Putting on your best "moneyed individual" accent, you address the robot, "Why yes of course, my good, fine fellow, I am very eager to pur-chase some of your finest mimes, what what."

The android doesn't bat an eyelid, although that might be due to a design oversight in the optical area.

"We must make haste then, sir," it states, cheerfully. It places a gentle grip onto your arm, and leads you into the vast, dark room beyond. It's lit only by the huge screens that float overhead, each one displaying the vital statistics and expected retail price of a mime from a different species.

"Uhm," you clear your throat, "what sort of price ranges for mimes will we be looking at today my finest android?"

"The standard pricing is leading from E40,000 to E180,000, with a 12% surcharge for delivery and handling," it says, guiding you past a group of tall aliens smoking Tralvanian cigarmoths. "As a solo investor, we can offer you a discount of up to 5% per mime unit if you purchase in excess of 30!"

Okay. So your entire annual salary wouldn't even cover the surcharge of a single mime. Good to know.

As the android leads you to a small, enclosed booth lit by its own vidterminal, you hear a voice calling over from somewhere to your right. It's the vole-man from earlier. He shuffles over towards you with an eager look in his eyes.

"Ha ha! I find you!" declares the vole alien.

"Uh, no, you must surely be mistaken," you state, hoping the money is dripping off your accent convincingly. If it is, neither android nor vole are betraying any sign of it.

"No, no," says the vole, pointing to your pin badge with QuarrixCo emblazoned clearly across it. "You need follow me!"

Hmmm, what to do?

If you go with the vole-man voluntarily, turn to page 47.

Or, if you want to convince the android that the vole-man is a problem and needs to be dealt with, turn to page 49.