Galaxy's Game

As the shuttle accelerated away from Zrsectipar on its course towards Earth, Nirf , Hanlo and I sat back to enjoy the trip. Although I had not forgotten the events of the last few hours, they were of no concern to me as I drifted off to sleep.

A jarring rumble and the blare of a tannoy woke me rudely from my dreams. I shook weariness from my eyes and tried to focus on the voice that was alerting us to a problem. It was the shuttle's captain, speaking with a calm, assuring voice. It seemed that a fault with the hyper drive had brought us back to normal space only five hours into our voyage. Failsafe mechanisms meant that the astrogation systems always translated a ship back in the vicinity of a star system, so we were assured that there was no cause for alarm. This kind of thing happened from time to time, and although worrying, it was not catastrophic.

Little did I realise that this was merely the first in a series of incidents and accidents that would propel me through the galaxy on a head-long journey, pushed from one place to the next like a line of dominoes tumbling inexorably to their conclusion. The thought that crossed my mind much later was that sometimes the dominoes are set out deliberately, and when you look from above they form a pre-determined pattern.

*

Up in the first class lounge of the Zrsectipar-Earth shuttle we were pretty well insulated from what was going on down on the bridge or in engineering. The friendly flight attendants continued to cater to our every need, and every now and then an announcement would be made to apologise for the delay and assure us that everything was under control. I flipped aimlessly through the in-flight brochure while we waited and discovered that we were aboard the Pride of Pluto, a ship that had plied this same route for thirty-seven years. The word 'shuttle' may have led you erroneously to believe that the Pluto was a small ship, but in fact its three decks comprised a total of five thousand cubic metres. Like most space-going vessels it was an oblong box shape, designed to maximise internal capacity with no concessions to aerodynamics. Different manufacturers and operators normally add their own peculiarities and colour schemes to make their ship stand out from the rest. It's surprising what you learn from in-flight magazines.

We were still relaxed, though rather tired, when the first officer came and asked Hanlo to accompany her downstairs. Although she frowned at Nirf and I, we managed to inveigle our way into going with them. The ship was comfortably warm, but I automatically slipped my utility jacket on. Its pockets contain so many useful things I can't bear to be without it.

We took the service lift down two floors to the crew deck and into the medical treatment room where we met with the dapper-looking captain and a rather dazed looking man in a scruffy Zrsectipar Dome work overall. He had a large bruise on his balding forehead and groaned whenever he moved any part of his skinny body. The captain asked to see Hanlo's identity card. Hanlo didn't have any, as all such items had been removed before his incarceration.

"Don't you have anything to prove you work for GSS?" The captain asked.

"I don't work for GSS." Hanlo replied, puzzled.

"Aren't you Drew Nelson?"

"No, I'm Hanlo Hanrahan."

At this revelation the captain seemed positively alarmed.

"How did you get on board? How can I have two stowaways on one flight?"

Hanlo and the injured man, who turned out to be named Manuel, were most indignant at this. This sudden questioning was the first time the three of us realised that Hanlo wasn't supposed to be on the flight and that Drew had been left behind. The two bore a passing resemblance, they were both in their mid-thirties, medium build and with short dark hair, but that didn't really explain what had happened. It certainly did not explain why none of us had noticed the switch. The captain was convinced there was some kind of conspiracy going on, but if there was we had no idea what it was.

As an agent of Galactic Security Services, Drew, had he been there, could have been empowered by the captain to take the alleged stowaway into custody until he could be handed over to the Galactic Police who deal with such interplanetary affairs. Now there was no GSS agent on board and Manuel was still protesting his innocence. According to his story he had been working on maintenance of the shuttle before its return flight when a tall, red man dressed in maintenance overalls had approached him and grabbed his arm. The next thing he knew was when he had been discovered by the crew stuffed in a maintenance store shortly after the malfunction.

This all seemed highly suspicious to the captain who, according to his own declaration, was very widely travelled and had never come across a tall red, glossy-skinned race. When I added my account of how we had boarded he began to change his mind. It seemed tall, red people were suddenly a common sight on Zrsectipar.

An engineer approached while we were mulling this over to report that sabotage had been confirmed and a small device had been found within the engine compartment. The word 'device' always has worrying connotations to me, and it obviously did for the captain too. He rushed off with his crew members and left us alone with Manuel.

Manuel, slightly more relaxed now that the rather officious captain had gone, filled us in with a few more bits of information. This was not the first time he had heard of the glossies. Apparently that was the name rumour had labelled them with on Zrsectipar. The government had recently hired a number of them as political and security consultants. No-one seemed to know where they had come from, and officially they had no connection with the government, but gossip had them wheedling their way into positions of power. The sudden escalation of trouble on Zrsectipar only served to confirm the rumours in Manuel's mind. I wished Drew was there to add his viewpoint.

The door opened and another crewman stepped in. He was evidently the medic and wanted us to leave so he could treat some of Manuel's bruises. Manuel was rather anxious at being left with one of the crew, and having developed an affinity with Hanlo, he asked him to stay. Being from the same planet and both having been falsely accused of stowing away seemed to have created some kind of bond. We promised that we would meet up later to talk again and figure out what the glossies were up to. Nirf and I headed back down the passage way to the lift, deep in thought.

Our very short ascent up two decks to the first-class lounge was interrupted by an alarm signal over the tannoy: seven short tones and one long one. This, I recalled from vaguely listening to the safety announcement before take-off, was the abandon-ship signal. The lift stopped abruptly and we found ourselves on the main passenger deck. All along the sides of the ship hatches in the wall were springing open to allow access to the escape pods. A slender flight attendant with a smiling facing, who turned out to be surprisingly stronger than she looked, shoved the pair of us into the nearest available pod where we were quickly joined by the not-so-slender Amelia Frythe of DenRoon City on Zrsectipar, who was most put out at being manhandled so roughly into her seat in the middle of the pod. The seat, of course, did not provide her with as much room as she needed, and by the time she had reclined it as much as she could and pushed the seat backward as far as possible, she was quite comfortable and I was unbelievably cramped. Unfortunately it was too late to swap with Nirf, who was in the front seat and didn't require much room. I began to wonder whether the escape pods up in first class were larger and more luxurious.

By the time the hatch had sealed on the three of us we had already discovered that she was off to visit her cousin in Scotland. In fact she had eleven cousins in total and we had learned all of their names by the time our pod was ejected from the ship and began pulling away under the power of its manoeuvring thrusters. I began to suspect that the flight attendant's allegedly rough handling may be due to the fact that she had had plenty of time to get to know Mrs. Frythe.

The gaudy orange and purple pattern in which our shuttle was painted, now visible through the tiny viewports, was only slightly more surprising than the fact that Amelia had lived on Zrsectipar since she was five and had four grown children. The fact that she was divorced was less surprising as she proceeded to fill us in on the rest of her life history with barely a pause for breath. I don't think she even noticed that the Pride of Pluto had exploded until the shock wave caught our tiny escape pod and knocked us all into merciful unconsciousness.

Chapter 2: Red Tape

The hospital on Clison II was a very pleasant place in which to recover. The staff were friendly and the décor was a pleasing shade of pale blue. Our escape pod had apparently been picked up in little more than an hour and we had been transported directly to the planet's surface and brought to hospital. I awoke at some point during this transfer and promptly went back to sleep for over twelve hours once ensconced in the comfortable bed. Nirf had, of course, recovered much more quickly and was eager to leave the medical facility behind. He has a bit of an aversion to things medical. Fortunately, Amelia Frythe was in a different wing, as I suspected we would otherwise have heard all about any previous hospital visits she may have had.

The news from the Pride of Pluto was not good. A number of passengers and most of the crew had been killed in the explosion. Terrorists were being blamed and travel restrictions on passenger craft were being introduced in several nearby star systems. It seemed that disorder was spreading inexorably from Zrsectipar.

