As always, the characters herein are the properties of their creators,
etc.

-----------------------------------

SERVICES RENDERED

	There was a spot on the horizon, one so small and indistinct that the
guards at the town gates dismissed it at first as a mirage.  As the spot
grew closer, however, it resolved itself into a lone figure, walking
steadily across the sandy wasteland.
	The guards looked at each other.  "What do ya make of that?"
	"Crossin' the desert on foot?  The guy must be nuts."
	"Hey, he made it, didn't he?"  The first guard wiped his brow - even in
the shade of the watch tower, the heat was blistering.  "Damned if I
know how, though."
	In due time, the figure reached the gate and stopped, waiting patiently
for the doors to be opened.  The second guard called down to him. 
"Hey!  What're you doin', trying to walk all the way here?"
	The figure failed to respond.
	"Are you listening to me?"
	A brief hot wind tousled the man's hair, then died down.
	The guards exchanged glances again.  "Weird."
	"Maybe he can't talk 'cuz his throat's too dry."  The first guard
turned his attention downward again.  "Hey!  You need some water, or
something?"
	"Are you going to open the gate, or not?"
	Though surprised at the man's first comment, the guard shrugged - might
as well do this by the book.  "What's your reason for coming into town?"
	"Business."
	After a moment, it became clear that nothing else was forthcoming. 
"Oh, let 'im in,"  the second guard suggested.  "What harm could he do?"
	"Might as well," his companion agreed, and signalled to another guard
just inside the gate.
	There was a deep rumbling sound, and after a few moments the doors
swung open.  The drifter walked through without a single
acknowledgement; as the gate swung closed behind him, he reached into a
pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper.  After studying it for a
moment, he picked up his pace and vanished into the teeming market day
crowd that surrounded him.

	The paper landed on Sergeant Wolfe's desk, falling slightly open.  "I
want to see your prisoner."
	"Eh?"  Wolfe looked at the picture displayed on the worn poster, then
examined the drifter suspiciously.  "What do you want with her?"
	"She's an old... associate of mine," the drifter said, his expression
unreadable.  "All things considered, I thought I should pay my
respects."
	"Hmm."  The policeman came to a decision, and stood up.  "This way."
	The hallway down to the cells was refreshingly cool, a fact that the
guards at the numerous checkpoints along the way were obviously
enjoying.  After a short period of walking, Wolfe decided to break the
silence.  "She's a friend of yours, then?"
	"An associate."
	"It's too bad you have to see her under these circumstances, but the
law has to be upheld."
	Something in Wolfe's voice made the drifter glance in his direction. 
"Do you think she did it?"
	The sergeant shook his head.  "She's been tried and convicted, and the
sentence will be carried out tomorrow.  What I think doesn't signify at
this point."
	"Ah."
	They reached the final checkpoint, and the two officers on duty stood a
bit straighter as they approached.  "This man is here to talk to the
prisoner," the sergeant told them.
	"Sir?"
	"Do you have a problem with that?"
	"Uh, no sir.  Will you be escorting him to her cell?"
	Wolfe nodded.  "Yes, no need to..."
	"I want to see her alone."
	The guards looked surprised.  "We can't allow that," one of them
objected.  "It's totally against procedures."
	The drifter didn't even spare them a glance - his attention seemed
riveted on the small sign over the heavy metal door before him.  It read
'Death Row'.
	Clearing his throat, the sergeant turned to his officers.  "Well, it's
not like he can smuggle her out of here.  I think we can allow it this
once."  He frowned slightly.  "You'll have to leave any weapons here,
however."
	"I don't carry weapons."
	With a doubtful expression, Wolfe nodded to one of the guards.  "Pat
him down, Jacob."
	"Right."  As the drifter held up his arms with a bored expression, the
guard frisked him in a swift, efficient manner.  "He's clean, sir."
	"Okay, then.  Let 'im through."  The other guard unlocked the door,
which slipped open with a series of metallic clangs.  "Just pound the
door when you're ready to come out."
	"Right."  The drifter stepped through, and the portal closed behind him
with a loud clash.

	The cell's occupant was curled up on a cot, dressed in utilitarian
tunic and pants.  After a moment of watching her through the bars of the
cell, the drifter finally spoke.  "I always knew you'd end up like
this."
	There was no response at first, then the prisoner lifted her head and
looked around.  She saw the drifter, and stared at him... then put her
head back down.  "If you've come to gloat, I don't need any."
	"You know I wouldn't do that."
	She chuckled and sat up.  "No, I guess not."  She gestured at the
barren cell.  "Sorry about the decor, but it's *so* hard to get patterns
to match these days, and..."
	"Did you do it?"
	Her smile faded slightly.  "I would think *you* know *me* better than
that."
	"That you wouldn't kill someone?"
	"No... that I wouldn't get caught after doing it."  She stretched, her
joints cracking with the movement.  "If I'd been there that night to
assassinate the mayor, I woulda been gone before anyone had known about
it.  I was there to pick up a few trinkets that had caught my eye,
though, so I wasn't expecting a bunch of cops to come charging through
the front door before I'd actually gotten anything.  I was just in the
wrong place at the wrong time."
	"Mmm.  The sergeant doesn't seem to think you did it, either."
	She sighed and lay down on her side.  "He's been good to me, all things
considered.  Not that it did any good - I think the judge, the only
judge in this town, was the one behind the assassination."
	"Any proof?"
	"Nothin' that'll stand up in court."  She laughed, though mainly to
cover her despair.  "The joke's on me, huh?  What's even funnier is that
they believe in 'cleansing the soul of sinners' in these parts, which
means a nice big vat of acid, and they lower you into it inch.  By. 
Inch.  And everyone watches, as an 'example' to..."
	She was hysterical now, but there was little he could do until her
frenzied babbling turned into sobbing gasps.  "I'm sorry."
	"Yeah."  She wiped her tears and sniffled loudly.  "Yeah, me too."  She
lifted herself up and looked at him.  "Why *are* you here, anyway?  Not
that I didn't miss your cheerful disposition, but this seems a bit out
of your way."
	He shrugged.  "I hate loose ends.  And you and I have some unfinished
business, as you may recall."
	"Hmm?"  She suddenly brightened.  "Oh, yeah... the Cameron Caper.  Man,
it's been a long time since..."  Her voice trailed off, and she stared
at him.  "You... you mean...?"
	With a nod, the drifter stepped closer to her cell.  "If you're
interested."
	"Are you kidding?  I'm gonna be slowly tortured to death in the morning
- what have I got to lose?"  She started to unlace the fastenings of her
tunic.  "These bars might make it a bit tricky, though."
	"We'll manage."  He smiled slightly as the tunic dropped to the floor. 
"You seem to be in a hurry."
	"Well, you know me."  She removed the thin cloth pants and pressed up
against the bars of her cell, splendidly nude.  "I've never been much
for patience."  Reaching out through the bars, she caressed his cheek
tenderly.  "Now quit talking and put that talented mouth of yours to
better use, and we'll consider your debt paid in full."
	"That sounds like a good deal to me."  He moved as close as the bars
would allow, and took her in his arms...

