Puissanto lowered his head, braced his arms-then ran swiftly at the wall. Bending double as he ran. Lowering his head.

          At full speed crashing his bald skull into the brick wall.

          Which shuddered, cracked-and fell to pieces.

          Pandemonium all around as he wiped brick dust from his skull and bowed to the cheering crowd.

          The audience loved him, and were still cheering and clapping after three curtain calls. He was going to have to do something more before they would quit. So he did. None of his familiar props this time.

          "Puissanto hears you and understands your enthusiasm," the ringmaster said. "Therefore, for your continuing pleasure, he will perform a little encore."

          Instead of returning behind the curtains, the strongman now went down the steps from the stage and into the audience. He shook a few hands-or rather let them try to shake his fingers, smiled happily while lovely women kissed him. Then he went back to the first row and bowed.

          And while he was bowing he reached out and seized two seats, one in each hand, where they were bolted to the floor.

          Then, with one concentrated contraction of his muscles he wrenched them from their moorings and held them on high.

          Louder cheering if possible, and laughter at the man and woman in the seats, holding on to the chair arms and trying to smile. The curtains opened to a blare of trumpets. Holding the seated couple over his head Puissanto climbed back to the stage, turned and bowed to the audience.

          Then proceeded to juggle the pair like giant dumbbells!

          Up into the air they went in brief arcs. To be seized by those giant hands as they dropped. Grabbed and thrown aloft once more. Five times he performed this act of strength and coordination before he lowered them safely to the stage at last. The girl kissed him, the audience went wild. Harley Davidson, who was standing close by me, shouted aloud across the stage. But so wild was the audience that I was the only one who could hear him.

          "You'll pay for those chairs, Puissanto! I'll take it out of your pay."

          Stagehands removed the chairs while the strongman bowed one last bow and left.

          When the shouting died down the music changed to a lugubrious funeral march, accompanied by shrill screams and manic laughter. All the house lights dimmed and died while the frenzied screaming grew louder. A single blue spot came on and there in its glow was a handsome tuxedo-garbed man who bowed to the audience and said, in a voice filled with menace, "Welcome-welcome to Gar Goyle's Interstellar Freak Show."

          He stepped aside and a four-armed, green-skinned man took his place and bowed low. He was wearing a tartan kilt and sporran. He took a small white skull-with tiny hornsfrom his sporran and tossed it into the air. Then another until the air was filled with flying skulls, juggled in complex patterns by his four hands. It was most impressive and greatly enjoyed. Particularly when he launched the skulls, one by one, into the audience. The audience fought to catch them then, after examining them, ate them. Because they were made of candy.

          "Greetings dear friends, greetings. I am here this evening to bring you a gaggle of ghastliness, a hemorrhage of horror, a dribble of disgust. Gathered from all corners of the galaxy for your edification and repulsion are the freaks of nature heretofore concealed from the eyes of the public. The misborn misfits, the monstrous mutations that you may heard about, perhaps dreamed about. But if you dreamed, ladies and gentlemen, your dreams were nightmares. Terrorizing riders of the night-like Snailman!"

          The curtains snapped open and a harsh, bright spotlight burned down on the creature on the stage. There were gasps and cries from the audience. With good reason. He was bent and twisted, half-emerged from a spiked shell, recoiling into it away from the clamor of the audience. Then he sought to escape, crawling slowly across the stage leaving a trail of slime behind him. He came towards me, eyes bulging wildly, and I recoiled. Not human, a pseudoflesh robot I kept telling myself. Yet I was relieved when he turned and crawled in the opposite direction. Whoever had designed this creature had a very warped mind.

          Next the audience cheered the bird girl, with stunted wings for arms, a horny bill instead of a mouth. Enjoyed it when she fluttered a few feet into the air.

          There were more like this. The audience loved it; which told me a lot about the inhabitants of Fetorr. I found that a little repulsion went a long way. Still, I hoped that it would never stop. For every minute that passed drew me one minute closer. to my stage debut. Could I appeal to this audience? It was too late to put a little blood and slime into my routines. It would have to be magic, pure and simple.

          I was barely aware of the acts that followed as I fussed with my props and shuffled cards from hand to hand. Angelina came up, leading Gloriana on a golden chain, and cocked her head when she looked at me.

          "How do you feel? Your color is awful."

          "First-night tremors. Do you realize this is the very first time we have performed the act in public? Despite all those pages of fake reviews."

          "Jim diGriz-this is not like you. You have faced down large guns, small generals, giant animals, grasping tax men. You have never hesitated. Stop sweating, pull yourself together, drink a bit of this." She produced a flask of medicinal brandy. "And remember the motto of show business."

          "It will be alright on the night," we intoned together and I took a good slug from the flask.

          Then we were ready to go on, listening to the ringmaster's masterly introduction of fake facts.

          ". . . dived from a thousand-meter-high tower into a small bathtub of water-and survived! Handcuffed, chained and locked into a steel safe and dropped into the ocean, struggled for hours to escape-and escape he did!"

          Had I been mad to write this kind of nonsense for the fake reviews? My sins were coming back to haunt me.

          ". . . so without further ado I bring you that master of magic, the supremo of sorcery, the wizard of witchcraft-the Mighty Marvell!"

          Act cool and you are cool, Jim, I kept telling myself. Cool, cool. I walked to center stage and bowed-and almost lost it. Because just in front of me, in the center of the front row, was my son Believer, clapping like crazy. But he was supposed to be light-years away.

          I couldn't speak. Luckily I did not have to. I turned and extended my arm, waved Angelina to make her entrance. Which she did most handsomely. Applause thundered. Either they loved porcuswine on golden chains-or they appreciated the fair Angelina as much as I did.

          I could not say how the act went since I was possessed by a chill numbness as I performed. At least I didn't drop anything. And they oohed at the right places and laughed when I expected them to. Angelina handed me the props at the right time, screamed when I put her into the box and cut her in half, collected the slips of paper for the mind-reading act. Floated mysteriously in midair. Then suddenly she was before me, leading Gloriana and I knew we were ready for the vanishing act that closed our performance.

          "Look on and admire," I called out. "Beauty and the beast. In the flesh and alive-for now. I beg you to be silent, because if anything goes wrong, one slip, one instant of inattention, and the results could be incredibly disastrous. There now, they enter the cage. Now the glorious Angelina will lock the ferocious porcuswine to the floor with heavy locks and chains. They are now in place. Are you ready? Yes you are. Now, the magic word, Monosodiumglutamate!"

          The canopy dropped down, rose an instant later and they were gone. The audience roared with appreciation when they saw that the cage was empty. Woman and swine had vanished. The curtains closed and I stepped out for a few last bows. Bolivar threw a bouquet of flowers which I neatly fielded. With a small movement of my thumb I indicated backstage and he nodded.

          He was in the dressing room before me, pecking the air next to his mother's cheek so he wouldn't smear her makeup. She made a neat curtsy when I presented her with the flowers.

          "From Believer," I said.

          "And from James, Sybil and Sybill. I promised to call them as soon as the act was over. It was really great. And that's a powerhouse porcuswine you have there." Gloriana snuffled agreement and let her back be scratched.

          "Is it permitted to ask what you are doing here?" I asked.

          "Working in a bank, of course. As soon as we knew that you were coming to this planet, James had his search engine digging deeper and deeper, building a data bank on Fetorr like you wouldn't believe. There are forty banks in this city alone."

          "I believe it. Where there's crud there's credits."

          "The bank here with the greatest reserves is the BankrottGeistesabwesed. Did you ever hear of it?"

          "No. Should I? It is not a name that exactly trips off the tongue."

          "We did some digging, and it wasn't easy, and eventually discovered that it belongs to an old friend of yours. One Imperetrix Von Kaiser-Czarski."

          "Not Chaise?"

          "None other. The Widows and Orphans 15` Interstellar Bank, the one he told you about, is owned by him as well. For some reason, best known to him, this one is supposed to be secret. So I sent him a message, telling him that we were helping with your investigation. Told him that I could help him a lot more if I were a teller in the branch of the Widows and Orphans bank here, to sort of be on the spot if anything happened. I thought he might have a certain influence that might get me appointed here."

          "Did you get the job?" Angelina asked, always interested in her son's career.

          "Not quite. He liked my new banking expertise so much that he made me manager instead."

          "My son the bank manager!" Angelina said and smiled.

          "Then that is something else we can celebrate tonight," I said just as a phone rang. He slipped it out of his pocket, listened, then hung up.

          "Anything important?"

          He nodded, a little grimly I thought.

          "That was the night manager of the bank on the line. It seems that, just a few minutes ago, the bank was robbed."

CHAPTER 7

          "I must get back to the bank," Bolivar said, starting towards the door.

          "I must go with you," I said, hopping about on one foot while I tried to pull my dress trousers off.

          "We must all stop and think first," Angelina said, most practically. "The bank has been robbed. By this time security men and the police will have sealed off the crime scene. So there is no need for us to rush about in circles flapping our wings."

          Bolivar had his hand on the doorknob-but did not open it. "Good thinking," he said. He let go of the knob, turned and sat down.

          "You are the bright torch of wisdom in the dark night of stupidity," I said. Sitting down and taking off my shoes; which made the process of removing my trousers that much easier. "While I change out of my show clothes, perhaps Bolivar would be kind enough to book us a room at the nearest and most elegant hotel, with transportation provided therewith. We came here too late to do it ourselves."

          "Good as done." He tapped into his phone. "Done. The Royal Suite at the Waldorf-Castoria awaits you and the Imo is waiting."

          "Tell them that I'll need an hour to change and pack," Angelina said, slipping behind the screen. "And make sure that there is first-class accommodation for Gloriana. I'm sure that she is tired after tonight's performance." A petite porcine snore from the direction of her basket underlined the assumption.

          Intelligence was beginning to slip back into my overexcited cerebellum. I pointed at the leather suitcase. "We'll take the supercomputer with us. It might come up with an answer or two."

          "You will call me and let me know what happened at the bank?" Angelina said.

          "As soon as we know ourselves," I said and blew her a kiss as we left.

          Since the night's performance had not yet ended, there were plenty of floatcabs in the rank outside. We climbed into the first one, Bolivar gave the driver instructions, then turned on the machine that was built into the partition before us.

          "What is that?" I asked. He pointed to the label.

          SURVEILLANCE DETECTOR UNIT

          "Industrial espionage is big business on this planet. This thing monitors for bugs in the cab, generates white noise to stop detection from outside."

          "How do you know that it is not bugged itself?"

          "Because I test it with this." He unclipped a small device from his belt and held it out. It bleeped and flashed a green light. "A surveillance detector detector. The bank issues them and tests them daily with. . ."

          "I know-a surveillance detector detector detector. Continuing down this road leads only to madness. Because every morning, before it is used, the banks surveillance detector detector detector detector must be tested by . . ."

