsense. I saved you from King Tout, didn't I?”

“That doesn't make you a good man,” replied the girl. “Just a greedy one.”

“I'm also a very untrusting one,” shot back the Yankee Clipper, picking up his cigar and taking a puff of it. “If anything happens to me while I'm on the planet, my men have orders to kill your friend here.”

“If anything happens to you, Mouse will have nothing to do with it,” said Penelope, unable to hide a worried expression from her face.

“Oh, they'll try to kill you too,” said the pirate. “But I don't know if it can be done. On the other hand, I'm sure they can kill the Mouse, and she'll be the one they shoot first.” He smiled at her. “I hope you'll remember that.”

“You're a bad man,” said Penelope. “You're going to be very sorry you treated us like this.”

“Nonsense,” scoffed the Yankee Clipper. “I've treated you like visiting royalty.” He gestured vaguely with a hand. “Look at this parlor. Elegant furniture, beautiful views, original oil paintings on the walls, room service to cater to your every whim. I even had the bar stocked with fruit juice and soft drinks, just for you.”

“You know what I mean,” said Penelope seriously. “I may just be a little girl, but I have a good memory. Someday you'll be sorry.”

“Someday I'll be dead of old age, too,” said the pirate with a shrug. “In the meantime, though, I suggest you think about what will happen to your friend if any harm befalls me.”

He walked out of the parlor, and the door closed behind him.

“You've got one Standard day to find your unknown friend,” remarked the Mouse. “Or, more to the point, he has one Standard day to find us, since it doesn't seem very likely that we're going to get out of this suite unless someone kills all of the Clipper's guards.”

“We'll get out,” said Penelope with certainty.

“How?”

The little girl shrugged. “I'm not sure yet. There are a lot of futures.”

“There always were,” said the Mouse. “The question is: can you influence some of them enough to get us out of here?”

Penelope made no reply, and since she seemed to be concentrating on something that only she could see or fathom, the Mouse slipped a disk into the holo player and watched a selection of three-dimensional advertisements of the local entertainments. She learned that she had just missed a Wild West pageant, recreated from Earth's ancient past, as well as a much-ballyhooed match for the freehand middleweight championship of the Inner Frontier. Upcoming attractions included a visit from the Cluster's most famous circus, the conclusion of a foot race around Calliope's equator that had begun 82 days previously, and a recreation of the decisive battle of the Sett War, which would take place on the sprawling savannah some 15 miles to the west of Xanadu.

“Damn!” muttered the Mouse. “It just isn't fair!”

“What isn't?” asked Penelope.

“All my life I've dreamed of a world like this, teeming with fat men and fatter wallets,” said the Mouse, “and now that I'm finally here, I'm locked away in a hotel so close to all that money I can almost taste it.” A wistful expression came over her face. “Do you know what Merlin and I could do here, how much money we could make?”

“I thought I was your partner,” said Penelope in hurt tones.

“You are,” the Mouse assured her.

“Then why are you talking about Merlin?”

“Because Merlin is my partner, too—and he had the deftest fingers I ever saw,” answered the Mouse. “You and I are good at other things—but Merlin could have started at one side of this hotel's lobby, walked to the other side, and picked up 20 wallets by the time he got there.” She smiled. “And oh, what he could have done circulating in the crowd at the racetrack.”

“I can make you more money than he could,” said Penelope.

“I don't doubt it.”

“We don't need him.”

“We need all the help we can get, from anyone who will give it to us,” said the Mouse.

“Not from Merlin.”

“Why are you suddenly so concerned with Merlin?” asked the Mouse. “You haven't mentioned him in weeks.”

“We were happy without him,” said Penelope.

The Mouse sighed. “You have to understand that you don't stop liking a friend, or being loyal to him, just because you've found someone you like better.”

Penelope stared at her.

“Do you really like me better?”

“Yes,” said the Mouse. “But don't forget—Merlin has been leading Three-Fisted Ollie and Cemetary Smith and some other bounty hunters away from us for weeks now.” She paused. “What kind of friends would we be if we didn't want him back after he risked his life for us?”

“You're right,” said Penelope after some consideration. “I'm sorry.”

“It's all right,” said the Mouse soothingly. “You don't have to apologize.”

“I just worry about being alone again.”

“I worry about how we're going to get out of here,” responded the Mouse. She started making another round of the parlor—her fourteenth since arriving—testing the walls, the windows, the floors, the ventillation system, looking for weak points and finding none.

“There are lots of ways,” said Penelope, as the Mouse continued walking around the parlor, probing for possible means of escape. “I just don't know which one I can make happen yet.”

“Do they concern your friend?”

Penelope shook her head. “He doesn't even know who we are.”

“Then how can he be your friend?”

The little girl shrugged helplessly. “I don't know.”

“Are you certain you're right?”

“I think so,” said Penelope. “Picking the right future isn't as easy as it used to be. I see more things now, things I don't always understand.”

“What kind of things?” asked the Mouse, finally completing her latest inspection of the premises and turning back to the little girl.

“I don't know,” said Penelope. “Just things.”

“Pictures? Images? Whole scenes?”

“I can't explain it,” answered the girl. “It's just much more complicated than it was.” She paused, frowning. “You'd think it would get easier now that I'm getting bigger.”

“Maybe you're getting more powerful,” suggested the Mouse. “Maybe you see more things and can influence more things.”

“Do you really think so?”

“It's possible.”

“Then why can't I always understand what I see?” asked Penelope.

“Because you're still a little girl, and you don't have enough experience to know all the things that you're seeing, all the permutations of each choice you make.”

