"Oh ho, I comprehend," said Qual. "To state the facts, I thought some of you humans were saying very strange things, but I attributed it to your extremely bizarre cultural attitudes. But if it is merely a mechanical delusion, correction would be a boon to both species. How do you intend to adjust the device?"

"Well, to do it right, I need some information on your language," said Sushi.

"Ah, I am but a simple air warrior," said Flight Leftenant Qual. "The subtleties of semantics are beyond me. Perhaps you need a certified scholar of language."

"Don't sell yourself short," said Sushi, breezily. "You've been speaking your native language since you were a kid..."

"Not so," said Flight Leftenant Qual. "Our people do not acquire language until they are nearly grown, and each finds his own way. And some ways are very strange indeed. But the better a Zenobian speaks, the greater rights and duties that one can achieve. Chief Potentary Korg is the great power that he is because he is the most admired speaker on all the planet Sushi stared at Qual for a long moment, then shook his head.

"If I didn't know you better, I'd think you were giving me the business. In fact, I'm still not sure you're not trying to pull the insulated fabric over my eyes." It is a verity," said Qual, and the other Zenobians working with him, who had followed the conversation with apparent interest, flipped their tails from side to side-a gesture that the legionnaires had learned meant the same to the Zenobians as a nod to humans. "Perhaps your translator problems arise from this feature of our language."

"It sounds like a good recipe for problems," said Sushi.

"Do you mean that everyone speaks completely differently?"

"Oh, not completely so," said Qual. "Careful guardians will expose the adolescents in their charge to the most admired speakers, hoping to influence their mode of speech. It works, to some degree. I myself was made to listen to the speeches of Korg's Predecesor. Grand Potentary Zarf. I believe that was a large factor in my rising to officer rank so quickly."

"Amazing," said Sushi, shaking his head. "So how do messages that have to reach a lot of people get sent? Do you have some kind of common language that everybody understands?"

"Oh, yes," said Qual. "But it is curious that you ask, Rawfish. That is a language that everyone knows, but no one speaks."

"What the...?" Sushi frowned. "If nobody speaks it, how can you communicate in it?"

"Very easy," said Qual, and the other Zenobians again flipped their tails. "It is a language for the eyes only, which we use to record knowledge that everyone must know. However a Zenobian speaks, he will have learned the written language first."

"Wow," said Sushi. "That's exactly the reverse of how humans do it-and, as far as I know, all the other species in the Alliance, too. Let me get this straight-you're telling me that the written language has no spoken equivalent?"

"Oh, no, that is the beauty of it," said Qual. "It has as many equivalents as there are different ways of speaking. Every Zenobian knows the meaning of a written message, but the way of rendering it into sound is left to the speaker's own choice. A matter of taste, I think you humans call it."

"Uh-huh," said Sushi. "Excuse me, Qual, but this has just boggled my mind. I'm going to go think about it over a drink or two, and see whether I can make any sense of it. Do you mind if I come back later and ask you some more questions?"

"Oh, no," said Qual. "It is invariably an amusement to talk to you, Rawfish."

"Thanks, I think," said Sushi, and he wandered off in search of his coworkers on the Zenobian language project. He already had a good idea where to find them.

"All right, how does it look now?" said Ernie. He stepped out into the center of the little hotel room so Lola could inspect him. She stood with her hands on her hips, inspecting the dress suit he wore. "You still look more like an. out-of shape bouncer than a high-stakes player," she muttered.

"To tell the truth, I don't think it's the suit that's the problem-it's you."

"Hey, I am an out-of-shape bouncer," Ernie said brightly. "It's been a few years since I worked the door anywhere, but don't go taking me for granted-I'm in better shape than it looks like, baby. You oughta know that..."

"It's not what I know that matters, it's what Victor Phule and his bodyguards think," said Lola, frowning. "If they knew what I know, they wouldn't even let you in the casino-forget about striking up a casual conversation - with a gazillionaire. We're stuck with trying to make you look like somebody respectable. Are you sure you can't shave any closer?"

"Not unless you want my face to look like the insides of a watermelon," said Ernie. "Hey, why don't you just put a dress on me and try to pass me off for a cocktail waitress? Maybe he'll go for that one..."

"Yeah, you're right. I'm stuck with the raw material I've got," said Lola. "Besides, this is Lorelei. He can't expect all the people he meets-even the rich ones-to be from his own social class. I wonder if he'd believe you as a construction magnate, self-made from the ground up?"

"Forget it," said Ernie, impatiently. "You wanted, an actor, you should've hired somebody off a tri-vee; stage. Now, do you have any other improvements on the scam, or are we goin' to get any real work done today?" Lola threw up her hands. "Oh, the hell with it," she said.

"You're right-we're not going to get anywhere if I spend all my time trying to get your act perfect. You'll go over to the casino, talk up Victor Phule, and see if you can figure out what he's up to-if anything at all. Keep an eye out for his son-he's the one they're paying us to snatch-and make sure the Legion guards don't get too suspicious. I may need you to go back there again, and I can't do that if they throw you out of the place as an unsavory character."

"Yeah, yeah, and I won't scratch my ass in front of the marks, neither," said Ernie, sullenly.

"I'd settle for your using civilized grammar," said Lola.

She shook her head, then relaxed, and said, "All right, then. Try not to lose all your money, you big dumbbell. And call if you're going to be later than midnight getting back."

"Ah, the old guy prob'ly ain't even up that late," said Ernie. Then he grinned, and said, "I'll call, though. Wish me luck!"

"You'll need all you can get, you goofball," said Lola, and gave him a punch on the biceps. Ernie just grinned more broadly, and ambled out the door toward the bus line that would take him to the Fat Chance Casino. Lola watched the door close, then shrugged and went over to her computer. She couldn't do much about Ernie's part of the job besides sit and worry, but she could get to work: on other parts of the plan. She sat down and began working. Before long, she'd even forgotten that she ought to be worried about Ernie.

Chocolate Harry's hovercycle coasted down the slight incline into the camp and came to a halt outside the largest tent. There was nobody in sight "Hey, hey!" called the Supply sergeant. "Anybody home? The man you need to see is here to be seen. You want it, I got it-c'mon out and let's talk turkey." A bleary-eyed face appeared between the flaps of the tent "Who the hell are you?" it said, staring at Harry's considerable bulk and his black Legion uniform.

"Chocolate Harry-Sergeant Chocolate Harry, of Omega Company. The man in charge of supplies-which on this planet, means the main man you need to know. You the dude that's buyin' for this outfit?" The face came out in front of the tent, accompanied by a beer-bellied body. The man looked around as if to make sure the two were alone, then said in a quiet voice, "Not for the whole outfit, but maybe for myself. I'd be interested in some military-grade guns and ammo--something that can knock over some of the big critters I hear tell they have on this planet"