She arrived at the appointed spot five minutes late, cursing her own tardiness and the complexity of Vesa's traffic. Yvette hated to be late for anything; it made her feel vaguely incompetent. She dashed out of her jit and into the crowded casino, where she began her search for Dak.

  She did not see him immediately, and began to pray that he would be late, too, so that he wouldn't notice her own tardiness. Even at this hour, though, the casino was quite crowded; Vesa, being an underground settlement, did not depend on the arbitrary rhythms of daylight and darkness, and was in bloom around the clock. Dak might have been here, saw that she wasn't here, and decided to mingle in the mob for a few minutes until she showed up.

  Yvette waited. One minute turned into five, then ten. Still there was no sign of Dak.

  Impatience began to play on her nerves, taking the form alternatively of anger and concern. How dare he keep me waiting? He was the one who wanted this meeting so badly. But what if he's hurt? What if he slipped in his bathtub and got a concussion.

  She began to feel very conspicuous standing there alone in the entranceway while people milled around her intent on their gambling. Finally deciding to take matters into her own bands, she walked over to a public telephone, inserted a twenty-kopek piece in the slot and called the Soyuz Hotel where Dak had told her he was staying. "Connect me with Gospodin Lehman's room, please," she said when the hotel operator answered.

  There was a momentary silence at the other end, then the voice came back, "I'm sorry, Gospodin Lehman has left.

  Yvette sighed with relief. "You mean he's on his way to an appointment.

  "I wouldn't know, gospozha.

  "Khorosho. Thank you." She rang off and went back to the casino to continue her waiting.

  She waited for half an hour longer, growing increasingly puzzled with each passing second. She knew it shouldn't take him more than fifteen minutes to get from his hotel to here. What could be keeping him.

  Could some other business have come up so pressing that he had to stand her up without notifying her? She was modest enough to think that a lot of other things could be more important to him than she was, but she remembered the pleading, desperate tone he had used yesterday while begging her to meet him. He had sincerely meant that, and it was hard to imagine anything coming between him and this so-desired date.

  But he wasn't here, and his hotel said he had left. Could there have been a traffic accident along the way? She looked outside and as far into the traffic tunnels as she could; there seemed to be no impediments to the flow of vehicles approaching the high-domed intersection out side the casino. For the moment she ruled out accident. But what was there left to explain his absence? Where was he? He couldn't have just vanished without a trace.... '

  Suddenly, Yvette froze with horror. "Mon Dieu!" she exclaimed under her breath. "It can't be. It just can't!" But her logical mind told her that it all too easily could. What exactly had the hotel operator meant by saying he'd left? Suddenly, nothing was more important in the Universe to Yvette than finding out the, answer. Racing outside to the sidewalk, she flagged down a jit. "Soyuz Hotel," she told the driver breathlessly. The woman nodded and calculated the rate from here to there. Yvette stuffed a wad of bills into the driver's hand without even bothering to count them and went to the back of the jit to sit by herself and think.

  She found, though, that thinking was a difficult process at the moment. Her normally crisp, clear mind was drifting hopelessly in a sea of confusion, circling the problem without ever stopping to focus on it. She did not want to face the issue, even though she knew she'd have to in the immediate future. Her body was numb with fear, normally an alien emotion to her. Fear for herself was almost an unknown quantity, but fear for someone she cared about was a chilling thing.

  After seven eternities the jit pulled up in front of the Soyuz Hotel. Yvette prodded her shocked body into action. Running out of the jit and into the lobby, she raced up to the desk clerk on duty. "Do you have a Gospodin Lehman registered here?

  The man checked his records. "We did. He checked out last night.

  "Gospodin Dak Lehman?" "That's correct.

  "What time last night?

  The clerk consulted his records once more. "About 0130 hours.

  "Isn't that rather a strange time to be checking out?" "Not on Vesa," the clerk shrugged.

  "Time is meaningless here.

  "Did he leave any forwarding address?" Yvette asked, grasping at straws.

  "Sorry, none.