“I don't know what you mean.”

The Mouse smiled. “When you do, then perhaps you'll also know what you're seeing.”

“I hope so,” said Penelope earnestly. “It's very confusing. I used to see everything so very clearly. Now there are some things that I don't see at all, that I just seem to know, and other things that I don't understand.”

“I'm sure someday it will all make sense,” said the Mouse.

“I'm glad you can't see what I see, Mouse,” said Penelope. “Sometimes it can be very confusing—and scary.”

“Scary?”

Penelope nodded. “I can see the Iceman and the Forever Kid finding us, and I can see the Yankee Clipper killing you when he finds out.”

“Oh?” said the Mouse apprehensively.

“I won't let it happen,” said Penelope. “There are lots of other futures.”

“I certainly hope so.”

“But I don't understand all of them.”

“Just pick one in which I don't get killed, and I'll settle for it,” said the Mouse.

“You won't get killed,” Penelope assured her.

“Are Carlos and the Kid on Calliope already?” asked the Mouse.

“I don't know,” said the girl. “But I know they'll find this room by tonight, so if they're not here, they're very close.” Suddenly she tensed.

“What is it?”

“In some of the futures they die, and in some they don't.”

“Let's hope for one in which they don't,” said the Mouse.

“That's what I'm seeing now,” said Penelope.

“Then why do you look so upset?”

“Because if they both come into this room, they're going to try to kill each other.”

“Why?” asked the Mouse, puzzled.

“Because of me.”

“You're absolutely sure?”

Penelope frowned. “No. The Iceman hasn't made up his mind yet.”

“About what?”

“About whether to kill me or not.”

“Well, if he tries, the Kid won't let him.”

Penelope closed her eyes and seemed to concentrate. Finally she opened them, visibly shaken.

“I don't know. I can't see who wins.”

“Carlos is a middle-aged man who probably hasn't fought anyone in years,” said the Mouse. “The Kid is a professional killer. I've seen him in action. There's no way that Carlos can beat him.”

“I still can't see,” repeated Penelope. Suddenly she started trembling. “We have to get away from here, Mouse.”

“That's what I keep saying.”

“You don't understand,” said the girl urgently. “I don't want to be here when the Iceman gets here. If he wants me dead, and he can kill the Forever Kid, I'm not strong enough to stop him yet.”

“Yet?” repeated the Mouse.

“Someday I may be, but not yet.” Penelope's face was ashen white. “Don't let him kill me, Mouse!”

“I won't,” said the Mouse, putting her arms around the frightened little girl, and wondering how strong Penelope planned to become if she lived long enough.

The door slid open and the Yankee Clipper stepped into the parlor.

“I'm sorry to trouble you lovely ladies,” he said. “We'll be just a minute.”

He was followed by a pair of bounty hunters Mouse recognized from Westerly. One of them took a couple of steps toward Penelope, who stared at him curiously but without any trace of fear, then nodded to the pirate. A moment later both bounty hunters left.

“The interested parties are beginning to arrive,” explained the Yankee Clipper. “Each, of course, wants to make sure that I can really deliver Penelope Bailey, so I'm afraid we'll be intruding upon your privacy from time to time.”

“I can tell how it upsets you,” said the Mouse sardonically.

“Believe it or not, I take no pleasure in selling human beings,” said the pirate. “But we're talking about a great deal of money here—and frankly, I'll feel much safer once she's halfway across the galaxy.” He paused. “And of course, she's not being sold into slavery. Given the price that she commands, I'm sure she'll be treated with the utmost consideration and kept in luxury.” He smiled again. “At least, it comforts me to think so.”

He left the parlor, and one of his guards entered a moment later.

Penelope busied herself dressing Maryanne with the new clothes she had ordered earlier in the day, while the Mouse activated the holovision and tried to concentrate on the results of the day's seemingly endless procession of sporting events. Twice more the Yankee Clipper brought people up to the suite—once it was a member of the Democracy's military, once a nondescript woman who might have been anything from a bureaucrat to a bounty hunter—and finally the Mouse ordered lunch for herself and Penelope.

A waiter from room service arrived about ten minutes later, guiding a small aircart that held their meals. He waited patiently while the guard searched him, then walked across the room to the polished hardwood table where the Mouse was sitting.

“Your lunch, madam,” said the waiter.

The moment she heard his voice the Mouse turned from the holoscreen to look at his face.

The waiter, his back to the guard, winked at her and smiled, and suddenly the Mouse felt an enormous sense of relief.

“Where will the young lady be taking her lunch?” asked the waiter.

“Right here,” answered the Mouse, hoping that her voice didn't reflect her excitement.

“As you wish,” said the waiter, arranging a place setting for Penelope, who was still playing with Maryanne and seemed oblivious to his presence.

“Excuse me,” said the waiter, turning to the guard, “but there seems to be an extra dessert here. Would you care for it?” He smiled ingratiatingly. “There will, of course, be no additional charge.”

The guard shrugged. “Why not?”

The waiter placed a covered dish at the far end of the table.

“Bring it over,” said the guard.

“Certainly,” said the waiter. He picked up the dish and walked across the room, stopping in front of the guard.

“What is it?” asked the guard.

“One moment, sir,” said the waiter, removing the lid from the dish and handing it to the guard.

The guard leaned forward to take the dish, and suddenly found himself staring down the barrel of a small laser pistol.

“Where the hell did you get that?” he demanded.

“The hand is quicker than the eye,” replied the waiter. He reached over his head with his free hand and suddenly pulled a bouquet of flowers out of the air. “Take a sniff,” he said, holding them up to the guard's nose. “I know they're not roses, but this is less painful and less permanent than forcing me to use the gun.”

