"Well, if you insist on taking all the fun out of it, it's over there," Jocasta told him, hooking her thumb towards the refresher.

 Twenty minutes later, Jocasta too was changed into a similar worker's uniform, though despite her best efforts, it clung to her more than was optimal. The fusion beamer, like Markus’ sword, had been confiscated when they had been captured, so she armed herself with a K-21 Argosy Needler — a weapon between a pistol and a submachine gun. Finished in bone-white polymer, it electromotively fired tiny metal darts. Each projectile was small, but at close to Mach 7, the little hollow points were more than capable of putting a man down.

"Not much penetrating power," Markus cautioned her as she checked the battery pack on the weapon.

"She might not look like much, but she’s got it where it counts," Jocasta riposted, reaching into her duffel and withdrawing a U-shaped attachment with three noticeably large caliber rounds, clipping it to the nose of the needler. A telltale light lit up and the underslung launcher made three clicks as it ran its diagnostic.

"Tungsten jacketed slugs, all the penetration a girl could ask for," Jocasta explained, tucking the weapon into a pouch on her belt that looked like it should contain a multitool or a vacuum wrench.

Markus eyed her preparations with a mixture of admiration and skepticism. "So now we can go kill the bastard?" he groused. Jocasta shoved her remaining clothing into her duffel and slung it over her shoulder. Markus stared at her for a moment in disbelief.

"That hardware must weigh 200 pounds," he objected. Jocasta bounced the bag as though it weighed nothing.

"Hey, maybe I really work out," she winked. People were familiar with counter grav when it was used in ships, but it really was amazing what you could do with it when you put your mind to it.

"But to your killing the bastards point, fear not, your manhood shall soon be restored to you!" she promised grandiosely.

"My manhood is just fine; it’s my sword I want," Markus growled.

"Potato, potago," she replied blithely, leading the way out of the hotel as though she hadn’t a care in the world.



______________

"Badge check!" Jocasta called to a file of workers as they headed towards the service entrance to Gallanis compound. Unlike the main entrance with its gates of wrought iron and force field generators, the service entrance was unprepossessing — little more than a set of security blast doors and a checkpoint. Like the front door, however, it was well defended; a duraplas pillbox squatted opposite the checkpoint, a heavy automatic weapon protruding ominously to cover the approach. It was located a level below at the end of a long axial corridor that connected it to the docks so that goods and personnel could be brought in without disturbing his Lordship's gardens. The workmen, garbed in more or less the same clothing as Markus and Jocasta, looked up with a combination of irritation and fear as Jocasta stepped forward, producing a handheld computer with a scanning wand.

"Idents out, move along," Jocasta called, scanning the chip of each workman as they passed. Each time, her scanner lit green and bleeped its approval. One of the workers stepped close with an appreciative glance.

"What’s all this about?" he asked, giving her a bit of a leer for good measure. Jocasta didn’t look up from the holographic display on her scanner.

"I don’t know, something about a pair of dangerous and attractive mercenaries escaping his nibs' clutches," Jocasta replied with blithe disinterest that made Markus wince. She scanned the worker's chip and was rewarded with another approving bleep.

"Did Clem send you?" the man asked, apparently idly. Jocasta didn’t look up.

"Clem? Is this some sort of lower echelon joke I’m too well paid to understand?" she asked in a bored voice. The worker glared at her, glanced at Markus, who gave him a 'what can you do' shrug, and then returned to the line.

"So you scanned their IDs," Markus noted, "can you make up false ones to get us in?"

"Already have," Jocasta replied. There was a whirring as her scanner produced a plastic label. Jocasta slapped it across Markus’s right breast; it adhered to the fabric to form a name tag: Watson. She repeated the process, labeling herself Holmes.

"Watson and Holmes?" he asked.

"Just something a random name generator threw up," Jocasta replied innocently.

"So now we just bluff our way in?" he asked. Jocasta giggled.

"Of course not; they are expecting us!" She assured him.

"How can they be expecting us if you just faked these IDs?" he asked.

"Well, if you insist on knowing how the sausage is made, I broke up an appointment file into bits and uploaded it to each of those worker IDs. When the guards scan them, it goes into the mainframe; it just looks like junk. Except once it is in there, it will reassemble, and voilà, we are invited guests."

"Don’t they do genetic testing?"

"Of course, but we are already in their database," she chuckled, "I just relabeled our arrest files." Markus shook his head and set off towards the checkpoint. Two armed security troopers approached them with wands and scanned them. Despite the fact they were both heavily armed, the scanners made no complaint.

"In and out, Commissioner Holmes," the guard cautioned as he stepped back and waved the door open.
"Are you certain you need your secretary?" he asked, eyeing Markus up and down.

"The Starry Lady alone knows it’s better than him wandering around by himself," she replied in a put-upon voice. The guard nodded and let them through the door.

"Secretary?" Markus asked in a low growl.

"Hey, you want to pick the covers, you got to come to the meetings," Jocasta replied as they headed deeper into the compound.