“International law is a tangled field, Bernie. And this might be even more complex. You’d be wise to do something about it.”

“But what? What should I do, Ricardo?”

“Bernie,” he said, sounding sore as hell, “I told you I’m in a faculty meeting, damn it! A faculty meeting!” And he hung up.

I ran out of the drug store like a wild man and grabbed a cab back to Eksar’s hotel.

What was I most afraid of? I didn’t know, I was so hysterical. This thing was too big-time for a little guy like me, too damn dangerously big-time. It would put my name up in lights as the biggest sellout sucker in history. Who could ever trust me again to make a deal? I had the feeling like somebody had asked me to sell him a snapshot, and I’d said sure, and it turned out to be a picture of the Nike Zeus, you know, one of those top-secret atomic missiles. Only this was worse: I’d sold out my whole goddamn world. I had to buy it back—I had to!

When I got to Eksar’s room, I knew he was about ready to check out. He was shoving his funny portable TV in one of those cheap leather grips they sell in chain stores. I left the door open, for the light.

“We made our deal,” he said. “It’s over. No more deals.”

I stood there, blocking his way. “Eksar,” I told him, “listen to what I figured out. First, you’re not human. Like me, I mean.”

“I’m a hell of a lot more human than you, buddy boy.”

“Oh, sure. You’re a custom-built Cadillac and I’m a four-cylinder factory job. But you’re not from Earth—that’s my point. My point is why you want Earth. You can’t personally need a—”

“I don’t need it. I’m an agent. I represent someone.”

And there it was, straight out, you are right, Morris Burlap! I stared into his fish eyes, practically pushing into my face. I wouldn’t budge an inch if he killed me. “You’re an agent for someone,” I repeated slowly. “Who? What do they want Earth for?”