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face. "You can leave your things in here," she said, and went out into the living room. Galen set down his valise and leaned his staff into the corner, then followed.

"Are you ready to get to work?" Burell asked. "I've a few secret weapons to share with you." Her yellow chair hovered in front of a large screen built into one wall. The screen was divided into twenty rectangles, each showing a different image. Isabelle stood to one side, and Galen stepped through the clutter to end up beside her. The tiny hairs that had sprouted on her head accented the graceful curve of her skull, her slender neck. He brushed against a basket of data crystals, nearly upsetting it.

Burell turned her head toward them, though it turned only a few degrees, as if its movement was restricted. Burell caught Galen in the corner of her eye. "As Isabelle well knows, I guard my secrets carefully. But you've already seen the evidence I have gathered. Since you are to continue that work, I'll share with you some of my methods for obtaining it."

Over the next few minutes, Burell shared a wealth of information. She gave them the key to access certain of her information systems. She led them through her extensive network of probes, planted in places both public and private, reputable and disreputable. She had probes throughout the spaceport. She had probes in the home of the planetary governor, and she had probes in the home of the planetary governor's mistress. She had probes in warehouses and industrial plants; she had probes in bars and gambling houses. She had a probe in the jewel in the navel of the port's most popular belly dancer.

She pointed out those that might be of most use, then reviewed what records the port kept of spacecraft traffic, passengers, and cargo. She gave them the names
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