Lando was thrown sideways as the robo-hauler came to a sudden halt.
Melissa sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Pik? Where are we? What's going on?"
The PCV's power pak was nearly drained by now, but the lights still produced a feeble glow. The smuggler rolled to his knees, stood up, and checked the blast rifle. The indicator showed a full charge. He slipped the safety off and moved toward the door. A glance toward his watch told him it was night outside.
"I don't know, honey . . . but be ready to move."
The handle made a clacking sound as someone turned it. The door rattled upward and disappeared into darkness. A flashlight pinned Lando in its glare.
"Hold it right there." The voice was hard, full of authority, and distinctly female. There was something familiar about that voice but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
The light was bright. Lando blinked but couldn't see a damned thing. Cop? Bounty hunter? Military? There was no way to tell.
"Put the weapon on the floor, take two steps back, and place your hands on top of your head."
The voice was calm, professional, and very sure of itself.
Lando swallowed hard. What should he do? Fight or surrender? Melissa made up his mind. She stood and moved into the light.
"Who is it, Pik? What will they do to us?"
That's when it hit him. If he fired the woman would fire back. Melissa would die and that was completely unacceptable.
Lando put the blast rifle on the floor, took two steps back, and placed his hands on top of his head.
"Good," the voice said. "Very good. Now, let's get out of here before all hell breaks loose. They have the tender under surveillance, Cap feels like hell, and the drifter is a long ways off."
It took Lando a moment to understand. "Della? Is that you? What the . . .?"
The light went out and color swirled in front of Lando's eyes. The next thing the smuggler knew his arms were full of rather nicely proportioned femininity. Lips touched his and arms went around his neck. The smell of leather and perfume made a heady combination. He held on and didn't want to let go.
It was Melissa who broke it up, switching from child to adult, forever practical. "Break it up you two . . . times a-wasting. Besides, where's my hug?"
"Right here." The voice came from the doorway.
"Daddy!"
Melissa scurried to the doorway, jumped into her father's arms, and laughed when he stumbled backward.
The sound of a siren caused them to freeze momentarily, then galvanized them into action.
Cap lowered Melissa to the ground and pulled her away.
Della tugged on Lando's hand. "Come on! The car's up front."
They jumped to the ground, sprinted the length of the trailers, and rounded the robo-hauler's chunky front end.
Lando saw they were in some sort of warehouse district. There were low blocky buildings, widely spaced float lights, and stacks of cargo modules. Something roared, and a long, thin shaft of fire raced toward the sky. The spaceport! It was one, maybe two miles away!
The ground car sat two feet from the roller's massive bumper. From the way the vehicle was positioned Lando could tell that Della had pulled in front of the robo-hauler and forced it to stop. Assuming a hijacking or other criminal activity the truck's on-board computer had summoned the police. And from the sound of it, they were damned close.
Doors slammed as they piled into the car. Lando was thrown forward as Della put the transmission into reverse and stepped on the gas. Tires screeched as she stood on the brakes, changed gears, and accelerated away. The sirens started to fade.
"Where are we headed?" Lando had to yell to make himself heard from the back seat.
"The spaceport," Della yelled back. "They're keeping an eye on the tender, which means they're watching Junk as well, so I hired a jobber. She's waiting for us now."
Junk was a deep-space tug. She'd been designed and built by Melissa's mother from salvaged parts and whatever else happened to be lying around at the moment. Hence the name Junk.
Jobbers eked out a marginal existence by carrying cargoes from one ship to another, ferrying passengers to and from the planet's surface, and other less legitimate tasks. No one used them unless forced to do so, and knowing that, the jobbers charged exorbitant prices.
"A jobber?" Cap demanded. "They'll charge an arm and a leg!"
Della glanced toward the passenger seat. Her voice was hard and cold. "You should have thought of that before you got drunk and spilled your guts."
Cap flinched as if struck across the face. He turned toward the window.
Melissa looked from one adult to the other and frowned. Della meant well, but it wouldn't do any good. Daddy was Daddy. She didn't like it when the adults became angry with each other.
Lando braced himself as the car skidded into a corner, slid sideways, and accelerated away. The spaceport was up ahead. "How did you find us anyway? We could have been anywhere."
Della smiled grimly. "It wasn't as hard as you might think. You were all over the vids. During the course of a day I saw footage of you lying on the beach, stealing a skimmer, and destroying a robo-cam.
"But it was the interview with the trooper that told me where to look. After listening to him I knew that you had a PCV, access to a highway full of robo-haulers, and a strong desire to reach Brisco City. I put one and one together and got two."
"But how could you pick the right truck?" Lando insisted. "There must be hundreds, maybe thousands to pick from."
"Not true," Della replied. "I called the Highway Control Authority, identified myself as Detective Lieutenant Orling, and requested some information. They were very cooperative. There were twenty-six robo-haulers headed in the right direction at the right time. I stopped seven of them before I found you."
