When it was viewed from orbit, there seemed to be no logical reason that Riverwind should have been given its name. It had an ocean that covered about four-fifths of its surface, and a pair of island continents. There were polar ice caps, and hundreds of tiny islands dotting the ocean, but the only two rivers that were clearly discernible ran directly north to south, one on each continent, without any hint of winding.

"I don't want to land the ship," Cole announced. "I don't mind their knowing that we're a former Navy ship, but I don't want to give them any added opportunity to identify which ship we are. I know that Slick changed all the insignia, but there are other means of identification."

"Which shuttle will you be taking, sir?" asked Briggs.

"The only one I've ever been in is the Kermit"—the ship's three shuttles were the Kermit, the Archie, and the Alice, all named for Theodore Roosevelt's children; a fourth, the Quentin, had been lost in battle months earlier—"so that's the one I'll take. I assume Slick got rid of the insignia?"

"Yes, sir, I'm told that he did," said Briggs. "Will you be going alone?"

"No. I don't think that would make the proper impression. Have Bull Pampas, Esteban Morales, and Domak meet me at the Kermit in five minutes."

"Only those three, sir?"

"I have a feeling that if there's any trouble, we'd be outnumbered even if I took the whole crew, and if there's not, three's enough. Somebody's got to stay up here and fly the Teddy R."

"Braxite has volunteered to come with you too, sir," said Christine.

"No."

"I'm sure he's going to ask me why not."

"It's known that Four Eyes and I are the highest-ranking officers on the Teddy R. If anyone down there suspects who I am, having a Molarian along will probably clinch it." He held up a hand. "Before you say it, I know they won't care if they're dealing with Wilson Cole or not. They're probably all in favor of mutineers and fugitives. But they're criminals, and doubtless would be quite willing to extort money and favors for keeping the Teddy R's secret from the Republic." He turned to Briggs. "Pampas, Morales, and Domak. Five minutes."

"I've fed the landing coordinates into the Kermit, and given it false registration data," said Christine. "It won't hold up to close scrutiny, but I don't imagine David Copperfield could stay in business here if they started giving close scrutiny to his visitors."

"I agree. Once we touch down, I'll rent some transportation and have Morales direct me to Copperfield's."

"Don't you want to let him know you're coming?" asked Briggs.

"No," said Cole. "You're going to let him know."

"Me, sir?" said Briggs, surprised.

"If I don't hear any conditions, I don't have to obey them. When we're within a minute of touching down, contact him, tell him our radio is on the blink, and you're making the call for me."

"Would you rather I wait until you're on the ground, sir?"

Cole shook his head. "If he's the kind of guy who says do it his way or he shoots, I'd like to know that before we leave the ship and lose contact with you." He began walking to the airlock. "Oh, and have Bull bring the booty. I was thinking of having Sharon come up with a sensorproof case for it, but then I figured, hell, if they examined everything that came through the spaceport, Copperfield would be out of business, so I think we're safe carrying it as it is, and I'd rather not waste the extra time."

He reached the airlock, and a moment later joined Domak in the shuttle bay. Pampas, carrying a sturdy case, arrived in less than a minute, and finally Morales showed up.

"Sorry it took me so long," he said. "I knew I was meeting you at the Kermit, but no one told me where or what the Kermit was."

"Just as well you didn't get here first," replied Cole. "It's not the Kermit anymore, though that's the way we still think of it. It's the Fower of Samarkand now. Let's all get aboard it. Domak, you're the best pilot among the four of us. Take us down to the spaceport. It's programmed into the shuttle's navigational computer, so you can do most of it on automatic. I'll handle any messages from the spaceport or anywhere else."

"Yes, sir," said Domak, saluting and entering the shuttle. The three Men followed her and took their places as she ordered the bay door to open, activated the engine, and the shuttle shot out from the belly of the ship.

"Tell me a little about David Copperfield," said Cole to Morales as they neared the stratosphere.

"I've never actually met him, sir," answered Morales. "None of us did."

"Then you don't know how to get to his headquarters, or warehouse, or wherever the hell it is that he does his business?" asked Cole.

"Yes I do, sir," said Morales. "But Captain Windsail knew him long before he set up shop on Riverwind. They were old friends, and we always waited outside Mr. Copperfield's home for him. In fact, I've never actually seen Mr. Copperfield."

"What kind of protection does he have?"

"I never saw any," said Morales. "But I was told not to step outside the vehicle, that there were ten or twelve guns trained on it."

"Well, that's comforting," remarked Cole.

"What's comforting about the fact that he has twelve gunmen covering the vehicle?" asked Domak.

"If he's got twelve outside, he's got at least that many inside, where the goods are. I find it comforting that he can keep twenty-four people employed. It implies that he knows his business and how to sell what he buys, and that in turn implies that he should be willing to buy what we've got."

"That's an interesting chain of reasoning," said Domak noncommittally.

The radio came to life. "This is the Eastern Continent Spaceport. Your ship has identified itself and requested permission to land. Are you here for business or pleasure?"

"Business," answered Cole.

"Nature of business?"

"Am I required by law to answer that question?"

"Only if you require a visa for more than twenty-four hours," said the voice.

"We don't. I think eight-hour visas for myself and my associates should suffice."

"Your ship has transmitted their IDs. Your visas will be waiting for you upon your arrival."

"Thank you," said Cole, breaking the connection.

"That was almost too easy, sir," said Pampas.

"The biggest fence on the Frontier has to make it this easy," answered Cole. "Otherwise people will take their business elsewhere. Other pirates don't want close scrutiny any more than we do, though for different reasons. Or maybe the same reasons, now that I think about it."

Briggs's image suddenly appeared against a bulkhead.

"I've contacted them, sir, and they're expecting you. The only restriction they mentioned is that you must leave any weapons at the spaceport or in the vehicle that transports you there."

"Thanks, Mr. Briggs. We'll leave them here in the ship. Compute our ETA and transmit it to Copperfield."

Briggs saluted, and then his image vanished.

"Why didn't we get a visual from the spaceport, I wonder?" said Pampas.

"That's easy enough. If we can see them, they can see us—and a lot of Copperfield's visitors doubtless prefer not to be seen or identified. Our crimes, such as they are, were against the Republic, which might actually make us very popular with certain elements on the Inner Frontier; but their crimes were committed right here, and people might be more inclined to betray them to bounty hunters or whoever else is enforcing the law out here."

They touched down in another five minutes, and soon were approaching a trio of Customs and Immigration kiosks. There were short lines at each, mostly composed of Men, but they were being processed very quickly.

"You'd better give that case to me now," Cole told Pampas.

"It's pretty heavy, sir."

"That's okay. If they ask any questions, I want to answer them myself. I'll give it back to you once we've cleared Customs."

Pampas handed over the case, and Cole walked up to the Customs robot, which was actually a part of the kiosk.

"Name?" asked the robot.

Cole shoved his passport disk across the counter. "It's all there," he said. "My companions and I have applied for eight-hour visas. Please add them to our passports and let us through."

The robot's eyes extended on long metal stalks and an intense beam of light shot out of them as it read Cole's passport disk. The color of the light changed very slightly as it added the visa.

"This visa will disappear from your passport in exactly eight hours. If you are still on Riverwind at that time, you must report back to Customs and Immigration, Mr.—"

"Thank you," said Cole, interrupting the robot before it could say his name aloud.

"What is in the case you are carrying?"

"Check your regulations and see if someone who is here on an eight-hour visa is required to answer that question."

"No, sir, you are not required to answer it unless you will be here one full day or more."

"And you know I will not be here one full day, because I only have an eight-hour visa," said Cole.

"That is correct, sir," said the robot. "You are free to enter the public areas of the spaceport."

He passed through Customs, idly wondering how the hell Copperfield ever got the regulations changed. He waited until his crew also cleared, returned the case to Pampas, and began walking toward the door.

"That was your real passport, wasn't it, sir?" asked Pampas.

"Yes."

"Shouldn't you have used a phony?"

Cole shook his head. "Sharon couldn't fix one that could pass muster in the short period of time we had after dispatching the Achilles. Besides, this is the Inner Frontier, not the Republic. I'm not wanted here, so there's no reason for the robot to report my presence to any authority. I just didn't want it saying my name aloud in front of any bystanders, who might want to sell it, and our location, to interested parties."

They reached the exit. Cole was about to ask where lie could hire some transport, but before he could seek out an information kiosk, a large, burly man who dwarfed even Pampas approached them.

"Mr. Smith?" he said, stopping in front of Cole. "Mr. Copperfield sends his felicitations, and requests that you follow me."

"Fine," said Cole. As they began walking, he turned to the man. "How did you know my name was Smith?"

"I call all visitors Mr. Smith," he said.

"I approve," said Cole. "And have you a name?"

"Mr. Jones," replied the man. He stopped in front of a large, luxurious aircar. "Please get in."

The four of them joined Copperfield's representative. A robot, which was also a component of the vehicle, began driving and the aircar skimmed along, perhaps a foot above the ground. It didn't go far, less than a mile, and they were still inside the city limits when it stopped and all the doors irised to let them out.

It wasn't the warehouse Cole had anticipated, or the grubby underworld hideout. They found themselves in front of an elegant mansion, built to resemble a country home from a bygone England that still possessed a vast, world-encircling empire. Two footmen in livery—but with burners clearly visible in shoulder holsters—stood at either side of the front entrance.

"Is this the same place?" whispered Cole.

"Yeah," said Morales. "But I never even got this far. The Captain had his own aircar, and we weren't allowed to leave it."

"Please come in, sir," said one of the footmen as the other opened the large wooden door.

Cole and his party entered, and found that the inside of the house fulfilled the exterior's promise. The furnishings were of a piece, all reproductions from the nineteenth century A.D., some three thousand years ago. They were ushered down a long corridor, past drawing rooms and libraries, and while Cole couldn't spot anyone he got the uneasy feeling that his every step was being observed. At last they came to a chamber that was hidden from them by a magnificent set of double doors.

The footman who had opened the doors and then brought up the rear of their little procession now moved up to the double doors.

"Only Mr. Smith is allowed beyond this point," he announced. "The rest of you are welcome to relax in the first lounge we passed. This gentleman"—a new footman bowed—-"will show you to it, or you can return to the aircar and wait for Mr. Smith there." He walked over to Pampas. "I'll take this burden from you, sir. You can trust me to be exceedingly gentle with it."

Pampas and Domak looked questioningly at Cole, who nodded his assent. "Do as the gentleman says. I'll rejoin you shortly."

Pampas and Morales followed the footman to the lounge, while Morales retraced his steps and went back outside to the vehicle.

"If you will follow me, sir," said Mr. Jones, opening one of the doors.

Cole walked into a large library, filled with more books than he had ever seen in his life, most of them bound in leather, all resting on dark hardwood bookshelves. There was a matching hardwood desk in the middle of the room, and leather chairs in comfortable groupings. Behind the desk sat a creature of vaguely human proportions, from a race Cole had never before encountered. He wore the clothing of a Victorian dandy, but his eyes were set at the sides of his elongated head, his large triangular ears were capable of independent movement, his mouth was absolutely circular and had no lips at all, his neck was long and incredibly flexible, his torso was broad and half again as long as a man's, and his legs, short, stubby, and broad, had an extra joint in them. Cole couldn't tell anything about his feet, because they were inside a pair of highly polished leather shoes.

"Greetings and felicitations!" he said with no trace of an accent. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am David Copperfield. And to whom do I have the honor of speaking?"

"Call me Steerforth," replied Cole.

The alien called Copperfield threw his head back and laughed. "So you're a reader too! I can tell we're going to become great friends as well as business partners. And between us, perhaps we can get Mr. Jones to change his name to Barkus—that is, if he's willin'." He laughed again at his own joke, then suddenly became serious. "So what treasures have you brought me, Steerforth?"

Mr. Jones carried the case over to the desk and opened it. Copper-field reached in—Cole saw that his hands were seven-fingered—and pulled out a handful of uncut diamonds.

"Very nice," he said softly. "Very nice indeed." Suddenly his left eye seemed to double in size and bulge out, as he held a diamond up to it. "Excellent!" he said, putting the diamond back into the case as his eye resumed its original shape. "And how many have you brought me, my friend Steerforth."

"Four hundred and sixteen," said Cole. "I assume you'll want to count them."

"You cut me to the quick!" said Copperfield in mock hurt tones. "I thought we were friends. Of course I trust you." He paused. "But they are diamonds. Yes, I'll have them counted, just as a matter of form. Mr. Jones will do it before you leave. A gentleman like myself doesn't sully himself with such mundane tasks." He leaned over the case. "What else is in the bag?"

