'I am Dom Sabalos, the Bank's Godson. I would like to see him.'

'You have only to look around, sir.' The machine meant it seriously. Dom realized it was not equipped to handle figurative speech.

'I meant that I wanted to confront him, converse with his, uh, seat of consciousness.'

There was a pause. At last the disc said: 'Very well, sir, I will see what can be arranged.'

Dom hurried out of the booth. Hrsh-Hgn was lurking suspiciously behind a glittering germanian pillar that soared up half a mile above the paved cavern floor. The next essential was fresh clothing, and then a real meal - there was something curiously unsatisfying about the reconstituted molecules of the ship's autochef. He pushed past a party of medium-degree Creapii and hailed a cab.

The main cavern of the First Sirian Bank was big enough to need a sophisticated weather control system, to prevent the formation of thunder clouds. The cab looped up from the crowded floor and threaded its way at speed between coruscating pillars, each with its cluster of booths at the base. The red junction points glowed everywhere. Occasionally a ring of static electricity would flash up a pillar and burst vividly into an ozone-reeking haze. And the hot dry air hummed with a million voices, felt rather than heard, as money spoke to money across the light-years.

In fact, Dom considered, it looked like an early conception of hell. With tourists. Certainly some of the tourists would have fitted the concept nicely.

In one of the sub-caverns a robot tailor outfitted him with an anonymous grey ship suit, the sort worn on every earth-human world. He also bought a cuber, a cloak striped on the bias in purple, orange and yellow, and hoped that an observer would take him for what he appeared to be - a back-planet rube, a stock Whole Erse character of comedy sketches, the gawping rim-colonist with a nasal twang, unfortunate personal habits and a pocketful of rare earths.

He turned and looked critically at Hrsh-Hgn, who stood watching in the old ceremonial garb of a beta-male.

'Couldn't you wear something a bit more colourful? Some phnobes do. I'd rather you didn't look conspicuous.'

Hrsh-Hgn took a nervous step backwards and clutched at his robe.

'Is it against the law? I mean, will it offend some sexual more?If so, of course, I—'

'It'ss not exactly that. I do not think I could carry off the character of an alpha, you understand, they are somewhat more flamboyant, more warlike, lesss given to featss of the intellect ...'

At Dom's command the little robot dressed the phnobe in a complicated toga of heavy blue and olive green fibres, shot with flecks of silver. A tshuri knife fully twice the length of Hrsh-Hgn's old one hung on an ornate belt.

'If an alpha challenges me I shall make a poor showing.'

'Still, you look different.' He paid the robot, and they walked out with Hrsh-Hgn making a brave attempt at a swagger.

The temperate-lifeforms dining room of the Grand Hotel, the only provision on the Bank for accommodation, seemed almost as big as the main cavern and more impressive because the size was made up in human terms. The long cavern was filled with the roar of appetites in the process of satiation, reeked with the aromas of many foods and narcotics, and looked rather more like Hell than the main cavern.

Dom found two places at a table in the Human section. The previous occupants, a thickset Earthman with a face criss-crossed with duelling scars and a small battered Class One robot, nodded familiarly at Dom as they passed.

'Do you know them?' asked Hrsh-Hgn as they sat down.

'Not that I can recall,' said Dom, 'There's something odd about them. He looked a wealthy type. What's he doing with a mere Class One?'

'One of life'ss little myssteriess,' said the phnobe.

They ate in silence. The diner beside Dom was energetically digging him in the ribs with a horny elbow. It was a young Drosk, who looked up, gave Dom a canine grin, and bent back to his plate. Dom carefully refrained from looking at what he was eating.

On the other side a party of female phnobes of the Long Cloud group were arguing sibilantly. Beyond them was a Pineal-human, performing a complex Third Eye food-ceremony over his rice bowl.

Dom ordered fish and bread. Hrsh-Hgn had a fungi stew.

The Class Two waiter trundled up with their bill and tactfully ascertained Dom's credit rating with the Bank.

'Divert a tenth-standard for yourself,' added Dom.

'Many thanks indeed, sir,' said the automaton. It added politely: 'I have always had a high regard for Sinistral-humans, sir.'

'Who said I was from Widdershins?' Dom tried to pitch his voice low. Several of the phnobes looked round. But the robot had rolled away.

'Your face,' said Hrsh-Hgn simply.

Dom reached up, and then caught sight of his hand. The greenish tinge of googoo. Of course it was used on other worlds in exceptional circumstances - and under strict licence - but that made no difference. In popular mythology, any green man was a Widdershine.

'I don't think you need bother too much,' said the phnobe as they walked out, 'Whoever thiss asssasssin iss, I doubt if he will be fooled by dissguises. He iss using probability math to put himself in the right place every time.'

'He's not succeeded so far. Remember what happened at that tower?'

'Don't bank on it.'

A small two-wheel Class One trundled towards them and tugged at Dom's cloak.

'Lord Sabalos, Bank will see you now. To follow me.'

It rolled away on its balloon tyres. They followed it at a walking pace.

Dom looked around him and made no attempt to disguise his awe. He was beginning to feel like a rube anyway. The times he had left See-Why's system were few enough, but he closed his mouth firmly when he found it was hanging open.

The main cavern had been opened out near the North Temperate Fault, the result of an ancient computer quake that had slid two continent-sized silicon slabs together and created several quintillion important circuits. It had happened when Earth was still molten. Historians suggested that it had marked the awakening of the Bank; the colossal, thundering moment between dead pizzo-electric rock and sapience. On this point, as on many concerning its personal history, the Bank was silent.

The robot led them up a shallow slope against the Fault and into a branching tunnel hewn from the living - it was a fair statement - rock. The pinpoints clustered thickly here.

A sphincter door opened. They went in.

'dom! come right in!'

The room was small and brightly lit. Thick carpets covered the floor and there was a large potted palm in the corner. Against the far wall was a desk, simply furnished. A robot sat behind it. It had been stripped of most of its outer casing, including its head, and was strung about with auxiliary equipment. Ropes of cables connected it to the wall. It was smoking a cigar through an extended tube.

'GREETINGS TO YOU, TOO, HRSH-HGN.'

Dom stared at the cigar.

'NOT PRIMARILY AN AFFECTATION,' said the bank, 'THERE IS A CERTAIN SENSUAL PLEASURE, YOU UNDERSTAND. AND IT HELPS TO PUT SOME OF MY MORE NERVOUS VISITORS AT THEIR EASE. A ROBOT IS HUMANOID. WHEN ON TOP OF THAT IT IS SMOKING A CIGAR IT IS FAR MORE RELAXING TO CONVERSE WITH THAN—'

'- a planet-sized computer?' suggested Dom, 'Hallo, Godfather.'

'I TRUST YOUR FAMILY IS IN GOOD HEALTH.'

'Reasonably so, when I left Widdershins,' said Dom, 'It's very good of you to see us.'

'NOT AT ALL. I ALWAYS HAVE TIME FOR MY GODCHILDREN. AND HRSH-HGN, OF COURSE, ONE OF THE MORE PROMISING AMATEUR STUDENTS OF THE JOKER MYSTERY.'

Hrsh-Hgn nodded graciously.

'Godchildren?' asked Dom, interested despite himself. 'I . . . uh . . . thought I was the only one.'