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Rogue Winter is King of the Maori Commandos. His lover is the beautiful Demi Jeroux, who has been kidnapped by the villanous Manchu Duke of Death. Rogue must search through the solar system to find the missing Demi Jeroux. But she is merely a pawn in the Duke of Death's gambit to seize control.
despairing, like one of those old Russian plays? I didn’t think you were that juvenile.” After a startled moment he began to shake with laughter at her outburst. “Damn you, Demi! You’ve adapted again. But how in God’s name did you know I needed a mentor?” She laughed with him. “I don’t know, darling. Maybe with my left eye. Half the time I’m only sensing what’s needed. After all, I’m only demi-human, and this is the first time I’ve ever been in love, so I’m not accountable.” “Never, never
“Why don’t you?” “Mumbo Jumbo knows my touch on the keyboard.” “The trouble with you two is that you’re having an illikit love-hate affair.” Winter tore himself away from Young’s blandishments, too cheered by the reassurances to sense the ugly pattern that was shaping. Love will do that to the best; they lose their grasp on reality. As a rule, when a Garda becomes spellbound I give him or her a forced sabbatical. But I’m not proud of my own performance in the action. With twenty-twenty
ringmaster (HISS!) tortures animals into leaping through burning hoops, juggling, and riding contraptions, with a red-hot whip. (BOO!) Then a determined ape rebels, (CHEERS!) the other animals join the revolt, (HOORAY!) and they overpower the vicious ringmaster (LAUGHTER!) and force him to perform their antics with his own whip. (JEERS!) Music: “Carnival of the Animals.” Winter wandered on; tatousy, dziggetai, geeko . . . “Demi?” “Demi?” “Demi?” Nothing. Babirussa, colugo, bandicoot, kiang,
on both sides, but not perforated. The opalescent fire in them was live, sparkling and dancing. “This is really Meta? Seriously, now, Ahmet; no fun and games. Meta?” “Oui.” “It’s beautiful.” “Oui.” “But these jewels look so harmless.” “Actually they are, in the normal state. I’m being quite serious now, Rogue. They’re tektites, extragalactic meteorites from deep space. You can still find ordinary tektites on Terra; black glassy buttons just lying around, harmless, minding their own
modern weapons. (2) The shellfish that produce Imperial Purple. The Maori pretend they use the dye for tattooing. (3) The only organic substance which can produce a bright green color in fireworks; also a Callisto art form. (4) A sort of voluntary slavery. The Maori girls make lovely and most obliging models, and anything to get away from that damn macho Dome. (5) The rare pink gold which the Belgians refuse to sell to the Solar. And have you spotted the joker? How the hell do you heist