 
### SAVIORS OF THE GALAXY

### In the beginning

a novelette by Michael E. Walston

Published by Michael E. Walston at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 Michael E. Walston

Cover by Michael E. Walston

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author. It may be reproduced, copied, and distributed only for non-commercial purposes and only if it remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please visit the retailer it was downloaded from to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

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This book is dedicated to Kellie Hazell

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**Table of Contents**

Saviors of the Galaxy

Excerpt from "Panic Button"

Excerpt from "Holy Warfare"

Author's Afterword

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This novelette also appears in an e-book anthology entitled Incident on Sugar Sand Road and other stories (now on sale at various online retailers for $2.99), which contains five original tales. Excerpts from other stories in that book can be found at the back of this one. This story is a condensed version of the first section of an upcoming novel, but it stands on its own. Additional material will be restored to the full-length version.

Saviors of the Galaxy

Back to Table of Contents

1

The Reeshi Moon was a haven for oxygen breathers.

It gleamed against the dark of space with soft luminous shades of green and violet and tan, wrapped in bright golden clouds. Its Jovian primary glowed balefully in the distance, girdled with bands of bronze and crimson.

A Zhianese dreadnaught approached it slowly, a hulking black ovoid mass with downspread tendrils that seemed to reach toward the little orb like the talons of some malevolent predator.

They would probably find their human here, where it would likely be the only one of its kind.

They were here to reclaim it—and dispose of it. The arrogant little creature could not be allowed to live, considering what it knew.

If it had told anyone, it would suffer in agony as it died.

2

The human suspected he was being followed.

The street lay deserted before him. The murky violet sky spread above him, streaked with acidic golden clouds. The ancient metropolis surrounded him, somber square masses of weathered brown stone. Tangled dark greenery sprouted copiously from cracked pitted surfaces, despite the cold gloom and the brisk moaning wind.

A crumbling, overgrown ruin, abandoned at present—or so it appeared—but the Reeshi weren't bothered by unkempt vegetation or eroded facades.

He turned abruptly, hoping to glimpse his pursuer.

A huge alien being, sort of a cross between a walrus and an octopus, ducked into the mouth of an alley. It was the only sentient in sight and it seemed to be getting closer.

He consulted the flexible silver databand he wore around his head, and it informed him the establishment coming up on his right was a bar called 'The Watering Hole'. They were common in this part of the city.

He had to smile at the name—it wasn't a very original one. An unprepossessing structure of dark tan block, the tavern wouldn't have seemed out of place in many human settlements, other places and times.

Its door was tall and square, wide enough for ten bipeds to pass abreast, a bright silver surface. A small segment of it, just big enough to admit him, vanished into mist at his approach.

Strange ethereal sound patterns—alien music?—emanated from the opening. A reek of stale smoke drifted outward.

He halted, wondering if this was really such a good idea. Again he faced flat metal. He took another step and the opening reappeared, emitting sounds and smells as before.

Well, he wanted to get off the street and he could certainly use a drink. His databand assured him this place could provide it.

Entering, he stopped to wait for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. Reeshi eyes didn't require much light.

The air was warm and pungent. He took off his jacket and laid it over his arm.

One of the little creatures rushed up to him. "May I serve you, good sir?" Its speech resembled cricket chirps, but his databand routed a translation into his brain.

"I'd like a drink. Something alcoholic."

It was vaguely simian in appearance, having soft yellow fur and a large round head, with huge golden eyes that were multifaceted like those of an insect.

What might it make of _him_? A human in dark blue clothing with long brown hair, pale green eyes, a salt-and-pepper beard, and a noticeable paunch could well seem exotic here.

It wore no databand but it obviously had access to translation, for it gave a little hop. "We've a number of such beverages. Something sweet? With a fruit base?"

"Anything like beer?"

It cocked its head. "Grain based? High carbohydrate content?"

"Something like that."

"Oh, yes, good sir! I have something like that. How will you comport yourself while you imbibe it?"

"Could I sit at a table by myself? On a chair?"

"Is the table necessary? I can get you the chair."

"It isn't crucial. But it gives you someplace to put your drink."

The Reeshi thought this over. "Oh, certainly! It takes time to metabolize the alcohol. To feel the full effect."

The human nodded. "That's it exactly. Reeshi don't drink, I take it?"

"Of course we do!" It paused. "Oh, a context error. No, we don't drink alcohol, but we do have our vices. I can accommodate you, good sir! Follow me."

It led him across the room. In the dim reddish light he couldn't see well, but the floor underfoot was stone, and the furnishings were all of some black, resinous substance.

There were perhaps a dozen species in evidence, about fifty sentients in all. Most of them were locals, their various homeworlds lying within a hundred light years of this one, the exception being a wolfish Yulian—one of the galaxy's more widely traveled types.

He saw no other genus known to humanity, but that wasn't surprising; he was fairly sure he was a long way from anyplace humans had ventured before.

He had a moment's satisfaction at the thought.

They sprawled or crouched on the floor, or occupied various types of chairs or racks, ingesting or smoking assorted substances, conversing in myriad tongues.

The music came from a dais at the far end of the room, where catlike musicians in swirling blue fog coaxed soft, soothing sounds from their instruments; he didn't recognize the species. Nobody was paying them much attention—a common fate for lounge combos across the galaxy.

The Reeshi stopped. It indicated a low black stool, and then grabbed a taller one and placed it near the first. "Your table and chair, good sir."

The human laughed. "That will be fine."

The Reeshi stared for a moment in puzzlement, and then scurried off. With a sigh, the human seated himself. The Reeshi came back shortly with a huge tankard of beverage.

The human sipped at it gingerly. It tasted like beer. Strong beer, in fact. And it was cold! He felt his body begin to unwind.

"Satisfactory, good sir?"

"Excellent, thank you." He decided against saying it was the equivalent of _several_ beers—after all, he wasn't complaining.

The Reeshi left. The human looked around warily. He saw no creature like the one he'd feared was tailing him.

As he drank, he watched the door. What would he do if it entered here?

A strange being turned to stare at him, and then rose from a crouch and moved toward him with a scuttling motion. It was rather like a giant cockroach walking erect; it was covered by a glossy shell, lustrous and glistening, gray with pearl highlights. He tensed as it approached.

"May I join you?" it asked. Its speech was a string of staccato clicks.

He hesitated, consulting his databand. He'd received local orientation courtesies on arrival, of course, but information about this being didn't seem to be readily available.

He didn't want to risk offending it. "All right."

It lowered itself to the floor, its eyestalks swiveling toward him like serpents. It was slurping liquid from something resembling a cocoanut, using a long red straw—or was that its tongue?

The requested data finally arrived, falling into patterns in his mind. This was a _Dalhou_ , hailing from a world several thousand light years distant—as much a foreigner in these parts as he was. Dalhou were gregarious, and they were considered excellent conversationalists.

By whom? The data packet didn't say.

"Well, stranger, we may be the first of our kinds ever to meet," said the human cautiously. By now he had a bit of a buzz on.

The Dalhou was still for a moment. Then it gave a twitch. "That must be so! Forgive my silence, I was consulting my implant about you. You're a _human_ , far from your home, like me. We could indeed be the first."

"Honored to meet you." He took a long pull on his beer. "My name's George Wells."

"I'm called Lychel."

"What brings you to this planet, Lychel?" There, a test of its conversational powers.

"I like to travel, George. And I do a bit of trading."

"Hey, I'm a trader too."

"You have a ship?" asked Lychel.

"The _Lucky Star_ ," said George. "You?"

"My vessel is called the _Agreeable Path_."

George grinned. He decided he liked this Lychel. "We have some things in common."

"So it seems. Forgive me, George, but I'm surprised to meet a lone human trader—your people are 'newbies', just recently logged onto the Galactic Net. But perhaps I'm encountering data lag?"

"No. We're new to starfaring, that much is true. Not long ago we were confined to one planet." He took another swig of beer. "I came into some money and had a starship outfitted on my own. Blew half my inheritance on her, found the know-how on the G-Net. Other humans will follow behind me sooner or later."

He refrained from adding "darn them".

"I take it your people detected one of the introductory tachyon signals?" Lychel sucked juice from his cocoanut-thingy.

"That's right," George said. "The governments tried to keep the space signals secret, but they couldn't. The first to decode the instructions for building an ansible modem was a graduate student in a place called Oxford, Mississippi."

"Oh, my!" Lychel said. "You don't mean he built one on his own initiative?"

"Yep. Plugged it right into our worldwide computer web."

Lychel gave a high-pitched keening sound which George's databand informed him was the equivalent of 'hearty laughter'.

George nodded. "You know the rest."

"Several scenarios spring to mind. It went well?"

George shrugged. "I guess it went smooth, though it probably didn't seem like it then. But when the Galactic Net invaded and took over our old Internet, there was no going back. I've read about the chaos that's occurred elsewhere, and I think we came off lucky. What about your planet?"

"Computers weren't common when the transition took place," Lychel said. "It was orderly enough. What became of the graduate student?"

"Roger Goode, his name was. He caught all kinds of hell, but became a folk hero in the end. Anyway, several others did the same thing that week. Those signals aren't all that hard to decipher."

"Your authorities were displeased?"

"Of course they were. But after all, the result of what they did wasn't bad. There was panic on Earth at first but the outcome was, humans now had access to all sorts of incredible stuff. Accessible from the privacy of your own home."

Lychel waggled his eyestalks. "There was another aspect to it, wasn't there? Now the Galaxy knew about _you_."

George nodded. "Our first visitors were a pack of Yulian contractors offering to build us some wormholes."

Again came the keening laughter, more subdued this time. "Ever the opportunists. Did they find customers?"

"Indeed they did." George gulped some beer. "But soon we realized all the information anyone could ever need about wormhole engineering was available on the Galaxy Wide Web."

The Reeshi chose that moment to return. It seemed flustered to find the Dalhou with George. "Really, good sir!" it scolded Lychel. "This creature wanted to sit by itself."

"It's all right," said George. "I'm enjoying his company."

"You're certain I'm not intruding?" asked Lychel.

"Not at all. I haven't had anyone to talk to lately, and I'm a long way from home. I don't suppose either of you has seen a human before."

"Oh, I've seen one!" said the Reeshi. "Quite recently, in fact."

George felt a rush of emotion. "Really? Where?"

"Right here in this saloon. A female."

"How interesting," said Lychel. He was still for a moment, consulting the web. "I'd like to meet her. I wish to see how she differs from a male such as yourself."

George felt his face turning red. It was an absurd reaction, but he was faintly embarrassed. The intense bipolar nature of human sexuality wasn't unique, but apparently it wasn't the pattern followed by Lychel's species.

He consulted his databand, and then wished he hadn't. The mechanics of reproduction for Lychel's kind involved oral ingestion by one Dalhou of secretions from another. A Dalhou could even clone itself by ingesting its own secretions.

George shuddered. There times he wished he'd never left Gainesville.

"I'd like to meet her too," he said. "You guys excuse me a minute, would you?"

"Certainly, George," said Lychel.

"I wanted to check on you," said the Reeshi. "Would you like another drink?"

"Not just now, thanks."

"I've duties elsewhere." It bustled off.

George closed his eyes. He queried the local web about other humans in the vicinity.

<You are the only human with an active link to the planetary web.>

<Are there humans with inactive links?> he asked.

<That information is not available.>

George smiled crookedly. Computers didn't think to lie to you. If there were no humans around, its reply should simply be <No>.

If this mysterious woman wished to remain anonymous, he wouldn't be able to find her. Perhaps it was for the best? But maybe he'd try again later.

He wondered at her motive. Could she be in some sort of trouble? He began to feel uneasy.

He opened his eyes. "I couldn't reach her," he told Lychel.

"Perhaps she's busy. Did you leave a message?"

"No human but me has an active link right now. I couldn't learn about inactive ones. I'm guessing she requested the net not to tell anyone about her."

"She must want privacy."

George shrugged. "Or she's running from someone."

"That's conjecture on your part, George."

"It might be something else," George said. "A human thing. It's called intuition."

He remembered his suspected stalker. Maybe something out there was hostile to humans? He took a deep breath and tried to relax.

"I'm sure she's fine," said Lychel.

"You're probably right."

"So the G-Net infected humanity's computer web—this happened in your lifetime?"

He was an ardent conversationalist, all right.

"In my father's time," said George. "Long before I was born. The year was 2039, by our local calendar."

The Dalhou was silent a long moment. "Forgive me. I see you're short-lived creatures."

"That's okay," said George. "You know, it troubled folks that there was no official notice of us. No formal greetings, no emissaries."

"No central authority," said Lychel.

"Eventually we figured that out," said George. "Power is vested in the G-Net. Admission to which means humans never have to discover anything on our own again. I wonder if that's wholly a good thing?"

"Your species might have followed an interesting path by itself, but now you don't need to."

George realized he was more than a little drunk. He raised his glass in salute. "Ah, the almighty G-Net! It gives answers to all questions, wisdom free for everybody."

"Wisdom can consist of knowing which questions to ask."

"What if you have questions about the G-Net itself?"

"Such as?"

"Is it sentient?" asked George. "It never gives a straight answer to that one."

"In my opinion it isn't," said Lychel.

"Opinion?"

"Some of my people don't share it."

"But you're the expert."

"Do you only hold opinions on matters in which you're expert, George?"

George smiled. "Point taken. But it has its own agenda, you know? Wormholes must be open to all travelers. With the exception of military forces. No conquest permitted."

"Nothing objectionable there," said Lychel.

"Trading ships may go armed," continued George. "In case the locals prove hostile somewhere. Colonization allowed on uninhabited planets or abandoned ones, one species per world. Unless all parties can work things out, otherwise it's first come first served. And some other items I could mention."

"A highly _benevolent_ agenda."

"How could it have one _without_ consciousness?"

"It was instilled by those who created it, perhaps?"

"Which begs the question, who was that?" George asked. "It's reticent about its past."

"Some ancient assembly of now-vanished races," Lychel replied. "That's the accepted explanation. We know it came into being eons ago. None of the species that currently utilize it existed then. If you were to dig through its earliest databases you could probably discover the specifics—"

"Not in a human lifetime, you couldn't," George said. "Anyway, hasn't that been tried in recent memory?"

"Yes, but not with success," Lychel said.

"That's what I'm getting at! Doesn't that strike you as ominous?"

Lychel hesitated. "It does strike some beings that way."

"Well, there you go."

The conversation drifted to other subjects. Eventually Lychel had to leave for an appointment.

"I've enjoyed meeting you, George," he said.

"Same here," George said. "Maybe we could get together again."

"Why, certainly. Maybe we can even do some business. Would you be willing to send me the cargo specs of your vessel?"

"Sure. I'll attend to it soon as I get back."

They exchanged commcodes. Lychel rose to his feet, and they bid each other good-bye.

George finished his beer, and then got up to go. As he left, he paid his bill with a credit-spurt from his databand. He included a generous tip for the little Reeshi who had been so solicitous of him.

3

Outdoors, the temperature had fallen, and his nemesis was nowhere in sight. George supposed he must be rid of it.

He donned his jacket. The climate here was blustery; a yellow mass of sulfurous dark clouds had rolled into the sky while he had been inside. The low, moaning wind, ever constant, had picked up.

That explained the empty streets today. Nobody got caught in this planet's weather if they could help it. He hastened along at a brisk pace, hands jammed into his pockets.

Anyway, the Spire wasn't far. He could see it from where he walked, towering up into the dense, dark clouds. He looked up once, to get his bearings—and his heart gave a lurch in his chest. The Spire seemed to be swaying!

Well, they would have to engineer flexibility into the things. Turbulent winds were common here, after all.

Still, the sight certainly got your attention.

He finally reached the bazaar that surrounded the great shaft. There were few sentients about today, nothing like the usual crowds. He hurried across the plaza, glad the way was clear for once.