  The realization of what must have happened was worse than a physical kick in the stomach. This was not some meaningless statistic in a musty old police file; this was a flesh-and-blood man whom she happened to love very much. It couldn't be true.

  In desperation she ran to a public phone in the lobby and invested a small fortune in twenty-kopek pieces. She learned from Empress Spaceways, the company that owned the Empress Irene, that Dak Lehman had cashed in his return ticket and no, he had not bought one for a different date. Calls to every other transportation company servicing Vesa brought only negative results-Dak Lehman had not booked passage with any of them.

  Like hundreds of thousand of people before him, Dak Lehman had vanished from the surface of Vesa without a trace.

  When the conclusion was at last inescapable, Yvette sat down on the seat in the phone booth, turned her face toward the wall and cried. Damn it, it was supposed to be me, Dak, not you. I was the target. I could have fought them back. Why did they take you and not me.

  Her brain felt as though it would burst, and the wall she was facing held no answers for her. She sobbed uncontrollably for several minutes, letting the emotion wash over her.

  When her grief had been expended, she lifted her head and the tears stopped flowing.

  Once again she was the cold, calculating supersecret agent, dedicated to the Service of the Empire. But the icy fury lurking behind her eyes would give warning to all that she was no longer a lady to tangle with casually. Yvette d'Alembert was out for blood.

  She had started out of the booth when something across the hotel lobby caught her attention. Ducking back inside, she peered out through the crack in the door opening and watched the tall man she'd called Gaspard walk up to the desk and start a conversation with the clerk. From the way the clerk was shaking his head, it was a cinch that Gaspard was asking much the same thing Yvette had asked-and was getting much the same answer. Yvette hoped that the clerk wouldn't mention the woman who bad asked these same questions just a short while ago.

  Apparently he didn't; from her own conversation, Yvette recalled that the man volunteered no information if he could possibly avoid it. At any rate, Gaspard grimaced at the clerk's answers and walked abruptly away from the counter out of Yvette's viewing range. The SOTE operative gave him a fifteen-second count, then opened the door and stepped out of the booth.

  Gaspard was nowhere to be seen, so she surmised that be had left through the front door. Without a moment's indecision she went after him. He and his friends were her only lead right now; they knew more about Dak than they were telling. Perhaps her initial hunch was correct, that they were advance men for the conspiracy. But then why had this tall one been so upset that Dak was no longer at his hotel.

  At any rate, there were no other clues to follow. Even if her ambushing trio were not personally responsible for Dak's fate (she could not bring herself, even now, to think "death"), they had been following him around much more closely than she had. They must have seen something that could help her in her further search.

  Besides, she bad a debt to repay them... and a d'Alembert debts are always paid.

  Gaspard got on a lit driving eastward through one of the tunnels. Yvette was able to flag down an empty jit whose driver was more than delighted to take Yvette' s generous tip in return for following another shuttle. Yvette sat right behind her driver, her sharp eyes watching for any sign that her quarry was aware he was being followed, but the main was obviously too engrossed in his own thoughts for that.

  The ride was short and straight, only half a kilometer to the next domed intersection.

  There Gaspard got off and went into a sidewalk cafe. He emerged a few seconds later with a cup of hot liquid and a small tray of food. Finding a table all to himself, he sat and slowly nibbled at his lunch, with apparent unconcern for the passing of time. Yvette, who had gotten off her jit and walked across the street from the cafe, watched his actions through the mirror of her compact while she pretended to be making up her face. She decided he must be waiting for someone, probably one or both of his partners.

  Her guess was confirmed several minutes later when Murgatroyd joined him. By this time, Yvette had put away her compact and was observing the action across the street by watching the reflections in a shop window. The two men across the way did not say anything at first, and then began talking in low tones. As Gaspard explained his findings, Murgatroyd became slightly more agitated. By the time the third man-a nondescript fellow with gray-brown hair and a pencil-thin mustache-joined them, they were both pretty upset.