          "Best not to think about that kind of thing Dad. Better to think about what we should do about this robbery."

          Bolivar leaned over and pressed the actuator on the cab's detector. It instantly flashed a red light and spoke in a metallically reedy voice.

          "Eavesdropping device under seat cushion to the left. "

          Bolivar dug down behind the cushion and pulled out a few coins.

          "False alarm?" I asked.

          "I doubt it."

          He looked at them quizzically-then opened the window and threw them out. The detector buzzed once, flashed a green light, then turned itself off. "One of those coins had to be a transmitter."

          "Why should someone want to plant that thing to spy on us?"

          "Probably not after us at all. Whoever they are, they may have wanted to observe someone who was attending the performance. So they bugged every cab there."

          "Expensive way to work."

          "Plenty of money available for that sort of thing. So-now that we have privacy-isn't it time to think about what action we should take about this robbery? We need a game plan."

          "You are absolutely right," I said with great authority. Then slumped into the seat. "Only we don't have one."

          "We do. For the first time since the thefts began we are on the spot when the robbery occurred. We gather all the evidence-and I mean all, then feed it into your supercomputer and see what it comes up with."

          I patted the thing's leathery hide. "Good as done."

          Only it wasn't. There were plenty of flashing lights ahead, ranks of policemen, great lengths of tape bearing the legend POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS. Our cab slowed and stopped at the barrier. As we emerged a burly minion of the law strode up.

          "Leave. No one permitted."

          "Stay," Bolivar said, producing his wallet. "I am manager of that bank and I am going in."

          The policeman frowned down at the ornate jewel-encrusted badge and reached for his phone. His superior was of little help so we clanked up the chain of command until we reached a gold-braided copper with enough authority to let us by.

          "Who are you?" he snarled at Bolivar.

          "I am Bolivar diGriz, the manager of this bank. And you are?..."

          Gold-braid glared first. "Captain Kidonda of the Serious Crime Squad. They called me at the theater. I tell you, I don't like my evening ruined like this."

          "I couldn't agree more. It is not doing much for my evening either."

          We stopped in front of the bank and stared at the great hole in the outer wall. Someone other than a widow or an orphan had made a massive withdrawal.

          "Impressive," Bolivar said, looking at the opening. "There used to be a cash machine there."

          Gold-braid nodded. "Eyewitnesses say they pulled it out with a skyhook. One tug and it was up and away. Every policeman on duty is looking for it now."

          "What about the bank?" Bolivar asked.

          "No alarms went off-other than the ones on the cash machine."

          The captain's phone beeped and he snarled into it. "What?" He listened, then nodded. "Yes, do that. The lab technicians as well." He hung up and turned to us.

          "The cash machine had been found, abandoned. And empty. Do you know how much cash was in it?"

          "The records will be in the bank. Let us go and see." Bolivar leaned over and looked into the glowing eye of a retinascope. It beeped twice. When he put his palm on a metal plate beside the front entrance it burred slightly and unlocked the door. The three of us went in.

          Low night-lights illuminated the interior; security cameras moved in slow arcs. Street light poured in through the immense hole in the bank's wall; chunks of debris fanned out across the floor.

          Our presence was detected and gentle music began to play.

Serious financial music with an arpeggio of profit, while a compound-interest melody played in counterpoint we crossed to the massive bank vault and Bolivar leaned over to look at the indicators.

          "At least we have no problems with the vault here. This is sealed tight. It has a time lock that cannot be altered from the outside. It will only open in the morning after the staff arrives."

          Was the vault waiting to hear these words? As soon as he had spoken the ceiling lights came on and the big wheel in the center of the door began to turn.

          "Good morning, customers," the vault said. The wheel clicked to a stop, then the thick steel locking bars withdrew from their sockets.

          "You said it couldn't be opened?" Captain Kidonda was not pleased.

          Before Bolivar could answer him the massive portal swung wide and we could clearly see inside through the barred gate.

          The floor was strewn with empty safe-deposit boxes.

          At that instant the alarms sounded deafeningly and all of the security lights began an eye-stabbing flashing. The captain was shouting into his phone, then waved forward the jumble of policemen that was coming through the door.

          "Get a squad around to the back of the bank." He turned to Bolivar. "Is there a rear entrance to the bank?"

          Bolivar nodded. "There is a a small pedestrian entrance, as well as a garage entrance for armored van deliveries."

          "Got it. I want this building surrounded so tight that a gnat can't get out. The perpetrators are probably still in the bank. Move it!"

          They moved. Then he ordered up a heavily armed squad. "Shoot anything that as much as twitches," he said.

          "I assume that does not include us," Bolivar said. The captain ignored this levity. "Take us to the rear entrances," he ordered.

          Bolivar obliged. I trailed behind, anxious to see what was happening, but at the same time not wanting to draw their attention to me. Bolivar unlocked the doors as we went. Through offices and storerooms to a final door.

          "This opens into the garage area," he said.

          "Unlock it-then step aside." He waved a command and an armed and armored zap squad moved forward. "When I open this, get in there. Don't take any chances. Fire first."

          They nodded grim agreement, stood poised.

          The door flew open and they charged through it. Firing into the darkness as they ran. Bolivar reached in and turned the lights on.

          Layers of gunsmoke drifted in the air. The room was empty.

          "Open the outer door," the captain ordered.

          Bolivar threw the switch. Motors whirred and gears ground as the heavy armored door sank down into the ground. We waited tensely, guns ready. There were people outside.

          Another row of policemen, also aiming guns.

          "Don't fire!" Bolivar shouted at the trigger-happy cops. "We're all on the same side!"

          Fingers twitched, then relaxed. Safety switchs were turned on.

          "Can you explain how this happened?" Captain Kidonda said, turning on Bolivar.

          "Certainly not. I was at the theater as well."

          "But you know what happened?"

          "I know exactly as much as you do. The money machine was pulled out of the wall. And somehow, someway, person or persons unknown entered the vault and removed all of its contents."

          "How?"

          "How should I know?"

          "You should know because that is your job." The captain was losing his temper. "And I am beginning to think that this was an inside job. Planned by someone who knew exactly how to open the vault. Then took himself off to the circus for an alibi."

          "I don't need an alibi!" Bolivar said heatedly. "I did not do it, had nothing to do with it. Can't you get that fact through your thick skull?"

          "Insulting a police officer in the course of his duty!" the captain roared. "That is a criminal act! Arrest this man!" he shouted and burly rozzers leaped forward to seize my son.

          "You can't do that! " I shouted, swinging the computer like a weapon as I started forward. The captain got in my way.

          "Not only can I do that-but I can throw you in the pokey beside him if I hear another word from you!"

          "Forget it, Dad. It's all some kind of mistake."

          "Your mistake!" the police oaf said grimly. "A new manager from offplanet is most suspicious." He hesitated a moment, listening to the telephone in his ear. "Right. The commissioner agrees with me. I have orders to bring you in." He jerked a fat thumb in my direction. "You get out of here or you are also going to be in big trouble."

          His breath was redolent of the last three or four meals he had had, his voice gravelly with disdain. I glanced over his shoulder at Bolivar-who gave me a quick wink. I understood. Don't get involved now. Don't make a scene. Get out of herethen think of more subtle ways of solving the current problem. Other than running off at the mouth. His was a mighty informative wink.

          I cringed. "Dear, sir," I whined. "You must forgive me, carried away by these terrible events, you are of course right. Justice will be served. While I crawl back to my miserable hovel and berate myself deeply at my mistake."

          I bowed and hunched and shuffled backwards away from the scene. Gold-braid was about to say something when Bolivar pulled free of one policeman and planted a solid punch on the other. There was much avid cursing and struggling that covered my exit. I crossed the police lines and waved down a cab that was slowly cruising by as the driver ogled the scene.

          "Pull over." I said. "Start the meter, stay here, we are waiting for someone."

          He was happy to oblige. Enjoying the arrival of the siren screaming van that backed up to the front of the bank. There was a quick glance of people getting in the rear door, then it pulled away.

          "Follow that vehicle," I said.

          "No way! Them's security police and they are bad news."

          "Only to the guilty. I am a newspaper reporter on assignment and here is my identification."

          I passed over a golden fifty-credit coin that he took with some hesitation. "Okay. But I'm not getting close."

          The traffic was light enough to follow from a distance. We could clearly see the police van drive through an open door in an immense dark and ugly building. The driver hit the brakes and we screeched to a stop.

          "Out, out!" he squeaked. I opened the door but took my time about leaving.

          "What building is that?"

          A moan and a gasp was my answer. Finally he choked out the words. "That's . . . Slawter House . . . headquarters of the Fiscal Constabulary. Also known as the Roach Motel. They go in-but they don't come out." I closed the door and gave him some more money.

          "That's great. This will make a fine story and my editor will be pleased. Now take me to the Waldorf-Castoria where my employer awaits my arrival." A chill passed over me since it was Angelina who was waiting. I knew in advance what her reaction would be when I arrived. The cab was fleet, the distance short, her wrath understandable.

          "You let them imprison our son?" Angelina said with venom in her voice and murder in her eye.

          "I was ready to take them out-but Bolivar said no. He winked at me."

          "He has an old head on a young body. Probably saved your life-taking on the entire police force at your age. What's next?"

          "We get him out of there. The course of events has taken a very ominous turn. There are too many coincidences and I don't believe in that. But I do believe in active malice. I am sure that our role in this affair has been rumbled. First, we are here in this city when the robberies occur. And it is a totally different kind of crime from the previous ones. Always before. there has been no alarm-but the banks have been found cleaned out in the morning. Now we have a cash machine plucked out with noise and jumble. That has never happened before. Then, when we are inside the bank, the vault is apparently robbed just before our eyes. No good. We get Bolivar out now. But we have to have a good alibi for the time when all this is happening."

          "You have arranged that?"

          "I will. Or rather you will. Call down for great amounts of food and- drink. We are going to have a party."

          While she did this I dug our apparatus out of the bags, stuffed needed items into my pockets. A portable radio filled with functions never imagined by its manufacturer. A camera that took good pictures-but picture taking was probably the simplest of its functions, only the smallest fraction of its abilities. I had just finished changing into dark clothes when I heard the door announcer. I was sitting on the couch with a lit cigar when the trolleys rolled in.

          "Eat drink and be merry!" I announced, tipping freely and breaking open a bottle of bubbly. But as soon as the door closed I jumped to my feet and produced the webber from my pocket. "We go," I said. "Garbed in black and ready for action."

          "And you have some subtle plan to save our boy?" Angelina said as she pulled on her slacks.

          "Not that subtle since we have little time and less knowledge of where he is being held. So we just blast our way in."

          "Good. Let us do it."