“What are you—?” began the guard, who collapsed before he could complete his question.

The waiter looked at the unconscious body for a moment, then tossed the bouquet on top of it and turned to face the Mouse and Penelope.

“Hi, Merlin,” said Penelope.

“Am I ever glad to see you!” said the Mouse, getting to her feet. “What are you doing here?”

“Save your questions for later,” said Merlin. “We're got to move fast. I shorted out the monitoring device just before I entered the suite, but it'll only take them a couple of minutes to figure out that it's not an electronic failure.”

“Are the other guards still outside in the corridor?” asked the Mouse.

Merlin nodded. “Mean-looking bunch. There's no way we can get out past them.”

He walked to the window and examined it. “Is it rigged?” he asked the Mouse.

“Of course not,” she answered. “We're seventeen floors up. Who is going to break in?”

“You've got a point,” admitted Merlin.

As they were speaking, Merlin examined the huge picture window, then made a fist and pressed his ring up against the glass, very near the bottom. “I just love magician's props,” he said with a grin.

The Mouse could hear the whirring of a tiny motor inside the ring, and it cut through the glass with no difficulty. Merlin completed about 320 degrees of a large circle, perhaps 30 inches in diameter, then reached into his pocket for a small suction device, which he attached to the glass. He then cut the remainder of the circle, and used the device to pull the glass into the room.

“Even if the building has enough handholds, someone's bound to see me before I climb down to the ground,” said the Mouse. “And even if no one saw me, there's no way the two of you could follow me down the side of a building.”

“You're not going down, you're going up,” said Merlin.

“Up?” she repeated.

He nodded. “This is the penthouse. The roof's about eight feet above the window.”

“And what about you and Penelope?”

Merlin took off his timepiece and pressed a hidden release.

“Here,” he said, withdrawing a thin, incredibly strong wire from the band and attaching it to the Mouse's waist. “It's a titanium alloy with a tight molecular bonding; it'll hold more than a ton before it snaps. Once you get to the roof, tie your end to something secure, and then Penelope and I will climb up.”

“You can't climb hand-over-hand on that thing,” said the Mouse. “It'll cut right through your fingers.”

Merlin smiled. “I won't have to. There's a little pulley mechanism in there that'll reel the wire in.”

“It'll dislocate your arm.”

He smiled. “I'm wearing a harness beneath my waiter's jacket. I'll be fine.”

The Mouse looked unconvinced. “Have you ever tried this stunt before?”

“No ... but I got the wristband from a friend who does it every night in the circus.”

“Why did he part with it?”

“He was in hospital getting a pair of prosthetic legs,” answered Merlin. “He hadn't any use for it.” He saw her worried expression. “He was there because of a different trick, not this one.”

“I don't know...” said the Mouse.

“Please, Mouse,” said Penelope. “We have to hurry!”

“All right,” said the Mouse instantly.

She ducked her head, stepped through the hole in the window onto the ledge, quickly and expertly found some handholds and footholds, and began making her way up the outer wall of the building.

“Careful,” whispered Merlin, more to himself than to the Mouse, who was now halfway to the roof. “Careful.”

“It's all right,” said Penelope, picking up Maryanne from the floor, where she had been playing with her before Merlin arrived. “She's not going to fall.”

“I wish I was as sure as you,” said Merlin, craning his neck to watch the Mouse.

Penelope walked over to the table and calmly ate one of the sandwiches that Merlin had delivered in his guise as a hotel waiter.

“Don't you give a damn what happens to her?” he demanded irritably when he saw what she was doing.

“I told you—she's not going to fall.”

“You'd better be right,” he said. “Because if you're not, I'm not only going to lose a partner, but you and I are still stuck in this room.”

Penelope held a final bite of the sandwich up to Maryanne's mouth, then placed it on the table and carefully dabbed at the doll's lips with a linen napkin. Then she tucked the doll under her arm and walked to the window.

“She should be there now,” she announced.

“She is,” said Merlin with a sigh of relief. He turned to Penelope. “Let's figure out the logistics here. We can't both fit through the hole together, and if we break the glass and it crashes down to the street, we'll give ourselves away.” He examined the window again. “Grab a couple of napkins from the table.”

Penelope smiled and held up the napkins she had brought with her.

“So you figured it out, too?” he said. “Smart kid.” He attached the wire to his harness. “Be very careful going through the hole here. Then, once you're on the ledge, wrap your hands in the napkins and hold onto the edge of the glass while I climb through.” His gaze went from the girl to the ledge to the roof and back again. “I don't suppose you're strong enough to hold on to my back?”

“I don't think so,” answered Penelope.

“All right,” he continued after a moment's thought. “Once I get out on the ledge too, I'll lift you up until you can wrap your arms around my neck and your legs around my waist. That way I'll be able to keep an arm around you as well.” He paused. “Try not to worry. It won't take us very long once the pulley mechanism starts working.”

“I'm not worried at all,” said Penelope.

“I wish I could say the same,” muttered Merlin. “Everything should work, but this is the Mouse's specialty. I've never done anything like this.”

“We'll be fine.”

He felt the cord jerk against his harness; the Mouse was signaling him that she had secured her end on the roof.

“I hope so,” he said. “Put the doll down and I'll lift you through the hole.”

“Maryanne goes where I go,” said Penelope.

“It's just a doll,” said Merlin. “I'll buy you another.”

“I don't want another. I want her.”

