"Well?" The officer turned, smiling. "Have you decided? As a wise man I think-"

He broke off as the dart struck the side of his neck. The anesthetic acted immediately, and he was unconscious before his knees began to buckle. Dumarest caught the slumping figure, eased it to the ground, went rapidly through the pockets. He would need money and some form of identification. He found them both in a wallet, a wad of notes and an official pass. Tucking them into a pocket together with the laser, he opened the door.

It gave on to a hall bright with red and black: guards hurrying on mysterious errands; others standing about; still more passing through large doors at the far end.

Closing the door he strode among them, a man busy on an official task. The large doors gave on to a second hall, this one flanked with reception counters, a bank of elevators, a scatter of tables and chairs. Guards stood before the elevators with the unmistakable alertness of men on watch. Others guided civilians to one or another of the counters and more civilians sat in chairs or talked over the tables.

A recruiting station? A center for contractors or, perhaps, an information service? Dumarest didn't know and had no intention of finding out. More doors opened to a street bright with daylight and busy with traffic- they had landed shortly after dawn so it must be early afternoon. He reached them, passed through, ran for a cab that was just discharging a passenger.

"You free?"

The driver studied his uniform. "Can't you give me a break, soldier? I'm low on the take today. Hauling you will make it a bleak time."

Apparently guards traveled free or signed a chit which took time to collect. Dumarest smiled.

"I'm on a short leave and feeling generous. This one I'm paying for in cash. Drop me at a juicy hotel."

"Somewhere with action?"

"That's the idea. I've got a lot of catching up to do and I'm in a hurry to start doing it. Let's move!"

The drive took him to a sleazy place in a back street, a thinly disguised bordello with painted faces peering from between dingy curtains. Dumarest paid him, waited until he had pulled away then moved on, walking fast for another three blocks before halting at another hotel, a twin of the first. The madam, a raddled woman with dyed hair and suspicious eyes, frowned at the sight of his uniform.

"Sorry, soldier, but you've called at the wrong shop. This place is off limits to the military."

"Forget that." Dumarest produced money and let her see it. "I want a change of clothes. A set of civilians to wear while I have some fun. Can you arrange it?"

The frown deepened. "What are you, a deserter?"

"If I was would I be here?" Dumarest riffled the notes. "Come on, I want to relax. I can't do it wearing this gear. How about helping me out?"

The money won. He changed in a dingy room, keeping the laser but wrapping the club in a bundle with the discarded uniform. The chances were high that the madam would report him either for a reward or in order to save her own skin, but it was imperative that he gain time, and it was an unavoidable risk. Leaving the bundle he walked from the hotel, caught a cab and had it drop him on the edge of the shopping district. A drugstore sold him certain items, a tailor supplied a new suit and underwear, a cobbler provided shoes.

With the items in a suitcase he booked in at another hotel, ran a bath, tipped various chemicals into the water and climbed in. Five minutes later he left the tub, the olive dye dissolved from his skin. Dressing in his new clothes and leaving the case and old ones behind he left the hotel, walked a mile and booked in another.

Only then did he dare to relax.

With luck he had avoided pursuit. Keron would be looking for a man with a dark skin wearing a guard's uniform. He would pick up the trail and find the discarded clothes. He would quest further and then slow down for lack of positive identification. The thing now was to keep moving and get utterly lost.

Sitting on the edge of the bed he checked the contents of the stolen wallet. The money he put to one side. The identification bore a photograph and a series of raised symbols. A credit card, he guessed, or a pass for classified areas. To be found with it could be dangerous but it might have its uses. The laser, too. He hefted it and then put it with the wallet. Both would have to be safely disposed of. The card he decided to keep a little longer. The photograph, while unmistakably not his likeness under close scrutiny, would pass a casual inspection.

The phone rang. He picked up the receiver. "Yes?"

"Mr. Ganish, sir?"

"What is it?"

"Will you be dining tonight?"

"Yes," he said immediately and added, "What is the menu?"

"Roast gleek, fried wobart, casserole of jastune and chicken seethed with nuts and wine. I would recommend the wobart, sir. It is one of the chefs specialties." The voice became apologetic. "One other thing, sir. We have received a general order to verify all guest's credentials. If you would be so good as to present yours at the desk we would be most obliged."

"Of course," said Dumarest. "As soon as I get my identification. Has my luggage arrived yet?"

"Your luggage, sir?"

"Didn't I explain? I left it to be forwarded from the station. Surely it must have arrived by now?"

"A moment, sir." The voice retreated, became a murmur, returned. "No, sir. No luggage has been received."

"It must have got mislaid," said Dumarest. "I had better go and collect it myself. Are you sure the fried wobart is the best on the menu?"

"You have my word on it, sir."

"Then I'll have it. Together with appropriate wines and liqueurs, naturally. I leave the selection to you and you will not find me unappreciative of any care you may take."

"I understand, sir." The voice held a smile. "Until this evening, then. I do hope that you find your luggage."

Time, thought Dumarest lowering the receiver. Everything was a move to gain time. Keron had acted fast and he was in a trap. The talk of the meal was to reassure the receptionist. A man on the run would hardly concern himself with details of food. But it was a meal he would never eat.

And where would he sleep? With every hotel checked a man without credentials would be investigated and it would be risking too much to book in as the officer. A bordello, perhaps? They would be among the first to suffer investigation. To walk about? The streets would be thick with watchful guards.

Outside he looked at the sky. It was heavy with cloud and the air held a rising chill. A garbage can swallowed the wallet and laser and he bought a top coat from a store. With the temperature falling a man without a coat would be suspect.

As he paid for the purchase Dumarest said, "Where is the station?"

"Which one? The monorail or the subterranean?"

"The monorail."

"Five blocks north and three east. You a stranger?"

"Landed yesterday." Dumarest picked up his change. "A fine city you've got here."

"This?" The clerk pursed his lips. He was a young man with definite ideas. "This is nothing, mister. You should see the capital. Technos is a real city. This place is more like a barracks. Soldiers everywhere, you can't move without bumping into a uniform. You a military man?"

"No, just here on business."

"You're lucky. I'm getting drafted next week. Two years without option and for why? Because that creep on Cest won't grow up. It stands to reason that the place will be better off accepting our rule. But do they admit it? Like hell they do. So I'll be off to stand guard and maybe collect a knife in the back while I'm doing it."

"Tough," said Dumarest. "But sending you off doesn't make sense. Why don't they use those men from Loame."

The youth blinked. "What men?"

"You don't know about them? The tribute?" Dumarest shrugged as the man remained blank. "Well, never mind, I probably got it wrong. You can never trust rumor."