The worm within him bit. He shifted uncomfortably. Somehow, Chouteau had taunted his need. Weird.

He tried to recapture it, to discover what it was that he wanted, but, like a wet fish, it wriggled through his fingers.

Nearly a minute later, Chouteau pursued his remark. "But Danion needs your expertise to survive. And we love her enough to give you another chance." He became less distant.

"Listen up. We're going to keep you alive. But you're going to work till you drop: Till you forget why it was that you were sent here. And when we're done with you, we're going to ship you home just as ignorant as you were when you signed on.

"Men, don't give us any more trouble. Be satisfied being ignorant. We need you bad, but won't let you push. Danion's big. A couple men more or less wouldn't make much difference. Doctor, aren't you finished yet?"

"Just have to sew him up, sir. One minute."

"Commander McClennon, Commander Storm, go back to your cabins. Try not to aggravate me for a while."

BenRabi rose, touched the small bandage behind his ear. The numbness had begun to fade. He could feel a mild burning. It made him think of bigger cuts on his body and soul.

The doctor finished with Mouse. "There you go, Commander. Try not to strain it too much. I suggest you let your lady friends do the work for a few days." He spoke with a gentle sarcasm that may have masked envy.

"Word's getting around about you, Mouse," benRabi said.

Mouse did not respond. He was in no mood for banter.

They beat an unescorted retreat, seeking their cabins like wounded animals seeking the security of their dens. In the passage outside benRabi's cabin, Mouse asked, "What do we do now, Moyshe?"

BenRabi shrugged. "I don't know. I was hoping you'd think of something. Go for the ride, I guess. They've stalemated us."

"Just for now." Mouse stood a little taller. "We've got a year. They can't keep their guard up forever, can they?"

"They probably can." But a little false encouragement felt good. "Still, you never know. Something might turn up."

"Look at that."

The Sangaree lady was watching them from her doorway. She smiled, waved.

"Gloating," benRabi said.

"Think she knows what happened? Think she helped do us in?"

BenRabi shrugged, looked at the woman. Their gazes seemed to ring like meeting swords. Her smile broadened. "Yes. I'm sure she did."

Eight: 3047 AD

The Olden Days, The Broken Wings

Hoping Marya would make no sense of the data before him, Niven told her, "I'm checking to see where people go when they leave The Broken Wings. If a statistically significant number emigrate to certain worlds, we can begin to infer both their fantasies under dome conditions and what it is that attracts them to a particular type world. If it's environmental, then we've discovered a way to ease the negatives of dome life." He hoped he sounded tutorial. He cranked it up a notch to be sure. "Ubichi specializes in negative environment, high-yield exploitation operations. Employee turnover has become a major problem because of the expense of training and transportation for some of our field operations. It's in the corporate interest to reduce those costs by keeping our employees happy and comfortable."

Pretty glib, he thought. He congratulated himself. "What're you doing here?"

"Looking for you. We had a date."

"Not till... Holy Christ! Look at the time. Hey beautiful lady, I'm sorry. I got on the track of something. I worked right through lunch. Give me a minute, will you? I'll finish up, call my secretary, and we can get moving." He grinned. "I have to check in. Education didn't wear the Old Earth off of him. You wouldn't believe the hell he gave me last night!"

He no longer felt the smile. She was turning him to gelatin again.

Mouse did not answer his buzz. Niven would have been surprised had he done so. The call was simply a ploy to get the data out of Marya's sight, and to seize time to create a plausible structure of lies atop those he had just told.

He needed no story. Marya asked no questions except, "What do you want to do?"

He almost replied with the hard truth.

"I've had it with work, but we about covered everything last night. Angel City isn't swing-town." Gallantly, he added, "I'm content just being with you. You pick."

She laughed. "And they say there's no romance left on Old Earth. How about we just go for a walk? I feel like a good long one."

"Uh... " His hands started shaking.

He had gotten out young, but the lessons of an Old Earth's childhood died hard. People who did not learn them young also died hard. Not to walk the streets without a gang of friends was one of the strictest lessons of the motherworld.

This was not Old Earth. Death did not make the streets its home here. But the sticktights did lurk there, and they might up the ante in the game at any minute.

"How come you're grinning?"

"That's no grin, lady. That's what they call a rictus. Of fear. I'm Old Earther. You know how hard it would be for me to walk down a street without at least fifty guys to back me up?"

"I forgot. But there's nothing to worry about here, Gun."

"You know it. I know it here in my head. But down here in my guts there's a caveman who says we're both liars."

"If it's really that hard... "

"No, don't get upset. I didn't say I wouldn't try. I've got to get used to it. Hell, I force myself to get out as much as I can. I just wanted to warn you so you won't think it's your fault if I get a little jumpy and quiet."

"You'll settle down. You'll see. This is just about the dullest, least dangerous city in The Arm."

A few hours later, shortly after The Broken Wings' early night had fallen, Niven snarled, "What did you say back at the hospital? Something about the safest streets in the galaxy?"

The darkness of the alley pressed in. His frightened eyes probed the shadows for movement. The lase-bolt had missed his cheek by a centimeter. He still felt the heat of it. "Even my toenails are shaking, lady."

Marya fingered her hair. A bolt had crisped it while they were running. Niven's nostrils twitched as they caught the sharp burnt hair odor.

Marya's face was pallid in the glow of a distant streetlight. She was shaking too. And apparently too angry to respond.

"You got a jealous boyfriend?"

She shook her head, gasped, "This isn't Old Earth. People don't do things like this out here."

Niven dropped to all fours and crawled to the alley mouth.

Heavy work was not his province, but he had had the basic programs given all field agents. He could make a show if he had to.

He had to do something now. The alley was a cul-de-sac. And the rifleman might be teamed. A deathtrap could be closing.

A bolt scarred brick above his head. He rolled away, growling, "Starscope. Damn!" But he had spotted the triggerman. The bolt had come from atop a warehouse across the street.

"Can't be much of a shot," Niven mumbled. "That isn't fifty meters."

If he could survive the sprint across the street...

There was a startled exclamation from the gunman's position, then a choked wail of fear and pain. A body plunged off the warehouse roof and thumped into the street.

Niven was across in an instant, shoving himself into the warehouse wall while he studied the corpse.

The weak light revealed the limper from the Marcos lobby. His windpipe had been crushed.

Every man's signature is unique. And an assassin leaves a grim sort of signature on his victims. Niven knew this one. He peered upward.

Why would Mouse be shadowing him?

Not that he objected. Not right now.

Marya arrived. She averted her eyes. "You must have a guardian angel."

"One of us does." He stared at her. Something clicked. It was nothing he could define, just a tweak of uneasiness because she had not asked him why anyone would want to kill him. A civilian would have asked that right away.