“Inspector Mwavuli. Where is he?” He looked around. “Search this place.”

“Where is who? Bolivar? He is in jail-where your fellow officers took him.”

“He is not. He escaped.”

“That’s nice to hear. Drink?”

There was none of that “not on duty” nonsense on Fetorr. He poured a glassful of hooch and knocked it back without taking his eyes off me. His co-conspirators returned from their search of the premises and answered his raised eyebrows with negative grunts.

“Don’t leave this city,” he ordered. Then they left.

“Charming,” Angelina said as she double-locked the hall door, put on the safety chain and propped a chair under the handle.

Bolivar came in from the balcony and touched his finger to his lips. He made a careful search of the suite with his detector and returned with a handful of bugs. They were disguised as coins, soap cakes, picture hangers-and even one roach. He flipped them off the balcony then poured himself a glass of red wine.

“Bolivar-you are going to join the circus,” Angelina said.

“My lifetime ambition!’

“Don’t be cheeky. I mean it, seriously.”

“Of course you do. But I was also thinking of the little matter of reaching the Colosseo. I’m sure that all the police have my photo by now and are on the lookout. The streets are not safe.”

“For a young man, yes. But for a young women they are as safe as they possibly could be on this despicable planet. Prepare yourself for a temporary sex change. I pity the thug that tries to get smart with this particular young lady. Shave your legs while I get you some clothes.”

The sky was getting light by the time our son was dressed to Angelina’s satisfaction.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“Bolivera has never looked better!”

Nor had he. Neatly turned out, long skirt and svelte bosom. Good makeup and a not too wiggy-looking wig. Angelina nodded approval as well.

“Now get a few hours sleep-and don’t wrinkle the dress! You will leave by the main entrance. And do try to mince a bit when you walk. Like this.”

When he was mincing fine we all retired, very much in need of some rest.

I managed a few hours sleep and awoke feeling a bit better. After a picker-upper pill I felt better still. As I did, first thing every morning, I checked my bank account. The expected four million from Chaise had not come through. But there was a message.

NOT TOO GOOD, JIM. TRY HARDER.

It was late morning before we left. Angelina and I went out first, me with the computer and her leading Gloriana. Bolivera slipping out of our suite as soon as we signaled him that the hallway was clear. He waited for the second elevator since we were sure to be followed. We were. We ignored the tails and hailed a cab to take us to the circus.

“No animals,” the driver said, looking suspiciously down at Gloriana.

“This is not an animal,” I said as I slipped him a more than generous tip. “It is our daughter who has a piggish spell cast upon her. We are on our way to a witch who had promised, for a price, to restore her to her normal form.”

He bulged his eyes at the story. But the money spoke louder than the fairy tale and we followed our sprightly swine into the cab. There was no way of testing the detector so we spoke of nothing important until we were in our dressing room. I swept the room for bugs with my own detector.

“Clean,” I said folding the instrument and putting it away.

“Good. Now we must leave a note for Bolivar telling him to wait for us here. Then we must go out and find his dressing room-so we can talk to Gar Goyle. I am sure that he will be happy to help us.”

“Why?”

“You will see.”

I did not press the matter. I recognized the tone of voice. I would be informed at the right time-and not any earlier. Gloriana squealed lightly when we started to leave, then trotted happily after us when we called out to her. Then grunted enthusiastically when we opened the door to Goyle’s dressing room. It had a very barnyardy smell to it. Or zoo, I had smelled it when the act was on stage. An artificial pong to add realism to the act.

The tuxedoed man from the act was sitting at a desk writing something; he did not look up when we came in. Was he Gar Goyle? Or was he the four-armed man who had introduced the acts? He was there now, wearing his kilt and sporran, sitting across the desk from tuxedo, speaking on the phone. I looked around. The rest of the large room was dimly lit: there was just light enough to see the cages. With things in them.

And what things! Some had been in the act. Yet there were lots more. A two-headed carnivore of some kind was pacing its cage: it hissed and bared immense fangs when I looked at it. And there was Mr. Bones-I recognized him from the posters-taking a nap on the couch. He was at least two meters tall, but no thicker through than my arm.

“What do you want?” a voice asked. I turned to see that Gar Goyle was still scribbling away at the desk.

“We wish to speak to you, Mr. Goyle.”

“About what?”

Only then did I realize that it was the four-armed man who was talking. “Just general chitchat about the circus, you know. How do you like the weather?”

I continued to ramble on as I walked about the room with my bug detector. I found six of them, five writhing bug bugs and only a single coin this time. I stepped on them all just to make sure. Crushing them with my heel until the detector flashed green.

“We have heard a lot about you,” Angelina said, menacingly.

“From the Special Corps,” I whispered.

He sat expressionless and silent, shifting only when Gloriana came over and sat by his feet. Then she leaned over and bit him in the arm.

“Naughty swine!” Angelina snapped. “Let go of that man at once.”

Only then did the man look down and nod. “She can tell flesh from plastic, you see. A fine nose like all porcuswine.”

Then he reached up with his upper set of arms and plunged his hands in the flesh of his neck and ripped down. Angelina gasped as the skin parted. He pulled the opening wide and a man wearing a kilt stepped out: he only had two arms.

“Why do you mention the Special Corps?” I looked from him to the man still writing at the desk. “Don’t worry about him. He is a pseudoflesh robot, like all of the others. The audience watches him and never notices that I am controlling the act.”

“Misdirection!” I said happily.

“Of course. Now please answer my question.”

“Mr. Goyle we have reason to believe…”

“Call me Gar.”

“Gar, of course. You will have heard of the Special Corps, the mythical group that fights crime and seeks justice throughout the galaxy.”

“Of course. Everyone has heard of it even though it does not exist. But let me ask you a question. If this mythical Corps had a mythical laboratory and research program-what mythical scientist might be head of it?”

I touched my detector again; still green. “Professor Coypu,” I said as quietly as I could.

Gar sighed and slipped out of the rest of the four-armed flesh man. Gloriana let go of the arm and lay down. The pseudoman at the desk stopped writing and fell over sideways onto the floor. Gar took his chair. “I had a brief message from Professor Coypu. He has been of great aid to me in developing my troupe. He said that I should help you if you asked.”

“Are you in the Special Corps?” Angelina asked.

“I was. Retired. I worked in the forensic lab. Very boring once you got used to it. As the saying goes-see one corpse and you have seen them all. But I did get inspiration from the work, used it in developing my act. So you see, I do have a far more interesting job now.”

“This act.”

“A cover. I am…” He waved us close, looked around fearfully, then whispered, the word barely audible. “Guu. ”

“Goo?” Angelina said, and he fearfully waved her to silence.

“The Galactic Union Union,” he whispered. “You must have heard of us?”