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3

Heart pounding and pulse racing Lando ran toward the lift tube. His boots made a thumping sound as they hit the metal deck and squares of light flashed by overhead. He caught up with and passed Melissa.

Now the whoop of the collision alarm was overlaid by a stern-sounding male voice. "This ship is in imminent danger of collision. I repeat, this ship is in imminent danger of collision. Evasive action is required. I repeat, evasive action is required. The pilot or another responsible officer should report to the bridge. I repeat, the pilot or another responsible officer should report to the bridge."

Lando skidded to a stop in front of a lift tube, slammed his hand against the white sensor plate, and jumped inside as a door hissed open. Eyes searched desperately for the emergency UP button. He found the red square, stabbed it with a stiff finger, and watched the door slide closed on Melissa's frightened face.

The platform rose so quickly that Lando's knees buckled and his stomach felt as if it were being shoved down through the deck. A chime sounded as the platform came to a stop and the door hissed open.

A bright green sign said "Control Room" and pointed to the right. As Lando left the lift tube and sprinted toward the center of the ship, he remembered the two pylons that connected the bridge to the vessel's hull. He'd come up through the center of the port pylon. There's nothing like learning your way around in the middle of a collision, Lando thought grimly.

The control area was up ahead, a softly lit curvature of green, amber, and red lights, topped by a semicircular screen. The screen showed ten or twelve distinctly different pictures. Each one represented a vid-cam eye view of surrounding space. Five or six showed all or part of Snowball.

But Lando didn't need the vid screens. The front, top, and sides of the bridge were entirely transparent. As a result he could see the problem with his naked eye. A vast darkness was inserting itself between Junk and Durna's sun. There was no mistaking the thing's silhouette. It was a ship, a big one, and damned close.

As Lando dropped into the pilot's seat, he estimated the other ship was only one, maybe two hundred yards away and moving closer.

There wasn't time to sequence the main drives. He decided to steal as much power as he could from the tiny fusion plant that ran the ship's environmental systems and feed it to the huge thrusters mounted along the starboard side. If he acted fast enough they might do the trick.

Lando's fingers danced over the keys, redirected power to the lateral thrusters, and fired them. Nothing. Only a display that read "Provide voice sample to activate manual override."

"Damn!" He was locked out of the control system!

Meanwhile the collision alarm continued to whoop its warning and the computerized voice continued to order people around.

But it was too late for that now. The other ship had blocked the sun and left only a nimbus of yellow light around its gigantic form. As it came closer Lando saw the name Hercules spelled out across its bow in green letters fifteen feet high. They flashed on and off like an advertisement for a ten-credit pleasure dome.

And then, just when a collision seemed inevitable, and a scream had formed in Lando's throat, the other ship veered away. Moments later it was gone, leaving Lando's pulse pounding in his head, and the taste of bile in the back of his throat.

Seconds later the collision alarm shut itself off and the synthesized voice stopped in midsentence. Lando was still in shock when a voice came from behind.

"Who the hell are you? And what're you doing on my ship?"

Lando swiveled his chair around and found himself face-to-face with Captain Ted Sorenson. He had bushy eyebrows, a long straight nose, and a tight thin-lipped mouth. His eyes were bright blue and nearly buried in deep cavernous sockets.

The rest was tall and thin. An alcoholic's body, starved for nutrients and forced to expend large amounts of energy countering the poison that Sorenson pumped into it.

"My name's Pik Lando," the smuggler replied, getting to his feet, "and I was trying to save your ship."

"I hired him, Daddy," Melissa said desperately, stepping in from the side to tug at her father's arm. "You were sick, and Pik brought you back."

Sorenson looked down at his daughter and his face underwent a sudden transformation. Hard lines turned soft, wrinkles disappeared, and his mouth turned upward in a smile. "You hired him? Well, good for you, honey. I can always count on my little business agent."

Melissa glowed as her father stepped up to offer Lando his hand. His words were civil, but his eyes were stone-hard and formed a barricade between him and the universe.

"Sorry, Lando, but that alarm scared hell out of me. What was it? A systems malfunction?" The captain's handshake was brisk and firm.

"Nope," Lando replied evenly. "It was a ship, a big one, and damned close. It had the name Hercules printed across the port bow in letters fifteen feet high. I tried to move Junk out of the way but was locked out."

Lando saw the other man's eyes narrow as if the name had some special meaning. "Hercules you say? You're sure of that?"

"Yes. Why? Do you know her?"

