“Here you go,” I said, standing up. “Nieman Marcus at your disposal. Go at it. Tchopp.”

Bult sat down, shot his umbrella open, and started talking to the computer. “One dozen pair digiscan polarized field glasses,” he said, “with telemetry and object enhancement functions.”

Ev stared.

“One ‘High Rollers Special’ slot machine,” Bult said.

Ev came over with the platter. “Bult can speak English?” he said.

I grabbed a chunk of meat. “Depends. When he’s ordering stuff, yeah. When you’re talking to him, not much. When you’re trying to negotiate satellite surveys or permission to set up a gate, no hablo inglais.” I grabbed another hunk of meat.

“Stop that!” C.J. said, bringing in the vegetables. “Honestly, Fin, you’ve got the manners of a gatecrasher! You could at least wait till we get to the table!” She set the vegetables down. “Carson! Dinner’s ready!” she called and went back into the kitchen.

He came in, wiping his hands on a towel. He’d washed up and shaved around his mustache. He came over close to me. “Find anything?” he muttered.

“Maybe.”

Ev, still holding the meat platter, was looking at me inquiringly.

I said, “I found out those binocs you lost are gonna cost us three hundred.”

“I lost?” Carson said. “You’re the one who lost ’em. I laid ’em right next to your pack. Why on hell’s it three hundred?”

“Possible technological contamination,” I said. “If they turn up on an indidge it’ll be five hundred you lost us.”

“I lost us!” he said.

C.J. came in, carrying a bowl of rice. She’d switched her shirt for one with even lower coordinates, and lights around the edges like the ones on Bult’s umbrella.

“You were the one in a hurry to get back here and meet Evelyn,” I said. I pulled a chair out from the table, stepped over it, and sat down.