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ten-year-old. Were the monks correct? Did Tra Lee’s body house the reincarnated body of a great teacher? Or did the little boy seem wise beyond his years solely because he had been raised to come across that way? Itwas impossible to tell, but something about the youngster’s seemingly sincere demeanor caused the runner to soften slightly. Besides, Rebo did want to visit Thara, and the pay was extremely good. He cleared his throat and addressed his questions to Lee. “Would you follow my orders? And do so quickly? Without question?”
    The boy gazed unblinkingly into Rebo’s eyes. “So long as your instructions are consistent with moral law, I will obey.”
    The qualification bothered the runner, but he couldn’t imagine asking the lad to do something immoral, so he nodded. “All right then, I’ll take the commission. One thing though . . . See if you can find a boy who looks a lot like our young friend here. Dress him for the part, parade him about, and treat him like he’s the real deal. Maybe, if we’re lucky, the black hats will believe that he’s still in Seros long after our ship breaks orbit.”
    â€œIt shall be as you say,” Babukas replied. “When should his majesty join you?”
    â€œTomorrow,” Rebo replied. “Figure out a low-key way to deliver him to my guild. I’ll take it from there.”
    â€œExcellent,” Qwa replied. “Would you care for some tea? No? I will escort you out then. The first half of your pay is waiting in your carriage.”
    Rebo rose, hoped the monks couldn’t tell how stiff he was, and said good-bye to both Babukas and Lee. Later that night the runner would return to Thara in his dreams, none of which were good.
    It was dark along the street, very dark, which was one of the reasons why the locals retreated inside their homes and locked their doors within minutes of sunset. The Market Street Inn was no different. Lights glowed behind thick panes of glass, but the front door was securely closed, andpresumably barred from within. A problem, but not an insurmountable one, assuming that this was the correct location.
    Jevan Kane used a series of quick hand gestures to position his operatives, taking special care to post lookouts and ensure that the back entrance was covered. Finally, satisfied that no would be able to escape the structure without being intercepted, Kane turned to the metal man who stood at his elbow. “This is the place . . . You’re sure?”
    Robots didn’t possess emotions, so the machine took no offense. “Yes, sir. The sensitive handed something to the heavy. He left, and she went inside.”
    Kane pulled a hood down over his face and pulled a semiautomatic pistol out of his waistband. The eyes that stared out through the precut holes were like chips of blue ice. “Good. Depart the area immediately. I don’t want you and your kind associated with this kind of activity.”
    The machine backed into the darkness and was gone moments later. Kane gave a low whistle. A pair of hooded heavies appeared. They held a metal battering ram between them. On a signal from Kane they approached the front door, swung the ram back, and heaved it forward. There was a loud crash, followed by the splintering of wood, and shouts from within. The battering ram struck again, the beam that barred the door broke in two, and what remained of the barrier flew open. A man appeared in the opening. He was armed with a double-barreled scattergun, which he fired into the night. One of the heavies cried out in pain and brass arced away from Kane’s weapon as it bucked in his hand. The reports were still dying away as the innkeeper fell over backward.
    Three operatives pushed through the doorway after that and Kane heard more gunfire. The operative entered thetiny lobby to find the innkeeper’s wife huddled in a bloody corner, while a guest who had the misfortune