Simultaneously, her free hand felt Gelor's leg beneath the table. Her fingers tightened on it briefly, to match his pressure on her perky pointy warhead. A moment later, her hand moved higher. Gelor's mouth went dry. It was all he could do to keep from panting.

Shemsi raised her eyes to meet his. "You . . . wished to discuss some project with me?"

"Yes," Gelor answered hoa.r.s.ely. "Yes, yes." His mind wouldn't seem to work. He couldn't get past the one syllable.

Shemsi smiled. It was a gentle smile. One that spoke of infinite experience, boundless understanding. She gave him a final squeeze. Her hand relaxed.

"So. I am an andrist. Your interest must be in my specialty, robopathic androids."

96."Yes." Gelor heaved a breath deep as a sigh. "I need three totally realistic units." He dropped his voice, leaned forward. "You understand, all this must be entirely confidential. No one must know about it."

Shemsi smiled again. "Such projects are not unfamiliar to me. I handle them on a very private basis. No a.s.sistants work with me on the secret aspects. Nor has any client every regretted placing trust in me. We maintain the most intimate of relationships." Her fingertips flicked at Gelor in a way that both reinforced her words and pointed up the concept. (Her nails bore the same color as her dye-mask.) Gelor swallowed hard. "What I require," he said with a desperate effort to concentrate, "is-first-a dupladroid of me. A doppelganger. It must simulate me to perfection, to where it can pa.s.s as me once it's programmed."

Shemsi arched a skilfully lined (jet) eyebrow. Her face took on a thoughtfulness, an intelligence that Gelor hadn't seen before.

"It will be difficult, of course. Most would not attempt it. Yet it can be done. I admit that I will enjoy it-you are a most attractive man." She broke off to toy with her very red pendant. Her eyes met his then, in a gaze as forthright as any DeyMeox had directed at him. "It goes without saying that it will be expensive. A hundred thousand stells, I should think."

Gelor had his nice pat answer ready for that. He shrugged. "I accept that as my problem."

"Shall we discuss terms, then?" Again, she was absolutely straightforward.

He made his best effort to hold his voice wooden, without tension. "As you will, Andrist. I stand prepared to sign over twenty thousand as down payment."

"And the remainder?" Ah, sweet, wide-eyed ingenuousness . . . simulated, he knew.

"Another thirty thousand on delivery. The rest thirty days thereafter.''

She sighed. "Oh my. That won't do. Thirty days afterward! That's like a Tok s.p.a.cefarer telling a hust he'll pay her next time he hits port. No competent andrist works on such a wet-dream basis."

97."I'd think thirty days is a fair time for me to a.s.sure myself the 'droid is perfect."

"You shall have a written, publicly recorded guarantee."

That precluded the "on approval" dodge, then. "What kind of wet dreams do you work on, then?" he asked.

Her face sagged for an instant. The next, she released a trill of soft laughter. "No wet dreams, voyager. We prefer hard-reality, shall we call it? Half when we start. Half on pickup on the completed dupladroid-guaranteed perfect."

The hand on Gelor's leg squeezed and kneaded. The other moved his palm from her breast in a slow glide to a point excitingly lower. Her hips writhed.

"If," she said, "you catch my meaning, you understand."

It was the end of a magic moment. She talks of husts so freely because a hust is what she is, he mused grimly. A smart hust, a clever hust-but a hust, still.

Hustlers were a type he knew how to deal with.

The more than lovely Shemsi was still chuckling softly. Her hips moved and her hand continued its kneading.

"I flash to you, voyager. Building your simulacrum could be a sizz for both of us. The cred would be the least of it. Still, I can hardly just forget the payoff! You're no charity case. You have cred. Share a little for a professional job, that's all I ask. Just share a little." A final, pulsating squeeze then, and: "Because when you do, I'll share too, believe me!"

Gelor chuckled. All traces of his earlier skittishness had faded. "I believe you." With his free hand, he stroke-patted her knee. "Before we seriously talk price, though, there's the matter of the second and third 'droids."

"Sec-" She showed surprise. Then: "Yes?"

"The second offers no problems, Shemsi. I see it as nondescript. Of indeterminate origin. No particular racial planetary type. Appearance just commonplace. Nothing distinctive as to physique."

"And the third?"

"A big brute." Gelor made it a point to hold his voice level while excitement rose. "It's to be made in the image of a Bleaker. Complete with chest dagger and armored glove."

98."A big brute of a Bleaker-?" For the first time, Shemsi looked and sounded baffled. How bright and sharp and swift and businesslike-and how easily she could look . . . otherwise!

