"Ah, a pity. Perhaps on your next trip," says Ryoval. He turns away.

"You can't sell a galactic citizen," says Thorne, not so easily calmed.

Ryoval, in feigned surprise, turns back. "Why, I just realized. You aren't just Betan, you must be a genuine hermaphrodite. Such a rarity. I could double your pay, you know - and you wouldn't have to get shot at - there could be group rates -"

Thorne does not, actually, explode or make an attempt on Ryoval's life, but it's a near thing.

"No? Ah well. But I would pay handsomely for a tissue sample of yours, too. For my files."

"My clone-siblings to be - be your sex-slaves for the next century - over my dead body - b-better yet yours -"

"So Betan," sighs Ryoval, almost affectionate.

"Stop it, Ry," growls Fell.

"Oh, very well. But it's so easy."