He drank the gin himself, then sat back in his chair and waited. While waiting, he pondered the why and the whereby of her presence. The whereby gave him no trouble: the starboard storeroom provided sufficient space for a penurious passenger to stow away, and venality was certainly a common enough ailment among port officials. The why, however, was a horse of a different dimension. She tethered it herself. "I want you to put me down on Iago Iago," she said. "I'll pay you--pay you well. It would have been impractical for me to take a passenger ship--with so many witnesses, the pilot wouldn't have dared to land me. I--I gambled that a loner like yourself might. Iago Iago's in conjunction now, and you won't lose more than a few hours, and no one will ever know." He was staring at her. "Iago Iago! Why should you want me to put you down in Iago Iago?" "The Polysirians are expecting the resurrection of their supreme saint. I--I want to be on hand to witness it." "Nonsense!" Drake said. "When you're dead, you're dead, and that goes for saints and sinners alike." Golden flecks danced briefly in her brown eyes. "Does it, Mr. Drake? Then how do you explain the Potomac Peregrination?" "I don't have to explain it because I don't believe in it. But to get back to specifics: even assuming that there _is_ a resurrection about to take place on Iago Iago, there would be no way for the news to have reached you." "We have ways. Call it an interplanetary grapevine, if you like.... The supreme saint prophesied that he would rise from the dead before the passing of a single year and appear in the heavens for all to see, and then descend among the people." * * * * * To gain time for reflection, Drake dropped the subject and asked her name. "Annabelle," she said. "Saint Annabelle Leigh." "And how old are you?" "Twenty-three. Please put me down on Iago Iago, Mr. Drake." "You said you were prepared to pay. How much?" She turned her back on him, did something to her coatblouse, and swung around a moment later with a money belt in her hands. She held it out to him. "It contains two thousand credits. Count them, if you like." He shook his head. "Put it back on. I wouldn't risk losing my pilot's license for ten times that amount." "But there _isn't_ any risk. I'm certainly not going to tell anyone that you violated the code." He regarded her speculatively. "Credits aren't the only form of negotiable cash," he said. She did not even blush. "I am prepared to pay in that kind of cash too."