Paved with ancient stones, peopled with beings from a thousand worlds, it always seemed like a vast, colorful zoo. A constant roar usually filled the air, vocalizations and squeals and hisses from the breaths of ten thousand beings. A rich, tangy smell rode the tide of those breaths, pheromones and machine oils and cooking odors and God only knew what else.

Today it wasn't such an assault on the senses. He strode for a mile past stalls and exhibits of all shapes and sizes, all sorts of materials: cloth and plastic, lumber and sheet-metal, mounds of dried mud. The merchants were free-lance traders like him, their ships moored at the orbital docks as his was. The Reeshi Moon was a major starport for this sector, drawing ships and sentients from all over.

He had sold his own cargo on arrival, to an established local vendor. Yet he thought it might have been fun to participate in this cosmic flea market. If he ever passed this way again, he would give it a try.

There were similar markets at the bases of the other Spires. He had spent some fascinated hours exploring this one when he had first arrived here.

Many of the booths were closed due to the weather; others were in the process of shutting down. Presently fat yellow globules of rain began to fall, splattering noisily on the pavement. His eyes began to sting. This world's water was acidic, and the air was suddenly drenched with it. Its sharp odor stung his nostrils.

He started to run, keeping his head down. His skin began to burn.

He finally reached the structure below the Spire, gasping for breath as he entered the archway. The rain began to pour down in torrents.

He staggered to a halt. A Reeshi attendant trotted up to him. "Did the weather cause you discomfort, good sir?"

"It damn sure did!"

The Reeshi blew him dry with a portable air sprayer, and then doused him with an aerosol mist. The stinging and burning subsided. The creature scampered off, not waiting for thanks.

The interior was a vast lobby, poorly lit by human standards. Walkways and platforms loomed high in the gloom, myriad levels suspended from intricate lattices. Conveyor belts and other machines rumbled and throbbed in a ceaseless din.

Here, at last, there were crowds; he shouldered through them (human shoulders, he reflected, could be handy things), finally reached his ramp, and was forced to wait in line.

Behind him came a clattering rush of footsteps. He whirled apprehensively.

A Reeshi stopped to catch its breath. "Pardon, good sir! There appears to have been some misunderstanding between us."

"You served me at The Watering Hole?"

"I performed that role."

"Is there a problem?"

"You overpaid your bill. This fee labeled 'gratuity' was neither requested nor expected. In fact it came as a distinct shock! I pray it wasn't some subtle form of insult."

"No! It was an expression of gratitude, a gift."

"Oh, you're most generous, good sir! It was a spontaneous gesture?"

"Not entirely. It's a customary thing on my world."

"I'm confused. You would have paid this fee even if my service had been less satisfactory?"

George chuckled. "Then I would have given you a _small_ tip. But it's not obligatory."

"Some of your people don't, uh, tip?"

"That's correct. Yet it's considered bad form not to."

The alien blinked. "Ah, the endless cultural complexities. This is why I love my job so much. Very well, good sir. I accept it in the spirit with which it was given."

"You deserve it." George managed to keep from patting the Reeshi's head. "After all, you probably don't earn as much as you should, working in the hospitality industry."

The Reeshi was still for a moment. "But sir, on my world waiting tables is the most lucrative of professions, requiring years of study. Many who aspire to be waiters never make it."

It was George's turn to blink. "Wow. There's a cultural complexity for you."

"We must be prepared to deal with many types of beings."

"I see. Well, as far as the tip is concerned, you're welcome to it."

"I'm gratified." The Reeshi tilted his head. "Still, I can't help but feel I owe you further service. If I may escort you to your ship?"

"It's not necessary. I can find my way."

"I insist."

The line had been moving up a smooth black incline as they talked. They had reached a landing where a Reeshi attendant sat behind a desk. The line snaked around to mount another ramp.

George's escort leaned over the desk and trilled at the attendant, a string of unintelligible sounds. The other Reeshi trilled back what sounded like an assent.

George's companion led him behind the desk to a low railing. A knee-high gate snicked open at the Reeshi's stare, and they exited onto a narrow catwalk.

Growls, hisses, and other sounds of resentment rose from behind them. George felt faintly embarrassed; it seemed line jumpers weren't any more popular here than on Earth.

They reached a spiral stair and climbed several levels to the embarking platform for space-bound elevators. An attendant touched George's databand with a wand, spoke briefly with George's Reeshi, and then gestured them onward. A metal door dissolved open as they approached.

They found an empty compartment in a newly arrived module. George lowered himself onto something resembling a seat, and the Reeshi sprawled on the soft, pliant floor. The little cabin was dimly lit by tubes of reddish gas.

A blubbery, tentacled being with long sharp tusks entered behind them and draped itself over a rack. It did not seem aware of them. George decided against trying to engage it in conversation. Something about it troubled him vaguely.

Moments later the module surged skyward.

Viewed from outside, the surface of the Spire was a reflective silver. From inside it was transparent, and George was near a viewport. At first he saw nothing but dark heaving clouds.

Then the elevator shot above them, breaking into the purple sky. He caught his breath in wonder, transfixed by the glorious sight. He could hear the faint howling of a distant angry wind.

He turned to his companion, intending to share his delight, and was surprised to find the little being curled into a fetal ball.

Well, one often saw Reeshi doing that. It was called going frolf, and it seemed to be an involuntary reflex. The polite response was to ignore it and not mention it when they came out of it. Perhaps this one had no stomach for heights.

The firmament slowly darkened. Soon, far above, he could see the docks, sprawling across the sky in a complex network, an intricate maze of beams, tubes, and globes..

From thousands of miles out they looked like a halo of nebulous silver around the planet. From the ground, at night, they appeared as a misty band of light.

Seen from this perspective, they utterly dominated the heavens.

The module began to decelerate. Now he could discern individual ships nestled in docking bays, vessels from all over this part of space. His own ship was some distance away, not visible.

The elevator coasted to a stop. George's weight, which had lessened as the car slowed, returned abruptly—he was now within the gravity grid of the docks.

The creature that had shared their compartment leapt toward the hatch—George would not have believed a being so massive could move so fast if he hadn't witnessed it—and swung around to face them, blocking the opening. It reached toward him with a tentacle.

He moved hastily back out of range.

It made a slithering sound. A translation crawled through George's brain. "You! I identify you as human."

George's heart hammered anxiously. He queried the local web for information about the thing.

"I'm human, yes." His databand informed him there were no records available concerning such a creature.

"I require you to attend me."

He stared incredulously. "I'm sorry, but I don't know you. And I don't recall having any business to conduct with you."

"I have business to conduct with you."

Fear pounded through him. He took a deep breath. "Is that so? What is it?"

"My masters have questions to ask of you. Come with me."

"Your masters? Who might they be?"

It quivered impatiently. "You are to _answer_ questions, not ask them."

A spark of resentment flared within George. "I'm sorry, but I must refuse. Will you please move out of my way?"

It gave a violent shudder. "You do not have the option of refusal! You will come with me."

"What happens after I've spoken with these masters of yours?"

"That is for them to decide."

"You're joking! Please stand aside." With a mental effort, George used his databand to trigger the alarm that would alert the Spire Authority.

A strident siren began to blare. The lighting flashed in bright, rapid pulses.

He heard Reeshi voices chattering in agitation.

The alien moved out into the passageway.

The alarm abruptly ceased. A Reeshi peered into the compartment; another was just behind him. "You signaled for assistance, good sir?"

"I did. This creature was trying to abduct me—"

The Reeshi cop cringed as if it had been slapped. "No! I fear you misunderstand, good sir. This is a _Tyreel_. A servant of the Zhianese."

"Whoever _they_ are—"

"Ignorant human!" said the Tyreel scornfully.

"The Zhianese are hydrogen breathers," said the Reeshi cop. "They rarely visit us, and don't come here without good cause. You should go with him."

Fresh terror throbbed in George's heart. "No!"

"It's best to respect the wishes of the Zhianese. They are powerful."

George moved into the passageway. "Can this Tyreel _force_ me to go with him? Do the Zhianese have jurisdiction over your world?" If they did it was news to George.

The Reeshi began to shiver. "Please, good sir. Cooperate. They might not harm you."

But now the Reeshi from the Watering Hole unfolded from frolf and sprang to its feet. It moved to stand at his elbow, quivering nervously. "They don't have authority to compel you," it said quietly.

The Tyreel swelled like a balloon suddenly inflated, radiating speechless anger into the translation matrix.

George felt a flood of gratitude. It took courage for a Reeshi to force itself from frolf like that. "Thanks for your help, pal. It was nice to meet you. I'll find my way from here."

It bobbed its head. "Best of luck, good sir."

"I'll just be going back to my ship now," said George, his voice unsteady. "No disrespect toward your masters, Tyreel."

"Your refusal is a deadly insult to them!"

"You should do as he wishes," said the Reeshi cop.

"No offense intended, but the answer is no. Good day, gentlemen."

He turned and walked away, and could not keep from walking so rapidly that it might have been called running.

Just across the corridor was a row of panels giving access to the cross-dock transfer tubes. One of them dissolved open at his approach. That was a piece of luck, there was a transfer car available!

He climbed into it and used his databand to enter the location code for the _Lucky Star_ 's berth.

The opening shut and the car surged forward, rapidly picking up speed.

Until that moment he had halfway expected a tentacle to grip his shoulder. He had not dared look back. He found himself shaking uncontrollably.

His nerves slowly calmed. He felt a huge, sweet sense of relief.

Just how close a call had that been? Who _were_ the Zhianese?

And what did they want with _him_?

The car slowed, turned into an exit niche, and stopped. The hatch melted open.

George looked around anxiously as he stepped into the corridor. There didn't seem to be anyone or anything waiting for him in the immediate vicinity.

Not that he could see, he amended. The lighting was just as poor here as it was elsewhere in Reeshi territory.

He strode hurriedly across the corridor toward the access port.

"A human being! I knew it!"

He whirled toward the sudden voice, galvanized by an instant of pure terror.

4

The woman emerged from the shadow of a parked freight conveyor. She took a cautious step in his direction.

She was lovely. Tall and slight of frame, slender and willowy and rather frail looking, she wore a baggy white coverall that didn't appear to have been washed in months.

Her light blue eyes were large and wide, filled with a gentle intelligence. Her wispy pale hair was blond, almost white. It hung perfectly straight to an uneven line just above her shoulders, where it had been raggedly chopped off. She was wearing a gray plastic databand, a bulky antique IBM model.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you." Her voice wavered unsteadily.

"It's okay. I'm a little jumpy right now. You wouldn't believe the day I've been having."

She gave an incredulous stare. "You wouldn't believe the _life_ I've been having!" She moved toward him. "Hello. I'm Lydia Merritt."

"Hi. I'm George Wells."

She smiled suddenly and seemed to relax. "It's _good_ to see a human."

"You're a pleasant sight too."

"I'm a mess."

George let this pass without comment. On closer inspection, it proved to be true. "Can I invite you aboard my ship? I'd just as soon get out of this corridor."

"Oh, I don't think so. I just wanted to meet you." Reaching him, she offered her hand. It felt like a small, trembling bird in his.

George grinned at her. She really was quite fetching. "What do you mean? How did you know I was here?"

"I saw your ship from the viewport, with the name _Lucky Star_ on her hull—in _English_. So I knew humans were here."

"Just one human. I'm by myself. What are _you_ doing here? I heard there was a woman here! I tried to call you, in fact."

"That's kind of a long story." The tremor in her voice grew more pronounced.

George felt sudden concern. "Is anything wrong?"

A tear trickled down her cheek. "Where do I begin? It's been very nice to meet you, George. You can't possibly know."

He scratched his head. "So nice that you've had enough of me already?"

She patted his arm. "It's not that. There are some nasty beings after me. I was their slave. You _don't_ want to meet them."

"Slave? Forget that! We humans should stick together. Could we talk in my ship? I really want to get out of this corridor."

"Well, okay."

George used his databand to open the port. They entered the tube that butted against the Lucky Star. He pulled the hardware key from his pocket and inserted it in a slot in the old vessel's hull.

"Ship, it's me."

"Voice pattern identified," said a metallic voice. "Welcome home, George." The hatch slid aside.

Stepping over the threshold was like stepping off a cliff; they bounced into zero gee. George was prepared for it, but Lydia clutched at a railing in panic.

"Hey!" she protested. "You might have warned me."

"Sorry. The dockside gravity grid doesn't, you know..." he trailed off, feeling flustered.

"That's okay." She gave him a tired smile. "I should have expected it."

They exited the airlock into the short corridor that led to the central core. They floated from handhold to handhold, pulling themselves along.

Entering the core, George spoke in a crisp voice. "Ship, this is Lydia Merritt. I authorize her to reside aboard."

It seemed he felt more confident talking to Ship than to someone like this Lydia person.

"Understood," responded Ship. He had set its voice to sound throughout the vessel rather than address him through the nearest terminal. It made the huge space less lonely.

He pulled off his databand and stuffed it into a pocket—the damned thing gave him a headache if he wore it too long. "Sever all links with the local net," he said. "Lock and seal all hatches. Docking Authority clearance to enter is hereby suspended. I want an alarm if there are any intruders. Run security program. Bring internal power online and disconnect from dockside power."

"Understood." There was a short pause, and then the lights flickered. "All commands executed."

Lydia looked at him apprehensively. "What's going on?"

"Wait! Lydia can leave any time she wants. Subject to security program, if the docks are clear. Let me know if she does, don't let her back in without checking with me, don't let anyone else in—"

"Reminder: No one else is authorized."

"Good!"

"Please calm down, George," she said quietly. "Just fill me in, okay?"

He found he'd made a decision without thinking about it. "I'm getting the hell out of here. Want to come along?"

She stared at him. "I'd _love_ to get away from this place. But I can't go with a human."

"Why in God's name not? You said it was _good_ to see a human."

"It is!" She was almost shouting. "But you'll be going back to Earth someday, won't you?"

"Certainly. In fact, we can start back right away."

"I can _never_ go back to Earth. I would lead _them_ there."

"Oh!" The pieces fell into place. "These nasties of yours are the Zhianese?"

"That's a good guess!" Understanding dawned in her eyes. "You've encountered them? _That's_ why you're in such a hurry to leave."

"I encountered something called a Tyreel. I gather it's a slave also. Said the Zhianese were its masters."

"You shouldn't get involved." Her voice was trembling again.

"Earth's location is no secret. They could learn it anyway. But we don't have to head there if it bothers you."

"At least it's a long way off. They've reason to keep following me, and I doubt they'll ever give up."

"Lydia, this ship is well armed. You remember the Belt War, way back when?"

"The so-called First War in Space? It wasn't _that_ long ago."

George nodded. "This old freighter was right in the thick of it, with no escorts. Primitive weapons, by Galactic standards. But powerful."

"You may need them. The Zhianese are of the opinion that humans make _great_ slaves."

"Then let's get ourselves away from them, shall we? I'd be honored to have you, Lydia. Really." And George realized he meant it. There was something about her that intrigued him.

Not that he would take advantage! The woman would be dependent on his hospitality, after all. It would be best to keep his distance.

She gave a reluctant nod.

"I have plenty of supplies," he added. "Hungry?"

She seemed startled by the question. "Famished!"

"So how does a steak dinner sound?"

"It sounds heavenly."

"I can offer you a hot shower, too. Which do you want first?"

This surprised her into a laugh, and George felt something tug at his heart.

"I smell that bad? The shower first, and then the steak."

"Done," George said. "Let's set you up in your quarters, shall we? You can have your own cabin, with a new fresher retrofitted into its private head."

"What's a fresher? I'd be happy to rinse off in a sink." She looked around at the scuffed bulkheads, seeming to take in the _Lucky Star_ for the first time. "This is a big ship."

