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in the way up here.” Harris accepted the packet; it was heavier than he expected. “What’s this?”
“You know, there’s a shooting range on the same floor.”
“I know. Noriko offered to teach me to shoot.”
Jean-Pierre beamed. “Did she? I made the same ­offer to Gaby.” His face fell. “Not the only offer I made. I haven’t quite persuaded her to bed with me. Do you know the trick?”
Harris glared. “You could kill yourself. Play on her sympathy.”
“Ah.”
Harris tried to let go of the sudden flush of anger. “So what is this?”
“Your pay, of course.”
“Pay?” Harris popped the wax seal on the packet. Out from the folded paper slid a dozen libs, the big silver coins Harris had seen before, plus a few of the smaller silver decs and copper pennies.
“Every half-moon on the chime. Doc pays all his asso­ciates and consultants while they’re working with him. It doesn’t do to accrue indebtedness; there are devisers out there who could take advantage of it. So he pays off as fast as he accrues.” He pulled the elevator exterior grate shut again.
Harris hefted the coins. “Well, that settles it. I’m ­going out.”
“Out of the building? Not a good idea.”
“You’re damned right, it’s not. But neither is staying here until I blow up from boredom.” Harris pulled the interior grate closed. “I think I need to find a tailor. And do you know where Banwite’s Talk-Boxes and, uh, Electrical Eccentricities is?”
Jean-Pierre looked surprised. “Brian Banwite? Doc sometimes uses him for specialty work. Good man. He’s on Damablanca in Drakshire. Walk six blocks east, take the uptown underground to the Damablanca station. And look for Brannach the Seamer on the same street. My tailor.”
“I’ll do that, thanks.” Harris sent the elevator into ­motion again.

Forty-five minutes later, he was clean and presentable, but instead of heading straight for the lobby he descended only one floor. Up ninety-one was where Doc kept his ­offices . . . and his library. Odds were good that he’d find her there.
Gaby was in her usual place, in the stuffed chair at the end of the smaller of the two long tables, where the light was best, and as usual she had a stack of books ­beside her. She didn’t notice him as he entered; he silently closed the door behind him and studied her.
She was in the jeans she’d worn from the grim world and a flowing yellow blouse they’d given her here. She bent over her books,