It was a country estate designed to hold off anything short of professional military attack. There were three gates in series, with gates one and two forming a holding pen. I didn't spot Eyes or remoted weapons but I was sure they were there-the estate was marked out by the red-and-white beacons that warn float craft not to try it.

I got only the barest glimpse of whatever matched the three gates-too dark. A wall and two fences I saw, but I could not see how they were armed and/or booby-trapped and hesitated to ask. But no sensible person spends that much on household protection

and then relies totally on passive defense. I wanted to ask about their power arrangements, too, recalling how at the farm Boss had lost the main Shipstone (cut by "Uncle Jim") and thereby lost his defenses-but again it was not something a guest could ask.

I wondered even more what would have happened if we had been jumped before they got inside the gates of their castle. Again, with the brisk trade in illegal weapons that wind up in the hands of the putatively disarmed, it was the sort of question one did not ask. I walk around unarmed, usually, but I don't assume that others do so-most people have neither my enhancements nor my special training.

(I would rather rely on my "unarmed" state than depend on hardware that can be taken from you at any checkpoint, or that you can lose, or that can run out of ammo, or jam, or be power-down when it matters. I don't look armed, and that gives me an edge. But other people, other problems-I'm a special case.)

We rode up a sweeping drive and under an overhang and stopped-and again Ian sounded a foul blast on that silly horn-but this time there seemed to be some point to it; the front doors opened. Ian said, "Take her inside, dear; I'm going to help Georges with the team."

"I don't need help."

"Pipe down." Ian got out and handed us down, gave my jumpbag to his wife-and Georges pulled away. Ian simply followed on foot. Janet led me inside-and I gasped.

I was looking through the foyer at an illuminated fountain, a programmed one; it changed in shapes and colors as I stood there. There was gentle background music, which (possibly) controlled the fountain.

"Janet... who's your architect?"

"Like it?"

"Of course!"

"Then I'll admit it. I'm the architect, Ian is the gadgeteer, Georges controlled the interiors. He is several sorts of an artist and another wing is his studio. And I might as well tell you right now that Betty told me to hide your clothes until Georges paints at least one nude of you."

"Betty said that? But I've never been a model and I must get back to my job."

"It's up to us to change your mind. Unless- Are you shy about it? Betty did not think you would be. Georges might settle for the draped figure. At first."

"No, I'm not shy. Uh, maybe a bit shy about posing; the idea is new to me. Look, can we let it wait? Right now I'm more interested in plumbing than in posing; I haven't been near any since I left Betty's flat-I should have stopped at the port."

"Sorry, dear; I should not have kept you standing here talking about Georges' painting. My mother taught me years ago that the very first thing to do for a guest is to show her where the bathroom is."

"My mother taught me the exact same thing," I fibbed.

"This way." A hallway opened to the left from the fountain; she led me down it and into a room. "Your room," she announced, dropping my bag on the bed, "and the bath is through here. You share it with me, as my room is the mirror image of this room, on the other side."

There was plenty to share-three stalls, each with WC, bidet, and hand tray; a shower big enough for a caucus, with controls I was going to have to ask about; a massage and suntan table; a plunge-or was it a hot tub?-that clearly was planned for loafing in company; twin dressing tables with basins; a terminal; a refrigerator; a bookcase with one shelf for cassettes.

"No leopard?" I said.

"You expected one?"

"Every time I've seen this room in the sensies the heroine had a pet leopard with her."

"Oh. Will you settle for a kitten?"

"Certainly. Are you and Ian cat people?"

"I wouldn't attempt to keep house without one. In fact just now I can offer you a real bargain in kittens."

"I wish I could take one. I can't."

"Discuss it later. Help yourself to the plumbing. Want a shower before dinner? I intend to grab one; I spent too much time currying Black Beauty and Demon before going to the port, and ran out of

time. Did you notice that I whiffed of stable?"

And that is how, by easy stages, I found myself ten or twelve minutes later having my back washed by Georges while Ian washed my front while my hostess washed herself and laughed and offered advice that was ignored. If I were to elaborate, you would see that each step was perfectly logical and that these gentle sybarites did nothing to rush me. Nor was there even the mildest attempt to seduce me, not even a hint that I had already raped (symbolic rape, at least) my host the night before.

Then I shared with them a sybaritic feast in their living room (drawing room, great hall, whatever) in front of a fire that was actually one of Ian's gadgets. I was dressed in one of Janet's negligees- Janet's notion of a dinner-gown negligee would have got her arrested in Christchurch.

But it did not cause a pass from either man. When we reached coffee and brandy, me somewhat blurry from drinks before dinner and wine during dinner, by request I removed that borrowed negligee and Georges posed me five or six ways, took stereos and holos of me in each, while discussing me as if I were a side of beef. I continued to insist that I had to leave tomorrow morning but my protests became feeble and pro forma-Georges paid no attention to them whatever. He said I had "good masses"-maybe this is a compliment; it certainly is not a pass.

But he got some awfully good pictures of me, especially one of me lying sort of flang dang on a low couch with five kittens crawling over my breasts and legs and belly. I asked for that one and it turned out that Georges had the equipment to copy it.

Then Georges took some of Janet and me together, and again I asked for a copy of one of them because we made a beautiful contrast and Georges had a knack for making us look better than we did. But presently I started to yawn and Janet told Georges to stop. I apologized, saying that there was no excuse for me to be sleepy since it was still early evening by the zone where I had started the day.

Janet said pishantosh, that being sleepy had nothing to do with clocks and time zones-gentlemen, we are going to bed. She led me away.

We stopped in that beautiful bath and she put her arms around me. "Marjie, do you want company, or do you want to sleep alone? I know from Betty that you had a busy night last night; possibly you prefer a quiet night alone. Or possibly not. Name it."

I told her honestly that I did not sleep alone by choice.

"Me, too," she agreed, "and it's nice to hear you say so, instead of fiddling around about it and pretending the way some slitches do. Whom do you want in your bed?"

You sweet darling, surely you are entitled to your own husband the night he gets home. "Maybe that should be turned around. Who wants to sleep with me?"

"Why, all of us, I feel certain. Or any two. Or any one. You name it."

I blinked and wondered how much I had had to drink. "Four in one bed?"

"Do you like that?"

"I've never tried it. It sounds jolly but the bed would be awfully crowded, I think."

"Oh. You haven't been in my room. A big bed. Because both my husbands often choose to sleep with me... and there is still plenty of room to invite a guest to join us."

Yes, I had been drinking-two nights in a row and far more than I was used to. "Two husbands? I didn't know that British Canada had adopted the Australian Plan."