  The newcomer scowled when he was told the story. Abruptly, all three men stood up and walked out of the cafe. To Yvette's great relief they did not take a jit-it was too damned awkward trying to follow those infernal things each time-but walked instead down the street to the entrance of a small, inexpensive hotel called the Vesa Arms. Yvette, across the street, followed them, then crossed back to their side as they went into the hotel.

  She waited outside the door for ten seconds, then followed them inside.

  She came through the door just in time to see the three of them disappearing down an elevator tube, apparently going to one of the hotel's sleeping rooms. She had no way of knowing which level they were going to or what their room number was, but she knew how to find out.

  Think slut, she told herself. Unfastening the front of her jumpsuit almost down to the waist and draping the houppelande casually over her shoulder, she sauntered over to the hotel desk with a suggestive swing to her hips. She was perhaps a little overdressed to be a common dyevka, but she doubted the clerk would pay much attention to that detail.

  "You see them three guys that just walked through here?" she asked in as slangy an accent as she could muster, "Yeah," the clerk responded. "What about 'em?" "I gotta know their room number.

  "Why?" The clerk's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "It's business.

  "What kind of business would you have with them?" "Very personal business," Yvette winked. "If you know what I mean.

  The clerk knew very well what she meant. "If they wanted you with them, how come they didn't take you themselves?

  Yvette winked again. "They, uh, didn't want to be seen with me in the lobby." Her voice took on a more desperate whine. "Look, tovarishch, you gotta help me out. Gospodin Ivanov and his two friends....

  "His name's not Ivanov," the clerk said curtly. "They're all Ivanov to me. Anyway, he and his two friends asked me down to his room for a little while, only they left and forgot to tell me the number. It's dumb, I know, but some guys are like that. They'll be really mad if I don't get down there soon, and if they learn that you wouldn't give me their room number...." Her tone of voice implied that dire things might happen. "Twenty rubles," the clerk said.

  "You're crazy!" Yvette exclaimed. "I'm only gettin' a hundred myself. I ain't givin' no drappin' twenty percent commission to no drappin' hotel clerk! Ten roobs is it!" Actually, Yvette could have paid the twenty and considered it a bargain; but she had to stay believably in character, and the clerk might have been suspicious if she hadn't argued.

  The man behind the desk paused, then nodded. "Smooth, ten. In advance." His palm snaked out toward her across the counter.

  "Muttering something about "drappin' blackmail," Yvette fished deep into her purse and pulled out a ten-ruble bill. The desk clerk accepted it with an oily grin and said, "Room 412. Have a good time.

  "Go bite yourself," Yvette retorted as she swiveled her hips over to the down elevator tube. As she dropped on a cushion of air to the fourth level she did allow herself a tight little smile for an act well done. The professional in her was pleased with her performance, though the woman part had little to be happy about at the moment.

  The hallway on the fourth level was narrow, but deserted. Dim overhead lighting did little to illuminate the faded red carpet underfoot or the paint that was peeling off the wall in large chunks. The dead smell of old dopesticks lingered through the corridor, causing Yvette's sensitive nostrils to wrinkle in disgust. Somehow, the place just seemed to fit the characters of the three men she was after.

  Room 412 was down the hall to her left as she emerged from the tube. Sneaking silently up to it, she put her ear to the door and listened. The sound of three male voices in conversation was plain; though she couldn't make out too many individual words, the fact that they were arguing about something was readily apparent.

  After placing her houppelande on the floor and backing off from the door as far as the narrow hallway would allow, Yvette charged the portal at top speed. She hit the door with the full strength of her seventy-kilogram DesPlainian body and the door, made only of cheap rikwood, gave way. As it burst inward, Yvette d'Alembert blew like a whirlwind into the room.

  The three men inside never had a chance. Gaspard and Murgatroyd were seated on the bed, while the third -who appeared to be their boss-sat on a chair facing them. Surprised as they were by Yvette's sudden entrance, they had no time to move before she was on top of them. Murgatroyd was dispatched immediately with a sharp blow at the base of his neck. Gaspard turned his bead toward her just in time to get a knee jerked savagely into his face. As he doubled over with the pain, Yvette grabbed the back of his shirt and used it to fling him against the wall, where he hit his head and slumped to the floor, unconscious.

