or once the
computer didn't get full facts. And I had them."

For the first time Lindsay basked in a smile of approval from Nina. She
said, "And then you had to mess me up at Doc Craven's so I couldn't sit
in on the match."

"I'm sorry about that," he said sincerely. "You might brief me so I
don't do it again."

"Well...." She hesitated. "I don't want to set myself off. It's not
uncommon among us--models. You see, we're proud of our careers, not like
the two-credit whores who wear glasses and harnesses. And it hurts us
when someone refers to our work as business. You see, there's nothing
really commercial about it. So when you--"

"But how the devil was I to know you were a model?" he asked her.

"I know," she said illogically. "But it still made me mad." Then,
frowning, "But if the computer was wrong because of incomplete knowledge
at the Colosseum, what was wrong at Doc Craven's?"

Lindsay said, "I'm damned if I know."

"We've _got_ to know, with the president ready to put Giac to work."

"I meant to tell you about that," said Lindsay.

"Don't worry," Nina informed him. "Your table at the Pelican was wired."

"Why are you against computers?" Lindsay asked her.

She dropped her smoke in a disposal-tray, said, "Never mind why--let's
just accept the fact that I am. And not for Fernando Anderson's reason
either. He just wants power."

"And what do you want?"

"Me?" Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "Why, I just want to have _fun_!"
She extended her arms and flapped her hands like birds. Then, again
reverting to seriousness, "I wish you'd tell me everything that went on
at Doc Craven's yesterday. Dammit, _his_ office wasn't wired."

Lindsay went through it, as nearly word for word as he could, then did
it again when no answer was quickly forthcoming. Nina listened, her
perfect forehead marred by a frown. Finally she said, "Let's take a
dip. It's almost dawn."

She removed what clothing she wore and Lindsay did likewise. They felt
the refreshing caress of the cool Gulf water on their skins--but that
was all the caressing there was. Nina, unlike Maria, was all business
despite the near-blatant perfection of her charms. Back in the bathroom
she said, "The only thing I can think of is that stigmata business. Why
should you imagine a mark on your mother's forehead?"

"Because she had one," he told her bluntly. "It was not unattractive--my
father used to call it her beauty mark."

Nina ran long slim fingers thr