“One hundred and eighty credits each, standard fee. Good-by.”

It opened the door for itself and was gone. Angelina locked it carefully, then turned to me. “Any explanations?”

“None whatsoever. Except someone is after me-and I’m not being paranoid.”

“What do we do about it?”

“The stainless steel rat? There is nothing we can do, is there?”

“We can leave this repellent planet.”

“No!” I was suddenly quite angry. “He, they, it, she whoever or whatever is behind these games is not going to get away with it. If we leave now we will never know what the goings-on on this planet are all about. And besides, I like earning four million a day.”

She arched her eyebrows at that. “Greed goeth before a fall.”

I thought about that as I stamped over to the bar and retrieved a bottle of Zubanishamali Sour Mash and a glass; two glasses. Held one out. She shook her head.

“Thank you, no. I don’t how you can drink that filthy stuff. A white wine, if you please.”

I opened and poured and pondered the fixture. We clicked glasses and drank.

“It’s not the money,” I announced at last. “It’s my reputation-or lack of one. Someone is diddling with my life. I have to find out who it is and cause it to cease. I am being set up-worse my whole family is being set up. I do not like this. But who is doing it?”

“Chaise,” she said firmly.

“A possibility. Or it could be whatever dark power I am being paid to discover. This would not be the first time that the hunter became the hunted.” I looked at my watch. “Before anything else exciting happens I am going to begin our investigation of our only suspect, Puissanto. I have plenty of time before the next performance.”

Before tempting fate I went to the stage door, where its geriatric guardian was reading a holo-horror comic. Little shrill screams and demonic laughter sounded thinly when he turned the page.

“I’m looking for Puissanto. Have you seen him lately?”

“Yeah. Gone out to eat a meal. Does it four or five times a day.”

“Do you have any idea when he will return?”

“An hour. Usually takes him about an hour to eat. I saw him do it once. Unbelievable.”

“That’s great, thanks. I’ll try him later.”

For a lot of obvious reasons I tried him now. His dressing room door was locked. I knocked sharply, but there was no reply. Remembering him biting the steel bar in half, I made no attempt to enter until I had listened at the door with my electronic eavesdripper. Silence. No clatter nor sound of breathing. I then checked for alarms. Finding none I use the lockpick to make a quick entry. Closed the door behind me and stared into the darkness.

Light switch, somewhere on the wall, found it and blinked when the brilliant lights came on. There was the standard dressing table, the screen, the couch with broken springs-as well as some mighty solid-looking props. Weights, bars, an anvil, two barrels of beer, a smoked porcuswine ham hanging from the ceiling with a great bite taken out of it: just what you might expect in a strongman’s room. Nothing unexpected. Some papers in the wastebasket. Receipts from a dry cleaner. One lion skin with moth holes. Man’s jacket size 108 large. Not too revealing.

I went to the dressing table. No notes or pieces of paper in the drawers, one book on the table. I checked through it, held it to the light so I could see the title. Star Bashers of the Galaxy Strangers. Mindless and sordidly violent fiction-what else would a mindless and sordidly violent weightlifter read?

And a battered computer on the table. I switched it on. The screen flickered and then went black and displayed the flickering red message. ENTER PASSWORD it said. I turned it off and noted the make; an Eprom-80. I would dig out the specs and then, when I had a little more time, I would see if I couldn’t break the secret password. Or wait until James turned up-this sort of thing was right down his hacking alley.

There was a rumble of masculine voices just outside the door.

Was Puissanto coming back? Panic struck: I could feel those steel fingers sinking into my windpipe already. Was there any place to hide? Possibly behind the giant trunk in the corner-if there was room enough to fit.

The door handle was turning!

I hit the light switch a nanosecond before the door opened a crack. Then stopped.

“… and I am deducting the cost of replacing the wheel of the lorry you tore off of.” It was Harley Davidson, I recognized his voice.

“Tried run over me. Puissanto don’t take hestelort from dumb driver. No way.”

“It was an accident, you saw the police report, the driver never touched you.”

“Wheel touch. Pull off.”

“Indeed you did-and the half-axle and the differential along with it!”

“Cheap lorry, built like crap.”

“Nevertheless you are paying for it.”

While this intellectual conversation was going on I tiptoed across the room. There was just enough light coming in through the partially open door to find my way around anything in my way. I had to move the trunk a bit before I would fit behind it. There was a horrid grating sound when I pushed on it. Apparently not heard in the hall. I slipped behind it just as the door was flung open and the light came on.

Puissanto slammed it shut and walked across the room muttering to himself in a bass rumble. The floor squeaked, then the chair groaned as he sat down. He must have picked up the phone because I could hear the low clicking as he punched in the number. It should be ringing somewhere; he breathed hard and was still muttering.

“Talk Paka now. Get.” He said to whoever answered the phone. More heavy breathing until Paka answered.

“Paka?” he said. “Is there any comprehensible reason why you failed to meet me at the appointed rendezvous? You did? Repetition will only bring retribution. Negative. Be there in fifteen minutes or our pecuniary relationship will be terminated.”

The phone slammed down, heavy footsteps crossed the room again. The light switch clicked and darkness fell. The door slammed, the key grated in the lock. I breathed out a deep and shuddering breath and crawled out from behind the trunk.

A new mystery had now presented itself. Our moronic slab of muscle could talk like a professor when he had to. Was it relevant? Of course it was. The computer had uncovered the fact that he had been present whenever the bank robberies had occurred. If his head was just bone and muscle, as he made it appear, then he was not involved in complicated and surely technological crime. But he wasn’t dumb at all-which meant he could be involved. I sighed. Another mystery to add to all the others.

I waited a decent amount of time, then exited. When I opened the door to our dressing room I was preoccupied, still pondering my recent discovery. Angelina was at the dressing table.

“Do I have some interesting news for you,” I said, throwing the door wide. “I have just discovered that…”

My voice ran down as I saw that she was not alone. A beady-eyed and black-uniformed official of some kind was sitting across from her, now turning to stare coldly at me. His uniform was dead black with silver buttons, and it had interesting lapel ornaments of crossed swords over grinning skulls.

“What did you discover, darling, I’m dying to know,” Angelina broke in, giving me a moment to recover.

“The house is sold out again tonight-so bonuses are in order all around. And who may I ask is your visitor?”

Swords-and-skulls spoke before she did, cold and menacing.

“I am Captain Wezekana of the Alien Interrogation Police. Let me see your identification papers.”

I dug them out. They had more different kinds of police on this planet than I had ever seen before. He shuffled through my ID, held one page up to the light and squinted at it.

“If you tell me what you want perhaps I can help…”