“Why is it so important?” Ashwood asked him, tact being one of the few, four-letter words with which she was not comfortable.

Instead of replying, Fewick went to his desk and opened a side drawer. The disc slipped into a vacant slot alongside dozens of others. The storage capacity represented by the contents of that single drawer, Carter knew, must be immense.

“There was something on there about a reward?” Ashwood said pointedly.

Fewick shut the drawer. “Oh, that’s old information. I should have erased that long ago.”

Her expression narrowed and she adopted a tone that startled Carter. Suddenly she didn’t sound like good old Marj, the wardrobe lady.

“Old information? You handled that sucker like it was yesterday’s prostate scan.” Her voice softened. “Besides, would you really try to cheat an old lady?”

“Oh, very well.” He sighed. “I suppose that to your way of thinking you have gone to some trouble. I will give you … a hundred dollars.”

“The disc said a thousand.”

“Two hundred, then.” A large rust-colored tomcat suddenly materialized atop the desk. Carter decided it had been sleeping in the leg space beneath. It rubbed up against Fewick, who reached down to stroke its back. Half-closed Persian eyes regarded the visitors.

“This is Moe.” Their host was enjoying himself, Carter saw.

“Nine hundred,” said Ashwood.

“Three.” Fewick continued to stroke the cat. “My best friend. Have you ever noticed how much nicer cats are than humans? I truly believe they are our only equals.” He eyed the immovable Ashwood. “Unlike Moe, I do not have a lot of time to waste in play. Five hundred.”

Ashwood muttered something under her breath. “All right.”

Fewick had a very small mouth which all but disappeared behind bunched cheeks when he smiled. Seating himself behind the desk, he wrote out a check, then rose to hand it to Ashwood. She was watching him warily.

“How do I know you won’t stop payment on this soon as we’re out the door?”

Fewick clasped his hands together delightedly. “What delicious cynicism! Madam, I could easily have given you nothing. This I offer for your time and out of the goodness of my heart.”

“I have this feeling that your heart is full of goo, not goodness.”

Fewick pursed his incongruously small lips. “You wound me deeply.”

“I ‘wound you deeply’? Y’all been watchin’ too many bad movies, bubbles. You need to get clear o’ this mausoleum more and out into the real world.”

“Marjorie!”

“It is quite all right, Mr. Carter,” Fewick assured him. “My verbal affectations reflect an admiration for a world of elegance lost to time. I am inured to criticism of both my speech and appearance. That explained, you will both now do me the courtesy of departing.”

“Did you have to insult him, Marjorie?” Carter slid behind the wheel of the rented car, turned the ignition.

“Nope. But it sure was fun. The cheap son of a bitch promised a thousand bucks reward. He got off on cheating us.” She held up the check. “I had half a mind to wad this up and throw it back in his face. Fortunately the other half of my mind stayed in control.” She dropped the check into her purse. “Hey, how about we go back through Valdosta? We got time.”

“What’s in Valdosta?” He turned out of the driveway and onto the main street.

“I dunno. But the name always intrigued me.”

As the wrought-iron gate closed, the rotund shape standing at the second-floor window lowered the drape it had been holding aside and returned to the gilded desk. Seating himself, Bruton Fewick opened the file drawer and carefully removed the prodigal disc.

It slid easily into a slot in the side of the computer that emerged on command from within the desk. Not until several complex passwords had been processed did the screen fill with precious information. Only when he was certain nothing had been damaged did he allow himself to relax.

He’d been utilizing the research library at the University of Georgia when an acquaintance had mentioned that there might be an open spot on a forthcoming excursion to a nearby movie set. The result of letting himself be talked into participating had been near disaster. Months of work, of reading and poring over maps, would have been lost forever if not for the resourcefulness of the simple people who had found his disc.

Now his efforts were about to enter a new stage. It was time to begin final preparations. He could have survived the loss of the disc, but it would have set him back many months, and after years of research and toil the delay would have been painful.

Soon the whole world would know his name, would stand in awe of his accomplishments. Especially his parents, who had barely condescended to speak to him ever since he’d announced his intention while a junior at college to pursue a field of endeavor outside the family business.

He stroked the big tom, listening to it purr contentedly. He had the cat to thank for that. It was Moe who had accidentally dislodged the book in his father’s library which had so intrigued the studious young Bruton and changed the course of his life. Prior to that he had been at best an indifferent student. Subsequent to his change of direction he had applied himself to his studies with a vengeance.

It did not bother him that his parents disapproved. Their attitude toward their only son had always been lukewarm at best. They had raised him as one might a pedigreed dog for which they had overpaid, cozening but rarely touching, admiring formally while still regarding him with a distinct air of vague disappointment.

That would change with the fulfillment of his work. They would have no choice but to admire and recognize his achievements because their snooty society friends certainly would. He smiled down at Moe, mentally thanking the cat yet again for the providential accident which had so changed his life. Fewick had encountered the stray on campus and it had immediately attached itself to the hefty pre-law student. They’d been together ever since.

We’re both outcasts, he thought. We belong together.

Pulling a book from the pile on his desk he began comparing its contents with notes recorded on the disc. Soon his parents would be able to ignore him no longer. They would have to admit that he’d been right all along, that they’d been wrong. His growing fame would soon eclipse their anger and disappointment.

Even his haughty, supercilious father would be forced to confess that having a famous archaeologist in the family might not be such a bad thing after all.

The Renegade was reasonably content. While another creature might have reacted ebulliently now that plans long in the making were nearing fruition, he remained restrained. His sense of time was very different from that of the ordinary sentient.

Not that he wasn’t enjoying the game. In the end, it was all that made existence worthwhile. If not for it, he surely would have expired long ago of inconceivable ennui.

Events were progressing according to plan despite the presence of the Monitor. Her futile attempts to locate him and put a stop to his activities only added to his enjoyment. Nothing was going to interfere with his little amusement. Boredom could be allayed only by the introduction of unexpected anomalies into the developmental scheme, and if millions died as a result, well, it promised some real excitement at last. He looked forward eagerly to the culmination of his gambit.

Slip-sliding boredly through the planes of existence had led him to stumble on this unique opportunity to unhinge normality. He had immediately grasped the dynamic possibilities. Only recently had the local Monitor even begun to sense his presence. Her subsequent attempts to confront him were a continuing source of amusement.

He had been patient and would continue to be so. Of course, there was always the possibility of local interference, but he was confident he could cope with that without revealing himself. The local sentients were entertaining but not very perceptive. They no more suspected his existence than they did that of the Monitor. Their tendency to spend so much of their time looking inward was one of the things that made them so much fun to play with.

Nothing would stop him. He had committed too much time, too much effort, to allow that to happen. The key to local destabilization was a gift from a sardonic cosmos, one that he intended to put to optimal use.

If developed to its utmost it might even provide him with a power base with which to challenge stabilities elsewhere. That would truly complicate the work of the Monitors. A pity none of the other Shihararaneth shared his passion for chaos and disruption. He found their obsession with ordered progress and evolution sickening. It was up to him alone to do something about it.

Even if it did mean having to start small.

IV

The pat on his backside didn’t startle Carter. Years in the business had resigned him to uninvited contact. But the identity of the perpetrator did surprise him.

Marjorie Ashwood was grinning up at him, a drink clutched loosely in one hand. Not the cheap champagne the producers had magnanimously provided for the wrap party, but hard liquor the hue of burnt acorns. She was happy, not drunk.

“Hi, good-lookin’.”

“Hello, Marjorie.”

She gave him a conspiratorial wink. “I gotta secret. Wanna know my secret?”