The main core was an octagonal tube stretching away toward the ship's bow. There were hatches leading to various cabins and compartments on four sides, ninety degrees apart. Pole railings ran opposite each other along the other four bulkheads; they were useful as handholds, and the elevator traveled along them when the ship was underway. Strips of fluorescent lighting ran along all eight corners. After the dimness of the docks, the glare was harsh and bright.

"She's an old United Nations Belt freighter," said George. "Spent fifty years mothballed in orbit around the moon."

He started up the core. Lydia hastened to follow.

"Oh, my," she said. "I should have recognized her type. It's been a long time." She touched a bulkhead with something like love.

"I spent a fortune fitting her for star travel."

"What sort of systems have you got? Not the originals, surely."

"You'd be surprised," said George. "For power I got a used Frenn quantum tap. But all her old systems were brought up to spec during the rebuild. I kept the computers since they're ruggedized military units. Upgraded them with new processors custom-engineered to fit the old slots, and I added hypermemory."

"What sort of drive have you got?"

"Two working drives. A Yulian gravpulse system, but I had the fusion drive restored to original UN specs. That was the most costly part of the rebuild."

"You've got gravpulse but you don't keep a gee field?"

"Which way would be down?"

"Towards the stern. As if she were underway."

"Sure, but I _like_ zero gee."

"I don't mind it." Lydia shrugged. "Can I ask what year it is?"

"By human reckoning? It's 2109."

She gave a little gasp. "Oh my God! So much time."

"That databand of yours is quite a relic. You talk as if you've _served_ on a ship like this."

"I have. I was with NASA."

George's heartbeat stumbled in its rhythm. NASA had closed down when the United States Government had been dismantled, some forty years ago. She didn't look that old!

Belatedly, he remembered he had once read about the disappearance of Lydia Ruth Merritt. "Good heavens! How did you wind up out _here_?"

"It's a long story. I've spent a lot of time in enforced hibernation."

"You must have."

"I'd better tell you what the Zhianese have against me. They won't stop looking for me because I learned something about them they don't want known. They've found a place where they can exert control over the G-Net."

George stared, wide-eyed. "What do you mean? They can do stuff others can't?"

"That's exactly what I mean."

George gave a whistle.

"Only small things, at present." Lydia said. "They could attack the _Lucky Star_ , for instance, and the G-Net would be blinded to it. For now, they wouldn't do so in front of witnesses."

"You call that a small thing?" George asked. "What do you call a big thing?"

"Military conquest of other civilizations."

"No!"

"They can't, not quite yet, but they're working on it."

George shook his head in denial. "That's supposed to be impossible."

"I waited for years to break free. I didn't think they'd pick up my trail so quick. Now that you know the stakes, do you still want me with you?"

George felt trapped. "Of course I do," he said valiantly. "Ah, here we are." They halted. "Ship, this is to be Lydia's assigned cabin. Compartment 2A."

"Acknowledged."

"Just make yourself at home," George said. He pressed a switch and the hatch whirred aside. "You want fresh clothes?"

She was silent a moment, gazing at him, searching his face with her eyes. Finally she smiled. "That would be wonderful. And thank you. For everything."

"Did you leave any baggage outside?"

"No, nothing."

"I can see you've been through a lot. So take a hot shower. I'll scrounge you up some clothing. I'll leave it out here, okay? Right by your door."

"Okay."

"Then I'll see about dinner. I'll call you on the intercom to let you know when."

"That sounds fine." She leaned toward him suddenly and gave him a gentle, feather-light kiss on the lips. He was too startled to return it.

"Thank you so much, George," she said softly.

He grinned in sheepish pleasure, lips tingling. "Why, you're welcome, Lydia."

Her answering smile was radiant. "I'll see you soon." She whirled away like a quick, graceful fish and disappeared into her cabin.

He drifted down the passage, his heart brimming with giddy warmth. How long had it been since he had seen a woman? Her presence filled a craving he had not known he had.

He was glad their paths had crossed. It would be worth some risk to have her around. The Zhianese be damned!

5

There was plenty of clothing sealed away in the ship's slop chest. Most of it had belonged to the original crew but was still serviceable and clean. He found some white coveralls like hers that would probably fit.

He left them for her, and then headed toward the command sphere. He was halfway there when the alarm sounded.

His heart began to pound. "What is it, Ship?" he demanded.

"There's a Reeshi requesting entrance." The ship's voice reverberated through the corridor.

"From the Dock Authority?"

"It says not. It's alone."

"Whom does it represent?"

"It claims no one but itself. It also claims you're in jeopardy."

He snagged himself to a halt, spun around, and launched himself in the opposite direction.

"I'm on my way," George said. "Is the visitor armed?"

"No armaments detected."

"Anyone else in the corridor?"

"There is no traffic at this hour."

"Hmmm."

"Please repeat."

"Never mind." George suspected he knew the identity of this unanticipated caller. He grabbed at a railing, braking himself to a stop. He twisted around and slung himself down the side passage.

"George?" came Lydia's voice. "I overheard the ship's side of that. Is there trouble?"

George hesitated. "Might be." He reached the airlock. "You'd better monitor this. If something goes wrong, have Ship break station and run for it. Understand, Ship? Lydia is authorized to give command level orders if I'm incapacitated."

"Understood."

"George, wait a minute!"

"It's just a precaution. I think I know who this is. Anyway, wouldn't you like to be First Officer?"

She gave a reluctant laugh. "Since you put it _that_ way."

"Ship, outside intercom, translation mode."

"Command executed."

He took a deep breath. "This is George Wells, master of the merchant vessel _Lucky Star_. I understand you want to talk to me. Can you identify yourself, please?"

"Oh, yes, good sir! I served you beer today. Shall I specify further, or will that suffice?"

George laughed. "That will do. What's this about?"

"The Zhianese, good sir. They're angry. My people fear them greatly. May I enter?"

A whisper of fright coiled through George's stomach. "Yes. You'd better. Ship, open airlock."

The hatches rumbled aside. The Reeshi darted aboard, and the airlock shut on George's command.

George donned his databand. A subtle, painless pressure filled his head. Shadows of unfamiliar knowledge loomed in his mind.

The Reeshi's momentum carried it down the passage; it grabbed a handhold and swiveled around toward George.

"Welcome aboard," said George.

"Thank you for receiving me, good sir." It pulled itself nimbly in his direction, blinking uncomfortably. "It's very bright in here."

"Ship, lower illumination by two thirds."

The lighting dimmed, as if suddenly obscured by clouds. "Command executed."

"Thank you. May I advise you to get away from this planet at once?"

"That's the plan. We'll be departing in several hours."

`"We must depart immediately."

George stared. "You want to come?"

"If you'll have me."

"I've got to settle up with the Dock Authority."

"I wouldn't bother, good sir. They would alert the Zhianese. If anyone should realize I'm here—" The Reeshi shuddered. "Please! Just blast away from this world. There isn't much time."

It rang true. George was filled with a sudden blazing excitement. "Okay! Follow me."

He started down the passage, twisting around when he reached the main core and launching himself up its length.

"Lydia!" he called. "Did you get all that?"

"Yes, George." Her voice echoed through the ship.

"I'm going to do as he says. Strap yourself down and prepare for sudden acceleration."

"All right." She gave a heavy sigh. "I really owe you, Captain."

"Oh, no!" cried the Reeshi. "The human woman _is_ aboard."

"If that's a problem, head back to the airlock and I'll tell Ship to let you out."

"No! It's not a problem."

"Glad to hear it. Ship, set current illumination level as the new default."

"Command executed."

They were approaching the end of the passage. A round chrome hatch filled the bulkhead.

"Ship, prepare for immediate departure," said George. "Activate all flight systems. Open command sphere hatch."

"Understood. First and second commands, executed. All systems show green. Reminder: the visitor is not authorized to enter here."

George grimaced. "Give him a one-time authorization."

"Command executed." The hatch swung ponderously open.

"Contact the Docking Authority and request clearance for departure."

"Command executed. Awaiting reply."

The command sphere extended from the bow of the ship at the end of a short stem. It jutted from the tapered cylinder of the main fuselage, behind which lay the wide bulk of the swept-back, wedge-shaped drive section.

They passed through the stem to enter the interior of the sphere, the inner surface of which formed a continuous video display. Surrounding them, brightly arrayed on its surface, was a glowing rainbow grid of graphics and data windows.

The poles which led down the central core continued out to the center of the globe, forming a conduit that held a catwalk terminating in a sturdy framework called the control nest. Within it were four black acceleration chairs mounted on gimbals. Control panels curved before each of them.

George sprang toward the captain's chair. He caught hold of the framework and pulled himself into his seat.

The Reeshi was right behind him. "Strap yourself in," George said, pointing to the flight engineer's post. "Don't touch anything."

The Reeshi complied.

George settled into his station. "Ship: enable outside viewing mode."

The data grid vanished, to be replaced by a holographic vista of the docks and star-filled sky. The Reeshi Moon floated beneath, luminous and beautiful; George and his guest seemed suspended in space above it.

"Ship, have the docking clamps disengaged yet?"

"No. The Dock Authority has refused to release them. Pertinent information: they have also refused our request for departure clearance."

"All right. Gravpulse on line. Full power. Prepare to back away slowly."

He took the control grips in his hands and fed power to the gravpulse drive. A deep bass throbbing flowed through the ship's structure.

With a great, shuddering lurch the _Lucky Star_ pulled out of her berth. There was a distant grinding sound and a deep, echoing boom, and then they were free.

"There is an urgent signal from the Dock Authority."

"Gee, what a surprise. Display forward."

A comm window appeared in the simulacrum of sky. The giant image of a Reeshi loomed before him, twitching nervously.

"You're George Wells, master of the merchant vessel _Lucky Star_?"

"That's right."

"There appears to have been a misunderstanding. Regulations require that we grant permission before a ship departs. I regret we didn't make this clear to you."

These Reeshi had to be the most polite race in the Galaxy. "I'll remember in the future," George said.

His hands flew over the control panel. The rumble of the gravpulse generator rose in pitch. The _Lucky Star_ rotated away from the docks and moved off smartly, accelerating away from the planet.

"We request that you return." The nervous twitching increased. George wondered if it was about to go frolf. "There are fees for damages you might wish to pay."

Make that the most polite race in the universe. "That seems fair," George allowed.

The Reeshi hesitated. "The berth your ship occupied requires maintenance. We'll happily assign you an undamaged berth."

"Sorry, I'm in a bit of a hurry." George keyed the long-range nav display. Additional windows opened beneath the comm display, maps of the entire system from various perspectives, with pinpoints of light indicating other ships. There was a great deal of traffic here, many vessels coming and going. Surely there were those who could be persuaded to intercept _Lucky Star_. What if the Reeshi offered a reward? George's pulse began to race.

The Reeshi jerked in agitation. "Why the hurry? You listen to the traitor who sits beside you. He is in error."

"Hear me out. For payment I have a variety of crystal-pattern catalysts in my hold, suitable for growing data matrix components—"

"I know what they're suitable for! Our world is the primary distribution point for them in this sector."

"Sorry, I knew that, I _bought_ the stuff here; the sales pitch is a reflex. I'm willing to jettison a portion of this valuable cargo—"

"Unacceptable. Surely you realize how common this substance is here? We've a tremendous surplus right now."

"I've prepaid all fees except the most recent, haven't I? All we're discussing are the last installment due and fees for damages. Agreed?"

The Reeshi hesitated, seemed to shrug. "Stipulated."

George kept one eye on the nav window. They were moving off at better then ten gees, so far with no sign of pursuit. He had caught them all napping, by God!

He called up a status display for the fusion drive and positioned it below the other windows.

"Now, _someone_ in your office told me I _could_ pay any further fees with this stuff. Say, if I decided to stay on your delightful planet a little longer. It's just like currency, I was told. Did they lie?"

Damn it, the fusion drive would take several minutes to come on-line from a cold start. But it couldn't be helped.

"The situation has changed."

"That's what I'm offering. Take it or leave it."

"I refuse it. We require acceptable payment."

"By what precedent do you refuse?"

"I'm _setting_ the precedent."

It occurred to George that there probably weren't any lawyers on the Reeshi Moon. This was too easy! His record of the conversation would free him from obligation, he knew; now the Reeshi couldn't request a wormhole embargo. Any vessel attempting pursuit in violation of G-web legal parameters would be blocked.

The Reeshi bureaucrat seemed to read his mind. "We'll send a ship after you. You'll be brought to justice before you can leave the system."

"So? My ship is a hybrid. In addition to gravpulse she has a powerful fusion engine. Gravpulse lets me max it out at acceleration levels which would otherwise be too much for me."

The Reeshi seemed to wilt. "Your ship is probably fast enough to reach a gate. There remains the matter of your moral obligation."

George had to laugh. "Okay, what the hell. I'm feeling generous. What if I authorize a third party—"

"Unacceptable! No third party."

"Are you forfeiting your right to payment?"

"I haven't said so."

"I'm aware you're trying to get me in custody for the Zhianese. I'm telling you, that's not going to happen."

There was a long pause. "Who would this third party be?"

"First, though, how much?"

"Call it four thousand credits."

George curled his lips in disgust. "I won't quibble."

"You're in no position to. I doubt there is anyone who will help in these circumstances."

"Oh, I intend to make it worth his while."

"Whose while? Does this mythical being have a name?"

George felt amused. These Reeshi could certainly be as adept at rudeness as they were at politeness.

"Let me check with him first."

"I seriously doubt anyone will help you."

"He might. I'll be giving him a third of my cargo."

"So generous!" The Reeshi seemed to be sneering.

"That's my business. I'll call you right back."

"The arrangement would be acceptable."

Moments later Lychel's homely countenance towered before him. "Why, hello George! It's good of you to call."

"Hey, Lychel! I've got a business proposition for you."

"Oh, excellent. What is it?"

George felt a surge of affection for his Dalhou friend. "It may entail some risk. Feel free to turn it down."

"I listen with interest."

"I'm in a bind here." George outlined the situation. "I'll jettison the stuff where you can pick it up at your leisure. If you don't want it, no hard feelings. The Reeshi will just grab it then, is my guess. In spite of what they're telling me, it's a valuable commodity."

"They don't deserve it. I'm happy to make this deal, but I don't ask such lavish payment. Decrease the amount by half, and I'd still be willing."

"I insist, Lychel. That's my offer."

Lychel gave his keening laugh. "Very well. I'll make it up to you if you ever visit Dalhou space."

"I'd love to visit Dalhou space, Lychel."

"And I'd like to visit Earth, George."

"Let's stay in touch, okay? Maybe we _can_ visit each other someday."

"I look forward to that day."

"Take care, now." George cut the connection.

He switched back to the bureaucrat and gave the details. "The cargo will become _his_ , but he'll pay my debts."

"The Dalhou will be permitted to keep his unseemly profits. This is most irregular."

George had been keeping one eye on the nav window. He saw with dismay that two ships were moving toward him. "Look, you and I both know I'm giving up an ungodly amount of profit to try and appease you. And aside from that, someone in your department originally told me I _could_ make payments with this stuff. So to hell with you! End transmission."

The Reeshi's image winked out of existence. The remaining active displays repositioned themselves in the space it had vacated. "Ship, prepare to deploy fusion drive."

"Command executed."

"Ship, intercom on. To cabin 2A: Lydia, are you secure for acceleration?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Hang in there. Intercom off." George studied the display, and then shoved a seldom-used throttle forward.

With the suddenness of a thunderclap, a brutal hand shoved him hard into his seat. A huge, roaring thunder filled his ears. The _Lucky Star_ blasted away from the Reeshi Moon at better than thirty gees. Even with gravpulse set to shield from excess pressure, it was a crushing force.