          I went out onto our balcony and slapped the webber to the wall beside it, where it adhered with an unbreakable molecular grip. Seizing the handle on the thing I swung out into the darkness. "Join me," I said, and Angelina took my waiting hand. A touch of the button and the liquid web was expelled from the spinneret; it congealed instantly. We went smoothly down just as a spider would on a web.

          I swung right on past the balcony on the floor below us, since there were lights on in the room. The window on the floor below was dark, so we landed there. I concealed the webber against the wall, turned, and opened the sliding door with a quick twitch of my lockpick. Down four flights to the basement, thankfully without being seen. Then out through a sealed and alarmed emergency door. Which unsealed at my touch, alarm silenced as well.

          "I like that little blue sports car," Angelina said.

          "I do too. But I think we need something bigger and more sober. That one."

          A large, black saloon which opened to my touch, started instantly, bore us away into the night. "I'll park around the back of the building," I said. "We will go in through the front. Move fast, play it by ear, not stopping, get Bolivar and get out."

          "Sounds good-and could be fun as well. I realize that we have been leading what could be called a dull existence of late."

          "You can't go in here," the guard at the front entrance said as we walked up. He was raising his weapon when I reached out and cracked the deepsleep capsule under his nose. He dropped. Dropped his memory too, since I had incorporated a bit of an amnesia drug in the formula. We pulled on gas masks before entering the building. Fairly quiet at this time of night, even quieter when the blackout spray and deepsleep took effect. Uniformed bodies thudded to the floor on all sides. We stepped around them to get at the uniformed bully who was slumped behind the reception desk. He woke and gurgled briefly when I injected him, drooped again when the next needle hit.

          "I am your master," I whispered into his ear.

          "Yes, master."

          "You will obey me."

          "But speak and I obey."

          "Where is the prisoner who was brought here earlier? The one involved in the bank robbery."

          "Interrogation room six."

          "Take us there."

          He did. Most docilely. The few people we met slept comfortably in the corridors. We stopped at the signaled door, our guide joined the others in slumberland; somewhere in the distance an alarm sounded.

          "They've finally rumbled us," Angelina said.

          "Took them long enough. Ready?"

          She nodded. Her features unseen behind the mask-but I knew that she was smiling as she opened the door and threw in the capsules.

          They were all unconscious, even Bolivar who hung limply from a rack of some kind. There was blood on his face and hands. As Angelina went to get him down she managed to plant a foot in each of the men around him.

          "Thanks," Bolivar said simply when he opened his eyes. "Bunch of sadists this lot."

          Was it by accident that Angelina managed to walk on their faces as we left?

          The alarms were louder now, with the sound of running feet in the distance, hoarse shouts and the occasional sound of gunfire. They were obviously panicked and firing in the dark. We stayed away from the growing clamor and instead worked our way to the rear of the building where we descended to the ground floor.

          "This should be the outside wall," I said dubiously.

          "That better be the outside wall," Angelina said positively. "Now get us out of here."

          Not sure of the thickness of the wall I planted a treble charge. Even around the corner of the corridor we were stunned and deafened by the explosion. We staggered through the debris and out of the immense opening into the night. Not too far from our car. We were well gone before anyone else appeared. Returned the stolen vehicle to the spot where we had found it parked, then made our way back to the. balcony and our room, reversing our escape route.

          "I am going to clean Bolivar up and change," Angelina said. "While you order up more drink for our party."

          "Now it really is a party," I said. "So we can celebrate a bit-before we figure out what the next step will be. I have the strong sensation that our invisible enemies have been one step ahead of us ever since we arrived on this planet. Let us then do something to even the score."

CHAPTER 8

          I poured the contents of two bottles of good booze-what a waste-down the drain. And ordered more. The party must go on. A newly patched up Bolivar wandered about the suite, detector in one hand, a barbecued porcuswine rib in the other, checking the detectors. Gloriana had wandered out to see what the excitement was about, squealed woefully when she sniffed her departed relative, and had retired again to her bed. Angelina, attired in a nifty tigerstriped negligee, was repairing the damage inflicted on her fingernails by the night's events.

          "As a reward for your medical ministrations I would say that another cool glass of bubbly would be in order," I offered.

          "Very much in order." She took it and sipped. I knocked back a double dram of Old Kidney Killer, then took some more-with ice this time. Nibbled a canapé or two and let myself relax. But could not.

          "What do we do about Bolivar?" I asked, phrasing aloud the question that was prominent in everyone's mind. "This hotel room is not the safest place for him to be."

          "Nor this city-nor this entire planet," Angelina said with some venom. "I am uneasy about everything-because everything seems to be falling apart in a most unpleasant way. I am beginning to wish that we had never met Chaise. Or let ourselves by hypnotized by all the money he offered."

          I was very much in agreement-but felt that I had to at least attempt to be cheerful."

          "It is going to work out-and we will be rich. But first, as you said, what do we do about Bolivar?"

          "I'll be just fine," he said. At the very same moment the door chime chimed to contradict his words. "But I think that I'll be finer if I step into the other room."

          "The police are a very thorough bunch on this backwoods planet," I said. "So I think that you will be finer still-if you step out onto the balcony instead of the bedroom and hang out about there. I smell trouble."

          My prognostic sniffer was indeed right. Three large and burleys filled the hall outside when I opened the door.

          "This is a private party and you are not invited," I said and closed the door. Or rather tried to, but a large shoe stopped me.

          "National Security Police," the lead goon said, flashing an ornate badge with a hologram of a striking snake. "We are coming in."

          "Without permission or a search warrant?"

          "None needed. Not on Fetorr. In the name of justice we have the right enter any premises that we deem suspect."

          "We are having a bit of a party here-what is suspect about that?"

          "You are," he snarled, pushing me in the chest. Normally I would have dropped him for this, but now I was just playing for time. I moved back hesitantly and he smiled. "You were in the presence of a known criminal early this evening."

          "That's no crime!"

          "It is if I say it is. Out of the way."

          They rushed in and I had to step aside or be trampled. Angelina sipped her wine and did not grace them for an instant by acknowledging their rude presence.

          "Where is Bolivar diGriz?" the one who spoke asked in a nasty and suspicious way. Perhaps the others couldn't talk.

          "Who are you?"

          "Inspector Mwavuli. Where is he?" He looked around. "Search this place."

          "Where is who? Bolivar? He is in jail-where your fellow officers took him."

          "He is not. He escaped."

          "That's nice to hear. Drink?"

          There was none of that "not on duty" nonsense on Fetorr. He poured a glassful of hooch and knocked it back without taking his eyes off me. His co-conspirators returned from their search of the premises and answered his raised eyebrows with negative grunts.

          "Don't leave this city," he ordered. Then they left.

          "Charming," Angelina said as she double-locked the hall door, put on the safety chain and propped a chair under the handle.

          Bolivar came in from the balcony and touched his finger to his lips. He made a careful search of the suite with his detector and returned with a handful of bugs. They were disguised as coins, soap cakes, picture hangers-and even one roach. He flipped them off the balcony then poured himself a glass of red wine.

          "Bolivar-you are going to join the circus," Angelina said.

          "My lifetime ambition!'

          "Don't be cheeky. I mean it, seriously."

          "Of course you do. But I was also thinking of the little matter of reaching the Colosseo. I'm sure that all the police have my photo by now and are on the lookout. The streets are not safe."

          "For a young man, yes. But for a young women they are as safe as they possibly could be on this despicable planet. Prepare yourself for a temporary sex change. I pity the thug that tries to get smart with this particular young lady. Shave your legs while I get you some clothes."

          The sky was getting light by the time our son was dressed to Angelina's satisfaction.

          "What do you think?" she asked.

          "Bolivera has never looked better!"

          Nor had he. Neatly turned out, long skirt and svelte bosom. Good makeup and a not too wiggy-looking wig. Angelina nodded approval as well.

          "Now get a few hours sleep-and don't wrinkle the dress! You will leave by the main entrance. And do try to mince a bit when you walk. Like this."

          When he was mincing fine we all retired, very much in need of some rest.

          I managed a few hours sleep and awoke feeling a bit better. After a picker-upper pill I felt better still. As I did, first thing every morning, I checked my bank account. The expected four million from Chaise had not come through. But there was a message.

          NOT TOO GOOD, JIM. TRY HARDER.

          It was late morning before we left. Angelina and I went out first, me with the computer and her leading Gloriana. Bolivera slipping out of our suite as soon as we signaled him that the hallway was clear. He waited for the second elevator since we were sure to be followed. We were. We ignored the tails and hailed a cab to take us to the circus.

          "No animals," the driver said, looking suspiciously down at Gloriana.

          "This is not an animal," I said as I slipped him a more than generous tip. "It is our daughter who has a piggish spell cast upon her. We are on our way to a witch who had promised, for a price, to restore her to her normal form."

          He bulged his eyes at the story. But the money spoke louder than the fairy tale and we followed our sprightly swine into the cab. There was no way of testing the detector so we spoke of nothing important until we were in our dressing room. I swept the room for bugs with my own detector.

          "Clean," I said folding the instrument and putting it away.

          "Good. Now we must leave a note for Bolivar telling him to wait for us here. Then we must go out and find his dressing room-so we can talk to Gar Goyle. I am sure that he will be happy to help us."

          "Why?"

          "You will see."

          I did not press the matter. I recognized the tone of voice. I would be informed at the right time-and not any earlier. Gloriana squealed lightly when we started to leave, then trotted happily after us when we called out to her. Then grunted enthusiastically when we opened the door to Goyle's dressing room. It had a very barnyardy smell to it. Or zoo, I had smelled it when the act was on stage. An artificial pong to add realism to the act.

          The tuxedoed man from the act was sitting at a desk writing something; he did not look up when we came in. Was he Gar Goyle? Or was he the four-armed man who had introduced the acts? He was there now, wearing his kilt and sporran, sitting across the desk from tuxedo, speaking on the phone. I looked around. The rest of the large room was dimly lit: there was just light enough to see the cages. With things in them.

          And what things! Some had been in the act. Yet there were lots more. A two-headed carnivore of some kind was pacing its cage: it hissed and bared immense fangs when I looked at it. And there was Mr. Bones-I recognized him from the posters-taking a nap on the couch. He was at least two meters tall, but no thicker through than my arm.

          "What do you want?" a voice asked. I turned to see that Gar Goyle was still scribbling away at the desk.

          "We wish to speak to you, Mr. Goyle."

          "About what?"

          Only then did I realize that it was the four-armed man who was talking. "Just general chitchat about the circus, you know. How do you like the weather?"

          I continued to ramble on as I walked about the room with my bug detector. I found six of them, five writhing bug bugs and only a single coin this time. I stepped on them all just to make sure. Crushing them with my heel until the detector flashed green.

