Duke’s Place was crowded, as usual.

Cole sat at the table the Platinum Duke had reserved for him and his crew. He was joined by David Copperfield, Sharon Blacksmith, and the Duke himself. They spoke about the art galleries, the theater, and the murderball results from the Quinellus Cluster, and finally Sharon could stand it no longer.

"Damn it, Wilson!" she said at last. "You’ve been indulging in small talk for forty-five minutes, which is half an hour longer than you’ve done it in all the time I’ve known you. What the hell’s going on?"

"Nothing," said Cole. "I’m just relaxing."

"And glancing at the door every ten seconds," she continued. "Who do you think is going to walk through it?"

"You never know," said Cole.

"You know what I think?" said Sharon.

"I have no idea what you think."

"I think you’re chatting away about all these things you couldn’t care less about so you don’t inadvertently talk about what really interests you!"

"You want to talk about sex and food, I’ll talk about sex and food," he said.

"Bah!" Sharon got to her feet. "I’m going to get a breath of air. You’ll tell us when you’re ready to."

"The air’s the same out there as in here," said the Duke.

"True," said Sharon. "But out in the corridors I don’t have to listen to his bullshit."

She turned and began walking away.

"If you run after her, I believe you could catch her before she leaves the casino," offered Copperfield.

"She’s a free agent," said Cole.

"Ah!" said Copperfield, his alien face alight with excitement. "You’re having a lover’s quarrel!"

"I’m not quarreling with anyone."

Val entered the casino just at that moment.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," said Cole. "I have to speak to my Third Officer. I’ll be right back."

"Have her come over to the table and speak to her right here," suggested Copperfield.

"She’s got a crush on you, David," said Cole. "I wouldn’t want her making a fool of herself in front of all these people."

"She has?" asked the little alien, his face lighting up. "Really?"

"Would I kid you?" said Cole, getting up and walking across the room to intercept Val before she could reach the table.

"What is it?" she said ominously. "And it better be good. I’d paid for four hours, and they wouldn’t give me a refund. You owe me five hundred Far London pounds."

"I’ll pay you when we’re back at the ship," said Cole. "But I’m going to need your help first."

"Doing what?" she demanded.

"Keep your voice down and listen," said Cole, and something in his tone made her instantly alert. "In about an hour and a half, I’m going to bet five dollars over at the porchii table."

"That’s an alien game," she said. "No human can keep all those rules straight." Then: "It’s a signal."

He nodded his head. "It’s a signal."

"To whom?"

"An old friend of yours," said Cole. "The Octopus."

"What does he want?"

"A meeting. We each bring one protector. You’re mine."

"Damned right I’m yours," said Val. "I’m worth five of Bull Pampas and ten of anyone else you’ve got on board."

"And modest, too."

"Modesty’s for those who have something to be modest about."

"Anyway, the man’s fleet has us outnumbered five or six to one, and he’s infiltrated Singapore Station to the point that he could single me out and pass word to me about the meet without anyone else seeing or knowing about it. He’ll have someone we don’t know at the table, ready to spot whether or not I make the bet." Cole paused. "Based on all that, I think he sounds like a good man to know."

"I know him," replied Val. "'Good’ isn’t exactly the word I’d use for him. He’s the biggest warlord on the Inner Frontier."

"And I’m the most wanted criminal in the Republic," Cole reminded her.

"He probably heard about the offer the Duke got, and figures he might as well kill you now and maybe he won’t have to waste any ships going up against us. Or maybe he just plans to turn you in for the reward. It’s got to be one or the other."

"That’s why you’re coming with me," said Cole.

"I hope he tries," she said grimly.

"I trust you don’t mind it if I hope he doesn’t?"

"All right," said Val. "Have we got anything else to talk about right now?"

"No."

"When do you place the bet?"

"At 2200 hours."

"Ship’s time or station time?"

"Station."

"I’ll see you at the porchii game then," she said. "In the meantime, I’m going to try my luck at the jabob table. If I have a run of bad luck, I assume you’ll honor my marker for up to five hundred pounds?"

He nodded. "I said I owed it to you."

"Good," she said, flashing him a smile. "You get to live long enough to place your bet."

She was on her way to the gaming tables before he could answer.

"Get your business taken care of?" asked the Duke when he returned to the table.

"Yeah."

"Good. I’ve bought a controlling interest in a discreet little restaurant at the far end of the station, just above the transport level. Why don’t the three of us go over there and see if I’ve made a wise investment?"

"Later," said Cole.

"It’s got mutated beef from Greenveldt," said the Duke enticingly.

"I’m not hungry now. I’ll catch up with you later."

"Your loss," said the Duke, getting to his feet. "David?"

"I’ll wait until my old school chum is ready," answered Copper-field. "He shouldn’t have to eat alone."

"But it’s all right if I do?" said the Duke, amused.

