Through a half-open door she saw a desktop computer, its screen saver showing some old master’s painting of a nude woman. As Pancho cautiously approached the door and eased it all the way open, the screen’s image dissolved into another painting of another nude. Huh! she grunted. Some art lover. Pancho sat at the desk and saw that the computer had a keyboard attached to it. Tentatively, she pecked at the ENTER key. The artwork vanished, and a honeywarm woman’s voice said, “Good evening, Mr. Humphries. The time is eighttwelve and I’m ready to go to work anytime you are.”

Frowning, Pancho turned the audio down to zero. The screen displayed a menu of options. Hell, he doesn’t have any protection on his programs at all. She pictured Humphries at his computer, too impatient to deal with code words and security safeguards. After all, who’d have the balls to break into his home, his own bedroom?

Grinning from ear to ear, Pancho delved into Martin Humphries’s computer files. It turned out that most of the individual file names were indeed coded and incomprehensible to her. So he does have some security built into his programs, she realized. Many of the files required special keywords. One, though, was labelled BED. Curious, Pancho called it up. The screen went blank, except for the words INITIATING HOLOTANK. An eye-blink later the screen announced STARTING HOLOTANK. Then the screen went to a blank gray, except for a bar across its bottom that bore video commands.

Puzzled, Pancho saw a blur of color reflected off the blanked screen. Turning slightly in the desk chair, she saw that what had appeared to be a cylindrical glass objet d’art had metamorphosed into a hologram, a full-color three-dimensional moving picture of Humphries naked in bed with some woman. Son of a bitch, Pancho said to herself. He vids his own sex life. She watched for a few moments. They weren’t doing anything that unusual, or thrilling, for that matter, so Pancho touched the fast-forward button on the screen. It was downright funny watching Humphries and his women in fast-forward. He’s a Humper, all right, Pancho thought as she watched a succession of beautiful naked women performing arduously with him. She recognized the redhead from her first visit to the house. I wonder if they know they’re being videoed, she asked herself.

After a half-dozen of Humphries’s home videos, Pancho got a little bored. She cut the program and returned to the screen’s menu of options, but she had new respect for the program labelled VR — PERSONAL. She looked into just one of its files for a few minutes, then angrily clicked it off, revolted. The nasty S. O. B. uses his bedmates as models for his virtual reality fantasies, she realized. What he can’t get them to do in real life he has them doing in his VR wet dreams. Creep!

With a disgusted shake of her head she decided to leave Humphries’s sex life alone and started hacking into the other files.

When she glanced at the digital clock in the corner of the screen, Pancho was shocked to realize that nearly two hours had elapsed. It had been a fruitful time, though. The Humphries Trust was now paying the rent on Susan Lane’s cryonic storage unit, a big burden off Pancho’s shoulders and a picayune pinprick in the Trust’s multibillion funds.

Most of the files were incomprehensible to Pancho; some were technobabble and equations, lots of them were stock manipulations and business deals encoded in so much jargon and legalese that it would take a team of lawyers to decipher them. But now they all contained a new subroutine that allowed Pancho to tap into the files from a remote site. Codeword: Hackensack. Which was just what Pancho was preparing to do.

Got to be careful, though, she warned herself. Don’t get greedy enough for him to recognize he’s being hacked. A man like Humphries’ll have you slapped into the slammer so fast it’ll break the sound barrier. Or he’ll just have somebody pay you a visit and rip out your arms.

Satisfied with her work, Pancho closed down the computer and left Humphries’s office, careful to leave the door ajar just the way she’d found it. As she made her way downstairs, she wondered if Mandy and Humphries were still at dinner, after all this time.

They were. Peeking in on the dining room, Pancho saw the remains of some fancy dessert melting in their dishes, and half-empty flutes of champagne sparkling in the subdued light from the crystal chandelier above the table. Mandy was saying, “… it’s certainly beautiful, Martin, and I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but I can’t accept it. Really, I can’t.”

Pancho crept closer, staring. Humphries held an open jewelry case in one hand. It contained a stunning sapphire necklace.

“I got it specially for you,” he was saying, his voice almost pleading. “Martin, you’re a dear man, but I can’t get myself involved in a relationship now. You of all people should understand that.”

“But I don’t understand,” he said.

“Why not?”

“I’ll be heading off on the mission in a few months. I might never come back.”

“All the more reason to grab whatever happiness we can now, while we can.” Amanda looked genuinely distressed. Shaking her head, she said, “I simply can’t, Martin. I can’t.”

In a gentle whisper he said, “I could have you removed from the mission. I could see to it that you stay here, with me.”

“No. Please…”

“I could,” he repeated, stronger. “By god, that’s what I’ll do.”

“But I don’t want you to,” Amanda said, alarmed. “You don’t have to go through with it,” Humphries insisted. “I know it’s dangerous. I had no idea that you’re afraid of-”

“Afraid!” Mandy snapped. “I’m not afraid! Simply because I understand the risks involved does not mean that I’m afraid.”

Humphries puffed out an exasperated breath. “Then you’re using the mission as an excuse to keep your distance from me, is that it?”

“No!” Amanda said. “That’s not it at all. I simply…” Her voice trailed off into silence.

“Then what’s wrong?” Humphries asked. “What’s the problem? Is it me?” She stared down at the table for a long, miserable, silent moment. Pancho thought she saw tears glistening in Mandy’s eyes. The expression on Humphries’s face was somewhere between bafflement and anger.

“Martin, please,” Amanda said at last. “We’ve only known each other for a few weeks. You’re a very wonderful man in many ways, but I’m not ready for a meaningful relationship. Not now. Not with this mission coming up. Perhaps afterward, when I return, perhaps then.”

Humphries pulled in a deep breath. It seemed obvious to Pancho that he was trying to control his temper.

“I’m not a patient man,” he said, his voice low. “I’m not accustomed to waiting.” No, Pancho thought. What you’re accustomed to is taking your women up to your bedroom and videoing the whole thing for playback. And then VR games. “Please bear with me, Martin,” Amanda whispered, her voice husky with tears.

“Please.”

If he tries to get rough with Mandy, Pancho told herself, I’ll kick his balls into next week. She wished she’d brought Elly, but the stealth suit was too confining for the snake; she’d left Elly back at her quarters.

Humphries snapped the jewelry case shut with a click that sounded like a gunshot.

“All right,” he said tightly. “I’ll wait. I wish I’d never started this fusion business.”

Amanda made a sad smile. “But then we’d never have met, would we?” He conceded the point with a hopeless shrug, then got up and led Amanda to the front door of the house.

“Will I see you again?” he asked as he opened the door for her.

“It might be best if we don’t, Martin. Not until after I return.” He nodded, grim-faced. Then he grasped both her wrists and said, “I love you, Amanda. I really do.”

“I know,” she said, and kissed him swiftly, lightly, on the cheek. She hurried down the walk away from him so quickly that Pancho almost didn’t make it through the door before Humphries slammed it shut.