"Jewelry," said Cole. "Mostly gold, with a lot of inlaid stones. Some rubies, too."

"I love gold!" enthused Copperfield, pulling out the tiara. "Ah, but i his is exquisite! I'll wager there's not another like it in all the galaxy!"

"How much will you wager?" asked Cole.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You've seen the quality of my goods," said Cole. "What kind of offer are you prepared to make?"

"Why, the best of any resale specialist—I abhor the word 'fence,' don't you?—the best of any resale specialist on the Inner Frontier."

"That's encouraging," said Cole. "Name a figure and we can conclude our transaction or at least have a basis for negotiating."

"How very civilized of you," said Copperfield. "You, sir, are a man after my own heart. Let me see . . . four hundred sixteen diamonds . . . well, why haggle? I'll give you my top offer."

"Don't forget the jewelry."

"I'll make a separate offer for it. I assume it's all unique, so I'll have to examine each piece. But for the diamonds ..." He closed his eyes for a moment, as if computing figures. "For the diamonds, my dear Steer-forth, I will offer you six hundred and twenty-five thousand credits."

"What?" yelled Cole, so startling the alien that he almost lost his composure.

"Six hundred and twenty-five thousand credits," repeated Copper-field. "Trust me, that's the best offer you're going to get anywhere."

"Just a minute," said Cole. "How much do you think one of these diamonds is worth?"

"They're really quite exquisite, as I said," replied Copperfield. "I should think thirty thousand would not be an unfair estimate."

"We've had higher, we've had lower," continued Cole. "But let's say okay, thirty thousand. When I multiply thirty thousand by four hundred—"

"It's four hundred sixteen," noted Copperfield.

"I'm making the math easy," answered Cole. "When I multiply thirty thousand by four hundred, I get a market value of twelve million."

"That is correct," said Copperfield. "Give or take. There may be a few truly exceptional stones, but there may be a few inferior ones."

"Now, I know you're not going to pay market value. I can't prove ownership, nor would you expect me to, and you have to make a profit too. But I was figuring any fence would offer between a quarter and a third of market value. You offered ..."

"Five percent," said Copperfield promptly. "It's the best offer you're going to get anywhere. If you can find a better one, I'll match it."

"No wonder you're living in a mansion, if all you pay is five percent," said Cole angrily.

"That is a generous offer, my dear Steerforth," said Copperfield. "Would I be correct in assuming you're new to this business?"

Cole made no answer.

"I thought so. Please understand, Steerforth, not all my offers are at five percent. Show me provenance, show me certificates of authenticity, and I would happily offer thirty percent. But these diamonds come from the mining world of Blantyre IV. The blue-green tint at the heart of each of them makes it certain—and it happens that seven miners were killed on Blantyre when a pirate ship robbed their outpost and made off with approximately four hundred diamonds. That is common knowledge to every jeweler and collector on the Frontier and in the Republic, as well as to every law-enforcement bureau. I cannot sell these diamonds in quantity, and I shall probably have to sit on them for at least five years before I begin selling them at all.

"Or," he continued, "let us take the jewelry. I didn't have to look beyond the tiara. It was taken from the dead, shattered head of the diva Frederica Orloff when she was robbed and killed at a charity ball on Hinder X. The insurance company has sent holographs of that tiara, and the ruby earrings, and all her other missing possessions, to every jeweler, every trader, every buyer, every collector, and every police department from the Rim to the Core. For the risk I would be taking by selling it, five percent is actually far too much to pay. I consider that I'm offering three percent to you and two percent to the memory of Charles Dickens." He suddenly smiled. "You really should be a little more careful who you kill. Had you merely stolen the diamonds and the jewelry, there would not be quite so many vengeful people looking for them."

Cole was silent for a long moment. "It sounds reasonable," he said at last. "I don't know if you're bullshitting or not, but it makes sense."

"Then have we got a deal?"

Cole shook his head. "No. I have a feeling you've known all along who I am—I've made no attempt to disguise my face, and my passport was probably transmitted here the instant I produced it at the spaceport—and if so, then you know that I've got a crew to pay and feed, and a ship to power, munitions to keep in stock, and a lot of enemies to avoid. I can't do that on five percent of market value, now or in the future."

"I happen to know the gentleman you appropriated these from, though I have no idea how you did so or whether he is still alive, nor am I asking," said Copperfield. "But I must point out that he lived most handsomely on his percentage."

"His ship didn't cost a tenth of what mine costs to run, he had a far smaller crew, he didn't begin to have the armaments or the cost of their upkeep, he had less concern for human life—and he wasn't being pursued by two navies."

"Two?"

"The Teroni Federation is the enemy of all Men. The Republic is the enemy of this man."

"I am going to do a remarkable thing," said Copperfield after a moment. "I am going to let you take your goods and leave. I could stop you, you know. Even as we speak, more that twenty weapons are trained on you and your companions. But any man who knows enough to call himself Steerforth to my Copperfield deserves one free pass. Go in peace and friendship, and remember that my offer still stands: if you get a bona fide bid of more than five percent, I'll match it. But I tell you truthfully, you never will."

"The young man with me used to serve under Captain Windsail," said Cole. "He told me that Windsail liked you. I can understand why."

"I hope we shall meet again, my dear Steerforth," said Copperfield as Cole closed the box, locked it, picked it up, and headed to the double doors. "Mr. Jones, please escort Steerforth and his party back to the spaceport."

All the way back to the Theodore Roosevelt Cole considered his options, rejecting one after another. When he arrived he was still wondering how Blackbeard and Captain Kidd ever made ends meet.

Cole was sitting in his rarely used office, speaking with Sharon Blacksmith, Christine Mboya, and Forrice.

"It's something I hadn't considered," he said. "In this era, with the whole damned galaxy interconnected, steal a necklace on the Inner Frontier and an hour later every dealer and every cop on the Rim, on the Spiral Arm, in the Quinellus Cluster, and in the Republic has already got a description and probably a holograph of it. Five percent probably is the best offer we're going to get."

"Can we survive on that?" asked Sharon.

"We don't have much of a choice," answered Cole. "It's not as if the Navy will welcome us back with open arms. Hell, they're more likely to welcome us back with open prison cells, and that's only if they're feeling friendlier toward us than they were when we left."

"There must be other alternatives," said Christine.

"Like what?" shot back Cole. "We're not in the cruise-ship business." He sighed deeply. "There's got to be a way to make a decent return on those diamonds. I mean, hell, all our lives we've watched dramas and read thrillers about jewel thieves. It can't be as hard as it seems."

"It's starting to appear that the only easy part was acquiring our illicit goods in the first place," complained Forrice.

"Captain Windsail wasn't starving," noted Sharon. "How did he pay his crew and fuel his ship?"

"Once we figure that out, we'll know what to do," said Cole irritably. "It's the damned technology, like I said. You steal something today, and everyone's got all the data on it by tomorrow morning."

"How?" asked Sharon. "I don't have any holographs of my necklace or bracelet. How would I get them once the jewelry was gone?"

"Not to be insulting, but your necklace and bracelet aren't worth stealing," said Cole.

"Get back to the question," said Forrice. "How do they get the information so quickly and thoroughly?"

"If the stuff's any good, I suppose the insurance company passes it on," said Cole.

"What if it's not insured?" persisted the Molarian.

"If it's any good, it will be," said Cole.

"So you think it's the insurance companies that spread all the information?"

"Wouldn't you?" asked Sharon. "They're on the hook for it if it's not returned."

"I suppose so," said Forrice. "Well, that's another dead end."

"No, it's not," replied Cole suddenly.

"What are you talking about?" asked Sharon.

"I've got the solution. At least, I think I do."

"Can we help?" asked Christine.

"Yeah, let's try a little Socratic dialogue here," said Cole.

"Whatever that may be," retorted Forrice.

"Let's hypothesize that I just inherited a very valuable necklace, made of pearls from the freshwater ocean on Bareimus VII. I say it's worth fifty thousand credits. You say it's worth forty-two thousand. Sharon says it's worth forty-five thousand. Who's right?"

"How should I know?" asked Forrice.

"You shouldn't," agreed Cole. "So how do we find out?"

"We hold an auction, and the sales price is what it's worth," answered the Molarian.

"That presents a problem," said Cole. "It was bought when the economy was booming, and now we're in a deep recession. Besides, we don't want to sell it for peanuts. We want to know what it's worth, and then either sell it or hang on to the necklace until we can get a decent price for it."

"All right," said Forrice, annoyed that Cole kept putting up new obstacles, even if they were just imaginary ones. "Take it to a jeweler and get it appraised."

"I'll do better than that," said Cole. "I'll take it to three jewelers. One says fifty, one says forty-five, one says forty-two. Now what? How do I get the real value for the necklace?"

"You go to an insurance company, and whichever appraisal they choose is the right one."

"And if they disagree with all three and bring in their own appraiser, then what?"

"Then that's the official value of the necklace."

"Why?" asked Cole.

"Because that's the amount they'll pay out if it's stolen," answered the Molarian.

"Very good," said Cole with a smile.

"I don't even know what I'm saying," complained Forrice irritably.

"You will, and soon," promised Cole. "Now once this necklace is stolen, its description and holograph go out to five million worlds, right?"

"Right."

"Why?" asked Cole. "It's not the insurance company's necklace. It's mine."

"But they're on the hook for it's full value," said Forrice, "so they're every bit as anxious to see it recovered as you are. Maybe more so."

"One last question," said Cole. "You're the thief who stole the necklace. Who would you rather deal with—a fence who might pay you four or five percent of its appraised value because it's hot property and he might have to sit on it for years, and even then he's risking jail time every time he tries to sell it, or an insurance company that's got to pay its full value if it's not recovered?"

"I see!" said Forrice with an expression of dawning comprehension on his face. "That's it!"

"And that's what we're going to do," said Cole. "Even estimating lower than anyone else has suggested, those diamonds have a value in excess of ten million credits. As for the jewelry, who knows? But we'll know when we find out who insured it and for how much."

"You can't just walk up to these companies and say, 'I stole your diamonds or your tiara or whatever, and I want what they're worth or I won't give them back to you,'" said Forrice.

"Of course not," answered Cole. "There's no reason for them to deal with us under those circumstances, when there's no profit to be made. But let's get back to my hypothetical necklace again. You're the insurance company. I walk into your office, and I hand you my own holograph of the necklace with some way to date it so you know I took the holo after it was stolen. I don't ask for the full value. Hell, you'd call the police and lock me away. No, I explain to you that my profession is retrieving lost articles. I explain that I heard about the necklace and was fortunate enough to retrieve it. I'll return it to your company in exchange for a reward amounting to one-third of its market value, and since I don't like the way you're staring at me, I also want a pledge from you, in writing, that you won't prosecute me or discuss our transaction with any authorities."

"Damn, that's good!" said Forrice.

"Let's get back to the diamonds, and let's say they're worth twelve million credits. You pay me four million, you get them back and return them to their legal owner, and the crisis is over. On the other hand, if you turn me in to the police or refuse to deal with me, you may feel morally superior, but do you feel superior enough to pay out another eight million credits? And if you think you may someday be able to blackmail me on your own or the company's behalf, I'll agree to—in fact, I'll insist upon—a one-question test while tied in to a Neverlie Machine, and that one question will be: Are you the one who stole these diamonds from Blantyre IV? And of course I will say I didn't, and the Neverlie Machine will confirm it, because I stole them from the pirates who stole them from Blantyre IV."

"And if they ask more?"

"I'm not so foolish as to have the necklace on my person while they're negotiating with me. If they stick to my terms and our mutually agreed-upon resolution, I'll deliver it to them within twenty-four hours. If they don't, they've lost the full insurance value on the necklace, and I guarantee they're not going to let that happen. They're not lawmen out for justice. They're a business that's concerned with profit and loss. What do you think they'll do?"

"I think you've solved it, Wilson," said Sharon. "If we're going to survive out here, that's clearly what our version of piracy has to be."

"Less romantic and more profitable, I agree," said Cole. He turned to Forrice. "As soon as this meeting breaks up, I want you to find out who insured the diamonds, how much they were insured for, and where the company's nearest branch office is. Sharon—do the same with the jewelry. In the meantime I want Christine to compute exactly what it costs to run the Teddy R for a Standard day, a week, and a month—fuel, food, hydroponics garden, repair, ammunition, everything. Then we'll be able to figure out if we're in profit or loss—and if we're in profit, I suppose we'll need to hand out dividends."