The other man shrugged thoughtfully. "Sure . . . everyone knows her. She belongs to Stellar Tug & Salvage. They like to give their tugs ancient 'H' names. You know, Hercules, Hebe, Hecuba, that sort of thing."

"I see," Lando replied thoughtfully. "Looking back, the whole thing seems deliberate, as if they came that close to scare us or something. Is this Stellar Tug & Salvage outfit known for things like that?"

"You bet they are," Melissa answered grimly. "They harass all the smaller operators. They want Daddy to quit, but he won't."

The worshipful way in which Melissa looked up into her father's face made Lando realize that she'd made the transformation from adult back to little girl.

Sorenson chuckled. "I'm not the hero my daughter makes me out to be. I'd cave in right now if I could afford to. But I can't, Junk's all we've got so we tough it out. Let's see what they have to say. Now that I'm here the controls should respond."

Turning, Lando saw a message waiting light was blinking on and off. He touched it and watched as a com screen swirled to life. What he saw took some getting used to.

It was a cyborg. Not a sphere like Cy, but a huge thing with a human head and a chrome body. The com screen cut the cyborg off at the waist, but Lando saw that its upper torso had been carefully sculpted into a work of art. A representation of the male form so extreme it verged on parody.

As the cyborg moved its skin bulged with synthetic muscle, rippled over metallic bone, and shimmered with false life. Each rib was carefully defined, each muscle given its correct and proper size, each limb perfectly proportioned. The whole thing was a work of art, a living sculpture celebrating something lost, a terrible and endless sorrow.

It smiled and a shiver ran down Lando's spine. There was something frightening about the blond hair, the Adonis-like face, the perfectly modulated voice.

"Greetings, Captain Sorenson. I tried to speak with you face-to-face, but since you were undoubtedly drunk, this will have to do. You don't recognize me . . . but you may remember my name. It's Jord Willer, once second officer aboard the Star of Empire, and now captain of the tug Hercules.

"It's been a long time since we dropped out of hyperspace into the middle of Durna's asteroid belt, hasn't it? Of course it probably seems longer to me, since I spent so much of it in hospitals.

"But there I go, talking about myself when you're so much more interesting! In fact you're something of a legend around here, aren't you? The crazy old man who looks for the ship that isn't there. Well, guess what? I believe it's there, and when you find it, I'll be by to collect my share." And with that the com screen faded to black.

Turning, Lando saw that Sorenson's face had turned ashen gray, as if his life force had suddenly drained away. When Sorenson spoke his voice was little more than a croak.

"There's a load of robotic mining gear waiting in Orbit Level 4. Mel knows what to do. I'll be in my cabin." And he walked away.

Lando watched Sorenson go with a certain amount of misgiving. What was this stuff about dropping out of hyperspace into the middle of Durna's asteroid belt? And Cap being drunk? And this guy named Willer spending years in the hospital? Holy Sol, if Willer's injuries were Sorenson's fault, then no wonder the cyborg was pissed! Pissed enough to want revenge. If so, the close call with the Hercules could be more than corporate intimidation, it might be a promise of things to come.

But as unsettling as those thoughts were Lando had little time to worry about them because the next couple of days were extremely busy.

They were standard days, and therefore shorter than Snowball's, but still a lot longer than Lando liked. His first task was to move Junk down to Orbit Level 4 (OL-4).

Having been properly identified and coded into the ship's recognition system Lando found the controls quite responsive. Though somewhat hampered by his lack of familiarity with the ship's nonstandard systems, Lando found he had little difficulty dropping Junk into a lower orbit.

Once Junk was established in OL-4 it was a relatively simple matter to match speeds with Utility Platform 63. That's when the real work began.

Junk wasn't a real freighter and didn't have the sort of robotic equipment freighters normally use to load and unload cargo. That meant doing the job by hand, and given the size of Junk's crew, it was a two-day task.

Donning a well-used but still serviceable set of space armor, Lando allowed Melissa to lead him into the lock, and out into the brightly lit launching bay.

"Cap," as Captain Sorenson preferred to be called, and Cy were already there.

Since Cy had his own supply of oxygen, and had his brain tissue safely tucked away inside a metal casing, he had no need of space armor. As a result the cyborg moved freely from atmosphere to vacuum with little or no inconvenience.

Having spent the last hour or so securing various pieces of gear, and preparing the bay to receive cargo, Cy was taking a break. With the ship's argrav turned off to facilitate loading, the little cyborg was busy performing acrobatics and generally making a nuisance of himself.

