a closed racket with that open-faced act of yours as you have of filling a warehouse with heroin by asking the local cops where to buy it."

Brenner smiled. "I can see you're cagey," he said. "I don't blame you. In fact, I'd not have come out here asking like an open-faced fool if I hadn't been completely out of stock. I'm a bit desperate." He went into an inside pocket and came out with an envelope. "This is a credential or two," he said. "When you return this way, we can maybe do business. The usual way, you know. No questions asked--nor answered. And no witnesses. Okay?"

"I'll be back--maybe--mister--er, Brenner?"

"You get the idea."

"I'll--"

Farradyne's voice trailed away as he caught sight of the object that had held the interest of the jeep driver. It was Norma Hannon, who came around the fins of the Lancaster with the sun behind her. Her errand had been shopping. The overworn cocktail dress was gone and in its place was a white silky number that did a lot of fetching things to her figure. She had also taken the complete course at some primp-mill. She was another woman; not even Farradyne, who had seen her in her worn clothing for days, could have been convinced that this sort of beautiful perfection was not Norma's usual appearance.

Farradyne was silent. But as Brenner caught sight of her coming around the sunlit tail of the Lancaster, and with enough sun shining through her to make the pulses jump, he made a throaty discord.

"Hello," she said brightly, as though she and Farradyne were close acquaintances, but in a tone that indicated that she was paid-passenger and he the driver of the spacer. "I've some packages being delivered in a bit. We'll wait, of course?"Farradyne nodded dumbly. Norma nodded coolly to Brenner and went up the ramp, displaying a yard of well-filled nylon stocking at every step. The roar of the jeep's engine snapped Farradyne's attention back to Brenner--or where he had been standing. The jeep was taking Brenner away in a cloud of spaceport dust. Farradyne shook his head. That was not the man he wanted. Call it close but no cigar. Farradyne did not want a man to buy love lotus, he wanted a seller, a character from the upper echelon.

With a sigh, Farradyne went into the Lancaster. Norma rose from the divan along the edge of the salon and whirled like a mannequin, her silken skirt floating. She stopped and let the silk wrap itself 

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