  The third man had a moment to rise from his chair and reach into his jacket, fishing for a gun. Yvette was over to him in a flash, grabbed his wrist before he could withdraw his weapon and smashed it down hard against her knee. The man howled with pain as his wrist bone cracked, but Yvette's store of mercy was all used up. Grasping her opponent tightly by the front of his jacket, she hauled him into the room's tiny bathroom and shut the door behind her.

  "Things are a little different than the last time we met," she said harshly, pulling the man's stun-gun out of his jacket. "This time I can say a few things, too, although you like talking so much that I think IT !et you do most of it.

  Taking off her left shoe, she pulled the heel off and took a small hyposprayer from a secret compartment. "I'm going to ask you a few questions now," Yvette continued coldly, "and I'm in no mood for funny answers. I presume you know what I've got in this sprayer?

  The man trembled as he eyed the clear fluid. "N-nitrobarb," he guessed. It had to be.

  Nitrobarb was the number-one most effective truth serum known to man. It was impossible for anyone to lie under its influence. It also had a fifty percent mortality rate, which was why it was on the proscribed list. Mere possession of it was a capital offense.

  Yvette gave him a frozen smile. "I'm glad you said that; I dislike admitting to a felony.

  Now then, I can administer what I have in this hyposprayer to you, or you can talk voluntarily. The choice is entirely up to you. Which will it be?

  "You can put it away. I'll talk," the man said, cradling his right wrist tenderly with his other hand. "I never wanted any trouble, honest. I'm just trying to do a job.

  "Is attacking innocent women in their staterooms part of your job?" Yvette sneered. "Let me have the whole story. Who are you and what's your connection with Dak Lehman?

  "My name's Myerson. My partners and I are with Cosmos Investigations.

  "A detective?" This unexpected news made Yvette knit her brow in perplexity. "Can you prove that?

  "My ID card's in my jacket pocket." He started to reach for it with his left hand, but Yvette waved his gun at him and he froze in mid-motion.

  "I'll get it," she said, and reached into his pocket for his wallet. Sure enough, she found the identification card, together with photo and retinal pattern, stating that Rolf Myerson was a licensed investigative agent under the laws of the planet Largo. This was a development she did not like at all.

  "I still don't see where it says you have the right to break and enter.

  "Do you have that right?" Myerson glared at her.

  "I have the gun," Yvette said coolly, "which at the moment gives me the right. I'm not here to argue ethics. I want to know why you were after Dak Lehman.

  "His wife hired us to look after him. She..." "Wife? He said nothing to me about any wife." "Some married men neglect details like that. They were going to be divorced anyway. The two of them own equal shares in the computer firm, though he was the nominal head of the corporation. Gospozha Lehman heard a few rumors that her husband was coming to Vesa to have a secret meeting with someone and sell corporate secrets that would have made her stock in the company worthless. So she hired us to keep an eye on her husband and make sure that no such deals took place.

  "But wouldn't he have been cutting his own throat? If the corporate stock became worthless, wouldn't that ruin him as well?

  "He had managed to accumulate, under a variety of other names, a large portfolio of holdings. We thought he felt he could afford to make this spiteful gesture." "Does he hate his wife that much?

  "In the initial divorce proceedings he's accused her of numerous infidelities. She hasn't denied any of them, so far as I know." Myerson's voice was fiat; Gospozha Lehman may have bought his time and services, but not his loyalty.

  Yvette considered this latest development. Despite the fact that she'd been unprepared for it, it did seem to make a good deal of sense. Myerson's men had always been primarily concerned with Dak; they had not paid any attention to Yvette until she started seeing the man they were following. Even then, they followed a very cautious approach, trying merely to scare her off when they were afraid she might be getting too close to Dak. She remembered how easily they could have killed her in her suite if they had wanted to do so.

 

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