Less than enthusiastic, Niven thought. In fact, her expression said he was a threat to her world.

She was a beautiful child. Straight out of a toy ad.

Niven could not frame a compliment that did not sound inane. "Hi, Brandy. You can call me Gun. It's short for Gundaker."

"Gundaker? What kind of name is that?"

"Old Earth."

"Oh." She wrinkled her lip. "Mom called you Doctor. Michael's sick."

He turned to Marya. The woman still stood at the door. "My son. Brandy's younger brother. He's got some kind of bug. Looks like flu."

"I'm not that kind of doctor, Brandy. But if there's anything I can do... "

"Do you know any good stories? Michael don't like the ones I make up. And Mom's never here." She glanced at her mother accusingly.

She was good, Niven thought. Better than Marya. "What kind of stories? Pirates? Olden days? War stories? Richard Hawksblood and Gneaus Julius Storm? Did you know they fought a war right here on The Broken Wings?"

He mentioned it casually, conversationally, fishing for a reaction. The war in the Shadowline, the last great mercenary war, had taken place on Blackworld not long after the encounter on The Broken Wings.

Sangaree interests had taken a beating because of the Shadowline. But one or two Families had begun recouping here before the shock-waves from Blackworld had died.

Getting caught with their hands in there had cost them control of numerous legitimate corporations and the lives of several Family chieftains. The disaster had been so huge and widespread that it had become Sangaree legend.

The girl just shrugged, implying that Blackworld meant nothing to her. "Pirates, probably." She seemed to lose interest.

She left the room. Cooking sounds followed her departure.

Must not have heard about the Shadowline, Niven thought. What Family did Marya represent? A minor one crowding the First Families because of their loss of face on Blackworld? Surely not one that had been involved there.

"She's a doll," he told Marya. "You thought about getting her into modeling?"

"No. She wouldn't. Sit down. Relax. Ill fix you something to eat. Then I'll move Michael in here. You can sleep in the kids' bed."

Brandy brought coffee. It was real.

He discovered what Marya had meant about Brandy. He had not caught it earlier because she had not looked his way.

The girl's one eye trained wildly walleyed and appeared blind.

He showed no reaction to her pained, defiant stare. Her sensitivity screamed at him. He supposed the damage was recent.

Niven indulged in tradecraft during the few seconds when Brandy had returned to the kitchen and Marya had not yet returned. He examined his surroundings critically.

The time would come when he would have to report, accurately, where every speck of dust had lain.

The apartment was cramped. That was typical of dome city living quarters. It was sparsely populated by ragged second-hand furniture. That was to be expected of poor folks. And Marya, clearly, was not an obsessive housekeeper. Cobwebs hung in the ceiling corners. Junk cluttered the chairs and floors.

Her sloppiness had nothing to do with poverty or lack of time, only with habit. Sangaree at home had animal servants who picked up after them.

Marya shared her roof with whole tribes of roaches. Dirt streaked the plastic walls. The curtains were frayed and soiled.

It was exactly the sort of place where a busy, impoverished woman would come to rest. She was crafty, this one. She had converted her ethnic liabilities into assets.

But would a poor woman serve real coffee? When coffee had to come all the way from Old or New Earth?

He did not call her on it. He might give something away by revealing that he recognized the real thing when he tasted it. Most Old Earthers would not, because every ounce went into export.

They were fencing now, subtly, with rapiers consisting of little tests.

One of the rules of his profession was never to yield anything concrete.

She was not giving him anything either. Certainly not enough to understand her.

Who could comprehend the Sangaree mind? The Admiral had been trying for decades. He barely got by.

Like Mouse, though, Beckhart did not want to understand. Not really. He wanted to destroy. Comprehension was just a weapon in his arsenal.

They sat in silence for several minutes. He watched Marya over his cup. She considered him. He wondered what strange thoughts might be running through her alien brain.

"I'd better check on Michael, Gun."

He followed her as far as the bedroom door.

The room was tiny. It contained two dilapidated beds. One for Marya, one for her children.

Marya settled on the edge of the one containing a pale five-year-old. The boy watched Niven warily.

"Michael, this is my friend Dr. Niven. He's going to stay with us for a while."

"Hi, Mike."

"Not Mike." The child's voice was weak but angry. "Michael. After my great-grandfather."

Marya winced.

Michael radiated pride.

Niven controlled his surprise. "Right. Michael it is."

He had been wrong. Almost fatally wrong. These Sangaree would know the Shadowline well.

There had been but one Sangaree with the human name Michael. Michael Dee. The man who had engineered the war. The man who had been both the pride and despair of his race.

The man who had paid the ultimate price for failing.

"Brandy says you like pirate stories. I knew a pirate once. Only he wasn't a pirate when I met him. That's what he is now. I grew up and went to school, and he grew up and became a pirate."

"I don't think he's ready for that right now, Gun." Marya seemed honestly worried. "I'm going to have to call a doctor, I think."

Niven was surprised at himself. He was concerned too. "You want me to call a cabcar?" What was he doing? The kid was Sangaree. His purpose in life was to help guide that species to a final solution. Little ones became big ones.

"Oh, no. There's one from the hospital who lives right upstairs. I don't know her very well, but... "

"Go get her, woman. I'll manage here."

She stared. Something within her softened momentarily.'The hidden woman, the one behind the one behind the one she was trying to portray, showed through. She kissed his cheek. "Thanks, Gun." When he pulled her closer, "Later. I'll be back as soon as I can."

He had not been after a kiss. He had attached a tiny chameleon transmitter to the back of her collar.

She closed the apartment door behind her. Niven inserted a receiver into his ear while pretending to scratch.

Smiling wryly, he patted himself where she had touched him. Had she done the same to him?

There was no reason why she should have to go out for a doctor. She would have sufficient medical background herself—if there was any truth to her cover.

He smiled again. Marya was no tactician, either.

"Are you my mom's new lover?"

He was surprised. Little girls did not ask questions like that.

"No. Not yet."

"She needs one. Do you think she's pretty?"

"I think she's gorgeous." He was uncomfortable. He did not know how to socialize with children. The only child he knew was Jupp's boy, Horst-Johann.

"Maybe she should get married again. Are you married?"

Marya had reached a public comm. She was briefing someone. Following her part of a conversation and trying to guess the other half while carrying on another with Brandy proved impossible. He did hear Marya ask for a deep trace on his cover. That meant he had won a round. She had doubts. Or wanted to have them, which came to the same thing.

"No. I never met the right lady." This was one bold child. Did she know she was not human? Probably. From the little he had heard, Sangaree had no childhood in the human sense. Their children were shielded from nothing. They were treated as, and expected to behave as, miniature adults.