	Some time later, the portcullis rattled insistently, and the guards
opened the door carefully.  The drifter walked out calmly, without a
glance at the officers around him.  "I'm done."
	"Hold on a second,"  Wolfe said, and the drifter stopped in place.  "I
need to check the cell."
	As their sergeant stepped back through the portal, the guards glanced
at each other.  The sounds that had reached them through the walls had
been very indistinct, but there were just enough clues to let them get a
good idea of what had happened.  Yet the guy was just standing there,
totally composed.
	Wolfe returned, a slight smile on his face.  "Everything looks okay. 
You can go."
	The drifter nodded, and walked back up the hallway without a single
word.
	After he'd turned a corner, Jacob shook his head.  "Man!  What a cold
dude - he has sex with a girl right before she's about to be executed,
and then walks off like it's nothing big."
	"You said it.  He should at least be a bit broken up about it..."
	Wolfe said nothing, still staring down the hallway after the drifter.

	The drifter was at the town gates when alarm bells started ringing in
the prison.  	By the time anyone had collected their thoughts enough to
ask the mysterious visitor where the condemned criminal had gone, he had
already faded into the desert, as quickly as he had appeared.
	But, after all, the prisoner had been a good six inches taller than him
- there was no way that he could have hidden her all the way up the
hallway, even under that ridiculous trenchcoat of his.  The
investigation that followed the incident concluded that the assassin had
- somehow - managed to escape on her own, leaving nothing behind but a
pile of prison clothes.
	And that was that.

	Later that day, once the town was a long distance behind him, the
drifter stopped behind a cluster of rocks and fished in a pocket of his
trenchcoat.  After some searching, he pulled his hand out, revealing a
small silver screw.  He smiled to himself as a faint wind rolled the
screw back and forth on his palm.
	Then he tossed it into the air, and caught it in his mouth with the
ease of long practice.  He swallowed.
	There.
	He held out his hand, and concentrated - after a moment, his skin began
to bulge and shift.  Metal parts began to extrude from his hand, and
connected to each other in complex ways.  The process was quick, and
within a few seconds the drifter was holding the hand of a tall,
beautiful, naked woman.
	"Mmmmm..." she sighed, shaking out her long blonde hair.  "That was
quite an experience."  She grinned at him.  "You sure do know how to
show a girl a good time."
	The drifter, whose name was Bolt Crank, took off his coat and wrapped
it around her shoulders.  "Here.  The desert gets cold at night."
	She arched an eyebrow.  "Generosity?  From you?"
	"Call it compounded interest.  I *did* say that I owed you one, after
the Cameron Caper, and I always repay my debts."
	"I knew there was a reason I saved your life back then.  And here I
thought I was just getting soft."
	He crossed his arms.  "So, tell me - what are you doing out here all
alone, Unipuma?  Your sister is worried about you."
	The cat-eared android shrugged casually.  "We had a bit of a falling
out.  Anna was being a stuck-up bitch, so I decided to do my own
thing."  She paused.  "Though admittedly I wouldn't have gotten caught
so easily with her at my back.   I never realized how much I'd miss
her."
	He held out a small card.  "She's waiting for you at this hotel, in a
town about two days west of here.  Room 215."
	Uni took the card, and couldn't quite suppress an embarrassed smile. 
"She hired you to find me."
	Bolt nodded.  "That she did.  She didn't hire me to *rescue* you, but
fortunately you'd already made a down payment for that service."
	Uni laughed.  "Oh, Bolt, you romantic fool you!"  She glanced at him
out of the corner of her eye.  "Would you have saved me, even if I
hadn't done the same for you back then?"
	He shrugged noncommitally, and changed the subject.  "Do you need me to
escort you to your sister?"
	"What's the going rate?"  She asked archly, then shook her head.  "Nah,
I can manage on my own.  You'd be surprised how many options are open to
a semi-naked woman, Mister Bolt Crank."
	"One word of advice, Unipuma," he said as she turned to leave.  "Be a
bit more careful.  I'd hate to be hired to capture you someday."
	She smiled sweetly.  "Bolt, darling?"
	"Hmm?"
	"Bite me."

--------------------------------

AUTHOR'S NOTES
Just a little something I had the idea for one day.  If this violates
known facts about either character... oh, well.  I'm not all that
familiar with Eatman, to be honest.
 
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