not help but hear and dance to. She nibbled his ear. "We'll see about that."
Morgan shook his head. "You don't understand. One of the reasons for getting someone out alive is so they can take my place." His voice choked. "But," he continued softly, "if I get you out, it won't help me, because I'd do anything to prevent you from living the way I do, dreaming of sandstone corridors smeared with blood and smelling of death."
"Love, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."
"Oh, God, no," he moaned, closing his eyes tight. He turned his face to her and, guided by the warmth of her breath, brought his mouth down upon hers. The glittering stars watched in silence.
* * *
The Dealer walked along the pier, staring at the blazeboats resting quietly in the water. His dinner repast had been excellent. The champagne had been silly. Not as silly, however, as the champagne had made him, he feared. Still, he was enjoying he state he now found himself in, just a little bit out of control. He burped quietly—considered good manners in the old days of China; now he was glad there was no one near enough to hear or see.
The blazeboats were the latest rage among the young rich of Hong Kong, among the foolish children of the people who had earned the wealth in the first place. Now, in his elevated state of mind, the Dealer understood the roots of true wealth.
Expertise was the key, he realized. Karl Marx had almost gotten it right with his labor theory of value. But it wasn't quite the labor that counted, it was the cleverness—the expertise that put it all together—that made the difference. The Dealer's latest scam on the truck put it all in perspective for him. His expertise had been the secret weapon he'd used to pull off the deal.
Expertise. He'd read about expertise somewhere else recently, he recalled.
He strode along the edge of the water, trying to place the reference. He saw a slender, striking woman, barely visible from this distance despite metallic moonglow scattered from her silver dress; she laughed, and then he saw, just barely, the fellow in a black suit who accompanied her.
Expertise. The thought nagged him: where had he seen something important about it just days ago?
He came to the end of the dock and turned back up the street into the city. The skyscrapers rose everywhere. He looked up and saw, several stories in the air on one of the newest behemoths, a modest sign: Wan Feng Emarket and 'Castpoint.
Then he remembered. Reggie Oxenford had talked about expertise, that's where he'd read about it. The Dealer sort of remembered what Reggie had said:
Use your expertise to buy forecasts. Make a profit. Make a big 中古車 査定 profit. What could be more noble, more honorable, more just, than doing 車買い取り well by doing good?
What a delightful little silver lining. Doing a good deed as well as getting rich. Kam Yin almost laughed. Reggie had nailed another reason for the Dealer's feeling of triumph, one that the Dealer hadn't even thought about till now.
In getting this military cargo up to the top of Everest, whatever it was, the Dealer was not only making a profit, he was making a contribution to his whole planet. The cops wouldn't be chasing him for this one. What a relief!
But wait! The Dealer stopped, dazed, as he realized that Reggie had answered another question for him. The key to the 'castpoints was using your expertise. Forget the old-fashioned scams he'd been trying. The real money was in the knowledge, the quick insight. He was sure he could become a major contributor to the next assault on Shiva V. He didn't know exactly how his expertise could make a difference, but at this moment that seemed a minor detail. He would go to Fort Powell, immediately in the morning, to study the equipment the Angels used, to lard his cleverness with the knowledge he would need to be a true expert.
The Dealer had
Morgan shook his head. "You don't understand. One of the reasons for getting someone out alive is so they can take my place." His voice choked. "But," he continued softly, "if I get you out, it won't help me, because I'd do anything to prevent you from living the way I do, dreaming of sandstone corridors smeared with blood and smelling of death."
"Love, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."
"Oh, God, no," he moaned, closing his eyes tight. He turned his face to her and, guided by the warmth of her breath, brought his mouth down upon hers. The glittering stars watched in silence.
* * *
The Dealer walked along the pier, staring at the blazeboats resting quietly in the water. His dinner repast had been excellent. The champagne had been silly. Not as silly, however, as the champagne had made him, he feared. Still, he was enjoying he state he now found himself in, just a little bit out of control. He burped quietly—considered good manners in the old days of China; now he was glad there was no one near enough to hear or see.
The blazeboats were the latest rage among the young rich of Hong Kong, among the foolish children of the people who had earned the wealth in the first place. Now, in his elevated state of mind, the Dealer understood the roots of true wealth.
Expertise was the key, he realized. Karl Marx had almost gotten it right with his labor theory of value. But it wasn't quite the labor that counted, it was the cleverness—the expertise that put it all together—that made the difference. The Dealer's latest scam on the truck put it all in perspective for him. His expertise had been the secret weapon he'd used to pull off the deal.
Expertise. He'd read about expertise somewhere else recently, he recalled.
He strode along the edge of the water, trying to place the reference. He saw a slender, striking woman, barely visible from this distance despite metallic moonglow scattered from her silver dress; she laughed, and then he saw, just barely, the fellow in a black suit who accompanied her.
Expertise. The thought nagged him: where had he seen something important about it just days ago?
He came to the end of the dock and turned back up the street into the city. The skyscrapers rose everywhere. He looked up and saw, several stories in the air on one of the newest behemoths, a modest sign: Wan Feng Emarket and 'Castpoint.
Then he remembered. Reggie Oxenford had talked about expertise, that's where he'd read about it. The Dealer sort of remembered what Reggie had said:
Use your expertise to buy forecasts. Make a profit. Make a big 中古車 査定 profit. What could be more noble, more honorable, more just, than doing 車買い取り well by doing good?
What a delightful little silver lining. Doing a good deed as well as getting rich. Kam Yin almost laughed. Reggie had nailed another reason for the Dealer's feeling of triumph, one that the Dealer hadn't even thought about till now.
In getting this military cargo up to the top of Everest, whatever it was, the Dealer was not only making a profit, he was making a contribution to his whole planet. The cops wouldn't be chasing him for this one. What a relief!
But wait! The Dealer stopped, dazed, as he realized that Reggie had answered another question for him. The key to the 'castpoints was using your expertise. Forget the old-fashioned scams he'd been trying. The real money was in the knowledge, the quick insight. He was sure he could become a major contributor to the next assault on Shiva V. He didn't know exactly how his expertise could make a difference, but at this moment that seemed a minor detail. He would go to Fort Powell, immediately in the morning, to study the equipment the Angels used, to lard his cleverness with the knowledge he would need to be a true expert.
The Dealer had