"How kind you are," Mal muttered. He stood. "You're really going to let the girl and her friend go? I can't guarantee her silence."

"About that, now. Just keep her from contacting her superiors for, oh, three days local time. Then I'll consider that part of the agreement fulfilled. At that point she can babble her pretty head off. The Church will understand. No court would prosecute you. You see, I will have relocated myself by that time. The mere fact that an operative of her age was able to penetrate this far indicates that my business position here has become untenable. Apparently the local intelligence-damn that bug!-knew quite a lot, but weren't sure what lot was what."

"If you'll supply me with a caster, Rose, I'll notify my Mate and inform him of procedure. He'll listen."

"How will he know you're not saying anything under the muzzle of a blaster?" Pose asked, curious.

Mal stared down at the aged drugger. "Because he knows I wouldn't be in that situation, mister. Either the blaster-pointer or I would be dead, so it couldn't arise. I don't trust people with guns. They're apt to act rashly. I'm glad you didn't opt to employ one. I want to see that girl as soon as possible."

"Oh, she's all right. Kingsley's young, but talented. He'd barely begun. I'll see that you and she are put in the same room. In fact, I insist on it. You may find this arrangement more to your profit in the end. I would. Although I don't believe the pretty-pretty will be in the mood for idle conversation for a while. Or anything else." He gestured at the video. "As I said, my young friend is talented. Still, he hasn't yet acquired the delicacy off touch long practice brings."

Mal held up a massive fist, held it out where hose could get a good look at it. "Let's skip the morbid dialogue, shall we? In the interests of logic. Otherwise you may push me to the point of breaking your scrawny neck. That might throw a crimp on the whole elaborate deal, mightn't it?" He took a step towards the dragger.

Instinctively, Rose stepped back. "Um, yes, it could complicate things if I were to prematurely pass on.

This way, if you will."

Mal sat in a chair in the single room to which they'd all been confined. Dressed now, the tall girl lay sleeping on the couch across from him. She'd been treated and given a mild sedative. He didn't look at her. Porsupah, the Tolian, was busy at a single cabinet. He was mixing something liquid that had a faint aroma of sage. He walked over to the girl and gently shook her. Instead of talking he handed her the glass. Taking it without a question, she sipped, glanced up at the smiling Tolian, and downed the rest in a series of long swallows.

"Whew! What was in that, you offspring of a cometcat?"

"Sorry, culinary secrets are reserved. Clan oaths, you know."

"Clan oaths, my sweet Aunt's grape guise!" She blinked several times. "Whoo!"

"What a quaint remarking!" said Porsupah. "That is a bit of terranglish slang that's completely new to me."

"It's not really accepted slang, Pors. My Aunt ... Jo, on my father's side ... was really sweet. She also drew produce from grapes. Only it wasn't exactly ... well, the vines wouldn't have recognized the results of their efforts by the time she was finished with them. My father used to swear by it."

She swung her long legs off the couch, wincing slightly. She breathed long and evenly. At this point she seemed to notice Hammurabi for the first time.

"Thanks ... whoever you are." Her gaze was direct, the feeling of thankfulness clear as quartz. It made him acutely uncomfortable. He squirmed. He'd hoped that when she sat up her evening outfit would show a little less flesh. No such luck. Gravity and the manufacturer conspired against it. Not that he'd mind, ordinarily. But whatever their situation was, it was not ordinary. He didn't need anything taking his mind off the business at hand. Speaking of business and hands . . . there, see?

Despite the ordeal she'd just undergone, the girl was reacting calmly. This also was not ordinary. He couldn't rationalize it. This also made him nervous.

She was staring at him. "Well, telepathize my thighs if you must, but say something! I'm not asking for a biography, you know."

"Qua? Oh name's Hammurabi. Malco ... Mal Hammurabi. I'm captain and owner of the free-freighter Umbra. Puts you one up on me."

"Kitten Kai-sung. And scrunching your eyebrows down like that doesn't hide your line of sight at all."

"Sun-father!" Mal sighed in frustration. He continued, a mite belligerently. "Does my staring at your legs make you so full-fission nervous?"

"No. Does it make you nervous?"

