“So just who is that on the screen?” Brachis was not at ease with Fujitsu. The man had the cold, clear-eyed enthusiasm of a true fanatic. To the Margrave, Luther Brachis suspected he was nothing more than a section of interesting genetic code.

Fujitsu smiled for the first time, showing stained and crooked teeth. “No one that you know, Commander. And even if it were, this is no more than a starting point. When I am finished, and you see your Artefact, you will recognize nothing of what lies behind it. In fact, the listing in front of you already contains part of my general design. King Bester delivered your specification a week ago, and it provides such an intriguing challenge that since then I have worked on nothing else.”

“You mean you are almost finished?”

“By no means. As I said, this is a challenge. And it is also a mystery, which prompts my next question.”

“The specification is all the information I will provide.”

“I understand perfectly. If you choose not to answer, that is no offense to me — but I will ask. Let me show you something.” The Margrave flashed onto another screen a color image of a life form. “This is drawn from your specification. But there are certain elements, here and here” — he touched the lower part of the screen — “that I found preposterously difficult to mimic with organic components. I wonder if perhaps this is actually some kind of cyborg, inorganically enhanced.”

The screen showed a four-meter oblong shape, with well-defined rounded head, compound eyes, and a small mouth. The silver-blue body terminated in a tripod of stubby legs. Regular indentations ran along the whole length of the shining sides, and lattice-like wing structures were furled close to the body.

Brachis nodded. “I see no reason why you should not know this much. It is partly inorganic.”

“Then you realize that I cannot actually copy this using organic components? I can make the external appearance very similar, good enough to fool anyone. That is easy. What I cannot do is create the internal circuits and the total psych profile.”

“I understand. Is the difficulty in the intelligence?”

“No. In the emotions.”

“Then if you must err, I want you to favor pacifism.”

“That was my intention.”

“And you will be finished — when?” For the first time, Luther Brachis was showing signs of impatience, standing up and glancing at the chronometer.

“Difficult.” Fujitsu stroked his straggly beard. “Two weeks, perhaps? Is that satisfactory?”

“For all copies?”

“I see no reason why not. As in many things, after the first the rest are easy. But I will require the remainder of my payment, hand-delivered as soon as the Artefacts leave Earth and have been inspected.”

“Delivery before payment? That is not what we are told of Earth trading. You are a trusting person.”

“Find someone on Earth who will agree with that, Commander, and you will receive your order for nothing.” The Margrave directed his snaggle-toothed smile at Brachis. “I never threaten, but as we say in my family, I have a long arm. It reaches far out, and it brings me my just dues across time and space. All my clients pay in full — in one way or another.”

Fujitsu started to walk Brachis towards the studded outer door. “One more thing, Commander. Again, I fear that it takes the form of a question and a possible request. This project is the most intriguing one that I have had for many years. No one has ever before asked me to replicate an organism — and such a strange one! May I ask you who made it? For the privilege of meeting that person’s mind directly, I would pay well.”

“I can give you the name.” Brachis paused at the outer door. “Unfortunately, that is all I can give you. Her name was Livia Morgan. She is dead.”

“And the original design?”

“Died with her.”

“Ah. A tragic loss.”

The great door closed, leaving Brachis standing in darkness. Out on the surface it was raining, a heavy downpour under black clouds. Brachis ducked his head and strode rapidly back towards the closest tunnel entry point.

Would Fujitsu now seek to explore the origin and nature of the Morgan Constructs? Probably not. And it was worth the risk of mentioning Livia Morgan’s name, to see if King Bester stayed bought. Bester would surely learn that information from the Margrave. The question was, would anyone else then hear about it?

The weather was foul, the night dark, and Brachis had been hurrying along with less man his usual caution. He realized his mistake when his feet were yanked abruptly from under him, and he went skidding flat on his back down a steep slope. At the bottom he tried to stand up. He felt a loop of rope tight around his ankles.

“Gotcher!” said a gruff voice. A shielded lamp shone into his eyes.

Brachis straightened up slowly and carefully. There were five of them. Four were dressed in dark, mottled clothes that blended well into the vegetation patterns of the surface. The fifth man, obscenely fat, wore a sequined robe and carried an ornate mace over his shoulder like a club. Knives and grinning teeth flashed in the lamplight. The men moved to form a small circle around Brachis. He recalled Bester’s warning. “Never forget: the surface is dangerous. I don’t mean the local patrols — I’m talking about the Scavvies.”

“Scavengers, is it?” growled Brachis, using low Earth-tongue. “What you want, then? Money, trade crystals, I got both.”

“A bit more than that, squire.” It was the fat man, smiling amiably. “Don’t you think so, boys?”

“Do a deal, then? I got friends.”

“I know you do. Good friends.” The man pointed the mace at Brachis. “I know you, see. There’s people up aloft who’d pay good to have you back — ’specially when they’ve had a few of your fingers and toes to show I mean business.”

Brachis had recognized that gross shape and oily voice. “Bozzie, we can do a deal. Listen, squire, I can get you—”

“Not Bozzie to you,” said the other man viciously. “No, and not squire, either. Off-Earth trash like you call me Your Majesty. All right, lads. Do him!”

The four came diving at him from sides and back. Luther Brachis switched to Commando mode. He smashed the larynx of the man on his left with the outer edge of his hand, at the same time back-heeling another in the testicles. He sensed a knife stabbing in at him and ducked, pivoted right, and drove into the third man’s eyes with the stiff outstretched fingers of his left hand. He kept the turn going, spinning through another hundred and eighty degrees. His extended right arm swept on like a flail. The sleeve of his combat uniform, stiffened by rapid acceleration, shattered the jaw of the fourth man. Then all were down, groveling and moaning on the wet earth.

The Duke of Bosny had seen the rapid demolition of his Scavenger force. He dropped the lamp and went waddling away across the dark field. Brachis caught him in half a dozen strides, hurled him facedown on the ground, and knelt on the huge back. He took a grip on Bozzie’s neck, forearms locked.

“All right, Your Majesty. I want some honest answers. And if you lie to me, you’ll find your Scavvies got off easy.”

“Anything! Anything.” Bozzie was trembling, quivering on the ground like a monstrous jello. “Don t hurt me. Please! Take my jewels — anything you want.”

“I want an answer. You were lying in wait for me. Did you know it was me, or was it set up for anyone who happened to come along? Remember, now, I have to have the truth.”

Bozzie hesitated. Luther Brachis tightened his grip, flattening the windpipe in the gross neck.

“No!” Bozzie gave a whistling scream. “I’ll tell you. We saw you when you first came up on the surface, and I recognized you then. We watched you go into Fujitsu’s Needler lab, and decided to wait for you until you came out.”