We were relieved to find that Hanlo had made it out in a pod with Manuel and the medic. They had been closer when they were caught by the blast from the explosion and had consequently suffered greater injuries. Manuel's already dubious condition meant that he would be staying in hospital for several days, but Hanlo was ready to be discharged the following morning. In the meantime Nirf and I spent several hours trying to get passage on to Earth. There were no passenger craft departing until the investigations into the demise of the Pluto were complete, and most travel agents were saying that was likely to be about a week. It was a different story for cargo ships. Despite being Earth's oldest and closest colony, the planet's economy still could not do without off-planet trade for a whole week, so I eventually managed to get passage on a small express cargo courier that was going to Earth via Anto. It wasn't a direct route but would still be quicker than waiting for a passenger ship.

We met up with Hanlo to bid farewell, assuming that he would wait until return to Zrsectipar was possible. Instead he asked about space aboard the courier.

"I haven't been to Earth for over fifty years!" he said. "There's nothing for me to go back to. I might as well go on somewhere else."

We arrived at the cargo port just after local noon, two hours before the ten thousand cubic metre courier Ffuffy was due to depart. She was the largest ship on the field and was near the size limit for ships to escape planetary gravity economically; depending on local gravity of course. Larger cargo freighters would be hanging in orbit, being loaded by the constant stream of cargo shuttles that were taking off every couple of minutes.

The Ffuffy boasted no passenger facilities. We were to be accommodated in a spare crew cabin, and the jovial Mexican crewman who led the way there strongly advised us to stay in the cabin and out of the crew's way. The few other crew members we saw were all human. As is the case with most merchant ships, the crew were all of one species to cut down on running costs. The ship only has to maintain one gravity level and one atmosphere throughout and only one size of furniture and one supply of food is needed. The Ffuffy operated between three human-populated worlds, Earth, Clison II and Zrsectipar, as well as Anto, that is in the same vicinity.

After a couple of hours waiting for lift-off and then another three and a half hours flight time we were keen to get out of our cramped cabin, especially as the stale odour of its previous inhabitants had begun to emanate from the bunks as soon as the door was closed. There was a ten hour stop on Anto so we decided to pop out and find somewhere to relax and eat.

I have been to Anto on business several times in the past, but it was the first time I had found myself emerging from a ship in the middle of the cargo field. Instead of the welcoming airport staff I was used to, we had to jump on a worn out old truck that was ferrying crew back and forth across the field. A short wrinkled Antovian with an inverted triangular head nodded sociably at us as we took our seats. It's difficult to tell the age of an Antovian as their wrinkled brown skin makes them all look rather like raisins. We smiled back at him as we chugged away toward the terminal. Behind us the belly of our ship had opened up and several standard hundred-cubic-metre cargo containers were being lowered onto a string of waiting trucks. Similar activity could be seen at several nearby ships.

Although I know a few words of Antovian, mostly food related, their writing is totally incomprehensible. It looks like a hybrid of Morse code and Braille, so we took a couple of wrong turns before making our way out of the terminal to the taxi rank where we could catch a ride into town. The spaceport's fleet of taxis were all fitted with touch screen computer interfaces where you could view maps and local information in a variety of languages. I was quickly able to use it to direct our driver to a speciality human restaurant that I had visited on previous trips to the planet. There was a prolonged pause while we waited to depart, until I remembered that on Anto it is customary to give a tip before a job is done. The computer readily accepted my Terran Express card and, on cue, the driver pulled away from the curb.

It was a five minute cruise to the restaurant that bore the uninspired name of 'Earth Café'. It seemed that taxis were assigned to a higher lane than most traffic so that we were able to sail several metres above the heads of slow moving trucks and private cars. The local architecture was a curious blend of gothic and Japanese, all with an indefinable aura that made it unmistakeably Antovian. The café was on the fourth floor of one such building, and we seated ourselves at an oval table with a view through a glass wall to the bustling scene below. After a few minutes I remembered to forward a tip via the table's payment interface, at which point a smiling Antovian dressed in what was supposedly an Earth-style tuxedo arrived to take our order.

We ordered a selection of unfamiliar-sounding dishes such as 'European Meat', 'Australian Fried Vegetables' and 'American Toast'. I wasn't really convinced of their authenticity, but it was almost certain that they would be better than local Antovian cuisine that tended to be slimy and stringy.

We had just tucked in to our meal when a group of police officers entered the café. Two waited by the door while the other three headed directly over to our table where the foremost of them demanded something incomprehensible of us. His tone of voice indicated that he wasn't just asking if we were enjoying our meal. I called the waiter over to translate for us, which he did after I had offered him an extra tip.

"You have not paid for tourist visas." Was the message that eventually got through to us. Now, I'm not an expert on Antovian law, but I was pretty sure that we didn't need tourist visas. We had arrived on a merchant ship and were staying for only a few hours. Knowing the Antovians though, they would use any excuse to make a few extra credits to line their pockets. From the corner of my eye I saw Hanlo cautiously sliding to his feet as I tried to reason with the officers. They didn't seem particularly reasonable.

I began to realise that something more serious was going on when the two officers who had hung back slightly began shifting their blasters in their holsters. The two at the door had already drawn theirs. The fact that there were five of them was also out of character. Although everyone on Anto is always after an extra credit, it's usually done much more subtly. I would have expected a single officer to approach us so as to pocket the cash himself.

Hanlo, it seemed, was way ahead of me, and had obviously jumped to some conclusion that I was still grasping for. Without warning he blasted a hole through the picture window behind us, yelled some kind of enjoinder, and leaped out of the fourth floor restaurant. Nirf grabbed my shoulder with one tentacle and propelled us both after him.

I barely had time to formulate a suitable cry of terror before I landed in the back of an open-top police hovercar. Hanlo had just knocked out the driver and was shoving him into the passenger seat. The car jerked sideways into the building, screeched down a couple of meters leaving unsightly scuff marks on the window, and finally lurched forward as Hanlo worked out the controls. A couple of blaster shots shattered the rest of the window above our heads as we accelerated away above the street.

"What are we doing?" I yelled above the rushing wind and straining generators.

"They weren't there for visas!" Hanlo shouted back as we veered back and forth between buildings in a route that took us away from the spaceport. Behind us another pair of police hovercars had taken off in pursuit.

"Obviously not!" I retorted, and decided a more detailed explanation would have to wait until we could hear each other properly. As we rounded the corner of the next building a blaster shot from behind took out another set of windows, showering us and the street below with shards of what I hoped was safety plas. If not, then the police were being rather irresponsible in my opinion. On consideration I realised that someone fleeing in a stolen police car wasn't really at liberty to give an opinion on the subject.

As we powered down the next street we were joined by another hover car that suddenly emerged from a side street and performed a rather impressive air-brake skid to bring it parallel to our course. It seemed to be oozing puffs of smoke and sparking erratically. A slightly less impressive entrance was performed by another police car that swooped and slewed across the street and back as it emerged from the same side street and joined the two that were already tailing us.

Our fellow fugitive grinned maniacally at me across the two meters that separated us, then surged ahead. His brief lead was dramatically cut when a blaster shot hit his car smack in the rear, causing it to buck wildly and decelerate. Hanlo muttered something unintelligible through gritted teeth and fought to avoid a collision. That was made even more difficult when the man leaped from his car, leaving it to fly on without any guidance, and landed in ours, causing us to bounce around even more. Hanlo made it quite clear that he was not happy.

We accelerated forward once again to keep clear of the abandoned hovercar that had gone into a looping roll and was headed back down the street. Our pursuers scattered and we were round the next bend before we could see what happened. There was a distant crashing noise as we flew on through the suburbs and I winced inwardly.

The new occupant of our craft, a human in his early twenties, managed to climb off the floor onto the back seat alongside me. He was still grinning, his pale face framed by a shock of unkempt blonde hair that blew wildly around his shoulders. He introduced himself as Tree. I thought I had misheard, what with all the wind and revving, but apparently that was his name. Tree.

"You need to head southwest to the harbour, and across to the island," He advised. It may not seem particularly advisable to listen to someone who has just leaped into the back of your stolen police vehicle, but what other option did we have? Southwest it was.

