The Lieutenant’s face tightens. He isn’t a toady, neither is he a weak man. But the Jewels of Sound have been listed illegal throughout the Galaxy because only one exposure is needed to make a man a confirmed addict. Swallow one Jewel, experience the Circe call of the strange music and lights the Jewels offer, and you are lost forever. And so LeBeque will swallow his pride, and answer the man who holds the delight he needs so desperately, “You gave me my first taste on Karkow, that was a year ago. I need one, Beckwith, stop playing with me.”

Beckwith extends one, a golden Jewel. But as the Lieutenant reaches for it, he closes his fist over it, closing off the light, and LeBeque winces, as though the loss of it physically hurts him. “I want to know our next putdown planet, and what the security log says about valuable commodities. I’ll want a landfall pass and I’ll want you to cover for me while I trade with the natives.”

“After the slaughter on Harper Five, you’ll do it again? If Kirk finds out—”

“He won’t find out, will he, LeBeque? He won’t find out, or you’ll never hear these Jewels inside you again. Remember that. I’m coming back from this a rich man, and I’ll never have to go to space again. Nobody’s going to get in the way of that, LeBeque. I want to live a quiet life, but that takes resources.”

LeBeque gropes for words, “So you cheat aliens, get them hooked on illegal dream-narcotics, and steal what they could trade for cultural advances.”

“Hooked like you, LeBeque. Hooked like you.”

“Yes, like me. And I’m already paying.”

“But you’ll pay a little more. Do I get what I need?”