“I’m sure you would, but I’m afraid I’m not permitted to pass around that sort of information, m’lady.”

Kitten breathed deeply and dropped her voice an octave. “Not even for special requests from special friends?”

The official leaned close and breathed deeply. He lowered his voice an octave.

“No.”

Mal couldn’t help grinning. If Kitten was fazed, she didn’t show it. Instead, she removed the vulcanite band from inside her left sleeve. On it was the embossed symbol of the United Church: an hourglass enclosed by a circle, with her name, number, and rank imprinted beneath it.

“Of course, if you put it that way, your command is my wish.” He pulled a bit of paper from a pad, swiveled, and began punching buttons on a computer console.

“Isn’t that saying the other way ’round?” queried Mal.

“I’m inherently masochistic.” The official pulled a card from the printout slot, viewed it on a small gray screen, then handed it to Mal. The freighter-captain gave it a brief glance, nodded to the man.

“Thanks, old boy. You’ve been a help,” said Kitten. They rose and turned to leave.

“Curiously speaking,” said the official hurriedly, “why didn’t you just tell me you were Church authority in the first place?”

“April Fool,” said Kitten.

“But it’s August.”

“See?” She shut the door gently.

It was raining out, a warm, humid drizzle. They took a private transit car to the Port Library. Mal had informed them that it would do as well and be quicker than returning to the Umbra. He checked charts and figures while Porsupah and Kitten amused themselves by thumbing through samples of the local literature—bad shorts, mediocre novels, some good poetry and fair dream-schemes.

Mal shifted his notes to a time-renting station and did some fast figuring with the aid of the computer. After a bit he sat back, staring at the readout screen. He was still staring some time after the green light on top, indicating time-stop, had gone out.

“Well,” said Kitten finally.

“Well, hell.”

“I’m already aware of the proverbial location for the traditional one. We’re supposed to be looking for one a bit more localized.”

He looked over at her, past the anxious Porsupah. “Guess where our intergalactic boojum has chosen to hole up?”

“The governor’s mansion,” offered Porsupah, almost hopefully.

“Funny. Here.” He pointed to a chart covered with rough lines and scribbling, half in and half out of the printout slot. “Somewhere right offshore the AAnn Concession.”

“So?” she said.

“So? So?” He rose suddenly and stood glaring eye to eye with her. Hands tightly clenched on hips, he controlled his anger with an effort. “Do you have any idea what can happen to you if our peace-loving neighbor lizards acquire even temporary possession of you?”

“Captain,” she said boredly, turning her head away slightly, “kindly keep in mind that I am an officer in the armed forces of the United Church. I am fully aware of the consequences of being discovered without permission within a diplomatic sanctuary. I am also more conversant than most with the oh-so-delightful hobbies and habits of our reptilian friends. Including their less savory ones. We shall avoid all potential unpleasantness through a simple expediency.”