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Twenty-Two

McCade was surprised. It seemed hard to believe that the Il Ronn had spies on Tin Town. Subjugated races spying for the Il Ronn yes, human traitors yes, but the Il Ronn themselves? No.

For one thing there was the obvious physical differences. How could an Il Ronnian possibly pass for human? Or vice versa? Sure, there was Neem's disguise, but he couldn't get away with that forever. No, Il Ronnian spies didn't seem possible. Nonetheless that's exactly what Neem wanted them to believe.

McCade came to a stop as a pink robot trundled out to block Neem's path. A woman appeared next to it. She wore a skin suit and a rather tired expression.

"Step through my door, tall, dark, and handsome," she said. "I've got what you're looking for."

"I doubt that very much," Neem replied dryly as he sidestepped the robo pimp. "You're not my type."

McCade smiled as the woman made a rude gesture. Wouldn't she be surprised to see Neem in the nude!

Lights strobed, people swirled, and mind-numbing noise assailed their ears as they threaded their way through the crowd.

Neem was his usual self, but Reba was a bit grumpy, as if Scavenger Jack's death was a personal affront to her honor. Having been unable to cheer her up, McCade decided to let her sulk.

Level six of Alpha Section was located at the opposite end of the habitat from the House of Yarl and that's where Neem was taking them. A high-speed monorail whisked them the length of the original barge and deposited them in a somewhat gaudy station.

Like the rest of Tin Town, Alpha Section was a sort of capitalistic free-for-all, governed by nothing more elaborate than the law of supply and demand.

Though McCade wondered how Il Ronnians could survive undetected, it was clear that spies would thrive on Tin Town's laissez-faire system of government and profit from the information that changed hands here. Maybe, just maybe, Neem was right.

Neem claimed that he'd been specially briefed by the chief of Il Ronnian intelligence during McCade's last days on Imantha. Though Neem was not normally privy to classified information, the Council of One Thousand had anticipated the possibility that he might need some help and granted him a special dispensation.

Not eager to reveal the extent of the Il Ronnian intelligence network to a human, Teeb had ordered Neem to keep the information secret unless forced to do otherwise. Or so Neem claimed.

McCade wasn't so sure. In retrospect, Neem had been a lot more competent than any college professor had a right to be. First he'd extricated himself from a bad situation on Spin, then he'd shown up to rescue McCade from the pirates, and now he was beheading people right and left. Yes, McCade decided, Neem will bear watching.

They rounded a corner and found themselves on the edge of a circular plaza. Shops and restaurants faced the plaza, which wasn't flat, but fell in levels toward a circular stage. At the moment four jugglers were busy tossing daggers at one another, catching them and pretending not to, thrilling the audience with a series of close calls.

Neem glanced at his wrist term. "Come on. We've got some time to kill." The Il Ronnian made his way down the steps and McCade followed with a disgruntled Reba tagging along behind.

Neem slid sideways down a half-filled aisle. The Il Ronnian seemed to step on every third foot, leaving McCade and Reba to make his apologies.

The jugglers had finished with the knives and were moving on to Rath snakes by the time all three of them were seated. Rath snakes are somewhat irritable to start with, and the process of being thrown around did nothing to improve their tempers.

As they flew through the air the reptiles twisted every which way, hoping to sink their poisonous fangs into an arm or hand. But the jugglers were a blur, anticipating every move, whipping the snakes back and forth like pieces of green rope.

Then something went wrong. One of the jugglers missed a catch. A squirming Rath snake soared out over the audience and started to fall.

The crowd let out a collective gasp and people scrambled to get out of the way. All except for a man in baggy coveralls. He seemed frozen in place as the snake fell toward him, his mouth hanging open in stupefied amazement, his hands opening and closing as if unsure of what to do.

McCade's hand went toward his blaster, but he knew it was hopeless. By the time he drew and fired, the Rath snake would already have its fangs in the man's flesh.

Then just as the reptile was about to land in his lap, the man stood, snatched the snake out of midair, and threw it back.

A juggler caught it, tossed it into the air, and the crowd realized they'd been had. There was loud applause as the fifth juggler took a bow, stripped off his coveralls to reveal a colorful costume, and hurried down to join his friends onstage.

"Now would be the time to pass the hat," Reba remarked thoughtfully. "They should do pretty well."

"Chances are they've done pretty well already," McCade replied. "Look at the crowd they drew. I'll bet the stores fronting on the plaza pay them to perform."

McCade turned to Neem. "By the way, which store belongs to your friends?"

Neem chuckled. "None of them. My 'friends' as you call them are right in front of you."

McCade looked toward the stage. The jugglers had just activated thirty laser torches and were preparing to toss them around.

"You'd better have your eyes checked, Neem, the jugglers are human."

"They look human," Neem agreed, "but they aren't. They're cyborgs."

Il Ronnian cyborgs designed to look like humans? It couldn't be. But as McCade watched the jugglers he began to wonder. By now the laser torches were flashing through the air at incredible speed. Speed that defied human reflexes. And why not? If Neem was correct, the reflexes weren't human and never had been. They were wired, servo-controlled, and computer-assisted.

No wonder the jugglers were willing to throw Rath snakes around like so much rubber hose. A bite wouldn't even pierce their plastiflesh skin much less poison them. Much as he hated to admit it, the whole thing made sense. By posing as human jugglers, the Il Ronnian spies had a perfect excuse to travel around and poke their noses into all sorts of places. And given their skill people probably begged them to come!

All of a sudden the enormity of it struck home. There could be hundreds, even thousands, of Il Ronnian spies roaming the Empire sucking up secrets like so many vacuum cleaners. Swanson-Pierce would go crazy!

But wait a minute, what would stop humans from doing the same thing? Among the millions who'd seen him on Imantha had some been human? Fellow Terrans locked inside electro-mechanical bodies deep inside an enemy empire? If so, each and every one of them deserved a medal.

McCade's thoughts were swept away by the sound of loud applause. The jugglers took a series of quick bows, and when the audience started to leave, the cyborgs started to pack.

Neem motioned for McCade and Reba to stay put and pushed his way down toward the stage.

"Where's Neem headed?"

"You're going to find this hard to believe," McCade replied, "but according to Neem the jugglers are Il Ronnian spies."

As McCade explained Reba's eyes got larger. When he was finished she shook her head and laughed out loud.

"Well, I'll be damned. It makes a lot of sense now that I think about it. I'll bet both sides have been at it for years. Sister Urillo will have a fit! She'll see Il Ronnian spies under every bed."

McCade nodded and felt through his pockets for a cigar. The best he could find was broken in two. He stuck the longer half between his teeth and puffed it into life.

Down on the stage Neem had just sealed some sort of agreement with a very human handshake. McCade blew smoke toward the deck and watched Neem climb the stairs. Strange though it seemed, things were looking up.

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Framed