"You have nothing else of value?"
The meaning was lost on the trader,
"I don't understand.
What is it you want?"
The Askonian's hands spread apart,
"You ask me to trade places with you, and make known to you my wants.
I think not.
Your colleague, it seems, must suffer the punishment set for sacrilege by the Askonian code.
Death by gas.
We are a just people.
The poorest peasant, in like case, would suffer no more. I, myself, would suffer no less."
Ponyets mumbled hopelessly,
"Your Veneration, would it be permitted that I speak to the prisoner?"
"Askonian law," said the Grand Master coldly, "allows no communication with a condemned man."
Mentally, Ponyets held his breath,
"Your Veneration, I ask you to be merciful towards a man's soul, in the hour when his body stands forfeit.
He has been separated from spiritual consolation in all the time that his life has been in danger.
Even now, he faces the prospect of going unprepared to the bosom of the Spirit that rules all."
The Grand Master said slowly and suspiciously,
"You are a Tender of the Soul?"
Ponyets dropped a humble head,
"I have been so trained.
In the empty expanses of space, the wandering traders need men like myself to care for the spiritual side of a life so given over to commerce and worldly pursuits."
The Askonian ruler sucked thoughtfully at his lower lip.
"Every man should prepare his soul for his journey to his ancestral spirits.
Yet I had never thought you traders to be believers." 3.
Eskel Gorov stirred on his couch and opened one eye as Limmar Ponyets entered the heavily reinforced door. It boomed shut behind him.
Gorov sputtered and came to his feet.
"Ponyets!
They sent you?"
"Pure chance," said Ponyets, bitterly, "or the work of my own personal malevolent demon.
Item one, you get into a mess on Askone.
Item two, my sales route, as known to the Board of Trade, carries me within fifty parsecs of the system at just the time of item one.
Item three, we've worked together before and the Board knows it.
Isn't that a sweet, inevitable set-up?
The answer just pops out of a slot."
"Be careful," said Gorov, tautly.
"There'll be someone listening.
Are you wearing a Field Distorter?"
Ponyets indicated the ornamented bracelet that hugged his wrist and Gorov relaxed.
Ponyets looked about him.
The cell was bare, but large.
It was well-lit and it lacked offensive odors.
He said, "Not bad.
They're treating you with kid gloves."
Gorov brushed the remark aside,
"Listen, how did you get down here?
I've been in strict solitary for almost two weeks."
"Ever since I came, huh?
Well, it seems the old bird who's boss here has his weak points.