undergarments, and the linen smock tunic spread on the bed gave further evidence that she was in the process of dressing.
"Oh," she said briefly. "It's you."
The beady-eyed man coughed slightly into a handkerchief, then mopped the perspiration from his bald head. His sharp features were herizentally marked by a small black moustache waxed at the tips.
"It's like I thought,” he said. His voice was tenor, with a slight whine to it. "The Astera is gonna make a run for it."
The girl struggled into her fresh linen tunic smock. Then she was smoothing it out, and adjusting her raven locks before a duralloy mirror on the wall. She answered him over her shoulder, fluffing her hair as she spoke.
"Then you've booked our passage?" she asked.
The sharp featured chap sat down-on the bed, coughing again into his handkerchief. He glanced down idly into the open traveling case, then answered in a weary half whine.
"Yeah. Of course. What didja think I'd do?"
"Any trouble?" the girl asked.
"I'm a small interplanetary merchant," the man said smirkingly. "Don't you remember? What you think I been running that stinking little shop here on Farisha for the last six months for?" He laughed. "For the same reason you been dancing in that cheap joint for the same length of time."
"They certainly plan in advance," the girl remarked.
"They're smart, that's all. That's why the Federation'll never lick 'em in a million years," the man answered. "We're on the winning team this time, baby."
The girl turned to face him, her features troubled. "You think they'll take Farisha?" she asked.
The beady-eyed man smirked.
"What do you think?" he asked.
The signs of worried indecision increased on the girl's features.
"But what about the civilian population here on Farisha?" she asked. "What sort of treatment will they receive from the Venusian invaders?"
The man shrugged indifferently. "They didn't leave when old Selwin gave them the hint. What they'll get now will be their own fault."
The girl seemed to shudder slightly, and she turned back to the mirror.
"You're not going soft, are you baby?" the man asked.
The girl whirled to face him, brown eyes blazing. "Who said I was?"
The beady-eyed man grinned, mopping his bald head again with his handkerchief.
"No one. No one said you was," he declared. "Only—"
The girl broke in suspiciously. "Only what?" she demanded.
"Only I just wanta make sure you don't go soft on this job. Especially when I tell you that your old chum," the bald headed man paused to give the last word a leering implication, "Harlan Dawson is gonna be aboard the Astera as Master."
"Dawson!" The girl gasped the name.
"Yeah," said the man, watching her carefully. "Yeah, that’s what I said, Dawson."
"I hate his guts," the girl said softly.
"Thought you kinda went for him once."
"Maybe I did," she said quickly. "Maybe I was space-dazed."
"A lot of dames have been spaced-dazed by Dawson," the man said.
The girl didn't answer.