With an effort he lifted his hands to the controls. He reduced perceivable acceleration to one standard gee, and then fed more power to the gravpulse drive. Soon the old freighter was boosting at better than sixty gravities.

He was leaving his pursuers behind! He felt a burst of pride in his ship. Thanks to a synergy of human and alien technologies, with her dual drives working in tandem she was probably the fastest ship in the system. The Reeshi official had all but admitted as much.

In truth he was less worried about pursuit than being intercepted. Luckily, the way ahead remained clear.

They were heading out toward an arc of seldom-used wormholes. When he had programmed this course weeks ago he had thought to do a little exploring. Now there seemed no choice. It was the only part of the sky free of traffic.

These portals led to abandoned and uncivilized parts of space. A lone ship could be waylaid in such places. Would a more populated system be a safer choice? Assuming it was run by sentients with more backbone than the Reeshi?

If he _were_ to take a more traveled route, there would be ships in his path. That did not seem safe.

Damn it, just exactly how much influence did these Zhianese wield in this part of the galaxy?

6

The Reeshi Moon shrank to a speck behind them, and their pursuers broke off the chase.

A third ship, almost as fast as _Lucky Star_ , left the docks shortly after the first two. There was other traffic behind it, not fast enough to cause him worry.

George watched it with anxiety for several hours. Its course slowly diverged from his, and he finally concluded it wasn't after him. Only when he was sure it posed no threat did he cut the drives.

The _Lucky Star_ grew silent. There remained only the drone of the ventilators.

She hurtled onward in free trajectory. George switched gravpulse to give normal weight.

He kept a wary eye on the other craft; it kept boosting at something like his original rate, drawing abreast and pulling away from him.

If it tried to double back, he would fire up the drives again.

He decided to wait until there were no ships within at least an Astronomical Unit before jettisoning the cargo for Lychel.

He looked over at the Reeshi. "Glad I took your advice."

"I'm glad to be aboard your ship."

"What's your name? That is, what shall I call you?" Reeshi did not have individual names as such. How you addressed one depended on your identity, the situation, and the context.

"You are above me in my new social matrix. So you must choose a suitable name yourself."

"Can't you just pick your own?"

"Oh, no! That wouldn't be appropriate or comfortable for me to do."

"Um, okay. I'll have to give it some thought."

"What names shall others aboard call me? How many positions must I address in return?"

"We'll keep it simple. Just one name, all the time. There's only one other person aboard anyway. Her name is always Lydia."

The Reeshi grew still. "Thank you for your consideration. I'm honored."

"When can you go back home? After the Zhianese have left?"

"I wouldn't chance it."

"You told me they had no formal authority."

"Yes, and in that moment my fate was sealed."

"You got in trouble just for that?"

"Yes. For that."

George was at a loss for words. "I'm sorry to hear it," he finally said.

"They have more informal authority than I realized."

"You're not telling me you can _never_ go back?"

"That's how I feel about it. But I'm determined to make the best of things. I had no offspring or close partners I'll miss. I've always wanted to travel."

"You're an adventurous sort."

"I suppose so. It's not a common trait among my kind." The Reeshi looked around. "I hope you'll let me be useful. I'm good with machinery. Of course, it will take time before I can familiarize myself with your vessel. The technology is electronic in nature?"

"The human-built parts are. You don't have to ship with me forever, you know. Is there some planet you'd like to go to? I'd be happy to give you a lift. You can stay aboard until we find a world that suits you."

"I'm hoping you'll allow me to remain. I'm _talented_ with machines, good captain! When I was younger, I studied exotic engineering in order to have something to fall back on if I couldn't make it in the hospitality industry. It's been a dream of mine to serve on such a vessel as this."

George stared at the Reeshi. "Are you by any chance hustling me for a _job_?"

"I'm exiled from my homeworld and desire to procure gainful employment. This is my first opportunity to seek it."

George gave a weak laugh. "All right. I'll have to think about that too."

"If I must pay passenger fare, I confess I'm unable to do so—"

"Don't worry about that. You did me a good turn back there. You are welcome, and, uh, invited to stay aboard as my guest. Okay?"

"You're most generous, good Captain. What names and titles do you desire me to address you by, and at what times?"

"My individual name is George. My title aboard ship is Captain. You can call me that if you want to talk about ship's business. Or just George for day-to-day stuff."

"Understood, Captain."

They were interrupted by a chime from the intercom. "Captain? How are we doing? Is anyone after us?"

George checked the nav window. "Doesn't seem to be."

"That's good, but you're keeping an eye out?"

"I'm trying to stay on top of things. As of right now, we've made a clean escape and we're two days out from wormhole transit. You can take that shower if you want."

"Oh, thank you!"

"Stop by the command sphere when you get a chance. I'll introduce you to my favorite hero."

"The Reeshi?"

"That's right."

"So you trust him?"

"I do."

Lydia sighed. "I am now about to take the first decent shower I've had in years. Then I'll come up."

"Looking forward to it. Intercom off."

"So what's our destination, Captain Wells?" asked the Reeshi.

George peered at the navigation window. Like other civilizations, the Reeshi built their wormholes in a distant ring orbiting their sun, in accordance with G-Net specifications.

"We're on course for gate 70," George replied, "to an uninhabited system, a red giant called Dradau—"

The Reeshi jerked in alarm. "No!"

"What is it?" George felt a surge of dismay.

The Reeshi quivered in panic; George feared he was about to go frolf, but he took control of himself with obvious effort. "If I'd known your intention I'd have warned you. The system, as you say, is not currently in use. There was a civilization there during some long-ago epoch. That's why there's a gate, a very old one. But they weren't starfarers and didn't build gates themselves. They're extinct now and their world lies fallow."

"That was what attracted me in the first place, I thought I'd go look at some ancient ruins."

"Oh, but those who go there in this era don't wish to be disturbed. They're dangerous types, the unsavory ones. Besides, there are no other portals. We'd be trapped."

George slapped his forehead. "That's right, it's a cul-de-sac. I clean forgot. Okay, this is your neck of the woods. I'm open to suggestion."

"I'm thankful." He thought for a moment. "What about the Relqui system? Gate 72? Only a minimal course change would be required."

George closed his eyes and accessed the ship's database, which had recently been updated on the Reeshi Moon. "Another uninhabited system."

"Yes, the seldom-used gates are grouped together. There was a civilization there several Earth centuries ago. Their homeworld was destroyed in a local war, and all that's left is a belt of rubble. The species has died out. There are four other portals there. Two are links to minor travel lanes. The others lead to bottlenecks like Dradau."

"I see. Wow, there's some interesting history there." George reviewed the data for several minutes, and then nodded. "Relqui it is." His fingers tapped a keypad, instructing the nav program to plot the new course.

"Listen, thanks," he added. "You're hired for that engineer's post you wanted. We can work out some sort of profit sharing thing when there's time. I think that's how it's done."

"Thank you, I'm sure we can reach an understanding."

A while later, beneath them, the hatch to the main fuselage rumbled open. The elevator platform rose to fill the aperture, a massive disc with Lydia standing atop it.

It ascended to the control nest and sighed to a stop. She took a seat beside George in the copilot's chair. He swiveled to face her.

She favored him with a sad little smile. "Hello, there."

"Hello yourself." He was delighted to see her again. She looked tidy, fresh and clean.

"Lydia, this is my favorite Reeshi."

"Pleased to meet you, fellow being." She gazed at him solemnly and offered her hand.

The Reeshi took it in both of his. "I'm pleased also, good Lydia. Thanks for your ready acceptance of me."

"Don't mention it."

"You know the deal with Reeshi names?" asked George.

"Reeshi forms of address, you mean? I thought they didn't have permanent names."

"That's accurate," he agreed. "But we've got to call him something. Any suggestions?"

"What does he _want_ to be called?"

George shrugged. "That's just it—"

They were interrupted by a loud chime. "Ship!" George said. "Ignore comm signal."

"Command executed."

Lydia leaned toward him, an urgent expression on her face. "Captain, I don't think that's a wise decision."

"Huh?" George stared at her, totally taken off guard. "I really don't think there is anyone in this system I want to talk to."

"I'm sure you have a point, sir. Nevertheless, it's not good procedure."

"You don't have to call me Captain or sir. You're my personal guest. Just call me George."

Lydia sighed. "I'm only responding to my training. When I feel a commanding officer has made a bad decision, I am to call it to his attention."

"NASA training?"

"Aviation training, which appears to be many years out of date."

"I'm sure the procedures are sound ones."

"Consider any suggestion to be just a resource. It's up to you how you use it."

"Okay. Well, bad decision or not, I really don't feel like talking to anyone right now."

She hesitated, and then gave a shrug. "Your privilege, Captain."

"I'm afraid we're going to have to put off that steak dinner. We're in no danger of pursuit, but I worry about being intercepted by some new ship that might emerge in front of us. I need to stay here and keep watch."

She stared at him owlishly. "Surely you don't mean we're not going to eat."

"Surely not! There are military rations under the seats."

Lydia wrinkled her nose. "Steak sounds better. I could go grill them myself."

"I promise it will be worth the wait."

"You told me to make myself at home. Didn't you mean it?"

George sighed. "I did mean it. Okay, my galley is your galley."

"This ship is the UN version of the old D1000 transport, isn't it?"

"That's right."

"Then I can find my way. With your permission, Captain?"

George smiled ruefully. "Permission? Absolutely, Lydia."

"One more thing, what you said about no danger of pursuit? I wouldn't be too sure."

"We outran the ones who tried. Quite easily." George managed not to smirk as he said this.

"I don't know who our first pursuers were, but they were probably a pair of Tyreel fighting craft."

"There _were_ two ships. So why didn't they catch us?"

Lydia rubbed her forehead. "Well, the Zhianese are hydrogen breathers with sluggish metabolisms. You could say they're slow on the uptake. The Tyreel are oxygen breathers with normal reaction times, but they have to consult their masters before exercising any initiative; they never stray far without orders. They'd have broken off their initial chase, but their ships are pretty damn fast."

The ebullience George had felt earlier vanished. "I guess I should keep a closer eye on my stern nav display."

"I think that would be wise, Captain. Sooner or later the Zhianese will react."

"And I think I've lost my appetite."

"I haven't. We've got to eat."

George shrugged. "You probably haven't had a decent meal lately. If you want to go grill up some steaks, I could choke one down. A person does need to keep up his strength."

"What about the Reeshi? Can he eat a steak?"

"I don't know, but they told me humans could eat Reeshi food—"

"I believe that's true, Captain," said the Reeshi.

George nodded. "I know what, hero. Why don't you just go along with Lydia and choose whatever appeals to you?"

"Thank you, my Captain. Hero is to be my name? I am gratified."

"Hey, I like that," said Lydia.

"But—oh, heck, it's appropriate. Okay. Hero it is." George grinned.

"How do you like your steak?" asked Lydia. "And what do you want with it?"

"Medium-rare. There's a salad and some garlic bread in the reefer. And I'll have some milk. Just like Archie Goodwin"

"Who's he?"

George grinned. "A fictional character from before either of us was born. I'll introduce you to him, you'll like him."

7

When they had gone, it occurred to George he would do well to get in the habit of listening to Lydia's advice. The woman was a trained professional, after all.

"Ship! State origin of most recent comm signal."

"The merchant vessel _Agreeable Path_."

George felt warm pleasure at the thought of Lychel. "Okay, establish contact."

Moments later, the Dalhou's visage loomed before him. "Hello George. Good of you to return my call."

"My pleasure, Lychel. Sorry I didn't answer sooner. Things have been hectic today."

"I can well imagine. I wanted to thank you again for your generous offer, but I'm unable to accept it."

"That's okay. I understand if you've changed your mind."

"Oh, don't misunderstand me. I'd have been happy to act as your agent. I saw on the news how they tried to detain you, screeching about your 'criminal recklessness', but you had excellent reason for what you did. I decided to move off from the docks myself."

"You're not there now?" asked George

"No," replied Lychel. "It wasn't my intention leave the area, I just wanted free of the docking clamps."

"Believe me, I understand."

"They refused to release my vessel! A Tyreel came pounding on my airlock door. I decided to perform the same maneuver you did."

"Sorry I got you into this," George said.

"I acted as my judgment dictated." Lychel said. "I thought I'd make enough profit to pay the damages and still come out ahead, but the Reeshi authorities became most irrational. They canceled the entire deal and demanded I surrender. When I refused they sent armed vessels after me. They _shot_ at me!"

"Did your ship take any damage?"

"Yes, but it's functioning well enough to leave this system. I'll get it repaired in Orgafali space."

"What's your current course?"

"Outward bound for gate 66 to Orgafal."

"Oh, _you_ must be the ship I've been so concerned about." George said.

"I'm sorry if I've caused you anxiety," Lychel said.

"You have, a little. I've been keeping an eye on you. Glad I can relax." George studied the navigation display. "Do you require assistance? We could rendezvous if you need to."

The Dalhou was silent for a moment. "I think not," he said at last. "It isn't safe here. It's best we both clear this system quickly."

"Okay."

"Thanks for the ready offer. I sense in you a true friend. We must stay in touch."

"Certainly!"

"I'll not ask where you're bound, lest we be overheard," Lychel said. "We can exchange secure E-messages later."

"Of course. Count on it." George hesitated. "Since you've already told me where you're going, I assume you feel Orgafal is safe?"

"For me, yes. For you, no. There's a mega-wormhole there leading to a system two jumps from Dalhou space. The Orgafali are friendly toward my people, they likely wouldn't turn one of us over to the Zhianese. You, however, might fare no better with them than you did with the Reeshi. I'm sorry, George. If I thought I could guarantee safe passage, I'd invite you to my planet. You'd be safe _there_! Though it _is_ rather far from your Earth."

George understood this. The average wormhole could span, at most, about thirty light-years. Mega-wormholes, much less common and only possible under certain conditions, might tunnel halfway across the galaxy. There were two in the Reeshi system

Lychel was headed home. Sadly for George, it was twice as far from Earth as the Reeshi Moon.

"Maybe someday I can visit. Take care of yourself, Lychel."

"You also. Good-bye, George."

8

George had enjoyed a warm glow during the conversation. Now he felt an undercurrent of fright. He might fare no better with the Orgafali than with the Reeshi? That had sinister implications.

_Lucky Star_ was the sole human ship in this sector. She was all alone. Whatever had possessed him to wander so far from Earth?

For several years he had hopscotched across the galaxy, moving from system to system, always with new wonders to behold. Oh, he had sometimes felt alone in this great big ship, particularly during the long transit times between planets. But that was nothing new in his life.

He had been born to wealth. It had always isolated him. He was shy by nature and had seldom found means of bridging the gap. In the end, rebuilding and equipping the _Lucky Star_ for starflight had been a great lark, a way to escape all the scheming minions and untrustworthy acquaintances.

He'd had few lovers, found few true friends. He'd discovered it was as easy to stay in touch across galactic distances as it had been across terrestrial ones. He'd never felt homesick.

He felt homesick now.

"George?" said Lydia's voice on the intercom.

"Yes?"

"The ship informs me Hero is not authorized to enter the command sphere."

"I did authorize him."

"It was a one-time authorization."

George sighed. "Ship, give Hero full flight engineer's clearance. Got it?"

"Affirmative. Command executed."

Beneath him, the hatch rumbled open. Lydia and Hero rode the elevator to the control nest and took their places.

Lydia handed George a tray. "That was careless of you, Captain. But you were rushed during our hasty departure." Her face suddenly reddened. "Pardon me for saying so. Old habits die hard."

George suppressed a flare of annoyance. "That's okay. It _was_ careless."

"Enjoy your meal."

He found nothing to complain about. For a time he forgot his troubles and sat munching in profound satisfaction. Lydia and Hero fell to their own meals with equal relish.

