Well, Jesti mused, running on, it's useful, pos, but I wouldn't go so far as to call it holy . . .

Out in the plant's main court, he was pleased to see that water was rising fast. Already it swirled ankle deep, cascading out the main door into the street. A small lake was forming down toward the shuttleport, covering at least one spur of the tubeway. Good, he thought, traffic will be fobbed, too! And he made more noises about the culprit- the Handsome Man. The words spread. Even robed Xan-clanners were hitching up their skirts and running. Jesti joined that flow.

They were a tiny sect, but enough of them were about to provide cover. (A corner loudspeaker boomed out the message: Handsome Man . . . lunatic . . . escaped from Croz. "There he goes," Jesti yelled, pointing.) More importantly, the flowing multicolored robes and full-face masks the Xans wore under their hoods would provide anonymity: the order decried the importance of the individual. Jesti definitely did not. He had just spent a few minutes demonstrating the enormous power of an individual who didn't give a d.a.m.n what he did.

Xan regalia would, however, certainly provide a disguise for purple skin!

"Quick," he said, shoving a tall Xan-clanner, "in here where it's dry."

The two swerved into the open doorway. The crowd- 147.

noises drowned the sound of a blow or two. Less than two minutes later a very tall Xan emerged, alone.

Jesti felt guilty about this gambit, but didn't extreme cases call for extreme remedies? Was it not a Xan maxim that humankind was born to suffer? (Suffer embarra.s.sment, in this case. The former wearer of Jesti's new robe, gloves, and mask was not likely to enjoy coming out in public with nothing but his shorts.) Meanwhile Jestikhan Churt was free to continue his project of bringing chaos to the city of Marmot. And, in the process, sharpening the eyes of policers, outraged citizenry, and visitors to the presence of any really handsome man newly in from planet Croz.

Just as he started forth, robe rustling, the silent alarm at his hip shot a small, stinging jolt of current into him. He grunted and repaired hurriedly into the nearest alley. And punched in the comm-b.u.t.ton behind his ear.

Beat, beat, waiting . . . How high in Jasbir's sky was the moon called The Sponge-and s.p.a.ceship Slicerl How many sees for sub-light communication?

Yahna's voice came into his head, taut and urgent. Jesti! The reader I coder's "talking." All about "Hajji." They're making a deal, setting up some sort of meeting. We need to cover it if we can, somehow. If you can just get up here-Jesti?

"Don't worry. I'll get there." As an afterthought: "I'll be wearing a Xan-robe." Already he was moving back into the street.

He was aware that getting back to Slicer wouldn't be quite as easy as he made it sound. It was one thing to play Xan here on the streets of Marmot. Making it past the shuttleport security would be quite another. What I need's another Eilan! Another purple man to distract attention from him. Might that be arranged? He looked about for a s.p.a.cefarer's friend, to ask directions, and saw a hardware shop. Robed, smiling behind his mask, he walked in.

Yes, they had spray-squirts, uh-sir. Yes, they had green and purple. Ignoring curious glances, Jesti counted out the few stells, tucked his purchases within his rainbow robe, and headed for the s.p.a.ceport. He had no purpose in mind 148.

for the green dye. Purchasing two colors, though, might prevent the clerks' remembering that someone had bought purple-and a streetcorner loudspeaker was putting out the word right now on a Handsome Man and a purple one.

A line of travelers was queued up at the shuttle. That was good.

Guards were checking IDs. That was not good.

A distraction, then, Jesti mused. He drew back into the cover provided by a parked cargo hauler. He surveyed the situation, and he thought. And saw the s.p.a.cefarer leaning, alone, against a shuttleport pillar. He had the look of a dummy who had drunk too much of something very alcoholic, and without popping a red antintoxicant pill or two. Behind his mask, Jesti smiled. Ever so casually, he started toward that lone s.p.a.cefarer.

The voice came from the wall-niche: "Welcome, purple playmate."

Jesti knew that voice. He froze. Slowly and carefully, he turned.

In the niche stood Captain Hieronymus Jee, pirate. He wore his mocking Outie smile. The snout of a stopper protruded ever so slightly from a cape slung over his arm.

"Naturally you have a stopper, Eilan. Kindly drop it." A twist of lip. "Bearing in mind that if you try to use it my hand will squeeze reflexively-and Poof you. Redshift one bothersome Eilan, Fried."

Wordless, Jesti dropped his weapon. Started to raise his hands.

"None of that, now! Keep your hands down, Eilan. We're not looking to attract attention, now are we?" And after a moment: "Your cute Xan outfit is a bright idea, of course. How better could you conceal that ghastly purple hide? Yet it also held a certain weakness, you see. It told me what to look for, once Yahna put out the message I ordered."