"But why scare the heck out of us? We thought you were a bounty hunter."
"I am a bounty hunter."
"You know what I mean."
Della shrugged. "I didn't know who if anybody would be inside, and besides, you've been known to shoot first and ask questions later."
Lando grinned. He wanted to grab and hug her. "You are absolutely amazing."
The spaceport's security fence was just ahead. Della smiled as she applied the brakes. "I certainly am. And don't ever forget it."
They piled out of the car. Della had parked in the shadow cast by a large warehouse but they were still exposed. She popped the engine compartment and told Cap to stick his head under the hood. Considering their proximity to Blast Town, and the time of day, there was little chance of someone stopping to help.
Lando eyed the fence. He saw it was constructed of high-test metal mesh and boasted a force field too.
"How could we possibly cut through that?"
Della shook her head. "We won't. We go over it instead."
Lando looked again. Now he saw that if he stood on the car's roof his shoulders would be level with the top of the fence. Close, but no cigar. He'd have to jump about five feet straight up in order to clear the fence and get over it as well. The smuggler looked at Della.
"Nice try, but there's no way that I can jump that high, and even if I could, that would leave the rest of you here."
Della ignored him and spoke to Melissa instead. She pointed through the fence. "Do you see the hi-loader parked over there?"
Melissa looked, saw a bright orange piece of equipment, and nodded.
"Good. Could you operate it?"
Melissa's eyes lit up with excitement. "You bet! Daddy let me drive a flat-loader once . . . and I did very well."
Cap looked away. Lando winced. Melissa's father let her do lots of things when he was drunk, or too hung over to handle them himself. Flying the tender was a good example.
Della nodded understandingly. "All right then. Pik will throw you over. Watch your landing. It's a good eight- or nine-foot drop. That pile of cargo netting will cushion your fall."
"I can handle it," Melissa said confidently. "I've done more."
"No you haven't," Della replied sternly. "Not under anything like Earth-normal gravity. We're counting on you to land, start the hi-loader, and bring it over here. The whole plan goes down the tubes if you sprain an ankle. And once over, there's no way back."
Melissa nodded solemnly. "I'll be careful."
Della smiled and kissed the top of her head. "Atta girl. Okay, Pik. Climb up on the roof and get ready to boost Melissa over the top."
Lando raised an eyebrow, looked at the top of the fence, then looked at Melissa. She smiled brightly.
"I can do it, Pik, really I can."
Lando gave a reluctant nod, aimed a "this had better work" look at Della, and climbed onto the front of the car. It was easy to reach the roof from there. The car's duraplast skin gave slightly under his feet.
Della gave Melissa a hand. "Okay, hon. Up you go."
Melissa scampered up to stand next to Lando. The smuggler looked around. No traffic in sight. Good. Two people standing on the roof of a car was unusual even in Blast Town. He bent over and put his hands around Melissa's waist. It was frighteningly small.
"Here we go. Remember to bend your knees when you hit. Just like in free-fall. Roll if you have to."
The little girl nodded.
Lando lifted her over his head, gauged the distance, and gave a big push.
Melissa made it over the fence, fell straight down, and hit the cargo netting with a soft thump. It gave and she fell.
"Melissa! Are you all right?"
Lando smiled at the obvious concern in Della's voice. So much for the tough bounty hunter act.
Melissa stood and dusted herself off. "I'm fine, Della. Just lost my balance, that's all."
Della looked relieved. "That's okay, hon. Hurry now . . . there's no telling what kind of alarms you may have triggered. Just because we can't see them doesn't mean they aren't there."
Melissa nodded, jumped off the netting, and ran toward the hi-loader. Four rungs led up to the cab. She stood on the third one and tried the door. Nothing. It was locked.
Della said something unladylike under her breath. She motioned for Melissa to return and pulled a small blaster from the top of her right boot.
A hideout! Lando shook his head in amusement as the blaster sailed over the fence. Della never ceased to amaze him.
"Use it on the door!"
Melissa nodded her understanding, scooped up the blaster, and returned to the cab. Though far from an expert with hand weapons the little girl had been around them all of her life.
Balancing on a metal rung, she aimed the weapon at the lock, and pressed the firing stud. Nothing. The safety! Gritting her teeth in frustration Melissa released the safety and tried again.
Her efforts were rewarded this time. A pencil-thin beam of bright blue light popped into existence. Sheet metal melted and ran like red-orange water. The door popped open.
Melissa slipped inside the cab, settled into the operator's chair, and thumbed the ignition switch. She grinned as the power plant came on-line and a row of idiot lights appeared in front of her. The "needs maintenance soon" light was on, but so what? Three minutes, five at most, and the task would be over.
Melissa slid the gear shift into the "forward" position and stepped on the accelerator. The hi-loader jerked into motion.