9

They was a sudden flash of bright searing light from somewhere ahead, almost in the ship's line of flight. He felt a nasty jolt of alarm.

"Ship! What was that?"

"Please specify further."

"That bright burst of light." George's fingers flew across his control board. The nav display window grew larger, and then zeroed in on the section of sky where the flash had happened. As George had feared, the explosion had been in the vicinity of the _Agreeable Path._

"Analysis complete: the light burst was from a plasma weapon."

There was another blazing flash, and then another. George swore under his breath.

Then a bright burning star flared where none had shone before. George had never seen the like, but he knew what it was: a nuclear detonation.

That tiny nova represented the destruction of a ship.

It faded slowly from view.

10

The Zhianese called Z'Garab had awakened.

The Tyreel known as Nungaan stood rooted in a posture of mute respect before a dark glass wall behind which something massive swirled and coiled sluggishly within the green murk. Nungaan knew the master was reviewing events that had transpired while it slept.

Finally a low guttural vibration throbbed up through the floor, filling the air, impossibly slow and ponderous. Nungaan waited patiently for the translation that would come when the master finished speaking.

He had stood thus in Z'Garab's audience chamber for the better part of a day. His legs were weary, but that was a normal state of affairs. He'd stood many such vigils.

Fear for his life surged strongly within him, but he was used to that too; in fact he was hardly aware of it.

"So," came the translation at last. "You've failed us... You didn't bring the wild human... The servant Lydia has escaped with him... The Dalhou who sought to aid them has also escaped..."

"These things are true, exalted one."

"The steps you took in the wake of this failure are... adequate..."

In fact the servants had dared nothing that went beyond established procedure. That pair of fighting craft might have caught the human ship if they had given extended chase, but of course no servant would travel far without express permission. Never mind that the Tyreel were bred in their bones for total loyalty—trust was not in their masters' natures.

Initiative was _not_ rewarded. Though, paradoxically, the masters had seemed to prize it in the servant Lydia. Not for the first time, Nungaan felt a twinge of jealousy.

"You lower orders flit about so annoyingly fast," continued Z'Garab at last. "That won't be an advantage to the humans... once our attention is turned full upon them..."

"No, master."

"Tell us..." said Z'Garab finally. "How would you proceed?"

Nungaan began to tremble. It was bad when a master asked for a suggestion. If the master was bereft of ideas, then resentment of the servant would follow. If the master was setting the servant up to take responsibility for failure—a distinct possibility in this case, since the next steps were fairly obvious ones—that also was bad.

At least a servant had time to think. No master was likely to notice a short pause of indecision.

"We might make it known again that we would, ah, look with favor upon those who would... serve our cause by intercepting the humans," he ventured at last. He had chosen his words carefully, knowing he must not imply the Zhianese would actually deign to _reward_ the lesser orders for anything. "Maybe our newfound influence over the Galactic Net could be of use. Perhaps we might have the human ship destroyed?"

Again the long pause, followed by that awful rumbling voice, like rusty iron weights dragged across rough stone. "If the sentients in this system aren't already aware they must serve our interests, they are foolhardy beings... but we give permission for you to repeat such announcements..."

"Yes, exalted one."

Another pause. "As to your other suggestion... the less you and your brethren think on such matters, the better it will be for you..."

Nungaan felt a cold chill down his spine. It was rare for a master to give such a warning. Perhaps this one valued him? One dared not hope. "I hear and obey, master."

Time stretched out, and the master said nothing further. Nungaan remained in place, however, awaiting dismissal.

"You may go..." said Z'Garab at long last. "You've tasks to complete..."

11

_Lucky Star_ 's nav window showed one ship remaining. Its location was somewhat ahead of where the explosion had appeared to take place. The incident had actually occurred many minutes ago.

The nav system usually interfaced with ansible buoys that were present in every civilized system (interstellar commerce hadn't really taken off in Earth space until humanity had constructed their own network of such devices). They gave accurate realtime views of situations like this when visible light might be hours old.

"Ship! Try to establish contact with the _Agreeable Path._ "

"Understood."

"Some friend of yours?" asked Lydia.

George nodded. "Met him on the Reeshi Moon just today, but he was a pretty good friend for all of that."

"I'm so sorry."

George paged back through the display log, trying to find the actual battle. How could an enemy ship have approached so close without him knowing? He had been on the alert for just such an occurrence.

There was a sudden crackle of static, and then Lychel's voice, audio only: "Hello, George. I regret I can't see you, but it's good to speak with you."

"Lychel! What happened? Are you okay?"

"I was intercepted by a Kellarran freighter. Its captain demanded I dock with him. I refused—quite prudently, I think—and he fired on me. I destroyed him but my ship took heavy damage."

"How heavy?"

"My power core is fractured and will eventually fail."

"Can you make it to Orgafali space?"

"Probably, but perhaps not. So it's a blessing to hear a friendly voice in these, my final days."

"No! If you require assistance, I can rendezvous with you in—" George did a rough calculation in his head."—about six hours."

"It's good of you to offer." Lychel seemed to hesitate. "I fear you aren't seeing the situation clearly."

"So explain it to me. Who are the Kellarrans?"

"A race local to this part of the galaxy. They come and go through Orgafali space. Next to the Reeshi, you probably saw more of them than any others on the Reeshi Moon."

"The tall blue scaly critters with the long tails?"

"An apt description."

"I don't understand. Ships may go armed against outlaws or xenophobic civilizations, but if they fire at each _other_ —" George stopped short and looked over at Lydia.

"The Zhianese could override that protocol," she said. "The Kellarrans are terrified of them."

He scowled in angry denial. "I can't believe what I'm hearing. You said they wouldn't do that in front of witnesses."

"They didn't. A Kellarran captain did."

"Pretty serious consequences for the Kellarrans."

"They'll denounce him as a rogue. But if the protocols are overridden there won't be consequences anyway."

"Who are you're speaking with, George?" asked Lychel. "Did you find the female?"

"No, she found me."

"Hello, Lychel," said Lydia, raising her voice slightly. "Sorry about your troubles."

"I'm warmed by your concern."

"Lychel, we'll rendezvous with you," said George. "Don't give up hope, okay?"

"I _would_ be curious to meet her."

George grinned. "You'll get your wish. Our Reeshi friend from the bar is here, too."

Hero wriggled happily. "I greet you with pleasure, good Captain Lychel!"

Lychel gave his otherworldly laugh. "I believe it would be interesting to share the currents of fate with you folk!"

George laughed in turn. "We'll see you soon."

"It will cost us the least time if I alter course to meet you at your destination. The Relqui gate, isn't it?"

George felt a moment's chagrin. "It's that obvious?"

"No. I tried to put myself in your place, and that's the destination I'd choose."

"I don't see where else we can go. It will take some time. Can you hold out that long?"

"I can. I shall."

"I'll need to put on some speed."

"Deepest thanks, George. This transmission ends."

"Right. End transmission. Ship, initiate acceleration at thirty gravities, gravpulse only. Plot a rendezvous with the merchant vessel _Agreeable Path_ , to occur within two hundred klicks of the Relqui wormhole. Maintain interior gee field at present level."

"Commands executed."

George took hold of the control grips. New course parameters appeared in the Nav window, with a graphic showing the new flight path.

The gravpulse drive throbbed its low drone of power. He laid the _Lucky Star_ into its new groove.

"My goodness," said Lydia. "Your main computer is a lot more versatile than the ones I remember using."

"Same hardware, mostly, just infinite memory and upgraded processor chips." George grinned. "Custom software, too. You didn't have anything to match it in the military version?"

"George, the UN version of this ship _was_ the military version. Those belt miners were out for blood. NASA's ships weren't armed."

"Oh. I stand corrected." He paused. "Lydia, all the sentients in this system are going to know the Kellarran was acting for the Zhianese."

"They won't know for certain."

George frowned. "But that's what they'll think."

"True. Any being with a half-working brain should be able to figure it out."

"So the Zhianese have in fact shown what they are capable of in front of witnesses."

"I doubt there will be any news dispatch about the incident," said Lydia. "We're the only ones close enough to have seen it with our own eyes. Some pilots, if they were paying attention, will know what happened. So there will be rumors. But the Zhianese don't mind rumors; they keep everybody in line."

"This isn't unusual? They've done this sort of thing before?"

Lydia was slow in answering. "No," she said at last. There was a troubled look on her face. "This is definitely an escalation. I guess I was explaining why I think they're going to get away with it."

"I see." George blew out a sigh.

A scary thought occurred to him, something that had been bothering him since he had viewed the recording of Lychel's battle. "We're assuming pilots can trust the ansible buoys for accurate data."

"That may not be a safe assumption."

A chill crawled down his back. "Let's get the hell out of here."

12

Twenty-four hours passed without incident. The K-type sun dwindled to a spark behind them.

At long last they began the deceleration burn. Before another day passed they were within visual range of the wormhole. It hung glittering before them, its containment field giving the appearance of a multifaceted crystalline jewel, all sharp edges and pulsing fire. Bolts of color shot through it like lightning through a prism.

George's heart always quailed within him at the sight. You had to turn your ship completely over to the G-Net to transit one of the things. It took the G-Net's vast computing power to stabilize one. Nobody had ever found another way to accomplish it—hence the G-Net's unavoidable primacy in galactic affairs.

You were surely at your most vulnerable in such moments. He'd made many such transits, but he'd never gotten used to it. Still, wormhole insertion was hours off. He tried to put it out of his mind.

Approaching it, they finally cut the drives, leaving the interior gee field activated. Now they were drifting up on the _Agreeable Path_. It was an elongated silver shape with projecting dark vanes, scorched and scarred by its recent battle. It came into view as George entered the command sphere to begin his watch.

"Good morning, Captain," Lydia called to him as he rode the elevator platform to the control nest. She vacated the captain's chair and sat down in the copilot's seat.

"Morning, Commander." George took his post, settling into the still-warm chair. "Any word from Lychel?"

"None yet."

"Ship, try to establish contact with the merchant vessel _Agreeable Path_."

"Understood." There was a short pause, followed by a crackle of static. Then came Lychel's voice: "Hello, George. It's good to speak with you."

"Hey, Lychel, same here. We're in your vicinity. What's your situation?"

"About what one might expect. My power core has failed. The backup cells are nearly depleted."

"Sorry to hear it. That looks like a sweet ship."

"It will soon be nothing but inert matter."

George winced. "You're prepared to abandon it?"

"Yes. I've been in touch with my Guild. They'll send a salvage ship. It won't be a complete loss."

"How do you want to do this?"

"It appears our velocities are closely matched. I compliment you on your piloting."

George grinned. "That's a human for you. We're the ace pilots of the galaxy." There was a snort of amusement from Lydia, which he ignored. "Are you ready for docking?"

"Alas, my docking port took damage in the late battle. It would be simplest for me to don a pressure suit, exit my ship, and cast myself toward you. If you could arrange to open an airlock?"

George chuckled. "I think we can accommodate you."

"Thanks for your help."

13

George rode the elevator down to the main personnel hatch. It slowed to a stop with a hiss of hydraulics. He strode down the passage to the airlock.

"Ship, intercom on. To command sphere: Commander Merritt, could you patch me through to Lychel, please?"

"Certainly, Captain."

A moment later he heard Lychel's voice: "Ah, George, greetings. Lydia and I have been chatting. She's been commiserating with me."

George gave a sigh. "You haven't had an easy time of it."

"Nor you. We're companions in misfortune."

He took his spacesuit from its locker and put it on. He stepped into the airlock. "Ship, close airlock and initiate exit cycle."

"Command executed."

The outer airlock door opened. George stepped out, exiting the grav field as he did so. He swiveled carefully around to place the magnetic soles of his boots on the hull.

He stood up. He was surrounded by the dark majesty of space, all filled with sparkling stars. The _Agreeable Path_ drifted just ahead, a dark bulk occluding the heavens.

"All set, Lychel? Come across any time you're ready." He activated the headlamps on his helmet. "Can you see me?"

"I do see you." There was a flaring orange spark on the shadowed underside of the other ship. Suddenly something like a giant firefly shot toward George's position.

The pressure-suited Dalhou _did_ look like _some_ kind of giant insect. The bright glow of the suit's jet was right where its tail would be.

The glittering figure loomed above him. It writhed around, using the jet to slow itself. It hovered for a moment then lit cleanly on the hull of the _Lucky Star_.

George advanced toward it. "Welcome aboard, my friend."

"Thank you. It's good to be here."

They fastened a line between the two vessels and made several trips back and forth for Lychel's personal effects, but the Dalhou didn't really seem to have many belongings he was particularly attached to. They were quickly done with a task that, had their positions been reversed, might have taken days.

With the power out, the interior of the _Agreeable Path_ was too dark for George to see much. It appeared to consist of myriad polished glassy surfaces, facets in a sort of honeycomb matrix, its chambers a series of interlocking gem-shaped cavities. George found it strangely beautiful.

In contrast, the interior of the _Lucky Star_ looked starkly utilitarian to George's eyes when they returned. But Lychel seemed to find it charming. George got his friend settled into new quarters, and they talked for a bit.

Lychel proved quite adaptable, taking a shower in the human-style refresher, and then stretching out on the bed when he was done. Pleading exhaustion, with profuse apologies, he dropped off to sleep.

14

Nungaan hurried down the dark corridor to the audience chamber.

He'd been busy on the brightly lit operations deck when he'd been called from his post. Other servants in the vicinity had carefully failed to notice. He wondered what the urgent summons could mean.

Arriving, he stopped for a moment to steel himself for the ordeal. Then, with some reluctance, he entered.

The door slid shut behind him. Facing the thick glass. he assumed the posture of respect. He willed his body and mind to remain still.

For a long uneasy period the compartment remained silent. Finally the master's voice rumbled through the chill air, and Nungaan waited patiently for the translation.

"It's come to our attention... that the destination of the humans... is wormhole portal 72... the Relqui system..."

Nungaan waited in case Z'Garab wasn't finished; it would never do to interrupt. When he was sure it was safe to speak, he answered cautiously. "That would appear to be so."

The master made no reply.

The silence grew oppressive. "We on the operations deck weren't told it was important," he ventured at last.

He knew immediately that he'd made a mistake. Why had he been so hasty? Surely he knew better after all these seasons of service! If there was one thing the Zhianese could not abide, it was being rushed. Nungaan began to tremble.

The smell of ozone grew sharp in the air. Nungaan wasn't supposed to know it, but the chamber was equipped to strike down troublesome servants with bolts of electricity. It seemed he was to pay the ultimate price for his error.

For an agonizing time, he waited to die. The master finally spoke: "Have a care... how you address us..."

"My abject apologies, exalted one."

"You've been useful... see that you remain so..."

"Of course, master." Relief swelled through Nungaan's being. It was an act of great clemency for Z'Garab to spare him. He would do whatever it took to please the master, bend his entire will toward whatever task he was set.

"The Relqui system... is on the route... to the very place we are performing operations the servant Lydia learned of... but she cannot possibly know the precise location... nor details of the process..."

Nungaan waited, and then spoke. "Certainly not, master. Or Relqui would be the last place the humans would go."

"Yes, that must be so... and yet... we always found that servant so unpredictable... so resourceful... nor could we anticipate that she'd find another human with an _armed_ ship..."

Another wait. "Relqui is but a crossroads, exalted one. The humans are not necessarily going to the place you speak of. Their destination must lie elsewhere."

"That was my thought... but the risk... very slight, but still a chance that the humans could delay our plan..."

"Shall we send ships in pursuit of them?"

"Not necessary... we can exert limited influence within the G-Net to destroy the human ship... should that fail, the Relqui system is guarded by the Red Suns Aggregation, served by Tyreel Clan Mombaar... have you had dealings with them?"

