Over a normal day he had lain, his metabolism speeded by the drug, healing with accelerated tempo. Even though he'd been fed, his body showed signs of wastage.

"You were cut up pretty badly inside," she explained casually. "I had to section the bone and replace quite a large amount of lung tissue. I didn't think you'd object to a couple more scars." Her hand lifted, a slender finger touching his skin, tracing a path over the pattern of cicatrices. A touch which held more than a professional interest, lingering as if a caress. "A fighter," she mused. "You've worked in the ring and learned the hard way. How often have you killed Earl?"

Too often, but he said nothing, watching her eyes, the set of her lips. She was past her first youth, in her third decade at least, and the name was familiar. Chetame? He remembered the guard.

He said. "The beast was yours?"

"Is, Earl. It's still alive and the sight has been fully restored. You know what happened, of course?" She didn't wait for him to reply. "My men had to shoot it with anesthetic darts. One of them hit you. They brought you in together."

And who had claimed her first attention?

"It was deliberate," he said, understanding. "You placed the creature outside to be tormented. Only a fool would have done such a thing without reason and, my lady, I do not take you for a fool."

"Charisse, Earl, you may call me Charisse. And you are correct. It was necessary for me to discover its tolerance level and also its potential strength. Clients do not take kindly to being supplied with beasts they cannot control. The cage seemed strong enough but, obviously, it was not. And I had underestimated the maniacal fury level by a factor of at least five percent. It could even be ten."

A mistake-and two guards had died and the child could have joined them. The men standing by had been slow to act or had been ordered to hold their fire. More tests?

"That's why I called you a fool, Earl." Charisse seemed oblivious to Dumarest's anger. "To have risked your life for so little. A child. Something so easily replaced. But perhaps you had a personal reason?"

She guessed too much and Dumarest remembered the montage of dreams; the images, names, faces which had spun before him. Had he raved in delirium? Talked in answer to direct questions? She knew his name which was a clue in itself. How deeply had she probed?

She stepped back as he threw his legs over the edge of the cot to stand upright, the sheet wrapped around his waist. A tall woman, deep-breasted, her hips and buttocks a harmony of curves. The outline of her thighs showed taut against the embroidered fabric of her gown. She emitted a delicate perfume: a blend of rose and carnation coupled with a scent he did not recognize, but which made him acutely aware of her femininity.

She said, "You need to take things easy for a while. Good food and rest and no undue exertion. Your system has been shocked in more ways than one."

"I have to go somewhere."

"I know. To Ascelius." She shrugged at his expression. "It's obvious. You wore a student's robe and where else do ships head for at this time? Which was yours? The Evidial The Qualt!

"The Cossos."

"You blame me for having missed it?"

He said flatly, "The beast was yours. You failed to contain it. If it hadn't broken free I'd be on my way by now."

"Are you forgetting I saved your life?"

"No. And, once again, I thank you."

"Thank me?" She shook her head. "What value are words? You know better than to think payment can be made by a babble of gratitude. Tell me, Earl, of what value is life? If you were dying now, at this moment, and I had the drug which could save you-how much would you be willing to pay?"

Without hesitation he said, "All I possess. Of what value are goods without life to enjoy them?"

"A true philosopher." Her smile was radiant. "Earl, you are a man after my own heart. But enough of this silly bickering. There need be no debts between us and certainly no animosity. Shall we drink to it?"

"Like this?"

"What?"

She hadn't grasped his meaning. Patiently he explained. "My lady-Charisse-I have no clothes."

They had been refurbished; the gray plastic smooth, bearing a rich sheen, the protective mesh hidden from sight. The knife too had been polished and honed and Dumarest lifted it from where it lay on the plate and noted the thin line of unbroken weld beneath the pommel before slipping it into his boot.

From where she stood pouring wine Charisse said, "A vicious blade, Earl. But you know how to use it." As she handed him a goblet filled with sparkling amber liquid she added, "No other man would have survived ten seconds after the mannek had reached him."

"I was lucky."

"And fast." Her lips touched the goblet, wine adding to their moistness. "So very fast. I've never seen a man with such reflexes. We must talk about it but, first, we drink and then we dine. To you, Earl, and a fortunate meeting."

"To you, Charisse," he responded. "And to your loveliness."

He hadn't intended the words but they came easily to his lips, as did others when they had sat to share dishes of pounded meats and vegetables, compotes of fruit and honey, an assortment of oddly shaped biscuits, morsels of varying tastes and textures. The meal was served by a soft-footed girl with a blank, unformed face, a slight creature who served and bowed and left at a signal.

"An idiot," said Charisse casually as if expecting Dumarest to ask the question. "I've done what I could but the basic gene structure was rotten to begin with."

"A local?"

"No." She took a sip of wine, lavender this time, tart with citrus. "Podestanians aren't to be trusted."

Which was why they stayed in her vessel? Dumarest itched to examine it but knew better than to insist. As a guest he had to defer to his hostess but he wondered what the ship could contain, how the holds had been designed.

"You're curious, Earl." She met his eyes. "Don't bother to deny it. Who am I? What am I doing? What do I intend? Questions easily answered. I own the Chetame Laboratories. I deal in manufactured life forms and will supply any who have the price to buy. Gene manipulation, forced growth, breeding for desired characteristics-you must know the kind of thing. Know too why you interest me so much. Your speed and determination are unusual traits and should be cultivated. You would be surprised to learn how many women yearn for the perfect mate to provide perfect offspring. How many would be willing to pay highly for selected sperm with a guarantee as to results and quality. Not to speak of the men who want strong and prideful sons. More wine?"

She poured without waiting for an answer, leaning close across the table so as to fill his nostrils with the scent of her perfume. She radiated an almost feral heat, stirred his masculinity, smiled as, sitting back, she held him with her eyes.

"My father taught me most of what I know," she said. "He died last year and the laboratories came to me. My mother was a geneticist trained on Shaldom-they are far advanced in the art of chromosome unification. A man with two heads, a woman with four arms-pay for it and they will supply it."

"And you?"

"Freaks and distortions don't interest me. The mannek was developed from a basic human sperm with additions to form a near invulnerable form of life which-"

"Proved a failure."

"-could….What did you say?"

"The thing is a failure." Dumarest elaborated as he sipped at his wine. "You made another mistake, Charisse. The multiplication of attributes does not result in added efficiency."

He had touched her as he'd intended and he watched her react to the slight on her ability; the clenching of her hands, the tension of her jaw, the bunching of small facial muscles which, somehow, made her look old. The moment passed as she shielded her face behind her goblet, throat working as she drank wine.