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"That's a fine setup, Bosk. Probably worth the price of this whole apartment building."
"I'd sell myself first," Bosk said sullenly. He had sold himself first, but that was beside the point. He hunched back down in the recliner. "Snaga Ohme gave that computer to me. It's one of the best, the fastest in the whole damn galaxy."
A photograph of Snaga Ohme--bronze, beautiful, as were most Adonians--stood in an honored place beside the crystalline storage lattice.
The stranger nodded, smiled in sympathy, placed the briefcase on his knees, and waited for Bosk to resume talking. But Bosk's attention had been recaptured by the vidscreen. The king was speaking again, this time about the long-expected and widely anticipated birth of the royal heir.
"Fuckin' bastard," muttered Bosk. "I hate the fuckin' bastard. Him and that fuckin' Derek Sagan. Wasn't for that fuckin' Derek Sagan, he'd be alive today."
A glance at the photograph of Snaga Ohme clarified the pronoun.
"Tell me about Derek Sagan, Bosk," the stranger suggested.
Bosk tore his gaze from the vid. "Why d'you wanna know about Derek Sagan?"
"Because he was the reason for the Negative Waves project, wasn't he, Bosk?"
Bosk hesitated, regarded the stranger suspiciously. But the Adonian had had far too much to drink to make the mental effort to play games, keep secrets. Besides, what did it matter anyway? Ohme was dead
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