All of them, that is, except me. Instead of moving back, I moved forward untilI was standing directly in front of the long-suffering multimusic box. There Iplanted myself, facing the flap Torsk had disappeared through, and waited, doingmy best to ignore the cold drips finding their way beneath my collar anddribbling down my back. I had no doubt he could see me perfectly well throughhis cabana; there were several different one-way opaque materials to choosefrom, and a person in Torsk's profession couldn't afford not to know what wasgoing on around him at all times. I just hoped he'd be curious enough orirritated enough to find out what I wanted before I was soaked completelythrough.

He was either more curious or irritable than I'd expected. I'd been standingthere less than a minute when the flap twitched aside and I found myselflookingdown into a pair of big black Drilie eyes. "What want?" he demanded inpassableEnglish.

"Want borandis," I told him. "Have paid."

"Wait turn," he snapped, waggling a finger horizontally to indicate the nowvanished audience.

"Not wait," I told him calmly. Pushing him this way was risky, but I didn'thave much choice. The standard pattern seemed to be that you placed your order andcame back for it later, probably at Torsk's next performance, and there was noway I could afford to hang around that long. Particularly not if it requiredsitting through a second concert. "Want borandis. Have paid."

"Wait turn," he repeated, even more snappishly this time. "Or get mad."

"I get mad, too," I said.

Apparently I'd been wrong about the whole crowd having vanished. I was justabout to repeat my request when a large hand snaked over my shoulder, grabbeda fistful of my coat, and turned me around. I blinked the rainwater out of myeyes, and found myself looking fifteen centimeters up into one of the ugliesthuman faces it had ever been my misfortune to see. "Hey—trog—you deaf?" hegrowled. His breath was a perfect match for his face. "He said to wait yourturn."

There was undoubtedly more to the usual speech, probably something along thelines of what would happen to me if I didn't go away immediately. But as I'dlong since learned for myself, it was hard to speak when all your wind hasbeen suddenly knocked out of you by a short punch to the solar plexus. I duckedslightly to the side to avoid his forehead as he doubled over without a sound, wincing at the extra dose of bad breath that blew into my face; and as hishead dipped out of my line of sight I saw that three more men stamped from his samemold were marching purposefully across the street toward me.

I hit the first man in the same spot again, folding him over a little farther, and half a second later had my plasmic pointed over his shoulder toward thethree newcomers. They stopped dead in their tracks. I kept my eyes and theweapon steady on them while I kept hitting the halitosis specialist inselected pressure points with my free hand, trying to make sure that when he went downhe would stay there.

He finally did, but it took several more punches than I'd expected. Idefinitelydidn't want to be around when this lad felt like his old self again. I gazedat the reinforcements for another couple of seconds; then, leaving my plasmicpointed their direction, I deliberately turned my head around to face Torskagain. "Want borandis," I said mildly. "Have paid."

"Yes," he said, his face an ashen shade of purple as he stared down at thelumpat my feet. Apparently he'd never seen anyone beaten up with one hand before.

"Wait short."

He disappeared back into the cabana, but not before I got a glimpse ofreflected movement in those big Drilie eyes. I turned my head around, to find the ThreeMusketeers had tried advancing while I wasn't looking. They stopped even moreabruptly than they had the first time, and we eyed each other over the barrelof my plasmic until there was another rustling of wet fabric behind me. "Take,"

Torsk hissed, jabbing something solid against my shoulder. I turned, half-expecting to see a gun; but it was only a music cassette prominentlydisplaying Torsk's face and name on the front. The Best of Emendo Torsk, apparently, with the borandis concealed inside. "Go," he insisted. "Not comeback."

"Not come back," I agreed, taking the cassette and tucking it away in aninside pocket. "Unless borandis not good. Then make small wager you hurt plenty."

"Borandis good," he ground out, glaring daggers at me.

I believed him. The last thing a corner drug dealer wanted was to haveattention drawn his direction, and my performance here had already disrupted his cozy schedule more than he was happy with. The last thing he would want would befor me to come back in a bad mood.

He had no way of knowing that I couldn't come back even if I wanted to, orthat I was even more allergic to official scrutiny at the moment than he was. Hewas rid of me, and that was what mattered to him. Perhaps he'd even learned not tohire his protection muscle off park benches.

My cab and driver were still patiently waiting where I'd left them. I got inand gave my destination as Gate 2 of the spaceport, the closest one to where theIcarus was docked. With visions of another absurdly large tip undoubtedlydancing trippingly through his mind, he took off like a scalded foxbat. Onceagain I hung on for dear life, my own mind dancing with unpleasant visions ofa premature obituary. During the straightaways I managed to break open thecassette and confirm that there were fifteen capsules inside filled with ablue powder that looked like it had come from grinding up the normal tablets thatthe Icarus's med listing said borandis came in.

Closing the cassette and putting it away again, I pulled out my phone andpunched in Everett's number. That all-too-familiar feeling that something waswrong began to tingle through me as the fifth vibe came and went with noanswer.

By the time he did answer, on the eighth vibe, and I heard his voice, thefeeling solidified into a cold certainty. " 'Lo?" he muttered, his voice heavyand slightly slurred, as if I'd just awakened him.

"It's McKell," I identified myself. "What's wrong?"

There was a faint hiss, like someone exhaling heavily into the mouthpiece.

"It's Shawn," he said. "He got away."

I gripped the phone tighter, the driver's maniacal slalom technique abruptlyforgotten. "Which direction did he go?"

"I don't know how it happened," Everett said plaintively. "He must haveslippedthe straps somehow—"

"Never mind how he did it," I cut him off. "The recriminations can wait. Whichdirection did he go?"

"I don't know," Everett said. "I didn't see him leave. We're all out lookingfor him."

"All of you?"

"All but Ixil—we pounded on his door, but he didn't answer, and the doorwasn't working right. It's okay—we locked the hatch—"

There was a quiet sputtering click as another phone joined the circuit.

"Everett, this is Tera," her voice came excitedly. "I've found him."

"Where?" I snapped, pulling my city map out and trying to shake it open withmyfree hand.

"McKell?" she asked, sounding both surprised and wary.

"Yes," I said. "Where is he?"

"Outside an outfitter's store at Ude'n Corner," she said. "He's accostingpeopleas they go in."

"That's a good way to get all his troubles ended permanently," I growled, locating the spot on my map. It was only a short block away from Gate 2, where was headed anyway. "Keep him in sight, but try not to let him see you," I toldher. "I'll be there in a couple of minutes and we'll bring him back together.

Everett, call Nicabar and Chort and the three of you head back to the ship.

Get it ready to fly."

"Now?" Everett asked, sounding surprised. "What about the borandis?"

"Done and done," I told him. "Make sure—"

"You've got it?" Everett asked. "Already?"