He stared at her for a moment, then shrugged and sighed. “Okay, give her to me and I'll put her in a pocket.”

“No you won't,” said Penelope. “You'll leave her behind.”

“All right—carry her yourself,” said Merlin irritably. “See if I give a damn.”

He guided Penelope through the hole in the window, while she clutched Maryanne to her chest. Then he maneuvered her until she was balanced on the narrow window ledge. She grasped the edge of the glass with a napkin-wrapped hand while the other held the doll.

A moment later Merlin was standing on the ledge beside her, and then, with the Mouse guiding them, they began their ascent. For a instant they got caught at the edge of the roof, and Merlin was absolutely certain the titanium cord would break or the pulley mechanism would fail, but eventually, with the Mouse's help, they reached the temporary safety of the roof.

“Follow me,” said the Mouse, as Merlin stood, hands on knees, gasping for breath, and Penelope inspected Maryanne for abrasions.

Merlin nodded and forced himself to follow the Mouse and Penelope across the rooftop. When they reached the edge, they looked down some 60 feet at the rooftop of an adjacent building.

“We can't chance taking the firestairs here,” explained the Mouse, “because we might run into the Yankee Clipper's men in the lobby. I think our best bet is to get to the building next door and leave through its lobby. How long is that cord of yours, Merlin?”

“Long enough to reach that rooftop, anyway.”

The Mouse smiled. “Don't look so worried. Going down is much easier than going up.”

“Faster, at least,” he muttered.

They were both right: it was easier and it was faster, and five minutes later the three of them walked down the firestairs to the ground floor.

The stairwell let them out in the bustling lobby of an office building. Most of the shopping arcade seemed to consist of local travel agencies, but there was also a small branch bank and a clothing store that specialized in safari outfits.

“How did you find us?” asked the Mouse, as they walked to the main exit. “In fact, how did you even know we were on Calliope?”

“Later,” said Merlin, looking around. “Let's put a little distance between us and your pirate friend first.”

He summoned a groundcab, asked the driver to recommend an inexpensive family hotel near one of the smaller entertainment complexes at the south end of town, and they rode in silence until they reached the hotel some fifteen minutes later.

Merlin walked up to the desk, explained that there had been a mix-up at the spaceport and that their luggage would be arriving that evening or the next morning, and booked two adjoining bedrooms. No comment was made: misplaced luggage was a common occurrence, given the quantity of luggage that had to move through the spaceport, and certainly the three of them appeared to be a typical family, operating on a budget but still determined to enjoy those features of Calliope that they could afford.

When they reached their rooms and opened the connecting door between them, Penelope approached the Mouse. “I saw some little girls outside on the play equipment,” she said. “Can I go play with them?”

The Mouse shook her head. “I'm afraid not.”

“Why not?”

“Because those little girls don't have 18 pirates and half the bounty hunters in the Cluster looking for them, and you do. We can't take a chance that someone might identify you.”

“No one will,” said Penelope. “Not today.”

“You're sure?” said the Mouse.

“Yes.”

“You're taking her word for it?” demanded Merlin.

“Of course,” said the Mouse.

“If she's spotted, we're all in trouble,” continued the magician, and suddenly the Mouse remembered that he was unaware of her extraordinary power, that they had parted before Penelope had demonstrated it for the first time.

“She won't be spotted,” said the Mouse. “If you won't trust her, then trust me.”

Merlin placed a hand on Penelope's shoulder and waited until she turned to face him.

“You be very careful now,” he said. “And if you see anyone staring at you, you come right back here and let me know.”

“Nobody will stare at me,” replied Penelope.

“I'm sure they won't,” said the Mouse, before Merlin could protest. “Go on out and play.”

“Will you watch Maryanne for me?” asked the little girl. “I don't want her new clothes to get dirty.”

“I'd be happy to,” answered the Mouse, taking the doll from her.

“Thank you,” said Penelope. “I guess I'll go now.”

“Have a good time,” said the Mouse.

Penelope paused at the door, a worried expression on her face.

“What's the matter?” asked the Mouse.

“I don't know any games,” said Penelope. “I haven't seen another little girl since I was five years old.”

“Then they'll teach you.”

“What if they don't like me?”

“Nonsense,” said the Mouse. “You're a very likeable little girl.”

“But if they don't?”

“They will,” the Mouse assured her.

Penelope stared at the doll. “Maybe I should bring Maryanne after all. If they don't like me, maybe they'll like her.”

“Don't worry so,” said the Mouse soothingly. “Who wouldn't like a sweet little girl like you?”

“Lots of people,” said Penelope seriously. “Like the Iceman.”

“You'll be fine,” the Mouse assured her. “Just introduce yourself and I'm sure they'll be happy to meet you.”

“I hope so,” said Penelope uncertainly. Then she ordered the door to open, stepped out into the corridor, waved a very nervous good-bye to the Mouse and Merlin, and began walking away as the door closed behind her.

“Who's the Iceman?” asked Merlin, finally inspecting the inexpensively-furnished room with an expression of distaste. “Kind of a personal boogeyman?”

“Not exactly,” said the Mouse, seating herself on a large chair and tucking her feet beneath her. “I used to work for him, a long time ago.”

“I never heard you mention him.”

“He had a different name then,” said the Mouse. “Enough about the Iceman. How did you ever find us?”

“It's a long story.” He stared at a holographic print of an alien landscape that hung above the bed. “God, that's ugly!”

“Maybe you should begin at the beginning,” said the Mouse. “How did you get away from all those bounty hunters after you dropped us off on Binder X?”

“I didn't.”

