Vyra eyed him disapprovingly. “Well, aren’t you going to taste anything, after all the fuss you made?”

“I didn’t make any fuss,” he protested. “Help yourself. I’m still digesting my entree.”

“I would not sample the food just yet.”

Manz blinked at his Minder. “Why not?”

“I have detected movement within.”

“Of course.” Vyra smiled perfectly as she skewered a spongy ball of yellow cake and plunged it into the fondue, stirring slowly. “Fondue is supposed to bubble.” She removed the skewer and slipped the chocolate-coated cake between perfect lips, sucking it off the skewer with a movement that could have melted more than chocolate. A sensuous smile spread across her face. Fine chocolate does that to people, even offworlders.

“Semisweet liquid satin. You really ought to try some.”

“All right, already.” He speared some cake. “Here, you try those sugar honeycombs, or whatever they are.”

“With pleasure.” She reached into the deep bowl of opaque crystalline spheres and abruptly jerked her hand back.

“Ow! Something bit me!”

A concerned Manz leaned forward slightly to eye the polished metal container. “Must be a sharp edge inside the bowl.”

“Look, I know when …”

But he wasn’t listening. He was staring at the bowl.

With incredible convulsive energy an ugly white segmented body was squirming its way free of the sugary globes. Each segment boasted a pair of small, clawed legs. The blunt, repulsive head was all dull white compound eyes and hooked jaws. Most of the body was still hidden within the candy.

Before it could twist free, a metal composite whip slashed down and smashed the head and upper quarter of the tough, armored body. It also crushed the bowl and left its imprint embedded in the tabletop. Moses cocked his limb for another blow, but the first strike had reduced the offworld arthropod to a violently contorting splotch within the crushed bowl. With the remains of its entire ten-centimeter-long body now exposed, the stinger at the tail end was clearly visible.

Ignoring the stares of the other diners, Manz had darted around the table. He was holding Vyra’s right hand and staring at the spreading redness in the center of her palm.

“How’re you doing?” he asked stupidly. Everything had happened so fast. On the tabletop the creature’s contortions were slowly winding down. Spilled fondue formed a pool of viscous brown fluid that dripped slowly to the floor.

“Hurts,” she said tightly. “My fingers are going numb.”

“Son of a bitch. What was it, Moses? Recognize the species?”

“I regret to say that I do not.”

“It is a Qaraca.” Manz didn’t have to look up at the eventoned Minder. “A large adult specimen. Extremely venomous. I told you I saw movement,” it added.

“You didn’t say where,” Manz snapped angrily.

“I warned you about the food. Before I could be certain, Ms. Kullervo made contact.”

Holding her right wrist with her left hand, Vyra rose shakily and stepped away from the table. “Could we maybe apportion blame another time? I can feel it spreading up my arm.” She was beginning to tremble, the first indication that her system was starting to go into shock. “Broddy … this is so embarrassing … I feel all of a sudden real dizzy. I’ve never fainted in my life. I imagine the sensation will be …”

She collapsed and he barely caught her as she slumped, easing her gently to the floor. By this time they’d attracted quite a crowd.

“The adult Qaraca employs an omnispecific neurotoxin. By the same token a general antivenin should be capable of neutralizing its effect, if applied in time.” The Minder was studying the prone form of Vyra with professional disinterest. “Her breathing is already growing shallow.”

“I can see that, damn it!” Kneeling beside her, Manz turned to yell at the crowd. “Medical, somebody flash Medical!” The human maitre d’ had arrived at the back of the group to see what was going on. Now he turned and raced for his station.

Her eyelids were fluttering, the pupils hugely dilated. “Broddy, I can’t see too well.”

He cradled the stung hand as gently as he could. The intense redness had spread from her palm all the way to her shoulder. “Easy, Vyra, easy. There’ll be a doctor here soon.” He was sweating profusely.

“Everything looks funny. Of course, everything Earthside always looks funny to an offworlder, but I mean real funny. Tilting, blurry … Broddy, I don’t feel so good.”

“I know.” Somehow he forced a smile, wondering if she could see it. “Quit this. You’re making me nervous.”

“Sorry.” She smiled weakly back up at him. “Here’s a little squeeze to make you feel better.”

“Thanks. That helps.” Her fingers had barely twitched, much less contracted, but she was unaware that paralysis was already taking hold. If it reached her heart …

“Please let me through! I’m a doctor. Let me through, please!” With the maitre d’ running interference, a small olive-skinned gentleman was pushing through the crescent of gaping onlookers. He wore an elegant suit of synthetic silk and an anxious expression.

Moses and Manz made room for him as he bent over Vyra. Her eyes were still open but no longer tracking.

“House physician,” he explained. “Technically I went off duty three hours ago.”

“Glad you decided to hang around,” said Manz earnestly.

“Normally I don’t. But I met this account executive from Milan. One of the benefits of working at a good hotel frequented by well-off travelers. You manage a nice class of dates. We were having dinner. I eat free here.” He was taking the measure of Vyra’s condition with commendable speed. “What did this?”

Manz glanced at his drifting Minder. “Something called a Qaraca. It was in with some of the food. Stung her when she reached into the bowl where it was hiding. I’m reliably informed that it uses a nonspecific neurotoxin.”

“You’re certainly up on your offworld venomites.” The physician reached inside his dinner jacket and extracted a small, flat plastic case. It popped open to reveal dozens of tiny vials and several jewellike instruments. Moses worked to keep the curious crowd at a distance.

As Manz looked on, the doctor pressed the tip of one of the devices to Vyra’s throat, then her chest. He checked the tiny, glowing readout, then inserted one of the vials into another instrument, much like someone loading a small pistol.

“I’m going to have to guess at the dosage. You’re sure the toxin is nonspecific?”

Manz peered sideways at his Minder, which remained silent. “I’m sure.”

The physician took a deep breath. “I wish I could run a full workup first, but she won’t last that long. We have to neutralize the venom and then get her to a hospital as quickly as possible.” Leaning close, he ripped the sleeve of Vyra’s dress and clenched her forearm, hunting for a vein.

At that point a sound came from her lips.

Manz leaned over. “She’s trying to say something. Vyra? Vyra, what is it?”

The sound came again, louder. He sat back, a baffled expression on his face.

She was giggling.

Soon she was laughing hysterically. Hysterically amused as opposed to hysterically out of control. Her body jerked and bounced, and she had to cross her arms over her chest.

Gripping the injector in one hand, the apprehensive physician eyed her uncertainly. “She’s experiencing some kind of violent side reaction. Hold her still, please.”