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Again, The Guesser found himself vaguely perturbed by the relative freedom of Sixers. As long as they got their jobs done there was almost no checking as to how they spent their time. Well, actually, the jobs to which they were suited were rather trivial–some of them were actually “made work.” After all, in a well-run society, it was axiomatic that everyone have basic job security; that’s what kept everyone happy.

Of course, there were plenty of Sixers working in construction and on farms who were kept on their toes by overseers, but cleaning jobs and such didn’t need such supervision. A thing can only be so clean; there’s no quota to fill and exceed.

After several minutes of walking and climbing stairs–Sixers did not use lift chutes or drop chutes–he found the room where Deyla had told him to meet her. It was a small storeroom containing cleaning tools and supplies. She was waiting for him.

And, now that the time had actually come for them to act on her plan, fear showed on her face. The Guesser knew then that he had been right in his decision. But he said nothing about that yet.

“Now are you certain about the destination?” he asked before she could speak.

She nodded nervously. “Yes, yes. D’Graski’s Planet. That’s what he say.”

“Good.” The Guesser had waited for three weeks for this day, but he had known it would come eventually. D’Graski’s Planet was the nearest repair base; sooner or later, another ship had to make that as a port of call from Viornis. He had told Deyla that the route to D’Graski’s was the one most likely to be attacked by Misfit ships, that she would have to wait until a ship bound for there landed at the spaceport before the two of them could carry out their plan. And now the ship was here.

“What’s the name of the ship?” he asked.

“Th-the Trobwell.”

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked, suddenly and harshly.

She shivered. “Scared. Awful scared.”

“I thought so. Have you got the clothing?”

“Y-yes.” Then she broke down completely. “You got to help me! You got to show me how to act like Exec lady! Show me how to talk! Otherwise, we both get caught!”

He shook her to quiet her. “Shut up!” When she had quieted, he said: “You are right, of course; we’d both be caught if you were to slip up. But I’m afraid it’s too late to teach you now. It’s always been too late.”

“Wha-what … what you mean?”

“Never mind. Where’s the traveling case?”

She pointed silently towards a shelf, one of many that lined the room.

The Guesser went over and pulled out a box of cleaning dust-filters. Behind it was a gold-and-blue traveling case. The girl had spent months stealing the little things inside it, bit by bit, long before The Guesser had come into her life, dreaming of the day when she would become an Exec lady. Not until he had come had she tried to project that dream into reality.

The Guesser thumbed the opener, and the traveling case split into halves. The sight of the golden uniform of a Class One Executive gleamed among the women’s clothing. And she had forgotten no detail; the expensive beamgun and holster lay beneath the uniform.

He picked it up carefully, almost reverently. It was the first time he’d held one since he’d been beamed down himself, so long ago. He turned the intensity knob down to the “stun” position.

“We going to put them on here?” she asked in a hushed voice. “Just walk out? Me, I scared!”

He stood up, the stun gun in his hand, its muzzle pointed toward the floor. “Let me tell you something,” he said, keeping his voice as kindly as he could. “Maybe it will keep you out of further trouble. You could never pass as an Exec. Never. It wouldn’t matter how long you tried to practice, you simply couldn’t do it. Your mind is incapable of it. Your every word, your every mannerism, would be a dead giveaway.”