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waved to a lifter driver, picked up a huge case, and carried it over.
    "We did not ask for nearly enough money," von Baldur concluded bitterly as he motioned for another lifter.
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    EIGHT � ^ � What an utterly chah-ming dump," Chas Goodnight said. "I suppose it has a ballroom."
    "It does," Jasmine King said.
    "Wonderful," Goodnight said. "So we can get gunned down by assassins at the height of the masked ball."
    "There is a ballroom," King went on. "It's got two sniper posts in the hanging chandelier, and two auto-cannon mounts covering the grand staircase."
    "Who was the proud owner of this palace?" M'chel Riss asked.
    "He was the former head of the secret police," King said.
    "A careful man?"
    "Very careful," Jasmine said as she led them up the stone steps toward the high-double-doored entrance.
    The building was a sprawling manse, half hidden from the quiet residential street beyond by high walls topped with alarm circuitry and broken glass. There were spotlights around the house, and the garden had been carefully laid out so there were no blind spots.
    It was most rococo, four stories and three wings, with gingerbread frills and scalloping.
    "Very careful indeed," she repeated as the five entered.
    Von Baldur nodded. "These mirrors in the entrance are one-way?"
    "They are, with gunposts behind them, and this inner door has a panic lock."
    "What about the rear?" Grok asked.
    "Automated security posts," King said. "Plus you can seal any part of the house, especially the servants' areas, from the rest. Also there's a tunnel that leads into a rather commonplace garage on the street behind, for an easy, quiet, exit.
    "The bedrooms�there's twenty of them�are each miniature suites, and there's hidden passages connecting them, plus the six biggest have slides for life and security chambers."
    "Twenty bedrooms," Goodnight said. "Did he have a very big family� or a lot of popsies?"
    "How many operatives is it going to take to keep us safe?" von Baldur asked, not paying any attention to Goodnight. "I would rather not spend more of Reynard's money in front than is absolutely necessary."
    "Let him relax before we jackroll him, eh?" Goodnight asked.
    Von Baldur sniffed.
    "Not many," King said. "As I said, it's mostly automated. I'd guess we could get by with twenty or so, uniformed types, which we can use for other tasks as well. I'll bring them in from offworld, naturally, as I shall the household staff.
    "That'll be after I tighten things up�put crushable gas crystals around the grounds, change the locks, add a radar sweep, and like that."
    "It takes a heap of living to make a fortress a home," Riss said.
    "You want to stay a target like we are in that airport hotel?" King asked.
    "Not particularly," M'chel said.
    "It's big, ugly, impressive, and I love it," Goodnight declared. "I vote we take it."
    "I do as well," Grok put in. The other two nodded agreement. "By the way," he said, "what ever happened to that secret policeman?"
    "They blew him up as he was going out the gate in his lim," King said. "I guess he wasn't that careful, after all. You can still see the blast bulges in those wrought iron gates out there."
    Riss snickered and was about to say something, when two shots came from outside. Then came a fusillade.
    They went back to the door, everyone but King reaching for concealed blasters. King noted, drew her own.
    "Sorry," she told Riss. "I'm still learning."
    "Aren't we all."
    The mansion-lined street was a swirl of running, fighting men and women. Some carried signs: free maen; we demand justice; find the real spies.
    M'chel saw a young woman about to hurl a rock as a gunshot blasted, and she went down.
    There were screams, and shots fired back, then the mob ran on.
    They were running from fifteen masked women and men. These were dressed very differently from the demonstrators, wearing shock vests, knee- and arm-pads and were armed