“I am—until we pass through customs.”

“I assume the ship’s point of origin and registration number are phony, too.”

“They’re untrue,” said the Angel. “Which is different from being phony. I can prove they’re what I say, just as I can prove that I’m William Jennings.”

“Why not tell them who you really are?” asked Virtue. “It’s not as if bounty hunting is illegal.”

“It tends to scare off one’s prey and alert one’s competition.”

“Then why ever identify yourself at all?” she persisted.

“I don’t care who knows I’ve been to a world once I’ve left it,” replied the Angel disdainfully.

The radio came to life again.

“Attention, Southern Cross. We need to know how many other sentient entities are aboard your ship.”

“One other, besides myself,” replied the Angel.

“Please identify.”

“Virtue MacKenzie, passenger, race of Man, who boarded at New Ecuador two Standard days ago.”

“What was your business on New Ecuador?”

“Tourism.”

“Proposed length of stay on Sunnybeach?”

“I have no idea,” said the Angel.

“I require a definite answer,” said the voice petulantly.

“I propose to stay here for ten days.”

“The Sunnybeach economy is based on Plantagenet sovereigns. Will you require the use of a currency exchange?”

“All I require is a clearance to land my ship.”

“Please maintain orbit,” said the voice, and again the connection was broken.

“I feel like I’m right back in the Democracy,” commented Virtue.

“It’s a bother,” he agreed. “When I have my own planet, I won’t tolerate this bureaucratic nonsense.”

“Your own planet?” she repeated.

He nodded.

She laughed. “Are you laboring under the delusion that a grateful Democracy is going to give you your very own planet just for killing Santiago?”

“No.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

He turned to her, and for just a moment she thought he might put a forceable end to her unwanted questioning then and there. Instead, he instructed his ship’s computer to create a hologram of a cross section of the Galactic Rim.

“Do you see this?” he asked, indicating a glowing yellow star.

She nodded.

“It’s a G-Four star with eleven planets, the fourth of which is named Far London. Its population has grown to almost three hundred thousand since it was initially colonized.” He paused. “Far London has been ruled by a hereditary monarchy, the last descendent of which died a few years ago and left a considerable debt. The government has advertised for a new monarch.”

“The stipulation being that you’ll pay off the late lamented family’s debts?” asked Virtue.

“In essence,” said the Angel.

“How much more do you need?”

“Killing Santiago should just about do it.”

“And then you’ll retire to a quiet life of ruling the peasants?” she asked.

“I’ve always wanted to have my very own world to rule.”