weapons would give them something to live on. If they killed this messenger, they would have to deal with someone who might be worse. "If you want this done neatly, as you said, then you should listen to the experts."
"Expert sneaks." That with the trademark Bloodhorde sneer. Clearly the blond man had no respect, a condition dangerous in itself, beyond unpleasant. Arhos allowed an eyelid to droop. Before it rose again, the blond man was gasping for breath, the noose around his thick neck grooving the skin. The chair in which he sat had flipped restraints onto his arms, and tightened them. Arhos did not move.
"Insults annoy us," he said mildly. "We are experts—that's why you hired us. It is part of our expertise to travel unnoticed, accepted. It is my opinion that waiting until Sierra Station to enter Fleet jurisdiction will bring unwelcome notice. Civilian contractors, special consultants, normally join up with Fleet transport closer to their point of origin." He smiled. The blond man's face had turned an ugly puce; he made disgusting noises. But the blue eyes showed no fear, not even as they dulled with oxygen deprivation. He nodded, and the noose sprang away from the blond man's neck as if someone had pushed it. Someone had, remotely . . . .
"Mother-devouring scum—!" the blond man croaked. He yanked hard, but the chair restraints held his arms down.
"Experts," Arhos said. "You pay us, we do your job—cleanly, thoroughly. But don't insult us."
"You will regret this," the blond man said.
"I don't think so." Arhos smiled. "It is not my neck which has a mark from a noose. Nor will it."
"If I were loose—"
Arhos cocked his head to one side. "I would have to kill you, if you attacked me. It would be most unfortunate."
"You! You are too little—"
"Bloodhorde barbarian!" That from the other person in the room, the woman who had said nothing before, whose quiet demeanor fit the subordinate role she had seemed to have. "Do you still think size is everything, after all your defeats?"
"Peace, Losa. It is no part of our contract to instruct this . . . individual . . . in the realities of hand-to-hand fighting. We have no reason to give him gratuitous data."
"As you wish." She sounded more sulky than submissive.
"Now," Arhos said. "We will expect half the fee on deposit with our bankers by midday tomorrow, the next fourth when we arrive at Sierra Station, and the final fourth when we have completed the task. No—" as the blond man started to speak. "No, don't argue. You lost your bargaining advantage when you insulted us. You can always hire someone else if you don't like my terms. You won't find anyone as good—you know that already—but it's your choice. Take or leave—which?"
"Take," the blond man said, still hoarse from the noose. "Greedy swine . . ."
"Very good." No need to mention that every insult now—after that warning—would raise the price of the job. One did not have to like one's customers if they produced enough profit, and Arhos—the best in his field—knew to a single credit how much it took to satisfy his feelings.
Though the job itself was intriguing, a challenge he would not have thought of by himself, but one well worth the attempt. Not attempt, he thought . . . the achievement. He had no doubts; they had not failed in an assignment in years. Getting this buffoon out of the office quietly was the only problem that concerned him, once the buffoon had thumb-printed a credit authorization.
* * *
"Nasty," Losa said, after the man had left. "And dangerous."
"Yes, but solvent. We don't have to like them . . ."
"You said that before."
"It's true."
"He scared me . . . he wasn't afraid, he was just angry. What if they want revenge for the insult?"
Arhos looked at her, and wished she'd make up her mind what kind of person she was. "Losa . . . this is a dangerous business, and it's
"Expert sneaks." That with the trademark Bloodhorde sneer. Clearly the blond man had no respect, a condition dangerous in itself, beyond unpleasant. Arhos allowed an eyelid to droop. Before it rose again, the blond man was gasping for breath, the noose around his thick neck grooving the skin. The chair in which he sat had flipped restraints onto his arms, and tightened them. Arhos did not move.
"Insults annoy us," he said mildly. "We are experts—that's why you hired us. It is part of our expertise to travel unnoticed, accepted. It is my opinion that waiting until Sierra Station to enter Fleet jurisdiction will bring unwelcome notice. Civilian contractors, special consultants, normally join up with Fleet transport closer to their point of origin." He smiled. The blond man's face had turned an ugly puce; he made disgusting noises. But the blue eyes showed no fear, not even as they dulled with oxygen deprivation. He nodded, and the noose sprang away from the blond man's neck as if someone had pushed it. Someone had, remotely . . . .
"Mother-devouring scum—!" the blond man croaked. He yanked hard, but the chair restraints held his arms down.
"Experts," Arhos said. "You pay us, we do your job—cleanly, thoroughly. But don't insult us."
"You will regret this," the blond man said.
"I don't think so." Arhos smiled. "It is not my neck which has a mark from a noose. Nor will it."
"If I were loose—"
Arhos cocked his head to one side. "I would have to kill you, if you attacked me. It would be most unfortunate."
"You! You are too little—"
"Bloodhorde barbarian!" That from the other person in the room, the woman who had said nothing before, whose quiet demeanor fit the subordinate role she had seemed to have. "Do you still think size is everything, after all your defeats?"
"Peace, Losa. It is no part of our contract to instruct this . . . individual . . . in the realities of hand-to-hand fighting. We have no reason to give him gratuitous data."
"As you wish." She sounded more sulky than submissive.
"Now," Arhos said. "We will expect half the fee on deposit with our bankers by midday tomorrow, the next fourth when we arrive at Sierra Station, and the final fourth when we have completed the task. No—" as the blond man started to speak. "No, don't argue. You lost your bargaining advantage when you insulted us. You can always hire someone else if you don't like my terms. You won't find anyone as good—you know that already—but it's your choice. Take or leave—which?"
"Take," the blond man said, still hoarse from the noose. "Greedy swine . . ."
"Very good." No need to mention that every insult now—after that warning—would raise the price of the job. One did not have to like one's customers if they produced enough profit, and Arhos—the best in his field—knew to a single credit how much it took to satisfy his feelings.
Though the job itself was intriguing, a challenge he would not have thought of by himself, but one well worth the attempt. Not attempt, he thought . . . the achievement. He had no doubts; they had not failed in an assignment in years. Getting this buffoon out of the office quietly was the only problem that concerned him, once the buffoon had thumb-printed a credit authorization.
* * *
"Nasty," Losa said, after the man had left. "And dangerous."
"Yes, but solvent. We don't have to like them . . ."
"You said that before."
"It's true."
"He scared me . . . he wasn't afraid, he was just angry. What if they want revenge for the insult?"
Arhos looked at her, and wished she'd make up her mind what kind of person she was. "Losa . . . this is a dangerous business, and it's
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