Nixie looked at Murray accusingly. “You mean after all the time I’ve spent working my ass off learning English, we needn’t have bothered? Well, that’s just great. Maybe I should bill you for the time it’s cost me, at my regular hourly rate.”

Murray held up a hand defensively. “Honest, I didn’t know about it.” He looked at Hunt. “How does it work?”

“They’ve got it hooked into the Ganymean ship’s computer,” Hunt told him.

“You mean the Shapieron?”

“Yes.”

“Well, how about that!” Murray declared.

“This is terrific!” Nixie exclaimed. “We can talk normally.” She looked at Hunt. “The girls upstairs thought you were nice. They’ve been asking me to get you to come to one of our parties here. They can be a lot of fun.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Hunt said. “I might just take you up on it, too. But not right away. Things are very busy.”

Murray sat back down and waved Hunt over to the couch. Nixie perched herself on a hassock.

“What did you think of Ayultha getting blown away like that in Chinzo?” Murray asked. “Pretty neat stuff, huh? It sounds as if everything’s a mess. SFPD’s what they need to bring in here. Any idea how they did it?”

“We’re pretty sure it was a phase-conjugating laser,” Hunt said.

“Yeah… right.” Murray wasn’t going to argue with that.

“Which would be fairly straightforward to do. A spot from a target-designation pilot beam appeared on his chest a moment before he ignited.”

“You see, ask a Terran and you get an answer that makes sense, even if I don’t understand it,” Nixie said.

“Well… I don’t know about all Terrans,” Hunt muttered.

Nixie looked at him and shook her head. “You wouldn’t believe some of the stuff you hear in this place,” she said. “Some people think it was cosmic energy from another dimension. Then we had focused waves of-what was it, ‘telepsychosynchronicity.’ I mean, what’s it all about? What in hell is telepsychosynchronicity?”

“Sounds like what used to be called mind power, but at twice the price,” Hunt suggested.

“I’d rather be getting laid,” Nixie opined.

“That would make a good bumper sticker,” Hunt said.

“People should do something about getting this city together instead of sitting around listening to that garbage and waiting for the Ganymeans to do something,” Nixie said. “Murray, why don’t we go to Earth? You said I’d make a fortune there.”

“Patience. I need to get a little more invisible first.” Murray settled himself back in the chair and stretched out an arm idly to finger the hair at the back of her neck. “Anyhow, if you’re that busy you didn’t come here to shoot any breeze,” he said to Hunt. “What gives?”

“I’m trying to find out anything I can about one of the Terrans back at PAC,” Hunt said. “It’s in connection with that traffic bridge that collapsed.”

“The one that pancaked the head of the Keystones, and them other suckers who were driving under?”

“Right. It may have to do with the Ayultha business, too.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“He’s a German by the name of Hans Baumer, been here a little over five months. We’ve got reason to think that he’s got himself mixed up with the shady side of city life here, somehow, and that the people he’s dealing with could tell us something. It occurred to me that it might be the kind of thing you’d know something about.”

“Why are you interested?” Murray seemed evasive all of a sudden.

“It’s starting to look as if Jevlenese plots and power games didn’t all come to an end with the Federation,” Hunt replied. “There’s some kind of scheme afoot that involves another faction, and the trouble that’s brewing is all part of it. Getting rid of Obayin could have been a preparatory move. He was being very cooperative with the Ganymeans.”

“Shit, I thought you were some kind of scientist. What the hell kind of science is this?”

“The kind that doesn’t want to see the Ganymeans kicked out of here.” Hunt gestured in the direction of the door. “Look at the mess this planet’s in out there. It should have been flying its own starships long ago. Instead it waits for Thurien handouts. The same forces that held our sciences back for two thousand years are regrouping on Jevlen. That’s what we’re trying to prevent. And it affects you, too, Murray, because once a society becomes repressive, all forms of independence get repressed. And that wouldn’t be good for your line of business at all.”

“I like what Vic’s saying, Murray,” Nixie said.

But Murray shook his head. “Sorry, I can’t help. I don’t know anything.” His voice was clipped, and his face wooden. He was lying, Hunt could tell. Hunt could either confront him and risk alienating what could turn out to be a valuable contact with nothing to show; or he could let the matter ride for the moment and leave Murray time to think it over. He sighed inwardly.

“But you’ll let me know if you do hear anything?”

“Sure.”

Nixie stared uncomfortably at the table but said nothing.

“There was another thing,” Hunt said. “Tell me something about these ayatollahs.”

Nixie understood whatever ZORAC translated the word into, but Murray looked puzzled. “These what?”

“The cult leaders-the crazies who are stirring up these mobs, like Ayultha.”

Nixie supplied Murray a term in Jevlenese, which ZORAC returned as “awakeners.”

“What do you want to know about them?” Murray seemed to relax at the change of subject and listened while Hunt summarized what he had learned from Garuth and Shiohin. Nixie’s manner became strangely quiet as she followed.

When Hunt had finished, Murray looked apologetic-genuinely this time. “That’s fascinating,” he said. “And really, I’d like to help. But you know more about all this than I do.”

“You’ve been here six months.”

Murray spread his hands helplessly. “Hell, I’ve never gotten into conversations about stuff like that with the Jevs. You saw what our communication level was until just now, when you told me about that.” He waved at the panel. “Anyhow, they’ve got more loose screws than a do-it-yourself kit for the Eiffel Tower. Why do you care about them?”

“We think that Eubeleus and his Axis might be involved, too,” Hunt said.

“But he isn’t gonna be around much longer. They’re all taking off for this other planet, someplace, whatever it’s called. It’s been all over the news. They’re shooting the first batch of green groupies up into orbit from Geerbaine already.”

“That’s got me beat, too,” Hunt admitted. “Okay, maybe it isn’t him, specifically. But I’m convinced there’s a connection with the cults somewhere.”

Murray could only show his hands and shake his head. “Sorry, doc, but like I said, it seems you already know more about them than I do. What else can I tell you?”

They talked about odd things for a while longer, but nothing more useful emerged. Eventually Hunt stood up and announced that it was time for him to be getting back.

“Take care, Vic. We’ll see ya around,” Murray said, seeing him to the door.

Hunt made his way back in the direction of PAC, far from satisfied with the results of his foray. He passed through noisy streets, lined with stalls displaying trinkets and bric-a-brac, and crossed a square of mostly closed frontages. Past there, he climbed a moving stairway that wasn’t-it had been under repair since the day he arrived. There were apathetic people squatting on sidewalks and, farther on, a line being handed what looked like food packages from the back of a trailer. He was pestered by vacant-faced children hassling for handouts, who could have been learning about Euclid or Newton, Bach or Magellan-or whoever the Jevlenese equivalents were, if they had ever had any.

He stopped at a corner to watch a garishly dressed group dancing frenziedly under some kind of intoxication to mindless, crashing music blaring from inside an open doorway, where others appeared to have collapsed. Somebody was shouting obscenities at them from a window nearby. Hunt stood and watched disconsolately, trying to form some idea of what he intended doing with the remainder of the day.