As Lando stepped out of the lock and into the launching bay, Cy swooped by the pilot's visor and uttered a long drawn-up war whoop over the standard suit-to-suit radio frequency.

Lando swore, Cy laughed, and Melissa broke her contact with the deck in order to give chase.

"There you are," a voice said, and Lando turned to find Captain Sorenson towering above. He was framed by a bright green exoskeleton that stood twelve feet tall and caused Lando's radio to buzz with static.

Sorenson's almost-cheerful manner and flushed face suggested more than a few drinks. Still, the older man was sober enough to do some work, and that was a first.

"Here I am," Lando agreed dryly. "Now what?"

"Now you play catch," the other man answered enigmatically. Cap released himself from the machine and floated free. "Your chariot awaits."

Lando had never had an occasion to use an exoskeleton before, but he understood the theory, and decided it couldn't be that hard. Using the conveniently placed foot supports Lando climbed the exoskeleton's frame until he was even with its shoulders.

Turning, Lando backed into place, aligned his limbs with the machine's, and felt a series of metal bands snap into place around his arms and legs. He flexed his fingers. The exoskeleton did likewise. From now on it would mimic and amplify every motion effectively quadrupling Lando's strength.

"It was designed for maintenance work," Cap said by way of explanation, "but it makes a good catcher."

"Catcher?" Lando asked, moving his right leg experimentally and watching the machine do likewise.

"Yeah," Sorenson answered. "We'll pitch, and you catch.

Pitching takes some practice, so I'm giving the easy job to you."

Lando wanted to ask some more questions but Cap was gone, the jet pak on his back pushing him down through the hatch, with Melissa gamboling along behind.

Moving with great care Lando took a few tentative steps toward the hatch. Electromagnets kept the exoskeleton's podlike feet securely fastened to the deck. Outside of the slight disorientation that came with Lando's increased size, walking was easy.

Looking down through the hatch, Lando saw the lights of Utility Platform 63, and two silhouettes as Cap and Melissa touched down. The space station was huge, half a mile in every direction, and outlined with colored lights.

The platform's function was similar to that of a dirtside warehouse, to store freight prior to shipment, and turn a profit in the process.

Like most of its kind the platform was actually a cube. Freight could be unloaded on any one of the cube's six sides. This was normally accomplished with automated or remote-controlled mini-tugs. A series of concentric circles decorated each landing surface. Once freight was safely deposited in the middle of a bull's-eye, specially designed robots used the zero-G environment to move it down into the platform's interior, where a computerized sorting system put it away. Later, when it was time to load the freight aboard another ship, the process was reversed.

The platform could supposedly handle up to six vessels at once, but that increased the chance of a collision, so Lando was glad that this was a slow rotation. One other ship was present with only the strobe of its navigation lights to separate it from the blackness of space.

"All set?" Cy asked cheerfully, his spherelike body dropping in from Lando's right side. "They oughtta start tossing stuff our way any minute now."

"Here comes!" Cap said, his voice artificially loud over Lando's suit radio. "Time to earn your pay."

Looking down Lando saw a tiny square of reflected light separate itself from the surface of the platform and grow suddenly larger. He watched it like a spectator at first, interested, but outside the action.

"You'd better get ready," Cy cautioned, "it looks like the captain put some zip on that one."

"Some zip?" Lando asked stupidly, and realized the square had grown suddenly larger and was entering the hatch. Now he understood. Using the surface of the platform as an anchor, and zero gravity as a medium, Cap was pitching cargo modules into Junk's hold. Lando's job was to catch them. If he failed they'd ricochet around the inside of the launching bay until they ran out of kinetic energy. That could cause some damage, and, even more important, take his head clean off.

Lando stepped up to the very edge of the hatch and opened his arms.

The cargo module hit the bottom of his right arm, bounced off, and spun to the left. Shuffling in that direction the smuggler made a grabbing motion, managed to capture the plastic case between massive arms, and stood there unsure of what to do next. It was strange to hold a cargo module in his arms. After all, it was six feet long, four feet wide, and four feet deep, and, without the help of the exoskeleton, much too heavy for Lando to lift.

"Heads up!" Cy advised. "Here comes another module. Shove that baby toward me and I'll stow it."

Glancing to his right, Lando saw that Cy had positioned himself in front of the aft section of the bay. Behind him there was an open area. The cargo would be stacked in there.

Lando did as he was instructed, shoving the cargo module toward Cy, and looking down for another. It was already there, a little to the right this time, and tumbling end over end.

