"I know more about my own requirements than your Life Stage Bureau.
Earthmen do have life stages. You know the penalty if you refuse that
service."
There were some races who went without sleep for five months and then
had to make up for it. Others grew vestigial wings for brief periods
and had to fly with them or die; reduced gravity would suffice for
that. Still others--
But the one common feature was always a critical time in which certain
conditions were necessary. Insofar as there was a universal law, from
one end of the Galaxy to the other, this was it: The habitat hotel had
to furnish appropriate conditions for the maintenance of any life-form
that requested it.
The Godolphian disappeared from the screen. When he came back, he
seemed disturbed.
"You spoke of a suite. I find that you're listed as occupying one room."
"I am. It's too small. Convert the rooms around me into a suite."
"That's very expensive."
"I'm aware of that. Check the Bank of the Galaxy for my credit rating."
He watched the process take place. Service would be amazingly good from
now on.
"Your suite will be converted in about two hours. The Life Stage Cordon
will begin as soon after that as you want. If you tell me how long
you'll need it, I can make arrangements now."
"About ten hours is all I'll need." Cassal rubbed his jaw reflectively.
"One more thing. Put a perpetual service at the spaceport. If a ship
comes in bound for Tunney 21 or the vicinity of it, get accommodations
on it for me. And hold it until I get ready, no matter what it costs."
He flipped off the intercom and promptly went to sleep. Hours later,
he was awakened by a faint hum. The Life Stage Cordon had just been
snapped safely around his newly created suite.
"Now what?" asked Dimanche.
"I need an identification tab."
"You do. And forgeries are expensive and generally crude, as that
Huntner woman, Murra Foray, observed."
* * * * *
Cassal glanced at the equipment. "Expensive, yes. Not crude when we do
it."
"_We_ forge it?" Dimanche was incredulous.
"That's what I said. Consider it this way. I've seen my tab a
countless number of times. If I tried to draw it as I remember it,
it would be inept and wouldn't pass. Nevertheless, that memory is in
my mind, recorded in neuronic chains, exact and accurate." He paused
significantly. "You have access to that memory."
"At least partially. But what good does that do?"
"Visual projector and plastic which will take the imprint. I think hard
about the identification as I remember it. You record and feed it back
to me while I concentrate on projecting it on the plastic. After we get
it down, we change the chemical composition of the plastic. It will
then pass everything except destructive analysis, and they don't often
do that."
Dimanche was silent. "Ingenious," was its comment. "Part of that we can
manage, the official engraving, even the electron stamp. That, however,
is gross detail. The print of the brain area is beyond our capacity.
We can put down what you remember, and you remember what you saw. You
didn't see fine enough, though. The general area will be recognizable,
but not the fine structure, nor the charges stored there nor their
interrelationship."
"But we've got to do it," Cassal insisted, pacing about nervously.
"With more equipment to probe--"
"Not a chance. I got one Life Stage Cordon on a bluff. If I ask for
another, they'll look it up and refuse."
"All right," said Dimanche, humming. The mechanical attempt at
music made Cassal's head ache. "I've got an idea. Think about the
identification tab."
Cassal thought.
"Enough," said Dimanche. "Now poke yourself."
"Where?"
"Everywhere," replied Dimanche irritably. "One place at a time."
Cassal did so, though it soon became monotonous.