menace than intimacy to the dim tangles of
avenues and parkways.

The girl stopped, panting for breath. Newlin waited for her.

"You're a fool to trust yourself alone with me in a place like this," he
told her grimly.

She hugged the loose mantle tightly across her shoulders and tried
vainly to read his face in the murk.

"If you're trying to frighten me, you're wasting time," she said, "I
have more important fears."

Newlin chuckled. Skinny wench, but she had something. There was pride in
her, and scorn, and a hot spark that burned through the tones of cold
scorn. Something else, too. A hint of desperate courage that baffled
him.

"I still think you should have tried the panther sweat at the
Spacebell," he suggested. "One sip and--"

"I know," she snapped. "And I hope you've had yours for tonight. You'll
need it. We're almost there."

"In that case, we'd better talk," he said curtly. "I still know nothing
about you. Who you are, what you want? I don't even know your name."

She spoke in low, vibrant tones, but the language seemed unfamiliar to
her. She groped for exact words, extracted subtle meanings. But there
was a hesitance, an uneasiness, about speech itself, as if she found it
a tedious and inflexible medium for thought expressions.

"I told you. In a--building, there is a man I must see. He does not wish
to see me, and there are barriers I cannot pass. The building is a
combination workshop and living quarters, and something else you would
not understand. You must go inside for me and induce him to come out to
me. My name is Songeen. Tell him that. He will know me, and perhaps he
will come. But it has been so long--"

Newlin grunted. "That man I must see. One who wouldn't come when you
whistled. However long it has been?"

"He has changed--greatly. He may be insane. He may be dangerous. In
self-defense, it may be necessary for you to kill him. For your
protection, I have provided a weapon. Use all other means to persuade
him first, but threaten if you have to. And be ready to kill if he
attacks you. But dead or alive, bring him to me."

* * * * *

Suddenly Newlin disliked his errand. Even more, he disliked himself. For
a brittle moment, he was moved to turn back, refuse to carry out a
bargain he now regretted. Killing for pay, at the whim of a jealous or
scorned woman, was too ugly even for his calloused morality.

"Preferably dead?" he asked thinly.

"Prefera