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Nighthawk. Scan my retina and match it against my ID at the spaceport. I want all of Jason Newman's medical bills charged to my account at the Bank of Goldenhue."
    "Working . . . done," replied a mechanical voice.
    "And send up a nurse."
    "The nurse was just there, and it not due again for another ninety minutes."
    "Send one anyway."
    "Is there an emergency?" asked the voice as Nighthawk deactivated the communicator.
    A tripodal Mollutei nurse entered the room a moment later, walked over to the bed, looked at Newman, then checked all the machines.
    "He seems fine," it said. "What's the problem?"
    "Wake him up."
    "Why?"
    "Because I told you to."
    He was a man in his mid-sixties, and he was unarmed. The nurse was an alien who heard his voice through the translating mechanism of a t-pack. And yet suddenly he was no longer Jefferson Nighthawk, but had become the Widowmaker again, with an air of menace about him that transcended language and species. The nurse immediately began fiddling with the various machines that Newman was attached to, adjusting the flows of oxygen and adrenaline, and finally stepped back.
    "He will awake shortly."
    "Will he be in much pain?" asked Nighthawk.
    "Certainly not," said the nurse haughtily. It rattled off a trio of pain medications that were being dripped into Newman's body.
    "Good. Show my companion how to put him back to sleep when I'm through talking to him."
    "The system will keep him awake for five minutes, no longer," said the nurse.
    "All right, leave us now," said Nighthawk.
    The nurse glared at him and walked to the door.
    "One more thing," said Nighthawk before the nurse could make its exit.
    "Yes?"
    "I would be very angry if you were to report this or attempt to hinder me in any way," he said. "Am I making myself clear?"
    "Yes, sir," said the nurse, her anger turning to fear. She ducked out before Nighthawk could say anything further.
    Nighthawk got to his feet and stood at the foot of the bed. Newman's eyelids flickered in about half a minute. He groaned once, then seemed to make a physical effort to remain silent as he carefully adjusted his position. Finally he opened his eyes.
    "Welcome back," said Nighthawk.
    Newman stared at him for a long minute with a look of dawning recognition. "Sonuvabitch!" he rasped. Then, "I never thought we'd meet."
    "Neither did I," said Nighthawk. "How do you feel?"
    "I've been better." Pause. "That kid is good ."
    "That's what I've come to talk to you about."
    "I haven't got much to say. I was better at twenty-two or whatever he is than I am at forty-three."
    "But not smarter. Jefferson Nighthawks don't shoot Jefferson Nighthawks."
    "He's not us," said Newman. Nighthawk looked puzzled. "I was born with your memories and experiences. Every one you ever had, six decades' worth, were crammed into my head before I woke up for the first time. I know every thought you ever had until five years ago; they were my thoughts until I started living my own life. Damned near cost me my life, too, because some of those memories were a century out of date. But this kid, he wasn't born with all your memories and thoughts. That was a mistake."
    "I didn't want him carrying any extra mental or emotional baggage," said Nighthawk. "And I was around to train him. I'd been frozen when they made you and the other clone."
    "I'd have done the same," said Newman. "After all, I'm you— or mostly you, anyway."
    "They seem to want to keep you asleep, so I'll try to make this quick," said Nighthawk. "How certain are you that Pickett was innocent?"
    "Jubal Pickett never killed anyone. Hell, he was accused of killing a man that I killed myself."
    "What about the other eighteen?"
    "I knew the man. He couldn't have done it."
    "Did you ever tie him into a Neverlie machine?"
    "I didn't have to. Everything he told me checked out."
    "Did Jeff talk to you?" persisted Nighthawk. "Ask for proof?"
    "The only proof I have is my testimony," said Newman. "That should have been enough for a man who