Chapter 3: Déjà Vu

We raced on through the suburbs, Hanlo's handling of the controls becoming more confident now, and soon entered the old quarter of the city. This was marked by the absence of any buildings more than about ten stories high and a prevalence of dull, multi-coloured synthastone. It was about this point that Hanlo discovered that our vehicle was actually a convertible, and with the flick of a switch an armorplas roof slid into place. We could suddenly hear again.

"Why did we jump out of the window?" I finally asked now that I had the opportunity. "And why did you jump into our car?" I asked of Tree.

"And why are we taking directions from him?" Hanlo asked pointedly.

"And what should we do with the police officer?" Nirf asked, indicating the figure still slumped in the front seat. To answer the last question first, Hanlo slid hurriedly to a stop in a small ornamental park and rolled the officer out of the door into some undergrowth before accelerating away again.

"The island across the harbour is an independent nation." Tree explained his previous instructions. Despite the seriousness of our situation, his face permanently displayed what some might call a roguish grin. "The police won't be able to follow us."

"I wasn't aware of that."

"Well, it's not officially recognised. They're having a bit of a disagreement with the government."

I groaned at this news. More trouble was what we definitely did not need. It seemed the authorities also had a bit of a disagreement with Tree. He didn't appear to have done anything actually illegal, not that he was admitting to anyway. He had merely taken exception to a few of the extra payments he was being required to make and had somehow—the details weren't entirely clear—ended up being pursued on a course that happily met up with ours. Hanlo didn't share his definition of happy.

We reached the harbour and streaked out over the calm water, Hanlo pushing our small craft to its limits. Within a couple of minutes the shoreline behind was disappearing and a smudge on the horizon ahead marked the position of our destination. On the way across Hanlo explained his precipitous actions in the café.

"You couldn't see outside from where you were," he began, "but I could see the extra police waiting outside. That was worrying enough, but what really got me nervous was the character waiting with them." We swooped in low over a rocky beach and Hanlo paused his story while he negotiated the treacherous outcroppings. Or perhaps he just paused to build up our suspense. "It was a Glossy."

The news stunned me. Why would there be a Glossy on Anto? And why would it coincidentally turn up with a police squad to apprehend us?

"A glossy?" Tree asked. Nirf gave him a brief description, but held back the details of our previous encounters. "I know the ones you mean." Tree said when Nirf had finished. "Can't think where they're from, though."

"You know of them?" I asked, surprised.

"Sure. I've been on and off Anto for a few months and I've seen them on the news a couple of times. The government brought them in as some kind of security advisers when this whole independence thing came up."

"That sounds worryingly familiar," I said wearily and dropped my head into my hands. The hovercar came to a swift halt.

"I don't think coming here is a good idea then," Hanlo said. "I'd rather not get stuck on an island in the middle of another revolution."

"Another revolution?" Tree was intrigued. As Hanlo started us going again and began to retrace our steps a loud voice intruded over the radio. None of us had a clue what they were saying of course, but it had a harsh, demanding quality.

The appearance of several armoured flitters from either side of us soon identified the source of the voice. They quickly crowded our airspace so there was no choice but to land. The disrupters protruding from their bows also helped in that decision. We all climbed out, much to the surprise of the Antovian militiamen who had obviously been expecting to see Antovian police rather than three humans and a Tsimkan.

Six of them approached us, all wearing worn-looking beige fatigues that sported orange piping on the trousers. Their leader, indistinguishable from the rest except that he was the one that spoke, gesticulated rapidly and spoke loudly in a concerned tone. I wasn't sure whether he was concerned for us, but I suspected not. Fortunately one of the others spoke reasonable broken Terran, and Tree was rather more fluent in Antovian than I am, so between them we managed to make ourselves understood.

At the end of our story they seemed both pleased that we had struck a blow against the corrupt system, but also concerned that it might bring retaliation on them. They loaded us into their flitters to take us back to their nearest base. The police hovercar was blasted into ash by their disrupters.

A short flight brought us to a small village composed of one- and two-storey buildings and a large hanger. Here we were introduced to a more senior figure in the Independence Army. I still had no way of telling how senior she was, as their uniforms bore no markings and, as I may have explained, Antovians are rather wrinkled so it's hard to gauge their age. Our whole story was explained again, mostly by the leader of the flitter group, so it was difficult to know how accurately it was being conveyed.

When the retelling was finally over, the Antovian officer punched each of us in the shoulder, which is their equivalent of a handshake, until she got to Nirf who doesn't have a shoulder. He always has to be awkward. She offered her fist in his general direction then gestured to a large trestle table where snacks were on offer. By this time I was rather hungry since our meal had been interrupted, so I helped myself to a portion of slimy noodles. They weren't overly tasty, but I'm sure they were nutritious. While we ate, a number of Antovians discussed us at great length, gesturing in our direction and occasionally hopping for emphasis. Meanwhile we discussed among ourselves what we should do next.

"I don't think a bribe is going to get us out of this," Tree said.

"Not with the glossies involved," I confirmed.

"So we're not going back to the Ffuffy then," Hanlo said, playing with his noodles. Nirf hovered restlessly back and forth, a sure sign that he was trying to come up with a plan. The Antovians beat him to it, and three of them came over with a proposal.

Their island had its own small spaceport, little more than a landing pad, really. A courier ship was due to depart the next day for Coray IV. It couldn't be stopped by the local authorities because it was a Coraylian vessel, unless they could detect Antovian life signs on board. The Independence Army had sponsors on Coray IV and we were offered space on the courier in return for delivering a package to them. That way the Antovian security forces would not have legitimate reason to stop the courier.

"Coray IV will be perfect." I smiled at the officer and punched her on the shoulder. So it was arranged.

"Unless galactography has changed in the last fifty years," Hanlo said as the Antovians departed, "Coray IV is in the wrong direction for Earth. Why did you say it was perfect?"

"Any way off the planet is perfect for me!" Tree said.

"It is the wrong way," I agreed. In fact Earth is only six hours galactic east from Anto, but going to Coray IV would take us fourteen hours galactic northeast. "But, aside from the advantage of getting off Anto, I happen to have an old friend there who can help us get back to Earth without worrying about transport. He owns a private spacecraft dealership, so we can make our own way from there without any more outside interference."

"Sounds perfect to me," Hanlo agreed.

We downed our food while chatting about the strange things we had eaten on other planets. This time we actually finished the meal before being interrupted. A clanging bell sounded through the hanger and the few militiamen who were there leaped to their feet and began hurrying in various directions. We looked at each other in alarm, unsure what to do.

It wasn't long before a trio of Antovians rushed over and began herding us back out of the hanger and into the rear of a decrepit old land cruiser. While we chugged along towards the dumpy Coraylian courier ship that sat a few hundred yards away, one of the Antovians pressed a small package into my hands and explained in great, incomprehensible, detail all about it. Tree managed to translate the basic idea that this was to be handed over to their contact who would be waiting to meet the courier. He provided a description of the men we were to meet, but as all Antovians look alike to me it was not much help.

As we jumped down from the cruiser we saw the flitters taking off in the background and several more armed land cruisers heading off purposefully. It was explained briefly that a contingent of security police were approaching the island. The hatch shut swiftly behind us and a Coraylian crewman urged us to follow him, waving all four of his blue arms to speed us along. We could already feel the hum of power as the ship warmed up by the time we were shown into a small bunk room. The crewman shooed us through the hatch and rushed off as fast as his four legs would carry him. We didn't need a translator to know we were to stay in the cabin and keep out of the crew's way.

The principle of only employing one species on any particular ship was borne out as we tried to settle in to what was our home for the next fourteen hours. Bunks designed for a species with four opposable legs are not especially comfortable when you have only two. As soon as we were beyond Anto's gravity field the artificial gravity kicked in. Again, the Coraylian's four legs make walking in 1.2 times standard G quite comfortable, I suppose, but for us it meant standing up was too much of an effort after a while. It was to be a very long fourteen hours.