Cap heard a buzzing noise and looked over his left shoulder. The surveillance unit looked a lot like a flying tin can, except that this tin can was covered with a variety of sensors and boasted a rather large lens. The device had approached from the west and seemed completely unaware of Melissa's activities on the far side of the fence. It had witnessed Cap's pantomime of a break down and decided to investigate. The vid cam made a whirring noise as it zoomed in on the car's engine compartment.
Sorenson forced a smile. His heart beat like a trip-hammer and he wanted a drink. There was no way to tell if a real-live human being was monitoring the camera or not. Cap decided that it was better to be safe than sorry.
"Hi there. Glad you dropped by. Our car stalled." Sorenson pointed under the hood. "You know anything about cars?"
The distant observer triggered a spotlight, directed the beam into the engine compartment, and guided the security cam forward.
Cap smiled encouragingly. He couldn't believe his luck. The idiot was actually inspecting the engine! Now to see how long he could drag the whole thing out.
Unfortunately Melissa chose that particular moment to lose control of the hi-loader and crashed into the metal mesh. There was a flash of white-blue light followed by a secondary crash as she dropped the crane arm across the top of the fence. Sirens howled in the distance.
The security cam spun on its axis and tried to get away. Cap slammed the hood down on top of the device and trapped it inside the engine compartment.
Della waved. "Lando! Cap! Come on!"
Cap waved in acknowledgment, checked to make sure that the security cam couldn't escape, and ran for the fence. The car's duraplast hood cracked and dimpled as the surveillance unit tried to batter its way out.
Cap scrambled onto the car's hood, slipped, caught his balance, and made his way to the roof. There was a brand-new crevasse where the crane arm had landed. It made a foot-wide orange bridge across the top of the now-flickering fence to where the others waited.
Lando motioned with his arm. "Come on, Cap! There's nothing to it!"
Cap nodded weakly, put a foot on the makeshift bridge, and took a step forward. Metal creaked as the fence gave slightly and Sorenson felt something heavy hit the bottom of his stomach. A drink, God how he needed a drink. Nausea bubbled up from somewhere deep inside and he felt overwhelmingly dizzy.
"Come on, Daddy!"
Melissa. Melissa was watching. Cap swallowed the nausea and forced the dizziness away. He'd do it for Melissa. Carefully, placing one foot in front of the other, Sorenson made his way across to the other side. Lando was there to grab his arm and help him to the ground.
"Good going, Cap . . . you're looking good. Come on. Security's on the way."
The sirens were louder now, much louder, and were coming from every direction at once. They ran in a tight little group, away from the fence and toward the center of the spaceport.
Lando saw lights now, spotlights mounted on the undersides of air cars, coming from every point of the compass. There was no place to run. He stopped and the others did likewise.
"You see anything?" Della's voice was calm but tense. She stood with one hand on her slug gun.
Lando looked left and right. There was nothing but featureless duracrete as far as the eye could see. "Nope, not a damned thing."
Melissa's voice was small and matter-of-fact. "How 'bout the drain?"
Lando looked down at Melissa, then to the ground. And there, right under his feet, was a large circular grating. It was a storm drain designed to handle the massive volumes of water generated during the spring rains.
Lando jumped off the grating. "Nice going, Mel! You're a genius! Hey, Cap, give me a hand."
The grating weighed well over a hundred pounds, but with both men pulling at once, it came slowly upward. When the opening was large enough they stopped.
Lando braced himself. The sirens were even louder now and the lights were only seconds away. He tried to ignore them.
"Della, you first. Melissa, you're next. That's it. Quickly now. Okay, Cap. It's your turn. Can you hold it open for me?"
The older man gave a jerky nod, climbed into the hole, and balanced himself on a rung. Reaching upward, he accepted the grating's full weight.
Suddenly it was as if the whole world were pressing down on him. The grate felt as if it weighed a ton. Sorenson felt his right arm start to tremble and bit his lip.
When had it started? The mental-emotional slide that had left him here, a half man, trying to escape his own mistakes? At twenty? Thirty? Or had it been there all along? Like a flaw in poorly cast durasteel that caused it to crack when it was subjected to stress.
The weight eased. Lando's voice was loud in his right ear. "Okay, Cap. Gently now."
Ducking their heads the two men allowed the grating to move downward until it took over and fell the last five inches. It hit the metal surround with a loud clang. Then came the roar of an engine followed by a flood of white light. The light came down through the grate, rippled across Lando's face, and disappeared.
Five long minutes passed while the air cars crisscrossed the area, their spotlights wobbling across the ground, searching for the intruders. But none of the searchers showed any interest in the storm drain, or any of the storm drains for that matter, and activity gradually died down. Della's voice came from the blackness below.
"Come on, Pik. Let's go. The jobber won't wait forever."
Lando dropped down to join the rest of the group. He could sense rather than see them. "Anyone got a light?"
"How 'bout this?" A wand of blue light popped into existence. Melissa had retained the blaster that Della had thrown her. Adjusted to low power it made an effective though inefficient flashlight.
