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  Reva released her grip and left him collapsed and gasping against the wall. Security case in hand, she unsealed the cubicle and left.

  Kirk was so fascinated by the stricken courier he forgot to follow her. She didn't ask him along.

  V

  Security could be tight in starports, where planetary authorities like to monitor who and what comes through their points of entry. That was why Reva seldom carried anything with her on a job but a credmeter and a change of clothes so widely mass-marketed they couldn't be traced.

  The drawback was that she had to supply her needs locally. When those needs included specialty items—concussion detonators, bypass circuitry, even simple drugs—then that required a special contact: a Holdout, the smuggler or black market connection that greased the skids of private enterprise on almost every world in the Empire. It was the trade she had started in, and the one whose people she judged best.

  Her preferred Holdout on Selmun III was Karuu. When she arrived in Amasl, she headed to his midtown offices, staffed by the innocent employees of his beldy packing firm. As with most good Holdouts, it was an impeccably legitimate front. She avoided that front by using the private entrance to Karuu's lounge-suite. A keycode and a spoken password admitted her and alerted the Holdout to his visitor.

  Karuu stepped out of the bounce tube, a straight drop from his office, and waddled over to join her, his flipperlike feet bare beneath the yellow R'debhi sarong. His bright eyes were almost lost behind a bristling mustache and the doleful expression common to Dorleon natives. Reva thought of the walruslike hoslodi whenever she saw the alien Holdout.

  "Reva!" he enthused. "So happy you are here! Please to sit." He gestured her to a float-couch, punched for drinks on the service table. "The usual?" he asked. "Kabo juice?"

  The assassin nodded, perversely taking a chair instead of the couch. She accepted the drink when it came. Staring at the glass hid her lapse of concentration as her timesense roved nearby Lines. In none of them did she pass out after drinking. In none was she rudely surprised by arresting officers bursting from concealment.

  Reva let the drink stand after a single sip, waiting for the Dorleoni to settle himself. It didn't pay to rush business with this one. His display of congeniality was misleading: although nods and encouragement were always forthcoming, nothing happened until numbers and terms were agreed upon. And those agreements came only after cutthroat bargaining.

  Karuu opened with a simple query. "And how can I help you this time, tall one?"

  "I hear the arms trade is doing real well, Karuu."

  The alien nodded benignly.

  "I also hear you have toys moving through Amasl that've never been here before."

  Karuu shrugged. "Many things are heard, Reva. Who knows where rumors start?"

  "Is it true you can get time patches?"

  The alien sat stock-still, his evasive chatter silenced for the moment. "Time patches," he echoed.

  Their trade name was IDP, Inert Delivery Patch, an industrial variation on the medicine patches used to deliver drugs through the skin over a precisely timed period. Their construction was delicate: two thin sheets of inert synthetic, the center of one shaved microns thinner than the other. With an active liquid or gel sandwiched between the two, the patch degraded where it was thinnest. Mixed, matched, and measured correctly, the contents of the patch bled through a pinhole leak at an exact time: seconds, minutes, hours, or days later.

  The destructive potential was too good for criminals or saboteurs to pass it up for long. Want to set off an explosion where conventional detonators would be detected? Slap a time patch holding the right catalyst on the explosive, and leave. Want someone's vacc suit to decompress while he's in it and no one's around? If you knew when he'd be in vacuum, a time patch holding acid was your answer.

  IDPs caught on quick, and were outlawed quicker. But that was what Holdouts were for.

  Reva verbally prodded her connection. "Come on, Karuu. Downlink."

  The alien looked perplexed. "I do not know what to tell you, Reva. I cannot help you in this way, no."

  "Then why the reaction?"

  His mustache bristled. "I, too, hear rumors that time patches are here, yes. I do not have them; new source does."

  "I need one. Who's the connection?"

  The Holdout shook his head. "I cannot vouch for the source. New Holdout, new trade. Could be Customs already have finger on her. Hard to say."

