"It's the principle of the thing," said Raoul. "I am not accustomed to being mistrusted. I find it deeply wounding."

"Now, if we could proceed with dinner," said Chef Valentino, barely able to contain his impatience. "What are you preparing, Chef Fox?"

"Me?" Raoul was astonished. "Nothing. I never prepare anything."

"But you call yourself a chef! What do you do?" Chef Valentino demanded angrily.

"I sit on this stool," Raoul said gravely, perching gracefully on a high wooden stool in the center of the vast kitchen. He was dressed all in white silk, with white silk flowing pants and a white silk shirt, tied around his slim waist with a white silk sash. "And I taste the food."

"And then?"

"Then I will make recommendations for improving it."

"Improving! My cooking! You reprobate! You charlatan! You mountebank!" Chef Valentino picked up a wooden spoon and waved it in a threatening manner, shouting to his underlings. "Remove this serpent from my kitchen!"

The doors swung open. One of the waiters hastened inside. "Mr. Love requests that Chef Fox select the wine from His Eminence's private reserve." Looking nervously at Chef Valentino, the waiter added, "Mr. Love says that Chef Fox knows exactly how he likes his food prepared and that he leaves everything in Chef Fox's hands. And"a" the waiter gulpeda""Mr. Love has been introduced to His Eminence and has been raving about Chef Fox to His Eminence. His Eminence requests that Chief Fox be permitted to do whatever he wishes."

"He may do so, then!" Chef Valentino flung his spoon to the floor. "I quit!"

"You cannot quit," said the sous chef. "You are the owner."

"Well, then. I take the night off!" Chef Valentino re-treated to the back part of the kitchen, where he sat down at a table and ordered one of the staff to bring him bread and wine.

Chef Valentino turned his back on the lot of them, maintaining his disinterest, although the astute observer might have noticed that the chef could see everything that was going on, reflected in a large silver samovar.

"Send in the wine steward," Raoul ordered. "And tell me what you have planned for the various courses."

Raoul and the wine steward conferred while the rest of the staff, exchanging glances, proceeded with the night's dinner menu. The wine steward retired to the cellar with a list.

"Remember," called Raoul, "I will taste each one before it is served."

He sat back on his stool, crossed his legs, and dreamily watched the rest of the staff at work.

With some trepidation and a fearful glance at Chief Valentino's rigid back, one of the underchefs produced a bowl of salad dressing for Raoul's approval. "Don't spill on me!" Raoul cautioned. "Hold the bowl beneath the spoon to keep it from dripping. They have developed hypers.p.a.ce flight, or so they tell me, but they cannot yet find anything to remove olive oil from silk. And they call this progress!"

The chef did as she was told, positioning the bowl beneath the spoon to catch the drips. Raoul guided the spoon to his lips, tasted a tiny mouthful. He rolled it thoughtfully on his tongue. Everyone in the kitchen watched tensely, expectantly, including the wire-heads.

Holding the spoon over the dish of dressing, Raoul deftly moved his thumb under the handle of the spoon, slid the red-lacquered fingernail of his thumb under the red-lacquered nail of his little finger, and dislodged a small dollop of a clear, colorless gel-like ma.s.s. It fell into the salad dressing, where it instantly dissolved. "Add a soupcon of ginger," he said.

"Ginger!" The underchef gasped.

"Ginger!" Chef Valentino leaped to his feet.

"You, sir, are not here," Raoul told him sternly.

Chef Valentino, mustache quivering, sat back down.

The underchef returned to her station, proceeded to add some grated ginger to the dressing, and tasted it with trepidation.

Raoul watched her closely.

"It's quite good," she said in astonishment. "His Eminence will be most impressed!"

"Of course," Raoul replied, clasping his bare and ringless fingers over a white silk-covered knee. "Now, the soup." It is done, he added, for the Little One's benefit.

The soup? The Little One was confused by the p.r.o.noun.

No, my friend, said Raoul, the deed. The gel with the microtransmitters is in the salad dressing. Wait until the main course has been served and partially consumed, then you and Rusty Love may proceed.

The dinner progressed from appetizer to salad to the fish course, with a wine selected to complement each. Raoul watched complacently as the wire-heads put each dish served to His Eminence through their a.n.a.lyzers. The waiters rushed in and out, bearing dishes and returning with His Eminence's compliments for Chef Fox and for Chef Valentino, who was now taking credit for having discovered Chef Fox.

Chef Valentino tasted the salad dressing and the soupa" to which Raoul recommended adding a spoonful of vermouth. Clasping Raoul in his arms, Chef Valentino hugged him to his breast, being careful not to muss Raoul's hair, and declared that they were friends for life.

Raoul moved to the chef's table, where they shared a bottle of His Eminence's finest wine and were deep in discussion of how best to prepare Filets de Soles Aux Moules when their conversation was interrupted by a hovering waiter.

"Well, what is it?" Chef Valentino demanded irritably.

"Pardon, but Rusty Love is asking to extend his personal compliments to the chef," said the waiter.