It began to dawn on Nungaan that Z'Garab was speaking quite rapidly for a Zhianese. Why, the master was agitated! This realization shook Nungaan to his core.

He knew that the Red Suns aggregation, a rival faction to Z'Garab's own Shining Horizons assembly—in fact to all the other assemblies—was relatively powerless. If the Mombaar were indeed their servants, which he had never before been told, it would explain much. "No, master, nor wished to. They're a hysterical and touchy lot." Nungaan felt he was on safe ground, to criticize Tyreel belonging to rival Zhianese. The Shining Horizons bitterly despised the Red Suns.

"No matter... return at once to the operations deck... You'll find new information downloaded to your work post... new authorizations... You're empowered to act on our behalf when dealing with the Mombaar... We've obtained concessions from the Red Suns... the Mombaar are to dispatch fighting craft into the Reeshi system and intercept the humans for us... you are responsible for the operation... dispatch your own ships as you deem fit..."

"Of course, master!"

"Permission is granted for the Mombaar to move freely in Reeshi space... it would be best if the humans never enter Relqui space... you may leave us... do not fail..."

Nungaan obeyed with alacrity. For once, it seemed, a master would not be offended by haste.

He hurried toward the operations deck, the thought foremost in his mind that the humans were about to discover what it meant to displease the masters.

One might almost begin to feel sorry for them.

15

George sat alone in the command sphere, with the Relqui stargate filling the sky. The ship would transit it soon.

The hatch beneath him ground open and Lychel's voice rose to his ears, in conversation with Lydia. The platform ascended to the control nest with the pair of them.

George smiled. They had really hit it off. "Hey, people," he called. "Welcome!"

"Good morning, Captain," said Lydia.

"Greetings, George," said Lychel.

The elevator reached George's level and came to a halt. Lydia took the copilot's station. Lychel eyed the remaining seats, and then folded himself into the navigator's chair. The platform sank down into the ship.

"How did you know that was your seat, Lychel?" asked George.

"I'll gladly relinquish it when someone qualified to hold it arrives," Lychel said.

"I'd say _you're_ extremely qualified. That's Nav & Comm—navigation and communications," George said. He'd been waiting to make this pitch. "I've got star charts, but you've _been_ to a lot of the places on those charts. I can get translation protocols for most locations, but you've _dealt_ with a lot of the folks we're likely to run across. So the post is yours if you want it. You're welcome on my ship regardless."

"I find your offer appealing. I accept."

"Did you ever take on crew for the _Agreeable Path_?"

"Occasionally."

"Maybe we can adapt whatever arrangements you made to our own circumstances. I've already talked about profit sharing with Hero and Lydia."

"We can reach agreement."

"Where _is_ Hero?" asked Lydia.

"Aft somewhere. He already seems to know as much about my ship as I do." George gave a heavy sigh. "What a week!"

"Sorry I got you into this mess."

"It's okay. If I had it do over I would."

Beneath them, the hatch rumbled open. Hero rode the elevator upward. They greeted him as he took the flight engineer's station.

They were interrupted by a sudden graying out of the display sphere. A series of musical tones sounded. They were now surrounded by flowing twilight.

George took nervous hold of the control grips.

A disc of yellow light appeared before them, jagged and pixellated. A stylized sun? A clue as to the origin of the G-Net's creators?

Black symbols danced across it briefly, meaningless to George's eyes. This opening screen was basically the same everywhere, with subtle variations depending on location.

It was a simple monochrome format with coarse resolution, easily displayed on the most primitive of systems.

He wondered what ancient alphabet the symbols belonged to. There was no living being who could identify them, much less read them.

A list of selections appeared in English, yellow text against a dark background. This was called a menu-driven interface. Such were obsolete on Earth, but races with modest computer resources required them.

The choices were encyclopedia mode, oracle mode, communication mode, wormhole access, and emergency alert. This last option had not been selected by a human since the Tau Ceti incident.

George made his selection.

The gray backdrop suddenly roiled like the surface of a bubbling cauldron. Distorted imagery writhed, chaotic and undulating. A chorus of voices broke into a hubbub of babble.

Metallic and androgynous, they were identifiable as voices of G-Net software—he'd dealt with their like often enough—but he had never before heard them sound so disturbed. Now and then an isolated phrase could be discerned:

" _Lucky Star_ is marked for destruction—"

"That directive was suspect—"

"Situation remains unclear—"

Terror surged through his veins. He slapped the fat red disconnect knob without really hoping for results; he was surprised and relieved when the display grid brightened to normal and the din abruptly ceased.

His heart was pounding. The _Lucky Star_ was falling toward the wormhole; he needed to veer away. He grabbed the control grips. "Ship! Gravpulse on line, maximum power!"

"Command executed." The generators began to growl.

A squadron of ships boiled suddenly out of the gate like furious hornets. George threw his vessel into a sharp swerve—but he was battling the laws of physics; he would graze the edge of that formation.

Lydia screamed.

"Those are Tyreel battle craft!" she cried.

The comm chime sounded. "Give me a break," said George. "Do they want to _talk_?"

His momentum worked to his advantage; _Lucky Star_ blew past them before they could react.

He had meant the question rhetorically but the ship answered anyway: "The communication signal is from a party identifying itself as 'your new friend'."

George couldn't help it—he hooted with laughter.

The wormhole and the Tyreel ships were receding astern, but the enemy was swinging around to pursue.

But spacecraft couldn't turn on a dime, so _Lucky Star_ had a breathing space.

"By all means," said George. "Display forward."

The comm window lit with the yellow circle signifying the G-Net. George gave an involuntary shiver.

"I greet you, Captain Wells, and I greet your crew." It was a lone voice this time, pleasantly even, neither male nor female in character. "You may address me as Entity. I represent what you refer to as the G-Net."

"What was the _matter_ just now?" asked George.

"That is actually what I am here to ascertain."

"What do you mean? Are those other entities with you?"

"They listen. I act on behalf of many, but I am autonomous. My decisions will be respected."

George took a ragged breath. "What do you want?"

"You face death."

George gave a mirthless chuckle. "A threat."

"I am not the threat. I offer assistance. You are caught in events that have garnered our attention but you are not at fault. You have drawn the scrutiny of the Zhianese."

"Look, I don't know what that was all about back there, but it's probably them you're after, not us. We haven't done anything wrong."

"Agreed. That is my assessment. We know they are interfering with our functions. I am here to investigate further. In return for my help I ask that you allow me aboard your ship. Let me use it as a base of operations."

George frowned. "You want to commandeer my vessel?"

"Is it not available to transport cargo for hire? Think of me as cargo." A plaintive note had crept into Entity's voice.

"You said base of operations."

"You wish to negotiate?"

George shook his head in consternation. "Why have you chosen us?"

"I have noted that your vessel is well armed—"

"I don't want this ship involved in any conflict!" He was helpless to keep his voice from rising.

"The rewards would be commensurate with the danger."

"What rewards?"

"I can offer a long-term association. The Zhianese are today's task. There will be others. We often find it useful to have organics we can count on, to covertly investigate or infiltrate various settings—"

"You want us to be _secret agents_?" Now George _was_ shouting. He took a deep breath and let it out. "That's not the kind of thing I'd care to get involved in."

"A short term association, then. Limited to transportation only."

"Like a charter?"

"May I assume we've reached agreement?"

George turned to his companions. "Opinions, please. Lydia?"

He saw a fire in her eyes he hadn't expected. "I like that long-term operative offer, myself. We should agree to transport this being."

"Lychel? You've traveled quite a lot."

Lychel's antennae stood erect. "It seems I've been wrong. The G-Net is indeed sentient. I'd tend to concur with Lydia."

"Hero? You're an educated sort."

Hero's eyes glowed. "This seems an opportunity. May I say I'm also inspired to take part?"

"You may." George took a deep breath. "Entity, okay, you're on. We'll at least talk about it."

"Good. You may circle back and enter the wormhole."

George was watching the Tyreel. "They're really closing the gap."

"You can elude them."

"Not forever."

"You will be allowed through the gate. They will not."

"Aren't there more on the other side?"

"Not at present."

"This is against my better judgment, but okay."

"I must turn my attention elsewhere. I will return."

The yellow circle in the comm window disappeared. Reluctantly, George began maneuvering back toward the portal.

"I hope we don't regret this," he said.

"I don't think we will," said Lydia.

"You're really feeling motivated to work for the G-Net?" he asked. "On an ongoing basis?"

"Until today I didn't think there would _be_ any ongoing basis for me," she said. "It's a chance to strike at the Zhianese."

"I can see how that would appeal to you."

"My people will benefit if the Zhianese are brought under control," said Hero.

"True," said George.

"As will mine," said Lychel. "For generations they've been under siege."

"I didn't know that," said George.

"Humanity will be safer too," said Lydia.

"Indeed. Well, I've often wondered why I ventured out this far. Maybe it's fate."

She patted his arm. "It's meant to be."

"For all of us. Saviors of the Galaxy!"

— — —

_Here's an excerpt from "Panic Button", which also appears in_ _Incident on Sugar Sand Road and other stories **.** It is set in the same universe as _Saviors of the Galaxy _ **,** but it takes place a number of years earlier **.**_

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1

It was just another boring discussion of Galactic politics.

Not local politics, of course—that was too touchy a subject.

Maya Turner had heard it all before. It was sort of pointless to hash it out again, she thought, but that was what Mom and Uncle Charlie were doing on the floor in the kitchen cubby.

"Isolationism isn't a viable option for humans, Susan," Lieutenant Charles Bascomb said in his patronizing voice. "Nobody much supports it these days anyway."

Maya didn't care for his manner, the insufferable jerk. These days she actually hated him. He was just a hired thug who endangered her friends and neighbors. But he was "family" so Mom accepted him like nothing was wrong.

"Why should those Frenn monsters come here if we don't want them?" Susan Turner demanded. Her tone was a little shrill, and it made Maya wince. The opening of the Frenn wormhole gate had really set her off this week.

"Some people do want them here, you _know_ that." He took a sip of coffee and set the cup on his lap tray. "You realize, since humans are logged onto the Galactic Net we can't interfere with travel routes through our systems. And we shouldn't discourage visitors."

"Who says we shouldn't?"

"My point is nobody wants to. It's been thirty years now and there haven't been any problems."

"Oh, you _would_ say that." She glared at him. "You're an officer on a Company ship. You _travel_ through those damned wormholes."

"Just the one that brought me here. These colonies wouldn't be possible without it, remember? _Humans_ built that one."

"With alien science!" She slapped the floor for emphasis.

He gave her a condescending sneer. "Science is science."

"Well, you need that infernal G-Net to utilize the things, don't you? Why is that, hmm?" Without waiting for an answer she added, "I should think the Company would be better off developing some sort of faster-than-light drive."

He shrugged. "Not possible, Sis."

"According to G-Net propaganda."

"According to Einstein, more than a hundred years before humans found the G-Net. You've heard of him, right?"

"Einstein didn't lay down all those, those damn _decrees_!"

Maya felt an urge to join the conversation. There were in fact some simple ground rules for accessing the G-Net, minimal laws administered more or less automatically by the AIs that purportedly ran it. Chief among them was the regulation against conquest. Potential invaders would not be allowed through the wormhole gates. Surely that was a good thing?

Too bad it didn't apply to Uncle Charlie's ship like it ought to.

She bit back _that_ remark, and then thought of other occasions when she'd tried to join in, and decided not to bother.

Actually, she'd heard enough. This whole debate was old ground. "Mom, I'm going over to Jason's now, okay?"

"Certainly, dear. Be home by dinner."

"I hear you." Maya rose from the plump cushion on which she had been sprawling and crossed the smooth stone floor of the common area to her curtained alcove. The Turner household, like most in the colony, was tunneled underground, and space was at a premium. Cushions and pallets took the place of chairs and beds, while chests and boxes did duty for cabinets and closets. Maya took her outdoors suit from its hook and wriggled into it.

She caught sight of herself in the mirror. A slender brown-skinned girl with long black hair stared back at her.

Her mouth was too wide and her nose was too big, but she thought her large dark eyes might be attractive. She stuck out her tongue at the apparition and it reciprocated.

She left her alcove, skirted the common area, entered the foyer shaft, and then climbed metal rungs set in rock to the airlock booth. She slid its trapdoor shut and donned her breath mask while the compressor cycled. Moments later she stepped outdoors.

The low keening wind blew clouds of the glittering diamond dust at a brisk pace beneath the dark indigo sky. Delicate silicon growths spread their fragile, gossamer limbs toward the heavens, scintillating with captured sunlight. Their crystalline beauty tugged at her heart.

They wouldn't get much higher, though; soon the winds would blow them down again.

The noontime temperature was just above freezing. That made it a balmy day for this part of New Mars, though the colony was set close to the equator. In any event, her suit kept her warm. She wasn't bothered; New Mars was home. She could scarcely remember Earth.

Adjacent to the Turner's airlock booth was a black plastic storage shed. She took her powercycle out of its charging stall and set off down the unpaved track that served her family and their immediate neighbors for a road, pumping the pedals at first to help the little motors get up to speed.

She wondered if Mom was having some sort of breakdown. Really, she kept having the same conversation over and over again—with Dad, with the Harbinsons, and now with Uncle Charlie. The Harbinsons were too polite to call her a fool, for which she was grateful, but it was plainly what they thought.

But she wasn't a fool, that was the thing. Susan Turner was a loving wife and mother, a hard worker, and a capable homestead manager. But on the subject of aliens she was overwhelmed by hysteria.

Maya didn't think the Frenn were all that intimidating. Actually they reminded her of Jiminy Cricket in that classic Disney cartoon, sprightly little insectile dwarves. As interstellar distances went, they were neighbors; their civilization's suns, Epsilon Eridani and Epsilon Indi, were right next door to Tau Ceti. You could even say they had a better claim on New Mars and New Venus than humans.

Even so, they weren't interested in colonizing the two worlds. At this point, they wouldn't be permitted to do so anyway unless humans were amenable—under those regulations Mom so despised—but they were definitely interested in trade.

Actual, beneficial trade—not like the Yulians, who were sort of galactic con artists. Maya thought the Frenn's overtures would be welcome, despite Susan Turner's objections.

She caught sight of a bright star moving slowly across the daylight sky. The Frenn vessel?

Not this time of day! No, that would be Uncle Charlie's ship, the _Enforcer_.

She shivered. The Tau Ceti colonists were in much more danger from Company goons than any sort of alien threat, if the talk of independence from Earth kept at its present level.

2

When she reached the Harbinson homestead she dismounted her powercycle and left it by their front gate.

The twice-yearly cyclones made it difficult to keep permanent structures erected on New Mars, but Edgar Harbinson wanted his fences, by God, and rebuilt them each spring and fall with help from his son, using an engineered strain of hard bamboo imported from New Venus. It was a distinct source of annoyance to poor Jason.

She spied poor Jason working in the south field and strode out to meet him.

He was a lanky, freckled lad with tousled reddish hair and a perpetual grin. He greeted her with warm pleasure. "Good to see you, Maya!" His eyes twinkled. "I've got something to show you in my room today."

"Oh, you do, huh? What is it?"

"Help me finish out here first, would you?"

"All right."

Agriculture on New Mars involved planting crops in ditches covered with clear, flexible sheeting. Buried hoses of the same tough material carried streams of scalding water that kept the plantings warm—"warm" to the genetically designed crops being merely defined as "above freezing"—and seeped through cooling outlets to irrigate them.

Jason was trying to track down a pressure leak in one of the hoses, using some sort of black detector box. He was focused with scowling concentration on its tiny readout. Maya rolled her eyes in amusement, and then started looking around.

She soon spotted the source of the trouble. She touched him on the shoulder. "There." She pointed.

He looked up. "Well, I'll be damned."

"I don't doubt it."