The Mouse frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“I didn't get away from them all,” repeated Merlin. “I thought I had lost them, but Three-Fisted Ollie caught up with me on a little hellhole called Feathergill.” He sighed. “Six billion birds, fifty billion fish, and one ugly little Tradertown with two run-down hotels. I'll swear every other person on the planet was an ornithologist or an ichthyologist. If there was one place in the whole galaxy I could have sworn no one would look for me, it was Feathergill.”

“Obviously you were wrong.”

“I spent almost a month there,” replied the magician. “Three-Fisted Ollie found me a few days ago.”

“Obviously he didn't kill you.”

Merlin chuckled. “Obviously.”

“So what happened?”

“He wanted the little girl. He and Cemetary Smith had gotten word that the Yankee Clipper was putting her up for auction to the highest bidder, and their employer wanted her pretty badly. But they had a problem: neither of them had ever seen Penelope close up. Ollie knew I had, and he wanted to make sure no one was selling a ringer, so he and Smith offered me a deal—half a million credits if I could make a positive identification, whether their employer is the high bidder or not.”

“So that's how you knew where the Yankee Clipper was keeping us!”

“Of course that's how I knew,” replied Merlin with a smile. “I'm an illusionist, not a magician.” He walked across the faded carpet to a plain wooden chair and sat down on it, grimacing in discomfort. “All interested parties were allowed to make sure the girl was as advertised. In fact, I almost bumped into a pair of mean-looking bounty hunters coming out before I got into my waiter's outfit.”

The Mouse looked amused. “You're a man of many talents, no question about it,” she said. “Today you were a waiter, and tomorrow you can go back to being an illusionist—but for tonight, you're a hero for rescuing Penelope and me.”

“I rescued you,” Merlin corrected her. “I just borrowed Penelope.”

“What do you mean?” asked the Mouse warily.

“If she's worth half a million credits just to identify, think of how much the Yankee Clipper will pay to get her back.” He paused. “Or if we can find a safe enough place to hide her, maybe we'll even conduct the auction ourselves.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You're being awfully dense, Mouse,” said Merlin. “We're sitting on a gold mine. We could make a big enough killing so both of us could retire. I've heard that the bidding is going to start at ten million credits.”

The Mouse stared at him for a long moment.

“You're a fool,” she said at last.

“I thought I was a hero,” he said.

“I thought so, too. I was wrong.”

“I don't supposed you'd care to tell me why?”

“First, I'm very fond of that little girl, and I'm not about to let you or anyone else sell her as if she was some kind of animal. Second, hasn't anyone told you that there's a reason why she's worth so much?”

“Who cares why?” said Merlin with a shrug. “She's worth a bundle, and we've got her. That's all I need to know.”

“No, that's not all you need to know,” said the Mouse, looking out the grubby window at Penelope, who was standing by herself, watching a trio of girls at play.

“All right,” said Merlin, shifting uncomfortably on the straight-backed wooden chair. “Suppose you tell me why she's so valuable.”

“She's valuable because she has a gift, an ability, that a lot of people, and even governments, want to control.”

“What gift?”

“Precognition.”

“Bunk,” said Merlin. “If she's got precognition, she must know I plan to hold her for ransom. Why did she agree to come with us?”

The Mouse looked at Merlin and smiled. “Try not to let it hurt your sensitive feelings,” she said, “but you are the least menacing alternative that was presented to her. Compared to the Iceman and the Yankee Clipper and some of the others, you're so low on the scale that she hasn't even bothered getting rid of you.”

“What do you mean, getting rid of me?” scoffed Merlin. “She's just a kid with a talent. You make her sound like Three-Fisted Ollie.”

“Don't you understand what precognition means?”

“Of course I do. It means she can predict the future. It may be a pretty handy talent to have at the racetrack, and I can see why all these high rollers want her around, but I sure as hell don't see why you find it so frightening.”

“Then I'll spell it out for you,” said the Mouse. “There isn't just one future. There are an infinity of them. She has the ability to see huge numbers of them.”

“I still don't follow you.”

“She can help to bring about the one she most wants to happen.”

“Everybody tries to do that,” he said, still not comprehending.

“Everybody tries; she succeeds.” The Mouse paused. “Let me give you an example. In maybe half the futures she saw, something went wrong with our escape—the cord broke, the guard woke up too early, she lost her grip on you when you were going up to the roof. She has the ability to see each of those futures, and to figure out what she has to do to stop them from coming to pass.”

“You're crazy!” he scoffed.

“Remember those two dead bodies we found next to our ship back on Cherokee?”

“Are you trying to tell me she killed them?”

“She chose a future in which they died. That's not the same thing,” said the Mouse. “She's not a killer. She's just a little girl who protects herself the best way she can.”

Merlin considered what the Mouse had said. “If you're right—and that's a big if—it's one hell of an effective way to protect herself.”

“Yes it is,” agreed the Mouse. “So you see, if she thought you were anything more than a minor irritant, you'd probably have had a stroke or a heart attack on the way over here. At the very least, you'd have tripped on the way to our room and broken a leg.”

“I don't know whether to be insulted or grateful,” he said wryly. He paused and stared at her. “And you like this kid?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“She's got the whole galaxy against her,” said the Mouse. “I'm the only friend she has.”

“That's no reason. Half the people we know have prices on their heads, and you don't like them.”

“She's very sweet, and very lonely.”

Merlin looked out the window, where Penelope was now playing with the other girls. “I'd hardly call that a lonely little girl,” he said sardonically.

“I don't have to justify my reasons to you,” said the Mouse, suddenly annoyed. “All you have to know if that she's staying with us.”