"You make it sound awfully colorless and businesslike," said Forrice.

"Let's hope that's exactly what it becomes," said Cole.

Cole contacted the hospital and learned that they had given Chadwick prosthetic eardrums. Right at the moment they were working too well; he was complaining about the volume, and the fact that he could overhear conversations taking place ten and twelve rooms away. Cole decided that wasn't such a bad weapon to have in his arsenal, and asked if there was some way they could allow Chadwick himself to adjust the volume as he wished. The answer was negative. They told him that they'd have the volume right in another few hours, and he made arrangements for the shuttle to bring Chadwick back to the Teddy R as soon as the doctors finished with him.

"Four Eyes, this is Cole," he said, adjusting his communicator.

"I know who it is," replied the Molarian. "Your ugly image is staring at me from three feet away."

"Actually, it's staring well beyond you," said Cole. "I just ate."

"Are we through insulting each other," asked Forrice, "or do we trade a few more before you tell me why you're bothering me during red shift?"

"How are we coming on finding out who insured the diamonds and the jewelry?"

"The diamonds were insured by the Pilargo Company."

"Republic or Frontier?" asked Cole.

"Republic," answered the Molarian. "They're headquartered on Deluros VIII."

"Shit! Wouldn't you know it?" Cole paused for a moment. "What's their closest branch? Have they got any offices on the Inner Frontier?"

"I thought you might ask," said Forrice, "so I checked. They don't have anything on the Frontier. Their closest branch is on Benjamin II, but it's awfully small. I don't think they'd have the kind of money we're looking for. My guess is we'll have to go to New Madrid."

"New Madrid?" repeated Cole. "That's a good four hundred light-years into the Republic!"

"Next time we're going to screw an insurance company, I'll be sure to tell them to relocate to Keepsake or Binder X," said the Molarian.

"Did you find out how much the diamonds were insured for?"

"That's a little problematical," answered Forrice. "They have a blanket policy covering all their shipments from Blantyre IV at ninety percent of market value. They don't insure each batch separately."

"Okay, we can work from there," said Cole. "How about the jewelry?"

"Still working on it. It's harder to find, since they belonged to an individual rather than a publicly traded or Republic-owned company. I imagine we'll know within a Standard day or two. Christine is much better at this kind of detail work than I am. Once she takes charge during white shift, it ought to go a little faster."

"All right," said Cole. "Now tell Morales I want to meet him in the mess hall."

"I think he's there already."

"Tell him to stay there. I'll join him in just a minute or two."

Cole broke the connection, walked to the bathroom, splashed some cold water on his face, left his cabin, and took the airlift up to the mess hall. Esteban Morales was sitting alone at a small table, staring at him.

"Good morning," said Cole. "Or afternoon. Or evening. Whatever your schedule is."

"Hello, sir," said Morales. "Mr. Forrice told me you wanted to see me?"

"Four Eyes is a lot of things good and bad," said Cole with a smile, "but I'm pretty sure 'Mister' isn't one of them."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"I was just commenting, not correcting." He stared at Morales for a moment. "I'm betting you're too young to have ever served in the military. Am I right?"

"Yes." Then, "Excuse me. I meant yes, sir."

"You're still not in the military," said Cole. "Forget about the sir."

"Yes, sir," said Morales. "I mean, yes."

"I've got a job for you," continued Cole. "It's simple enough, but it just so happens that you're the only person aboard the ship who can do it."

"Oh?" said Morales, unable to hide his excitement. "What is it?"

"I want you to rent a small ship. One-man or two-man, no bigger."

"Rent a ship?" repeated Morales, disappointed. "Anyone can do that."

"Yeah, but you're the only one who can do it in the Republic without getting arrested."

"I don't understand, sir." Morales fidgeted awkwardly. "I mean, I don't understand."

"If you're more comfortable calling me sir, go ahead and do it," said Cole. "I just wanted you to know that you don't have to." He ordered a sandwich from the floating menu, then returned his attention to Morales. "Every other member of the crew is either a mutineer, or helped break a mutineer out of the brig, stole the Teddy R, and fled to the Inner Frontier. If anyone else on the ship tries to do anything requiring identification, they'll set off alarms from here all the way to Deluros."

"I don't have any money, sir," replied Morales. "I joined the Achilles when I was fifteen, and Captain Windsail didn't pay us very often or very well."

"That's not a problem," answered Cole. "We'll give you enough money to rent it for a day or two. But you're the only one whose ID won't be connected with the Teddy R."

"I'm happy to do it, sir," said Morales. "But we have our own star-ship and three functioning shuttles. Why do you need to rent a ship?"

"We've done what we can to erase all traces of the ship's and shuttles' registration, but they're close to a century old, and there can't be that many military vessels of this age still in service. Most people don't know it or think about it, but the Navy doesn't sell old ships to private parties; it salvages what it can and then scraps them. So if I land in the shuttle, or orbit the world we're going to in the Teddy R, there's always the possibility that someone will be bright enough to report it to the authorities, and the world I'm going to is four hundred light-years into the Republic; if there's a Navy ship anywhere in the area, we probably can't outrace it to the Frontier, and we sure as hell can't outgun it. And even if we reach the Frontier ahead of it, it doesn't have to stop when it's in hot pursuit—especially against the one ship that the Republic wants even more than they want the enemy."

"I'll rent a two-man ship and come with you, sir," said Morales.

"I'm going alone. It's a one-man job."

"If you're disabled in any way, you'll need someone to pilot the ship."

"If I'm disabled, I'm not going to be able to get back to the ship."

"Sure you will," said Morales. "You're Wilson Cole. We heard all about you, even on the Frontier."

"You never heard that I made a getaway after being torn up by pulse and laser blasts," said Cole.

"Just the same, I think I should come, sir," continued Morales. "What if the spaceport insists that the pilot be the man who rented the ship?"

"All right, Mr. Morales, that's a valid point," admitted Cole. "You'll come along. But you won't leave the ship once we touch down."

"How soon do you need me to rent the ship, sir?" asked Morales.

"As soon as possible. The Teddy R can only enter so many more atmospheres before it burns up or falls apart, so take the shuttle."

"I could leave it as collateral," suggested Morales.

Cole shook his head. "I don't want to give anyone a full day to identify it. I'll assign a crew member to take you down and drop you off. The shuttle will stay on the planet until you signal it that you've got the ship."

"Then should I follow it back up to the Teddy R?"

"Take a good look at it," said Cole. "If it looks like transferring from here to there will be easy, follow the shuttle up. If not—and most of these one- and two-man jobs were never designed to transfer people or anything else between ships—then tell whoever's piloting the shuttle to bring me back down and I'll get onto the ship at the spaceport."

"So should I leave right now?" asked Morales.

"Check with Four Eyes, or if it's close to white shift, with Christine Mboya, have whoever's in command spot the next inhabited planet along our route and radio ahead to make sure you can rent a ship, and then take it from there." He raised his voice. "You paying attention to all this, Colonel Blacksmith?"

Sharon's image suddenly appeared. "Yes."

"Pick a crew member—not Christine, and not yourself—to go down with Mr. Morales when he's ready to procure a ship."

"How's he going to pay for it?"

"How much does a ship cost to rent?"

Sharon laughed. "You've been in the service too long, Wilson."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I'll bet you've never rented a ship, or even an aircar."

"You'd win," said Cole. "What am I missing?"

"They're going to want a refundable deposit. They may only charge you a thousand credits or so for a day, but they're not about to trust a total stranger with a three-hundred-thousand-credit spaceship without a substantial deposit."

"We haven't got that much money on the Teddy R. That's what we're renting a ship for, so we can go get it." He lowered his head in thought for a moment. "Okay, here's what we'll do. I'll give Mr. Morales half a dozen diamonds. That should be a sufficient deposit. And I'll send Bull Pampas and Braxite and maybe the tall woman who's never in the science lab when I need her—what's her name?— Idena Mueller. Might as well give her something to do."

"What, for instance?" asked Sharon.

"I should have thought that would be obvious," answered Cole. "If they won't accept the diamonds, we're going to steal the ship."

"And take it to a planet that'll be on the lookout for it?" demanded Sharon.

"We'll have Bull, Braxite, and Mueller stay there and explain, gently but firmly, that the ship will be returned within one Standard day and, as long as the people connected with the rental agency are reasonable and behave themselves, they'll be paid their fee plus a bonus."

"And if they're not?"

"Then the fee will go to their survivors and we'll keep the bonus."

"You'd really kill them?"

"Hell, no," said Cole. "But I won't tell them if you won't. And you have to admit that Bull and Braxite are pretty impressive-looking specimens of their respective races."

"Then why send Idena Mueller at all?"

"There might be twenty employees. You might have a female customer in the ladies' room when they make their threats, a customer who can contact the cops. That's not to say that Sokolov or some other man can't do the job, but why upset people more than we have to?"

"That from a guy who's going to threaten to kill them," said Sharon in amused tones.

"I know from many long and vigorous nights spent together that subtlety isn't your strong point," said Cole, "but there's a difference between killing them and threatening to kill them."

"Were you being subtle last night before or after you—?"

"Don't say it," he interrupted. "You'll shock our newest crew member. Just contact the three I mentioned and have them standing by."

Her image vanished and he turned back to Morales. "Okay, come with me to the science lab."

"The science lab?"

"Yeah. That's where I've stashed the diamonds."

"Is there any particular reason why?"

"Yeah. In all the time I've been aboard the Teddy R, I have never seen anyone willingly go there. At least, once I made sure they couldn't stash their drug supplies there."

"They took drugs?"

"Once upon a time," said Cole. Suddenly his face hardened, and there was something cold, almost frightening, about his eyes. "Not anymore."

For the first time Morales saw some hint of what made this very pleasant man the most decorated officer in the Fleet—and even why the Fleet would declare him its greatest enemy.

"I'm sorry, sir," said Morales as the two-man ship sped toward New Madrid.

"It wasn't your fault," replied Cole. "No honest man was ever going to take those diamonds as a deposit." He shrugged. "It was just our bad luck—and his—that we ran up against an honest man."

"And his?" repeated Morales. "Are you going to kill him when we get back?"

"No, of course not," said Cole. "But if he'd been a reasonable man, not made a fuss, and promised to keep his mouth shut, I'd have left him a diamond or two. We're going to need to rent ships again; it would have been nice to find someone we could trust. Now that we know he's going to turn over descriptions and any holodisks he's got of the four of you to the authorities, I figure he's blown a very handsome tip. Which reminds me," he added, "when we return the ship and pick up Bull and the others, let's go over every inch of that place and see if we can find and destroy any images he's got of us."

"He doesn't have any of you, sir."

"I've got half a trillion Men out for my scalp, and almost as many Teronis," responded Cole. "One more enemy doesn't really make a hell of a lot of difference." He looked at the controls. "How much longer?"

"At this multiple of light, maybe six more hours," announced Morales. "If I can find the wormhole Wxakgini told me exists just outside the Romeo system, maybe forty minutes."

"Look for it. I hate shuttle food."

Cole got up and began walking toward the back of the shuttle.

"Is something wrong, sir?" asked Morales.

"No sense both of us being bored," replied Cole. "I'm going to take a nap. Wake me when we get there."

Morales tried to find the wormhole, but he lacked Wxakgini's skills, and it was six hours later that he woke Cole and announced that they were in orbit around New Madrid, had been cleared to land, and would be touching down in about five minutes.

Cole stood up, stretched, and sent a message to the New Madrid branch of the Pilargo Company, asking for an appointment with whomever was in charge of the office. He refused to answer any questions, and merely said that it was a matter of major importance. When the reception robot was reluctant to make an appointment, he asked for the name and address of the largest rival insurance company on the planet. That got a human response, and by the time the ship had landed his meeting was confirmed.

"Are you going to take the diamonds with you?" asked Morales, looking at the small case.

"And have them taken away at gunpoint?" replied Cole with a smile. "Not a chance. We'll leave them right here."

"In the ship?"

"I'd love to put them in a locker at the spaceport and just trade the combination for the cash, but they'd be crazy to make the deal before they knew the combination was valid—and once they knew it, we're back to the same scenario: they take the diamonds, hold a gun on me, and call the cops. At least this way we can make sure no one's armed before we let them aboard, and I get back to the ship in one piece."

"Do you think they'll go for it?"

"To save a few million credits? Absolutely. They'll make sure they can identify the ship, and I'm sure you had to give its registration number when you got permission to land, but since it's not our ship and we're never going to see it again after tomorrow, we don't really care about that."

