* * * * *
The whine of the carrier sounded. The ghostly cage glided through the
wall and settled gently between Dan and Snithian. The glow died.
Blote waved cheerfully to Dan as he eased his grotesque bulk from the
seat.
"Good day to you, Snithian," Blote boomed. "I see you've met Dan. An
enterprising fellow."
"What brings you here, Gom Blote?" Snithian shrilled. "I thought you'd
be well on your way to Vorplisch by now."
"I was tempted, Snithian. But I don't spook easy. There is the matter
of some unfinished business."
"Excellent!" Snithian exclaimed. "I'll have another consignment ready
for you by tomorrow."
"Tomorrow! How is it possible, with Manny and Fiorello lodged in the
hoosegow?" Blote looked around; his eye fell on the stacked paintings.
He moved across to them, lifted one, glanced at the next, then shuffled
rapidly through the stack. He turned.
"What duplicity is this, Snithian!" he rumbled. "All identical!
Our agreement called for limited editions, not mass production! My
principals will be furious! My reputation--"
"Shrivel your reputation!" Snithian keened. "I have more serious
problems at the moment! My entire position's been compromised. I'm
faced with the necessity for disposing of this blundering fool!"
"Dan? Why, I'm afraid I can't allow that, Snithian." Blote moved to
the carrier, dumped an armful of duplicate paintings in the cage.
"Evidence," he said. "The confederation has methods for dealing with
sharp practice. Come, Dan, if you're ready...."
"You dare to cross me?" Snithian hissed. "I, who act for the Ivroy?"
Blote motioned to the carrier. "Get in, Dan. We'll be going now." He
rolled both eyes to bear on Snithian. "And I'll deal with you later,"
he rumbled. "No one pulls a fast one on Gom Blote, Trader Fourth
Class--or on the Vegan Federation."
Snithian moved suddenly, flicking out a spidery arm to seize the weapon
he had dropped, aim and trigger. Dan, in a wash of pain, felt his knees
fold. He fell slackly to the floor. Beside him, Blote sagged, his
tentacles limp.
"I credited you with more intelligence," Snithian cackled. "Now I have
an extra ton of protoplasm to dispose of. The carrier will be useful in
that connection."
V
Dan felt a familiar chill in the air. A Portal appeared. In a puff of
icy mist, a tall figure stepped through.
Gone was the tight uniform. In its place, the lanky Australopithecine
wore skin-tight blue-jeans and a loose sweat shirt. An oversized
beret clung to the small round head. Immense dark glasses covered
the yellowish eyes, and sandals flapped on the bare, long-toed feet.
Dzhackoon waved a long cigarette holder at the group.
"Ah, a stroke of luck! How nice to find you standing by. I had expected
to have to conduct an intensive search within the locus. Thus the
native dress. However--" Dzhackoon's eyes fell on Snithian standing
stiffly by, the gun out of sight.
"You're of a race unfamiliar to me," he said. "Still, I assume you're
aware of the Interdict on all Anthropoid populated loci?"
"And who might you be?" Snithian inquired loftily.
"I'm a Field Agent of the Inter-dimensional Monitor Service."
"Ah, yes. Well, your Interdict means nothing to me. I'm operating
directly under Ivroy auspices." Snithian touched a glittering pin on
his drab cloak.