Mal matched strides with his guide—carefully staying on his left. He continued to keep a wary eye on the somnolent minidrag.

“That is a flying snake, isn’t it? From Alaspin?”

“Yes sir. I’m surprised you recognized him. They’re not often found off their native world, I understand.”

“First time I’ve ever seen one off it. Gave me quite a turn. I believe the poison they throw is almost always fatal.”

“Yes,” replied the youth without breaking stride. “If the poison hits an open wound or the eyes, death usually occurs within a minute or so. If it hits bare skin or organic clothing it takes longer. It’s highly corrosive, too. There is an antidote, but the chances of a victim receiving it before death occurs is slight. The speed it kills with doesn’t permit much time for turning some up.”

“Not hardly,” Mal replied. “I’ve never heard tell of a tame one.”

“A fact which has been pointed out to me often, sir. It’s a childhood pet. I can’t remember a time when it wasn’t close by me.”

They were walking among a scattered complex of structures. Done in neo-landscape style, they provided excellent dispersal and natural air-cover, making good use of island vegetation. The irregular shapes were all brown and green, blending easily into the forest. Few windows could be seen. The only well-exposed structure was a single, needle-thin observation tower which poked its disc-shaped crown above the top of the tallest tree. The upper surface of the disc exploded in all directions in a wild electronic hairdo. No question but that their approaching hoveraft had been visually spotted long before commtact had been made.

“For a quiet, peaceable trader his Lordship takes rather extreme precautions,” Mal ventured, hoping to draw some useful information from the lad.

“I cannot judge such things, sir. I have been in his Lordship’s employ for yet a very brief time. By the way, my name is Philip. I am aware that his Lordship has many acquaintances who would not be displeased to see him expire in violence. So he takes care. An interesting personage.”

Mal peered more closely at the youth’s bland expression. “You’re a perceptive young man. Yet you don’t strike me as the type Rose would hire. What is your job? I might add that your off-planet accent sticks out like a solar flare.”

“As to that, sir, I know it well. I’ve been on Repler the same short time . . .”

“Damned if I can place your accent. Yet . . .”

“ . . . but one seeks employment where one can. I did not know for whom I was to work when I took the job. One of his Lordship’s subalterns hired me. I am good at my work.”

“Which is?” Mal prompted.

“Well . . . watch out for that branch, sir . . . currently my title is ‘apprentice sanitation engineer.’ I work with the less popular by-products of existence. Keep finer sensibilities from contact with them. At least, that’s what it says in the manual.” He grinned, added by way of apology, “I’m afraid his Lordship’s selecting me to greet you was a calculated offense.”