Chapter 4: Trouble on Coray IV

We were extremely relieved to be let out of our cabin and escorted from the ship when she finally landed on Coray IV. We had been held in a parking orbit for an extra two hours due to an unspecified technical hitch. There was a light breeze blowing across the landing field as we exited, and despite the feeling of extra weight that slowed us down, it was good to be back in the fresh air. A traditional long, thin open-top hover car known as a botansi was waiting to take us into the terminal. It had only one seat per row and reminded me of an over-sized toboggan. In a bizarre cross-cultural coincidence of the kind that happens frequently among the civilised worlds, the driver stood on a small platform at the rear of the botansi and drove using a long control rudder. He looked surprisingly like a Venetian gondolier. Except for being blue and having too many limbs, obviously.

The terminal was a low structure of gleaming white stone, adorned with crenelated cornices and elaborate arches over the entrance ways. Our botansi slid smoothly through one such arch and came to rest within the arrivals hall among a horde of other similar vehicles. A smiling official held out all four hands to take our ID cards and swiftly scanned them through the polyglot reader slung around his neck. He was obviously happy with what he saw and handed them back, gesturing for us to proceed through another ornate doorway that wouldn't have looked out of place at the Taj Mahal. I realised a moment later that the triangular shape of the Coraylians' heads means that it always looked like they are smiling.

Out in the spaceport mall, similar to hundreds throughout the galaxy with its collection of essential shops and varied cafes, the usual horde of beings milled around. All of the well-travelled species were represented: humans and Zurspos; Gremen, whose grey skin always makes them look to me like ill humans; and Brogians, with their rich, peachy skin and tri-lobed heads. The majority were Coraylian of course. And, standing near an outlet of 'The Hat Box', trying unsuccessfully to look unobtrusive, a pair of Antovians.

We headed over to them, causing them both to start fidgeting anxiously. I thought they were going to try to slip away, but fortunately Tree's Antovian greeting caught their attention. They seemed even more suspicious than before when Tree tried to explain that we had brought a package from Anto for them. His limited Antovian meant we couldn't explain fully how we had ended up as a courier for their movement, and they stared at the package intently for a few minutes as if they might be able to see inside. Of course, they couldn't; it's only Faflox that have penetrative vision.

Just when I was beginning to wonder whether they would ever take the parcel from me, there was a loud commotion behind me somewhere. Angry yells rose above the hubbub of the crowds. As we turned to see what was going on, worried that for some reason the local police were closing in on us, the Antovians took the opportunity to grab the package and disappear into the crowd. I was relieved to see them go, and with them our last link to Anto.

There were no police bearing down on us, and when I stopped to think about it I realised that there couldn't be; a message from Anto couldn't get here any faster than we had, assuming anyone on Anto knew where we had gone. Besides, co-operation between planetary police forces is notoriously lax. I'm sure a law-abiding citizen like yourself has never had opportunity to discover that fact. We decided to leave the port as quick as possible as the cause of the yelling was a pair of Kropasks having an argument. At two and a half metres tall they stood out above most of the crowd. Their green-black fur rippled confrontationally as they shoved and shouted. The wide space that had developed around them proved that everyone else knew their reputation as a particularly quarrelsome species too.

It wasn't long before we were cruising through the town on the way to the home of an old friend of mine. It was, confusingly, early evening again. You get used to repeating the same part of the day when travelling off world. On some planets the day is so long that you wonder if night will ever come. I once visited the Chilk home world that always has one face to their sun so it's perpetually day time. It's quite a draining experience.

In one of the posher suburbs we drew up outside a large single-storey house that boasted bulbous columns supporting a corrugated porch of shining white marble. Our botansi stopped in its shade and the driver bowed politely as we debarked. The door chime brought the attention of a Coraylian android who opened the door smartly and enquired after our intentions. Coraylian is made up of single syllable words strung together to form more complex meanings, and to me it sounds like someone reciting the alphabet in their own peculiar order:

"A D K B La M?" Was the general impression I got. I showed the droid my ID and told it I wanted to see Zukrelanod.

"Please wait here." The droid switched smoothly to Terran, and retreated into the shady foyer. It's not surprising that the Coraylians produced functional androids much earlier than we did on Earth. Their quadrupedal form makes them much more stable. I'm sure you've seen films of early human androids that kept falling over all the time.

It was only a moment before the door was swung wide open again, this time by a broad-shouldered human with a greying beard and enormous neck.

"Brett!" He exclaimed. "Nirf!" He performed a traditional Tsimkan hand flutter in greeting. Well, someone had to get it right eventually. I introduced Hanlo and Tree as he ushered us into his home.

Zuke, as he prefers to be called, had lived on Coray IV for about five years since leaving TGT to set up his own spacecraft dealership. We had been good friends when we worked together but had not seen much of each other since then. The droid brought us refreshments in a shady courtyard at the centre of the house while we told Zuke about our recent adventures and he talked of life on Coray IV.

"We're after a ship to get us back to Earth," I explained at the end of our story. "We've wasted enough time relying on others to get us there and keep ending up on the wrong planets!"

"You've certainly come to the right person." Zuke smiled. "And I've got a nice selection of ships in at the moment. The company's paying, I presume?" He grinned.

"Of course." I grinned back. It was a private joke. Zuke convinced us to stay for dinner before taking us over to the spaceport in his own luxury, droid driven botansi. The excellent food he served helped to explain his increase in girth since he had worked at TGT.

Zuke's dealership was built on the side of the spaceport where the ships could be trundled out on to the launching apron quite easily. He currently had a dozen ships in stock, from one man Ultrajets to multi-crewed luxury cruiser yachts. I decided not to be too extravagant with company money and settled on a fairly old type D cruiser. It had room for six but could be flown by one if necessary.

"Are you sure I can't interest you in a Tycoon Hyperyacht?" Zuke asked temptingly as we headed over to his office building at the edge of the field to sort out the paperwork. Tree looked hopeful, but I just smiled.

"We'll be fine." I spoke too soon. The wail of sirens cut through the still evening air like an arrow aimed at the pit of my stomach. The four of us whirled around to see where the sound was coming from, while Zuke glanced around with mild interest. In the far distance across the vast field of the port were maybe a dozen ground vehicles with pulsating white lights, and they were definitely heading towards us.

"To the ship!" I yelled. You may think that I was over-reacting, panicking even. You're probably right. While on Anto I knew not to trust local law enforcement any further than I could throw them. On Coray IV, with heavier gravity, I wasn't likely to be able to throw anyone very far. Our botansi drifted to a stop.

"Why are we stopping?" Hanlo sounded as agitated as I did.

"The droid is programmed to give way to emergency vehicles." Zuke explained. "And why all the panic?"

"We're not panicking!" I shouted, contradicting my own statement by leaping on to the back of the botansi and wresting the controls from the droid. I accelerated us back towards our chosen ship. The police craft veered to intercept. "Trust me!"

Zuke looked uncertain for a minute, then decided I must know what I was doing. Then he looked worried again.

"The ship isn't fuelled up," he announced. I changed our course dramatically, nearly throwing myself off the back of our craft. Fortunately the droid had remained standing where it was and caught me in its four arms. "Stops people stealing them." Zuke shrugged to the others.

I was even more grateful for the droid a moment later when the pursuing officers drew two weapons each and began firing at us with short blaster rounds. They were among the worst shots I have ever witnessed, and most were well wide of us. Zuke explained later on that vehicular pursuits were unheard of on Coray IV. With the driver so exposed on the back of the vehicle no one is stupid enough to try to run from armed police. Until us.

I aimed our vehicle across the launch apron to the cargo ship berthing field, hoping to shake off pursuit, or at least find some shelter from their wild shots. An impact at my back let me know when someone finally got in a fairly good shot. Zuke would be needing a new droid. We made the partial cover of the docked freighters and sped between the rows of ships and docking grapples. The police craft were closing in and seemed to be staying only a turn behind us. However much I dodged in and out it seemed inevitable that we would be surrounded. There were plenty of them to split up and come at us from all angles. We were going to need something special to get out of this one.

