I ordered an elaborate breakfast, six kinds of fish eggs, gulper bacon, cappuccino. Five people at a table demanded that I join them, so I did. They were fresh from the coral isles via dirigible, still time-lagged, looking for new jokes. I tried to oblige. And somewhere in there I forgot all about missing ladies.

We broke up at dawn. I walked back to the hotel alone. I had sidetracked my mind, hoping it would come up with something if I left it alone; but my answer hadn’t changed. The way to hunt Feather was to pretend to be Feather, and hunt Sharrol.

Stet, I’m Feather Filip. What do I know about Sharrol? Feather must have researched her; she sure as tanj had researched me!

Back up. How did Sharrol get loose?

The simplest possible answer was that Sharrol dove into the water and swam away. Feather could beat her at most things, but a woman who had lived beneath the ocean for thirty years would swim just fine.

Eventually a boat would find her.

Eventually, an island. Penniless. She needs work now. What kind of work is that? It has to suit a flat phobe. She’s being hunted by a murderer, and the alien planet around her forces itself into her awareness every second. Dirigible stewardness is probably out. Hotel work would be better.

Feather, days behind her, seeks work for herself, but the listings will tell her Sharrol’s choices too. And now I was back in the room and scanning through work listings.

Qualifications—I couldn’t remember what Milcenta Graynor was supposed to be able to do. Sharrol’s skills wouldn’t match anyway, any more than mine matched Mart Graynor’s. So look for unskilled.

Low salaries, of course. Except here: servant, kzinti embassy. Was that a joke? No: here was museum maintenance, must work with kzinti. Some of them had stayed with the embassy, or even become citizens. Could Sharrol handle that? She got along with strangers…even near-aliens, like me.

Fishing boats, period of training needed. Hotel work. Underwater porter work, unskilled labor in Pacifica.

Pacifica. Of course.

Briefly I considered putting in for the porter job. Sharrol and/or Feather must have done that, grabbed whatever was to be had…but I told myself that Feather thought I had no money. She’d never look for me in Pacifica’s second-best…ah, best hotel.

The truth is, I prefer playing tourist.

I scanned price listings for hotels in Pacifica; called and negotiated for a room at the Pequod. Then I left Shasht in untraditional fashion, via oversized transfer booth, still in early morning.

It was night in Pacifica. I checked in, crawled between sleeping plates and zonked out, my time-lagged body back on track.