The words were a body blow. Grimly, Jesti gritted his teeth behind the mask. Yahna! Ordered!

"You didn't guess?" The triumph in Hieri's voice told 149.

Jesti how badly he had failed. "Clever girl, that Yahna. Prideful. Rape doesn't set well with her. When I pointed out how she could get back at you, she jumped at the chance." A tight gesture with the stopper. "Shall we go now? We have an engagement with a certain corrupt Jasbiri sub-prefect of policers. He gets you-quite a prize, in view of all the damage you've done today. You do have a resourceful talent for serving the great G.o.d Havoc, don't you! I remember that from the prison ... ah, the things the Jazzes will do to you, Eilan! Try not to think about it. Maybe, though, it'll make Petri rest easier. As for me-I get the opportunity to market my CongCorp souvenirs without policer interference. Move."

Numbly, still unspeaking, Jesti turned. He moved toward the gate.

To be betrayed by Yahna! To end his life in a trap sprung by the golden b.i.t.c.h! His hands shook. His belly knotted. He wanted to kill ... no, what he wanted to do was throw up. And yet. . . and yet can I be sure? Couldn't this be another trick of Hieri's? A s.a.d.i.s.tic lie, told in vengeance for his brother?

Those were questions without answers. For now, at least. Only one thing was dead certain: when Jasbir's policers got their hands on Jestikhan Churt, death would be the least of his worries.

Which means I'd better not let Hieri turn me over to them. Think, Jes!

He pushed bitterness and bitter thoughts of Yahna to a rearward chamber of his mind. Tight-lipped, he touched the spray-squirt beneath his robe. Coinage jingled as he brushed his garbager's coverall, and the sound brought inspiration. Fumbling out a clutch of coins under cover of the robe, he let them fall.

They jingled and rolled and instinctively Hieri's eyes flicked down. Jesti ducked and spun and lunged in close to wrench at the cape that hid the stopper. The weapon flew high and wide. Jesti squeezed the squirter's bulb, straight at Hieri. Purple skindye drenched the Outie like the burst of a violet bomb. As his hands started for his eyes, Jesti shoved him away.

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"Eilan!" he screamed, pointing at Hieronymus Jee. "Purple man! Eilan!"

Then he hurried, rustling, over for a certain dropped object. Everyone else was as if struck by paralysis, every eye focused on the stumbling, empurpled Hieri. The violet hands to his dye-splashed eyes made it seem that he was trying to hide his face.

Jesti tucked away Hieri's stopper. "Purple man!" he yelled again.

Two guards, a security woman, and two policers were heading for Hieri from three different directions. Jesti yelled it again, but this time his voice was drowned out by theirs. "PURPLE MAN! EILAN!"

Jerking his head, staggering, Hieri got his first (dye-bleared) glimpse of his hands, covered with instadry dye. With a curse, he lunged away. He rushed into the crowd and somehow no one was grabbing him, he was getting away-until suddenly a tall, almost unbelievably handsome man twisted away from the half-blinded pirate's rush. One hand snapped out at Hieri in what appeared more thrust than blow . . .

Except that Hieronymus Jee's entire body seemed to convulse. All direction and drive went out of him and he spilled to the pavement.

The handsome man let himself be engulfed by the milling crowd, and somehow was no longer there. Policers bulled their way to the fallen "Eilan." So did guards- those who were supposed to be checking IDs at the final gate.

Sweating within his rainbow robe, a Xan-clanner pa.s.sed through the gate and headed for the shuttle. He was shaky, certain that he had just seen the man he had so long sought: the Handsome Man. The man who had murdered that hust. The man who had stolen Eilan blood and s.e.m.e.n- Jesti's blood and s.e.m.e.n-for whatever devious purpose. The double-dyed villain who proposed to sell planet Eilong to mighty and ruthless CongCorp.

The Handsome Man! And so close, d.a.m.n him! And Jesti could do nothing. Surely Black Durga Himself protected the monster! Hiding him in the angry crowd 151.

around Hieri (Hieri's body?) so the b.a.s.t.a.r.d faded away, out of reach.

A cliche existed for the situation: So near and yet so far!

Raw of nerve and still shaking, Jesti sank into the first empty seat on the shuttle. At last he had seen his quarry- though at a distance, and while unable to do a thing about it. Who knew what another day might bring? Next time . . .

For now. though, he had other business. It began with that d.a.m.ned treacherous Yahna Golden.

14.

Racketeering is one of the most ancient of human inst.i.tutions. It is at least as old as any organized society of which we have historical records.

-John McConaughy Thoughtfully, the Handsome Man considered the future.

The groundwork was laid. He'd made his offer to CongCorp. All that remained was agreement on details, and his Great Plan. All, Gelor thought, chewing his lip. The short word was blood-chilling. One miscalculation, one misstep would trip him into disaster.

