“We’re ready to provide you with a cover. We’ve begun creating a character, Samuel Hu. If you accept the assignment, we’ll plant the appropriate documents to support your credentials and bribe the proper personal references so that when you arrive on-planet you’ll have no problem clearing their security check.”

Hosato shook his head. “That won’t do at all,” he said flatly.

“Why not?”

“For one thing, Hu is a Chinese name.”

“So?” Reilly asked blankly.

“I’m Japanese… well, of Japanese descent.”

“That’s no problem.” Reilly shrugged. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know the difference. Nothing personal, but most people don’t know the difference between the various Orientals.”

Hosato decided to abandon that particular point of argument. “It still won’t work,” he insisted. “The kind of personal reference I would need couldn’t be bought. Even if you found a fencing master who would sell an endorsement, all that would mean would be that for the right price he could be convinced to change his story or simply blow the whistle.”

“So you won’t do it,” Reilly said, crestfallen.

Hosato smiled. “I didn’t say that,” he corrected. “What I said was, I wouldn’t use your cover. I’ll use my own. My family spent considerable time building my cover—several generations, in fact.” In actuality, Hosato’s family had been in “the business” nearly seven hundred years now, starting back on Old Earth in the 1500s. He reflexively suppressed this additional bit of data as- he continued. “I think it will stand up to close scrutiny a bit better than anything Ravensteel could toss together on short notice.”

“Fine.” Reilly beamed. “I’m sure that will be agreeable. If it’s all settled, then…”

Hosato held up a restraining band. “Not quite. Your original plan to establish a cover for me would have cost Ravensteel a pretty penny. Since I’m providing my own cover, I think it’s only fair that that cover money should be added to my advance fee shall we say an extra fifteen thousand credits?”

As he spoke, he was thinking about his long-awaited drink. Negotiations were nearly over.

“It’s a deal,” said Reilly. “You drive a hard bargain. You better be worth it.”

“I always give my employers satisfaction,” said Hosato thinly. With that pronouncement, he gave Reilly a curt nod and left the hotel room, in search of a more suitable drinking partner.

“Welcome to Mc. Crae Enterprises, the largest manufacturer of robots in the universe. I will be your guide for the tour, and am programmed to answer any questions you might have…”

Hosato hung back as the crowd jostled forward to snap pictures of the guide robot. It was both an amusing and an annoying habit of tourists everywhere. The guide robot was no different from any of the thousands of information robots throughout the galaxy, but the tourists would faithfully take pictures of it anyway—just as they took pictures of wastebaskets and lampposts. It seemed the only requirement for an object to be photographed was that it be located somewhere other than the tourists’ home planet.

Suzi’s control box, clipped to his waistband, was vibrating steadily, their prearranged signal that they were being watched. It came as no surprise to Hosato that they were under surveillance; in fact, he expected it. It was only natural that any strangers, such as tourists who had not been checked and cleared by Security, would be watched closely while they were on the premises.

He had spotted the small door off the reception area marked “Employment” as soon as they had departed the ship, but for the time being he ignored it. Instead, he loitered at the rear of the tour group, finding interest in the guide robot’s oration.

What he was actually doing was performing a personal test. Covertly studying the reception area, he attempted to identify and count the security devices at work.

The wall immediately behind the guide robot was covered by a huge mirror, doubtless one-way glass. Having the robot give his talk from that location was a clever ploy to draw the crowd into position for observation. The wicker baskets holding potted plants were a common disguise for closed-circuit cameras, giving the watchers clear view of anyone at the rear of the crowd.

He recognized the arch they had entered through as a scanning device and suspected the carpet contained sniffer-sensors to detect explosives. Despite the hospitable appearance, Mc. Crae Enterprises was tracking its visitors very carefully.

Hosato abandoned his inspection abruptly. Suzi’s scanners would provide a more accurate and complete list than he could hope to accumulate on his own. Besides, if he stalled too long, it might look suspicious.

Drawing a few curious glances from the tourists, he sauntered over to the Employment door and opened it. Suzi clung to his heels as he entered, and never faltered in her warning signal that they were still being watched.

The room was dark until he stepped onto the carpet; then the automatic lights came on, revealing a small office with a desk robot centered in the floor and a door in the far wall. Nothing happened until the door closed behind him; then the desk robot came to life.

“This is the Employment Office,” it announced politely. “The Employment Office is not part of the planned tour of our facilities. Please rejoin the tour group immediately. If you are unsure as to where the group is currently located, respond accordingly and I will provide directions as to how you may find them.”

“I’m not interested in the tour,” Hosato informed the machine. “I wish to apply for a position.”

There was the whir of a small motor, and a piece of paper slid into view on the desk.

“There are no openings at present in Mc. Crae Enterprises,” the machine informed him. “If you wish, you may fill out this form, and we will contact you if any vacancies arise.”

Hosato was growing annoyed with the robot.

“I would suggest that you check your data files again,” he said. “I was informed by Maestro Bailey that there was an opening here for a fencing instructor. I wish to apply for that position.”

There was a moment’s pause as the machine digested this information.

“Please stand by,” it said at last, and lapsed into silence.

Hosato hated to use Maestro Bailey’s name that way, but it was legitimate. Part of his preparations for this mission had been to place a series of calls to the various maestros of his acquaintance. The pattern of the conversation for these calls was an inquiry after their health and well-being as a thin disguise for a chance to gripe about the low pay and status of a professional duelist. The third call, the call to Maestro Bailey, had paid off. Bailey had been approached by Mc. Crae Enterprises to take the teaching position, but had declined. He suggested that Hosato—or as he knew him, Hayama—apply for the opening and offered to provide a personal recommendation if one were necessary.

It provided Hosato with a valid method for having heard about the opening, but it also had its drawbacks. He disliked using one of his cover-identity friends in his espionage-sabotage missions. If he were discovered, Maestro Bailey could be indirectly implicated as an accomplice.

The far door opened and a pert young redhead stood silhouetted there. Hosato made a mental note: If she was a robot, he’d buy one.

“If you could step this way, Mr…?”

“Hayama,” Hosato provided politely.

“Yes. Sorry for the delay, but we don’t get many off-the-ship applicants.”

“Off-the-ship applicants?” he queried.

“Applicants who pop up on our doorstep in person,” she explained. “Usually they send resume’s ahead or call for an appointment. It’s rude to keep you waiting like that, but it is an unusual situation for us.”

“That’s quite all right,” he assured her, starting forward, with Suzi following closely.