Chapter 5: Stowaway Escape

Rather unexpectedly, Nirf launched himself into the air and rapidly ascended until we could barely make him out against the darkening sky.

Remember that irritating old computer game you liked to play? Nirf's voice came to me over our interpersonnel com. Where you're trying to avoid the monsters in a maze? He didn't wait for a reply. Turn left NOW!

I turned. Around the corner were three police craft speeding along side by side, and we were heading at an angle into their side. I veered around even harder to get us straight, and passed close enough to the nearest driver to see the whites of his eyes. Well, I would have if Coraylians had whites in their eyes, but their eyes are an all-over dull pewter colour. The nearest craft slewed into its neighbour and bounced that into the third. Their colliding repulsor fields shorted each other out and the three police botansi slid ungracefully to the floor with a hideous shriek of grinding armorplas.

Left again, Nirf ordered, before I had chance to recover my composure. No, forget that. Straight on. Right after the small blue cargo hopper. I followed his directions and caught a glimpse of some of our pursuers streaking past in the wrong direction. Stop! I brought us to a gut-wrenching stop as quickly as I could, almost overloading the propulsion system as it struggled to obey my commands. We came to rest at another crossroad between freighters, the front of our botansi sticking out by a metre or so. This was just enough to cause the oncoming police craft to swerve madly and throw the driver from the back.

Straight on! My passengers stared at me in alarm, and I realised they didn't have a clue that Nirf was helping me. As far as they could tell I was driving like an idiot and being very lucky into the bargain.

I believe the next ship is a StellarTrans Midi. Nirf said significantly. And its docking clamps have just retracted. Fortunately we both work for a galactic trading company so know quite a lot about freighters. The StellarTrans ships have a curiously kinked underbelly as their identifying feature. It's not much of a gap, but it's there. Two more police craft roared into view ahead of us and fanned out to block our escape, still approaching rapidly. The mid-section of the Midi was nearer to us than to them, but it was a close call.

"Hang on!" I yelled, rather unnecessarily, as the three others were already clutching their arm rests in a death grip. I was really pushing our little vehicle to its limits now, and I heard something clang horribly as I spun us off the wide aisle and under the StellarTrans ship, throwing myself to the floor as I did. Zuke's poor old droid was shattered into several dozen pieces by the impact with the hull, and the steering column went with it. One particularly foolhardy police officer had decided to follow us. The combination of his craft's larger size and flying bits of droid fouling up his repulsor system meant that the way was quickly blocked for anyone else to follow us.

Fortunately for us, the speed control on a botansi is not connected to the steering column, so I was able to bring us to a stop almost exactly mid way under the belly of the ship.

"Where are you?" I asked as I jumped to the ground.

On my way, Nirf replied. I urged everyone to climb out, which they did with some difficulty after prizing their fingers off their armrests. I began working on the manual controls to the ship's access hatch that is situated halfway across the underside of all StellarTrans craft.

Get ready to send your botansi out, Nirf interrupted.

"Carry on with this!" I gestured to Zuke, and turned back to the hovercar.

About … now! Nirf exclaimed. I pushed the speed controller to maximum and watched as the botansi shot off through the low tunnel of the ship's belly, clanging occasionally against the side.

"It's open," Zuke said. All three of them were looking at me in puzzlement. Behind there was a screech of over stressed engines and the loud sound of sirens as our former vehicle caused some unseen chaos at Nirf's direction.

"Let's get inside!" I urged. As we all scrambled through the hatch, there was a purple blur as Nirf whizzed up behind as and re-joined our rather exhilarated group. We were in a cramped service corridor leading into the bowels of the ship.

"Keep moving. Only ninety seconds to go," Nirf said, squirming past everyone. He zipped ahead and had the inner hatch open by the time we stumbled up to it. "Through, quickly!" Nirf said in a voice as close to stressed as you're likely to hear from a Tsimkan. I slammed the hatch closed behind me and Nirf quickly resealed it. I had barely a couple of seconds to glance around the cramped maintenance bay, lined with shelves of assorted spares and cleaning gear, before the take-off warning klaxon sounded.

"This might be an obvious question," Tree said, "but, are we stowing away?"

I nodded confirmation.

"That was easy then," Hanlo said, a touch of sarcasm in his voice. "I'm sure no one noticed the hatch opening, or the police roaring round. And I'm sure the police will just let them take off."

"That's right." Zuke nodded smugly, as if it had been his plan. "The hatch opening will have registered on the ship's computer, but it doesn't alarm while in the dock because there's always something going on before take-off. We had the hatch sealed before the warning klaxon, and that's the point when the computer performs an internal ship diagnostic. Unless someone goes over the hatch log, they won't know."

Tree looked like he was about to protest, then remembered that Zuke was a spacecraft trader and probably knew what he was talking about.

"But what about the police?" Hanlo persisted.

"It's the same as on Anto," I explained. Working in interstellar trading means you need to know interstellar law well. "Planetary police forces don't have jurisdiction over ships registered on another world. They can't stop the ship unless there are Coraylians on board, or they have special permission from the local authorities. And they're not going to get that in time." I was quite pleased with myself.

"That's why GalPol was formed," Nirf finished for me. "GalPol has jurisdiction over almost anything. Assuming the local planetary government has signed up to the protocols." While we were enlightening our fellow stowaways the ship had taken off.

"So then," Tree asked, "where is this ship going?"

Nobody had a smart answer to that one.

*

Eleven uncomfortable hours later the ship landed. For the entire voyage we had kept to the maintenance bay and adjacent store and not been disturbed. We waited for the all-clear klaxon to sound, then waited some more before retracing our steps to leave the ship. It was gloomy under the belly of the ship, and we emerged to find the yellow-white sun heading for the horizon. It was evening. Again.

There were half a dozen inhabited systems situated around eleven hours from Coray, but the unusual colour of the sun narrowed it down for us.

"We are in the Balan system," Nirf announced.

"Is that good?" Hanlo asked.

"That depends on which of the two planets we're on," I said.

"Oh great. It's bound to be the wrong one."

We trudged across the plasticrete landing apron, shivering at the cold wind that blew briskly between the huge shapes of docked freighters. The shadows grew darker as we made our way gradually down the aisles, and by the time we had emerged onto the expanse of the spaceport grounds the sun was very low in the sky. It seemed eerily quiet for a large spaceport. Even the spaceport terminal looked neglected in the distance. I began to suspect that Hanlo was going to be right.

The planet Balan VII is a fairly standard human colony world. It's the kind of place you might go on holiday, or consider emigrating to. Balan VIII is quite a different matter. Its government is more inclined to the militaristic way of doing things. It's not that they tyrannize their subjects, but they are known to be very strict. Their police force would make the Antovians look like Community Policing Award nominees. And they don't take kindly to foreigners wandering randomly around their planet without proper supervision.

We skirted the terminal as unobtrusively as possible, which was rather difficult due to a severe lack of crowd to blend in with. A small gatehouse and pedestrian gate gave access to the outside world. A sign above it in over a dozen languages made it clear that it was for crew only. A bored-looking guard in a dull grey uniform glared at us out of her small window, then gestured for us to hurry.

"What are you doing?" she snapped. "It's practically sun-down. If anyone finds out I let you out so close to the curfew I'll be in big trouble." My masterful bluff to get us through the gate turned out to be completely unnecessary as she urged us through the turnstile and locked it shut behind us. We wandered on a few paces, then paused to consider which way to go.

"Get away from my gate," the guard hissed from behind. "Are you trying to lose me my job?"

We hurried away into the almost deserted streets with the sun hovering on the brink of the horizon behind us. It seemed we were on Balan VIII.

Chapter 6: Brief Encounter

The first street beyond the terminal was obviously intended to cater for the crews that arrived regularly on transport ships. Several dubious-looking establishments tried to entice us into patronising them, but we decided to look for somewhere slightly more reputable. As minimalist street lighting began to flicker on I suddenly realised the streets were deserted. We hurried on, now wishing we had just gone into the first saloon we had seen. A short while later we stopped and decided that we should head back and do just that when a door nearby opened, spilling a shaft of light across the street. A figure appeared, silhouetted against the bright rectangle, and a woman's voice called across to us:

"Quickly, get off the street. The dusk patrol will be round soon."

