That wasn't the only function of the Skin. The parasite, created in the bio-factories, had several other social and biological uses.
Rastignac almost fell into a reverie at that point. It was nothing unusual. The effect of the Skins was a slowing-down one. The wearer thought more slowly, acted more leisurely, and was much more contented.
But now, by a deliberate wrenching of himself from the feeling-pattern, Rastignac woke up. There were things to do, and standing around and drinking in the lotus of the group-rapport was not one of them.
He gestured at the prostrate form of the mucketeer. "You didn't hurt him?"
The Ssassaror rumbled, "No. I scratched him with a little venom of the dream-snake. He will sleep for an hour or so. Besides, I would not be allowed to hurt him. You forget that all this is carefully staged by the King's Official Jail-breaker."
"Me'dt!" swore Rastignac.
Alarmed, Archambaud said, "What's the matter, Jean-Jacques?"
"Can't we do anything on our own? Must the King meddle in everything?"
"You wouldn't want us to take a chance and have to shed blood, would you?" breathed Archambaud.
"What are you carrying those swords for? As a decoration?" Rastignac snarled.