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assure you."
    "Why not?" I asked sarcastically. " You'd hang someone else out to dry, but not me. Because of my winning personality, no doubt?"
    I snorted again. "Look, Mr. Barnard, I'm willing to go along with you because I owe you for the arm, and I'd rather pay off my marker than be hunted down by Yamatetsu hard-men. But please don't insult what I like to consider my intelligence, so ka?"
    For a moment I thought I'd gone that one step too far. For nearly ten seconds Barnard just stared at me out of the screen, his eyes like targeting lasers. Then he leaned forward, and again the vid pickup adjusted, putting the statues out of focus. "Listen," he said, "I'll tell you this once, and only because I want you to understand. I'm not calling in a marker, Mr. Montgomery. You've already paid back for the arm, and more." He smiled faintly and gestured around him. "Do you think I'd be sitting in this office if Adrian Skyhill was still undercutting me with the Board of Directors at every turn?" The smile faded, and for a moment the executive looked even older than he had before. "And there's more to the debt, of course, but I'd rather not discuss it, even via a cold relay."
    I nodded slowly. He meant the insect spirits, of course. "The way I view the matter, Mr. Montgomery," Barnard continued smoothly, "Yamatetsu owes you for your services." He spread his hands in a disarming gesture. "This is part of the payback. I understand you need the work, and the credit." I forced a laugh. "Mr. Barnard, you'd better give your information conduits a swift kick. I've got contracts out the hoop; I don't have the time to be your glorified messenger boy and—"
    His voice was no louder, but the edge to it cut me off as short as a gunshot. "No, Mr. Montgomery, you haven't got contracts, as you say, 'out the hoop.' The one matter you have to concern you at the moment—since you so smoothly discharged the matter with The Avalon for one Jennifer Amequist—is a minor contract with Sharon Young." He smiled—he was enjoying this, the slot. "And, as a matter of fact, the business for which Ms. Young has contracted you is directly connected with my request, so there's not even any conflict there."
    I sighed. Corporators. I should have known better than to try and run a bluff. I raised my hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay, you've got me."
    Barnard paused. Then he said quietly, "You know, I would rather you take this matter on voluntarily."
    "Why ?"
    He paused again—longer, this time. "Do you want the truth, Mr. Montgomery?"
    "If it wouldn't strain you too much."
    His expression changed. Not quite a smile, but something very close. "Because I respect you, Mr. Montgomery. And further, I like you."
    He waited, as if he expected me to come back with some hard-hooped rejoinder. I always like being unpredictable, so I kept my trap zipped. Eventually, he smiled, his "business" smile again. "You know, Mr. Montgomery, you haven't asked the major question yet."
    He was enjoying this. "Okay, Barnard," I said wearily. "Where am I going?"
    He chuckled. "Have you ever been to the Kingdom of Hawai'i, Mr. Montgomery?"
    I must be losing my fragging mind . . .
    I sat back, staring at the telecom screen. The vidphone pane had cleared and vanished, but the data display still burned with its plasma glow. According to the data onscreen, I had an open ticket on the Global Airways suborbital hop from Casper to beautiful downtown Honolulu about twelve hours from right then. A corp ticket, no name on the manifest, and enough "don't-worry" flags that ticket agents, customs officers, and the like wouldn't dig too deep into my supposed identity. According to the datawork, which I could download onto my own credstick whenever I felt like it, I'd be traveling under the auspices of some outfit called Nebula Enterprises. A minor subsidiary of Yamatetsu, no doubt ... or maybe not, come to think of it, if Barnard was so hinky about this whole thing getting traced back to him. Maybe