rce held him with a steady
dark gaze. "I want a slice of that, and I want it the easy way,
hitching my wagon to your rocket. You can use me. A big man is too
public. You need a new hand and a new voice, one that does what you
want done, and can do it in the dark or the light, without your
name--a stand-in for alibis, and a contriver of accidents so they
break for you without your motion. A left arm that your enemies don't
recognize as yours."

He was asking to be Bryce's substitute in the things that had to be
done without connection to himself, and yet had to be done by Bryce
himself, because no one could be trusted with the knowledge of them.

Could he be trusted? His coming could be another trap by the
unidentified enemy. It was almost too providential, almost too well
timed. "References and abilities?"

Roy Pierce reached into his wallet and handed out an aptitude profile
card backed by the universal test score listings in training and
skills on the other side. Bryce played with the card and studied the
youth. The boy was well dressed in a dark tailored suit of the kind
Bryce favored. He looked able, clean, cool and ruthless. "Armed?"
Bryce asked.

A thing like a very thick cigar suddenly appeared in Pierce's hand.
The end of it pointing at him was solid except for a very small hole.
A needle gun, obviously, loaded with two and a half inch grooved drug
carrying needles.

"Sleep or death?" Bryce asked.

"Sleep," Pierce said, putting it away. "It's licensed." Bryce wondered
what made him so sure he could trust this kid. He analyzed while he
questioned. He did not bother to look at the card.

"Languages?"

"Basic coast pidgin, symbolic and glot." Basic English and Poliglot,
the two universals.

"Detector proofed?" Lie detectors could be a nuisance, for they were
used casually and universally without needing the legal warrants and
deference to constitutional immunities and medical supervision of
hypno-questioning.

Pierce smiled with a flash of white teeth. "First thing I ever saved
my money for."

Though they spoke standard English, Bryce had placed his intonations
almost to the block he grew up in. Almost to the half block! He was as
familiar as Pop Yak, as familiar as his own face in the mirror, and as
understandable. Bryce knew the inside of his mind as well as if it
were a suddenly attached lobe of his own. It was like looking back
through time at himself younger and less complex.

Pop Yak had tur