"How long should I wait, sir?" asked Morales. "In case something goes wrong?"

"Well, let's see. I gather that once I clear Customs I should get to their office within five minutes. Give me two hours to negotiate. They're going to bluster and threaten and scream bloody murder before they give in. We'll give them another hour, tops, to get the money from their bank." He paused, considering everything that could delay him. "If I'm not back in four Standard hours, I'll try to contact you and give you the order to take off."

"You'll try?"

"If they decide to grill me, shall we say, forcefully, they'll probably remove my communicator." And half my skin. He picked it off his belt, where it had been bonded, and laid it down. "Come to think of it, I'm better off without it. I don't want anyone to be able to home in on the signal, or send you a false message. After all, I'm just the negotiator; the treasure's right here on the ship. Just remember: wait four hours, and if I'm not back, take off."

"If I do, I'll be back tomorrow with the Teddy R."

"That's a command decision," replied Cole, "and if I'm not there, four Eyes will be the one to make it. Let's assume that these are all hypothetical and that I'm going to be back in an hour or two loaded down with money."

Cole walked to the hatch, climbed down to the ground, and walked to Customs and Immigration. He used an ID that he'd picked tip before disposing of the Achilles crew members, and Sharon had altered it to match his voiceprint, thumbprint, and retinagram. It wouldn't pass muster on Deluros VIII or any of the more populated worlds of the Republic, but he was pretty sure he could get away with it out here, so close to the Inner Frontier. He knew that within a day or two—hopefully even longer—some computer somewhere would latch onto the fact that Sales Representative Roger Cowin and mutineer Wilson Cole had the same retinagram and looked an awful lot alike, but he felt he was safe for the next few hours, which was all he cared about.

He caught public transportation to take him into the nearby city, then asked a glowing street sign how to find the Pilargo Company, waited while it printed out a holomap with audio instructions, and soon entered the insurance company's premises.

There was a shining silver robot sitting at the reception desk.

"May I help you?" it asked in lilting feminine tones.

"My name is Roger Cowin," said Cole. "I have an appointment with a Mr. Taniguchi."

"I will inform him that you are here." The robot was motionless for some twenty seconds. "He will see you now. His office is at the end of the corridor on your left."

"Thank you," said Cole, but the robot gave no indication that it had heard him. He walked down the corridor, came to the last office, and waited for the door to iris and let him pass through. He found himself confronting a heavyset man with thinning black hair and a goatee that was too neatly trimmed, that looked more like paint or makeup than hair.

"Mr. Cowin?" said the man, rising and extending his hand.

"That's right," said Cole, taking and shaking it.

"And I am Hector Taniguchi."

"I'm pleased to meet you."

"Our computer says that we have never had any dealings with you before, Mr. Cowin. You claim to be a sales representative, though you did not identify your company. I am wondering why you feel you have to speak to me personally, rather than our purchasing director."

"I think what I'm selling may be a little out of his bailiwick," said Cole.

"Oh?" said Taniguchi, trying unsuccessfully to hide his interest.

"Yes. But first I wonder if you have a Neverlie Machine on the premises?"

Taniguchi frowned. "Most major companies have one. It's not as sophisticated as the ones the police have, of course, but it's functional."

"Good. Before we begin, I'd like you to ask me two questions while the machine is monitoring my answers. Once you're convinced that I'm telling the truth, we can proceed with our business."

"You make this sound quite intriguing, Mr. Cowin," said Taniguchi. "Have we any business to transact?"

"Oh, yes," Cole assured him. "We very definitely have business to transact."

Taniguchi summoned a subordinate and had Cole hooked up to the machine two minutes later.

"What now, Mr. Cowin?"

Cole took a small cube out of his pocket and handed it to Taniguchi. "Have your man leave us alone. Then put this in your computer. It contains two questions. I will answer only those and no others while I'm tied to the machine. If you ask me any other while the machine is monitoring me, I will walk out of this office and you will never see me again."

"Will that be such a terrible thing?" asked Taniguchi.

"Lose your assistant, ask the questions, and then you can decide."

Taniguchi nodded to his subordinate, who silently left the room. Then he inserted the cube and read the questions, frowning as he did so.

"Mr. Cowin," said Tanaguchi, "have you ever been to Blantyre IV?"

"No, I have not," said Cole.

"Did you steal four hundred and sixteen uncut diamonds from Blantyre IV, or kill anyone who worked for the mining company there?"

"No, I did not," said Cole. He paused. "What does the machine say?"

"That you're telling the truth."

"Okay. Unhook me."

"I'd like to know if—"

"If you finish that question while I'm still tied to the machine, I'm leaving," said Cole. I hope that sounds convincing. You're probably the only guy alive who'll pay me more than five percent. I'd never walk out, but hope fully you won't figure that out too soon.

Taniguchi disconnected Cole from the machine and deactivated it. "All right, Mr. Cowin—so you didn't kill any miners or steal any diamonds. There are doubtless trillions of men who can make that same statement."

Cole pulled another cube out of his pocket. "But they don't have your four hundred diamonds, and I do. Put that in your computer, and have any expert in this complex examine it."

Taniguchi called in another man, handed him the cube, and said, "Find out where these are from."

The man left with the cube, and Taniguchi sat down again, facing Cole.

"How did you come by them?" he asked.

"I'm a treasure hunter," said Cole. "My profession is retrieving lost articles."

"These weren't lost," replied Taniguchi. "They were stolen, and a number of men were murdered in the process."

"That's not my concern," answered Cole. "You know I didn't steal them or kill your miners." You at least know I didn't steal them on Blantyre; let's hope you don't notice the subtle difference.

"Where are they now?"

"In a safe place."

The door irised and the man with the cube stepped through.

"Well?" asked Taniguchi.

"Definitely from Blantyre IV," said the man.

"Is there any possibility that you could be mistaken?"

The man shook his head. "The computer says no other diamond has that exact color at the center of it."

"Thank you," said Taniguchi, dismissing him. "Well, Mr. Cowin," he said when he and Cole were alone, "what is your proposition?"

"My information is that everything on Blantyre IV, or everything shipped from Blantyre IV, is insured for ninety percent of market value. Now, I think market value on these diamonds—there are six missing; all the rest are there—should be about thirteen million credits, but I'm willing to be shown that I'm wrong." Suddenly he smiled. "I may even have undervalued them."

"That's more than double what they're worth," said Taniguchi.

"If you're going to lie that blatantly, I'll just put my own value on them and stick with it," said Cole.

"If you think I'm going to pay you thirteen million credits . . ." began Taniguchi heatedly.

"Of course not. I'm a businessman, not a thief. I just want a finder's fee."

"All right. Name a price."

"I'm going to ask you one more time before I do," said Cole. "How much are these things worth on the open market?"

"We would have to examine each stone separately to determine its value."

"Since you've yet to see a stone, how do you know the amount you have to pay on the insurance claim?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss our methods with you, sir," said Taniguchi.

"Fine," said Cole. "Then I will arbitrarily declare their value to be twelve million credits. They're insured for ninety percent. Even if you hedge and finagle and talk them down to ten million market value, you're still going to be out nine million credits. Do you agree?"

Taniguchi merely glared at him.

"Well, you don't disagree, so clearly we're making progress. Mr. Taniguchi, I am prepared to save the Pilargo Company six million credits. If you will pay me three million in cash, I will turn over the diamonds to you before I leave the planet, which I will do this afternoon with or without reaching an agreement with you."

"Three million?" snapped Taniguchi. "That's outrageous!"

"No, sir," said Cole. "That's business."

"We won't pay it."

"That's your privilege," said Cole, getting up and walking slowly toward the door.

"Wait!" said Taniguchi.

Cole turned and stared at him.

"Two million," said Taniguchi.

Cole resisted an urge to smile. You blinked. Now it's all over but the shouting.

"This isn't a negotiation," answered Cole. "I asked you to give me a value before, and you refused. Now my price is three million. You can pay it and save your company six million credits, or you can refuse to pay it, in which case I will walk out of your office right now, and yon will never see me again. You will have to pay nine million credits, and probably more, to settle the claim, and your head office will be informed that you were given the opportunity to pay a finder's fee for the diamonds and refused."

Taniguchi was silent for a long moment, then spoke: "Three million, you say?"

"That's right. In cash."

"It will take half an hour to get it."

"That's fine. In the meantime, I'll want a written and holographed pledge from the Pilargo Company not to harass or prosecute me for any reason whatsoever."

"You never mentioned that."

"I'm mentioning it now," said Cole. "Look, you know I didn't rob the mine or kill the miners. If the police hook me up to another Neverlie Machine, it'll say the same thing. Do you really want to look like a fool for the home office?"

Taniguchi considered what Cole said, and finally nodded his assent. "I agree to your conditions. Now where are the diamonds?"

"I'll give them to you when I get my hands on the money."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Why should I lie? I assume that you'll have weapons trained on me from the second I get the money until the second you get your diamonds. I'm mercenary and avaracious, not suicidal."

"Wait in the reception area," said Taniguchi. "I'll let you know when the money arrives."

"Fine," said Cole, walking the rest of the way to the door, which sensed his approach and let him pass through.

Taniguchi delivered the money some twenty-four minutes later, and Cole led a procession of executives and armed security guards to the spaceport. He allowed Taniguchi and one security man aboard the ship after making sure their weapons had been removed, had Morales turn over the diamonds, and took off before anyone from Pilargo could contact the spaceport authorities and detain them.

"By God, this is going to be easy!" said Cole as they hit light speeds.

"I was worried, sir," said Morales. "I know it sounded good when you talked about it, but you were still walking in cold and demanding millions of credits."

"They didn't have any choice."

"You sure don't run the pirate business the way Captain Windsail did, sir," said Morales. "I'm glad I joined the Teddy R."

"Your Captain Windsail never understood that the reward has to be commensurate with the effort," said Cole. "He'd risk his crew's lives, he'd risk his ship, and then his profit margin barely paid for his fuel and his ammunition. Dumb way to run any business—especially the pirate business."

"I know," said Morales. "But when I was alone in the ship waiting for you, I kept worrying that something had gone wrong."

"If you plan it properly, not much can go wrong," answered Cole confidently.

He was right in principle, but he was about to find out just how wrong he could be in practice.

"Three million!" exclaimed Sharon Blacksmith as she, Cole, and Forrice stood together in the science lab. "I've never seen as much as ten thousand in a single lump before!" She ran her hands over the neat stacks of thousand-credit notes. "Isn't it beautiful!"

"And you had no trouble at all?" put in Forrice.

"No more than expected," said Cole. "He screamed, he threatened, he held his breath until he turned blue—and then he gave in and saved his company six million credits. Probably more. I like my original estimate of thirteen million better than ten."

"Why didn't you stick to it, then?" asked Forrice.

"Get me an ID that can stand up to close scrutiny and I will," said Cole. "My guess is that by now the Navy knows I was on New Madrid."

"What we really need is a mole who can get into the Master Computer on Deluros VIII," said Sharon. "Someone who can put someone else's prints and retinagram together with your name, and yours with some other identity."

"Why don't you wish for a million credits while you're at it?" said Cole.

"Why bother?" she replied with a smile. "You've already given me three million."

"Believe it or not, that's not all for you," said Cole. "We've got a ship to run and a crew to pay."

"No one's bitching," said Sharon. "Yet."

"We don't have anything to spend it on anyway," added Forrice. "We're going to need shore leave pretty soon."

"Talk to Morales and find out what shores are hospitable to us," replied Cole. "We're going to need to refresh the nuclear pile one of these days. We might as well do it on a friendly world."

"I'll go talk to him now," said the Molarian.

"Talk to him whenever you want, but we're dumping the jewelry first," said Cole.

"Three million credits isn't enough?" demanded Forrice. "We have to have more before we can drink stimulants and hunt up lady Molarians in season?"

"With the money we get for the jewelry I want to buy a small ship," replied Cole. "The closest we came to real trouble was renting the one I used. They're going to scrutinize us a lot more closely when we're renting a ship that's worth hundreds of thousands than when I show up on a planet with nothing in my hands."

"You know, I just hate it when you make sense," muttered the Molarian.

"While I'm thinking about it," continued Cole, "has Christine found out who insured the jewelry yet?"

"I haven't asked her," said Sharon.

"Nor have I," said Forrice. "It didn't seem vital when you were hundreds of light-years away dumping the diamonds."

"Well, find out for me while I go grab some lunch," said Cole. "Have we got any further business here?"

