Chapter 9Few things in the galaxy bothered ClayStarret. He could roll with the punches and KO his opponent. He’droll with the waves and grab a surfboard. If he had dinner with thehigh society on Palmeran, he would discuss wine and art in a waythatbrought envy from his dinner companions. A friend had once remarkedhe should have been a 19th century British aristocrat. He had thebearing, the intelligence, the stiff upper lip. He had theessentialenjoyment of life. Bad news could hit him and Starret would justsmile, have a glass of wine, and tell others he’d handle it. Whenothers were in a panic, no beads of sweat squeezed from hisskin.
But there was one thing thatever-so-slightly annoyed him. The wanted poster from Vanderlyn.Couldn’t they get a better photo of him?
In his spacecraft on Titan