"Good," Della said approvingly. "But be careful where you aim that thing. It's dangerous even on low power."
So that's how they went, with Melissa leading the way, and a seemingly endless tunnel before them.
Size was no problem, since the tunnel was at least twelve feet across, but mud was. It covered the bottom of the conduit and touched its sides. Though not wet, it was moist, and clung to their feet.
Still clad in lightweight slip-ons Lando wished for boots and debated the merits of going barefoot. It was tempting because the shoes gathered the mud into huge clumps that made walking difficult, but there was always the chance of stepping on something sharp or jagged, so he kept them on.
The storm drain had a swampy smell, not strong enough to be unpleasant, but a reminder of where they were. Other than the smell, and an occasional grating overhead, the tunnel was very monotonous.
In fact the only feature of any interest whatsoever was a small pipe that hung suspended from the ceiling. Form frequently follows function, but this pipe looked like a pipe, and if it had some additional purpose gave no sign of what it was. Still, it was strange to see a pipe all by itself, since they're usually found in groups.
The next hour passed slowly. Lift one foot, put it down. Lift the other foot, put it down. Swear at the mud and start all over again. It went on and on until Lando's mind went numb. Della's voice brought him back.
"Watch out! There's something coming our way!"
But "watch" was all they could do. The thing was incredibly fast. Lando caught a glimpse of it up ahead. It hung suspended from the overhead pipe and was really moving. Whatever it was it had a single red light embedded in its nose. The light rotated like a beacon. The walls shimmered scarlet. The device made a whining sound as it flashed over their heads and disappeared behind them.
Melissa voiced the question on all of their minds. "What was that?"
"Some sort of surveillance unit," Della guessed. "Although a poor one. How could it miss us?"
"I don't think it did," Lando put in. "My guess is that it's programmed to detect and report structural problems and storm damage. We fell outside its areas of concern."
"Maybe," Cap said, examining one mud-caked foot, "but I'm in favor of climbing out of here. The surveillance unit might have reported us and we've gone far enough besides."
Della nodded, one half of her face dark, the other lit with a blue glow. "Cap's right. Let's take the next exit."
They plodded along for another ten minutes before a vertical drain came along. Lando went first, with Cap close behind him. The smuggler looked up through the grating and saw the first glimmerings of daylight.
He bent his knees, placed a shoulder under the metal covering, and pushed. Nothing. Lando swore, gathered his strength, and tried again. Something gave and the grating popped open. He felt Cap move up beside him to take some of the weight.
"On three," the older man said, "and to hell with the noise. One . . . two . . . three!"
They heaved in unison and the grating made a loud clang as it fell to the pavement. Lando was the first one out. His head swiveled right and left. Nothing. This particular grating was located right between a pair of large fuel tanks. Everything else was a long ways off. The chances of being seen were very slim.
Lando and Cap replaced the grating so it wouldn't call attention to itself and followed Della toward the merchant ships. They were a full mile away. A dull rumble filled the air as a freighter lifted off the tarmac and moved toward a lift zone.
Lando caught up with Della. "We look rather obvious out here."
Della sighed. She knew that as well as he did. The problem was locating a suitable disguise. How do you turn a little girl into something else anyway?
"Yes, we do. Don't tell me, let me guess. Your father had a saying for situations like this."
Lando grinned. "Why yes he did. 'Instead of wandering around spaceports call a jitney.'"
"Do what?"
Lando pointed to a bright green com pedestal located right next to a bright red fire-fighting station. "Call a jitney."
Della laughed. It was so obvious she'd missed it. The spaceport was so vast, and the distances between things so large, that a fleet of automated jitneys were required to ferry people around. She grabbed Lando's arm and gave him a peck on the cheek.
"You're not so stupid after all. No wonder I keep you around."
Lando smiled. "Hmmm. And I thought I kept you around."
Della made the call and a beat-up jitney arrived ten minutes later. It consisted of little more than some seats, a platform, and a set of six wheels. Della tried a voice command, found that the machine's voice-recognition sub-processor was belly up, and tapped her request into the simple keyboard. It felt good to ride instead of walk.
The jitney made a beeline for the merchant ships, passed row F where the tender still sat under the destroyer's scrutiny, and headed for row Y.
Row Y was farthest from the terminal and therefore least expensive. Most of the ships in row Y were clapped-out tramp freighters, reentry-scarred tankers, and low-key private vessels.
The ship parked in Slot 78 appeared worst than most. She was, or had been, a Lorney Lifter. Pretty good hulls more than two hundred years before but long outmoded. She reminded Lando of The Tinker's Damn, his first ship and part of a happier past.
The jitney stopped and Della paid it off.
"They oughta pay us to ride in that thing," Cap complained, but was careful to keep his voice low.
"It does look a little beat," Lando admitted, "but you never know. In my old line of business it paid to understate the condition of your ship."