"None," said Forrice, heading for the airlift.

"That's a beautiful pile of money," said Sharon admiringly. "I hate to leave it."

"As the Chief of Security, you're in charge of it," noted Cole. "I expect it to remain intact."

"You're not even going to pay me for sexual services rendered?"

"What the hell—fair is fair," said Cole. "Take ten credits and don't bother me again."

"Wait'll the next time you're taking a shower and Security informs your room that it's now being occupied by a methane breather."

"Okay, fifteen."

She laughed and began locking the money away. Then Christine Mboya's image appeared in front of him.

"I've found the insurer, sir," she reported. "It's a division of the Amalgamated Trust Company."

"Where is it located?"

"Phalaris II, sir."

"Never heard of it."

"It's headquartered in the Albion Cluster, sir."

"Hell, that's a third of the galaxy from here," he complained. "If they're an arm of Amalgamated, they should be all the hell over the Republic, maybe even on the Inner Frontier. See if you can hunt up something closer."

"Working . . ." said Christine, obviously studying her computer. "There's a very small office on Binder X, but as far as I can tell they just sell, they don't handle claims. I think your best bet is the branch on McAllister IV, sir."

"A Republic world?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Figures," he said. "How far away is it?"

"From our current position?" said Christine. "About three hundred and ten light-years."

"All right," said Cole. "That's where we'll sell them back their jewelry. Find me a populated Frontier world where we can rent a ship."

"Will you be sending Mr. Morales again, sir?"

"No. Even if he had a new ID, they've got his prints and holograph on record. If he walks in, it'll set off every alarm on the planet. Let me think about that while you're hunting up an appropriate world."

He broke the connection.

"You know," said Sharon, who had finished securing the cash, "as long as the money for the jewelry is earmarked for a ship, why not buy it now out of these funds and pay yourself back when you unload the jewelry? It might cause a lot less problems than renting another ship."

"That's not a bad idea," Cole admitted. "I knew there was some reason I let you stick around after you put your clothes on."

"Then let me give you another one," she said. "If you can bear to part with about a hundred thousand credits, I can probably pick up whatever we need to give everyone passports and identities that'll pass muster even in the Republic."

"Since when does printing and coding equipment cost that much?"

"It doesn't. I can get the equipment for well under fifty thousand credits."

"What's the rest for?"

"The forger."

"Can't you do it yourself?"

"I'm good, but I'm not that good. If we want to beat the Republic's security, we need a real pro."

"Are you on good terms with many expert forgers, Colonel?" he asked sardonically.

"No," answered Sharon. "But when word gets out that I'm willing to spend that kind of money on one, I'll have to fight them off with a stick."

"How long do you think it'll take?"

"To find someone who can forge ID disks and passports?" she replied. "They're on every populated world on the Frontier. The trick is to find a good one."

"I mean, how long will it take him to do the job?"

"There are forgers who can give you an ID that'll pass every test my Security department can devise, and they can produce it in three hours or less. We're carrying a complement of about thirty. We'll have to get one for Morales, now that he's blown the one he used to rent that ship, but on the other hand Wxakgini might spend the next ten years in his little plastic cocoon, tied in to the navigational computer, so he certainly doesn't need one." She paused, as if counting up the hours. "I'd say a dozen Standard days should do it."

"I'm not going to hang around some planet for twelve days while we get new IDs made for the whole crew," said Cole. "We'll give him half the money up front, I'll wait long enough to get an ID for myself and maybe a couple of others, and then we'll come back with the rest of the money after he's had time to do the job."

"I don't imagine that any forger will object to that," said Sharon. "After all, he'll have the retinagrams, voiceprints, fingerprints, and holos of everyone he's making them for."

"But if he's on the Inner Frontier, who's he going to turn them in to?" said Cole with a smile.

"Bounty hunters," she replied seriously. "They're just about the only law the Frontier's got. Some of them are really good at their jobs."

"How do you know all this stuff?"

"When I'm dressed, I'm the Chief of Security, remember?"

"Okay," he said. "I'll leave it to you and Christine to choose a planet. Once I get my new ID, I'll buy a ship and go transact our business on McAllister while the rest of the IDs are being made."

"Sounds reasonable," said Sharon.

"Fine. Then I'm finally off to grab some lunch," he said, walking lo the door of the lab. "I'll catch up with you later."

"Now that you're worth three million credits, bring money."

Cole bought a ship on Hermes II, and stuck around long enough to get a better ID. The Teddy R remained in orbit while Sharon arranged for IDs for the rest of the crew, and Cole took off in the new ship, alone this time, for McAllister IV.

Once there he landed at the planet's only spaceport, cleared Customs, and went to an information kiosk, where he was given instructions for getting to the Amalgamated Trust Company.

It was a large building for a thinly populated planet. Then he remembered that insurance was just a small piece of the action that Amalgamated Trust had carved out for itself, and that McAllister was probably the banking center for a dozen nearby agricultural planets and twice that many mining worlds.

He entered the building and looked around. Clearly the main floor was strictly a bank. Most of the tellers were human, but there were a few Lodinites, Atrians, and even a Mollute. As one neared the Inner frontier and got farther from Deluros VIII and the other major worlds of the Republic, the credit was in much less demand. There was a very busy exchange booth that flashed an ever-changing rate, to four decimal places, for the credit, the Maria Theresa dollar, the Far London pound, the New Stalin ruble, and half a dozen other currencies that were likely to show up at this end of the Republic.

Finally Cole walked up to a human guard.

"Excuse me," he said. "I'm looking for the insurance company."

"There are three of them in this building," answered the guard. "Do you know which one you want?"

"Amalgamated."

The guard nodded. "Yeah, that's the biggest of them. They've got the whole fifth floor. Take the airlift that's off to your left, not the one across the lobby."

"Thanks," said Cole.

"When you get there," continued the guard, "if you don't know the name of the person you want to see, at least tell the receptionist whether you're here to buy some insurance or make a claim."

Cole thanked him again, and headed off before the guard could offer any more self-evident advice. He ascended to the fifth floor, stepped out onto a glistening resilient floor, and walked directly to the well-marked reception area.

"Good morning and welcome to the Amalgamated Trust Insurance Company," said a furry Lodinite, speaking into a T-pack and waiting for the translation to come out in a dull monotone. "How may I help you?"

"Who's in charge of your claims division?" asked Cole.

"If you have a claim to file, I can give you the proper form to fill out," said the receptionist. "What type of property was insured?"

"I don't want a form," said Cole. "I just want to know who the head man is."

"Head man?" repeated the Lodinite, offering its equivalent of a frown. "All men have heads. All men within my experience, anyway."

"Who is in charge of the claims division?" Cole asked again with growing irritation.

"I must not have made myself clear," said the Lodinite. "First you must fill out a claim form. Then I will send you to see the next available agent."

"If you don't direct me to the man in charge, I will go to one of the other insurance companies in the building," said Cole. "But first I'll need your employee number and the exact spelling of your name for the letter of complaint I intend to write, so Amalgamated will know who to blame for losing all of my corporation's business."

The Lodinite stared at him silently. If it was nervous or frightened or angry, Cole was unable to tell from its expression. Finally it spoke: "I will tell Mr. Austen that you are here to see him."

"Thank you."

"But I will not tell you my name or how to spell it," it added. Cole imagined that the pre-translated tone was petulant.

"That is no longer necessary."

"I must see your identification," said the Lodinite.

"No."

"But—"

"You don't have to see it," said Cole. "I've already passed through security at the spaceport and again when I entered the bank on the main floor, so you know it's valid. All you need is my name, which is Luis Delveccio."

Another long silent stare. Finally the Lodinite spoke softly into a communicator, then looked back at Cole. "Mr. Austen will see you now."

"Thank you."

"He is a very busy man," added the Lodinite. "This had better be important."

"It's important to me, and the customer is always right," replied Cole. "Where is his office?"

"I will take you there," said the Lodinite, getting to its feet and waddling off without another word.

Cole followed it down a corridor, where it turned right and went all the way to the next corner, stopping at a large office. It ordered the door to vanish, announced that Mr. Delveccio was here, waited for Cole to enter, then stepped back into the corridor and ordered the door to reappear.

Austen was a young man, dressed and groomed to perfection, but looking just a bit haggard, as if he'd dealt with either too many serious claims or too much office politics. He stood up, walked around his polished desk, shook Cole's hand, and asked him to take a seat as he returned to his own chair.

"It's very rare that I meet personally with one of our clients, Mr. Delveccio," said Austen. "But you clearly have convinced our receptionist that no one else here can handle your particular problem. May I inquire as to its nature?"

"Let me begin by saying that I'm not a client," said Cole.

Austen frowned. "Then you want to speak to someone in Sales, not Claims."

"Why don't you hear me out?" suggested Cole. "I assure you I'm speaking to the man I need to speak to."

"All right, Mr. Delveccio," said Austen, staring at him curiously. "How can I help you?"

"You can't," said Cole. "But I think I can help you."

Austen arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"My profession can loosely be defined as treasure hunter," said Cole. "I recently came into possession of some items your company has insured—very valuable items. I'll be happy to show you a number of holos so you can positively identify them."

"For which you want . . . ?"

"We'll negotiate later. First I want you to have someone bring a Neverlie Machine here."

"That won't be necessary," said Austen.

"I think it will."

"Mr. Delveccio, I meet so-called fortune hunters every week. You're going to swear that you didn't steal the items in question, and for whatever reason the Neverlie Machine will confirm your testimony, quite possibly because of the way you word the question. We can save some time if I stipulate up front that I am prepared to accept your word."

"Are you also willing to sign a statement that Amalgamated will not pursue any legal action against me or cooperate in any police prosecution involving these items?" asked Cole.

"If we agree to terms, I will sign such a statement," said Austen. "Now, Mr. Delveccio, what have you got?"

Cole pulled a cube out of his pocket and laid it on the desk. Austen picked it up and inserted it in a computer that was hidden in one of his desk drawers, and an instant later the surface of the desk was covered by holographic images of the tiara and the other jewelry.

"Do you recognize it?" asked Cole.

Austen nodded his head. "They belong to Frederica Orloff, the widow of the Governor of Anderson II. Magnificent, aren't they?"

"I'd say they're worth six million credits, easy," suggested Cole.

"No," said Austen. "They are worth seven million four hundred thousand credits."

"Whatever you say."

"I say that, Mr. Delveccio, because that is the amount we paid on the Orloff claim," replied Austen. "You are in possession of stolen jewelry. They are worth nothing to Amalgamated, as we've already paid off the claim."

"Then I guess I'll take my leave of you and sell them elsewhere," said Cole, suddenly wary.

"You're not going anywhere," said Austen. "I don't know how you came by the jewelry, whether you stole it from Mrs. Orloff yourself or whether you stole it from the man who did, but you're a thief, and it's my duty to detain you until the police arrive." He smiled. "Of course, if you were to turn over the jewelry to me, I might be so blinded by its magnificence that I couldn't see you escape . . ."

"And then, without telling Amalgamated that this meeting ever took place, you'd get a partner to sell it to Mrs. Orloff for maybe half of what you already paid her?" suggested Cole. "Now that I know who it belonged to, I can do that myself."

"Only if you can leave the building," noted Austen, "and I can hit the alarm on my computer before you can reach me."

He's probably not bluffing—so my first order of business is to get out of the building in one piece. If the police detain me for even an hour, they're going to find out who I really am.

"All right," said Cole. "You seem to have the advantage. Let's deal."

"There's no dealing involved," said Austen. "Your take me to the jewelry—I assume you're bright enough not to have it on your person—and I let you leave McAllister without turning you over to the police."

"I deserve a little something for getting the jewelry and bringing it to you," persisted Cole. You'll never agree, but it might scare you off if I don't behave in a normal manner, and a thief—even one who was just caught in the act—would normally ask for a piece of the action after having gone to all the trouble of obtaining the jewelry.

"We'll discuss it—after I get my hands on the stuff."

Cole paused an appropriate length of time, as if considering, then shrugged. "All right. I guess I'm going to have to trust you."

"A wise decision," said Austen, opening a drawer and pulling out a small burner. He got to his feet and gestured toward the door. "Shall we go?"

Cole got up and walked to the door.

"Remember," said Austen, pressing the burner into Cole's back. "No sudden movements."

Cole walked back to the reception area, then stepped into the airlift. Austen followed him.

"Keep your back to me."

Cole stood facing the wall of the airlift until they reached ground level, then walked out into the bank lobby and headed for the exit.

