The Meldian surgeons had changed his face, but they had not changed his heart. Herndon nurtured the desire for revenge against Krellig--Krellig the implacable, Krellig the invincible, who cowered behind the great stone walls of his fortress for fear of the people's hatred. Herndon could be patient. But he swore death to Krellig, someday and somehow. He stood now in a narrow street in the Avenue of Bronze, high in the winding complex of streets that formed the Ancient Quarter of the City of Borlaam, capital of the world of the same name. He had crossed the city silently, not bothering to speak to his gnomelike companion Benjin, brooding only on his inner thoughts and hatred. Benjin indicated a black metal doorway to their left. "We go in here," he said. He touched his full hand to the metal of the door and it jerked upward and out of sight. He stepped through. Herndon followed and it was as if a great hand had appeared and wrapped itself about him. He struggled for a moment against the stasis-field. "Damn you, Benjin, unwrap me!" The stasis-field held; calmly, the little man bustled about Herndon, removing his needler and his four-chambered blaster and the ceremonial sword at his side. "Are you weaponless?" Benjin asked. "Yes; you must be. The field subsides." Herndon scowled. "You might have warned me. When do I get my weapons back?" "Later," Benjin said. "Restrain your temper and come within." He was led to an inner room where three men and a woman sat around a wooden conference table. He eyed the foursome curiously. The men comprised an odd mixture: one had the unmistakable stamp of noble birth on his face, while the other two had the coarseness of clay. As for the woman, she was hardly worth a second-look: slovenly, big-breasted, and raw-faced she was undoubtedly the mistress of one or more of the others. Herndon stepped toward them. Benjin said, "This is Barr Herndon, free spacerogue. I met him at the market. He had just bought a proteus at auction for nearly a thousand stellors. I watched him order the creature toward the sea-wall and put a needle in its back." "If he's that free with his money," remarked the noble-seeming one in a rich bass voice, "What need does he have of our employ?" "Tell us why you killed your slave," Benjin said. Herndon smiled grimly. "It pleased me to do so." One of the leather-jerkined commoners shrugged and said, "These spacerogues don't act like normal men. Benjin, I'm not in favor of hiring him." "We need him," the withered man retorted. To Herndon he said, "Was your act an advertisement, perhaps? To demonstrate your willingness to kill and your indifference to the moral codes of humanity?" "Yes," Herndon lied. It would only hurt his own cause to explain that he had bought and then killed the proteus only to save it from a century-long life of endless agony. "It pleased me to kill the creature. And it served to draw your attention to me."