          "We have heard a lot about you," Angelina said, menacingly.

          "From the Special Corps," I whispered.

          He sat expressionless and silent, shifting only when Gloriana came over and sat by his feet. Then she leaned over and bit him in the arm.

          "Naughty swine!" Angelina snapped. "Let go of that man at once."

          Only then did the man look down and nod. "She can tell flesh from plastic, you see. A fine nose like all porcuswine."

          Then he reached up with his upper set of arms and plunged his hands in the flesh of his neck and ripped down. Angelina gasped as the skin parted. He pulled the opening wide and a man wearing a kilt stepped out: he only had two arms.

          "Why do you mention the Special Corps?" I looked from him to the man still writing at the desk. "Don't worry about him. He is a pseudoflesh robot, like all of the others. The audience watches him and never notices that I am controlling the act."

          "Misdirection!" I said happily.

          "Of course. Now please answer my question."

          "Mr. Goyle we have reason to believe. . ."

          "Call me Gar."

          "Gar, of course. You will have heard of the Special Corps, the mythical group that fights crime and seeks justice throughout the galaxy."

          "Of course. Everyone has heard of it even though it does not exist. But let me ask you a question. If this mythical Corps had a mythical laboratory and research program-what mythical scientist might be head of it?"

          I touched my detector again; still green. "Professor Coypu," I said as quietly as I could.

          Gar sighed and slipped out of the rest of the four-armed flesh man. Gloriana let go of the arm and lay down. The pseudoman at the desk stopped writing and fell over sideways onto the floor. Gar took his chair. "I had a brief message from Professor Coypu. He has been of great aid to me in developing my troupe. He said that I should help you if you asked."

          "Are you in the Special Corps?" Angelina asked.

          "I was. Retired. I worked in the forensic lab. Very boring once you got used to it. As the saying goes-see one corpse and you have seen them all. But I did get inspiration from the work, used it in developing my act. So you see, I do have a far more interesting job now."

          "This act."

          "A cover. I am..." He waved us close, looked around fearfully, then whispered, the word barely audible. "Guu. "

          "Goo?" Angelina said, and he fearfully waved her to silence.

          "The Galactic Union Union," he whispered. "You must have heard of us?"

          "Vaguely. Aren't you union organizers?"

          "We are. We go boldly forth to organize unions were none have been permitted to exist before."

          "Like here on Fetorr?"

          "You have it in one, comrade. And I must say that if a planet was ever ripe for organizing this one sure is."

          "It could also do with a little more free free enterprise, a good bashing for the police bullies, and the introduction of some pollution controls," I said.

          "That about sums it up. But keep it quiet for now. Meanwhile-what can I do for you?"

          "Help us hide our son Bolivar."

          "Is this the same Bolivar diGriz that cleaned out the bank yesterday,

killing a number of women and children when he escaped from the police?"

          "The same. Minus the women and children of course. Plus the fact that he did not rob the bank."

          "Of course." He rubbed his jaw and looked around the room. "Do you think he would mind being Megalith Man? He's having trouble with feedback controls, see."

          There was a stirring in the darkness and a gray creature stumbled forward. Angelina gasped and I had to struggle not to do the same. A rotund bulging forehead almost covered its eyes. Prognathous jaw, clawed fingers and suchlike combined to produce a really disgusting simulacrum of a human being. Gar smiled and nodded.

          "Good, isn't he? One of my best creations." The creature groaned, rolled its eyes up-and crashed to the floor. "Your son will be safe in there."

          "He certainly will," Angelina sniffed. "And knowing him I am sure that he will probably enjoy it very much as well."

          "When he arrives we will get in touch with you," I said. "Thanks."

          "No thanks. The Corps takes care of its own.

          I had locked our dressing-room door when we left-and it was still locked. Obviously this hadn't slowed down the onceagain male Bolivar who was now staring at the computer screen.

          "Your disguise obviously worked," Angelina said. "I'll pack those clothes away." He nodded abstractedly as he typed a quick command into the machine.

          "Interesting," he said. I made quizzical noises.

          "I have been using the search engine on your employer."

          "Chaise? Have you found anything of interest?"

          "A good deal. For one thing-he doesn't exist."

          "He must! We have met him!"

          "I don't mean the physical form, he was there all right. I mean the story about Imperetrix Von Kaiser-Czarski, the richest man in the galaxy. I can find no trace of him."

          "Those banks he owns-all over the galaxy. . ."

          "Are not owned by him. They are held by corporations who in turn are owned by other corporations. I have traced back through a number of owners and they all appear to be. different. No trace of Chaise. It looks like everything that he has

          told you is a lie."

          My head was beginning to hurt. I sat down heavily and checked off the facts on my fingertips. "Firstly-he must be very rich or he would not be paying us four million credits a day. Except for yesterday of course. I checked. Not only didn't he deposit the money-he left a very insulting note."

          "Of course he paid you. You had to think that he was whom he said he was. The large sums involved made his story plausible. Think how suspicious you would have been if had offered, say, a hundred credits a day."

          "I would have kicked him out! But let us stick with what we know. Secondly, we know that all those banks on all those planets were robbed-that's a matter of public record."

          "They were indeed. It is the secondary information about those planets that I am concerned about."

          "Such as?"

          "The circus performances, what acts were playing on what dates, that kind of thing."

          The coin was slowly dropping into the slot.

          "Of course! When you examine a database there is no way of telling if the events ever really happened as they are listedor if they are figments of imagination that a skilled hacker had planted. And there is no way of determining facts from planted facts on a distant planet without getting right into the records themselves, to see if they had been altered. Which, of course, cannot be done from light-years away."

          "My thinking exactly. Which is why I have been snooping around in the databases here on Fetorr. Without much success. There are security locks on almost everything except train timetables. Lots of electronic doors were slammed in my screen."

          "They don't like snooping."

          "I was sure of that before I started. So I routed all my queries though a number of other systems. I didn't want them getting back to this computer."

          Even before he had finished speaking the words there was a hammering on the dressing-room door.

          "Open up in there! You have thirty seconds to comply before we break this door down."

          "Who is there," Angelina said.

          "Computer Crime Corps. Do not attempt to resist. You are guilty of illegal computer use and the searching of restricted files."

CHAPTER 9

          The Police, of all kinds, were entirely too efficient here on Fetorr. I looked around desperately. There were no windows in the room and but the single door. There was only the screen, which offered privacy when changing costumes, which might provide even a feeble chance to hide our son.

          "Bolivar-behind the screen!" I hissed. He was across the room in an instant: the door shuddered and creaked as it was pounded. "Stop hammering-I'm coming!" I shouted.

          Angelina was moving too. She closed the computer and put it on the floor, then pulled the armchair in front of the screen, sat down on it. Holding tight to Gloriana's chain as the disturbed porcuswine champed and raked the floor, her quills all aquiver. I went and unlocked the door and threw it wide. "Did you knock?" I asked sweetly.

          He was immensely fat with hanging jowls and giant belly. He pointed an accusatory finger at me and said, "You have been using an illegal computer on these premises."

          "Never ! "

          "Search this room carefully, Hafifu," he ordered. His partner, who was about as skinny as his commander was fat, scuttled into the room. He looked around slowly, beady eyes glinting, thin nose twitching like a rat's. He looked at the computer, then looked away. Undoubtedly mistaking the computer for a leather suitcase.

          "I don't see no computer here," he said in a thin and reedy voice.

          "Then look behind that screen," the fat cop blurbled. "You saw the readings. There is a computer in this room someplace. Our detectors never lie."

          Hafifu obeyed the command and walked over and started to look behind the screen. Screamed and retreated as flashing tusks savaged his trouser legs, not to mention his ankles. Instant decision was needed-and saving Bolivar was far important than saving the computer.

          "Step back!" I ordered. "That is a savage watchpig trained to kill anyone foolish enough to approach its owner. In any case-the computer is over there. It is built into that suitcase."

          Hafifu circled wide of his porcine persecutor and grabbed up the computer. He opened it, pulled out the keyboard, turned it on and typed furiously. "This is indeed the criminal instrument," he squeaked.

          "What criminal? I was just searching the public records. Is that against the law?"

          "Yes!" Fatty said with great enthusiasm. "That is because there are no public records here on Fetorr-everything on record is private. I am confiscating this machine." Hafifu was out the door with it before I could raise a word of protest. "As well as fining you five hundred credits for attempting to illegally access the private public records."

          "You can't do that!"

          "I certainly can. With power vested in me by the state I can make on-the-spot fines, as specified by the statues. If you have reason to believe this confiscation is doubtful in any way you may ask for a trial."

          "A trial, right!"

          "That will require a two-thousand-credit deposit for the trial chamber, plus a five-hundred-credit fee for the judge."

          I opened my mouth to protest. Shut it when I realized I was being stupid. "Do you take checks?"

          "Yes-but there is a fine equal to double the amount of the check if it bounces."

          Angelina let out a bit of chain as I scribbled the check. I didn't have a Fetorr bank account. I wrote a check for five hundred Galactic Credits. I remembered that they were on a par with the Fetorr Credit. Gloriana grunted ferociously and hurled herself forwards. Fats lurched towards the doorway, grabbed the check in passing and was gone. I locked the door behind him.

          "Very efficient," Bolivar said, emerging from behind the screen. "We are going to need a new computer."

          "We probably will, eventually," I said. "But they seem to be as much use as doorstops on Fetorr. For the time being we will just have use our own brains-which were around long before the electronic ones were invented."

          "And writing as well," Angelina said, taking a pad and stylo from the drawer of her dressing table. "Let us first list what we know-and then what we must find out."

          "Right," I said as I paced the floor and cudgeled my slightly fuzzy brain. "There is the ongoing mystery about our employer, which is not germane at the present moment in time. Who or what he is can wait . . ."

          "As long he keeps depositing payments daily," Angelina said with great practicality.

          "Very true. And we can forget all the other banks on the other planets that were robbed as well. They may not have any relevance to this investigation, since the facts that apparently linked them together were probably fabricated."

          "Why?" Bolivar asked.

          "That is the question we must answer. The easy answer is that Chaise wanted us to come to this planet. Ostensibly to investigate the bank thefts. Though I am beginning to doubt that story as well. Why he did it in this roundabout way is not important now. We are here and on the job."

          "And theoretically investigating Puissanto," Angelina said. "Which, as I dimly remember, was the reason we came here in the first place. Shouldn't we take a closer look at him?"

          "We should-but things have been rolling downhill at a furious rate," Bolivar said. "What with a bank being robbed almost as soon as we got here. And me being fingered as the criminal."

          I shook my head. "I think that was pretty accidental. The thieves had no way of knowing you would be here when they planned their heist."

