"Meaning you won't."
This was intriguing. Now it was the agency, not he, who wanted help.
"Don't overplay it," cautioned Dimanche, who had been consistently silent.
She leaned forward attentively. He experienced an uneasy moment. Was it possible she had noticed his private conversation? Of course not. Yet—
"Please," she said, and the tone allayed his fears. "There's an emergency situation and I've got to attend to it. Will you go with me?" She smiled understandingly at his quizzical expression. "Travelers Aid is always having emergencies."
She was rising. "It's too late to go to the Bureau. My place has a number of machines with which I keep in touch with the spaceport."
"I wonder," said Dimanche puzzledly. "She doesn't subvocalize at all. I haven't been able to get a line on her. I'm certain she didn't receive any sort of call. Be careful. This might be a trick."
"Interesting," said Cassal. He wasn't in the mood to discuss it.
Her habitation was luxurious, though Cassal wasn't impressed. Luxury was found everywhere in the Universe. Huntner women weren't. He watched as she adjusted the machines grouped at one side of the room. She spoke in a low voice; he couldn't distinguish words. She actuated levers, pressed buttons: impedimenta of communication.
At last she finished. "I'm tired. Will you wait till I change?"