"Stop," said Austen. He spoke softly into a communicator. "I've ordered my aircar. It will be here in a minute and can take us to the spaceport-—unless you've hidden the goods between here and there?"

"Get the car," said Cole.

"I keep getting the feeling that I've seen you before," remarked Austen as they walked outside and stood waiting for the aircar.

"This is my first time on McAllister."

"I know. I've only been here three months myself. But you seem very familiar."

The aircar pulled up and hovered a few inches about the ground. Cole got in first, and after they were both seated Austen ordered it to head to the spaceport.

"Is it here?" he asked. "On the planet, I mean?"

If I say yes, you'll kill me right now, because you'll know the only place it can be is on my ship.

"No," answered Cole.

"Where then?"

"Elsewhere."

"You know I'll kill you if I decide you're lying to me," said Austen.

"And you know you'll never see the jewelry if you kill me," replied Cole. "Just relax and you'll see it soon enough."

"Then it's somewhere in the solar system?"

"No comment."

"I'll take that as an affirmative," said Austen.

"Take it any way you want," said Cole. "But remember that there are fourteen planets and fifty-six moons in the system. You'll never find it without me."

They rode in silence for the next few minutes, and then the aircar came to a halt.

"We have reached the spaceport," announced the aircar.

"Take us to the area reserved for private ships," said Cole. "Aisle 17, Slot 32."

"I am not programmed to respond to your voice, sir," said the robot.

"Aisle 17, Slot 32," said Austen, and the vehicle immediately began approaching the location. "You're sure we've never met before?" he said, staring intently at Cole.

"Never." He looked out a window. "We're here."

"Return to my reserved space beneath the Amalgamated building when we exit, and once there go to standby mode."

"Yes, sir," replied the aircar.

They climbed out and approached Cole's ship.

"No sudden moves," warned Austen.

"Sudden moves aren't my style," replied Cole. He stood before the hatch and uttered a seven-digit number.

Nothing happened.

Frowning, he uttered the number again.

Still nothing.

"I just bought the damned thing," he said apologetically, "and I guess I haven't memorized the codes yet." He began reaching his hand into a side pocket.

"Hold it!" snapped Austen sharply. "What are you doing?"

"Getting the code log," answered Cole. "Unless you want to stand here all day."

"You stand still," said Austen. "I'll get it."

"I'm not armed."

"Maybe not with a burner or a screecher, but how the hell do I know what you have in that pocket? It could be a knife, it could be anything."

Austen reached a hand into Cole's pocket—and as he did so, Cole spun around and knocked the burner from his hand. It went flying through the air, landing on the concrete some twenty feet away and skidding for another ten feet.

Austen cursed and took a swing at Cole, who blocked it with a forearm and lashed out with a foot, catching Austen on the knee. There was a crunching sound and the young man collapsed, writhing in pain.

Cole walked over to where the burner lay and picked it up, then returned to Austen.

"This is your lucky day, Mr. Austen."

"Fuck you!" muttered Austen.

"Oh, you probably feel that you've lost a fortune, and maybe you have, but I'm letting you live, and that ought to be even more to you than filthy lucre."

"You wouldn't dare kill me!" snarled Austen. "There are security cameras all the hell around the spaceport. Within an hour every world in the Republic would be on the alert for you!"

"I thought the Republic had more important things to do," commented Cole dryly.

Suddenly Austen's eyes went wide at the mention of the Republic. "Now I know where I've seen you! Your holo's been on every newscast in i he galaxy! You bet your ass the Republic has more important things to do than chasing down a jewel thief or a killer! They've got to hunt down Wilson Cole and kill him for the goddamned turncoat he is!"

"Brave words for an unarmed man with a shattered knee," commented Cole.

"Fuck you, traitor! Shoot and get it over with!"

"Don't tempt me," said Cole. He pointed the burner at a spot between Austen's eyes, and the younger man immediately fell silent. "You know," continued Cole, "I spent more than a decade as an officer in the Republic's Navy. I won four Medals of Courage. I can't tell you how many times I put my life on the line. It's when I realize I did all that for people like you that I feel like the biggest sucker ever born."

"So now you fight for the Teroni Federation!" accused Austen.

"I have no more use for them than I have for the Republic," answered Cole. "Now I fight for me."

"That just makes you a common criminal."

"No," said Cole. Suddenly he smiled. "I prefer to think of myself as an uncommon one. I'm so uncommon that I'm not even going to shoot you down in cold blood. You're going to walk with a limp for the rest of your life, and your superiors will be informed of what you planned to do behind their backs. I think that's punishment enough."

He ordered the hatch to open.

"I'll tell the Navy, and they'll come after you!" vowed Austen. "They'll never rest until you're dead!"

"There's a war going on," said Cole just before he closed the hatch behind him. "They've got better things to do than chase after one man."

He said it with bravado, and it sounded logical—but deep down in his gut, he knew it wasn't true.

Cole knew he had to get rid of his ship before rejoining the Teddy R. There were no signs of pursuit, but the registration was a matter of record, and he was sure Austen would have reported his presence to the authorities even before he was carted off to the hospital.

He set the ship's scrambler on a prearranged code and then made contact with the Teddy R.

"Where are you, sir?" asked Rachel Marcos, who was running the communications system when the connection was made.

"I'd prefer not to say, just to be on the safe side."

Rachel frowned. "Are you all right, sir?"

"So far so good. But I've got to dump this ship and either find another one or contact you later and tell you where to pick me up."

"If you're in danger—" she began.

"I'm not in any immediate danger," said Cole. "Capture my transmission and pass it on to Four Eyes, Christine, and Sharon."

"Yes, sir. How long before we hear from you again?"

"I don't know. Probably no more than a day or two. I want to go deeper into the Frontier to make sure I'm not being followed. Then I'll see about replacing this ship."

"At least you have the money from the jewelry to pay for it," said Rachel.

"We'll talk about that when I rejoin the Teddy R. I'm going to break off the communication now. If this transmission's being monitored, I don't want anyone to trace it to your end, and Christine tells me that it lakes about two minutes. I've been in contact for ninety seconds."

He broke the connection, then had his navigational computer throw up a three-dimensional map of the sector in which he found himself. There were ninety-three inhabited worlds within five hundred light-years, fifty-one of them human colonies, agricultural and mining worlds, and various outposts. He recognized only a few names—Ophir, a gold-mining world; Bluegrass, an agricultural world specializing in enormous mutated cattle; and Alpha Jameson II, known more commonly as Bombast, valued for its uranium deposits and famed for its erratic and frequent volcanic eruptions. Finally he hit upon Basilisk, a small world that seemed to have only a single tradertown, one of those ramshackle ports that appealed to independent miners, adventurers, and misfits. Most tradertowns boasted a few hotels (though in bygone days bed-and-breakfasts would better describe them), survey and assay offices, whorehouses that were rarely populated exclusively by females or even humans, a few bars, a few drug dens, and a casino or two. Cole never understood the attraction of the tradertowns, but then he never understood what would make a man want to farm or mine a desolate world a trillion miles from the comforts of civilization. He was an officer in the Republic's Navy by choice, and a pirate on the Inner Frontier merely by happenstance.

He saw no reason to remain awake during the voyage, so he directed the computer to take him to Basilisk, and to wake him when the ship entered orbit around the planet or received a transmission from Basilisk's spaceport.

"One more thing," he said as he leaned back and his command chair morphed into a small bed. "There's a chance that we're being followed. If we are, they're being damned clever about it. No one's going to be directly on our tail, but keep an eye out and let me know if you spot anything funny."

"I have no eye, and therefore cannot keep one out," answered the computer. "And I have no sense of humor, so I cannot possibly identify anything funny."

"That being the case," said Cole, "just let me know if we're being followed."

He leaned back, clasped his fingers behind his head, and was asleep within a matter of seconds.

"Sir," said the computer's mechanical voice.

"What is it?" asked Cole. "Am I supposed to sign off before I take my nap?"

"We are entering orbit around Basilisk," announced the ship.

"You're kidding!"

"I am incapable of any form of humor," the computer explained.

"It feels like I just closed my eyes a second ago," said Cole. "How long was I asleep?"

"Five hours, seventeen minutes, and four seconds, sir, based on your pulse, heartbeat, blood pressure, and respiration."

"Has anyone from the planet asked for your registration, my ID, our flight plan, anything?"

"No, sir."

"They've got to know we're here." Suddenly a satisfied smile crossed Cole's face. "That means I chose the right world. It's so small we're not going to need permission to land, and they won't ask for your registration or my passport. There'll be no Customs, no Immigration, no temporary visas, nothing." He paused. "Okay, from the information that was programmed into you, there seems to be just one tradertown. Find out where all the ships and shuttles are clustered and land there."

The ship entered the atmosphere and touched down a few minutes later. Cole climbed out, ordered the hatch to close and lock, and walked just under a mile to the largest of the three bars. There were a number of tables spread across the front half of the room; toward the back were the various gambling games. Men mingled with aliens, some dressed in brilliant finery, others wearing outfits that looked like they hadn't been washed in years. The newly rich and the newly poor rubbed shoulders at the tables and at the long polished bar.

Cole surveyed his surroundings, then walked over to the bar, shouldering his way through the crowd clustered there. A robot, all head, arms, torso, and wheels, slid down the length of it until it stopped opposite him.

"What can I serve you?" it asked.

"A beer."

"What brand, sir?"

"What have you got?"

"We have fifty-three brands from forty-two different planets, sir."

"You choose one."

"I am not programmed to make value judgments, sir. I can produce a list of our beer brands if you wish."

"Forget it. Give me whatever's on tap."

"We have fourteen brands on tap."

"He'll take a Blue Star," said a feminine voice off to his left. "And he'll buy me one, too."

"Sir ..." began the robot.

"Do what the lady says," ordered Cole.

He turned to see who he was buying the beer for, and almost had to physically stop himself from doing a double take. Standing there— and he was sure she hadn't been there when he walked in a minute or two ago—was a woman with flaming red hair, proportioned like a model but standing an inch or two above six and a half feet. She wore an outfit of glistening metallic fabric that clung to her body, and a pair of thigh-high boots with the handle of a weapon peeking out of the top of each. She wore long gloves, and Cole could see the outlines of daggers through each one. He couldn't decide at first glance if she was a prostitute or an assassin, or maybe just a refugee from a masquerade; she seemed dressed for any of them.

"Thanks," said the woman as the robot delivered her beer.

"Happy to oblige," said Cole, taking a swallow from his glass.

"Blue Star's good drinking stuff," she said. "I know the guy who makes it. Well, I knew him," she amended. "But his family's carrying on and doing okay with it."

Cole picked up his glass. "It's getting a little noisy here. Care to join me at a table?"

"Sure," she said, following him to a small table about halfway between the entrance and the bar.

"Have you got a name?" he asked when they were seated.

"Lots of 'em," she replied. "This week it's Dominick."

"Dominick?" he repeated. "I never met a woman named Dominick before."

"You probably never will again," she replied. "He was my seventh lover. Or was it my eighth? No, seventh. So this week I'm memorializing his name. Fourth time around for it. Once or twice more and I'll know that I'll never forget him."

"So you really want me to call you Dominick?"

"This week, anyway," she said. "Last week I was the Queen of Sheba. And what do I call you?"

"Delveccio."

She shook her head. "No, that's no good."

"I beg your pardon?"

"That name's blown. Choose another one, Wilson Cole." She stared at him. "And keep your hands off your weapons. If I wanted to expose you, I could have done it at the bar when everyone could hear me."

"What makes you think I'm this Cole person?" he asked.

"Because you went and busted up some guy on McAllister, and he went public with who you are. Your holo is on every newscast in the Republic, on both Frontiers, and in the Arm." She smiled. "The Navy thinks you've been a naughty boy."

Cole looked around the bar. No one seemed to be paying him any attention.

"Don't worry, Commander Cole," said Dominick. "You're safe for the time being."

"Captain Cole," he corrected her. "And what makes you think I'm safe? If you could spot me, so can someone else."

"At least two others have," she replied. "Maybe three. But you're not in any immediate danger."

"Why not?" he asked.

"Because you're with me."

"You're that formidable?"

"I suppose you could ask the men who didn't think so, but they're mostly dead, or recovering in hospitals."

He stared at her. "I can believe it. You remind me of a Valkyrie."

"What's a Valkyrie?" she asked.

He told her.

"That's my new name," she announced happily. "Call me Val for short."

"It's none of my business, but why do you change names so often?"

