Trackless Waste

"Fascinating, fascinating. But I would expect nothing less from you, my friend."

Olu Alderdice's silver lips curve in a smile. "You're too kind, Spider. Too kind."

"You're sure the transmat range will cover my entire territory?"

"And then some, if the rumors are true."

"Now now, there's no need for that."

Olu gives a jaunty curtsy. "Are you sure I can't interest you in some arsenic lipstick?"

"It looks better on you than it ever would on me, my friend."

"Your loss, of course. Your loss." Olu offers her hand. "Shake on it?"

Spider extends his arm—pauses before their appendages touch. His four eyes scrutinize Olu's two, one organic, the other red and metallic.

He retracts his arm.

"I think not."

Olu's silver grin widens. "A wise decision, darling. Very wise."