The Zakdorn—Armnoj, presumably—waved away the suggestion. “I’ve known you were coming for three days. Ganz’s people contacted me and sent me a complete file on you.” His eyes narrowing as he regarded Pennington, the wormy little humanoid added, “They didn’t send anything about you, though.”

“I’m his caddy,” the journalist replied, making no effort to hide his mounting annoyance. To Quinn, he asked, “Can we get on with this?”

The pilot nodded. “Absolutely.” Turning his attention back to the Zakdorn, he said, “Mr. Armnoj—if that’s who you are—we need to be going. Ganz wants you and your accounting records in front of him before the end of the week.” He shrugged. “Of course, you could always just transmit the files to him over subspace. You know, save us all a lot of heartache.”

Armnoj released a boorish grunt. “That would hardly be helpful. All of my files are encoded with a multi-quad encryption algorithm capable of thwarting any attempts at unauthorized access. I designed the software myself, including a self-regenerating cipher that allows for unparalleled data security.”

“Wonderful,” Quinn said, rolling his eyes. “Well, you and your encoded multi-quad whatever-the-

hell-you-call-them need to get packed. We’re a bit pressed for time, here.”

Shaking his head, the Zakdorn affected an expression of disapproval. “You’ll have to come back later. I’m on my way to the sauna.”

Pennington noted that Quinn was making a valiant effort to maintain his composed demeanor. Drawing a deep breath, the privateer clasped his hands behind his back and attempted to smile. “No time for that, sir. Ganz said he wanted you back as soon as possible. It’s a long trip, and the sooner we get started, the happier everybody will be.”

Armnoj sniffed the air with evident disdain. “Very well, but you’ll just have to wait while I change into traveling attire and pack a few things.” Eyeing them both, he added, “You may come in, but kindly refrain from sitting on my furniture.” He turned and walked back into the house, muttering something Pennington could not hear before saying, “You can be sure Mr. Ganz will hear about your lack of courtesy. I’m not in the habit of being treated this way.”

Alone on the porch, Quinn and Pennington exchanged stares and shrugs.

“Nice guy,” Quinn growled. “Reminds me of my first wife.”

“She was that ugly?” Pennington asked.

“That, and talking to her for two minutes was usually enough to make me want to launch her out a photon torpedo tube.”

Stepping through the door after Quinn, Pennington noted that the inside of the accountant’s home was as well appointed as its exterior. His boots sank into plush woven carpeting, and he looked longingly at the trio of overstuffed chairs positioned around the sitting room. The rest of the chamber’s furniture was equally opulent, and a collection of expensive-looking curios populated shelves and hutches. He recognized the spiced aroma of a notably expensive Zakdorn incense scenting the air.

Being a crime lord’s bookkeeper definitely has its advantages.

“You live here alone?” Pennington called out toward the room into which he had seen Armnoj disappear.

“Of course,” the Zakdorn replied from what Pennington presumed was the accountant’s bedchambers. “I like it that way.”

“Yeah,” Quinn said, low enough so that only Pennington could hear, “because the ladies are kicking and scratching to get in here.” In a louder voice, he asked, “Aren’t you afraid someone might come by to cause trouble?”

“Never happened before,” Armnoj replied. “Besides, I have Sniffy.”

Exchanging looks with Quinn, Pennington frowned. “Sniffy?”

“Guy doesn’t get out much, does he?” Quinn remarked. “File me under ‘shocked,’ why don’t you?”

As if in response to the conversation, Pennington’s attention was attracted to the sounds of movement across the carpeted floor and he turned to see…something…waddling into the room. Seemingly a cross between a dog and a walrus, the animal appeared to be encased in blubber draped in smooth, brown hair. It whipped its spindly front legs while dragging its hindquarters more or less uselessly. With wide nostrils and puffy cheeks, the creature managed to make its way close to the duo before settling in and squinting at them with beady, black eyes.

“Sniffy, I presume,” Quinn said.

Frowning as he regarded the animal, which appeared harmless, Pennington asked, “What the hell is that?”

Armnoj emerged from his bedroom, dressed in a colorful silken shirt and matching trousers. “Why, he’s a slijm,”the Zakdorn said, “and a fine one, too. Pedigreed.”

Uh-oh,Pennington thought.

As if reading his mind, Quinn held up a hand in warning. “It can’t go with us.”

“Out of the question,” Armnoj declared. “He’s hardly been out of my care his entire life. He means everything to me. I can’t leave him.”

Rolling his eyes, Pennington said, “Surely you have contingencies when you travel on business.” I can’t believe I’m even having this conversation.

Armnoj crossed his arms, saying nothing.

“I don’t have any room on my ship, anyway,” Quinn said. Casting a doubtful look toward the animal, he added, “Besides, it doesn’t look like it’d even make it to the spaceport.”

“Spaceport?” the Zakdorn repeated, his eyes wide with anxiety as he shook his head rapidly. “That simply won’t do. I don’t fly suborbital. You’ll have to fetch yourself a suitable ship and come back.”

“’Fraid that’s not going to happen, either,” Quinn said, his patience obviously nearing its end. Stepping forward, he reached to take Armnoj by the arm. “We’re wasting time. Let’s go.”

“I can’t fly, I tell you. I can’t!” The accountant attempted to wrest himself from Quinn’s grasp just as Sniffy reacted to the commotion.

“Calm down, will you?” Quinn asked as he tightened his grip. “We’ve got a schedule to keep.”

“Stop it, Quinn,” Pennington said, forcing a calm voice and trying to restore some measure of peace as he stepped closer. “Mr. Armnoj, please…”

Armnoj cried out in what seemed like dire pain, the tone and pitch of his voice so loud and piercing that Pennington feared for the nearby glassware. At the same time, Sniffy moved with more animation than the journalist ever would have expected, rearing up a bit on its flabby, wedge-shaped body and loosing from its snout a booming sneeze.

Throwing his arm up as a cloud of yellow-green mucus flew from the animal’s nose, Pennington ducked as the viscous outburst saturated his arm and hand. Then his eyes widened in fear as he realized that his bare hand, sprayed with the tacky fluid, seemed to burn and tingle as if he had reached out toward an open flame.

“Bloody hell!” he cried as he wiped his hand on his shirt, an action that only seemed to heighten the sensation. “Oww!”

“That’s a boy, Sniffy,” Armnoj said, leering in Pennington’s direction as he kneeled down to pet the spent beast. “That’s a goodboy.”

“Good boy, my ass,” Quinn said, reaching into his jacket to retrieve a stun pistol, essentially the civilian equivalent of a phaser. He aimed the weapon at Armnoj. “Now, get the hell up!” Looking over his shoulder to Pennington, he called out, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” the journalist replied, his eyes widening upon seeing the weapon in Quinn’s hand. “Put that thing away!” With relief, he noted that the burning on his skin was subsiding, and he detected no other injury to his hand. “I’m okay. It fades after a minute.” He noticed that the pilot somehow had managed to avoid the mucous shower save for some spotting on his soiled jacket.

Figures.

“Yeah? Well, so does this,” Quinn said as he fired his stun pistol. The whine of energy filled the room and an ice-blue beam lanced from the weapon, washing over Armnoj and the slijm. The two slumped to the carpet.