  He evaded her questions until Reva brought out her credmeter. She tapped out the figure "1000 CR" and showed it to him. "A one-time referral fee," she said. "For a one-time purchase. You're not losing my business, you know."

  The beldy packer didn't hesitate long. "Lairdome 7. Ask for Lish. She sells cryocases for offworld cargo runs, owns the company. Ask about the 'hex-pack special.' She will know to work with you."

  After the credits were transferred to Karuu's credmeter, he added, "Lish came from nowhere. We are not sure of her yet. I offer no guarantees about service or product, tall one."

  Reva stood. "No guarantees," she acknowledged.

  She'd lived without guarantees since she'd learned to cross the Lines. So what else was new?

  VI

  Aztrakhani warriors didn't leave their homeworld often. No one wanted to hire them, and they were unwelcome as travelers. Xenologists said they were the victims of seasonal hormone surges so strong that Aztrakhani tribes were driven to periodic campaigns of genocide against their own race. The role this played in population control on their homeworld was notable, but was not a great enticement to tourism. Few citizens of the Empire knew Aztrakhan existed; fewer knew its dominant species by sight.

  Physically, Yavobo was a typical member of his race. At 2.6 meters in height, he towered over most humans. His black and red mottled skin was leathery in texture, a perfect camouflage

  pattern for the deserts of his native land. His slitted pupils gave him exceptional night vision. His reflexes were desert-trained and warrior-fast.

  It was less apparent that Yavobo was a eunuch, and thus not subject to the extremes of hormone-induced temper for which his race was notorious. Not that he was without temper. No. And the moods of an Aztrakhani eunuch were enough to put bystanders in the medcenter. This warrior, however, had found a creative outlet for his natural aggressions.

  Yavobo was a bounty hunter. Though an accident of youthful combat made the warrior an outcast among his people, it freed him for travel in the Empire, and with years of experience he had finally hit upon this way to legitimately hunt a sentient being, his favorite prey. His clients felt he had made the best of his circumstances.

  Clients like Albek Murs, Senior Advisor to the Economic Council of Selmun III.

  When Murs wanted to hire Yavobo, the Aztrakhani at first refused the commission. "I'm not a bodyguard," he said flatly.

  Albek held a powerful position. He wasn't used to being refused, and persisted with the alien. "I don't want a bodyguard. I want a bounty hunter. You are that, I take it?"

  The comment was calculated to goad. Unfortunately, Albek underestimated how easily an Aztrakhani was provoked. Before he could blink he was staring down the muzzle of a wide-bore j dart gun, the kind that holds heavy-caliber hunting darts designed for maximum damage at short range.

  "If I knew of a reward posted for you, you would be dead." Yavobo's gun never wavered. "What do you want from me?"

  The cockiness left Albek as the color left his face. "I've been warned that an assassin is after me. I'm posting a reward for you to get the killer. I don't know who it is, and there may be more than one. That's what I want taken care of."

  "You can't post a reward before a crime has been committed," replied the Aztrakhani. "That's not a bounty."

  Albek laughed, an edge of hysteria in his voice. "I'm sure not going to post one after I'm dead. I don't want to wait for this crime to be committed. Consider it crime prevention."

  "It's contract killing."

  The gun had not moved fro
m Albek's forehead. He looked past the weapon to the warrior behind it. His voice quavered. "I wouldn't know who to put a contract on. Please. I need your help."

  After an eternity of heartbeats, Yavobo nodded. He lowered the gun and holstered it. "We'll talk," he said, and walked away.

  It was a moment before Albek could walk steadily enough to follow.

  VII

  Smugglers know what a client buys, when it's bought, and oftentimes, what it must be used for. If there was one weak link in Reva's line of work, it was her necessary but vulnerable tie to Holdouts.

  She traded only with those she had checked out personally. That included surveillance, to see how they did business when they didn't know they were observed.

  Lairdome 7 and Comax Shipping Supply—"Bulk and Custom Cryocases"—was easily found. Reva began her routine. A walk-by past the Comax freight bay pinpointed Lish, the only human among six labormechs. That's smart for a new Holdout, Reva thought, built-in loyalty and erasable memory in the "employees." That'll save her problems in the long run.

