"He did! I have a nose, you know! So when he got too close, I just held it and pushed. A figure of man to admire, that one is. He went flat on his back, with his legs sticking up." She gestured with her fingers in illustration, but it was lost on Hinrik, who, with a moan, hunched his shoulders and put his hands over his face.

He peered miserably from between two fingers. "What will happen now? How can you act so?"

"It didn't do me any good. Do you know what he said? Do you know what he said? It was the last straw. It was absolutely the limit. I made up my mind then that I couldn't stand that man if he were ten feet taIl."

"But-but-what did he say?"

"He said-straight out of a video, Father-he said, 'Ha! A spirited wench! I like her all the better for that!' and two servants helped him stagger to his feet. But he didn't try to breathe in my face again."

Hinrik doubled into a chair, leaned forward and regarded Artemisia earnestly. "You could go through the motions of marrying him, couldn't you? You needn't be in earnest. Why not merely, for the sake of political expediency-"

"How do you mean, not in earnest, Father? Shall I cross the fingers of my left hand while signing the contract with my right?"

Hinrik looked confused. "No, of course not. What good would that do? How would crossing fingers alter the validity of the contract? Really, Arta, I'm surprised at your stupidity."

Artemisia sighed. "What do you mean, then?"

"Mean by what? You see, you've disrupted things. I can't keep my mind on matters properly when you argue with me. What was I saying?"

"I was merely to pretend I was getting married, or something. Remember?"

"Oh yes. I mean, you needn't take it too seriously, you see."

"I can have lovers, I suppose."

Hinrik stiffened and frowned. "Arta! I brought you up to be a modest, self-respecting girl. So did your mother. How can you say such things? It's shameful."

"But isn't that what you mean? "

"I can say it. I am a man, a mature man. A girl like you ought not to repeat it."

"Well, I have repeated it and it's out in the open. I don't mind lovers. I'll probably have to have them if I'm forced to marry for reasons of state, but there are limits." She placed her hands upon her hips, and the cape-like sleeves of her gown slithered away from her tanned and dimpled shoulders. "What will I do between lovers? He'll still be my husband and I just can't bear that particular thought."

"But he's an old man, my dear. Life with him would be short."

"Not short enough, thank you. Five minutes ago he had young blood. Remember?"

Hinrik spread his hands wide and let them drop. "Arta, the man is a Tyrannian, and a powerful one. He is in good odor at the Khan's court."

"The Khan might think it's a good odor. He probably would. He probably stinks himself."

Hinrik's mouth was an O of horror. Automatically, he looked over his shoulder. Then he said hoarsely, "Don't ever say anything like that again."

"I will if I feel like it. Besides, the man has had three wives already." She forestalled him. "Not the Khan, the man you want me to marry."

"But they're dead," Hinrik explained earnestly. "Arta, they're not alive. Don't think that. How can you imagine I would let my daughter marry a bigamist? We'll have him produce documents. He married them consecutively, not simultaneously, and they're dead now, entirely dead, all of them."

"It's no wonder."

"Oh, bless my soul, what shall I do?" He made a last effort at dignity. "Arta, it is the price of being a Hinriad and a Director's daughter."

"I didn't ask to be a Hinriad and a Director's daughter."

"That has nothing to do with it. It is just that the history of all the Galaxy, Arta, shows that there are occasions when reasons of state, the safety of planets, the best interests of peoples require that, uh-"

"That some poor girl prostitute herself."

"Oh, this vulgarity! Someday, you'll see-someday you'll say something of the sort in public."

"Well, that's what it is, and I won't do it. I'd rather die. I'd rather do anything. And I will."

The Director got to his feet and held out his arms to her. His lips trembled and he said nothing. She ran to him in a sudden agony of tears and clung desperately to him. "I can't, Daddy. I can't. Don't make me."

He patted her awkwardly. "But if you don't, what will happen? If the Tyranni are displeased, they will remove me, imprison me, maybe even exec-" He gagged on the word. "These are very unhappy times, Arta-very unhappy. The Rancher of Widemos was condemned last week and I believe he has been executed. You remember him, Arta? He was at court half a year ago. A big man, with a round head and deep-set eyes. You were frightened of him at first. "

"I remember."

"Well, he is probably dead. And who knows? Myself next, perhaps. Your poor, harmless old father next. It is a bad time. He was at our court and that's very suspicious."

She suddenly held herself out at arm's length. "Why should it be suspicious? You weren't involved with him, were you?"

"I? Indeed not. But if we openly insult the Khan of Tyrann by refusing an alliance with one of his favorites, they may choose to think even that."

Hinrik's hand wringing was interrupted by the muted buzz of the extension. He started uneasily.

"I'll take it in my own room. You just rest. You'll feel better after a nap. You'll see, you'll see. It's just that you're a little on edge now."

Artemisia looked after him and frowned. Her' face was intensely thoughtful, and for minutes only the gentle tide of her breasts betrayed life.

There was the sound of stumbling feet at the door, and she turned.

"What is it?" The tone was sharper than she had intended.

It was Hinrik, his face sallow with fear. "Major Andros was calling."

"Of the Outer Police?" Hinrik could only nod.

Artemisia cried, "Surely, he's not-" She paused reluctantly at the threshold of putting the horrible thought into words, but waited in vain for enlightenment.

"There is a young man who wants an audience. I don't know him. Why should he come here? He's from Earth." He was gasping for breath and staggered as he spoke, as though his mind were on a turntable and he had to follow it in its gyrations.

The girl ran to him and seized his elbow. She said sharply, "Sit down, Father. Tell me what has happened." She took him and some of the panic drained out of his face.

"I don't know exactly," he whispered. "There's a young man coming here with details concerning a plot on my life. On my life. And they tell me I ought to listen to him."

He smiled foolishly. "I'm loved by the people. No one would want to kill me. Would they? Would they?"

He was watching her eagerly, and relaxed when she said, "Of course no one would want to kill you."

Then he was tense again. "Do you think it might be they?"

"Who?"

He leaned over to whisper. "The Tyranni. The Rancher of Widemos was here yesterday, and they killed him." His voice ascended the scale. "And now they're sending someone over to kill me."

Artemisia gripped his shoulder with such force that his mind turned to the present pain.

She said, "Father! Sit quietly! Not a word! Listen to me. No one will kill you. Do you hear me? No one will kill you. It was six months ago that the Rancher was here. Do you remember? Wasn't it six months ago? Think!"

"So long?" whispered the Director. "Yes, yes, it must have been so."

"Now you stay here and rest. You're overwrought. I'll see the young man myself and then I'll bring him to you if it's safe;"

"Will you, Arta? Will you? He won't hurt a woman. Surely he wouldn't hurt a woman."

She bent suddenly and kissed his cheek.

"Be careful," he murmured, and closed his eyes wearily.