Not only had brothers been killing each other since Cain wasted Abel, but the fingerprint lock (a standard ten-points-of-comparison model) on Skye’s private inner office was programmed to recognize only four people — Skye himself; his office cleaner, who Suze was going to talk to; another soothsayer named Jennifer Halasz, who sometimes took Skye’s patients for him when he was on vacation (and who had called in the murder, having stopped by apparently to meet Skye for coffee); and dear brother Rodger. Rodger lived in Wheel Four, and worked in One.

I took a cab over to his office. Unlike Skye, Rodger had a real flesh-and-blood receptionist. Most companies that did have human receptionists used middle-aged, businesslike people of either sex. Some guys got so rich that they didn’t care what people thought; they hired beautiful blonde women whose busts had been surgically altered far beyond what any phenotype might provide. But Rodger’s choice was different. His receptionist was a delicate young man with refined, almost feminine features. He was probably older than he looked; he looked fourteen.

“Detective Toby Korsakov,” I said, flashing my ID. I didn’t offer to shake hands — the boy looked like his would shatter if any pressure were applied. “I’d like to see Rodger Hissock.”

“Do you have an appointment?” His voice was high, and there was just a trace of a lisp.

“No. But I’m sure Mr. Hissock will want to see me. It’s important.”

The boy looked very dubious, but he spoke into an intercom. “There’s a cop here, Rodger. Says it’s important.”

There was a pause. “Send him in,” said a loud voice. The boy nodded at me, and I walked through the heavy wooden door — mahogany, no doubt imported all the way from Earth.

I had thought Skye Hissock’s office was well-appointed, but his brother’s put it to shame. Objets d’art from a dozen worlds were tastefully displayed on crystal stands. The carpet was so thick I was sure my shoes would sink out of sight. I walked toward the desk. Rodger rose to greet me. He was a muscular man, thick-necked, with lots of black hair and pale gray eyes. We shook hands; his grip was a show of macho strength. “Hello,” he said. He boomed out the word, clearly a man used to commanding everyone’s attention. “What can I do for you?”