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The gambler had been in this position before, on more than one occasion. Odd, how government people needed extragovernmental people to manage their dirty work on occasion. The things that he’d been asked to do, however, could scarcely be classified under civil service job descriptions.

Bassi Vobah had stiffened at Lando’s reply, and only steely nerves and training had kept her hand away from the gigantic military blaster hanging at her hip.

Lob Doluff, however, seemed relieved. He nodded toward the nonhuman observer, introduced the creature to Lando. Waywa Fybot flapped his short arms as if in greeting, ruffled his feathers, and settled back into silence.

“In one sense, Captain, you are mistaken. You have been arrested and are soon to be tried and duly convicted of the offense.” The Administrator Senior made a gesture. The robots on each side of Lando stepped back, Lando was signaled to a chair facing those in which Lob Doluff was seated and Bassi Vobah stood behind at a sort of parade rest.

“As I said, the punishment as prescribed by law is exposure to the heat, cold, and vacuum of interplanetary space. There is, however, no provision for the precise method to be employed, and I am moved, my boy, to suggest a means by which the law may be obeyed and yet spare you from the unpleasantness such an experience ordinarily brings.”

“I get it. You’re going to shoot me before you stuff me out the airlock. By the way, Administrator Senior, have you ever seen somebody after they were spaced?” (Lando hadn’t either, but he had a good imagination and hoped that Doluff did as well.) “Pretty messy.”

He made a face, eyes bulging out, tongue lolling at the corner of his mouth.

Lob Doluff grimaced painfully, gulped, and placed a protective hand on his large stomach. “That’s exactly what we’re trying to prevent, my boy. To my knowledge, there has never been a formal execution in the Oseon, and I have no desire to be the first—”

“Nor I,” Lando agreed, “I suppose this is where our avian friend comes in, isn’t it?” He indicated Waywa Fybot, taking up a great deal of room in the corner.

Fybot stepped forward. “Tell me, Captain,”—the creature squeaked ridiculously, especially considering its size—“have you ever heard the name Bohhuah Mutdah?”

“Sounds like somebody bawling for his mommy.” Lando was sick of being the eternal patsy. He knew by then that they needed him, and had become determined to make things as difficult as he could for them.

The humor of the response—what little there was of it—was lost on everybody present. Lando even detected a little shudder from Lob Doluff. The Administrator Senior shut his eyes, wiped sweaty palms on the creases of his trousers.

The big bird took another step forward, towering over Lando.

“Bohhuah Mutdah is a retired industrialist, a trillionaire. His holdings in the Oseon are the largest in the system by a single individual, and it is possible that he is the wealthiest person in the civilized galaxy.

“He is also thoroughly addicted to lesai.”

Lesai. Lando shut the bird-being out of his mind for a moment, summoning up what he knew of the rare and extremely illegal drug.

The product of a mold that grew only on the backs of a single species of lizard in the Zebitrope System, lesai had many desirable qualities. In the first place, it eliminated the necessity for sleep, thus effectively lengthening the human life span by a third. Unlike other stimulants which consumed something vital in the human brain, lesai provided that something vital itself, meaning it could be taken indefinitely.

Yet, it was not without its cost. It turned the user into an emotionless, amoral calculating machine. In the end, family and friends, the lives of thousands or millions of other individuals—at least so the authorities claimed—counted as nothing, compared to whatever goals the addicted mind had set itself. One had to be careful; those in power often lied about things like the effect of drugs, and even Lando, who was strongly predisposed against