We hurried over to her.

"We're not sure where we're going," I confessed, squinting up at her face against the halo of light from behind. She hesitated for a moment, taking in our crumpled appearance. Our clothes and the presence of Nirf hovering over my shoulder were obviously enough to convince her that we were hopeless off-worlders who couldn't avoid trouble if we tried.

"Come inside," she said, and stepped back to let us in.

We shuffled in gratefully and trooped along a broad, wood-panelled entrance hall. The woman closed the door behind us and I heard several locks and bolts being secured as she directed us through a door on the right into a large, rustic kitchen that smelled pleasantly of herbs. We all stopped and lurked uncertainly around a solid, blocky, dark wood table that boasted eight equally domineering chairs. Our hostess followed us into the room and closed the door behind her. She looked to be in her twenties and introduced herself as Jereane. We all attempted to simultaneously tell her who we were and come up with some plausible reason for wandering the streets after curfew that didn't make us look like idiots. I'm not sure we succeeded at the latter.

Jereane smiled tolerantly at us until we all stumbled to a halt. I thought her rather attractive, though that's not the kind of thing one tells a woman upon first meeting her. They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, so rather than me disappointing you by describing her, why not imagine your favourite actress and assume that Jereane looks just like her.

"We are most grateful for your kind assistance," Nirf said smoothly into the silence. He's such a creep sometimes.

"I only hope the security police weren't monitoring the area for unauthorised movement," Jereane replied. She urged us all to sit and poured drinks for us. "Have you eaten?" she asked.

There was an embarrassed silence; we didn't want to impose any more than we already had. The answer came from a loud rumble of somebody's stomach.

"I'll see what I've got," Jereane said with a twinkle in her eye. Everyone glared at each other, but we never did find out who's stomach it had been.

Soon we were all tucking in to cheese sandwiches, a food that I have discovered is popular on every human populated planet I have visited. I glanced around as I chewed, noting the rough plastered walls and red tile floor that made it seem that we were in a farm house rather than in the middle of a town. Talk was subdued as we didn't want to burden Jereane with our woes and she wasn't very forthcoming about why she would risk taking in a group of strangers from the street.

"I have two spare rooms," she said when we had finished our meal. "You can make yourselves comfortable there and I'll see you on your way in the morning."

We were just clearing away our plates when there was a loud thudding on the front door. Jereane froze.

"Down in the cellar!" she ordered and opened a slatted door in the corner. We all piled through and made our way down a flight of stone steps. The door shut and left us in darkness. Tiny slivers of light crept through cracks in the door, illuminating dancing motes of dust, but our own bodies blocked them from helping us see ahead. We fumbled our way to the bottom, bumping each other all the way, until Tree produced a pocket flash light and we all ranged ourselves in a group around him. We could hear nothing from upstairs.

After a few tense moments the door opened again and bright lights flickered on, blinding us for an instant. I blinked furiously until I could see clearly again and was relieved to see Jereane stepping smoothly down towards us. She looked worried.

"It was the security police," she said. "You were either scanned in the street or someone reported you." She looked disgusted. "Some people just want to get on the good side of the local officers. Wait here while I see what I can find out." She ran lightly back up the stair and closed the door again.

The cellar was composed of rough grey walls and floor and, as is usual with cellars, was a large, wasted space. It was probably five metres on a side and was evidently not used as a living area. It smelled of dust and wood. One corner held a collection of odd pieces of furniture partially draped in dust sheets. A pile of wooden crates filled another corner and an old pinball machine sat against one wall. I walked over to it, intrigued. It was an ancient pre-electronic model, probably worth a fortune to collectors. I pulled back the lever to launch the ball and watched as it bounced helplessly around the obstacles on the board and finally disappeared down a hole. I knew just how it felt.

"If the security police do know we're here, we'll have to leave," Hanlo said quietly. "We can't put Jereane at risk. It's not like she even knows us."

I nodded slowly in agreement, wondering where else we could go on a cold, dark night and still avoid attention. Zuke sat down on one of the packing crates and looked thoughtfully about him, as if the sparse contents of the room might provide a solution. The door at the top of the steps opened and Jereane came down to us once more. This time she looked even more worried.

"Two police trucks have pulled up out the front," she said. "I think they've come for us."

"Don't worry," I said, putting on a brave face. "We'll give ourselves up to them. We don't want to cause any trouble for you. You've been more than kind already."

"That won't make any difference," she replied. "The security police have been looking for an excuse to search my house for a long time. They might be harsh, but they stick rigidly to their own laws, and I haven't given them that excuse. Until now."

"Why …?" I began, but was interrupted by a loud thudding from upstairs again. We all looked around desperately, and Tree hefted his torch like a feeble weapon. Jereane glanced back up the way she had come.

"Someone bolt that door," she ordered. Tree leaped obediently up the steps while Jereane went to the old wardrobe standing in the corner. She opened the door and I expected her to pull out something fantastically useful. I'm not sure what. Maybe an invisibility suite, or fake uniforms. My imagination didn't really have time to come up with anything sensible because instead she called: "Follow me!" and disappeared inside.

There was even louder thudding and muffled shouting from upstairs. It seemed the police were in the house. I had a brief flashback to my childhood reading as Hanlo, Nirf and Zuke all ran into the wardrobe and I wondered whether they were emerging into a snow-covered forest. Tree was still fiddling with bolts and locks as something heavy crashed into the cellar door causing it to bulge worryingly.

"Let's go!" I called and ran through the wardrobe. Rather disappointingly, I merely went through a false back and into a rough walled grey corridor where Jereane stood holding the secret door open. There was a blinding green flash from behind as I rushed to catch up with the others. The short corridor led to a long flight of stone steps, another short passage and an imposing steel door.

"I've sealed the door behind us," Jereane said breathlessly as she ran to join us. "They shouldn't find it for a while." She pushed past and typed a code into the number pad on the door. The door swung soundlessly inward and she led the way through.

"Where's Tree?" I asked, suddenly realising that he wasn't running down the corridor behind us.

"He wasn't quick enough," Jereane said with an apologetic shrug. Dull orange lights were flickering to life, revealing a room similar in size to the basement. "They threw in a stun grenade. We couldn't have gone back for him without being gassed ourselves."

"I didn't hear a stun grenade going off," Hanlo said bluntly, speaking with the voice of experience.

"No, you wouldn't." Jereane worked as she spoke, moving swiftly round the room, flicking switches and checking the readings that began to pop up on a small monitor. "That wardrobe is designed to hide more than a door. It masks all EM emissions and sound waves. This place …" she gestured round at the mysterious equipment and three large cylinders, "cannot be detected from outside."

I guessed that most houses round there didn't have a secret underground secondary cellar full of concealed equipment. That probably also meant that Jereane wasn't just a friendly citizen risking her freedom for strangers. Nirf's next pronouncement conformed that:

"These are long-range transmats."

"That's right." With a loud hum a door on each cylinder swung open. "Get in. We might not have much time." Zuke, Hanlo and Nirf entered the three cylinders. I couldn't really see any other option. "And don't worry." Jereane continued as the doors closed again. "The controls are designed to cycle through a scrambling algorithm after use so our destination can't be traced." She finished the transport sequence and my three companions were gone.

"What is our destination?" I asked as I entered one of the now empty cylinders.

"My cousin's facility on Balan VII." She left the control panel and walked into the cylinder to my left.

"That is long range!" I said as the door closed on me.

*

I emerged from the corresponding cylinder feeling far more dizzy and nauseous than I ever have from a standard transmat. Hanlo and Zuke were leaning against the wall also looking quite ill. Nirf, as usual, floated calmly in the middle of the small room we had emerged into. The walls were painted a cloudy blue, and diffuse lighting gave the room a more pleasant atmosphere than the one we had left. Jereane moved swiftly to the control panel, stumbling only slightly, and powered the system down. While she was distracted I took a moment to pull myself together and try to look ready to continue.

