"An idiot," said Charisse casually as if expecting Dumarest to ask the question. "I've done what I could but the basic gene structure was rotten to begin with."

"A local?"

"No." She took a sip of wine, lavender this time, tart with citrus. "Podestanians aren't to be trusted."

Which was why they stayed in her vessel? Dumarest itched to examine it but knew better than to insist. As a guest he had to defer to his hostess but he wondered what the ship could contain, how the holds had been designed.

"You're curious, Earl." She met his eyes. "Don't bother to deny it. Who am I? What am I doing? What do I intend? Questions easily answered. I own the Chetame Laboratories. I deal in manufactured life forms and will supply any who have the price to buy. Gene manipulation, forced growth, breeding for desired characteristics-you must know the kind of thing. Know too why you interest me so much. Your speed and determination are unusual traits and should be cultivated. You would be surprised to learn how many women yearn for the perfect mate to provide perfect offspring. How many would be willing to pay highly for selected sperm with a guarantee as to results and quality. Not to speak of the men who want strong and prideful sons. More wine?"

She poured without waiting for an answer, leaning close across the table so as to fill his nostrils with the scent of her perfume. She radiated an almost feral heat, stirred his masculinity, smiled as, sitting back, she held him with her eyes.

"My father taught me most of what I know," she said. "He died last year and the laboratories came to me. My mother was a geneticist trained on Shaldom-they are far advanced in the art of chromosome unification. A man with two heads, a woman with four arms-pay for it and they will supply it."