          "I agree," Angelina said. "Chaise went to a lot of effort to get us here at this time. Bolivar's arrival certainly wasn't part of whatever game plan he is pursuing."

          "What is his plan?" I asked, then answered myself. "For us to find the thieves who are emptying out his bank or banks. To do that we must first find out just how the bank was robbed. We need someone on the inside-that's why it was perfect when Bolivar was working there."

          "I'm not working there any longer."

          As he said this, and I considered the implications-inspiration struck.

          "Yes you are. You will be restored to your former pinnacle of banking success."

          "For about two seconds before the police arrive."

          I rubbed my hands together with gleeful self-admiration. "They won't arrest you because they will think you are your twin brother James. Who will come here as soon as he is summoned-and incidentally will bring along a new computer."

          "How will that help?" Angelina asked. "James knows nothing about banks."

          "But Bolivar does!" I chortled. "He will just resume his old position. Since Chaise owns the bank he will help us to fake the identification, retina patterns and all that."

          "Congratulations," Bolivar said. "It sounds so insane that it has to work."

          "I agree," Angelina said. "I'll send an interstellargram right now to tell him that his presence is strongly requested."

          She unleashed Gloriana, who scratched under her collar with a rear hoof. Then the pleasant rattle of quills stopped suddenly. She was on her feet, head cocked and ears erect. I touched my finger to my lips-then pointed to the door. There was a gentle scratching there. Bolivar slipped back behind the screen as Gloriana trotted over to the door, muttering swinish oaths in the back of her throat. Something white appeared under the door and she had it in a flash.

          "A sheet of paper-a message perhaps," I said. "Good swinelet, bring it to daddy."

          She click-clacked across the floor and dropped it at my feet. I turned it over and read: "Burping Barney's Robot Takeaway-free and most speedy delivery."

          "Sounds interesting," Bolivar said, emerging from his hiding place. "It has been a long time since breakfast."

          "Featuring free beer with every order over fifteen credits. Vegetarian nutburgers, carnivore girafburgers, Styrofoam dietburgers-plenty of good stuff."

          Angelina phoned in the order and the service really was fast; there was a tootling of tinny trumpets in the hall. Even before Angelina had contacted the local communication center and finished phoning in her interstellargram. The robot steam table-shaped for some obscure marketing reason like a coffin-rolled in. Accompanied by a recorded organ recital and the smell of ancient grease. I poured in five-credit coins until a bell dinged and the coffin lid flew open. The food was hot, the beer cold, and the damned coffin stayed there playing gloomy liturgical music until I stuffed more coins into the tip slot and kicked its wheels until it exited.

          "Good," I said as I licked my fingers and watched Gloriana munch her way delicately through a spiced bananaburger.

          "Too greasy," Angelina said, "as well as being bad for the waistline." Then she picked up the phone when it chimed. Listened and nodded. "Ten minutes," she said, then hung up.

"That was the front box office. A reporter from the Fetorr Times-Picayune wants to interview the Mighty Marvell for their Live Today, Everyday Program. You must remember that we show people do thrive on publicity, so I said yes." She rose and beckoned to Bolivar. "This dressing room is getting entirely too busy. Come Believer, let us get you over to Gar's before the press arrives."

          I changed into my tail suit, and was just tying my tie when there was a discreet tapping on the door. I opened it and stared up at the large and impressive silver robot that was standing there.

          "Greetings," it said in a mellow voice. "I am robreporter number thirteen, representing the Fetorr Times-Picayune. A friendly newschannel bringing you all the news as it breaks. Here is my identification." It extruded a green press pass from a slot in its thorax, gave me a quick glimpse, then pushed it back out of sight.

          "Might I come in? Thank you." I jumped aside before it ran me down. "It is rather dark in here. I will need more light."

          The transparent top of the creature's domed head flared brilliantly. A camera popped out of its chest, pointed at me. A directional satellite dish on the creature's back buzzed as it oriented itself. Then a screen just below the camera lit up and I was staring at my glazed expression; I smiled theatrically and showed my teeth, which was a bit of an improvement. Number thirteen began to speak.

          "Greetings to all our viewers with the news as it happens, where it happens, why it happens, however it happens. This is Baridi Baraka, your favorite reporter on the magical scene now with none other than the Mighty Marvell."

          The camera lens whirred and my image on the screen was joined by a dark-skinned man in a green suit who was apparently talking to me. Only he wasn't there. I mean in the room with me-but he was on the televised image. Which meant that he was just a computer-generated image of a reporter. They saved a lot of money this way.

          "Now tell me, Mighty Marvell-what is it like to be a magician?"

          "It is a laugh a minute, Baridi old friend. Something is always happening. Like this."

          I waved my hand in the air, distraction, then raised my other hand with a bouquet of black flowers apparently plucked from thin air. And held them out to thin air. On the screen the reporter bent over and sniffed them, smiled with pleasure.

          "I tell you viewers-real flowers, just like that, smell great too. You are a master of your profession, Marvell, I can see that. Do you like being a magician?"

          "Like it, Baridi old buddy-I just love it. I love to travel and love to entertain crowds." The door opened and Angelina came in. I waved her over with an expansive gesture. "And even more I love my assistant, Angelina, who never minds being sawn in half every evening and a matinee on Saturday."

          "Hi, Angelina," our invisible interviewer said. "Say `Hi!' to the millions of viewers out there who are hooked on magicand hooked on you as well, of course. Now, without giving away any magic secrets, just how do you get sawn in half?"

          Angelina smiled deliciously, and was beginning to explain absolutely nothing in words of one syllable or less to the millions of morons who were watching daytime television, when our friendly reporter broke in. The computergenerated reporter had been nodding his head as if he had understood every word. When she had spoken for exactly thirty seconds-which was probably the attention span of his viewers-he interrupted and thanked her. Turned back to me.

          "Tell our viewers, Mighty Marvel, what was the most exciting moment in your exciting career?"

          "That's an easy one. It was during a performance I was giving on a distant planet named Wirtschaftlich, much given to farming and like pursuits, that there was an accident in the road outside the theater. One of the vehicles involved was a farm vehicle transporting a ravening porcuswine in must. It escaped from the battered transport and attacked the theater doorman, obviously enraged by his red uniform. The doorman fled into the theater with the great beast right behind him. I knew instantly what I had to do. I ran towards the creature, crying aloud and flapping my cloak, which has a red lining. The beast then charged me! The ending is obvious. I lifted my magic wand and, before the horrified gaze of the audience-did my vanishing porcuswine act. Would you believe the creature was gone in an instant?"

          "No, I wouldn't believe it."

          "I would wring your computer-generated neck if I could get my hand on it!" I shouted as my hands clutched at empty space. It looked better on the screen as I happily throttled him.

          "Temper, darling, temper," Angelina said soothingly, gently pulling me away from my tormenter.

          "Well, if you put it that way, ha-ha, of course I believe you. Now, Mighty Marvell-and Angelina-don't go away quite yet because I know that you have plenty more exciting anecdotes to tell about the marvels of magic to our millions of viewers. But I have been told that a big news story is breaking. Over to Patikana Peke who is, yes, now at the very scene of the crime." The screen flared, died, brightened again with another computerized reporter standing in front of a bank.

          "Just behind me," the image said, "is the BankrottGeistesabwesed Bank. Peaceful and prosperous. Even if its name is unpronounceable, until a short while ago and just about to open for the day when this happened." The screen widened to take in the front of the bank, now torn open. Computergenerated oohs and ahhs oohed and ahhed, along with the sound of breaking glass. "Hard as it to believe that this bank robbery occurred right in the middle of the day, right here in lovely downtown Fetorrscoria. One moment peace and prosperity reigned. The next moment..." An immense explosion echoed out, followed by more breaking glass. "This was happening. The bank was not broken into-it was broken out of? The thieves apparently gained access to the money vault sometime last night and entered the vault. Not only did they break into the vault-but they took their armored motorcycles inside with them. Well! I'll bet you can just imagine the look on the bank manager's face when he spun the wheel and opened the vault door! Vroom! Right out of the vault they came-and right over him. If you look closely you will see him lying inside the bank and being treated for wheel marks. Over him and across the lobby and right through the plate-glass window of the bank. To instantly be lost in traffic. A city-wide police hunt is on for the thieves. Keep watching and we will bring you this incredible story as it breaks. I have a bulletin, stand by, yes. They have made good their crime. They have escaped in broad daylight, taking their loot with them. The police made contact and pursued them but, unhappily, they have now managed to make their escape into the industrial zone by leaping a high wall on a prepared ramp."

          There were more quick scenes of crowds at barricades, police holding them back, confusion and alarms. Then a grayhaired uniformed officer emerged from the bank and walked towards the reporter who managed to keep on talking without flagging in the slightest.

          "And there is more news-evidence has been found at the scene of the crime. Evidence that may lead the police to the thieves, to track them down and apprehend them. Tell us what you have there, captain!"

          "Evidence. Found in the vault. A telltale clue we are sure."

          "What is it?"

          "A clue."

          "Yes, you said that." Did I detect a note of electronic exasperation? "Would you please tell our millions of viewers just what kind of a clue you are holding in your hands?"

          They were big hands, and the camera was jiggling around irritatingly trying to see the clue in question. "A metal clue," the policeman said. Then finally held up the object in question. "As you can see I am holding what appears to be a cutout figure made of thin metal of some kind, of a sort of rodent, a mouse maybe."

          The camera panned in until the object filled the screen.

          "The captain is right, yes he is, that is a metal rodent if I ever saw one. Too big to be a mouse, it must be a rat. Yes, screen viewers, you can see it now very clearly."

          And, yes we could see it very clearly.

          "Stop me if I am wrong viewers. But I do believe, yes it is-that must be an image of-a stainless steel rat!"

CHAPTER 10

          I was very glad at that moment that I was not on camera. I am sure that my expression was one of gaping stupidity; that of an eyeball-popping, hang jawed moron. What was happening? I took a quick look at Angelina and saw that she was as stupefied as I was. She recovered faster; touched her hair with the back of her hand, her expression now one of abstract interest.

          This was Not a Good Thing, that was for certain. Someone in the bank-busting business was having a good laugh at my expense. A stainless steel rat indeed! A clue for the policeor a warning for me? By the time the current crime report had ended I had restored my composure and managed to carry off the rest of the interview in a fairly relaxed manner. I even managed a few quick card tricks without flubbing them.

          "There you are viewers-a magic end to our interview with this magic couple. Playing nightly at the Colosseo right here in lovely downtown Fetorrscoria, the home of theater, sportand just good finery!"

          The light on the robot's head paled and died. A metal plate with a piece of paper secured to it emerged from the creature's midriff it handed me a stylo.

          "Standard release form, sign her, initial here and here. And now the lady, thank you."

