mission to meet with the President
of Planet Pluto is, in actuality, a guise under
which he intends to meet with dissident elements
among our people. His real mission is to subvert
and undermine the foundations of our government.
In other words, his coming here is to disrupt. He
should be dealt with according to the rules of his
own game, and not those of normal interplanetary
or interregional diplomacy."

"Explain."

"Agents that conduct a mission such as his are
expendable, Mr. President. There are no rules."

"Repercussions?"

"Whatever happens to him will be outside accepted
protocols, and will occur prior to his arrival at
the President's Official Residence. The incident
will result from initiatives taken by the UIPS
Ambassador, himself. The Government of Planet
Pluto will not be involved."

"Very well, Scarf. I leave it to you."

##

"Hodak," Brad motioned him forward. "I want you to
show me the new power pack for the cruiser being
overhauled in tunnel 3. Where is it?"

Hodak glanced at Brad, then away.

"It's still in the shop near the north side of the
dome. Take us a few minutes to get there."

"OK, let's go."

Leaving the cubicle that served as office they
boarded the strip. Standing close, they spoke
through unmoving lips.

"Ram's here."

"In Coldfield?"

"Not yet, but soon."

"What's up?"

"He's to see Narval. His job is to try to work out
an agreement that'll keep Slingshot construction
moving along."

"How'd you find out?"

"Drummer mentioned it to me in passing. He's
arranging a meeting between Narval and Ram."

"Has the time been set?"

"Not yet. Drummer's waiting for the go ahead from
Narval."

"You mean Narval isn't sure he wants to meet Ram?"

"Suspicious, isn't it?"

"Damn right."

Their eyes met and moved on to the passing scene.

"If there's to be an incident," Brad asked, "who'll
be setting it up?"

"Scarf, who else?"

"Soon as I hear when Ram's due and where he's to
be lodged, I'll get back to you. For as long as he's
on Planet Pluto your job is to keep him out of harm's
way."

Chapter TWENTY-NINE

Entering the Charnel Pit, Ram scanned the tavern.
An empty table beckoned, and he folded his long
frame onto its stool and delicately leaned an elbow
on the least filthy spot of the scarred surface.
Shifting his body slightly, he observed the milling
crowd with frequent glances toward the entry.

Garbed in earth-toned street clothes, he