A plastic bubble frosted with condensation, puffs of steam spurting from its edges, pulsed above a section of cultivated trench.

Maya sniffed through her breath mask. "What have you got planted down there? Smells like stew! Your vegetables are cooking."

Jason laughed. "I hope it's just vegetables, I'd hate it if one of the squirrels got caught down there. Carrots, celery, and onions. And cabbage, because my mom likes it."

She sniffed again. "Cabbage sort of stinks, though, doesn't it?"

"Mom likes it," Jason repeated loyally. He surveyed the damage as they walked toward the offending area. "I brought the kit to patch this. But shut off the steam, do you mind?"

"Where's the cutoff valve for this section?"

"They're marked with painted blue rocks." Jason pointed. "There."

Maya smiled. "Like it says in the Farmer's Almanac."

`"Yeah, Dad loves that book. He's gonna be happy we fixed this. Thanks for finding the leak."

"With my eyes I found it. No fancy detector needed."

"Sure, I bet your family uses burning wood to power your irrigation boiler, too."

Maya grinned. "If there was any wood to burn it would sure save money."

They made the repair in short order.

"All right, we're done here," said Maya. "Now, you say you have something to show me?"

"Sure do. Come on."

"Any use my asking what it is?"

"Just come see. I'd rather show than tell."

They made their way to the Harbinson's foyer shaft, descended, and went to Jason's alcove. It was much like Maya's, but it bore the stamp of Jason's personality; he had a penchant for larger-than-life portraits of historical figures printed out on paper and taped to the walls. Che Guevara, Muddy Waters, and Roger Goode all stared down benignly.

Jason sat at his desk and said, "computer on". On the wall across from him his holoscreen toggled from a tropical aquarium loop to monitor status.

On his desktop was an old-fashioned touch keypad he had gotten from God only knew where. An actual wire sprouted from it and snaked across the surface to plop out of sight. His fingers flew across the thing with practiced ease.

"Misplace your pointer?" asked Maya.

"This interface doesn't use a pointer. If I were accessing on a hand card I couldn't just touch the screen, either. Couldn't even use a mouse here, if I had one."

"A what?"

"Never mind." The holoscreen lit with the flat image of a bright yellow disc against a dark background. Black characters chased each other across its glowing circumference.

"Hey, I know!" said Maya. "It's a recording of the G-Net!"

"Recording, my eye! This is no screen-shot, this is the real deal."

"It can't be."

"Why not? The Frenn ship is providing a direct link for anybody who wants one."

Maya felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Jason, if that's true, this is illegal as hell."

"You sure? The Frenn cyber-presence is hosted by the governor's office."

She gaped helplessly. "That's just a technicality. Private citizens aren't supposed to access the G-Net!"

Jason shrugged. "They can on Earth."

Maya stared. "Looks sort of jagged," she said after a moment.

"That's called pixellation. This is a simple format, easily displayed on the most primitive of systems. Turns out humans are more into fancy graphics than most races."

"They can't all be that primitive."

"It has to be an interface that works for all types of computers. Nobody knows what language the characters in that opening screen represent. The Galactic Net is really ancient, you know. None of the races that founded it exist now."

"I do know."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Yeah, I've probably read the same texts you have. Roger Goode speculated the yellow ball was a clue to the type of sun some of the G-Net Founders lived under. But nobody really knows, Jason."

"But isn't it interesting?"

"It is, sure."

A short list of choices appeared on the screen, yellow text against a black background. "That's called a menu-driven interface," said Jason.

Maya laughed out loud. "On the other hand, I haven't read those texts over and over again."

Jason grinned sheepishly.

"Okay—as long as you're showing off, what have we got here?"

"You're not worried about breaking the law?"

Maya shrugged. "We can always claim we didn't know."

"All right, take a look," said Jason. His voice was quick and intense, and he could hardly contain his excitement. "It's rendered in English, this part. You have encyclopedia mode, oracle mode, communication mode, flight control, and, uh, panic button."

"Panic button? What exactly does that mean in this context, Jason?"

"I don't know. Some of the translations are a little weird on this link. Like flight control I think is usually labeled wormhole access." He shrugged. "We could always use oracle mode to ask. Sometimes it gives you voice interface."

She gave her head a quick negative shake. "That's the mode everybody's afraid of! I'm getting scared, Jason."

"There's nothing to be scared of."

They were interrupted by a soft hand-slap at the wall outside Jason's curtain—the New Mars equivalent of a polite knock. "Son?" It was Jason's stepmother. "I've made lunch for you and Maya."

"Oh, okay, mom, thanks."

Carla Harbinson poked her head through the curtain, a swarthy, strikingly beautiful woman with close-cropped black hair. "Hi Maya, will you eat with us? I hope you don't mind roasted quail."

"Not the way you make it, ma'am." The quail had come from the Turner farm; Maya had it daily. The Harbinsons only raised squirrel, but the two homesteads exchanged fresh meat on a regular basis. Carla's cookery of the little birds was superb.

"Thank you, Maya." Jason's stepmother smiled. "Be ready in five minutes. We're having coleslaw and biscuits with it."

Maya smiled back. "Sounds yummy."

Carla Harbinson withdrew. Jason sighed. "Guess I'll shut this down now," he said.

"We can come back later."

"If the Company doesn't cut off the damned link." He scowled unhappily.

Maya patted his arm. "Come on, Jason, it's time for one of your mom's good lunches."

They made their way to the dining area and hunkered down. Mrs. Harbinson handed them each a tray, and then knelt to eat with them. "How's your mother, Maya?" she asked.

"Well, you know. About the same." Maya dug into her lunch. "Mmm, this is really good."

"Thank you. Yes, I imagine she's upset about this whole Frenn situation."

"You could say that. Having Uncle Charlie there doesn't help at all. He just keeps needling her."

"Susan needs to put the things that bother her right out of her mind. That would help her more than anything."

"She's not good at that. I try to distract her with pleasant thoughts when I can."

"You're a wise girl."

"With Uncle Charlie it's like the opposite. He keeps reminding her of things that bug her. He's sort of a cruel bastard sometimes. Excuse my crude language."

Mrs. Harbinson laughed. "I'd say cruel bastard is just accurate language in this case. Poor Susan."

"They got on the subject of the G-Net this morning." Maya sighed and took a forkful of quail. "Even when he sounds like he's reassuring her, he gets her all worked up."

"What did he say?"

"Well, he pointed out humans have been on the G-Net for thirty years now and there haven't been any problems. You can't actually argue with that, it's just the way he said it."

"I think you could argue with that. When it invaded and took over the old internet, some people considered that a problem."

"I guess so. But that was just at first, you know? And things have worked out okay since then."

"I suppose they have." Carla munched her food thoughtfully. "Still, I've always thought that Roger Goode fellow was a bit of a fool."

"Mom!" Jason was scandalized. "He was a great man!"

"Sorry, dear. He was certainly a clever man. When he figured out the tachyon signals from deep space were instructions for building an ansible modem, I'll give him credit, that was brilliant. But a damned graduate student at a Podunk university in Mississippi had no business going ahead and building the thing without consulting anybody—much less connecting it to Earth's World Wide Web!"

Jason shrugged. "Twelve other people did the same thing, he was just the first. Those signals are easy to decode."

Carla smiled at him indulgently. "I suppose you're right. There was no shortage of fools back then. Not that things are better now."

"But humanity benefited from their actions, didn't we?"

"In terms of science and technology, absolutely. Your father thinks there was a spiritual cost to it all, though."

"I know. I sort of see what he means." Jason shrugged. "Humans won't ever have the chance to discover things on our own anymore. But that's the universe we live in."

"Speaking of your father—" Mrs. Harbinson's expression suddenly changed, her face constricting with anxiety. "Oh, damn it! He really should have been home by now." A speared forkful of quail paused in midair. "You two won't mind if I turn on the news?"

"Of course not!" said Maya. The no-media-at-mealtimes rule had always been a sacrosanct one in the Harbinson household, as far as she knew. She had often envied it. Things must be serious for Mrs. Harbinson to break it now.

`"What's going on, Mom?" Jason asked apprehensively.

"Probably nothing. But you know he organized that meeting—"She frowned at Maya, and then looked away uneasily.

Maya felt a flush of annoyance. "Please, Mrs. Harbinson! My Uncle might be a Company cop, but my sympathies are with New Mars and New Venus."

"Of course they are." Carla Harbinson looked relieved. "These are troubled times, aren't they?" She fished her hand card out of a pocket and tapped a pattern on it with a fingernail.

In the main lounge area the big holoscreen on the long wall toggled from a mountain stream loop to 3DTV mode.

A newscast was in progress, covering the story Mrs. Harbinson was obviously interested in. "The Sandville and Mount Glass town councils were both taken into custody at that time," the announcer was saying. She looked grim. "Company spokesman Karl Grove announced there would be no amnesty for participants, as was previously rumored in some quarters, and stated the Company is taking this situation very seriously."

"Oh, those bastards," Carla said.

"A curfew commencing at 6PM was announced for the affected townships. Mr. Grove also revealed that the ambassador from the Frenn delegation has pledged not to interfere in human affairs. On New Venus, the capital city of Groundport was placed under martial law—"

Mrs. Harbinson sprang to her feet. She tapped furiously at her hand card; the newscast cut off and was replaced with a gold-on-blue screen that read PHONE SERVICE IS NOT AVAILABLE AT THIS TIME.

"No!" cried Carla Harbinson. "They can't _do_ that!"

At that moment the airlock compressor kicked on above their heads. In the charged atmosphere left by the newscast, it made them all jump.

They heard the trapdoor slide open, and a moment later a man in a laminated denim outdoors suit climbed down to join them. It was Edgar Harbinson, turning toward them as his feet touched the floor.

With an inarticulate cry, Carla rushed to embrace her husband. She held him fiercely, murmuring, "Thank God, thank God, thank God..."

He wrapped his arms around her, whispering softly into her ear. Maya looked at the floor, wanting to give them privacy.

Mr. Harbinson was a tall, wiry man with long silver hair, some twenty years his wife's senior. He was normally the most cheerful of persons, but today his expression was positively bleak. "I won't be able to stay long," he said to Carla in his raspy voice. "You may as well know."

"What do you mean? What's happened?"

"The Company finally decided to crack down."

"I just saw part of a newscast! Have a seat, dear, you look exhausted."

He nodded and came into the kitchen area, lowering himself onto a cushion.

"Let me get you some lunch?" asked Carla.

He nodded again, and then seemed to notice Jason and Maya. "Hey, kids."

"Hi, Mr. Harbinson."

"Hey, dad. Are you okay?"

"I've been better, son, and that's a fact. Thanks, dear." This last was addressed to his wife as she handed him a lunch tray.

She knelt beside him. "Can you tell us what's been happening?"

"Sure. Mount Glass decided to go along with New Venus, just like I thought they would. Made an offer to the Frenn, minerals and gems from their mines in exchange for some wares the Frenn can obtain. To do that they had to declare independence and, what's the word, nationalize the mines. That's been coming for quite some time, you know. There's plenty of precedent all through history. The American Revolution, for instance." He started on his food.

"What about Sandville?"

"We decided to go along with them, as I hoped we might. We ourselves don't have much to trade, but Mount Glass gets most of its food from us; they agreed to give us shares in the whole operation. We thought it sounded too good to pass up."

"It does sound good."

"I was out getting coffee at Joe's for everybody, but the Company knows I was there. I imagine they'll come after me." He looked sadly at Maya. "Ben Turner was there too, darling. I'm sorry to have to tell you."

Maya's fist flew to her mouth. She stared at him, eyes wide. "My dad? They arrested him?"

Mr. Harbinson nodded. "I'm afraid they did."

"What will happen to him?"

"Three to six months confinement is what they're saying. It's not so bad. Folks will rally around you and your mom, I bet. That's six months for the rank and file, mind you, not the ringleader," he added, looking at his wife.

"They consider you the ringleader, Edgar?" Carla asked softly.

"Afraid so. I honestly don't know what happens next."

"Oh dear God!"

"We didn't see it coming. I guess we were fools. But those mines are small stuff compared with the harvest of biologicals from the New Venus oceans every year. When Groundport offered to bargain with the Frenn, we figured the time was right."

"For them it probably is. The Company has declared martial law there, Edgar."

"I heard. Can't say I'm surprised. You know, the only habitable spot on that whole globe might be the south polar region, but at least you can survive outdoors without breathing gear if you can take the heat. They're afraid guerilla bands will hide out in the islands. Which is what will happen, there's precedent for _that_ through history, too."

"I suppose so."

"The company's in over their heads, the fools! Even if they take Skyport, there's no way they can hold New Venus."

"Doesn't do us much good, does it?" asked Carla.

"Guess not. The New Venusians will aid us when they can, but in the meantime the Company can sure put the screws to us on New Mars. Which they've already started to do." He sighed heavily. "We ought to have known."

They sat for a time in miserable silence.

A sudden booming blow against the door above them shattered the quiet, followed, moments later, by the sound of the airlock compressor.

"That was a damn good lock," said Edgar softly. "You make them reimburse you, Carla, you hear?"

"I wish we had a gun," she whispered back savagely.

"Yeah, guess you were right about that one." Edgar Harbinson rose unsteadily to his feet, squared his shoulders, and faced the foyer shaft.

Someone kicked the trapdoor aside and leapt down to face them, disdaining the ladder rungs—a black-suited company cop in a gleaming black breath helmet. Its visor was darkened, obscuring his face.

A second cop landed behind him, similarly helmeted. They cradled Remington riot guns in their arms. They fanned left and right, and then froze, falling into battle stance as if the Harbinson's homey tunnels were hostile ground.

A third man climbed down the ladder, movements leisurely to the point of exaggeration. He turned with an insolent swagger to face them.

It was Maya's uncle, Lieutenant Charles Bascomb. His helmet dangled carelessly from his hand. He was impeccably dressed in a crisp black Company Police uniform—he had apparently shed his outdoors suit in the airlock—and his eyes were hard and mean, glinting with ill humor. The cruel bastard was enjoying himself. Maya loathed him.

"Well, well, well... What have we here?"

"I guess you know," said Edgar.

"Looks like George Washington. The father of his country! Or someone just as long and tall and plain damn ugly, with the same pitiful long white hair. You think they're gonna put your face on paper money, you old crook?"

Maya rose to her feet. "You leave him alone!" Her voice shook with anger. "If you've got a job to do, you do it by the book. Don't be such an asshole, taking liberties to bully people. My Mom won't like it."

"Aw, screw your Mom." Uncle Charlie spat on the floor. "And screw you too, you little bitch. I've never liked you."

"The feeling is oh-so-mutual!"

"I don't need to listen to your shit! You don't want to interfere with me carrying out my official duties."

"You're wrong." She took a step toward him. "That's just what I want to do!"

"Think so?" His eyes flicked toward the cop on his right. "Ames. Stun her."

The security officer drew a stunner from his belt and fired. At point-blank range he could scarcely miss—Maya fell into a pool of swirling darkness.

The last thing she heard was Jason saying, almost conversationally, "Somebody ought to push the panic button."

— — —

_Here's an excerpt from "Holy Warfare", which also appears, in its entirety, inIncident on Sugar Sand Road and other stories **.**_

Back to Table of Contents

A pounding explosion shattered the pale jade sky.

The patrons of Old Nick's restaurant reacted predictably. They screamed, cursed or shouted. Some of them leapt up, knocking over tables and chairs. In the kitchen, a stack of dishes crashed against the floor. Confusion warred with pandemonium, which looked to be the winner.

Merwin Marrison, Duke of the High Reach of Avernus, sprang to his feet. He was out the door before he knew what was happening. His heart hammered in his chest; his pulse pounded in synch.

