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22.

Father Christmas sipped his beer and tried to control his temper. "Goddammit, son—will you please, just for once, use your brain!"

"What are you talking about?" demanded Nighthawk.

"I know it's difficult, but try to think things through. You want to follow the girl, right?"

"Right."

"And you know she's with Malloy, and they're almost certainly in the employ of this Colonel Hernandez."

"Have you got a point?"

"Just this," said Father Christmas. "Where do you suppose they're going right now?"

"Probably Solio II."

"And if you follow them, that's where you'll wind up, right?" continued the older man.

"So what?"

"How much does Hernandez owe your creators?"

"I'm not sure," said Nighthawk. "Somewhere around five million credits."

"But you haven't told your people on Deluros that you've accomplished your task and killed the Marquis," Father Christmas pointed out. "So if you land on Solio, what is Hernandez' most reasonable course of action?"

Nighthawk was silent for a moment, considering the possibilities. Finally he grimaced. "He kills me, or has me killed, and saves the money."

"Exactly!" said Father Christmas. "You've already killed the man he wanted dead. Now all he has to do is kill you, dump your body on any Frontier world except Solio II, and then report to your people on Deluros that you told him you were following a very promising lead. The next thing he knew you'd been ambushed and killed." The older man finished his beer. "Just remember that Hernandez controls security for the whole planet," he continued. "He's probably got ten times as many guns working for him as the Marquis had, and they're better disciplined. If you go there, you won't have a chance."

"All right," said Nighthawk angrily. "You've made your point."

"So we go to the Rim, right?"

"Wrong," said Nighthawk.

"But I've explained that it's suicide to go to Solio," said Father Christmas.

"You've warned me what I'll be up against."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I want her."

"There's nothing wrong with wanting her," said the older man. "Just don't go after her."

"I love her. I'm not leaving her."

"You're a fool!"

"Nobody says you have to come along," said Nighthawk. "I can set you down on the first inhabited world we come to."

"How do I know it'll have a church?" said Father Christmas. "You need a keeper, son. That's me."

"Then you're coming with me?"

"When we're ready."

"I'm ready now," said Nighthawk.

"The hell you are," said Father Christmas. "The second Hernandez speaks to the Pearl of Maracaibo—and he doesn't have to wait for her to land on Solio to do that—he's going to know you killed the Marquis, and that you're probably coming after the girl. First thing he'll do is put a price on your head."

"But I killed the man he wanted dead."

"Yeah—but now that the Marquis is dead, and there's no proof linking him to Trelaine's assassination, the easiest way to save however many millions of credits he owes to your people on Deluros VIII is to kill you before you can explain why you think the Marquis was the hit man, or was at least connected to the crime. He'll have posters transmitted to every Frontier world, and if his people don't kill you, the bounty hunters will. Hell, once he tells your people on Deluros that their illegal clone is off the reservation and killing people on his own, they'll probably double the reward."

"So what do you suggest?"

"A little subtlety, a little misdirection," answered the older man. "Remember I told you about phony passports and ID's? That's what we need now. He's looking for you to sneak onto his world, to land where no one's around to challenge you and then come after him under cover of night. I think you'll do better walking boldly right in the front door. You don't identify yourself until you're behind 99% of his defenses."

"How long will this take?" asked Nighthawk, seriously considering the suggestion.

"It all depends," said Father Christmas. "How far are we from Purplecloud, Terrazane, or Antarres III?"

"I have no idea," replied Nighthawk.

"Neither do I. That's what we have a navigational computer for."

A moment later the ship informed them that the closest of the three worlds, Purplecloud, could be reached in seventeen hours.

"Lay in a course for Purplecloud," said the older man, ordering another beer.

"That's where one of your forgers lives?"

"One of my equipment managers," Father Christmas corrected him with a smile.

"Equipment?"

"You'll see," Father Christmas assured him.

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Framed