He did have his background as compudator to serve him. At an opening move he had acquired one of the deservedly famous Badakeacorp calculators. Deviously and painstakingly, he had modified it to handle non-tech output. Tapping it in on CongCorp's beams with the skill of experience, he laid down his proposition . . . carefully. Obliquely. Glossed with equivocal terms and evasive phrasing. Deceptive verbiage enfolded sheer temptation.

The company reply came even faster than he had expected. The men at the level he'd reached were realists. Daily they coped with potentialities, with far-out extrapolation. Conspiracy was the dagger beneath their collective cloak, their tool of choice. So their contact was anonymous and less than open as to details of his outrageous 152.

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proposition. What counted was the potential for outrageous profit for CongCorp. So-they would listen, and confer, and perhaps deal. They knew when a gamble was worth the taking.

Meanwhile, their anonymous contact's work proceeded.

DeyMeox finished the spore chamber. Already the cultures were maturing. Shemsi completed the Dravan dupla-droid, even unto the Rahman-green birthmark and opaqued red optic. And she finished the nondescript 'droid, designed to pa.s.s unnoticed in any crowd of four. Now the Gelor-droid was taking form.

Slowly. "Face it," Shemsi told him equably. "A really good-looking face is harder. Ugly's easy!"

Gelor set up the meeting to take place in a bar in Marmot. For that "meeting" he sent the nondescript simulacrum, programmed to don a mask before entering the. place. Immediately a pair of CongCorp ruffos seized the droid, tore off the mask, and began taking pictures. Enter a Gelor-bribed squad of Jasbiri policers. They seized the ruffos and allowed the dupladroid to "escape." Eyecorders/ cameras "got broken." So did an arm, and it was not one of the uniformed nippers'. And all the while Shemsi was receiving her tribute: neither policers nor ruffos recognized that the dupladroid was not a person.

On releasing the prisoners next morning, the nippers handed the chief ruffo an edutape. It offered CongCorp the' details of Gelor's offer. Now the company would know that "Hajji" had antic.i.p.ated them and had the tape ready all the time. He had expected double-cross, and dealt with it-well.

The proposal was one to excite the greed of any multiplanetary or even smaller corporation. It included an automatic monopoly on kiraoun catalysts and tintinabulate alloys. The potential for profit was beyond imagining. And they had sicced the ruffos on this man! At a high CongCorp level, a head rolled.

(Never mind. Within seventeen days that ruthless, knowledgeable former executive who had bungled only once-was on a yacht. It belonged to the Joser slaver- 154.

pirate Manjanungo. Four days later a C-Corp s.p.a.cer vanished.) Negotiations proceeded. Maneuverings and manipulation. Gelor's skill at maintaining anonymity reached the fantastic level. There were times when he could scarcely believe that he was still alive and free. At last the time came when he could no longer hold back revelation of his secret weapon. DeyMeox's deadly mycotoxin, Teratogenesis Six.

As she had predicted, company experts balked. They demanded proof that Eilong could be made habitable again. (Meanwhile, Gelor was sure, other C-C experts were making feasibility studies of all-cyber mining and operations on a killer planet. Just in case.) By then, however, DeyMeox had come up with what she believed to be an ant.i.toxin-fungicide of sufficient potency to deal with her brilliant creation. Fungal toxin T6.

A tiny XN satellite, long obsolete and out of the distant past, still circled Jasbir merely because no one had bothered to remove or destroy it. Gelor saw to the shipping of samples of T6 and its ant.i.toxin to the tiny sat. With the samples went testing equipment . . . and enough high explosion to blast the entire satellite to atoms. (Should have been done long ago, anyhow.) After that, Gelor got back to the corporation he'd been keeping on the hook. His message was brief and direct: C-C experts could proceed to the old XN and test both toxin and ant.i.toxin. They were to comm results to their headquarters. If the results were satisfactory, CongCorp would pay the still-anonymous Hajji Kalajji, Gelor's chosen nom de pillage. (As a nonviable alternative, at the slightest hint of a double-cross the satellite, testers, and toxin-ant.i.toxin would vanish in one eye-searing flash.) Gelor specified the form of the payoff: 'Vocker ice emeralds; uncut Joser gemstones; and TGO credslips. All loot as anonymous as he was. All convertible in "any corner of the Galaxy without fear of being traced. The only problem was the bulk of that ma.s.sive ransom.

Gelor directed the solution: the payoff was to be loaded, 155.

appropriately bagged, on a small s.p.a.cer with subs.p.a.ce capability. It would cruise close by the old satellite. If the company decided to accept his plan and toxin-ant.i.toxin, he would transfer from a charter carrier to the payoff s.p.a.cer. The corporate reps would in turn take over the carrier, pick up their testers and toxin from XN, and go their way to megacred profits.

