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“There are a number of options, all of which will be exercised if necessary.” Tuoela's unbending confidence was an inspiration to them all. “This time nothing is being left to chance.” She smiled grimly, more she-wolf than saleswoman.

“I have even made arrangements to bring in professional help.”

It was an odd group.

Tse-Mallory noticed them as soon as they entered the shop. In the back, the two sets of simple clothing he had ordered were in the process of being soft-cast from the holo the proprietor had taken of his customer. Tse-Mallory could have come back when they were ready, but since the entire process took less than twenty minutes from customization to conclusion, he had decided to wait. To kill time, he amused himself examining, trying on, and pricing the vast assortment of accessories available for the outfits he had ordered.

The peculiar troupe that had wandered in did not look like they wanted to kill time.

Their very blandness nearly caused him to let down his guard. That was their intent, of course. A couple of matronly women; a decidedly senior citizen who flaunted his long, double-pointed beard; a chatty younger couple, and a single street singer radiating music from his headband did not at first glance appear to pose a threat to anyone or anything. What gave them away was the incongruity of their congress: one would never expect to encounter the street musician, for example, in the company of the old man, or the younger couple with the pair of matrons. Had they entered the shop separately, Tse-Mallory might never have taken notice. But they all came in together, almost pushing to get through the single portal. As soon as they were inside, they went from the comparative silence of their collective entrance to all talking at once.

Culturally and socially it was a bit off. Just sufficiently skewed to set off internal alarms in someone like Tse-Mallory. Evincing no outward unease, he ambled toward the back of the store. Perfectly normal for someone in his situation to want to check on the progress of his order. Perfectly natural for him to step behind the counter. The member of the staff he intercepted started to say something. As she did so Tse-Mallory smiled, leaned toward her, put a finger to his lips, and whispered, “Get on the floor. Now.”

Her eyes got very wide. “Is this a robbery? We have nothing to steal except equipment and fabric.”

“I wish it were a robbery. I think it's something more. Something that doesn't involve you or your establishment.” Out of the corner of an eye he detected movement behind him. “Not that it will matter to these people. Get down or get shot.”

Then he was whirling, spinning, and ducking all in the same incredibly rapid motion as he drew a pistol from his pocket.

The first shot, fired by one of the two matrons, was overeager. Though she took careful aim, in her hurry to extract her weapon she had fumbled the draw. It was that motion that had alerted Tse-Mallory to the fact that the curious cluster of presumed patrons was intent on something other than casual shopping. The discharge from his pistol sizzled air as it cleaved her skull just above an elaborately shadowed right eye.

Chaos erupted inside the small shop. Harkening to Tse-Mallory's warning, the clerk had dropped to the floor. She had her hands over her ears and was undertaking, with some success, to scream. Sheltered behind the counter, constantly in motion, Tse-Mallory took out his assailants one by one. While it was apparent in the course of the firefight that all of them were experienced in the handling of arms, formal weapons training was not the same as actual battlefield experience.

Bits and pieces of counter and wall, but not of Tse-Mallory, went flying. One struck the poor prone employee hard enough to make her gasp. Her nonstop screaming was only one component of the auditory madness that filled the shop. In back, the proprietor and his assistant did the usual stupid thing by sticking their heads out to see what was happening. For their