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. The stranger studied the text intently.
"Scroll on further," he said, making no move to touch the keyboard.
Bosk obediently, and proudly, did so. He, too, was reading the text, written in Snaga Ohme's precise, organized, meticulous style. The concept was sound. It would work. Bosk raised his hand, reverently touched the computer screen.
"Genius," he murmured.
"Indeed," said the stranger, and he sounded impressed.
Bosk heard the stranger straighten. The Adonian turned around, grinning in elation, prepared to name what he considered his absolute minimum price for the files and his knowledge concerning them, and found a handheld lasgun within ten centimeters of the bridge of his nose. Terror surged. He opened his mouth to beg... scream .... With careful precision, the stranger shot Bosk through the center of the forehead. The beam bored a neat bloodless hole through bone and brain. The Adonian slumped, slid out of the chair.
The stranger shoved the body aside, sat down in the chair. "Damn," he muttered softly.
Without Bosk's hands on the keyboard, the screen had gone blank.
The stranger was only momentarily thwarted, however. Though he had not anticipated this problem, he was prepared to deal with it. He spoke calmly into his commlink. "It's finished. Come up."
Bending over the corpse, the stranger slid what appeared to be plastic thimbles over Bosk's fingertips
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