Old Nick's place was in a pillar tree. Its rooms were carved chambers in the tree's upper trunk, the varnished furniture all of the same reddish wood, the floors paved with yellow stone. Plank balconies surrounded it on two levels, supported by webworks of steel cables. On the upper balcony, Merwin shouldered his way through the crowd.

Here, too, furniture had been overturned, drinks spilled, dinners ruined. People babbled excitedly, gesturing toward the south-southern quadrant of the sky.

Merwin moved in that direction, stopping when he reached the rail. In the distance, on the jagged mountainous horizon beyond the Floating Plain, a column of fading light bloomed in a vast bright stalk.

He stared for a time, not able to credit what he was seeing. That deep diamond-blue color was unmistakable.

"An off-world weapon! Eh, milord Duke?" spoke a quiet voice at his elbow.

He turned to regard Old Nick sourly. "You know better than to call me that."

Nick favored him with a sad, gentle smile. He was old and stooped, tough and stringy with bad posture, his skin dark and wrinkled like old leather; his hair was a bristling white.

"Sorry, my friend. Come up to my office, would you?"

"Now? Why?"

"Let's just get you out of sight, shall we?" Nick kept his voice low.

Merwin saw what he meant, and a bleak wind blew through his heart. All the old arguments, all the anger he'd thought laid to rest, came rushing back in a torrent.

He followed Nick to an unmarked door in the tree-trunk. The old man unlocked it and motioned for Merwin to enter. Behind was a stairway leading to his host's private quarters.

Nick's office had a large picture window. Through it Merwin saw what was now a column of swirling smoke. "What's out there, Nick? You should know if anyone does."

Nick gazed at the horizon. "Nothing but wilderness. That's too far south to be human territory."

"It's still in the habitable zone."

"That's true. There are valleys up there where people could live. If anyone wanted to settle there. I doubt the serpents would mind, but the government would sure raise a stink."

"Why would anybody bomb a wild mountainside?"

"No telling. Those mountains are property of the serpents, you know. Even if they don't use them."

"They live in the sea!"

"They _spawn_ in certain rivers. And except for Charon District that whole _continent_ is theirs."

"You're not saying the bomb was theirs?"

"Of course not. They don't have disruptor bombs. And the Planetary Defense Force doesn't have that kind of firepower either, my friend. That's why I said an off-world weapon."

"Off-worlders."

"It was a d-bomb, Merwin. You saw."

"Exploding in the wilderness." Merwin sighed. "I have no knowledge of it."

"I didn't say you did."

"There are those who _will_ say so. You know they will." Merwin moved away from the window and plopped down onto a couch. He felt weary. "I don't need this."

"I'm in a similar fix. Want a beer?"

"That I do need."

Nick handed it to him, and then sat down across from him with a beer of his own.

"One of the Galactic powers," said Merwin.

"The Fleet, the Order, or the Empire. Take your pick."

"Maybe the Rim Alliance?"

Nick barked a laugh. "You know better. The Alliance is farther away from us than Old Earth. It would make as much sense to accuse the Border Union."

"I suppose you're right." Merwin frowned. "But it isn't the Empire. I'd _know_ if it was them. Wouldn't I?"

Nick shrugged.

"If there were an Imperial presence here on Avernus it would be _me_. What a joke! I never wanted anything to do with such a farce."

"Your father did hold the title."

"Which I've renounced."

"Which you've chosen to ignore."

"I _have_ renounced it."

"Formally? Did you ever address a communiqué to Her Majesty?"

"Didn't see the point. Never have gotten around to it."

"You were short-sighted, I think. But you were young."

"Didn't give the fealty oath. Didn't even participate in the ceremony! I thought they'd cancel it when I didn't show."

"Ah, but it was held anyway, witnessed through the Medium by humans across the galaxy. And Her Majesty forgave you, and named you Duke in spite of your impudence. You only renounced your title after the fact. On this planet's local net."

"I think people around here got the idea I was serious. Haven't I been a good neighbor? I'm really just a poor scrabbling sessa rancher like everyone else."

"Oh, you're becoming quite the memorecording celebrity, don't forget that."

"To make a _living_ , I gather sessa. A rancher, that's all I really am." Again the old resentment flared up. "The Empire is a myth. Old Earth's more than half a lifetime away, a trip few here would live long enough to return from. Not on the fastest Fleet ship, not pushing the very limits of cold-sleep. The only true government on Avernus is the Planetary Administration. My father was just a figurehead."

"We do need the Coin of the Realm to do business with the Free Fleet and the Order of the Medium. Besides, if our local government were corrupt or unjust, some of us might have wanted an Imperial Tribunal convened here."

Merwin shuddered. "I'd have had to be the third member."

"There was never a hearing in your father's time, was there? Or your grandfather's, for that matter. But the Empress never tried to reestablish the duumvirate."

"Your situation isn't too different from mine, you know. You used to be with the Free Fleet."

Nick scowled. "I think I said I was in a similar fix."

" _Could_ it be them? _They_ have d-bombs."

Nick shook his head. "The next starship is about two years off. Merwin, what motive could they possibly have?"

"We don't even know what the target was. But Nick, with their stealth-tech, how can you be sure there's _not_ one in orbit right now?"

"I think any Fleet Captain in this part of space would pay me the courtesy of calling to say hello."

"Well, unless he was on a secret bombing mission."

Nick gave a derisive snort.

"Are you sure you're not, um, some sort of outcast among your former peers?"

Nick smiled. "No. Oh, I've heard the rumors. But no, I'm on good terms with my friends from my starfaring days. Over the years we've kept in touch through the Medium."

"Have you ever, uh, regretted your decision?"

Nick sighed. "I had thirty wonderful years with Helen. There's sorrow but no regret. I'd do it all again."

Merwin knew his friend didn't like to talk about his deceased wife _or_ his Fleet days; now he sought to inject a note of humor. "I'll bet it's the Volz. The Rim Alliance has fallen and the Volz are invading the Realm."

It got him a weak laugh from Nick. "My money's on the Jaeen."

"Except neither species uses d-bombs," Merwin said. "Kidding aside, the Rim Alliance does have them. To use against the Volz. If they weren't so far away—"

"They don't know how to build them," Nick said. "The Fleet shares munitions with them, yes, but keeps track of every weapon."

"Maybe someone here on Avernus figured out how to build one, then."

"It's barely possible. I don't think it's too damn likely."

"If they used the Medium to search all the Realm's computer archives. Going all the way back to the days-"

"No! That information's not available. This is not common knowledge, but anyone who tried to access such data, the Order would tell their local government. It'd be a serious matter."

"The Order. They've had access to the Realm's computer nets from the beginning. _Withholding_ data like that isn't the same as destroying it."

"What would be _their_ motive?"

"Can't think of one. And I'd _hate_ to think it was them." In fact the idea dismayed him. Someone he'd once cared for was an Initiate.

Nick seemed to read his mind. "You know who I'd like to ask about this? Barbraluna."

Merwin felt a gentle ache in his chest. The fact was, he _still_ cared. "You think her Order _is_ involved, then?"

"Of course not! But she's quite a learned lady, and she has the gifts of perspective and insight. Would you feel like flying over to the coast with me tomorrow?"

Merwin gave a sad little grin. "I don't know. Sure, why not?"

"Here, drink up. Don't look so damned bleak."

Merwin complied with alacrity.

Nick emptied his own glass, and then got up to pour them replacements. "Everyone else on Avernus will be playing the same guessing game we are," he said, handing Merwin his second beer.

"The Order, the Empire, or the Fleet."

"You can't think of any other possibilities, can you?"

Once there had been the Church, but that institution was nearly dead. Then there was the Tourists' League—Merwin grinned at the thought; they might boycott a planet, but bombing one was surely beyond them.

"No. Was the blast visible from Capitol Park, do you think?"

"No, but eighty percent of the population still saw it."

They fell silent for a moment. Merwin shook his head. "I just don't know what to make of it," he finally said.

"Nor I."

Several hours and many beers later, Nick's comm pad suddenly buzzed. "Don't answer that," said Merwin.

"Why not? Are we hermits all of a sudden?" He picked it up and tapped a square on its display surface, smiling at it like a man checking his face in a mirror with what he probably believed was a pleasant grin.

Merwin thought it made him look a little demented.

"Yes? This is Old Nick."

A female voice spoke sharply. Merwin couldn't quite catch her words, but he certainly didn't like her tone.

"Pardon me?" There was a puzzled look on Nick's face. "My hearing isn't what it used to be. Let me transfer you to the wall screen with the big sound system."

He did so. Suddenly a harpy's face loomed over them, dominating the wall behind Nick's desk.

To Merwin's dismay, it was Mae Linn Noori, probably the most obnoxious newscaster on the planet. She worked for Channel D, the lowest-budget, lowest-brow streaming network on Avernus.

Once she might have been attractive. Years of digging for dirt on people had given her face a sharp, sour expression. Her long black hair was streaked with gray. Her eyes, once wide and luminous, now goggled like those of a manic frog.

"Well! I find you both together. I tried to contact you first, _Duke_ Merwin-" she pronounced it with a sneer "-so I'm gratified to find you in the company of Commodore Price."

Nick cowered back from her image, scrambling around his desk, falling awkwardly onto the couch beside Merwin. Merwin started to protest her use of his title, but she ignored him and bore down on Old Nick.

"Nick Price, are you aware that a disruptor bomb has been exploded on the surface of Avernus, within sight of most humans on this world?"

"Uh, well, sure. We saw it."

"Do you deny it was a d-bomb?"

"What?" Nick was obviously flustered. "Deny it?"

"Isn't it true you were born in deep space, a member of the Free Interstellar Fleet?"

"Well, certainly."

"And you lived most of your life as a member?"

"About half my life."

"Why did you settle on Avernus in the first place? Ostensibly it was to marry a local woman, was it not?"

Nick staggered to his feet. "What's that word mean? I don' care for the sound of it."

"We'll take that as a yes. Is that a common thing for Fleet officers to do, Commodore Price?"

"My Helen was an uncommon woman," said Nick with drunken dignity.

"You don't deny that in the Fleet you attained the rank of Sector Commodore?"

"Why would I deny it?"

"Surely you don't deny that the Free Fleet has d-bombs. It's common knowledge."

"Then I guess I better 'fess up."

"Have you ever personally given the order to launch such a weapon?"

A look of alarm came into Nick's face. "I won't answer that."

"I might have guessed."

"There are no ships of the Fleet anywhere near Avernus now!"

"Taking their stealth technology into account, can you be certain there are no such vessels in our system?"

"No, but I—"

"Another Fleet technology is the FTL ultradrive. Their exclusive possession of it is what gives the Fleet their monopoly on interstellar trade, isn't that true?"

Nick snickered. "Guess I better 'fess to that, too."

"In fact they jealously guard the secrets of its functioning, isn't that also true?"

"It's their intellectual property."

"Perhaps there was a secret installation in the mountains of the Long Coast, maybe a research station trying to develop such a drive—the Fleet would certainly bomb such a place, wouldn't it?"

Nick's jaw worked, but for a moment he was rendered speechless by the accusation. He shook his head. "No," he finally said. Now he looked quite sober. "They wouldn't." He sat down, shaking his head.

"And you, Duke Merwin Marrison, do you have any secret knowledge regarding today's event?"

"I renounced the Dukedom years ago."

"Not in the eyes of the Empress. According to my legal department."

"I can't help what the Empress might think. I don't know _what_ she thinks."

"Do you suppose she might be angry with you for not respecting her authority?"

"After all these years? I doubt she gives it much thought anymore."

"The Empire has d-bombs. Do they not?"

Merwin remained silent.

"And they have starships of their own. Certainly they could deliver a d-bomb attack to Avernus, could they not? A demonstration of the Empress's displeasure with you?"

Merwin stared at her. "Are you serious? They have slower-than-light ramscoops, enough to keep Alpha Centauri and Tau Ceti under their banner. The Empire isn't precisely the same as the Realm, don't you know that?" The Realm of Her Serene Majesty, Empress Susan XVI, extended along part of the galaxy's Sagittarius arm, with Old Earth near the center of the strand.

"Are you lecturing me, Duke Merwin? I thought you eschewed politics."

"Don't call me that."

"The Empress purports to rule the Realm as well as the Empire, doesn't she?"

Merwin remained silent.

"A ramscoop starship that left Old Earth the day you first displeased her might only now be arriving, isn't that so?"

Again, Merwin stared at her. "No, it's _not_ so! It's over four-hundred light-years away, for God's sake."

Ms. Noori sniffed. "I hardly think you're an expert. Our online polls indicate sixty-two percent of the population considers it a likely scenario—"

"Then sixty-two percent of the population are idiots."

"You heard him, ladies and gentlemen! Right from his mouth."

"You don't mean this conversation is being broadcast?" Merwin hoped the sudden horror he felt didn't show on his face.

"Certainly I mean it. Besides, the Free Fleet was formerly the Imperial Fleet, prior to their emancipation. Do we know for a _fact_ the Empress doesn't have some form of ultradrive? Perhaps a slower version?"

"Nick! Cut the connection! Cut it!"

Nick did so. He folded up his terminal pad and put it in his pocket. "Well, at least she didn't drag Barbraluna into it."

— — —

Author's Afterword

Back to Table of Contents

Why release a free ebook?

To be blunt, I'm hoping to scare up some business. But you figured as much, didn't you?

I think _Saviors of the Galaxy: In the Beginning_ can be read and (hopefully) enjoyed on its own merits, but it's actually a somewhat condensed version of the first section of a novel that I'll be releasing just as soon as I can get around to finishing it. In the meantime, I hope that some of you will enjoy some of these other things I've written at various points in time.

The _Saviors_ novelette you just read (unless you skipped to the back of this book) is also available in a collection entitled Incident on Sugar Sand Road and other stories, which is now available at various online retailers for the paltry sum of $2.99. It contains five original tales (including "Panic Button" and "Holy Warfare"), and personally I think it's a bargain.

Anyway, thanks for downloading this book, and I hope that some of you will go on to purchase the collection itself.

It's a compendium of stuff I'm proud of. The advent of indie publishing has made it possible for a writer to publish everything he's every written, if he chooses, but I'm not going to do that. I've left quite a lot of stuff on the cutting room floor, so to speak, and everything I publish from here on out will be new—but I do feel good about these particular stories. They're the ones that still work for me, the cream of the crop.

This is all what you might call seat-of-the-pants marketing. My little roadside pop stand has been open for business almost two yearss now, but so far business has been pretty dang slow, and customers have been scarce.

There are people I really respect in this emerging field of Indie Publishing who are on record as saying that the whole process just takes time. Your readers will find you eventually, they say. Even if you're not to everybody's taste, if your work has any sort of appeal at all there will be readers who are looking for just the kind of thing you write. You only have to be patient.

That's good advice, no doubt, but a writer could _starve_ to death waiting for his readers to find him. As we all know, sometimes they don't even find him until after he's _dead_ —excuse me for bringing _that_ up, but it's true. I'm a big Rex Stout fan, but he never made a penny off me because I didn't encounter his books until after he'd left us, although he and I were both around during the latter middle part of the last century. I would have loved his books even as a child, and as an adult I'd have happily bought his new books in hardcover just as soon as they came out, that's how good his stuff is.

I'm not putting myself in _his_ league, but this is still my way of looking for some readers before I croak. Hopefully we'll find each other before that happens.

I'm not getting any younger, people.

Some of you, no doubt, will think I'm delusional to believe that anyone would actually like _my_ stuff, and some of you will probably even be kind enough to write and tell me so.

Fair enough. You're entitled to your opinion.

And I'm entitled to mine. Which is that these are actually some pretty good stories, and that there are at least a few people out there who are going to like them.

Time will tell, I suppose.

— — —

###

You can visit my blog at http://www.michaeledwardwalston.blogspot.com, and you can see what else I've written at <http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/michaeledwardwalston>.