          The paper was whisked away as a small panel clicked open in the thing's metallic hip. It reached in and took out a thin bundle of banknotes, split the bundle neatly in half and handed one sheaf to me, the other to Angelina.

          "One hundred and eighty credits each, standard fee. Good-by."

          It opened the door for itself and was gone. Angelina locked it carefully, then turned to me. "Any explanations?"

          "None whatsoever. Except someone is after me-and I'm not being paranoid."

          "What do we do about it?"

          "The stainless steel rat? There is nothing we can do, is there?"

          "We can leave this repellent planet."

          "No!" I was suddenly quite angry. "He, they, it, shewhoever or whatever is behind these games is not going to get away with it. If we leave now we will never know what the goings-on on this planet are all about. And besides, I like earning four million a day."

          She arched her eyebrows at that. "Greed goeth before a fall."

          I thought about that as I stamped over to the bar and retrieved a bottle of Zubanishamali Sour Mash and a glass; two glasses. Held one out. She shook her head.

          "Thank you, no. I don't how you can drink that filthy stuff. A white wine, if you please."

          I opened and poured and pondered the fixture. We clicked glasses and drank.

          "It's not the money," I announced at last. "It's my reputation-or lack of one. Someone is diddling with my life. I have to find out who it is and cause it to cease. I am being set up-worse my whole family is being set up. I do not like this. But who is doing it?"

          "Chaise," she said firmly.

          "A possibility. Or it could be whatever dark power I am being paid to discover. This would not be the first time that the hunter became the hunted." I looked at my watch. "Before anything else exciting happens I am going to begin our investigation of our only suspect, Puissanto. I have plenty of time before the next performance."

          Before tempting fate I went to the stage door, where its geriatric guardian was reading a holo-horror comic. Little shrill screams and demonic laughter sounded thinly when he turned the page.

          "I'm looking for Puissanto. Have you seen him lately?"

          "Yeah. Gone out to eat a meal. Does it four or five times a day."

          "Do you have any idea when he will return?"

          "An hour. Usually takes him about an hour to eat. I saw him do it once. Unbelievable."

          "That's great, thanks. I'll try him later."

          For a lot of obvious reasons I tried him now. His dressingroom door was locked. I knocked sharply, but there was no reply. Remembering him biting the steel bar in half, I made no attempt to enter until I had listened at the door with my electronic eavesdripper. Silence. No clatter nor sound of breathing. I then checked for alarms. Finding none I use the lockpick to make a quick entry. Closed the door behind me and stared into the darkness.

          Light switch, somewhere on the wall, found it and blinked when the brilliant lights came on. There was the standard dressing table, the screen, the couch with broken springs-as well as some mighty solid-looking props. Weights, bars, an anvil, two barrels of beer, a smoked porcuswine ham hanging from the ceiling with a great bite taken out of it: just what you might expect in a strongman's room. Nothing unexpected. Some papers in the wastebasket. Receipts from a dry cleaner. One lion skin with moth holes. Man's jacket size 108 large. Not too revealing.

          I went to the dressing table. No notes or pieces of paper in the drawers, one book on the table. I checked through it, held it to the light so I could see the title. Star Bashers of the Galaxy Strangers. Mindless and sordidly violent fiction-what else would a mindless and sordidly violent weightlifter read?

          And a battered computer on the table. I switched it on. The screen flickered and then went black and displayed the flickering red message. ENTER PASSWORD it said. I turned it off and noted the make; an Eprom-80. I would dig out the specs and then, when I had a little more time, I would see if I couldn't break the secret password. Or wait until James turned up-this sort of thing was right down his hacking alley.

          There was a rumble of masculine voices just outside the door.

          Was Puissanto coming back? Panic struck: I could feel those steel fingers sinking into my windpipe already. Was there any place to hide? Possibly behind the giant trunk in the corner-if there was room enough to fit.

          The door handle was turning!

          I hit the light switch a nanosecond before the door opened a crack. Then stopped.

          ". . . and I am deducting the cost of replacing the wheel of the lorry you tore off of." It was Harley Davidson, I recognized his voice.

          "Tried run over me. Puissanto don't take hestelort from dumb driver. No way."

          "It was an accident, you saw the police report, the driver never touched you."

          "Wheel touch. Pull off."

          "Indeed you did-and the half-axle and the differential along with it!"

          "Cheap lorry, built like crap."

          "Nevertheless you are paying for it."

          While this intellectual conversation was going on I tiptoed across the room. There was just enough light coming in through the partially open door to find my way around anything in my

          way. I had to move the trunk a bit before I would fit behind it. There was a horrid grating sound when I pushed on it. Apparently not heard in the hall. I slipped behind it just as the door was flung open and the light came on.

          Puissanto slammed it shut and walked across the room muttering to himself in a bass rumble. The floor squeaked, then the chair groaned as he sat down. He must have picked up the phone because I could hear the low clicking as he punched in the number. It should be ringing somewhere; he breathed hard and was still muttering.

          "Talk Paka now. Get." He said to whoever answered the phone. More heavy breathing until Paka answered.

          "Paka?" he said. "Is there any comprehensible reason why you failed to meet me at the appointed rendezvous? You did? Repetition will only bring retribution. Negative. Be there in fifteen minutes or our pecuniary relationship will be terminated."

          The phone slammed down, heavy footsteps crossed the room again. The light switch clicked and darkness fell. The door slammed, the key grated in the lock. I breathed out a deep and shuddering breath and crawled out from behind the trunk.

          A new mystery had now presented itself. Our moronic slab of muscle could talk like a professor when he had to. Was it relevant? Of course it was. The computer had uncovered the fact that he had been present whenever the bank robberies had occurred. If his head was just bone and muscle, as he made it appear, then he was not involved in complicated and surely technological crime. But he wasn't dumb at all-which meant he could be involved. I sighed. Another mystery to add to all the others.

          I waited a decent amount of time, then exited. When I opened the door to our dressing room I was preoccupied, still pondering my recent discovery. Angelina was at the dressing table.

          "Do I have some interesting news for you," I said, throwing the door wide. "I have just discovered that. . ."

          My voice ran down as I saw that she was not alone. A beady-eyed and black-uniformed official of some kind was sitting across from her, now turning to stare coldly at me. His uniform was dead black with silver buttons, and it had interesting lapel ornaments of crossed swords over grinning skulls.

          "What did you discover, darling, I'm dying to know," Angelina broke in, giving me a moment to recover.

          "The house is sold out again tonight-so bonuses are in order all around. And who may I ask is your visitor?"

          Swords-and-skulls spoke before she did, cold and menacing.

          "I am Captain Wezekana of the Alien Interrogation Police. Let me see your identification papers."

          I dug them out. They had more different kinds of police on this planet than I had ever seen before. He shuffled through my ID, held one page up to the light and squinted at it.

          "If you tell me what you want perhaps I can help. . ."

          "No."

          About the kind of brilliant conversation one could expect from someone who wore his kind of uniform. The silence lengthened as he studied my papers in ever greater detail. If he was trying to frighten me he was succeeding.

          "Did you get the porcuswine swill?" Angelina asked.

          "Sorry, the shop was all out of it."

          "I will try myself later. We mustn't let the dear piglet starve."

          "No indeed. Perhaps I could get her a sandwich."

          "An excellent idea-but no pork."

          Our feeble attempt at conversation petered out in the shadow of this grim copper.

          "I'll keep these papers," he said, stuffing them into his pocket.

          "You can't do that!"

          "Of course I can."

          "What do you want them for?"

          "You are under suspicion of having alien criminal identification."

          "No way! And why am I under suspicion?"

          "Because you are from offplanet. You have arrived recently. You are male and of a certain age. That is enough to make you a suspect."

          "That's pretty broad grounds to make me a suspect."

          "It is a beginning. We have six hundred and twelve suspects like you. We are narrowing that number down. Where were you when the bank robbery occurred today?"

          "Sitting right where you are sitting. I was being interviewed for a television program. In fact that's how I know about the robbery. The news flash broke into my interview."

          "Your alibi will be checked. Meanwhile I don't want you to leave this city."

          "Of course I am not going to leave the city. I am performing in the circus here with a performance every night. Thousands of people watch me and applaud wildly."

          "I will look into that alibi as well," he said coldly.

          "It's not an alibi, it's the truth." I dug into my pocket. "Here. A free ticket to tonight's performance. You will personally see me there."

          "I will personally see you in prison." He took the ticket and tore it in half and dropped the pieces onto the floor. "I will charge you with attempting to bribe a police officer."

          He brushed his hands together as if he was disposing of something nasty. Stood and started towards the door. Any relief I felt ended when he turned back to me.

          "What do you know about the Stainless Steel Rat?" he said.

          Instead of screaming out loud and rushing to escape I stared at him with the same cold glare he was using on me. "What in the world are you talking about?"

          "It is the alias of a criminal with a record of serious crimes on a number of planets."

          "I am not interested in criminals. I am an honest theurgist who earns a modest living as a theatrical magician."

          I was starting to tap my fingers against my leg. Keep cool! No signs of stress. Put my hands into my pockets. Pulled them out again. Something metallic tinkled to the floor. We all glanced down.

          It was the lockpick I had so recently used on Puissanto's door.

          "That is a lockpick! " the captain said with cold triumph, his eyes locked with mine.

          "Of course it is," Angelina said walking between us, bending to pick it up. The spell was broken.

          "I go nowhere without it," I said calmly. "Look here."

          I strolled across the room and took up the book of imaginary clippings about my totally fake career. Riffled through it, held it out to him.

          "The Underwater Magical Escape. See the manacles on my hands. The locks and chains on my legs. The steel cage about me. The fact that I am about to be lowered into the water. Without that lockpick I would very quickly drown. Thank you my dear."

          I took the pick and put it back into my pocket. I could feel that basilisk gaze burning holes into the back of my skull as I turned away. Crossed to the chair and sat down.

          The stare continued until he made up his mind.

          "It is illegal to possess a lockpick on Fetorr. I am going to have to confiscate the one that you have." He put his hand out. I shied back.

          "You can't do that! I will drown if I can't pick the locks in the underwater cage."

          "That is no concern of mine." He was all heart. When I didn't oblige him he took out a large gun from his holster and pointed it at me. "I will not ask you a second time."

          Muttering complaints I dug the lockpick out and handed it to him. It vanished as did, happily, the gun.

          "I will be back." He turned and left.

          Angelina went to the door, waited a moment then opened  it. The hall was empty. I took out my detector and swept the room. The captain had been busy. Two coins, bugs, in the chair where he had been seated. More under the carpeting and in the wastebasket. They sparked and crunched when I stepped on them until the green light on the detector blinked.

          "I don't like it," I said. "I am beginning to feel trapped, as though the powers of darkness are closing in on me."

          "A little overdramatic-but very close to the truth. Let me pour you a drink."