Chef Valentino rose majestically to his feet. "Come, my dear friend," he said expansively to Raoul.

"No, no, my dear, dear friend." said Raoul in deprecating tones. "It is you who prepared this wonderful feast. You should receive the credit. What I did was nothing, minuscule, insignificant."

"Are you certain, my generous friend?"

"Please, accept the glory, my only friend. It is well deserved. Besides," Raoul added in an undertone, "I have to run to the little boy's room. Powder my nose. If I could have my handbag?"

Chef Valentino did not press the issue. He entered the dining room and was escorted to Rusty Love's table. The vid star was profuse in his praise and even offered to autograph this evening's menu. He drew a silver pen from the inside pocket of his jacket and, lifting the menu, he wrote his name upon it and handed it to Chef Valentino.

The chef was profuse in his thanks, when he noted a strange look pa.s.s across Rusty Love's facea"the look of one who is suddenly intensely preoccupied with the functions of his internal organs.

"Excuse me," said Rusty Love. "But where is your men's room?"

One of the waiters indicated that the restrooms were located in the back of the restaurant, down a hall. Rising hurriedly to his feet, Love walked swiftly in the direction of the men's room. One of his bodyguards accompanied him, as did the Little One, trotting along after and tripping over his raincoat. The other bodyguard remained behind to make certain no rabid fan attempted to make off with the Chateaubriand as a souvenir.

Rusty's Love's sudden illness must have affected his mental processes, for he took a wrong turn and ended up blundering into the table where His Eminence was dining. The bodyguard pointed out this error. His Eminence rose to meet the famous actor. Rusty Love was gracious, but obviously suffering. Fumbling with the pen he was still holding, he hurriedly signed an autograph for Mrs. Eminence.

Replacing the pen in his pocket, Rusty Love removed a handkerchief from his pocket and began wiping his perspiring face. He left as soon as he could, rushing off in the direction of the men's room. The bodyguard ran after him, leaving the Little One to keep up as best he could.

His Eminence was resuming his seat when suddenly he, too, looked deeply concerned about what was happening inside him. Manfully, he tried to ignore the rumblings in his bowels and sat down, took a sip of wine. His Eminence was up again instantly and now he also was heading at top speed for the men's room, his own bodyguards hastening along behind.

Chef Valentino, astonished and concerned that two of his most ill.u.s.trious patrons had suddenly fallen ill, returned in haste to his kitchen.

Outside the restroom, Kirkov's wire-heads were twitching like dogs who scent a wolf in the fold.

"Your Eminence, do you think you've been poisoned?"

"How the h.e.l.l should I know?" Kirkov responded, groaning. "Seal off the kitchen and stand guard outside here."

He pushed open the men's room door, nearly knocking down the Little One, who retreated to a corner. Two guards, looking worried, took up places outside the restroom door. Another ran to the kitchen.

Raoul, dabbing at his nose with a powder puff, looked up in astonishment as the dictator dashed past him and lunged into one of the stalls.

"Your Eminence! Are you unwell?" Raoul called out in concern.

His answer was another groan and the sound of retching, followed by other sounds that indicated His Eminence must be having a difficult time deciding whether he should be standing up or sitting down.

"Oh, gad!" Raoul s.n.a.t.c.hed a handkerchief from his purse and clapped it over his face and nose. "The smell!" He repeated that quite loudly.

The Little One removed a handkerchief from his pocket, put it over his face, and pulled the fedora down almost to his nose.

Raoul opened his handbag, removed a can of air freshener, and began to spray the bathroom, filling it with the scent of roses. He concentrated the spray quite heavily over the stall where His Eminence wasa"as Raoul could tell by the view of the royal feet beneath the doora"now seated on the toilet.

The sounds of groaning ceased quite suddenly.

Raoul opened the window a crack. The smell of roses dissipated, as did the hypnospray.

Raoul was waving his handkerchief to help it along when the door to the bathroom burst open.

"Your Eminence," cried the wire-head, about to enter, "are you all right?"

"Can't a man take a c.r.a.p in private?" came a peevish voice from the stalls. "Get out of here, you imbecile! Tell everyone to quit worrying. I suppose they've put the entire kitchen staff under arrest by now."

"Yes, sir." The wire-head hesitated. "Then you don't believe that it was poison, Your Eminence?"

"I haven't been poisoned. Just a touch of indigestion. Probably those d.a.m.n snails. Never could eat snails. Now leave me alone! And make certain that no one else comes in here!"

"Yes, Your Eminence." The wire-head withdrew, shutting the men's room door behind him.

"He's gone," said Raoul softly.

Rusty Love emerged from the stall. "Was he suspicious?"

Raoul glanced at the Little One, who shook his head emphatically.

"That was remarkable, Rusty, dear," Raoul said. "You sounded exactly like our poor Kirkov."

"I should sound like him," Rusty Love growled. "After all those d.a.m.n newsvids you forced me to watch." He glanced with distaste at the closed stall door. "Do we really have to go in there and haul him out?"