Gelor leaned back, relaxing. It was like the day, back when he was a boy, when an old bot-fisherman had showed him how to let the line go slack just before he twitched to set the hook. He smiled and forced himself to look straight into those melting eyes, all outlined in their blue mask under the so-shapely black brows.

"You must give him a few distinctive touches, of course. I had it in mind to let him have a Rahman-green birthmark across the left side of his face, from the outer corner of his eye to mouth to earlobe. That eye, the left, is blind- burned out by-never mind. I have a holopic for you to go by." With a small smile, he handed it to Shemsi.

Her face froze in a mask of shock. "Dravanl" she gasped low. "Dravan the Marked!"

"Correct." Gelor basked in the warm glow of themoment. "It should const.i.tute an interesting project, no?"

"But-the authorities . . . TGW-" Shemsi's hands were actually fluttering. Below the dye-mask, her cheeks had lost color.

"Right. In view of the price on Dravan's head, they'll take a dim view of the simulacrum." Gelor smiled lazily. "On the other hand, what does it matter, so long as it remains our secret?" The smile vanished as he leaned forward. "You do guarantee professional secrecy, do you not, Andrist?"

"Oh pos. Of course," she said, seeming to shrug off her tension.

(Gelor noted how her fingers continued their nervous fumble-fondling of her garnadine pendant. Her hand dropped at the same instant and her tone became brisk, businesslike.) "The price for the three will be a half-million stells." He kept his face bland. "A rather drastic upsurge in price. You suspect me of some devious purpose?"

Shemsi shrugged. "I stated a price ..." Her face was just as open, eyes bland, arched brows at rest.

"Done, then," Gelor said stiffly. She did a.s.sume an 99.illegal purpose, he knew, and now he knew that she'd do it anyway. For enough cred. What rate she stated mattered no more to Gelor than what he promised.

"When do you wish me to start work?"

The shift in her manner amused him. All business, now. She rated better as an actress than many a holomeller "star" he'd seen. Only her abrupt acceptance of the clearly hazardous commission and her lack of quibbling or questions, even response to his suggestion of "devious purpose," showed how fearful she Was-or how devious, he thought. Ready to call the policers the first chance you get, my carefully s.e.xy lady?

He pushed the point a bit further: "The method of payment ..."

"Shelve that for now. It doesn't really matter-not on a job that is this genuinely exciting.''

She was fumbling with the pendant again. Again her voice held a small, raw edge of tension. She studied him with eyes that were somehow veiled despite the candor of her manner. "Why do you want such a Simula, though? Musla's beard, a Bleaker outlaw! You must be planning piracy, at the very least!"

Ah. And that interests you, carefully s.e.xy lady? A hust, then, thinking as all husts did. Always searching for a path to greater profit. He kept his smile inward. As of this moment Shemsi knew too much for him to let her back out ... or get out of his sight. Left alone for five mins, she'd have policers on him. If I were so stupid as to give her the chance.

Oh, he wasn't about to kill her. His need for her was too great, and besides, an alternative existed. Hardly an ideal solution, true. But it would serve as an acceptable field expedient.

Coolly, smoothly, he leaned forward in a way that coaxed her to do the same. Their mouths met, open. Tongues probed and flickered-while he moved his free hand down to the spring-thing beneath his jacket and brought it to bear on the spot where this too-clever woman's legs merged with her torso. Meanwhile she was crushing his other hand into her there, searching for his throat with 100.her tongue. A swift jerk brought that hand free of her grasp. Palm and heel, he rammed it hard against her breastbone and broke the kiss by pinning her to the back of her seat.

His other hand swooped in to let her feel the spring-thing then, twisting it cruelly against her.

"Shall I ream you a new stash? This thing will do it, stash."

Her eyes stared at his, wide. Shemsi didn't move. She didn't speak. He could feel the terror in her.

"If you want to live," he said tightly, "and keep this narrow channel unblooded and smaller than a doorway, you'll do precisely as I tell you." He prodded with the spring-thing, saw her wince. He spoke as he rose: "Come on."

Shemsi's eyes distended. "No!"

Gelor allowed himself the luxury of a small bleak grin. He brushed her nipples with the spring-thing.

Shaking, quaking, fumbling with her crimson pendant, Shemsi tried to rise. It didn't work; apparently her legs wouldn't hold her. He prodded. She grunted, but was sensible enough not to cry out even as she writhed. That did not, however, aid her legs in straightening to get her onto her feet.

