"Seventy," said Cameron. "And five. And five. Eighty thousand. Eighty. Eighty-five. Ninety. I have ninety." He frowned as the bidding slowed. It was too soon, the lot too valuable and he sensed the influence of the ring. "I have ninety thousand. And five." He caught the signal from a woman seated to one side. One topped by Molo Bain. "One hundred thousand." He glanced at the woman who could have been fronting for a rival group but she made no sign. "And five." Cameron invented a bid. "I have one hundred and five thousand."

Time slowed as he waited for a response. His action had been calculated but he was facing experts in their field who knew all the tricks. Again he felt the stir of anger. Those facing him were parasites feeding on the efforts of their betters. Those who had risked death and injury to obtain what they held in so low regard. If they wouldn't bid then he would take.

"I have one hundred and five. I am waiting for your bids." He lifted his gavel then, deliberately put it down. "I'll give you time to remember what is on offer. Goods worth far in excess of what has been bid. A lot holding the potential of vast profit. I open the bidding for the last time."

Dumarest said, "Is he talking of a reserve?"

"No." Pember's voice held a dry amusement. "He made a false bid to up the amount. Now he's stuck with it. Let him sweat for a while."

"Let him sweat too long and you could wind up on a stake." Dumarest recognized the obvious anger. "He's of the Kaldari. Think he'll be gentle? Bid, damn you! Now!"

Before rage overtook the auctioneer and he threw aside civilized restraint. Bids were mostly by signal and he could swear such signals had been made, running up an enormous sum, forcing a hapless victim to pay or face the penalty.

Quickly Pember touched his nose.

"One ten." Cameron relaxed. "I have one hundred and ten thousand. It isn't enough. Unless there is realistic appreciation of what is on offer I shall cancel the auction."

Montiel said, "I protest! You can't do that!"

"Are you telling me what I can't do?" Raw anger edged the auctioneer's voice. "Do you think you have the right to rob the Kaldari?"

"Of course not! But traditions should be kept. We have an understanding and-"

"No one is robbing you." Dumarest rose to his feet and moved towards the platform. A man who had demonstrated he was not of the ring. "The bidding is fair for the product offered. Look." He touched the unit on display, opening a panel to show the empty interior. "It's incomplete," he explained. "It lacks a vital component. They all do. Without them the units are valueless."

At times it seemed the walls were closing in to crush her as if she had been an insect caught between a finger and a thumb. Then she would leave the office to walk in the open air but even then there were restraints. The hills, the buildings, even the bowl of the sky were components of the prison which held her. Symbols of earlier times when, always, there had been those to tell her what to do, how to act, how to think, how to live the life which should have been hers.

Only work provided an anodyne and even that was not always efficacious.

Nadine sighed, leaning back in her chair, palming her eyes. In the darkness she could see Pember's face, old, ugly in its anger as he complained of unfair treatment.

"I was cheated." Rage made him offensive. "The goods in lot thirty-two were rubbish."

"They were offered as seen. The standard procedure. You know that."

"I had no way of telling. The -"

"Didn't you call on the services of an engineer?"

"There was no need. We -I was given to understand the units were perfect." His face darkened. "Damn him!"

"Who?"

"Dumarest!"

"Then blame him, not us. You bought as seen. The lot is yours. The money is ours."

Verified credit and he had left in a storm. As had Zehava Postel.

"Is this all?" She had stared incredulously at the figure on the slip handed her. A woman Nadine envied if she did not like. "Are you sure?"

"You have the figures; cost of missiles fired, fuel, equipment used, other expenses." Nadine tried to be patient. "You have the sum gained from the sale of the loot. Set one against the other and you have the profit or loss. In your case a profit. You know the size of your share."

"And yours."

"Administration has to be paid for. If you want to handle everything yourself, nothing is stopping you. But you'll find it doesn't pay."

As the raid hadn't been as profitable as hoped and, in the darkness of her palms, Nadine could see the cold anger in the woman's face. The determination in her eyes.

"Nadine." Jessie on the communicator. "Earl Dumarest to see you."

He came with the calm assurance of a man who needed no one but himself. An attribute which warmed her to him as, with quick intuition, she sensed the loneliness she knew too well.

"Dumarest." She rose and smiled a welcome as she gestured him to a chair. "Or may I call you Earl?" Her smile widened as he nodded. "I've been hearing things about you. Someone said you cheated him."

"Pember."

"Yes. Did you?"

"I sold him an idea. Buy lot thirty-two. Take the units to a harsh world, lease them to those who needed them most. I know where they would be welcome. I told him the units were far better than anyone here could guess. Having them examined by an engineer would reveal their true value. I didn't lie and I didn't cheat. I simply didn't tell the entire truth."

"I still don't understand. If you had revealed the truth the units would have attracted no bids. You could have bought them for practically nothing."

Dumarest said, "Do you gamble? There is a point in any game when a player has invested too much to throw in his hand. His loss would be too great for him not to risk more. Pember offered me a partnership. He thought I had a vested influence on the world I mentioned. I let him think that. I persuaded him to buy the units. Until he owned them I had nothing to bargain with."

"If he'd bought them too cheaply he would be willing to cut his losses." She nodded, appreciating the irony of one man thinking to cheat another and being cheated in turn. For Pember it was a case of poetic justice. "But what do you get out of it?" She answered her own question. "Of course! You have the missing components!"

Dumarest said nothing, watching her face, the movement of her eyes. She lacked the vibrant femininity of Zehava which flaunted itself like a challenge, instead she had a poised calmness which told of iron control. That and something else, a mannerism, a thing he had seen before. As if she had to make a conscious effort not to speak but wait until a question was asked before answering it.

He said, bluntly, "Are you a reader?"

"I'm not a telepath if that's what you mean. I just guessed you had the components. I must warn you that I'm in no position to make a deal."

Something he hadn't asked, but she had known it was on his mind. As she read now of his suspicions. Damn the man! Why did he have to be so shrewd?

"I knew a man once," said Dumarest quietly. "In a way he was a friend. He had a peculiar talent. He could read people. Not their minds but their actions. Small things which betrayed what they were thinking. He found it embarrassing at times. People tended to avoid him. They were afraid of what they might reveal."

Something she knew too well. "What happened to him?"

"Balman? He died."

As her father had died. Her mother. As, she sensed, had all those close to Dumarest. Did he too feel the restraints which tormented her?

Dumarest said, "If you were in my position, what would you do?"

"With the components? Offer them to Pember. He will have to give you a good price. Those units are worth far more than he paid for them." She added, shrewdly, "You don't trust him."