"Senator?"

"Yes, Bill?"

"Is she mad at me?"

"I don't think so." I was about to add that I would be displeased with him if he persisted in-then shut up in my mind. Threatening to leave Bill behind was too much like beating a baby; he had no armor. "She simply wants you to stand tall and not blame other people for your acts. Not make excuses."

Having delivered myself of my favorite duck-billed platitude I went back to glum self-assessment. / make excuses. Yes, but not out loud, just to myself. That's an excuse in itself, chum- whatever you've done, whatever you've been, is all, totally, one hundred percent, your own fault. All.

Or to my credit. Yes, but damned little. Come on, be truthful.

But look where I started... and still got all the way up to colonel.

In the most whoreson, chancre-ridden, thieving, looting gang of thugs since the Crusades.

Don't talk that way about the Regiment!

Very well. But they aren't the Coldstream Guards, are they?

Those dudes! Why, just one platoon of Campbell's-

Dreck.

Gwen returned, having been gone-oh, quite a time. I hadn't checked the time when she left but it was now, I saw, almost eighteen. I tried to stand-not practical with both table and chair bolted down. She asked, "Have I held up dinner?"

"Not a bit. We ate, and threw the leavings to me pigs."

"All right. Mama-San won't let me go hungry."

"And Papa-San won't serve without you."

"Richard. I did something without consulting you."

"I don't see anything in the book that says that you have to. Can we square it with the cops?"

"Nothing like that. You've noticed the fezzes around town all day-excursionists up from the Shriners convention in Luna City."

"So that's what they are. I thought Turkey had invaded us."

"If you like. But you've seen them today, wandering up and down the Lane and the Camino, buying anything that doesn't bite. I suspect that most of them are not staying overnight; they have a full program in Luna City and have hotel rooms there already paid for. The late shuttles are sure to be crowded-"

"With drunk Turks, woofing into their fezzes. And onto the cushions."

"No doubt. It occurred to me that even the twenty o'clock schedule is likely to be fully booked rather early. So I bought tickets for us and reserved couches."

"And now you're expecting me to pay you back? Submit a claim and I'll pass it along to my legal department."

"Richard, I was afraid we would not get away from here at all tonight."

"Mistress Hardesty, you continue to impress me. What was the total?"

"We can straighten out finances another time. I just felt that I could eat dinner in a happier frame of mind if I was sure that we could get away promptly after dinner. And, uh-" She paused, looked at Bill. "Bill."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"We are about to eat dinner. Go wash your hands."

"Huh?"

"Don't grunt. Do as I tell you."

"Yes, ma'am." Bill got up docilely, went out.

Gwen turned back to me. "I was antsy. Fidgety. Because of the Limburger."

"What Limburger?"

"Your Limburger, dear. It was part of what I salvaged from your larder, then I put it out on the cheese and fruit tray when we had lunch. There was a little hundred-gram wedge, untouched, still in its wrapping, when we finished. Rather than throw it away, I put it in my purse. I thought it might make a nice snack-"

"Gwen."

"All right, all right! I saved it on purpose... because I've used it in looking-glass warfare before this. It's much nicer than some of the things on the list. Why, you wouldn't believe what nasty-"

"Gwen. I wrote the list. Stick to your muttons."

"In Mr. Sethos's office, you will remember that I was seated almost against the bulkhead-and right by the main ventilation discharge. Quite a draft against my legs and uncomfortably warm. I got to thinking-"

"Gwen."

"They're all alike, all through the habitat-local control, both on heat and volume. And the louvre just snaps on. While Accounting was working up our final statement, the Manager was studiously ignoring us. I turned the volume down and the heat to neutral, and snapped off the cover. I rubbed Limburger cheese all over the vanes of the heat exchanger, and tossed the rest of the package as far back into the duct as I could manage, and put the louvre back on. Then, just before we left, I turned the heat control to 'cold' and turned the volume up." She looked worried. "Are you ashamed of me?"

"No. But I'm glad you're on my side. Uh... you are- aren't you?"

"Richard!"

"But I'm even gladder that we have reservations on the next shuttle. I wonder how long it will be until Sethos feels chilly and turns up the heat?"

What we had for dinner was delicious and I don't know the names of any of it, so I'll let it go at that. We had just reached the burping stage when Mr. Kondo came out, leaned close to my ear, and said, "Sir, come, please."

I followed him into the kitchen. Mama-San looked up from her work, paid no more attention. The Reverend Doctor Schultz was there, looking worried. Trouble?" I asked.

"Just a moment. Here's your pie of Enrico; I've copied it. Here are the papers for Bill; please look them over."

They were in a worn envelope, and the papers were creased and worn and somewhat yellowed and more than somewhat soiled in places. Hercules Manpower, Inc., had hired William No-Middle-Name Johnson, of New Orleans, Duchy of Mississippi, Lone Star Republic, and had in turn sold his indenture to Bechtel High Construction Corp. (bond endorsed for space, free fall, and vacuum)-who had in turn sold the indenture to Dr. Richard Ames, Golden Rule habitat, circum Luna. Etc., etc.-lawyer talk. Stapled to the indenture was a very sincere birth certificate showing that Bill was a foundling, abandoned in Metairie Parish, with an assigned date of birth three days earlier than the date he was found.

"Much of that is true," Dr. Schultz told me. "I was able to wheedle some old records out of the master computer."

"Does it matter whether or not it's true?"

"Not really. As long as it is sincere enough to get Bill out of here."

Gwen had followed me in. She took the papers from me, read them. "I'm convinced. Father Schultz, you're an artist."

"A lady of my acquaintance is an artist. I will convey your compliment. Friends, now the bad news. Tetsu, will you show

them?"

Mr. Kondo moved back in the kitchen; Mama-San (Mrs. Kondo, I mean) stepped aside. Mr. Kondo switched on a terminal. He punched up the Herald, cycled it for something- spot news I assume. I found myself staring at myself.

With me, in split screen, was Gwen-a poor likeness of her. I would not have recognized her but for the sound repeating:

"-Ames. Mistress Gwendolyn Novak. The female is a notorious confidence woman who has fleeced many victims, mostly male, around the bars and restaurants of Petticoat Lane. The self-styled 'Doctor' Richard Ames, no visible means of support, has disappeared from his address at ring sixty-five, radius fifteen, at point four gee. The shooting took place at sixteen-twenty this afternoon in Golden Rule Partner Tolliver's office-"

I said, "Hey! That time is wrong. We were-"

"Yes, you were with me, at the Farm. Hear the rest."

"-according to eyewitnesses both killers fired shots. They are believed armed and dangerous; use extreme caution in apprehending them. The Manager is grief stricken at the loss of his old friend and has offered a reward of ten thousand crowns for-"

Dr. Schultz reached over and shut it off. "It just repeats now; it's on a loop. But it appears as a spot announcement on all channels. By now, most habitants must have seen and heard it."

"Thanks for warning us. Gwen, don't you know better than to shoot people? You're a naughty girl."