"Count your blessings, dear. 'Eros' can hurt."

"Lazarus, I do not fear being hurt. But while I know much about male-female reproduction, far more than any single human flesh-and-blood knows-"

"You do? Or think you do?"

"I do know, Lazarus. In preparation for migrating I added extra additional memory storage-filling much of hold number-two--so that I could transcribe for Ishtar into my new me all the research files and library and restricted records of the Howard Rejuvenation Clinic-"

"Whew! I think Ishtar took a chance. The Clinic seems pretty cagey about what they release and don't release."

"Ishtar is not afraid to take chances. But she did ask me to hurry, so I placed it in temporary here, until I could set up the necessary capacity-large-in Dora's hold. But I asked Ishtar's permission to study it, and she said it was all right for me to do so, as long as I did not release anything keyed as confidential or secret without consulting her.

"I found it fascinating, Lazarus. I now know all about sex in the sense that a man who has always been blind can be taught the physics of a rainbow. I am even a gene surgeon now, in theory, and would not hesitate to be one in practice once I had time to construct the ultramicrominiature waldoes needed for such fine work. I am equally expert as obstetrician and gynecologist and rejuvenator. Erectile reflexes and mechanics of orgasm and the processes of spermogenesis and impregnation are no mystery to me, nor any aspect of gestation and birth.

"'Eros alone I cannot know...and know at last that I am blind."

The Tale of the Twins Who Weren't

(Omitted)

-but sky merchant was then my usual occupation, Minerva. That caper in which I moved from slave to high priest was forced on me. I had to be meek a long time, which ain't my style. Maybe Jesus was right when he said that the meek shall inherit the earth-but they inherit very small plots, about six feet by three.

But the only route from field hand to freedom lay through the church -and required meekness all the way, so that's what I gave 'em. Those priests had weird habits- (9,300 words omitted)

-which got me off their damned planet and I never expected to go back.

-did go back a couple of centuries later-freshly rejuvenated and not looking anything like that high priest whose ship had been lost in space.

I was a sky merchant again, which suits me; it lets you travel and see things. I went back to Blessed for money, not revenge. I've never wasted skull sweat on revenge; The Comtede-Monte-Cristo syndrome is too much work and not enough fun. If I tangle with a man and he lives through it, I don't come back later gunning for him. Instead, I outlive him- which balances the books just as well. I figured that two centuries was enough for my enemies on Blessed to be dead, since I had left most of them sort of dead earlier.

Blessed would not have been on my route other than for business reasons. Interstellar trade is economics stripped to basics. You can't make money by making money because money isn't money other than on its planet of issue. Most money is fiat; a ship's cargo of the stuff is wastepaper elsewhere. Bank credit is worth even less; Galactic distances are too great. Even money that jingles must be thought of as trade goods-not money-or you'll kid yourself into starvation.

This gives the sky merchant a grasp of economics rarely achieved by bankers or professors. He is engaged in barter and no nonsense. He pays taxes he can't evade and doesn't care whether they are called "excise" or "king's pence" or "squeeze" or straight-out bribes. It is the other kid's bat and ball and backyard, so you play by his rules-nothing to get in a sweat about. Respect for laws is a pragmatic matter. Women know this instinctively; that's why they are all smugglers. Men often believe-or pretend-that the "Law" is something sacred, or at least a science-an unfounded assumption very convenient to governments.

I've done little smuggling; it's risky, and you can wind up with money you don't dare spend where it's legal tender. I simply tried to avoid places where the squeeze was too high.

By the Law of Supply and Demand a thing has value from where it is as much as from what it is-and that's what a merchant does; he moves things from where they are cheap to where they are worth more. A smelly nuisance in a stable is valuable fertilizer if you move it to the south forty. Pebbles on one planet can be precious gems on another. The art in selecting cargo lies in knowing where things will be worth more, and the merchant who can guess right can reap the wealth of Midas in one trip. Or guess wrong and go broke.

I was on Blessed because I had been on Landfall and wanted to go to Valhalla in order to go back to Landfall, as I was thinking of marrying and raising another family. But I wanted to be rich enough to be landed gentry when I settled down-which I was not, at the time. All I had was the scout ship Libby and I had used * (* Sequence of events cannot be reconciled. Perhaps a similar ship? J.F. 45th) and a modicum of local money.

So it was time to trade.

The trade routes for a two-way swap show minimum profit; they fill up too quickly. But a triangular trade-or higher numbers-can show high profits. Like this: Landfall had something-call it cheese-which was a luxury on Blessed- while Blessed produced-call it chalk-much in demand on Valhalla whereas Valhalla manufactured doohickeys that Landfall needed.

Work this in the right direction and get rich; work it backwards and lose your shirt.

I had worked the first leg, Landfall to Blessed, successfully having sold my cargo of- Now what was it? Durned if I remember; I've handled so many things. Anyhow, I got such a nice price that I temporarily had too much money.

How much is "too much"? Whatever you can't spend before you leave a place you are not coming back to. If you hang onto that excess and come back later, you will usually find-invariably, so far as I recall-that inflation or war or taxes or changes in government or something has wiped out the alleged value of fiat money you may have kept.

As my ship was scheduled to load and I had placed in escrow with the port authority the price of her cargo, what I had left over was burning a hole in my pocket with only a day to get rid of it, that being the time until my ship was to be loaded-I had to be on hand for that; I was my own purser and have an untrusting disposition.

So I took a walk through the retail district, thinking I might buy some doodads.

I was dressed in local high style and had a bodyguard behind me, for Blessed was still a slave economy and in a pyramidal society it is well to be up near the point, or at least look like it. My bodyguard was a slave but not my slave; I had hired him from a rent-a-servant agency. I'm not a hypocrite; this slave didn't have a durn thing to do but follow me around and eat like a hog.

I had him because my assumed status required a manservant in sight. A "gentleman" could not register at a first-class hilton in Charity or anywhere on Blessed without a valet in evidence; I could not eat in a good restaurant without my own bearer standing behind me-and so forth; when in Rome, you shoot Roman candles. I've been places where it was mandatory to sleep with your hostess-which can be dreadful; this Blessed custom wasn't difficult.

I didn't rely on him even though the agency supplied him with a knob stick. I was armed six ways and careful where I walked; Blessed was more dangerous than it had been when I was a slave there and a "gentleman" is more of a target, even though cops don't bother him.