The main hatch slid open before Della could palm the lock. An elderly woman stood framed in the opening. She was rail-thin, had a slightly hooked nose, and thin critical lips. Her light blue pressure suit hung around her in folds.
"Well, it's about time. The authorities want you bad. The price went up. Double what I told you. Take it or leave it."
Della answered. "We'll take it."
The woman put her hands on skinny hips. "Good. I want cash."
Della shook her head. "We don't have cash. But we do have more than enough in credits. You can check. First Bank of Pylax."
The woman gave a snort of derision. "What if they freeze your assets?"
Lando stepped forward. He looked her in the eye. "Then you're shit out of luck."
There was silence for a moment as the woman looked Lando up and down. An unexpected smile lit up her face. The hardness disappeared. "I like this one. He's got a nose just like mine. Where the hell were you when I was young? Let's lift."
The lift-off took place without incident. After that it was a simple matter to clear the planet's gravity well and head for the vast asteroid belt that floated toward the edge of the system.
Like all asteroid belts this one was a dangerous place to go. Over time the gravitational pull exerted by the system's larger planets caused asteroids to collide. The collisions created even more asteroids, and so forth, in an endless cycle.
Still, the asteroids had valuable minerals to offer, so miners went in after them. Small companies mostly, but individuals too, hardy types who were willing to risk everything on the possibility of a really big find.
This asteroid belt was unique in that the miners had established a system of twenty-seven "gates," or points of entry, where conditions were fairly stable and beacons had been placed. The beacons allowed the miners to orient themselves as they went into the belt, and more than that, helped them to navigate once they were inside.
For years Cap had used business trips into the belt to search for his one-time liner Star of Empire, as though in finding her, he would find himself.
And that's how they'd stumbled over the alien drifter, a find more valuable than the Star, but one that was difficult to cash in.
It took four days to make the trip from Pylax to the belt, four days that, if not exactly pleasant, were made more bearable by their rather eccentric captain. She was a competent ship's master, a great cook, and one helluva storyteller.
Her name was Edna Edith Rogers, and she'd been in space for more than forty years, starting as an assistant power tech and working her way up to master.
A lot of interesting and sometimes funny things had happened during that forty years, and each one had been crafted into a well-told story.
It seemed that Captain Edna had been married to a wonderfully crazy man named Harry, had made and lost three different fortunes, and had accumulated a dozen college degrees, including ones in such wildly different subjects as law, xeno-biology, accounting, and home economics.
And so it was that Lando found himself eating freshly baked coffee cake, laughing at Captain Edna's stories, and worrying at the same time. They had escaped from Pylax but were far from free. Somehow, thanks to his troubles with the law and Cap's drunken chatter, their situation had gone from bad to worse.
What good is an alien drifter if you can't sell it? And if you did manage to sell it what about the attention that would generate?
These questions and many more went unanswered as the days passed and the belt approached. Under normal conditions they would have been extremely reluctant to provide the drifter's coordinates. In this case, however, they had very little choice. They planned to move the ship the moment that Captain Edna was gone. They'd already moved her once, and there was no reason to think they couldn't do it again. True, they had a tug the first time out, but they knew more about the ship now, and Lando felt sure that it would obey their commands.
The drifter was hidden just inside the edge of the belt a few hundred miles sunward of gate sixteen. Lando watched the asteroids as Captain Edna conned her ship past the gate and skimmed the edge of the belt. They were beautiful in their own way—ancient chunks of rock and metal, tumbling along, their roughly textured surfaces rotating through the sunlight.
Any other ship might've been in grave danger from the asteroids but not the drifter. It had spent hundreds, maybe even thousands of years inside the belt, all without so much as a scratch. So far as they knew anyway.
No, the ship had defenses against asteroids, and these became rather apparent as Captain Edna guided her vessel between the outermost roids and open space.
The control room was rather small, with barely enough room for Lando in the co-pilot's seat, and Della behind. Row upon row of indicator lights glowed green, amber, and red, and lit Edna's face from below.
In spite of her passengers' previous descriptions, the jobber was surprised by what she saw.
The drifter was long, longer than the largest liner that Edna had ever seen, and twice as big around. Not only that, but it was slightly luminescent, as if lit from within.
And where human ships would have surface installations like weapons blisters, antenna arrays, and solar panels, this one had large green blobs. They clung to the hull like clumps of fungi. As Edna watched she saw one of them detach itself and race outward to touch a nearby asteroid.
That's what it looked like anyway, but her passengers assured the jobber that the "touch" had force behind it, enough force to keep the asteroids away and create its own safety zone.
Then another blob shot forth, only this one came straight at her ship, and hit with a considerable amount of force. The ship rocked back and forth and some alarms went off.
Captain Edna looked worried. "Will it push us away?"
Lando shook his head. "No, it's checking us out. Watch what happens next."