“All right,” said Merlin. “If that's the way it is, that's the way it is. She joins the team and we get the hell out of here first thing in the morning.”

“We'd better,” said the Mouse, wondering if Merlin had given in too quickly. “You've probably got every bounty hunter on the planet looking for us, to say nothing of the Yankee Clipper and his men.”

“Right,” he said. “That's a lot of manpower out there. The sooner we get off the planet, the better.”

“Do you have your own ship?” asked the Mouse.

“No. I came with Three-Fisted Ollie.”

“Then we're going to have to find some way to catch a commercial space flight without being spotted.”

“It won't be easy,” said Merlin. “They'll be watching the spaceport.” He grimaced. “And while they want Penelope alive, I don't think the same applies to you and me.”

“No, it doesn't,” she agreed.

Merlin got to his feet. “There must be a bar around here, and I do my best thinking in bars. Care to join me for a drink?”

The Mouse shook her head. “I'd better stay here in case Penelope come back.”

Merlin stared at her and finally smiled. “Funny,” he commented. “I never thought of you as the maternal type.”

“Neither did I,” said the Mouse.

The magician walked to the door. “I'll be back in half an hour or so. Maybe sooner, if I can figure a way out of this mess.”

“I'll be here.”

He left the room, and the Mouse began walking around, checking the holovision and the octaphonic sound system, examining the cabinets in the bathroom and the closets in the bedrooms, more from habit than any particular need.

Penelope entered the room a few minutes later.

“You're back early,” noted the Mouse. “Weren't you getting along well with the girls?”

“They were very nice,” said Penelope.

“Well, then?”

“We have to leave, Mouse.”

“Leave? You mean, leave the hotel?”

Penelope nodded. “Soon.”

“Somebody knows we're here?”

“Yes.”

“How much time have we got?” asked the Mouse.

“Maybe ten minutes, maybe a little less.”

“All right,” said the Mouse. “Merlin's in the bar. We'll pick up him and get the hell out of here.”

“No!” said Penelope.

“He just risked his life to rescue us,” said the Mouse.

“We don't want him, Mouse.”

“We don't desert our friends, Penelope,” replied the Mouse. “I thought I explained that to you before.” She paused. “I wonder how they found us so quickly? I thought we'd be safe here for a few days.”

“Merlin is telling them right now.”

“They're here?”

“No. He's talking to them on a vidphone—but they'll be here very soon.”

“You actually saw him calling them?”

Penelope placed a finger to her temple. “In here.”

The Mouse stared long and hard at the little girl. “You're sure?”

“Yes.”

“That double-crossing bastard!”

“Come on, Mouse,” said Penelope, tugging at her arm. “We have to hurry!”

“Where is this friend of yours who we were going to meet on Calliope?” asked the Mouse. “We sure as hell could use a friend right now.”

“I don't know.”

The Mouse entered the corridor, looked around to make sure Merlin wasn't on his way back to the room, and nodded. “This way,” she said, heading off to her left. “The other way takes us by the bar, and I don't want him to see us leaving.”

Penelope, her doll clutched against her body, reached out for the Mouse with her free hand.

“Come on,” said the Mouse, increasing her pace. “If we're lucky, we can catch a groundcab and be out of here before Merlin knows we're gone.”

They walked past a small holo theater, a coffee shop, and a large indoor pool, then carefully approached the lobby.

“Have Merlin's friends arrived yet?” whispered the Mouse.

“Not yet,” said the girl.

“All right. Let's go.”

They walked rapidly through the lobby, then stood in front of the hotel as the Mouse tried to hail a groundcab.

“Isn't it ever going to end?” said Penelope wearily.

If Xanadu showed off Calliope's scrubbed, wholesome face to hundreds of thousands of eager tourists, then New Gomorrah displayed its less affluent side. The city rose up out of the grasslands, a carbunkle on the smooth surface of the Western Savannah. It possessed seven multi-environmental hotels, and almost all of the aliens who landed on Calliope immediately made their way to New Gomorrah.

There were tourist attractions, to be sure, and the streets were not unsafe, and many a safari started off from the veranda of the Norfolk II—but, perhaps because the aliens had less money to spend, or perhaps simply because they were aliens, the attractions New Gomorrah offered were seemed less enticing that those of its eastern sister.

Where Xanadu offered circuses with fabulous acrobats and exotic animals, New Gomorrah offered carnivals with sideshows and crooked games. Where Xanadu offered theater, New Gomorrah offered holo shows. Where Xanadu's hotels were palatial, New Gomorrah's were plain, functional structures. Where Xanadu offered fine restaurants with elegantly-prepared dishes, New Gomorrah offered a plethora of alien restaurants with foodstuffs most humans had never seen and could not metabolize.

Moreover, there was something about New Gomorrah that seemed to bring out the bloodlust in its clientele. It was here that one came for hunting, rather than holographic, safaris. It was here that animals and occasionally men and aliens fought to the death before crowds both large and very small. It was here that truly huge fortunes were won and lost in the back rooms of gaming parlors. And it was here that almost every perversion known to man or alien could be experienced if enough money changed hands.

The Mouse and Penelope had avoided the spaceport, knowing that it would be under surveillance. With the rest of the planet to choose from, Penelope had looked at a map and immediately selected New Gomorrah. It had taken them three full days to get there via the most obscure and circuitious routes, by which time both their energy and their bankroll were equally depleted. The Mouse, who hadn't seen a bed in three days, had wanted to spend their last hundred credits on a hotel, but Penelope insisted that they go directly to the carnivals the were clustered on the outskirts of the city.

