Jasper Jordan followed Sawbill up a small boarding ladder and into the bowels of the old sloop. The pirn-bird, which might have been an emperor at one time— and then again, might not—looked down at them and whistled: Ee-kwoo, ee-kwoo, ee-kwoo-hoo …
Jasper Jordan seated himself in an undisciplined old chair in the spacious centra] cabin.
“You wait there,” Sawbill said softly, “while ,1 get what you want.” He disappeared forward.
Jordan looked around. The decor was esoteric— indeed, eccentric. Most of the furnishings were made from natural woods. Some were dark-grained and highly polished, others as brown as raw bacon. For sheer color chromoplate had them beat hollow. For tactile beauty it was no contest.
The chair in which he sat was worlds removed from the late-model automatic fluxator in his office, the one that molded itself to every contour of his body. But somehow this collection of springs and stuffing flattered, his backside quite well.
Sawbill returned. He sat down opposite Jordan and placed seven tiny capsules on the table between them. Each was clearly numbered. Jordan leaned forward.
“As you can see, there are seven pills,” began Saw-bill. “They are to be taken in sequence, an hour apart.
57
WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE . . .
No closer than that, timewise. A thousand credits apiece. You have your card and meter with you?”
Jordan nodded. He reached into a pocket, brought out both. After making the necessary adjustments he handed the card to Sawbill.
“What happens after I’ve taken them all?”