“No, I do not. But I do not share similar feelings with respect to your furry friend here. Where unknown qualities are concerned, it is best to be careful. And while potential customers you may be, you two do constitute rather an unknown.”

“Really?” said Kitten. “I’d think we were pretty transparent. Certainly our purpose is clear. Why the ‘potential’ customer? Are you entertaining second thoughts about my credit rating?” She began to get a sinking feeling in her stomach that somewhere someone had made a ghastly blunder. This occurred whenever things refused to run in synch with her ideas of the cosmos.

“Not your credit rating, no,” York replied conversationally. He finished knotting the blindfold. Hard. “But thoughts, yes. I’m especially curious about one thing. A triviality, really, but it bothers me. While you were conversing with me at my pitiable stand, several blatantly plainclothes lawfolk passed by and did not see fit to interrupt us.”

“And why should they have?” she replied, tensing.

“Because,” interrupted the voice of Franz, “as friend York’s pickup relayed to us, your smokesticks are Terran tobacco. Ever since an early colonist discovered that the fumes were fatal to the young shoots of an especially rare and valuable wood, Terran tobacco has been a forbidden import on Repler.”

Kitten made a half-hearted shrug. “Am I expected to know that?” She gathered her feet under her and began edging a hand up towards the blindfold.

“Possibly not,” said York. “But those two officers should have, even if you slipped it by the oh-so-careful customs inspectors at the Port—”

She ripped off the blindfold and in one motion slammed a heel into Franz’ knee, feeling the patella snap. The big pilot doubled over in pained surprise. She saw Sedda set the raft on auto and turn back towards her just as something very heavy descended on her head from behind. Darkness and silence descended with it.

When she regained consciousness she found that her position in the world had been altered. She was now horizontal. She tried to move her arms, then her legs. Results were not encouraging. Her limbs had been effectively immobilized. The bench she was securely tied to was hard, flat, and (she wiggled awkwardly) damn cold. The coldness was magnified by the fact that she had no clothes on. The bonds at her wrists, waist, and ankles disturbed her far more than her nakedness. Her clothing she missed mostly for the several miniature weapons sewn into the waistband.

Turning as far as possible to the left and leaning with all her weight, she tugged hard at the smooth bond on her right wrist. This accomplished nothing beyond bringing on a sudden onslaught of dizziness. Her body was weak from inactivity. The more-than-leather strap wasn’t leather. And there was a lump at the back of her head that wasn’t caused by her hairdo.

A familiar voice called softly from somewhere to her right.

“Sssst! Pilar!”

That was her cover name. Despite another restraining strap across her neck, she was able to turn enough to see Porsupah encased in a rough mold of polypane foam. He was packaged as neatly as the polished figurine York had sold her. Her head had cleared and she strained to see as much as possible. Because of the neck strap she could raise her head only a little, but could turn it all the way to left or right. Despite its strength, the strap still felt like fine leather and didn’t chafe. Even so, she had doubts that they were so constructed because their owner wished to seem solicitous of her health.