“Why?” asked the Mouse wearily.

“Because we'll meet my friend at one of them.”

“You're sure this friend actually exists?” said the Mouse. “I mean, it's not as if he showed up when we needed him before.”

“We need him even more now,” said Penelope.

“If he's here now, he'll be here in the morning,” replied the Mouse. “Let's get a room and catch up on our sleep first.”

“I don't want to miss him,” insisted Penelope.

“You make him sound like a traveling salesman.”

“I don't know what he is. I just know he's here.”

“And you think he's at one of these carnivals?” asked the Mouse.

“I don't know. I just have a feeling we should go there.”

“Well, your feelings have been pretty accurate so far,” said the Mouse with an exhausted sigh. “Let's go.”

They caught a courtesy vehicle to the nearest carnival, a relatively small establishment that catered to families with small children. They could hear screams of delight from within the tents, and a number of clowns, both human and alien, mingled with the crowd, passing out free tickets to minor attractions.

“Well?” asked the Mouse.

Penelope shook her head. “This isn't the place.”

“Thank God for that,” said the Mouse. “All those well-scrubbed, vacant-faced families would drive me crazy.”

“Don't you like families, Mouse?” asked Penelope.

The Mouse shrugged. “I don't know. I never had one.” She smiled down at the girl. “You're family enough for me.”

“You're my family, too,” said Penelope earnestly. “You and Maryanne.”

“Where to now?” asked the Mouse.

“Let's just keep going,” said Penelope. “I'll know when we've arrived.”

“Whatever you say,” said the Mouse, flagging down another courtesy vehicle.

They passed an open-air zoo that specialized in alien animals, a huge stadium that seemed not to have any events scheduled that day, and a farm that bred gigantic reptiles from Antarres, and then they came to a sprawling carnival.

“This is it,” whispered Penelope, and the Mouse signaled the driver to let them off.

“This thing must cover 30 acres or more,” said the Mouse, standing before the entrance with Penelope. “Do you have any idea what he looks like?”

“I don't even know if it is a he,” answered Penelope. “But I know we'll find him here, or he'll find us.”

“Will you know him when you see him?”

Penelope shrugged. “I suppose so.”

The Mouse paid their entrance fee, and they spent the next few hours shouldering their way through the crowds of tourists, walking up and down the rows of games and exhibits, past the hustlers and grifters, the strip shows and the freak shows, the alien exhibits, the pleasurepain palaces, the cheap rides, the display of cattle and hogs from Earth itself.

“I'm about ready to give up for the day,” said the Mouse as the midafternoon heat became more intense. She sat down at an empty table near a row of food stands and gestured Penelope to join her. “There must be ten thousand people here,” she continued as the little girl sat next to her. “We could have walked right past him and never known it.”

“He'll be here,” Penelope said firmly.

“Soon?”

“I don't know.”

“Today? Tomorrow? Next week?” continued the Mouse. “I don't mean to worry you, but we're almost broke. The Forever Kid has most of my money, and I've just about run through the rest of it. Whether we keep looking for your mysterious friend or book passage off the planet, we're going to have to find a way to make some more money. I've got enough to keep us going for maybe three more days, four if we find a cheap enough place to stay.” She paused. “Do you know if your friend will show up by then?”

Penelope shrugged. “I don't know.”

“You're sure we're at the right place?” asked the Mouse. “There are a lot of other carnivals around New Gomorrah.”

“We're in the right place.”

The Mouse sighed deeply. “Then we might as well stay right here at the carnival. The less we move around New Gomorrah, the less likely we are to be spotted.”

“Will they let us stay here?” asked Penelope.

“Not as tourists. But I saw a few empty booths and tents. All we have to do is come up with some kind of scam and convince the manager to let us go to work for him.”

“What can we do?”

“That's a problem,” admitted the Mouse. “I suppose I could hire on as a stripper, but I'm so scrawny and ugly that people would pay me to put my clothes back on.”

“That's not true,” said Penelope heatedly. “You're very pretty, Mouse.”

“That's a matter of some debate,” replied the Mouse wryly. “Anyway, take my word for it—no one would hire me.”

“Then what can we do?”

The Mouse lowered her head in thought for a moment, then looked up and smiled. “You know what I didn't see when we walked up and down the aisles?”

“What?”

“A fortune teller's booth.”

“What's that?” asked Penelope.

“A fortune teller? It's someone who pretends to do what you really can do: foresee the future.” She paused briefly. “Do you remember how you saw my cards back at the casino on Last Chance?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think you could see who's going to win a particular race or fight?”

“I think so,” said Penelope. “I'm much better at it now than I used to be.”

“When you can't, will you know that you can't?”

“Yes.”

“Then I think we may be in business.”

“Good!” said Penelope happily. “Then, after we make some money telling fortunes, I can tell you who is going to win a race or a fight, and you can bet on it, and—”

“No,” interrupted the Mouse. “If I win too much money, I'll call attention to myself. Much better to make it in bits and pieces.” She stared at Penelope and frowned. “We've got another problem, too. If word gets out that a little girl is picking winners, we're going to have some very unwanted company.”

“Maybe we could do what we did on Last Chance,” suggested Penelope.

“I just told you—I can't risk being a big winner.”

“No,” said the girl. “I meant the way we worked the card game. You were the player, and I signaled you. Maybe you could read the fortunes, and I could signal you what to read.”

The Mouse considered her suggestion.

“It's a possibility,” she admitted at last.

