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. "I need to have a little talk with Dalin Rowan."
"Talk!" Raoul was impatient. "Recall the dictum of the late Warlord Derek Sagan. 'Do not talk---shoot!' It was a saying of which he was very fond and which kept him alive far longer than one might have considered possible under the circumstances. You put us all in jeopardy, my friend."
"You can always walk, Loti. You and the sponge."
The fedora--the hat was now all Xris could see of the Little One--quivered.
Raoul's eyes began to shimmen "How can you say that? We are your friends, Xris Cyborg."
A tear trickled down the rouged cheek.
"Now, don't start crying," Xris said, exasperated. "You'll rain your makeup. Your nose will swell. You can't go out of here looking like that."
"I don't care," Raoul returned with unexpected passion. He grasped hold of Xris's good arm. "Tell me you will at least consider what we have said."
Startled by the Loti's unusual outhurst--Raoul was generally placidity personified--Xris gently removed the bejeweled hand.
"I'll consider it," he promised. "Now I'm going to give you your orders. Do you think you're calm enough to handle them?"
Raoul removed a lace-trimmed handkerchief from his purse, dabbed carefully at his eyes. "Yes, Xris Cyborg. I am once more in control of myself."
Whatever that means. Aloud, Xris continued, "You'll be traveling to Olicien Pest Control corporate headquarters--"
"Is this when I'm a salesman, wearing coverails?"
"No
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