          "My angel. A large one. Thank you." It helped. I think.

          "We had better cancel this tour and leave this planet," Angelina said. "Weren't you the one who always said that he who fights and shifts his freight, lives to fight another date?"

          "I did-and I meant it. But that was some years ago when I was much faster on my feet. Always on the lookout for a fresh challenge. Right now this old rat is feeling a bit rusty and put-upon. And stubborn. For a lot of reasons, including some I am not sure of, I do not want to back out of this one."

          "The four million credits a day. That's all you can think about-right?" I nodded reluctant agreement. "Why don't we forget about it? There is no point in being the richest prisoner in some foul Fetorr jail."

          "There is a certain wisdom in what you say. But let us not quit just yet. What I started to say, before I saw your unwelcome guest, is that I have discovered something interesting about the apparently moronic Puissanto. He has the vocabulary of a college professor, when he does not know he is being overheard. Therefore when he is on stage tonight, and I can't be disturbed, I am going to take a look into his computer." I grabbed up the phone.

          "I am going to dial up the local database-search and get the specs and documentation on the Eprom-80. As long as they are not a state secret."

          They weren't-but that did not mean it was easy. Paranoia seemed to rule on Fetorr. I got the phone number of Eprom Ltd. And called them. And spent the usual endless period working my way through recorded voices and punching in the numbers that they gave me. At long last I talked to a human being. And instantly wished I was still talking to the robots.

          "An Eprom-80? What's the serial number?"

          "How do I know. The machine is not here and the number on the documentation is lost with the documentation."

          "I don't know. . . "

          "You don't-but I do. Can't you just give me the price and send me the specs? They aren't secret are they?"

          "No-but they are copyrighted. "

          "Of course they are! And so what? They come with every machine you sell. Give price. I'll send money."

          The repeated use of the word money finally penetrated. In the long run he took the order. By this time my ear was sore. I went and opened a bottle of Old Ear Cure and poured a long one.

          It really had been that kind of a day.

CHAPTER 11

          I had to work very hard during the evening performance to put all the disquieting events of the day out of my head. I succeeded-but it was not easy. Still the audience liked it, so I had not done too badly. We cleaned off the makeup, changed, and caught a cab back to our hotel. The message light in the room was blinking so I touched the button for the voice mail recording.

          "Hi folks James here. I hope that all is fine with you. I've got my tickets and I'm on my way. I couldn't get a direct flight to Fetorr so I'm not sure when I will get there. But my spacer leaves in a few minutes, bound for Helior. And I'm bringing a new and much improved computer with me. I'll let you know my ETA as soon as I get it. "

          "The reinforcements are on their way," I said as I reached for the booze bottle. And stopped. Things were getting very complicated and I did not need to complicate them even more with a thick head. I had a small dry sherry and a cigar instead. Gloriana rattled her quills enticingly, so I reached down and scratched her behind the ears. I felt a sense of impending doom and I did not like it. Angelina must have seen my expression because she sat on the couch next to me and took my hand.

          "You are looking pretty grim, dear husband. Want to tell me about it?"

          I gave her a hand an appreciative squeeze and polished off the sherry.

          "If I look grim it is because I feel grim. I am possessed by the feeling that events are out of my control. When, as you know, I am used to being in charge of things, being in control of my own destiny at all times. That is not happening now. Just look at the disasters and near-misses that have occurred since we arrived on this depressing planet. First Kaia's bank is robbed and Bolivar is charged with the crime. Admittedly we did spring him from the hoosegow-but now he has to hide out in the freak show until James gets here. Then the second bank heist, on a bank we know that Chaise secretly owns-with a planted stainless steel rat left at the scene of the crime. Next the police are investigating me and have pinched every bit of my almost-legal identification. All in all the back of my neck feels quite warm and I am sure that it is from hot breath. So I ask myself. Is all this aggro worth a measly four million credits a day?"

          "And what does myself tell you?"

          "It tells me to cut and run."

          "Will you?"

          "You betcha. There are a lot of other ways to earn money-both legal and illegal. I would feel a lot better if we pursued some of the other possibilities rather than having ourselves in hock to Chaise."

          "Shall I pack the bags?"

          I shook my head no.

          "Not until after tomorrow's matinee. In the midst of all this rushing about I have come up with one solid fact. Puissanto, the suspect we have come here to investigate, is not as simple as he pretends to be. I want to find out who or what he is. When he is onstage tomorrow I'll be tapping into his computer.

          As soon as I know that, we get offplanet-and take Bolivar with us."

          "Two things that bother me about this. The police have your papers-and Bolivar has none at all, as well as being a . refugee from the local disgusting form of justice."

          "You are speaking to the master forger himself. Not a problem. I'll get new papers done in the morning for both of us. And the second thing?"

          "Do we leave James here to carry the can after we are gone?"

          "No way!" I poured another sherry, downed it in a gulp. "With our new and accelerated schedule we may be gone before he arrives. If we forget the complicated plan of him theoretically taking his brother's place in the bank-why then there is no reason for him to come here at all. We stop him before he gets here. I am afraid that the fourmillion-credit-a day job is turning into a nightmare. What did he say his first stop was?"

          "Helior."

          I grabbed up the phone. "I'm going to get a message to him to stay there until we arrive. There are enough people in the soup now without adding another one."

          "I couldn't agree more." A bubbly porcine snore sounded from the direction of Gloriana's basket. "Let us emulate that dear creature and get a good night's sleep. I think we are going to need it."

          We did. And after breakfast next morning Angelina went off with a purse filled with cash to find a crooked travel agent. Or is that an oxymoron? I used some of the portable radio's hidden talents to fake up our identification documents. I had prepared the ones that we had used to reach this planet; it was easy enough to alter the standard forms to effect a safe exit. I was finishing this task when Angelina returned and waved a thick envelope in the air.

          "Done. The most time-consuming part of it was fighting off all the types who found me attractive. Six of them are sleeping peacefully but one, I'm afraid, is in the hospital."

          "I am sure that he deserves to be there."

          "You don't know how right you are. A bent taxi driver took me to a bar where he assured me the local mafia hung out. He was right. The one in the hospital is the ex-bodyguard of the local capo. He was so impressed that he offered me the bodyguard's job. It is nice to be appreciated. When I assured him that I was not a police spy, and that my fondest ambition was to shake the soot of this planet off my shoes, he contacted associates who specialize in the transport business."

          "Transporting what?"

          "I hesitate to think. But in the end a deal was done. There are three tickets here on the midnight hovertrain to Mtumwaport. An industrial city known for its pollution and high death rate."

          "Wonderful! And why are we visiting this holiday city?"

          "Because it is right beside the industrial spaceport for that area. And we are listed as crewmembers on a steel freighter that leaves the following day."

          "Sounds a winner. Our jobs?"

          "I'm an assistant cook. You and Bolivar are engine-room artificers."

          "Will we have to work our way to the stars?"

          "Not after I have given the captain the second half of his bribe."

          We packed a single bag each; everything else would be left behind. Gloriana watched all this with close attention, then made an interrogatory grunt. Angelina frowned.

          "Do we take her with us?" she asked.

          "When they discover that we are missing-why a couple traveling with a porcuswine would be, how should I phrase it, pretty memorable."

          "You are right, of course. But if leave her here, why her fate is pretty certain."

          It certainly was. I looked down at this endearing creature and saw in my mind's eye a vision of a side of bacon.

          We will put the decision off until later," Angelina said.

          "No-we cannot! Call a pet supply, get a dog carrier. We'll put her in that, take her with us. We cannot leave her behind."

          We reached the Colosseo early. I was dressed for my performance and waiting in the wings when Puissanto started his act. I had timed him at exactly thirty-one minutes. Now I started my stopwatch and walked quickly to his dressing room. Once I had locked myself inside I took the documentation from my pocket and turned on his computer. It was a cheap production model with a security code that was very easy to bypass. Within ten minutes I was in. I put the stopwatch where I could see it and went surfing through the files. Mostly spreadsheets and financial returns. There were some mighty large sums being processed here-but no clue how our strongman had anything to do with all this.

          Ten minutes to go. I sweated as I scrolled through another directory, it was time to get out of here. I felt the cool air on my neck.

          Cool air!

          I spun about and there was Puissanto standing in the open doorway. Terrifying little red eyes gleaming. Closing the door behind him.

          This was a nightmare come true. Locked in a room with this monster.

          "Kill," he said simply and reached out for me.

          Covered with chunky muscle, he wasn't very fast on his feet. But then again the dressing room wasn't that big. There was a single window-but it was covered by thick bars. I jumped back, sprang onto the trunk-then did a diving roll over his head when his clasping fingers reached out for me. Hit the door with my picklock ready. Had it open-

          When a hand as big as a ham slammed it shut. Cruel fingers closed on my neck. Lifted me into the air, shook me like a used rag. I choked and couldn't speak since my larynx was being slowly crushed. Then he dropped me. Put a heavy foot on my chest as I gasped in air. Bite steel rods in two, I remembered. Head through a brick wall.

          "I can explain. . ." I finally choked.

          "Tell."

          "I am not what I seem . . ."

          "Police spy!" The foot pressed down and I waited for the snapping crack of broken ribs.

          "Never! I'm a . . . special investigator!"

          "Who pay you?"

          This was no time for lies or evasions.

          "A banker! A very rich banker by the name of Imperetrix Von Kaiser-Czarski . . ."

          "You lie!"

          The pressure increased and darkness descended. At a great distance I heard a cracked voice saying "no no " over and over again. Was that me?

          Then the pressure ceased. A mighty hand lifted me and dropped me into the armchair. Vision slowly returned to reveal the monster sitting quietly before me. It spoke.

          "The time has now arrived for you to be more truthful in your revelations, oh not so mighty Marvell. I have an undetectable detector concealed in this room. So I knew someone had been in here during my absence. Therefore I abbreviated my act today in order to see if the same mysterious invader might return."

          "You suddenly talk a lot better."

          "I do. And if you give me the wrong answers no one will ever hear about it from you."

          The temperature in the room went down ten degrees. He smiled.

          "Now that we understand each other, feel free to tell me all about your presence here."

          I told him. Everything. Except of course any details of my career before being employed by Chaise. An interstellar private eye, that's who I was. He nodded and listened, steepling his fingers before him as he took it all in. When I had finished he appeared to stop and consider what I had told him-then nodded again.

          "That is a preposterous story, Jim. Thousands might not believe it-but I do. Because in my investigative capacity on this planet I have also come across traces and trails of your employer. There are a lot of crooked business practices going on this planet. As far as I can determine, with really only a superficial examination, your associate Chaise is one of the most reprehensible. I have uncovered these facts in the course of my investigations. You see I am really a git."

          "Never! I'll challenge anyone who calls you that! You are not a git."