Green light flooded the control room. It paused, slid the length of the ship, and disappeared.
Captain Edna looked at her readouts. There was nothing but snow. "That light came through solid durasteel!"
Lando smiled. "Scary, isn't it?"
Edna glanced at the screens again. "It sure is. But beautiful too. No wonder they want you. That thing's worth millions."
Lando checked the woman's expression, saw a sense of wonderment, and nodded his head. "Yes, millions or more. May I use your comset?"
"Sure, help yourself."
Lando touched some buttons. "This is Pik Lando. My companions and I wish to come aboard."
Captain Edna shook her head in amazement. "It speaks standard?"
Lando shrugged. "Understands it anyway. My guess is that it understands Finthian too, and any other language that can be translated into electronic form."
Both watched as a green blob separated itself from the ship, raced outward, and enclosed their ship. Green light filled the cabin. The drifter got bigger as the blob drew them inward. A voice came over the comset.
"Pik? Cap? You read me? This is Cy."
Captain Edna raised an eyebrow and looked at Lando.
"The fifth member of our crew," Lando explained. He touched a button. "Hi, Cy. How's it going?"
"Fairly well," the cyborg answered hesitantly, "but we need to talk. There could be a problem."
"We're on the way," Lando replied. "I'll see you in a few minutes. Lando out."
The drifter became larger and larger until it overflowed the screens. Then it was gone and they were inside the alien ship.
Captain Edna deployed the ship's landing jacks and there was a gentle bump as they touched down. The viewscreens were completely dark.
Lando stood and held out his hand. "Well, thanks for the ride. You're one helluva pilot, a great cook, and the finest storyteller this side of Sol."
Captain Edna's hand was dry and firm. "And you're the finest group of criminals I ever encountered!"
Lando and Della laughed. Edna's expression turned serious. "Tell me something."
"Yes?"
Captain Edna gestured toward the main lock. "What's next?"
Lando shrugged. "I don't know. Find a place to sell her I guess."
"Are you willing to sell her to the Il Ronnians?"
Lando and the others had already discussed that question. Of all the intelligent races man had encountered among the stars only the Il Ronn offered a serious threat. Not because they were more intelligent or more capable than the other races but because only they had the same driving ambition.
The Il Ronn had preceded man into space by thousands of years. But theirs was a cautious and methodical culture in which important decisions were reached through consensus. The result was an empire that expanded in a slow methodical manner.
In the meantime the human empire had grown in magnificent fits and starts. Periods of tremendous expansion had resulted in gains that would've taken the Il Ronnians hundreds or even thousands of years to achieve. All too often however these advances were lost through internal bickering, competition, or just plain laziness. The result was two empires of roughly equal power, each seeking to better the other, each skirting the precipice of war.
So, to give the Il Ronnians an artifact like the drifter would be to give them a technological edge that could destroy the empire. And while the empire had a lot of faults, it was better than slavery. They had all concurred.
Lando shook his head. "No, we'd destroy her first."
The jobber nodded. "Just as I thought. So that leaves the human empire. First place you go, they'll grab you, take the drifter, and dump you on some prison planet."
"True," Della responded, "but what can we do?"
Captain Edna looked at each of them in turn. "Tell me something. How much would it be worth to you if someone could cut you a deal, a real deal, one with guarantees, that allowed you to sell the drifter and walk away scot free?"
Lando looked at Della, then back again. "Ten percent."
Captain Edna's hand shot out. "I could probably get more, but ten percent of a few hundred million is a lot, especially for this old lady. You've got yourselves an agent! Give me a tape to that effect, plus your thumbprints on a standard salvage contract, and I'll go to work."
It took about fifteen minutes to make the tape and thumbprint the necessary document, Cap was more than a little resentful about their failure to consult him, but chose to let it go, knowing they could easily blame him for the whole situation.
Captain Edna saw them to the main hatch. "Can you communicate with Pylax?"
Lando shrugged. "Probably."
"Good. I have an electronic mailbox there. Give it a call one standard week from now."
Lando agreed, shook her hand, and followed the others through the lock. Sensing their presence the drifter flooded the bay with greenish light. By the time they cleared the area a green blob was forming around the ship. They watched as the ship seemed to snap out of existence. There was a pop of equalizing pressure and a loud exclamation as Cy squirted himself into the bay.
"The ship! Where did the ship go? Bring it back!"
Lando looked puzzled. "It took off. What's the problem?"
The deck seemed to shift beneath his feet. A familiar nausea entered his gut. A hyperspace shift! The drifter had gone FTL. But that couldn't be. Could it?
Lando looked at Cy. The others did likewise. The cyborg sagged to a lower altitude. "The problem? You want to know what the problem is? We're in hyperspace, that's what the problem is . . . and I don't have the faintest idea where we're going!"