"You’re a capitalist swine," explained Copperfield. "We’re merely consumers."

The Duke laughed. "How can I argue with that? I’ll see you later."

"You should have gone with him," said Cole.

"I wanted to stay and see how they contact you."

"What are you talking about?"

"Come on, Steerforth," said Copperfield. "I was the biggest fence on the Inner Frontier. Covert contact is my forte. You sit here, you have nothing to say, you practically chase Sharon away, you speak to the Valkyrie where no one can overhear you, you turn down a free meal at the Duke’s new restaurant. What else could it be? You’re waiting here to be contacted, and Val has something to do with it. Probably she’s your protection."

Cole stared at the little alien for a long moment. "You didn’t get that out of Charles Dickens. You’re good, David."

"Why, thank you, Steerforth," said Copperfield. "Who are you meeting?"

"I’ll tell you later."

"Let me know if he really has eight hands."

"Why should you think it’s the Octopus?"

"You can’t be bought off, and right now he’s got the only fleet powerful enough to scare you off," answered Copperfield.

"Oh, I don’t know," said Cole. "I scare pretty easy."

Copperfield emitted a strange sound, his equivalent of a snort of disbelief. "So am I right or wrong?"

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, you’re right or wrong," answered Cole. "And now the subject is closed."

"But—"

"You heard me."

"Yes, Steerforth."

Cole sipped a drink and watched the customers, wondering if the Octopus’s representative had arrived yet and which one he might be. Finally, with about five minutes remaining until 2200 hours, he wandered over to the porchii table. Val arrived a minute later, standing at the far side of it, not even acknowledging his presence.

Finally, when the moment came, Cole announced that he was betting five Maria Theresa dollars on the Level Three Blue Empress. The Mollutei in charge of the table took his money, spun wheels, rolled dice, turned up cards, and did four or five other things to prepare for the move. When he finished there were cheers and curses, some bets were paid off, others kept, pieces were moved higher and lower, forward and back, left and right—but Cole wasn’t watching the pieces or the table. He was looking to see if anyone, human or alien, turned and left the moment he made his bet. As far as he could tell, no one did.

A moment later he began walking back toward the Duke’s table, and Val joined him.

"Spot anything?" he asked softly.

"Whoever it was is still there," she said.

"No sense continuing to watch it," said Cole. "If he didn’t leave the minute I placed the bet, there’s no way to tell who he is. He could be the first one to leave the table now, or the tenth."

"That’s why I’m here," said Val. "Let’s dip into the Platinum Duke’s drinkin’ stuff while you’re waiting for them to contact you."

"Sounds good to me," agreed Cole.

They reached the table, and found that Sharon had returned and that she and David Copperfield were waiting for them.

"Are we on speaking terms?" asked Cole as he sat down.

"Oh, shut up!" snapped Sharon.

Val chuckled.

"What’s so funny?" asked Copperfield.

"She’s on speaking terms with Cole, but he’s not on speaking terms with her," said Val. "Good for you, Sharon! I find that proper and fitting."

Sharon stared at Cole for a moment, then shrugged. "Screw it," she said at last. "I’d rather talk to you than look at you."

"Lord knows most men are easier on the eyes," agreed Val.

"Shall we seal our renewed romance with some Cygnian cognac?" asked Cole.

"Why not?"

Cole summoned the robot waiter, ordered a bottle, and sent him off to the private room where the Duke kept his finest stock.

"I saw you at the porchii table," noted Sharon. "I didn’t know you knew how to play."

"Evidently I don’t," said Cole. "I lost five dollars."

"That’s a big bet for him," put in Val.

"Maybe you should try that game Forrice has fallen in love with," suggested Sharon.

"You mean stort?" asked Cole.

"I think that’s the name of it."

"Four Eyes is a fool," said Cole. "The damned game has a fifteen percent break for the house."

"Then why does he play it?"

"Because until one of the frail flowers at his favorite house of good repute comes into bloom, he’s got nothing else to do with his time," answered Cole.

The robot returned, set the tray down on the next table, opened the bottle, and filled each of four glasses halfway, then passed them out.

Cole and Sharon sipped theirs, Val downed hers with a single swallow, and David Copperfield simply stared at his.

"Don’t worry, David," said Val. "When you’re all through pretending you like it, I’ll drink it for you."

"Thank you," he said gratefully.

Cole took another sip, then frowned.

"What is it?" asked Sharon.

"Val, give me your glass," said Cole.

The Valkyrie passed him her empty glass, and he poured his cognac into it.

"He’s good," said Cole, impressed. "I’ll give him that. He even got to the robot to make sure I got the right one."

"What are you talking about?" asked Sharon.

Cole stared into the bottom of his glass, and read the message:

"Alpha Benedetti, third planet, smallest moon, 1600 hours tomorrow. You know the conditions."

Below it was a drawing of a stick figure with eight arms.