          "Not git-GIT!" he said with anger in his eyes. I shrank away. "That is a Galactic Inspector of Texas."

          "A tax man!" Not in my wildest dream.

          "I am. It is a profession much needed in these tax-evading societies. Without law and taxes we would have interstellar anarchy. And this planet, Fetorr, is home to some heroically greedy tax evaders. And high on my list of suspects is your employer."

          I still found it hard to believe. "A tax man . . . no one would ever suspect."

          "No they wouldn't. I have what might very well be called a perfect disguise. That of a simple-minded muscle-man. Bit of fun too, I must say. I was really tired of teaching at the university. Even though I had my own department of Fiduciary Intransigence. But when I began to get reports of the tax goings-on here on Fetorr I volunteered for the present assignment. My natural assets, of course."

          "Natural assets?" I was beginning to feel that I was missing some vital facts.

          "That is correct. You must have heard of my home planet, Trantor?"

          "Sorry-there are thousands of inhabited worlds out there."

          "Yes-but there is only one with the mass of Trantor. A little over three times the standard as expressed in planetary gravity. 3Gs in fact."

          "No wonder you can do what you do!"

          "I feel light as a feather on your tiny worlds. I dream that I am floating at times. But to more important things. The man you informally refer to as Chaise is an interstellar banker of great renown. And suspicion. . ."

          He broke off when there was a sharp rap on the door.

          "Locked. Go away," he growled in his Puissanto personality.

          "I want to contact the Mighty Marvell," a muffled voice said. "Do you know..."

          "No know! Go!" he roared.

          The sharp rapping came again. Puissanto picked me up by the throat so I could not speak, held me out at arm's length behind the door when he opened it.

          "Umph!" he said. "Who you?"

          "Me Megalith Man," a grating voice said. "Need to find Mighty Marvell."

          I struggled and writhed and managed to squeeze out a few words.

          "Let-in-it's OK. . ."

          I dropped when he opened his hand. Megalith Man came in and looked down at me where I sprawled on the floor.

          "Are you alright, Dad?" he asked.

          Puissanto closed the door and looked from me to Megalith Man. "If this is your son, then you have some really crunched recessive genes in your lineage," he said.

          "A working costume," Bolivar said, talking off Megalith Man's head. "There is big trouble coming down the pike. Mom was worried when Puissanto here cut his act short. Told me to get to this dressing room-but didn't have time to tell me why because that's when the trouble started. The rest of the program has been canceled and the theater is filled with uniforms. I saw three of them going into your dressing room. The theater entrances are sealed except for one, and they are searching and checking the audience as they leave."

          "Do you have any idea why?" Puissanto asked.

          "There's no secret about it." He looked at me with a most unhappy expression. "They have pictures of you. And are asking everyone if they have ever heard of the Stainless Steel Rat."

CHAPTER 12

          I knew that the powers of darkness were drawing ever closer: what I had not realized was just how close they really were. The hot breath on the back of my neck was scorching. Reality crushed in: I really had called this one wrong. We should have cut and run the night before. Now, in order to make one last stab at investigating the ongoing mystery, I had endangered the entire operation. Not to mention the health and well-being of my entire family. I took a deep-and shuddering-breath.

          "Right," I said with more authority than I felt. "I have to find a way to get out of here. Any suggestions?"

          "Are you the Stainless Steel Rat individual that the police apparently want to apprehend?" Puissanto said.

          No point in lying-particularly since the police had linked my photograph to my name. "I have that pleasure."

          "That name has a very familiar ring about it. Could I have come across it in the records?"

          "Which records?"

          "Tax records."

          "Impossible. My motto is the golden one of the confirmed capitalist. Buy cheap, sell dear-and avoid paying taxes. Legally, that is."

          "The Stainless Steel Rat-it still sounds familiar. Yes! Weren't you linked at one time to the destruction of large amounts of income tax records?"

          "A calumny! Never proven! I prefer to think of my career as that of one who rights wrongs. A modern version of the old myth of the benefactor named Robbing Good. My specialty involves ironing out the bumps in the income graph, redistributing resources one might say. I might also add that I have saved the galaxy on more than one occasion. Which should count for something."

          "You are sure about those tax files?"

          Like all tax men he would not let go easily. "I am surenever!" I lied. There are times when the bare truth can be embarrassing. Puissanto rubbed his jaw in thought.

          "We will forget the matter of the tax files for the moment. If it is not taxes-why are the police so eager to capture you?"

          "They are blaming me for the recent robberies-when in fact I am here to investigate them as I told you."

          "Then you are, in fact-being framed?"

          "Got that in one," Bolivar said. "And it is a frame big enough to include me as well. I was manager of the first bank that was robbed. The police claimed that it was an inside job and arrested me. With some help I managed to escape."

          Puissanto pondered that for a while, then reached a reluctant decision. "If you both are innocent, then it is my duty as a good citizen-and a tax inspector-to aid you in escaping from the law. I have already investigated the police forces of this planet and they are most corrupt. Completely controlled by the tax-evading industrialists. Let me give you a name and a phone number." He found a stylo, which vanished from sight in his massive fist, and wrote the information down, passed it over. "Paka is an associate of mine who will be able to help you. Call this number and identify yourself by-"

          There was a sudden hammering on the door and loud voices.

          "Open up in there! This is the police."

          "Go away. Me sleep." Puissanto looked around the room, saw the window. "Quickly!" he whispered.

          Bolivar put his Megalith Man head back on and we hurried after the strongman. He opened the window, then reached out and seized two of the iron bars. He didn't even grunt as he bent them wide.

          "Out," he said, then shouted-right in my ear which almost took my head off. "Wake Puissanto up-he kill!"

          If this didn't stop the police-it at least slowed them down while we climbed out of the window. He bent the bars back into shape behind us, then went to open the door. We left.

          And were soaked in seconds. At least I was. Bolivar was of course nice and comfy in his pseudoflesh disguise. Lightning flashed, thunder rolled and the rain poured down. Which was all for the best since we made an interesting and surely memorable pair. Me in my formal attire, he in his repulsive guise. The few people we passed had their heads down as they hurried to shelter. We hurried as well, eager to put some distance between ourselves and our pursuers. Turning one last corner I saw the lights of a restaurant beckoning ahead.

          "There," I said. "Safe haven in the storm."

          "Are you sure? Poison Pete's Red Hot Take Away-Or Eat Here If You Dare. Doesn't sound that attractive."

          "Then don't eat. All we want to do is use the phone. Let's go."

          Perhaps Bolivar was right, I thought as the door closed behind us. The place was grubby, the two tables nicked and scratched, the drunk clutching the bottle in the corner completely unconscious. When I breathed in the sweet perfume of food I coughed. My lungs hurt.

          "Welcome, hungry strangers in the night. Poison Pete say eat and drink-food so hot your feet will shrink."

          Wonderful. Poison Pete -vas a robot with long mustachios and a frayed blanket slung over one shoulder. The creature was also wearing an immense hat with a wide brim. Representing, no doubt, some culture now lost in the depths of time.

          "What you gringos want to eat? Cactus-spine soup? Chile con serape picante?"

          "We want to use your phone."

          "You eat here, cabrones, you use the phone here." Well programmed it was to screw the last credit out of the customers.

          "All right-two orders of what you said." I looked at the pictured foaming mugs on the wall. "And two beers."

          Now the robot restaurateur sprang into action. Slapped two overflowing mugs of beer down in front of us, filled two bowls with a lethal-looking lumpy green concoction and slid them across the counter. Then produced a portable phone which it dropped into the food.

          "Thirty-five credits, real good price," it said.

          I doubted that greatly. While Bolivar paid I dug the phone out of the food and dialed Paka. My fingers burned where I had wiped off the cruddy comestibles. Someone picked up the phone.

          "Puissanto said I should call this number."

          "If you're Marvell, I got a call from Puissanto about you. "

          "That's good news."

          "He said it's bad news. But he also said to pick you up. Where you at? "

          I told him and he found Poison Pete's in the directory. Meanwhile Bolivar-ahh, the impetuosity of youth!-had made the mistake of tasting the food. He now laid his head on the counter while I poured the mugs of beer into his mouth. The beer steamed. He had almost recovered when a rodentlooking man came in. His nose was pointed and his bristling mustache twitched as he looked around.

          "You Marvell?" he asked, poking the drunk with his shoe; his yellow and ratlike teeth slipped in and out when he spoke.

          "Over here," I said.

          He looked me up and down-then recoiled when he saw Bolivar's repellent guise.

          "We are from the same circus as Puissanto," I explained. "All good friends. Do you have transportation?"

          "I got a kangaroodle. Puissanto said to take you to his office."

          "I never knew that he had an office. Are you sure? Has this anything to do with GIT?"

          "Quiet!" He looked around, but neither the drunk nor the robot restaurateur had taken notice of my remark. "Word must not get out about his tax investigations. Of course he's got an office. It's a secret of course, because no one is supposed to know he's here. I'm the bookkeeper. You ready?"

          "Sure. Let's go."

          When we went out I looked suspiciously at his machine: I had seen its like on the opening night of the circus. The passenger cabin of the kangaroodle was suspended between two immense, piston-actuated legs. We climbed the ladder mounted on the vehicle's nearest leg.

          "Belt up," Paka said. "This thing really moves. Surveyors use them in rough country." He reached out and turned on the engine just as the police car braked to a stop beside us; a powerful searchlight bathed us with light. Bolivar and I scrunched down out of sight.

          "Get out of there!" a growly official voice said. "And keep your hands out where I can see them."

          "I didn't do nothing!" Paka squealed.

          "Just get down from that thing-now."

          "Do that and you are a dead man," I said with as much menace in my voice as I could summon up. I ground my knuckle into his side and he squeaked. "This is a gun with a hair trigger-and it is about to go off-if we don't leave this very instant." He stomped on the accelerator.

          With a single bound the kangaroodle hurled itself into the air. Springs and pistons absorbed the shock of landingthen it was off again on another immense leap. It was comfortable enough when we were in the air, but my chin hit my collarbone each time we struck the ground. Behind us the police cruiser roared into life and came after us, siren screaming. Our transport of delight was good in heavy traffic; leaping over any vehicles in its way. But its speed on the open road could not match that of a wheeled vehicle. As the traffic lightened the police began to catch up. We were bounding through an industrial area now. With factories on both sides of the road. At . the next junction buildings changed to fencing and I pointed with my free hand.

          "Over that fence jump now!"

          "I can't! We'll die-I can't see what's there."

          "You'll die when this gun goes off-jump!"

          Squeaking with fear he twisted the controller hard. When we landed our machine pivoted neatly on one foot, ninety degrees, then flew into the air.

          And landed in a ploughed field. We bounded on gracefully, leaving the police far behind.