"My real name drew a little more attention that I could handle, especially the last few years," replied Val. "Besides, I'm on a mission, and it's better that the people I'm after don't know where I am."

"It's not a mission for the Republic," noted Cole. "Not if you aren't interested in turning me in."

"It's for the Pegasus."

"The Pegasus?"

"My ship!" she said, her face a sudden mask of fury. "I was the greatest pirate on the Frontier until I lost it!"

"Well, I'll be damned!" said Cole with a smile.

"What's so funny?" she demanded.

"I used to read about pirate queens in adventure novels when I was a kid, and I'd see them in the holos, but I never thought I'd run into a real live one. Come to think of it, they all dressed like you."

"Yeah, well I'm a pirate queen without a ship," said Val. "When I get it back, someone besides me is going to rue the day they took it away from me."

"How did it happen?"

"We were attacked by the Hammerhead Shark."

"I beg your pardon?"

"He's an alien," she explained. "He's got scaly skin, and eyes sticking out to the sides like the hammerheads of old Earth's oceans."

"He's a pirate too?"

She nodded. "The worst. I fought like a woman possessed. I must have killed twenty of the bastards, but finally their numbers overwhelmed me. They set me down on Nirvain II and flew off with my ship."

"And your crew?"

"Those that survived had to swear fealty to the Shark," she said bitterly.

"Fascinating story," said Cole. He paused. "It'd make a great holo—but you wouldn't think much of me if I believed it. Why don't you tell me what really happened?"

"I was sleeping off a drunk right here on Basilisk and my fucking crew sold me out!" she bellowed.

"That one I believe."

"I'll kill every last one of the bastards when I catch up with them!"

"I believe that too."

"How about you?" she asked, calming down almost instantly. "What's the most wanted man in the galaxy doing on a grubby little world like this?"

"Making sure I haven't been followed before I rejoin my ship."

"Your ship?" she repeated. "You're not still in the Navy, are you? This hasn't all been some kind of ruse to get you close to the Teronis?"

"No, it's no ruse."

She smiled. "Then you're a pirate too. How else could you feed your crew and power your ship?"

"We're kind of apprentice pirates," he replied. "It's more complicated than it looks."

"I'll bet you were the ones who sacked the Achilles" she said suddenly. "I knew there was a new player in the game, but until twenty seconds ago I didn't know who."

"Yeah, that was us. Getting their treasure was a nice, simple military operation." He grimaced. "Unloading it has proven a little more difficult."

"That's because Windsail was a fool," said Val contemptuously. "If you're going to be a pirate, you'd better learn the trade. You go around murdering Republic miners and trying to make a profit selling hot jewelry and you're begging for trouble."

"So I'm finding out—about the jewelry, anyway," said Cole. "What does the competent pirate steal these days?"

"Anything that you can sell directly on the Inner Frontier, without going through a middleman."

"For instance?"

"Grain shipments. Shipments of ball bearings and machine tools. Things that colony worlds need, things like frozen livestock embryos. When you think about it, who really needs a diamond necklace?"

"Makes sense," he admitted. I guess I watched too many pirate shows when I was a kid." A sudden smile. "I've been a victim of false doctrine."

"You should have just asked someone on your crew."

"Except for a teenaged kid who doesn't really know the score, my crew came with me from the Republic," answered Cole. "We haven't had time to recruit anyone out here. In fact, except for the crew of the Achilles, all of whom wanted to kill us, I haven't met any pirates." He paused and stared at her. "Until now."

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked suspiciously.

"I'm about to make you a proposition."

"Sexual or business?"

"Business."

"All right, I'm listening."

"You need a ship. I need an education. Why don't you join the crew of the Theodore Roosevelt until we find out where the Shark has taken your ship? Once we hunt it down, we'll help you get it back in exchange for half of any loot he's stolen since taking it over. Anything that was in the ship before that is yours."

"Some pirate!" she snorted. "How will you know I'm not lying to you? Maybe I'll claim some stuff that the Shark stole."

"How do you know I'll let you take a damned thing?" countered Cole.

Val studied him for a moment, then laughed. "Cole, only an honest man would make such a dumb statement to me and expect to live. You've got yourself a deal!" She reached out and shook his hand vigorously. "When do we leave for your ship?"

"In another day or two, just to make sure no one is following me," he said. "I had to leave McAllister in a hurry."

She laughed. "Well, you wanted to be a pirate."

"No," he answered seriously. "I didn't want to be a pirate. It was forced on me—but as long as that seems to be my fate, I might as well try to be a competent one."

"I think I'm going to enjoy serving with you," she said. "Let's drink to it."

"You know the stock, you do the ordering."

She leaned forward and spoke into the table's communication port. "Two Cygnian cognacs. From the Northern Hemisphere. No later than 1940 G.E. Got it?"

"Understood," replied the computer.

"Make it fast," she added. "We're thirsty."

"If you're thirsty, drink water," said Cole. "For what this stuff costs, sip it slowly."

She was about to reply when two men, one burly, one tall and lean, approached the table.

"Go away," said Val.

"We want to talk to your friend, Dominick."

"Beat it," she said. "We gave at the office. And my name's Val."

"How the hell can anyone keep up with your names?" complained the tall man. "We just want to have a little chat with Mr. Cole here."

"Go away," said Val. "You're not even bounty hunters. You're just scum that thinks you can get drinking money by blackmailing this man."

"We plan on getting a little more than just drinking money," replied the tall man.

"You've got the wrong man," said Cole. "I don't know anyone called Cole."

"Our price for agreeing with you just went up," said the burly man.

"And your life expectancy just went down!" snapped Val. Suddenly she stood up between them. What happened next was a display of strength and skill the likes of which Cole had never seen in all his years in the service. Within seconds both men were on the floor, bleeding profusely and moaning in pain. Three of their friends charged the Valkyrie, who handled them as if they were awkward children rather than large, hardened men. Two went down in the first half minute. Then she grabbed the third before he could retreat, lifted him above her head, spun around a few times, and tossed him through the air. He landed with a bone-crunching thud! on an empty table, which broke beneath him. He fell to the ground, and lay motionless.

Cole got up, stepped over the five unconscious men, and headed to the door.

"Let's go," he said.

"Where?" asked Val.

"My ship."

"I thought you were waiting to make sure no one was following you."

"If I wait until those guys wake up, they won't have to follow me," said Cole. "They'll take one look and know exactly where I am."

"What about our drinks?" demanded Val.

"I'll buy you one on the next world we come to. Let's just get the hell out of here!"

"I can make sure they never get up," said Val. "No one will miss them."

"Save it for the Shark," said Cole. "We don't need twenty of their friends coming after us."

"They don't have any friends."

"Are you coming or not?" demanded Cole.

She shrugged. "What the hell. They're your problem anyway, not mine."

They walked the mile to Cole's ship, and he found that he had to work hard to keep up with her long strides. Once they'd taken off, he contacted the Teddy R to ascertain its position.

It was red shift and Forrice was in command. The Molarian looked at the image before him and said, "Who's that with you? A new girlfriend?"

"Four Eyes, say hello to the new Third Officer of the Teddy R."

Cole sat in his cramped office aboard the Teddy R, facing Forrice, Christine Mboya, and Sharon Blacksmith.

"You're the Captain," Forrice was saying. "You can promote or demote anyone as the mood takes you, but we've got a lot of people who've risked their lives for you, who can never go back to their families, and they're going to resent making an outsider our Third Officer."

"She knows more about piracy than the rest of the crew put together," said Cole. "And she saved my life."

"Maybe it's slipped your memory," said the Molarian, "but there isn't a person aboard this ship who hasn't saved your life—or do you think you just walked out of the brig on Timos III on your own?"

"I know how I got out," said Cole. He paused and stared at Forrice. "Do you remember a month ago I told you that Slick was the most valuable member of the Teddy R because his symbiote enables him to function without air or physical protection in the cold of space, and on chlorine and methane worlds, for hours at a time?"

"Yes."

"Well, he's now the second-most-valuable member. This woman knows every friendly planet, every rival pirate, every place to unload the kind of cargo we're going to be stealing. She's a walking encyclopedia of piracy—and if that's not enough, she's commanded her own ship."

"And lost it," noted Sharon.

"I didn't say she was perfect," replied Cole. "I said she was valuable. She's got another virtue, too."

"What is it?" asked the Molarian.

"She can beat the shit out of you and any five crew members you pick to fight on your side."

"Just a minute," interjected Christine. "Before we go into raptures about her, let me make sure I understand the situation. She's not with us permanently. She's just here until we hunt down her ship and take it away from this Hammerhead Shark and his crew."

"Which also happens to be her crew," added Sharon.

"That's right."

"And then she leaves us and goes back to her own ship?" continued Christine.

"After we split up the Shark's loot," said Cole.

"What's to stop her from screwing up all our instruments and then turning her weapons on us?"

"I trust her not to."

"I don't mind you putting your life in her hands," said Forrice. "But I object to you doing the same with mine and the rest of the crew's."

"I appreciate your objections," said Cole. "But I've explained my reasons. She's our Third Officer. I'll stay in charge of blue shift until we finish debriefing her, but then I'm going to turn it over to her."

"And what will you do?" asked Christine.

"What I always do, but this time I won't have to do it in a constricted time frame." He looked from one to another. "Just remember: Every time I've ever taken any action aboard the Teddy R it's worked out to our advantage."

"That's why we can never go back to the Republic," said Forrice sardonically.

"That was your action," said Cole. "I didn't escape from the brig. I was broken out."

"I still don't like it," said Forrice.

"Neither do I," Sharon chimed in.

"Your objections are noted," said Cole. "And if this ever becomes a democracy, they may even be acted upon. But until that happy day, I'm the Captain and what I say goes." He paused. "Does anyone dispute that?"

Silence.

"All right. If I can sense all the hostility, I'm sure Val can too. I want someone to try to bond with her, become her friend, put her at her ease."

"I thought that was you," said Sharon bitterly.

"I've got a ship to run. It can't be Forrice or Christine, because they'll be commanding different shifts."

"Don't you look at me that way, Wilson Cole!" snapped Sharon.

"Can't you give it a try?"

"Bond with her?" repeated Sharon. "Hell, when I stand next to her, I'm staring into her navel! How do you bond with a lady Goliath?"

"You're the one who's going to be debriefing her," said Cole. "You'll be in her company a lot for the next few days. Just try to be more pleasant to her than you're being to me right now." He paused. "She's not my lover, and she's not looking to run the Security Department. She's just the possessor of a lot of valuable knowledge, and if we have any luck tracking down the Shark she's not going to be here too long, so I want to make her comfortable and talkative while we have the opportunity."

"Didn't she talk to you on the trip from Basilisk to the ship?" asked Sharon.

"Nonstop," said Cole. "I have improved my knowledge of cognac a thousandfold."

"And I'm supposed to become friends with that?" demanded Sharon.

"Just make an honest effort."

She grimaced. "All right, all right, I'll try."

"I'll try too, when I'm not on duty," said Christine.

Cole looked at Forrice.

"I'm still mad at you for pulling rank," said the Molarian. "I thought you called this meeting to ask for our opinions."

Cole shook his head. "I called this meeting to tell you my decision, not to argue for it."

"Well, I think it's a mistake."

"You're free to think so," said Cole. "In here," he added, as his voice took on a sharper edge. "One step outside that door, all disagreements end."

"I know the routine," replied Forrice sullenly. "But since we're still on this side of the door, I just want to say that I've never seen you this damned arrogant before."

"That's because you've never challenged my judgment before," said Cole. "We went into this pirate business cold. None of us knew anything about it except all the stuff we'd assimilated from bad books and worse holos. We lucked out and figured out how to dispose of the diamonds, but if that sonofabitch on McAllister had been a little more competent, I'd be in a Navy brig right now, strictly because of ignorance. And now we've got a phenomenal source of information on board. She's been a successful pirate for more than a decade. She's never had a ship shot out from under her, never been arrested, always been able to show a profit, stole things that didn't attract the Navy's attention. She knows where to pick up information. She knows the make and model of most of the major pirate ships on the Frontier. She knows the ships' captains and their methodologies. She knows where to hide when things get hot, from rivals as well as from the Navy. If we get into fighting at close quarters on a ship or a planet, she's worth two of Bull Pampas and six of anyone else. She's not military, and she's got more than her share of rough edges, and she sure as hell drinks too much—but we need her. And, just as important, I trust her." He paused and stared at each of the three officers in turn. "And as of now, the subject is closed."