As he scrambled to catch it Lando wondered if this was some sort of test, Cap's idea of an initiation, a gut check. If so, Lando decided that he'd show the drunken bastard a thing or two, and threw himself in front of the module. It knocked him backward a step, but he held on, and passed the container to Cy.

After that it became a game, more than that a minor war, with Cap pitching modules as hard as he could and Lando catching them. Finally, after an hour or so, he detected a slight slackening in pace. Grinning to himself, Lando chinned his suit radio and did his best to sound bored.

"What am I supposed to do between modules? Read a book? Let's pick up the pace."

Cap made no answer, but the modules came fast and furious for a while, eventually dropping off to an even slower pace than before.

Six hours later the job was about a third done, and as the crew took a break, Lando was pleased to see that Sorenson looked like death warmed over. It served the old geezer right for playing silly games.

But the break was soon over. A meal, a few hours of sleep, and the whole thing started over. This time it lasted a full day, and by the time it was over, Lando was too tired to enjoy Cap's obvious exhaustion. In fact he sort of admired the older man for having the guts to stick it out. The guy was a drunk, and a poor excuse for a father, but deep down something remained. Something that might even be worth saving.

It reminded Lando of his own father, a smuggler like his father before him, more mystery than person. Lando remembered growing up, time spent with his mother mostly, the two of them waiting for his father's return. Smugglers are gone a lot, picking up and delivering their secret cargoes, so Lando's childhood was filled with a multitude of joyous homecomings and sad departures.

But even the good times were tinged with sadness, because just beneath the surface of his mother's cheerful conversation, there lurked the certainty of tragedy to come. She never talked about it. But with the sixth sense of children everywhere, Lando knew, and his dreams were filled with horror.

Little did Lando know that when tragedy came it would take his mother first. And that when his father died he'd be there to see it. See it and run as fast and far as he could go. But he couldn't outrun the memories and they followed Lando into his dreams.

Lando awoke to the strains of "All Hail the Emperor" piped throughout the ship. It was Cy's idea of humor and Lando's idea of hell. As he stepped into his fresher Lando swore a terrible revenge on the cyborg, but the hot water felt wonderful, and his mood was much improved by the time he emerged.

Thanks to Junk's unorthodox design, Lando's cabin was much larger than what was found aboard most ships her size, and compared favorably with a Class B suite on a liner. He had a double-sized bunk with overhead storage, a comfortable lounge chair, and a nice desk with built-in comp.

The only thing that bothered him was a vague sense of otherness, as if the space belonged to someone else only recently gone.

Lando raised the question over one of Melissa's instant meals, still in their original containers, and right out of the microwave. The galley was a cheerful space full of white plastic and shiny metal.

Melissa was her usual energetic self, Cap was drawn and haggard, and Cy was elsewhere. Rehydrated mystery strips and simu-eggs don't mean much without digestive organs to process them with.

Lando speared a strip of soggy meat and stuffed it into his mouth. "Gross, Melissa, truly disgusting."

Melissa stuck out her tongue and made a face.

Lando nodded his understanding. "By the way, whatever happened to my predecessor anyway?"

Melissa looked down at the table and fiddled with a burned piece of toast.

Cap scowled and looked up from his coffee. "Dead. A fusion plant aboard one of Sikma's OL-12 habitats blew. We were hired to round up the pieces. You wouldn't believe it, there was junk everywhere, like a cloud of metal it was. Big chunks of it, tumbling end over end, and colliding with anything that got in the way."

Cap gestured with his coffee cup. "Some of it was quite valuable. A few tanks of zero-G biologicals had escaped the explosion and were floating free. We tried to grab them but they were too small. The tanks didn't have enough mass for the tractor beams to lock on to. Lia, she was our pilot, went out to round them up by hand. She zigged when she should have zagged. A free-floating I-beam took her head right off."

Melissa made a sobbing sound and ran from the room. Cap looked back to Lando and shrugged. "Mel hired Lia, so even though it wasn't her fault, she feels responsible. I told her to let it go . . . but she won't. Reminds me of her mother. Just part of growing up I guess."

Hot words boiled up to fill Lando's throat, words about fathers who force little girls to make adult decisions, words about alcoholics who turn their children into parents.

But Lando knew the words could not be heard or understood so he choked them down. Ignoring Cap's curious stare, Lando dropped his fork and left the galley. Sorenson was right about one thing. It wasn't her fault. He'd find Melissa and tell her that.

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