And when no better possibility presented itself, they spent the remainder of the afternoon going over an intricate set of signals by which Penelope could give the Mouse certain basic information about each client who visited her. Then, at dusk, the Mouse hunted up the manager of the sideshow exhibits, gave him a brief demonstration of her skills, offered him a 60-40 split for the carnival in exchange for the use of a booth plus their food and lodging, and they were in business ten minutes later.

They spent the evening decorating their booth and creating a suitable costume for the Mouse, then ate a late dinner in the crew's mess tent and collapsed on the cots that had been provided in the back of their booth.

They awoke early, ate breakfast, and then waited for the carnival to open. Penelope was so excited she could hardly stand still.

“Relax,” said the Mouse. “They won't open the gates for another half hour yet.”

“I know,” said Penelope. “But isn't it wonderful? We're working together again! And look at all the colorful people and all the aliens!”

“A grifter by any other name,” said the Mouse.

“What?”

The Mouse smiled. “Nothing. I'm glad you're happy.”

“Oh, I am. Can we always work together, Mouse?”

“I'd much rather retire in luxury together,” said the Mouse wryly. “But until that happy day, we're still a team.”

The other carnival workers began gathering on the midway, setting up their tents and booths. About two-thirds of them were gaudily-dressed humans, but there were Canphorites, Lodinites, Mollutei, Domarians, and, just across from them, running a game that seemed to make no sense, was an alien of a race the Mouse had never seen before. It was bipedal, covered with light green scales, and seemed to have a gray, shell-like hump that extended from the back of its neck to just above its buttocks. It stood no taller than five feet, but its thick body and heavy limbs gave an unmistakable impression of great strength. The Mouse nodded a greeting to it, and it opened its horned beak in what she hoped was an answering smile.

Then the gates opened, and a new day's throng of tourists invaded the carnival. It took the Mouse almost three hours to get her first client, and two hours more for her second—but when a 23-to-1 shot came in at the local racetrack, and word went out that a fortune teller on the carnival grounds had predicted the victory, they were soon lining up to speak to her.

She read the future for unhappy husbands and unfaithful wives, hopeful gamblers and hopeless addicts, the rich and the poor, humans and aliens, good beings and bad. Penelope was never more than ten yards away, acting the part of her shill, collecting her money, urging bypassers to seek her services.

And then, on the third morning, right after she had given a Lodinite the anticipated result of a heavyweight freehand match that would be held later in the day, she looked up and saw a familiar bearded face staring at her.

“You gave us a good run for our money, I'll grant you that,” said the Yankee Clipper without any animosity. He held Penelope firmly by the arm, and obviously was pressing a hand weapon against her.

“How did you find us?” said the Mouse.

He chuckled. “Just how many winners did you think you could give away before the press started suggesting there was some kind of racket going on here?”

The Mouse looked around for the pirate's subordinates, but couldn't spot them. “Where are your men?”

“They're hunting for you all over New Gomorrah,” replied the Yankee Clipper. “Some are at the track, some are at the arena, some are in the casinos. But I thought I'd try the carnival—and what better place for you to hide than right here, as a fortune teller?” He smiled in amusement. “It's like a deserter hiding out in the middle of a battlefield.”

“And now what?” demanded the Mouse.

“Now you're free to go.”

The Mouse frowned. “I don't understand.”

“You're a bad influence on the child,” said the pirate. “I'm taking her back alone.”

“No!” cried Penelope.

“Yes, my dear,” said the Yankee Clipper. “I know that having the Mouse around was supposed to make you more tractable, but the fact of the matter is that she helped you to escape and thereby caused me considerable embarrassment, to say nothing of the cost of hunting you down. And,” he concluded, “since I plan to be rid of you within a day, I really don't care whether your new ... ah ... host has the means to control you or not.”

“You can't separate us!” pleaded Penelope.

“I can and I will,” replied the pirate. He turned to the Mouse. “If you attempt to follow me, please know that I will not hesitate to kill you.”

The Mouse stared at him helplessly, her mind considering and rejecting various alternatives, each more unlikely than the last. Finally her shoulders slumped and she emitted a soft sigh of defeat.

“Then, as we have nothing further to say, I'll be taking my leave of you,” announced the Yankee Clipper, tightening his grip on Penelope's arm.

Suddenly the broad, scaled alien from across the aisle approached them.

“I beg your pardon,” it said in heavily-accented Terran, “but I must speak to the Soothsayer.”

“Well, I won't keep you from your work,” said the pirate with a grin. He pulled Penelope by the arm. “Come along, young lady.”

“No,” said the alien, blocking their way. “I must speak to the Soothsayer.”

“There she is,” said the Yankee Clipper, gesturing toward the Mouse. “Now step aside.”

“I have been observing them for days,” continued the alien calmly. “I know which is the Soothsayer and which is the imposter.”

“What you know doesn't interest me,” said the Yankee Clipper irritably.

“It should,” said the alien, “for among the things I know is that you have made a serious mistake.”

“Oh? What mistake?”

“You may not lay hands on the Soothsayer without her permission.”

“Do you know who you're talking to?” demanded the Yankee Clipper.

“Yes,” replied the alien tranquilly. “A man who should have known better.”

And just as calmly, just as tranquilly, the alien suddenly produced a weapon of a type that was totally unfamiliar to the Mouse. It aimed it at the pirate, there was an almost inaudible humming sound, and the Yankee Clipper collapsed, dead, on the ground.

The alien held out a hand to Penelope.

“Come with me, Soothsayer,” it said gently. “I have been waiting for you.”

Penelope looked into the alien's hideous face with a happy smile.

“My friend,” she said.