"I'm afraid so. Let's get on with it. We don't have much time. The vidcast is due to begin in half an hour. You"a" Raoul looked at the Little Onea""block the door and keep your eye on the guard's thoughts."

After a brief pause, during which both Adonians studied their reflections in the mirror and took time to check their makeup, the two set to work.

Jamil would not have recognized this Raoul. Xris would have, however. This was the Raoul he had hired. As for Rusty Love, his fans would have recognized him for the action hero they adored. His long-suffering directors would not have known him at all.

Working swiftly, efficiently, and silently, the two Adonians dragged the unconscious Dictator Kirkov out of the stall and spread him out on the couch. Rusty Love removed his black human-hair wig and stripped off his clothes. Raoul took a plastiskin mask from his purse and spread the mask over Kirkov's face, smoothing out the wrinkles and transforming the older man's features to those of the younger Rusty Love. Raoul covered Kirkov's buzz-cut blond hair with the black wig.

Rusty Love spent a moment again admiring himself in the mirror. "I like the new haircut," he said, running his hand over his now buzz-cut blond hair. "I think I'll keep it. They'll have to reshoot three-fourths of the vid, but"a" he shruggeda""that's show biz."

"And the uniform looks wonderful on you, my dear," said Raoul, helping Rusty Love on with the jacket. "A bit tight through the shoulders. Don't move your arms a great deal or you'll split out the back. I always did love a uniform." He sighed blissfully as he stepped back to admire the effect.

The Little One gestured with one hand, thumb down.

"Oh, dear," Raoul whispered. "The guard is thinking that he should check on His Eminence. The guard is concerned that he hasn't heard any sounds from in here."

Raoul and Rusty Love looked over at the couch. His Eminence, now clad only in his underwear, was slumbering quietly. Rusty Love's clothes lay in a heap on the floor.

"The guard must not come in!" Raoul said. "Not yet! We're not ready! Say something!"

"I am feeling much better, Chef Fox," said Rusty Love using Kirkov's voice. He was just putting the finishing touches on a plastiskin mask that he had spread over his own face, a mask which added wrinkles and a certain sallowness to the actor's complexion. "Thank you for your concern. I am afraid I can't say the same for poor Rusty Love, though. He is quite ill."

"Don't worry about Mr. Love, Your Eminence," Raoul said loudly. "I will see to nun. He is a fellow Adonian, after all. You don't suppose," he added in worried tones, "he has anything catching?"

The Little One motioned with his hand, thumb up.

"The guard is rea.s.sured, but only momentarily," Raoul whispered. "And my small friend has reminded me that it is nearly time for the news broadcast. Help me get him dressed!"

"How do I look?" Rusty Love asked, turning from the mirror.

Not only was Love's face transformed into Kirkov's, but it seemed that Rusty Love had poured his body into Kirkov's body, perfectly re-creating the set of the shoulders, the position of the arms, even capturing the slight sideways tilt of the head.

"You are truly gifted," said Raoul. "His own wife wouldn't be able to tell the difference. The only problem is that you seem to have gained a few centimeters across the chest. Perhaps you could stop breathing?"

"I have to breathe." Rusty Love sounded peeved.

"Well," Raoul said after a moment's thought, "don't breathe quite so ... expansively."

The Little One made a growling sound deep in his throat. Rusty Love agreed that he would attempt to cut down on breathing and the two Adonians returned to business, dressing the limp and flaccid Kirkov in Rusty Love's clothing.

"How come he's not sick anymore?" Rusty Love asked, smoothing the black silk shirt over Kirkov's breast and adjusting the red cravat. "Can he get over the poison that fast?"

"It wasn't poison. It was machines. No, really, my dear! I'm not lying. Microtransmitters dropped into the salad dressing. Let me see if I can remember this. Dr. Quong explained it to me, but it all seemed so frightfully complicated. The transmitter tells the microtransmitters to go to the bowel system and there wreak havoc. When the microtransmitters are active, Kirkov needs to go to the little boy's room in a hurry. When they're off, he's just fine."

"I ate some of that salad dressing!" Rusty Love looked alarmed.

"Please do not concern yourself, my dear," Raoul said, rea.s.suring. "Everyone in the restaurant ate some of that salad dressing. I did myself. Recall what I told you earlier. The silver pen is the transmitter and it was set to transmit only on a narrow band, which is why we told you to hold the pen so that the clip was facing the dictator. After twenty-four hours, the microtransmitters will be flushed from the system."

Sounds of running feet could be heard. The Little One flung both arms over his head and scooted away from the door.

"The news has been broadcast. Here they come," said Raoul. "You know what to do from here. Good luck, my dear."

"It's been fun," Rusty Love said. "We must do this again sometime. We'll do lunch."

The two kissed the air somewhere in between them. Rusty Love straightened and a.s.sumed a dictatorial air. The Little One sat down on the couch beside Kirkov and stroked his hand.

"Excuse me, Your Eminence." The wire-head opened the door. "I know you said not to disturb you, but we have an emergency."

"Well," said Rusty Love-Kirkov, turning from the mirror, "what the devil is it?"