"That's it," Jereane announced. "There's no way they can track us now."

"Why have you got long range transmats in your basement, if you don't mind me asking?" I said.

"My uncle has been a prominent member of the opposition for years," she said, looking as pale as I felt. "That was his house. We help people who have become unpopular with the government to disappear." She stopped to take a couple of deep breaths and the colour began to creep back into her cheeks. "This is my cousin Kane's house on Balan VII. He'll take care of us while I figure out what to do about the situation back home."

"What about your uncle?" Nirf asked. I went over to check on Zuke who seemed the worst affected of us all. He waved me away, smiling weakly.

"He disappeared two months ago. The whole opposition is in crisis. I don't know what we'll do." For the first time since we had met, she looked forlorn, almost defeated. "Now we've lost our escape route, too."

"Surely these use a lot of power." Hanlo indicated the transmats. "How come they never traced them before?"

"We have contacts at the power company." Seeing that we had mostly recovered our composure she hit a release panel on the large metal door and it swung open into a brightly lit concrete passage. "I don't know exactly how it works, but they always cover our tracks." We followed her out of the transmat room and along to a concrete spiral staircase leading up into the dark. "We've been talking about going to the Interplanetary Court of Human Rights on Earth." She continued as we climbed. "We're running out of options."

More lights flickered on as we emerged onto a small square landing. Jereane typed in another access code and pushed open another steel door into what appeared to be a standard basement. A further concrete flight of steps led up to a door in one corner.

"We have to wait for Kane to let us know it's all clear," she said, and we all settled down on a pair of old wooden benches that sat against the wall.

It wasn't long before the turn of a key brought us all back to our feet in anticipation. The door at the top of the steps opened and a figure stepped through. There were a couple of things that led me to conclude that it was not Kane. First, it was a woman. Second, she had red, glossy skin. Third, a peculiar sweet odour had entered my nostrils and my initial reaction to draw my miniblaster faded as I realised it wasn't really important. We all stood, gaping foolishly.

"Excellent," she said. "Humans and a Tsimkan. The investigators will be pleased." She strode down the steps and, approaching each of us in turn, clasped an arm or tendril. I watched Jereane, Hanlo, Zuke and Nirf slump to the floor before it was my turn. Everything went black.

Chapter 7: Delay on the Way

I vaguely recall opening my eyes and staring at a red ceiling. I was lying on a padded bed or table. Several glossies stood beside me, talking among themselves. One noticed me stirring and, with an expression of irritation, grabbed my arm and I saw no more of that room again. What happened next was evidently a dream, though I seem to remember it being very vivid at the time. I only mention it now because in subsequent discussions it seems that my four companions also experienced the same sequences:

I found myself in a damp, dripping cave. Something growled in the dark behind me. I ran, slipping on the slimy surface, barely keeping ahead of whatever was chasing me. You know the kind of thing. Everyone has a similar dream from time to time. I escaped from the cave and fell into deep drifting snow that hindered my progress even more. There were other images, other situations. Each seemed to evoke a different emotion as though our reactions were being tested against various stimuli.

I awoke, along with Hanlo, Zuke, Nirf and Jereane, lying on my back on a warm floor. We pulled ourselves to our feet, muscles aching as though we had been exercising far too hard for our own good. We were in a room about three metres on a side. It was empty except for some utility conduits that lined one wall, and it smelled of mild disinfectant. I felt groggy and uncomfortably warm.

"That was not my cousin." Jereane spoke first.

"That was a glossy," I informed her.

We looked briefly round our small cell and Hanlo quickly discovered that one of the pipes was very hot. The question of why we had been kidnapped and where we had been taken, as well as what they were doing in Kane's house occupied us for a few minutes. The word 'investigators' that the glossy woman had used seemed ominous. We came to the conclusion that the dreams had been used to learn about us. None of us still had any idea where the glossies were from. The biggest question now occupying my mind was whether they were picking on me and Nirf particularly, or were there so many of them that we just kept bumping into them by coincidence. Neither possibility made me very happy.

"Our interpersonnel coms are not working," Nirf said to me. He was right. Whatever the glossies had been up to had interfered with our implants. After a few minutes Zuke decided to try the door. It opened. We all looked at each other in surprise, and Zuke led the way out. We were in a carpeted hallway, decorated with floral patterns on the walls. A passing Bluman looked at us in surprise, but carried on his way. We followed him to the end of the corridor, Hanlo still blowing his red fingers and went through a door to find ourselves in the bustling hall of a florally decorated spaceport.

"Well," said Hanlo, "I wasn't expecting that. Where are we now?"

"It's got to be Bluz or B, Bl, Berr …" I said, noting that the majority of people wandering around were Blumen.

"Blogallis," Nirf finished for me.

"Or Rosch II," Zuke added.

"Or Dantis," Nirf said.

"Where?"

"The partially inhabited moon of Rosch IV."

"Who would even know that?" Hanlo exclaimed. You'd think he would know by now that Nirf always has to have the last word.

"I guess your friends have finished with us," Jereane said. It seemed that way. Zuke and Hanlo headed off swiftly for a nearby bar, and we followed in their wake. Several Blumen glared at us.

Now I've always thought that Blumen is a particularly unimaginative name for a race of blue humanoids, but recently I heard a much better explanation for the name we have given them. Apparently the first humans to arrive on their home world of Bluz were a group of German astronauts. Upon being greeted with garlands of flowers and observing the popularity of floral designs in everything they did, the Germans decided to call them Blumenvolk or flower people. This was eventually contracted to Blumen. It turns out, though, that didn't happen at all. The human imagination really is so dull that when we couldn't pronounce their own name for themselves we just called them blue men.

While we all had a restorative drink, and the barman glared very hard at Jereane, we talked about our plans. Although you may have forgotten by now, I was actually still heading back to Earth at this point. It had been a very long detour. The barman confirmed that we were on Rosch II, forty-five hours flight from Earth. Surprisingly, it was only mid-morning local time. I had come to expect that it would be evening again. More surprisingly, it was four days since our arrival on Balan VIII. No wonder we were stiff if we had been lying down all that time.

We moved to a more comfortable lounge area furnished with soft velour armchairs and flicked through some entertainment channels on the big screen until we found a human news channel that we could understand. Most of the top stories were shockingly familiar:

• Zrsectipar was undergoing a revolution that had spread to include most of the planet. All flights to and from the planet had been suspended.

• Clison II had also closed its space to foreign craft due to ongoing concerns over terrorism.

• Over a dozen small states had declared their independence on Anto and were actively opposing the government. This was provoked by a police invasion of one of the nominally autonomous islands.

• The government on Coray IV was calling for a review of immigration controls.

• The opposition on Balan VIII had appealed to Balan VII for support in challenging their government's draconian restrictions on civil liberties.

It was like looking at a replay of our interplanetary tour. I could only hope that it was all the glossy's fault and not mine.

Poor old Zuke had been dragged along with us by sheer force of circumstance, and wasn't feeling particularly great. As soon as we had finished our drinks we made our way to the nearest info console and looked up some flight information. There was a weekly flight to Coray IV that was due to leave late that evening. Zuke booked himself on, and I felt it only right that I pay for his flight with the company credit card. What situation he would find back home we couldn't tell. There was also a weekly flight to Earth, although that was not due to leave for another two days. Unfortunately there was only one single cabin still available. We booked it just in case then went looking for an alternative.

As with most major spaceports, the Rosch II Central facility boasted a small spacecraft dealership. When buying a spacecraft there's no one better to take along than another dealer, so we let Zuke do all the bargaining. Unfortunately, this was a very small dealership. The only craft even vaguely suitable was a rather antiquated two person hyper jet, 'with free droid'. We went to inspect our acquisition, and it was even worse than it sounded. Zuke was immensely glad not to be going with us, and mentioned several times that he would think of us while in his luxury cabin aboard the Coray IV ferry. I was strongly tempted to wait another week and catch the next flight to Earth, but that wasn't really acceptable when we were already so late.