  Reva squeezed her eyes tightly shut for a moment. When she opened them, the macro cells expanded on the contact lenses she wore for this work. Focal planes altered, and she saw Lish as if she were only three meters away.

  Lish was slim, petite, and looked young. A pretty face, but with a hard cast to the mouth, a frown of concentration while she directed the assembly work of her mechos. The woman was not native to Selmun III: she was too fair, without the right cast to her features. Her hair was blond, buzzed short on sides and back, green-tipped at forelock. Not a Lyndir or a R'debh style, that. Reva couldn't place it.

  She squeezed her eyelids shut again, and Lish receded to a proper distance. It was time to take up a surveillance post in an out-of-the-way place. Reva had already identified the security monitors and where to stand to avoid their sweep pattern. Surveillance was the boring part of her work, but without it the rest couldn't be done. It was like prepping for a hit: Reva stuck out days of observation, tailing, and data-tracing at times when she thought Lish asleep. Slowly, the Holdout's routine emerged from the minutiae of daily living.

  On the surface, there was nothing remarkable about the woman's life. Then, on closer examination, the real pattern came clear: coded vidcalls, late-night runs to deep ocean, deliveries at odd hours. Reva suspected she met with smugglers ducking the Customs net just long enough to land hot on the water, drop their cargos, then lift.

  That was a big risk. No wonder she could get goods like time patches. It would be no time at all before the Imperials had her trussed and spitted for her enterprising breach of the law.

  Reva decided to move closer after a late-night ocean run. Undoubtedly smuggling business was going on then. It was the perfect time to slip in, have a listen, see how she liked the attitude. Did Lish take unreasonable risks? Did she have a volatile temper? Did she have good security? Against persons without Reva's talent, that is. Those and other details would tell her if this was a Holdout she wanted to deal with or not.

  And I better hurry, she thought. If they're doing hot drops, time patches won't be available much longer.

  Reva walked through the cargo bay, past labormechs assembling cryocases. Normally they would alert Lish to an unauthorized entry—but Reva did a fine dance between the Lines, walking forward in the moment when a mech turned away, ducking behind a case in the precise moment before it turned back. It was precognition made practical: a knowingness of what was about to happen, and the option to avoid it if she wished, or use it to her advantage.

  Security is poor, she noted. Mechos easy to bypass, and the side office connecting with the main one made Lish doubly ac- J cessible.

  The manual door between the two offices was laughably simple to unlock. Reva slid it open a crack; saw and heard Lish in conversation in the room beyond.

  "You're not meeting my suppliers," the blond woman was saying, temper ringing in her tone. "And I'm not using your 'help' on my drops."

  A cheerful voice soothed her anger. "No, no. Do not want those things. You misunderstand offer!"

  Reva knew the voice immediately. Karuu continued. "Is simple-clear. I help pick up drops because your business grows so much you move more volume. Profit increases because I distribute your goods, guaranteed at least double your current distribution. All this for a reasonable share of those profits. Yes?"

  Lish considered the offer. Then a calculating look came over her face. "Profit sharing will be split as if my distribution were doubled, even if you're moving less volume than that. If you move more, my share goes up. Agreed?"

  Karuu squirmed in silence. "Agreed," he capitulated.

  Reva sighed. Lish was taken in by the Dorleoni's sincerity.

  I was like that once, she reflected. Before I learned better.

  She listened at the door a moment longer, hearing the "deal" concluded on the other side, and shook her head as she slid the panel shut. She was strongly tempted to ignore her misgivings about this new Holdout.

  I might warn her about Karuu, she considered, talking herself into it. Besides, I need a time patch.

  VIII

  Questions about the hex-pack special led Reva directly to Lish and a private conference. Lish dealt straight and to the point. Time patch delivery was promised in two days. Credits-changed meters, half now, half later; a pickup time and place were arranged.