"Yes, goddammit, and we're not in a position where I can spare time to do proper appreciation to them, and that makes me a deal more upset!"

Kitten rubbed the edge of her right index finger slowly over her lower lip.

"What sort of alternate position did you have in mind?"

"Give it up, Captain," advised Porsupah, drink comfortably in hand. "She'll drive you to null-hike."

"Meaning I'm not free-floating already?" Mal responded. The pseudo-serious atmosphere broke like a light fog, dissolving into laughter. No one minded that it tended a little too much to the hysterical.

"Okay," Kitten said finally, gasping. "Truce declared. Lieutenant Porsupah here and I are both in the Intelligence Arm of the United Church. If that old bugger has this place wired he's welcome to the information, since your presence has apparently persuaded him to let us live.". She glanced at her partner, then back at Mal. "Might as well tell you that our purpose was to try and tie this creature Rose to renewed traffic in bloodhype, an especially vile drug."

"We were discovered through one of those careless little slips that always happen to other operatives,"

Porsupah continued philosophically. "It's always the little slips. Of the myriadjukill ways to ruin an assignment! And we as much as had sealed proof that he was running the stuff through Repler! I don't mind telling you, friend, you pulled us out of a whisker-thin spot." The appendages in question gave a humorous twitch.

"Now, don't get me started again," said Mal, grinning. "If it's any consolation, you were lined out the right way. I've seen a shipment. Several grams worth."

"You have?" Kitten shouted excitedly. She shot to her feet, then bunched over suddenly. She sat down slowly, muttering. After an uncomfortable silence she looked up and continued as though nothing had happened.

"There are several things I must do when we get out of here, Captain. One of the first is to shut off-as slowly as possible-a narcissistic amalgam of fermented proteins named Russell Kingsley."

Mal perked up more, interested. "So that was old man Kingsley's boy? I'd heard about him. Appears they weren't all rumors. Only the good things. You work for a man and you really only know him professionally."

Now it was Porsupah's turn to express interest. "You are friends of the family, then?"

"Only as far as the bank. I'm on Repler now because the Umbra's making delivery on a major shipment for Chatham Kingsley Fisheries and Goods, Ltd. The old man's a bit of a decadent type himself, but only healthy stuff. I really don't think he's aware that his itty-bitty baby boy's a romping sadist. Mother died when the boy was a kid. I'd assume Russell's been left to develop his own life-style since then."

"I'm touched," said Kitten in a voice that would chill molten copper.

"He does dote on the kid," Mal added.

"I am sorry for that," she continued in the same tones. "I had hoped his imminent extinction wouldn't inconvenience anyone else. I still can't really believe it would. Still," she continued a little easier, "to know that you've actually seen the stuff ... "

"About that. Appears that Rose's latest shipment accidentally got mixed in with Kingsley's cargo. Mixup was discovered accidentally by Rose, intentionally by two of his operatives, and accidentally by me. I came here with the idea of striking a bargain: In return for him halting traffic in the jaster, I wouldn't go to the authorities with enough warrant for a mindwipe. Don't get me wrong. Most drugs I could care less about-let the idiots who need them have 'em. May they kill themselves off quickly and quietly. Bloodhype is something else. It sheds filth on everyone who's seen what it does. I've seen ... but instead, I had to use it to bargain you two out. He fully intended to kill you, you know."

"You still shouldn't have agreed to it," Kitten said.

"You had no say in the matter," replied Mal.

"Suppose I kill myself now and Porsupah does likewise?"

"Fine. Then he threatens to kill me unless I have the drug turned over to him. If you take away his major bargaining point he'll forget niceties and try something like that. And I'd give him the drug to save myself, selfish fella that I am."

"I see." She sighed deeply. "I apologize for the difficulty we've caused you, Captain Hammurabi."

"Mal," he said.

"All right ... Captain Mal." She grinned, frowned, got confused. "I can't let you do it. Do you really know what that stuff does to people?"

"A good deal better than you, I suspect, infant."

"Call me that again and I'll break your arm."

Mal smiled. "Might be you could at that. Point remains, however, that I've already made arrangements for the exchange to be carried out."