Tight-lipped, Gelor caught her by her hair. He dragged her erect thus and shoved her ahead of him toward the curtained entry. Holding her so that she must stare at the chamber's ceiling, he eased back the drape and thrust his head out to check the hallway. And something struck him hard on the back of the neck.

The violent blow sent shock and pain joining to blur his vision. Desperately he twisted sidewise-and glimpsed the (Never)minder waiter. The fellow was lunging at him, teeth bared and eyes wide and glaring. With a frantic effort, Gelor brought the spring-thing around. His thumb shoved the trigger b.u.t.ton forward. The spring-head slammed into the waiter just below the breastbone. His mouth leaped open and made ugly noises. For an instant, he hung poised on tiptoe, like some strange folkloric dancer.

Erect now, Gelow swung the spring-thing. Its weighted 101.

tip lashed out, whip-like, to the vulnerable point behind the 'Minder's ear. Gelor felt death in its impact . . .

And at the same instant became aware that Shemsi was trying_ to wedge past him. Savagely, he jerked at her chignon. Set him up by taking a "private" booth with a waiter-imitating-guard in attendance, had she? His mind raced. The man had not been there when he had and known to strike Gelor when he had. Somehow, Shemsi had alerted him.

How?

With the thought came the answer. The pendant! He s.n.a.t.c.hed at it. A violent wrench broke the delicate chain. The garnadine flicked in half on minute hinges. Inside snuggled the b.u.t.ton of a silent siren.

Gelor cursed aloud. Desperately he looked this way and that. (Shemsi tugged. He yanked at her hair. Her mouth emitted a gagging noise. She ceased tugging.) He narrowed his eyes at the large lacquered panels set into each of the walls of the booth. Spotting a slot running along the lower edge of one, Gelor tucked in his fingers and tugged. The panel slid upward to reveal an auto-dumbwaiter. Fitting, he thought, and tossed in the pendant. Without letting go of Shemsi, he seized the dead 'Minder by the collar. He dragged him to the chute, and in a sudden movement sent Shemsi staggering face-forward into the backmost corner of the booth. By the time she was coming close to getting herself together, her confederate had followed the pendant to ... somewhere.

Gelor slammed the cover just as sounds of a sudden small tumult rose from char-par's entrance area. Naturally Shemsi chose that moment to turn around. A glance at her opening mouth told Gelor she was going to scream. He hit her, good and hard.

She sagged and he gave her a better one, a nape-chop to make sure she was unconscious. Fumbling an injectab from his pocket, Gelor stabbed it into the hollow at the base of her throat.

The sounds from the right, the entrance area, grew louder. A policer came pelting down the corridor. He carried a thumper-pistol. If she'd glanced in the right 102.

direction she couldn't help but glimpse the action in the booth, Gelor knew. With the drape only half in place, the nipper saw nothing. Her attention was focused too tightly on the hall's far end.

Good! Gelor swung Shemsi's limp form up and slung her over his shoulder like a sack of topatoes. He raced for the entrance. Outside, a policer van stood at the curb, pulsers throbbing. Its driver looked young and nervous.

"Quick!" Gelor snapped. "This one's badly hurt. Your partner said get her to hospital, fast!"

He was dumping Shemsi into the rear seat as he spoke, and scrambled in beside her. It was a good spot for him. It put him right behind the youthful nipper. Already the fellow was snapping coordinates. The van swung out into the street.

Gelor waited till they had covered a half-dozen blocks. Here, the cargo shuttle from the surface s.p.a.ceport to the planet's docking wheel towered high above them. An open gate yawned eighty meters ahead. Shifting to the edge of his seat, Gelor spoke urgently to the driver.

"My patient's worse. Pull into the port. I'll have to use the aid unit at the intake station."

The young policer nodded without glancing around. He wheeled the van right through the gate. The policer insignia did its work. The gate guard waved them through and the van never slowed.

Great ma.s.ses of cargo rose in building-high blocks on either side of the avenue leading to the intake station. Alleys jutted off at right angles. Loader-lifts rumbled to and fro, picking up and depositing goods from a dozen satellites and planets. Gelor braced himself.

"Watch it!" he shouted in the driver's ear.

The nipper went rigid. Gelor thumbed his spring-thing's triggering b.u.t.ton. The spring-head shot forth. The driver's skull shattered with the brittle sound of breaking ceramic-ware.

Gelor lunged. He shoved the policer aside and seized the steer-bar. He spun the van rightward with a jerk and swung into a loading alley. The vehicle swayed so wildly that for a moment he thought it must overturn, then ca- 103.

reened into a ma.s.sive case, righted itself, and ground to a halt against a row of bright blue synthetic chemical drums labeled BULK BORQ (unprocessed). The impact flipped the lid from one big canister. Gray-blue borq crystals and preservative oxytabs spilled out across the pavement.

