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."He bridled."You may not be aware of it, but surgery to reattach my own arm would show the same scars.""Is that what happened?"Anger made his speech more precise."Yes.I was performing an experiment, and there was an explosion.The arm was nearly severed.I tied a tourniquet and got to a 'doc before I collapsed.""Any proof of this?""I doubt it.I never told anyone of this accident, and the 'doc wouldn't keep records.In any case, I think the burden of proof would be on you.""Uh huh."Peterfi was putting his tunic back on."Are you quite finished here? I'm deeply sorry for Ray Sinclair's death, but I don't see what it could possibly have to do with my stupidity of six months ago."I didn't, either.We left.Back in the car.It was seventeen-twenty; we could pick up a snack on the way to Pauline Urthiel's place.I told Valpredo, "I think it was a transplant.And he didn't want to admit it.He must have gone to an organlegger.""Why would he do that? It's not that tough to get an arm from the public organ banks."I chewed that."You're right.But if it was a normal transplant, there'll be a record.Well, it could have happened the way he said it did.""Uh huh.""How about this? He was doing an experiment, and it was illegal.Something that might cause pollution in a city or even something to do with radiation.He picked up radiation burns in his arm.If he'd gone to the public organ banks, he'd have been arrested.""That would fit too.Can we prove it on him?""I don't know.I'd like to.He might tell us how to find whoever he dealt with.Let's do some digging: maybe we can find out what he was working on six months ago."* * * *Pauline Urthiel opened the door the instant we rang."Hi! I just got in myself.Can I make you drinks?"We refused.She ushered us into a smallish apartment with a lot of fold-into-the-ceiling furniture.A sofa and coffee table were showing now; the rest existed as outlines on the ceiling.The view through the picture window was breathtaking.She lived near the top of Lindstetter's Needle, some three hundred stories up from her husband.She was tall and slender, with a facial structure that would have been effeminate on a man.On a woman it was a touch masculine.The well-formed breasts might be flesh or plastic but were surgically implanted in either case.She finished making a large drink and joined us on the couch.And the questions started.Had she any idea who might have wanted Raymond Sinclair dead?"Not really.How did he die?""Someone smashed in his skull with a poker," Valpredo said.If he wasn't going to mention the generator, neither was I."How quaint." Her contralto turned acid."His own poker, too, I presume.Out of his own fireplace rack.What you're looking for is a traditionalist." She peered at us over rim of her glass.Her eyes were large, the lids decorated in semipermanent tattoos as a pair of flapping UN flags."That doesn't help much, does it? You might try whoever was working with him on whatever his latest project was."That sounded like Peterfi, I thought.But Valpredo said, "Would he necessarily have a collaborator?""He generally works alone at the beginning.But somewhere along the line he brings in people to make the hardware.He never made anything real by himself.It was all just something in a computer bank.It took someone else to make it real.And he never gave credit to anyone."Then his hypothetical collaborator might have found out how little credit he was getting for his work, and -- But Urthiel was shaking her head."I'm talking about a psychotic, not someone who's really been cheated.Sinclair never _offered_ anyone a share in anything he did.He always made it damn plain what was happening.I knew what I was doing when I set up the FyreStop prototype for him, and I knew what I was doing when I quit.It was all him.He was using my training, not my brain.I wanted to do something original, something _me_."Did she have any idea what Sinclair's present project was?"My husband would know.Larry Ecks, lives in this same building.He's been dropping cryptic hints, and when I want more details, he has this grin -- " She grinned herself suddenly."You'll gather I'm interested.But he won't say."Time for me to take over or we'd never get certain questions asked."I'm an ARM.What I'm about to tell you is secret," I said.And I told her what we knew of Sinclair's generator.Maybe Valpredo was looking at me disapprovingly, maybe not."We know that the field can damage a human arm in a few seconds.What we want to know," I said, "is whether the killer is now wandering around with a half-decayed hand or arm -- or foot, for that -- "She stood and pulled the upper half of her body stocking down around her waist.She looked very much a real woman.If I hadn't known -- and why would it matter? These days the sex change operation is elaborate and perfect.Hell with it; I was on duty.Valpredo was looking nonchalant, waiting for me.I examined both of her arms with my eyes and my three hands.There was nothing.Not even a bruise."My legs, too?"I said, "Not if you can stand on them."Next question.Could an artificial arm operate within the field?"Larry? You mean _Larry_? You're out of your teeny mind.""Take it as a hypothetical question."She shrugged."Your guess is as good as mine.There aren't any experts on inertialess fields.""There was one.He's dead," I reminded her."All I know is what I learned watching the Gray Lensman show in the holo wall when I was a kid." She smiled suddenly."That old space opera."Valpredo laughed."You, too? I used to watch that show in study hall on a little pocket phone.One day the principal caught me at it.""Sure.And then we outgrew it.Too bad.Those inertialess ships.I'm sure an inertialess ship wouldn't behave like those did.You couldn't possibly get rid of the time compression effect." She took a long pull on her drink, set it down, and said, "Yes and no.He could reach in,but -- you see the problem? The nerve impulses that move the motors in Larry's arm, they're coming into the field too slowly.""Sure.""But if Larry closed his fist on something, say, and reached into the field with it, it would probably stay closed.He could have brained Ray with -- no, he couldn't.The poker wouldn't be moving any faster than a glacier.Ray would just dodge."And he couldn't pull a poker out of the field, either.His fist wouldn't close on it after it was inside.But he could have tried and still left with his arm intact, I thought.Did Urthiel know anything of the circumstances surrounding Edward Sinclair's exemption?"Oh, that's an old story," she said."Sure, I heard about it.How could it possibly have anything to do with, with Ray's murder?""I don't know," I confessed."I'm just thrashing around.""Well, you'll probably get it more accurately from the UN files
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