"Hey, Cole!" said Val's voice, and her image appeared an instant later.

"That's not the way we open communications aboard the ship," said Cole. "But let it pass this time. What do you want?"

"I just saw the jewelry you were trying to unload on McAllister."

"And?"

"You're never going to dump it the way it is," she said. "It was famous even before you screwed up on McAllister. By now everyone knows that Wilson Cole is trying to get rid of it."

"You have a suggestion, no doubt?" asked Cole.

"Pull the diamonds and rubies and melt the tiara down. You can sell it as a block of gold."

"To a fence?" asked Sharon.

Val made a face. "I thought you guys learned your lesson with fences. Hell, there are dozens of commodities dealers who don't just buy and sell futures but handle actual gold, including a couple on the Inner Frontier."

"What about the jewels?"

"They're a lot harder to market. By now you know you can't make any money from a fence. I know a jeweler who'll take the rubies— they're harder to identify than the diamonds, because they haven't been laser marked, or at least these rubies haven't—but you'd be better off using them."

"Using them?" repeated Cole.

"As bribes. A diamond or a ruby in the right hand can buy some useful information —and the people you bribe can unload one stone a lot easier than you can unload a batch of them."

"Sounds good to me," said Cole. "Was there anything else?"

"Yeah," said Val. "Where do you keep your drinkin' stuff? You still owe me a Cygnian cognac."

"I don't think we have any on board," said Cole.

"Would you settle for an Alphard brandy?" asked Sharon.

"Sure as hell would!" said Val enthusiastically. "My room or yours—or maybe the mess hall?"

"Why don't we meet in the Security Department in ten minutes?" said Sharon. "We can start debriefing you in comfort."

"I'll be there," said Val, breaking the connection.

Sharon looked uneasy "Well, you said to bond with her."

"She can probably drink you under the table," said Cole, "so let her do the drinking, and you do the questioning."

"You know," said Sharon as the door sensed her approach and irised to let her pass through, "she did make some sense, didn't she?"

"Why is she here?" asked Rachel Marcos, trying to hide her resentment.

"She's a pirate," replied Vladimir Sokolov. "The Captain thinks we can learn about piracy from her."

They were on the bridge with Forrice during red shift, waiting for Cole to choose their next destination.

"How good a pirate can she be?" persisted Rachel. "She lost her ship."

"How good an officer can the Captain be?" answered Sokolov, who was manning his computer station. "He was demoted twice and court-martialed once."

"You know why that happened," said Rachel.

"Yes, I do," answered Sokolov. "And until I know why the Valkyrie lost her ship, I'm inclined to rely on the Captain's judgment."

"I'm not the only one who has questions about her," said Rachel defensively.

"If you have questions, why not walk up to her and ask her?" suggested Sokolov.

"Have you seen her?" demanded Rachel. "She's not only a giant; she's a walking weapon shop!"

"I think she's sexy as hell," said Sokolov.

"You would," she said distastefully.

"That's enough," interjected Forrice. "Like it or not, she's our Third Officer."

"What do you think of it?" asked Rachel. "Why does she deserve it, instead of Lieutenant Briggs or Lieutenant Sokolov?"

"My opinion doesn't matter," said the Molarian. "The Captain has made his decision, and we can either accept it or leave the ship."

"Well, she may be the Third Officer, but except for the Captain she hasn't got a friend on the whole ship."

The exercise room was actually just an empty cabin that served as a bedroom for two alien crew members when the ship carried a full contingent. It was ten feet by twelve feet, and because it was created for races that were taller than Man, the ceiling was ten feet high, rather than the usual seven.

There wasn't much exercising possible in the cramped quarters, but Bull Pampas had appropriated some weights and barbells, and underwent a daily regimen of lifting.

It was during her third day on the ship, after she'd been thoroughly debriefed, that Val made her way down to the room toward the end of red shift. Bull had been there just long enough to work up a sweat. "What can I do for you, ma'am?" he asked when she entered. "Or is it sir?"

"Whatever makes you happy," answered Val. "I heard there were weights down here, and I thought I'd put in a little work."

"I'll get out of your way and come back when you're done, ma'am," said Pampas. He knelt down and began taking some of the weights off the bar.

"What are you doing?" asked Val.

"I'm a pretty experienced lifter," he said. "I'm making it a little lighter for you."

"I'm a pretty experienced lifter myself," she said. "Let me take a shot at what you've got right there."

"I don't want you to hurt yourself, ma'am," said Pampas.

"I hurt other people, not myself," she said, standing before the bar. She squatted down, put her hands on it, took a deep breath, and straightened up, lifting it above her head. "It's not that heavy," she said with a smile. "You got any more weights we can put on it?"

"How the hell did you do that, ma'am?" said Pampas admiringly. "I'm pretty strong and pretty experienced, but I worked like hell to clean and jerk that, and you lifted it like it was nothing."

"Maybe I can teach you a trick or two about lifting," she suggested.

"I'd sure be grateful, ma'am." He paused. "I hear that you're pretty good at taking care of yourself in a fight, too."

"I do okay."

"I'd be happy to work out with you," said Pampas, "though this room is awfully small."

"I'd like very much to work out with you, Mister . . . ?"

"Pampas, ma'am," he said. "Eric Pampas. But everyone calls me Bull."

"All right, Bull," she said. "And if you have any friends on the crew who want to keep in shape and maybe learn something about self-defense, invite them too."

"I sure will, ma'am."

"Call me Val."

Sokolov and Briggs were in the mess hall, each sipping a beer. The rest of the room was empty. Then Val entered, walked to a table, and seated herself. A menu immediately hovered in front of her, a few inches above the table.

"Give me a Blue Comet," she said.

"That is unknown to me," responded a mechanical voice. "Is this a human food?"

"It's a human drink."

"I do not find it in my data banks."

"Then pay attention," said Val. "Take two ounces of Antarean whiskey, one ounce of Nebodian liquor, one ounce of any citrus juice—and no soya substitutions. Add a pinch of bitters, and mix in one raw egg."

"I have no raw eggs."

"All right," she said. "An ounce of heavy cream."

"I have no heavy cream."

"Have you got any ice cream?"

"I have no ice cream."

"Some galley!" she snorted. "How about yogurt?"

"I have Delphinian yogurt."

"Okay, add an ounce of any fruit-flavored yogurt. Shake it for thirty seconds, put in a couple of ice cubes, and serve it."

"Working . . ."

"Excuse me," said Sokolov, "but we couldn't help overhearing. I've never come across a Blue Comet before."

"It was created on the Inner Frontier," answered Val.

"It sounds awful," said Briggs. "Like you're mixing too many things together."

"Computer," said Val, "make three Blue Comets."

"Working ..."

"The only way to make up your mind is to try one," she said.

"That seems fair," agreed Briggs. "And when we're done, I'll have the galley make up some Denebian Slime Devils."

"I've had them," said Val without much enthusiasm.

"But not with Gray Vodka from Hesporite III."

"No," she admitted. "I've never had real Gray Vodka, just the stuff they make on Keepsake. Sounds interesting."

"Not as interesting as an Eridani Elephant," said Sokolov.

"An Eridani Elephant?" she repeated.

He began describing it as their Blue Comets arrived. "Ah, hell," he said. "It'll be easier to show you."

She took a swallow of her drink. "It's all right," she said, "but it really needs a raw egg."

"Does it have to be the egg of an avian?" asked Sokolov.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I never thought about it. Why?"

"Because we're as likely to touch down on a world where they sell reptile eggs, or something-else eggs, as avian eggs."

"Drink up, first," she said. "You may decide it's not worth the effort."

The two men downed their drinks.

"That's powerful stuff, ma'am," said Sokolov.

"But good," added Briggs.

"Still, it seems to be missing a little something," said Sokolov. "I think we'll definitely remember to pick up some eggs next chance we get."

The Denebian Slime Devils appeared a minute later, and the Eridani Elephants showed up just about the time they'd finished the Slime Devils.

"I'm sure glad you came aboard, ma'am," said Sokolov. "I can see where my free time is going to be a lot more interesting."

"And educational," slurred Briggs.

Twenty minutes later the two men declared eternal friendship with their new Third Officer. And five minutes after that, she stood up and left them snoring peacefully at their table.

"Calioparie" said Braxite.

"Toprench," said Domak.

"I'm telling you, calioparie is the most difficult and complicated game in the galaxy," said Braxite.

"Nonsense," replied Domak. "It's Toprench."

"You're both wrong," said Idena Mueller. "It's chess—the only game where the loser has no excuses."

"You've been in the Republic too long," said Val, who'd been listening from across the room.

"Oh?" said Idena. "And what does the pirate queen think it is?"

"You say that like an insult," replied Val. "I consider it a compliment. You ought to try being a pirate queen sometime. It's harder than it looks. And so is bilsang."

"What's bilsang?"

"A game that makes chess and Toprench look like kid's games," answered Val. "I've seen the ownership of whole planets change hands over a game of bilsang."

"What makes it so hard?" asked Braxite.

"Its simplicity," answered Val.

"That doesn't make any sense."

"That's because you don't know anything about it," said Val.

"Too bad you can't show us," said Domak sarcastically. "Now we'll never know if you were right."

"What makes you think I can't show you?"

"We don't have any bilsang games aboard the Teddy R," said Idena.

"It doesn't need a board, or cards, or a computer," answered Val. "Anyone can play it." She paused. "But not anyone can win it."

"How long does it take to play a game?" asked Domak.

"Anywhere from five minutes to three months."

"And you don't need anything special?"

"Just a brain," said Val. "You want me to teach you the basics?"

"How long will this take?" asked Idena. "I'm on duty in another half hour."

"Five minutes for the rules, a lifetime for the subtleties."

"What the hell, why not?" said Idena. "What do we need?"

"A flat surface, and twenty pieces. Coins will do. Or medals. Or anything that you can fit twenty of on a tabletop."

"All right," said Idena, reaching into her pocket. "I've got about ten coins."

"I'll contribute the rest," said Val. "Who knows? Maybe one of you will become good enough to challenge me."

The coins were placed on the table.

"What do we do now?" asked Domak.

Val explained the rules, and a few of the subtleties. Then Idena had to leave, but Braxite and Domak decided to play a game. They were still playing it, oblivious of all else, when Idena returned five hours later.

Within a week the whole ship was enmeshed in a bilsang tournament.

In two weeks she'd won over every member of the crew except Forrice and Rachel. When Rachel was finally convinced that the Valkyrie had no romantic interest in Cole, nor he in her, she relented and accepted her as a member of the crew.

Forrice was a harder case, but his opposition to her shattered one day when he and Val found themselves in the tiny officers' lounge during white shift. Nobody knows quite how it started, but when Cole entered the lounge he found them telling each other dirty Molarian jokes and laughing their heads off.

Everyone sympathized with her quest for her ship and her revenge against the Hammerhead Shark, but the general consensus was that it would be a shame if the Teddy R actually managed to find the Pegasus.

It was two Standard weeks to the day after the Valkyrie had joined the crew that the first word of the Pegasus reached the Teddy R.

It was during white shift, and Christine Mboya immediately summoned Cole and Val to the bridge, where Briggs and Jack-in-the-Box were manning the computer consoles.

"Sir," she said when Cole was standing before her, "I've just intercepted a call for help from Cyrano."

"What and where is Cyrano?" he asked. "And why did you summon Val?"

"Cyrano's a planet about ninety light-years from here, and the distress call mentioned the Pegasus."

"That bastard is endangering my ship!" Val bellowed furiously.

"What are you talking about?" asked Cole.

"Cyrano is Donovan Muscatel's headquarters," said Val. "He and the Shark are rivals, so the Shark decided to approach him in a ship he didn't recognize and then opened fire."

"So you figure it's over already?"

"I'm not saying Donovan is dead," answered Val. "I'm just saying that the Pegasus has blown his base to hell by now."

"Then why isn't he dead?"

"He's got four ships. They're never all in port at the same time, so there's a chance that he wasn't on Cyrano during the attack. But I guarantee by the time we get there all we're going to find is a hole in the ground."

"Pilot, take us there anyway, top speed," ordered Cole. Christine looked at him questioningly. "We've got to start somewhere," he explained. "If there are any survivors, they might be able to tell us where Muscatel's other ships are." He turned to Val. "The Shark would go after the other ships once he took care of the base, wouldn't he?"

"Once he starts, he can't allow any survivors or he'll be looking over his shoulder the rest of his life." Suddenly she slammed a fist against a bulkhead. "Damn his eyes!"

"What is it?"