Starblood

he and Creel possessed. But it went further than that. In the terror and pain of getting to the top, Klaus Margle had rejected the smaller goal of learning to cope and command in favor of the larger goal of being able to dominate and demand. It was the same chilly madness that infected dictators.
    "We'll trace you," Margle said. And,Timothy knew that was true. The Brethren could easily afford the services of a Mind-link technician who would not be against picking up a tidy sum for some swift extracurricular—and extralegal—work. "We'll trace you, and then we'll come for you." He grinned. It was an almost effeminate grin, his lips too full and sensuous for that scarred and battered countenance. Then he raised his pistol butt and smashed in the glass…
    Half an hour later, just as Timothy finished running the film through automatic developing equipment, Detective Modigliani arrived from the city police in response to the call Ti had placed immediately after returning home from Taguster's house. At first, there had been some hesitance about sending a detective to the house, since Timothy refused even to state what his problem was. But when they had discovered who he was, all the red tape seemed to shred through like crepe paper.
    Modigliani was a thin, intense man with a pencil mustache and a quick way of moving that made him seem somehow birdlike. He introduced himself in tight, sharp words, his voice thin and almost irritating. Ti ushered him into the living room with all the courtesy he possessed, correctly deciding that Modigliani was not the type to respond to more forceful techniques.
    When they were both seated, the thin man said, "This
is
most unusual."
    "It's an unusual case."
    "Tell me." He made it seem as if Timothy was the criminal and not the good citizen reporting a violation of the law. When Ti finished the story without eliciting even a raised eyebrow from the detective, Modigliani said, "Quite extraordinary. And you say you have the film?"
    "Yes."
    Modigliani scowled. His
eyes were
hooded cobra eyes. "You've invaded someone's privacy, you know."
    "What?"
    Modigliani did not move any part of his body even a fraction of an inch. It seemed he was carved of stone. "It's an invasion of privacy to use the communications media to photograph others in their own homes."
    "But I was getting evidence!" Timothy protested, already aware that protest was useless.
    "That's the work of the police," Modigliani countered.
    "I know," Ti said desperately, trying to hold his rising anger in check as he rose from his cup-chair, "that Klaus Margle has been arrested nine times without serving any time whatsoever."
    Modigliani shifted forward a little at the waist, as if the stone sculpture was cracking. "What are you suggesting?" Again, he had the look of a bird—a predatory bird.
    Ti restrained himself. "Nothing. Nothing. But would you like to see the films? That's what I asked you here for."
    Modigliani nodded his interest, and Timothy led the way into the library, where the projector and screen were prepared. He dimmed the room lights. The projector hummed, and the screen was filled with images out of a surreal fantasy. Eddying clouds of smoke, then three dark figures with small breathers clamped in their nostrils. The picture zoomed in on the leader of the raiding party, and there was Klaus Margle. Ti shivered at the cruel, delicate yet scarred face of the underworld Don.
    But there was
only
his face. As the film progressed, Ti discovered he had been
so
anxious to get good shots of Margle's face that he had missed all the damning action they had been involved in. The camera had been trained only on their heads, catching only hints of the fight with the fake Taguster. The threatening face of the last few feet of film lost all force when the words and their harsh tone were absent It was almost a friendly smile without the words behind it.
    The film stuttered, slipped, was gone. "Not much," Modigliani said. When Timothy weakly began to argue, the detective interrupted. "Faces. You could have filmed Mr. Margle almost anywhere."
    "But the tear gas—"
    "And I didn't see him killing anyone. I still think we should be concerned with an invasion of privacy here, rather than murder."
    Timothy saw the futility of disagreement, but he felt bound to argue. In the end, he could manage only to persuade Modigliani to call Taguster's house. Either the receiver would be broken, giving credence to his story, or they would meet Klaus