Gelor grinned. This was a better break than he had any reason to hope for. Hastily, he glanced this way and that. Not a soul, not a vehicle was in view.

Gelor dragged the unconscious Shemsi from the battered van and hauled her over to the borq drum. He heaved her up to drape her over the big barrel, head and arms hanging within. He scooped out borq until he could crowd the slim woman below the rim, knees to chest. Ripping off her wetcloth sari, he draped the dark fabric loosely over her head and tied it-loosely-about her neck so that the borq crystals couldn't get into her eyes or nose or mouth.

(It was a lorlg, long time later before Gelor realized that he hadn't even noticed her bared b.r.e.a.s.t.s or any other aspect of her nudity. He was a man who knew how to concentrate his energies and his thoughts . . . and in whom the s.e.xual imperative ran fourth to greed and self-love and his need for violent mastery.) The drum's lid had been popped upward by impact. It was not damaged, and he snapped it into place as neatly as if it had never suffered the impact of the van. He bent down the sealing clamps and made them click. Not even the most powerful of men could get out of the canister now, with no leverage and no tool.

Gelor used a broken trim-strip from the van to score the drum's bright blue surface with an erratic series of scratches that would seem accidental-while making it eminently recognizable.

He was barely panting when he stepped back to inspect and admire his hasty work. He had a right, Gel Gelor thought, to be in a self-congratulatory mood. Not only had he eliminated any possible danger where Shemsi was concerned ... in the process he had come up with the perfect way to transport her to Jasbir!

Unconscious, sealed in a drum of borq, she'd be completely free of official attention. And thanks to the oxygen- 104.

generating tablets essential for any interplanetary shipment of the chemical, odds were strongly in favor of her survival. Even though cramped and uncomfortable in the lightweight plasteel barrel, Shemsi-andrist would live to carry out the work he a.s.signed her, at no cost above the lives of a couple of mindless 'Minders.

All I have to do now is get her onto an outbound merchant s.p.a.cer.

Gelor hurried around the van to check the policer. Dead. Good. He donned the fellow's cap and jacket and stowed the corpse out of sight in the rear of the van-the detention s.p.a.ce. With that zipped up, he swung back around to lift the stopper from its seat-holster-to h.e.l.l with one of those ungainly thumper-pistols designed for crowd control!-and thrust it into the inside pocket of his new jacket.

Stepping out into the main avenue leading to the intake station, he hailed the first loader-lift that pa.s.sed. Nothing happened; the dam' thing was cybernetic and Gelor had to get out of the way fast.

The next one had a human driver. Relatively speaking, anyhow. She pulled her huge vehicle to a stop.

"Trouble?"

"Double." Gelor spat on the pavement in what he hoped was an appropriately 'Mindish manifestation of disgust. "I was s'posed to pick up a can of this borq"-he gestured- "for shipment to Jasbir. Super-speed order, y'know? Instead, I dodged one of those d.a.m.ned cybeir-loaders and trashed my van." He shifted from foot to foot in a calculated show of embarra.s.sment and hesitation. "I'm awready in trouble. Help a dumb bug out and get the can on the shuttle for me, w.i.l.l.ya? That way I'll have time to take care of the paperwork at the intake office. The ship's already stowing cargo. Gotta admit I'm at yer mercy- it's my a.s.s if I miss roll-off."

The loader-driver's snort said worlds about the intelligence of policers, and of anyone who'd a.s.sign one to get anything onboard a shuttle. Still . . .

"Y'know-you mighta done us a favor! Union's been tryina find a way to fight all these sisterslicin' cyber-loaders, anyhows!" Her voice was an anomaly, along with 105.

the pink b.u.t.ton on her drab green coverall and her language: . she had a voice like an eleven-year-old. "Now one's essed up a nipper goin' about 'is duty! Outta the way, jacko. I'll handle it!"

She had the loader's magnetic clamps around the drum in seconds. In moments she was speeding down the roadway into the tangle of carriers crowded about the shuttle's cargo area. The blue synchem drum vanished from Gelor's view briefly, then reappeared: jouncing up the ramp to the left onto a crawler.

Exit one andrist: bulk borq, unprocessed, outbound for Jasbir.

So much for the carefully s.e.xy Shemsi. At least, Gelor decided, for the time being. Right now he had more important matters to consider.

Specifically, it was high time he set about contacting CongCorp to begin negotiations for the sale of the planet Eilong.