Benjin said, "A consignment of starstones has been mined for us on our source-world, and is soon to be shipped. We want you to travel to that world and accompany the shipment through space to Borlaam. We lose much by way of thievery on each shipment--and there is no way of insuring starstones against loss." "We know who our thief is," Oversk said. "You would be responsible for finding him in the act and killing him." "I'm not a murderer," Herndon said quietly. "You wear the garb of a spacerogue. That doesn't speak of a very high moral caliber," Oversk said. "Besides, no one mentions murder," said Benjin. "Merely execution. Yes: execution." Herndon locked his hands together before him and said, "I want two months' salary in advance. I want to see evidence that all of you are wearing neuronic mesh under your skins before I let the surgeon touch me." "Agreed," Benjin said after a questioning glance around the room. "Furthermore, I want as an outright gift the sum of nine hundred thirty golden stellors, which I spent this morning to attract the attention of a potential employer." It was a lie, but there was cause for it. It made sense to establish a dominating relationship with these people as soon as possible. Then later concessions on their part would come easier. "Agreed," Benjin said again, more reluctantly. "In that case," Herndon said. "I consider myself in your employ. I'm ready to leave tonight. As soon as the conditions I state have been fulfilled to my complete satisfaction, I will submit my body to the hands of your surgeon." CHAPTER III He bound himself over to the surgeon later that afternoon, after money to the amount of ten thousand, nine hundred thirty golden stellors had been deposited to his name in the Royal Borlaam Bank in Galaxy Square, and after he had seen the neuronic mesh that was embedded in the bodies of Benjin, Oversk, Dorgel, and Razumod. Greater assurance of good faith than this he could not demand; he would have to risk the rest. The surgeon's quarters were farther along the Avenue of Bronze, in a dilapidated old house that had no doubt been built in Third Empire days. The surgeon himself was a wiry fellow with a puckered ray-slash across one cheek and a foreshortened left leg. A retired pirate-vessel medic, Herndon realized. No one else would perform such an operation unquestioningly. He hoped the man had skill. The operation itself took an hour, during which time Herndon was under total anesthesia. He woke to find the copper operating-dome lifting off him. He felt no different, even though he knew a network of metal had been blasted into his body on the submolecular level. "Well? Is it finished?" "It is," the surgeon said. Herndon glanced at Benjin. The little man held a glinting metal object on his palm. "This is the control, Herndon. Let me demonstrate."