"Thank you, no, please, I am fine." She fought off shock and worry and mastered both, plus her voice. "I apologize profoundly for causing you distress. Did you want the bracelet and necklace for your wife?"

He glanced from Ianira to the jewelry, the calmly waiting Chenzira, bringer of bad tidings (noticeable in any language), then up at the surrounding vultures. He scowled impartially, evidently not liking his face and voice recorded without his permission any more than she did.

"How long these nosy bastards-uh-vultures been after you, honey?"

"Too long," Ianira said, half under her breath.

His pop-up grin startled her. "Hell, yeah, I'll take 'em, and throw in some of those funny-lookin' scarves there. Marty, my wife, she's nuts about stuff like that yeah, those, right there-and what's this little doohicky here for? Love charm? Well, hell, gal, gimme a dozen of those!"

His friendly grin-despite Ianira's inner turmoil -- was infectious. She rang up the bill, bagged everything into velvet bags she'd sewn herself-ending with one large easy-to-carry parcel with a secure drawstring, and handed him the itemized bill she'd written out in a somewhat shaky hand.

He handed back double the price listed on every item, gave her a jaunty wink and an, "It'll be fine, honey, don't you fret, now, hear?" and vanished into the crowd before she could protest or give back the extra money. She stood trembling for a moment, the sounds and bright sights of the Commons washing over her like a dim, color-puddled dream, while she stared at money she and the father of her children so desperately needed, while on all sides, six to seven deep, her maddening acolytes Minicammed, voice-recorded, and jotted notes on every single second of that interchange. She wanted to scream at them all, but knew from experience any action other than business as usual would bring twice as many watchers who'd stay another week hoping a revelation would be near.

Chenzira leaned closer, his disgusted tone of voice helping bring her whirling mind back on track. "If I your beauty and charms had, Ianira, I, too, such deals make would. You demon are-under soft skin!" Gentle, deep laughter took any possible accusation from Chenzira's words. Along with the other downtimers in The Found Ones community-not to mention being elected to The Council of Seven almost from his first few weeks here-Chenzira was a born haggler, as many an unfortunate downtimer had discovered to his or her woe.

And since Chenzira Umi was as shrewd a man as Ianira had ever met, she, too, merely smiled. "And had I your canny wits," she countered calmly, "I would not be a huckster of this junk."

Chenzira smiled; but said nothing, in that mysterious Egyptian way of his. Ianira received the impression strong one-he still deferred to her as Head of the Seven. Then he leaned close again and said very quietly in his own language, which All of The Seven now had to learn, "You must convene the Council. The Seven must decide what is best and summon a general Council immediately afterwards to vote on it. This atrocity, this interference must stop."

"Yes," she agreed, already somewhat proficient in Chenzira's native language. A smile tugged at her lips as she imagined the idiotic, eavesdropping throng trying to translate this conversation!

She asked-also in Egyptian-"Could you watch my shop a little?"

He nodded.

Ianira bolted from the booth, outrunning her merciless followers by a few staggering strides to a nearby hotel lobby. "Private in-house phone?" she gasped, damning the fact that women's clothing from her own time was not designed for an all-out, freedom-winning dash.

The desk clerk, who knew Ianira's reputation-and pitied her for the never-ending madness of her enthralled seekers-stepped back and all but shoved her into the hotel office, muttering, "Lock the door and l'll hold 'em at bay."

She gave him a startled glance of thanks, then banged shut the door and snapped the lock. It was cool and quiet inside the hotel office. She lifted the receiver and dialed a trustworthy in-house line. One phone call, she knew, would lead to others. Many others.

Having set things in motion, she returned to her stand, having to push her way through angry Seekers, all of whom were taller than she was, and forced on a bright smile for a couple of genuine customers who'd stopped to -window-shop."

"Thank you, Chenzira Umi" she said formally. "You have been of great help."

Chenzira's unexpected grin (as the Seekers took up their disgruntled positions, furious they'd missed even those few, short moments of The Great One's words) startled Ianira.

"What?" she asked.

Chenzira nodded at the man and woman peering at her stock. "Your previous customer knows them. They lost no time seeking out this `find of the year' if I remember the words. I am not yet so good at English."

"Thank you, Chenzira Umi," she breathed as she turned toward her customers with a bright smile.

Chenzira Umi was long gone, faded into the crowd as nondescript as any other bald tourist, before Ianira noticed the new price markers. Her eyes widened ever so slightly: in her absence, he had doubled the price on everything she sold. And the customers were buying: jewelry, Greek style clothing for both men and women (in a matching pattern she'd sewn lovingly), scarves, and charms of all sorts.

Even all the copies she had in stock of a little, hand done booklet Dr. Mundy had helped her write, print, and bind, which they'd titled, There I Lived: Athens in Its Golden. Age and Ephesus, 5th Century B. C. Trading Center and Home to The Great Temple of Artemis, Seventh Wonder of the Ancient World. The booklet was nothing, of course, to the scholarly work he was building from the sessions she spent with him, but it was a decently scripted, informal "chatty" little booklet full of odd little facts and anecdotes, some previously unknown until Ianira's arrival. It was a popular item, even outside the sales to maddening Seekers.

One of her long-term plans as First of the Seven was to assist other downtimers in writing similar booklets, which she would then sell and pass along the money to the authors, taking no commission, for this would be Found Ones' business, not her own.

By the time La-La Land's first-shift "business day" was over, that single phone call made from the cool, quiet hotel office-she must remember to reward that wonderful, understanding clerk with some little trinket of thanks had borne its intended fruit. Ianira made her way to the madhouse of La-La Land's School and Day-Care Center where her daughters played with the other children. She picked them up, then took backstation staircases down into the bowels of Time Terminal Eighty-Six for a secret meeting of The Found Ones.

Since this was an informal meeting, no ceremonial garb was needed nor were her daughters a nuisance to anyone. Others of the Seven who had arrived ahead of her were already discussing the news. The day after Skeeter Jackson's gift to Marcus, Ianira had passed word of his true standing to other women in the downtimer community and they, in turn, had passed it to their men. Word had traveled through the entire community before bedtime. For the first time since their arrival, the downtimers of La-La Land knew that, alone of the uptimers, they had found someone who understood.

Many who had looked on him with disgust as a simple thief had immediately begun to cheer on his exploits. Anything to punish the uptimers who used them for grunt labor, without a single thought for their welfare, was worth a cheer or ten. Astoundingly, in a few short days Skeeter had rapidly taken on the status-thanks to Ianira's judicious meddling-of their champion and hero for causing uptimers to suffer monetary losses and public humiliations.

Also thanks to Ianira, it became unwritten law that Skeeter's past was a private secret to be kept from all uptimers on the station. Parents warned children, and those children held their tongues.