A hyper jet is a specialised craft and, unless you're a courier or scout I don't suppose you've ever been in one. The cockpit contains two fairly luxurious and comfortable chairs, ideal for a journey of a few hours. A journey of forty-five hours was probably pushing it though. Behind the cockpit is a small galley where there's just enough room to make a cup of tea and heat up a readypak meal. There's a couple of storage lockers and a small head. Oh, and a narrow passageway connecting them all together. That's it for living space. At the rear is the engine access compartment and then the Star Drive that takes up almost half of its five-hundred-cubic-metre volume.

Hanlo and I gallantly declared that, of course, Jereane should take the cabin on the Earthbound ferry, and we would brave the cramped journey in the hyperjet. Nirf doesn't take up much room and has few physical requirements so we could squeeze him in too. Not to mention the free droid. I think it had originally been white, with flashy yellow and charcoal grey highlights. Now its humanoid form was covered in dents and dirt. It stood in the utilities locker, patiently waiting to be reactivated. The Bluman salesman dismissed it as useful only for cleaning and maintenance and closed the door on it as quickly as possible.

Back at our adopted lounge in the spaceport we checked the galactic charts and decided that it would be worth breaking our journey on Zyg. It was about fifteen hours in almost the right direction for Earth. Zyg is a new colony of around one thousand humans who were setting up the colonial infrastructure and the world has yet to be opened up for general settlement. TGT were involved in supplying some of their equipment two years back, though I didn't get personally involved in the project.

We next tried to confirm our booking on the ferry for Jereane, only to discover that unaccompanied females are not allowed to fly on Bluman operated ships. In fact, it wasn't until that point that we realised there were no unaccompanied females to be seen anywhere in the port, and no female staff. No wonder we had been glared at all day, allowing Jereane to walk ahead of us and even order her own drinks!

I think Jereane was prepared to take the entire Bluman civilisation to the Interplanetary Court of Justice over the matter, but we managed to persuade her otherwise. I'm sure they think we have equally odd customs.

Much to Hanlo's chagrin it seemed that as I was the new registered owner of our hyperjet, the poetically named True As An Arrow, I would have to fly it and have the pleasure of Jereane's company all the way to Earth. Unsure of our exact arrival times, I gave Hanlo a contact at TGT who could meet him on his arrival and we arranged to meet up back at TGT HQ.

We bade our goodbyes to Zuke and Hanlo and launched the True into the twilight sky. Streaks of pink cloud were spread before us across a crimson sky flecked with gold. Apparently Jereane did not consider such things gorgeous and I studiously returned my attention to the flight controls.

*

During the fifteen hour flight Nirf and I amused ourselves by bringing the droid back on line. Its power reserves had been drained to virtually nil=. It introduced itself as Ayorian Neuro-Oratory Kineticoid 312596, or Anok for short. I was impressed. Ayoria produces top class droids, and this one was obviously capable of far more than just cleaning.

"Please identify yourself for my records," it said after its warm-up routine was complete. We all introduced ourselves and it explained that it would now be able to scan for our presence among a crowd of other bio signs.

"Who let you get so dusty?" Jereane asked, producing a cloth from the storage locker for Anok to clean itself with.

"My previous owner, whom I am not able to identify due to libel laws, was in some debt and was forced to sell both the ship and myself while on Rosch II," Anok explained in its formal tenor. "I uploaded some information on the Bluman culture preparatory to our mission there and it seems they do not approve of androids performing anything more than menial tasks. Therefore I have been left in the locker for almost five standard years."

I didn't remember the salesman mentioning that the ship had been laid up for that long. It seemed that Anok was probably actually worth more than the ship and it recited a whole list of databanks, scanners and specialist skills that it was either programmed with or had downloaded during the course of its work. Of course it spoke fluent Bluz, but that was a bit late to be of any use.

In due course we emerged from hyper space and entered a descent course for Zyg's only settlement, broadcasting a request to land as we went. There was no reply. After fiddling with our comm equipment for a while I realised there was a signal from the planet, but it was blank. Their transmitter was live, but nobody was home. There was nothing to do but continue our descent.

Our approach to the landing field situated to the west of their small town was low and slow and the view from our external monitors explained why there was no reply. The town appeared to have been flattened. Swirls of dust and smoke wafted lazily into the air. Scorch marks from aerial blaster fire were evident across the landing field. Burned out remains of small craft sat at the edges of the field, destroyed where they sat. We set down carefully and scanned for activity. There was only one human biosign, and that was very weak.

The four of us exited the True and trudged across the baked ground to the flattened buildings, Nirf darting ahead over the rubble in the direction of the life sign. An acrid burning smell assaulted our noses. Proving valuable already, Anok used its own internal sensors to home in on the human. It also had downloaded a medical encyclopaedia at some point. Jereane had first-aid training and brought along the medikit from the ship's locker.

The man we found was laying just inside the doorway of a half-collapsed building, unconscious and in very bad shape. Anok and Jereane immediately began tending to his wounds while Nirf and I scouted round for evidence of what had happened. Whoever had done this had been very thorough.

The man regained partial consciousness a few moments later.

"Are you from the supply ship?" he croaked.

"No, we're just passing through," I said. The man slumped back, his eyes closing once more. "What happened here?" I asked.

"How many survivors?" he asked in turn. I looked at Anok for confirmation.

"You're the only one we've found," I said gently. A tear leaked from the corner of his eye and rolled down his grimy face, leaving a streak behind. "Who did this?" I asked again.

"My name is Kroze Yadonir," the man began, summoning a calm voice devoid of all feeling. "I'm the colony's mining engineer." He stopped and coughed weakly, a horrible rasping sound. "We found several valuable metals. Someone else thought they had a prior claim." He raised his head and gazed about. "This is how they decided to enforce it." He fell back again. A cloud of fine dust blew across, coating us in fine powder.

"This was over mining rights?" Jereane asked incredulously. I knew that whatever anyone else thought, the colony had exclusive rights to their planet. That was the whole point of starting a colony.

"Who was it?" Nirf asked.

"Kralo Zur." The name was uttered with intense hatred. Nirf and I glanced at each other. We knew the name.

"You mentioned a supply ship," I said. "Are they due soon?"

"I, I don't know. They come once a week. I don't know how long I've been here." He gestured about feebly.

"We'll wait for them to come," I said. "Our ship is too small to take you, but we'll stay and take care of you." By the look of him I wasn't sure that he would last until another ship arrived, even with our care. Suddenly rousing his last reserves of strength Kroze pushed himself up onto one elbow and grabbed my arm.

"Promise me we'll be avenged," he pleaded.

"You will be," I assured him.

"Promise me!" His grip grew surprisingly intense, almost as intense as the emotion behind his eyes.

"I promise," I said solemnly. "We will make sure Kralo Zur pays for this."

Kroze fell back once more, exhausted. I slumped down against the nearest wall, overcome at the thought of the course I had just set us on. Now, you may think that I had just made an empty promise to a dying man and the sensible thing to do would be to let the proper authorities deal with the problem. That probably would have been sensible. Things weren't that simple, though. Kralo Zur was a well-known gangster and pirate who had been causing trouble for shipping in the region for years. He was based on Sosh II and so GalPol had been unable to close him down. He had never gone in for anything this large scale before. Like everything else, things around here seemed to be getting worse.

I felt partially responsible for the colony because of TGT's involvement in their set up, but mostly, as a Knight of the Royal Order of the Firmament, my word is my bond. And I had just promised to go up against the most notorious criminal in the sector. Oh, and did I mention, he employs Kropasks?

Bio: Gareth D Jones is unofficially the second most widely translated science fiction short story author in the world, having been published in 35 languages. He's a father of five, two of whom have also been published in Aphelion, and lives in the UK where he writes science fiction, fuelled by copious amounts of tea.

E-mail: Gareth D Jones

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