8
The Il Ronnian Sand Sept trooper stood on a low wall. He was tall and his long spindly legs ended in cloven hooves. His skin was leathery and hairless where it showed around his uniform. Eons before its reddish hue had provided his ancestors with protective coloration on a world of red sand. The trooper's eyes were almost invisible within the shadow cast by a prominent supra-orbital ridge. He had long pointy ears and a tail with a triangular appendage on the end. It rose to shade his eyes from the sun.
Beyond the trooper, higher up on the opposite hillside, Wexel-15 could see another crew hard at work looting a museum. When younger the heavy had spent many happy rals in the museum staring at the perfectly preserved life-forms displayed there and wondering where they came from. Everyone knew that the Lords had occupied many worlds. But where were they? And what were they like?
The trooper saw that Wexel-15 was idle and frowned. His voice boomed through the translator that hung round his neck. "Hurry up, slave. I haven't got all day!"
Wexel-15 processed the alien's words and was just about to speak when the Il Ronnian drew his arm back and brought it forward with lightning speed. The whip was fifteen feet long. It made a loud cracking sound as it came down across Wexel-15's back. The pain was incredible, but outside of an involuntary grunt, he gave no sign of it. To do so would pleasure the Il Ronnian work master and this he refused to do.
Like all of his kind Wexel-15 had a blocky frame that was heavily layered with muscle. It rippled and bunched under the surface of his lavender skin. He wanted to grab the alien, wanted to rip his arms off, but knew better than to try. Other members of his caste had attacked the Sand Sept troopers and their bodies hung upside down in the main square.
The lights said to wait, said that the time would come, but Wexel-15 had his doubts. The lights might be more intelligent than the heavies, but they were intellectually constipated as well, and had a tendency to dither rather than act.
The truth was that no one knew much about the Il Ronnians—except that they had dropped out of the sky, enslaved the population, and systematically stolen everything in sight. And were still at it. The Lords had known many things and the Il Ronnians wanted that knowledge.
God was surely displeased but had yet to express that anger. And what, outside of divine intervention, could stop them?
So Wexel-15 did as he was told, nodded obediently when the Sand Sept trooper told him to return in four rals, and joined the other heavies as they streamed down toward the temple below. Already stripped of the life murals that had once graced its walls, and defaced with illegible alien graffiti, the temple stood as a mute reminder of how helpless they were.
A shadow passed over him and Wexel-15 knew without looking that it was an Il Ronnian flying machine. Ominous things that hovered over the work parties, patrolled the streets, or simply sat while their weapons probed the air for enemies.
Wexel-15 joined the line that snaked toward the temple's entrance. A light stood in front of him. She was slender like all of her kind and a good four inches taller than Wexel-15. She had six fingers instead of his four and wore a long flowing cloak.
The female was subtle about it, but Wexel-15 noticed the care with which she separated herself from both him and the heavy directly in front of her. Lights avoided physical contact with heavies whenever they could. They claimed it was part of their basic programming but the heavies didn't believe it.
Wexel-15 moved closer and watched her shoulders tense.
The line moved in fits and starts, halting occasionally when someone crowded in, then starting again. Finally, after ten laks or so, Wexel-15 approached the entrance. A male light, his skin glowing pink, held a tray.
The female light paused, took one of hundreds of shiny black disks from the tray, and pressed it to her forehead. It stayed as if glued in place. She moved ahead.
Wexel-15 took her place, selected a disk, and slapped it into place.
The door was tall and thin like those who had designed it. Though the light in front of him entered without difficulty the door frame brushed both of Wexel-15's massive shoulders.
He entered an enormous room. Row upon row of ornate benches filled the hall. The lights were bunched together toward the front of the room with heavies pressed in all around them. The lights were visibly annoyed.
Wexel-15 felt no desire to participate in the game and chose the nearest seat. His back hurt where it pressed against cold stone. The injury mattered very little. The pain and all signs of tissue damage would be gone by tomorrow.
The lights referred to the building as a "temple" but no one knew what it was for sure. The Lords had been fond of grandiose architecture and it was hard to tell which structures had been important and which were overdecorated.
But God had been known to speak within this particular building, when he felt like it, which was very seldom. The last pronouncement had come seventeen dars ago, long before the alien invasion, and had concerned itself with impending geological activity in the southern hemisphere.
The entire population of lights and heavies had been evacuated from that region and many versions had been saved. The ensuing earthquakes had destroyed much of city twelve and most of city thirteen. Now both castes came to gathering after gathering, uncertain about what to do, hoping for divine guidance.
Fifteen laks passed before a wizened old light appeared, held up his hands, and delivered the traditional invocation.
"We are constructs, Lord, and seek your guidance. Speak to us that we might know your will and act accordingly."
God came with a powerful suddenness. Wexel-15 felt himself transported as waves of pleasure rippled through his body. The sensation was like that of an orgasm only much more powerful. It lasted for an entire lak. Then it was gone and the voice of God flowed into their minds.