  As Reva put her credmeter away, she decided to take the gamble. She caught the smuggler's eye. "By the way," she said, "that deal Karuu made with you? He'll sell your goods to his middlemen and pay your profit out of that. Then his middlemen turn around and resell the stuff for five times what you made. Karuu pockets his share of that, too, and you don't see any of it. Be forewarned."

  Lish stiffened. "How do you know about my business?" she asked coldly.

  "Don't worry. No one else does."

  Lish didn't let it rest. "How do you know what Karuu's going to do?"

  Reva shook her head. "I know him. I know this business even better. Look—Lesson Number One. It never pays unless you own the distribution. Build your own network, and watch your back. You'll make enemies while you get rich."

  Lish studied her for a moment, then reached into her vest anc pulled out a triangular blue chit. She tossed it to Reva, wh plucked it out of the air handily.

  "A guest pass into my place," explained the Holdout. "The address is on it. I'll be there after the end of this month. Conic visit. Maybe we can do more business."

  Reva doubted that. She glanced at the chit, TYREE LONGHOUSE BANEKS CAPE was engraved on it. She knew Selmun III well, but that name was unfamiliar.

  "Where's Baneks Cape?" she asked.

  Lish pointed one sculpted nail to the ceiling overhead, "Des'lin," came her one-word reply.

  Ah. Selmun IV, called Des'lin by the natives. An ice world, settled by R'debhi emigrants and others, a place of taiga, snowy wastelands, and touchy Vudesh clansmen. It was the first place Reva had gone for training as an assassin. She knew it well, and could tell Lish was no Des'lin native.

  "Lived there long?" the assassin asked.

  Lish smiled openly, amused. "Come visit. We'll talk about it."

  "It's out of my way," Reva said dismissively.

  "You ever have anything to sell? Come see me. I'll give you a good deal."

  "We'll see." Reva was unsettled by the overture and the impulsive gift of the pass. She left abruptly.

  IX

  His first day with Albek Murs, Yavobo checked out a government skimboat before the Senior Advisor stepped on board. The pilot resented the frisking, and the Captain protested the search loudly until Yavobo tossed him against a bulkhead. Broken ribs made it difficult to shout.

  Word of Advisor Murs' new protection traveled fast. The trans- j port office banned Yavobo from official vehicles, and since Albek | refused to move without him, this necessitated the use of private transportation for his many Shelf-hopping junkets. There was never a second protest against the warrior searchi
ng a vessel the Advisor traveled in. Yet Albek found that, for all the extensive traveling he did, it was getting harder and harder to find a boat that consented to carry him and his entourage.

  Soon he was forced to lease a hydroskiff and hire a pilot of his own, an arrangement with which Yavobo found fault.

  "This is not safe. When you travel always in the same boat, you are easy to identify."

  "If other boats would take me," Albek said pointedly, "that wouldn't be a concern."

  "They will take you," responded Yavobo. "It is I they refuse to let on board."

  "We've been over that already."

  "If you let me follow in a second skiff, I will be more effective. I will be free to pursue any trouble once it is encountered."

  "And what if it's encountered on the skiff I'm on?"

  "We have agreed you are not in much danger from your countrymen."

  "What? A R'debhi probably put the contract out on me, and you tell me—"

  The Aztrakhani cut Murs off before he could get started. "I am referring to those who travel with you in the same vessel. They are unlikely to be hired killers. And I am here to screen them. Attack from inside the vessel is unlikely when you are traveling between deepsea domes. If I were in another skiff..."

  Albek tuned out the warrior's lecture on what he would do in a second vessel. The alien seemed far more intent on chasing and capturing an assassin than on preventing the attack in the first place. Albek was irritated with himself. He remembered once again Yavobo's disclaimer that he was a bounty hunter, not a bodyguard.

  And I, Albek thought glumly, had to insist on a contract.

  X

  The Senior Advisor's trip to the Obai Shelf deep domes was publicized well in advance. Reva had no problem learning the time of his departure. In planning the hit, she relied on Murs' reputation for punctuality. It was an obliging habit of his, since his untimely demise depended on his following a tight schedule.