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appeared to have no misgivings about being in danger. It reinforced Alacrity's conviction that the executioner was well protected from any violence.
    "Then what … " Alacrity made himself defer to this pensive grim reaper.
    Ash smiled, impressed. "The depositions and testimony of those present and of the Peaceguardians all agree, as does the deathbed testimony of the deceased."
    "Deathbed testimony? He was dead before the fight was over. He had to be; I heard him when—"
    "You've been found guilty of murder, young man."
    "I had no trial!"
    "You've had all the trial to which an offworlder is entitled under Earthservice legislation."
    Alacrity now gathered himself, hidden defenses or no, for a leap at Earth's executioner, to die in a scatterbeam or blaze-field rather than heave out his life in a gasbooth or drool away his last moments under lethal medication.
    Ash held up a palm to him before he could, saying, "However, I am not satisfied that you're guilty."
    When he realized how much he would have to relax, to uncoil, in order to look unthreatening, Alacrity could only give the executioner an abashed shrug.
    Ash went on quietly, "I am intervening in your case. The court did not simply rush to judgment; it broke all previous speed records. I find that for some reason no surveillance monitor records were made of events in the plaza that morning. Moreover, only one witness claimed to have seen you actually use the force-probe. And the instrument itself, incidentally, had been stolen from an excavation site in the fortress ruins."
    He held up an imager that depicted the wiry little man who'd tried to murder Alacrity and killed his fellow Terran instead. Alacrity yelped, "That's him! That's the dungbug who—"
    "This man, too, is dead. Shortly after recording his testimony he fell from one of the trails on Huyana Picchu." Ash tucked the imager away. "I'm told such things are known to happen there."
    "Will you listen to what I'm trying to—"
    "Offworlder, you are an imbecile!"
    Ash had risen to his feet, so angry that Alacrity thought for a moment that the executioner was going to hit him. The breakabout shut up; it struck him as a wise thing to do.
    "Don't you think I can see that it's too pat?" the Terran continued in a more subdued voice. "And you, you young jackanapes, walked right into it. But something went wrong. I don't believe that there was supposed to be a death that day."
    He sat again, leaning toward the breakabout. "But the case, as such, is unassailable, at least in any length of time to be of meaningful help to you."
    "Then what're you doing here? Letting me pick how I go out?"
    The handsome face grew contorted and blood-dark in an instant, the voice raspy with anger. "If you're so inclined." He rose and paced, to turn his eyes away from the off-worlder.
    "Other options are available," he continued over his shoulder. "Radical behavior modification, permanent imprisonment under Earthservice utilization, and so forth. But the guilty party has the right of refusal."
    He turned back. "Would a star-man choose those?"
    Alacrity considered. A forebrain shampoo, or life at hard labor or as a laboratory animal on a blighted, hate-ridden little planet, with no hope of pardon or parole?
    "I suppose you're … " Alacrity's head snapped up. "Wait a second. You didn't come here just to tell me this, and you didn't come here because you like me or because you know I was framed. You came here because unless something's done, you're the one who's gonna have to push the button !"
    He could see that he'd hit dead center. Earth's executioner had never shirked his duty, but neither had he ever been placed in a dilemma like the present one. "Stop playing with me and tell me the rest, or by God in the Void, you'll either have to kill me or quit your office!"
    Ash's face colored in unspeakable wrath, then cleared as suddenly, and he gave a bark of laughter.
    "New Earthservice legislation allows me—us!—a third way. You would be