have to learn from human beings. Maybe by interviews, maybe by-well, the Monks can map an alien memory into a computer space, then interview that. They may have done that with some of your diplomats."
"Oh, great."
Louise appeared with an order. I made the drinks and set them on her tray. She winked and walked away, swaying deliciously, followed by many eyes.
"Morris. Most of your diplomats, the ones who, deal with the Monks; they're men, aren't they?"
"Most of them. Why?"
"Just a thought." It was a difficult thought, hard to grasp. It was only that the changes in Louise had been all to the good from a man's point of view. The Monks must have interviewed many men. Well, why not? It would make her more valuable to the man she caught-or to the lucky man who caught her- "Got it."
Morris looked up quickly. "Well?"
"Falling in love with me was part of her pill learning. A set. They made a guinea pig of her."
"I wondered what she saw in you." Morris's grin faded. "You're serious. Frazer, that still doesn't answer-"
"It's a slave indoctrination course. It makes a woman love the first man she sees, permanently, and it trains her to be valuable to him. The Monks were going to make them in quantity and sell them to men."
Morris thought it over. Presently he said, "That's awful. What'll we do?"
"Well, we can't tell her she's been made into a domestic slave! Morris, I'll try to get a memory eraser pill. If I can't I'll marry her, I guess. Don't look at me that way," I said, low and fierce. "I didn't do it. And I can't desert her now!"
"I know. It's just-oh, put gin in the next one."
"Don't look now," I said.
In the glass' of the door there was darkness and motion. A hooded shape, shadow-on-shadow, supernatural, a human silhouette twisted out of true...
He came gliding in with the hem of his robe just brushing the floor. Nothing was to be seen of him but his flowing gray robe, the darkness in the hood and the shadow where his robe parted. The real estate men broke off their talk of land and stared, popeyed, and one of them reached for his heart attack pills.
The Monk drifted toward me like a vengeful ghost. He took the stool we had saved him at one end of the bar.
It wasn't the same Monk.
In all respects he matched the Monk who had been here these last two nights. Louise and Morris. must have been fooled completely. But it wasn't the same Monk.
"Good evening," I said.
He gave an equivalent greeting in the whispered Monk language. His translator was half on, translating my words into a Monk whisper, but letting his own speech alone. He said,, "I believe we should begin with the Rock and Rye."
I turned to pour. The small of my back itched with danger.
When I turned back with the shot glass in my hand, he was holding a fist-sized tool that must have come out of his robe. It looked like a flattened softball, grooved deeply for five Monk claws, with two parallel tubes poking out in my direction. Lenses glinted in the ends of the tubes.
"Do you know this tool? It is a "___", and he named it. I knew the name. It was a beaming tool, a multi-frequency laser. One tube locked on the target; thereafter the aim was maintained by tiny flywheels in the body of the device.
Morris had seen it. He didn't recognize it, and he didn't know what to do about it, and I had no way to signal him.
"I know that tool," I confirmed.
"You must take two of these pills." The Monk had them ready in another hand. They were small and pink and. triangular. He said, "I must be convinced that you have taken them. Otherwise you must take more than two. An overdose may affect your natural memory. Come closer."
I came closer. Every man and woman in the Long Spoon was staring at us, and each was afraid to move. Any kind of signal would have trained four guns on the Monk. And I'd be fried dead by a narrow beam of X-rays.
The Monk reached out with a third hand/foot/claw. He dosed the fingers/toes around my throat, not hand enough to strangle me, but hard
"Oh, great."
Louise appeared with an order. I made the drinks and set them on her tray. She winked and walked away, swaying deliciously, followed by many eyes.
"Morris. Most of your diplomats, the ones who, deal with the Monks; they're men, aren't they?"
"Most of them. Why?"
"Just a thought." It was a difficult thought, hard to grasp. It was only that the changes in Louise had been all to the good from a man's point of view. The Monks must have interviewed many men. Well, why not? It would make her more valuable to the man she caught-or to the lucky man who caught her- "Got it."
Morris looked up quickly. "Well?"
"Falling in love with me was part of her pill learning. A set. They made a guinea pig of her."
"I wondered what she saw in you." Morris's grin faded. "You're serious. Frazer, that still doesn't answer-"
"It's a slave indoctrination course. It makes a woman love the first man she sees, permanently, and it trains her to be valuable to him. The Monks were going to make them in quantity and sell them to men."
Morris thought it over. Presently he said, "That's awful. What'll we do?"
"Well, we can't tell her she's been made into a domestic slave! Morris, I'll try to get a memory eraser pill. If I can't I'll marry her, I guess. Don't look at me that way," I said, low and fierce. "I didn't do it. And I can't desert her now!"
"I know. It's just-oh, put gin in the next one."
"Don't look now," I said.
In the glass' of the door there was darkness and motion. A hooded shape, shadow-on-shadow, supernatural, a human silhouette twisted out of true...
He came gliding in with the hem of his robe just brushing the floor. Nothing was to be seen of him but his flowing gray robe, the darkness in the hood and the shadow where his robe parted. The real estate men broke off their talk of land and stared, popeyed, and one of them reached for his heart attack pills.
The Monk drifted toward me like a vengeful ghost. He took the stool we had saved him at one end of the bar.
It wasn't the same Monk.
In all respects he matched the Monk who had been here these last two nights. Louise and Morris. must have been fooled completely. But it wasn't the same Monk.
"Good evening," I said.
He gave an equivalent greeting in the whispered Monk language. His translator was half on, translating my words into a Monk whisper, but letting his own speech alone. He said,, "I believe we should begin with the Rock and Rye."
I turned to pour. The small of my back itched with danger.
When I turned back with the shot glass in my hand, he was holding a fist-sized tool that must have come out of his robe. It looked like a flattened softball, grooved deeply for five Monk claws, with two parallel tubes poking out in my direction. Lenses glinted in the ends of the tubes.
"Do you know this tool? It is a "___", and he named it. I knew the name. It was a beaming tool, a multi-frequency laser. One tube locked on the target; thereafter the aim was maintained by tiny flywheels in the body of the device.
Morris had seen it. He didn't recognize it, and he didn't know what to do about it, and I had no way to signal him.
"I know that tool," I confirmed.
"You must take two of these pills." The Monk had them ready in another hand. They were small and pink and. triangular. He said, "I must be convinced that you have taken them. Otherwise you must take more than two. An overdose may affect your natural memory. Come closer."
I came closer. Every man and woman in the Long Spoon was staring at us, and each was afraid to move. Any kind of signal would have trained four guns on the Monk. And I'd be fried dead by a narrow beam of X-rays.
The Monk reached out with a third hand/foot/claw. He dosed the fingers/toes around my throat, not hand enough to strangle me, but hard
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