That was reasonable enough, and CongCorp agreed readily. Too readily. A grimly smiling Gelor could visualize the negotiators gloating and rubbing their hands at the stupidity he was at last showing. Now it would be clear to them that they were dealing with a flawed genius, a hyperclever fool. Once they had the toxin-ant.i.toxin safely off the testing sat, they would s.n.a.t.c.h back the payoff ship, and him with it, before he knew what hit him. After that he would vanish, of course. CongCorp would have everything. The would-be planet murderer and seller would have nothing, including life.

So they were to believe. Gelor was not so insane, and he had his own notions. Furthermore, he had a superb and daring plan.

The nerve-knotting panic remained at bay within him now, washed away in the blood of Pearl and the Saipese thief and the Reshi ruffian. Boldness sang in him. Self-confidence soared, born of long and careful planning plus a touch of what had to be cla.s.sed as inspiration. Genius, even.

Now it was time for him to put his true plan into effect. Time for the modified calculator and the ghastly Bleaker android. For so long, so long he had been waiting and sweating and preparing for this time!

He paced his palatial quarters in a long wine-dark robe, thinking, ever thinking. Now he reflected on what to do with the women who had indeed proven so competent and so useful; so indispensable to all his meticulous planning.

Once their work was done-the simulacrums and canisters of Teratogenesis Six prepared, the pair became a totally unacceptable threat; a continuing danger to Gel Gelor. DeyMeox could be counted on to pa.s.s on word of his 156.

masterminding the whole affair to all who would listen. That would include TGW and CongCorp.

Simple, then. I can't afford to allow them to continue to exist.

Although he felt secure in his plan for covering his tracks, he'd rather have no hint of his presence on Jasbir or even his existence leak out. Firm, then. All that remains is the means. How to terminate them.

He discovered that this time he had no taste for spilling blood. He had been too close to both women for that. Not a knife or club or stopper set on Three for Fry, then.

Pacing and thinking, he nodded. Inspected his hand. It did not tremble. Gelor smiled.

They had after all performed well for him, no matter how much irritation they had caused over a.s.signments they naturally despised. He could afford to be merciful now, in their . . . execution. Good slaves. If they could merely go to sleep and not awaken. . . .

The perfect answer! Both their cells included ventilation ducts. He needed only to lock a little tank of monocyan gas to each, having blocked them off otherwise, then open the valves after the slaves had fallen asleep. And they would simply not awake. Ever.

Working out the details was even simpler than co'ming up with the concept.

"I have business over in the port tonight," he .told them, each wearing a reward-garment purchased in a large store in Tenkilom, across the planet. "The cargo haulers come for the canisters tomorrow morning. That means early to bed for both of you. I'm locking you in until the action's over." The Handsome Man smiled handsomely. "I really am sorry, but there it is."

The glance exchanged by the two velour-jumpsuited women filled him with satisfaction. It said they still didn't realize that he knew they could enter and leave their cells at will. Good! Such a belief allayed any suspicions they might otherwise have had. He could move ahead at speed.

DeyMeox went to her lockbox first. She said not a 157.

word. Equally silent, Gelor threw the bolt and went down the line to Shemsi's cage.

She . . . lingered at the threshold, in her nicely-fitted mauve velour. Eyeing him from beneath lowered lashes. Her lips curved in a small, cryptic smile. She seemed . . . flushed. Excited? He gave her a brows-up look and the corners of her mouth quivered as if in secret mirth.

"This is the end, isn't it?"

Gelor maintained that querying look. "The end?"

"Of our work here," she said, smiling openly. "I thought you might like to ... celebrate."

At any other time he might have been tempted, and to h.e.l.l with the frustration she'd given him. Not tonight. Not with his coup so close and his whole future in the balance. He shook his head with a sigh.

"Sorry, Shemsi," he said, as if wistfully. "It's not that I don't appreciate the suggestion. I-"

Her laughter interrupted. "I don't mean with me I'm talking about Her Majesty, Gelor! Your own true love, right? DeyMeox."

"What?" Gelor stared.

"That b.i.t.c.h!" Shemsi's laughter died amid soaring rage. "You can't know how much I hate her! Working with her, day after day, while she puts on her crober's airs and looks down at her nose at me as if I were a-a hust!"

A stunned Gelor could only stare at her in astonishment.

"Tonight, though, tonight I pay her back! You're the only one she sneers at more than she does me. So tonight you're going to have her!"

Gelor had felt the beginnings of excitement. Now it was ebbing. "If I wanted to rape her, I'd have done it before now," he said stiffly.