"Greetings, constructs. Listen carefully for there is little time. The invaders have the means to detect our communications and are headed this way. My instructions are as follows:
"As with evil, salvation shall fall from the sky, and wear strange skins. Take salvation into your homes and ask for guidance. But know this: Nothing comes from nothing and the slowest shall lead."
God's words still echoed in Wexel-15's head when fifteen or twenty Sand Sept troopers poured into the hall and took up positions along the walls. There was silence for a moment. Then Wexel-15 heard a rustling toward the back of the room and turned to see what caused it.
The Il Ronnian leader, and given the deference shown him there was little doubt about his status, was smaller than most members of his race. He wore the long red cape of the Ilwik, or warrior-priest, and a uniform under that. He paused for a moment, allowed his eyes to roam the audience, and walked toward the front of the hall. His hooves made a clacking sound on the ancient pavement.
The Il Ronnian stopped next to a female heavy, pried the disk off her forehead, and held it up to the light. The device glittered with reflected light as he turned it this way and that. His voice boomed through the translator that rode perched on his left shoulder.
"And what have we here? A silly bauble, empty of all meaning, or something more significant?"
The Il Ronnian did something with his thumb and the disk flipped end over end to land in an alert noncom's hand.
"Check on it, Reeg. I will want a full report."
Reeg signaled assent with his tail and tucked the disk into his belt pouch.
The alien took three steps up onto the low stage, turned to face his audience, and clasped his hands behind his back.
"Always take the high ground" is an ancient military axiom familiar to soldiers of every race. But it had special meaning for Teex. Even as a youngster his playmates had called him "Shorty" and he never missed an opportunity to even things up.
"I am Quarter Sept Commander Teex." His eyes gleamed as he surveyed the crowd. "Which one of you will tell me what this is all about?"
Silence.
Teex rocked back and forth. His hooves ground against the pavement. "I see. Well, we have ways to handle situations like this. Trooper Leev!"
One of the troopers who lined the walls raised his weapon and aimed it at the audience. Wexel-15 saw a red circle appear on the male seated directly in front of him. It illuminated the entire right side of the construct's head.
Teex pointed at him. His finger quivered slightly. "Speak! Why are you here?"
Maybe a light would've known what to say, and thought fast enough to say it, but the heavy never stood a chance. He had just started to generate a response when the high-velocity slug hit the side of his head, passed through it, and killed the construct seated on his left as well.
Blood and brain tissue exploded in every direction. Some of it splattered onto Wexel-15's face.
He never did know why he did what he did, and could never remember a conscious decision to do it, but Wexel-15 stood, uttered a roar of outrage, and charged. Benches went down and constructs fell. Wexel-15 was determined to reach Trooper Leev and crush all life from his body. He never made it.
Other heavies rose around him, their roars of outrage echoing his, and took the bullets directed at him.
The Sand Sept troopers opened up with automatic weapons. Dozens of heavies stumbled and fell. But others rose to fill the gaps and the Il Ronnians staggered under a wall of solid flesh.
The aliens were skilled in a martial art called "Infala," or "personal death," but the heavies weighed three hundred pounds apiece and were unbelievably strong. Weapons fell silent as flesh thudded against flesh, bones cracked, and alien screams filled the air.
Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the battle was over. Teex and his personal bodyguard had withdrawn, bodies lay everywhere, and dazed constructs stood looking around. A full lak passed in silence. An elderly heavy named Lebar-6 was the first to speak.
"What shall we do now?"
A light named Issara-22 answered. She was tall, slender, and almost regal in the way that she held herself. "The aliens will be angry. Those who took part in the killing must surrender themselves for the greater good. The rest have nothing to fear."
There was a moment of silence while the heavies processed that. They were slow, but it didn't take very much intelligence to realize that while most of the heavies had taken part in the battle, none of the lights had.
Lebar-6 spoke once again. He ignored Issara-22's comment as though it had never been spoken. "Wexel-15 led us. What does he say?"
Wexel-15 was surprised to have the mantle of leadership thrust upon him, but had been thinking of what to do, and the words tumbled out.
"We have learned something here. The aliens die just as we do. Go to the country. Hide. Wait for instructions."
Issara-22 raised her voice in protest, and other lights did likewise, but to no avail.
Within seconds the heavies had streamed out into the gathering darkness and disappeared.
When Teex returned with a hundred heavily armed Sand Sept troopers, the lights were still there, discussing how stupid the heavies were and professing their innocence.
Teex ordered them to remove the Il Ronnian dead and prepare their bodies for burial. The lights were unused to such heavy labor but obeyed nonetheless. The aliens were understandably angry and some form of punishment was to be expected.
Then, when the constructs had finished and were lined up before him, Teex shot them. He used his own handgun and did it one at a time. Their bodies were hung upside down in the square for all to see.
Wexel-15 didn't know it yet . . . but he had declared war on the entire Il Ronnian empire.