Mare Inebrium Series

My thanks go out to Wishbone, Bill Wolfe, Cary Semar, Jeff Williams, Iain Muir, and Rob Wynne for their invaluable assistance.Without their assistance and advice, this story would never have been finished.

Came the Dawn

By Dan L. Hollifield

A Tale of the Mare Inebrium

". . . there may be something in the nature of an occult police force,
which operates to divert our suspicions on this world,
and to supply explanations that are good enough for whatever,
somewhat in the nature of the same kind of minds that we beings have-
or that, if there indeed be occult mischief makers and occult ravagers,
there may be also other beings, that are acting to check them..." _*
Charles Fort

It was almost dawn in City of Lights and the whole town was buzzing. Rumor and gossip vied with newscast updates for who could make the wildest speculation. Everyone seemed to hang, almost breathless, on the news- The Shebeja had awoken. They had mothballed their entire colony and entered sleepfreeze centuries earlier. Everyone on Bethdish had basically forgotten about them in the centuries that they had been asleep... Then came the rumors from the docks of City of Lights; the smugglers were getting worried, ships and whole crews were missing, and survivors had brought back word of being attacked. Ocean shipping has always been the lifeblood of most of the primitive natives of Bethdish, but the pirates that thus far lived to prey on that shipping now risked being decimated by fire and brimstone from the sky.

Then there were the reports, some of them hundreds of years old, of strange ships in the skys over the kingdoms of Ellor and Kineth, near the southern edge of Bethdish's single huge continent. Oktishnear stands between them- the old Shebeja colony base. Not many at first, and not believed at first, but they added up. Finally, reports of their odd whirlybird ships became all too frequent to ignore. Now they were buzzing about in the same manner as a hive of bees that's been prodded. The aliens that had once slept inside the Hollow Mountain were now awake. And from all appearances, they had woken up on the wrong side of the freezer.

Now the local planetary news services were full of it- and that's why I knew anything about it, actually -the Shebeja had sent an embassy group to City of Lights. Rumors of high-level talks between the Halazed, the D'rrish, the Immortals, the Shebeja, and the City Council flashed from mouth to ear at a speed far faster than mere light. All the rest of the diplomats, whatever their species, were rushing around trying to figure out what the effect was going to be on their various power plays. The Shebeja heliship that was parked at the spaceport had been given its own channel on the Bethdish Beamcast News- Every time a ground crew mechanic had an itch, the subsequent scratch was given global coverage. (Even if only six cities on the planet have 3D-V receivers.) All the action had shifted to inside City of Lights as the Ambassadors met. Regular reports and special updates had another BBN channel.

I'd grounded at the spaceport just after midnight. As a bonded courier- All right, sometimes I act like a secret agent, but that's just a hobby- really. I'm usually just a jumped-up delivery boy. In any case, I rate my own ship, a permanently reserved hanger, and ground-side transport. Usually I breeze through Customs, but this time everyone was on alert and being extra careful. Everything took much longer than usual. So by the time I finally was able to leave the port and make my delivery -Bearer Bonds for a local stock market tycoon, since you ask- my ears were full of the news. From the port to downtown, everyone was talking about it, everyone was watching or listening to a newscast. The whole situation sounded to me like it would eventually put extra credits in my pocket, whatever happened- so I was unconcerned as I kicked my scooter off the building's 50th floor landing stage and snaked through traffic to a SkyTeller. My bank had one levitating at the 5th floor level of the Providence Street and Grand Avenue intersection. While I waited for my deposit to clear and some pocket change back, I pondered what to do with the rest of my off time. Dinner and a companion? More like breakfast time now. And most of the girls I knew in town would either be just coming home or just leaving for work. See a show? Visit a Museum? I was getting thirsty, I'd just gotten off from work after spending four weeks alone in space, and the machine just handed me 500 credits... Suddenly all I wanted was a good stiff drink, and a nice place to drink it in. I knew just the place, so I did an upward U turn at the traffic signal, flipped upright, and merged with the 10th level traffic heading back uptown, and towards the Mare Inebrium Tower.

******

"Max," I said as I perched on a barstool. "Give me a single-malt Gniik-Kispha Gwiddon, will you?" I plunked down a 50 credit coin. "Set me up a tab and let me know when it runs low."

"The customer is always right," replied Max. "Especially when he's pre-paying." He made a long reach for a familiar dusty emerald bottle and deftly poured me a generous two ounces of its greenish-gold whiskey. A quick pass under the chiller and then he set the frosted tumbler on a napkin in front of me. "First one's always on the House for an old friend, Jon Stewart. it's been nearly a year since you were last in. How is business?"

"it's been good, and sounds as if it's going to get better. I haven't been sent to Bethdish very often for the last year- never had the time to stop in when I did ground here," I sipped the antifreeze-colored whiskey and smiled, then continued. "But it looks as if there'll be more contracts for me to bid on. The Boss is always looking for new contracts, if I can catch him in a good mood maybe I can grab the majority of the diplomatic pouch missions here on Bethdish."

"Catch Siri Lassiter in a good mood? I know him- Good luck. Shipping diplomatic mail from world to world is a good enough job, but working for him has got to be tough. One of the most ill-tempered beings I've ever met. I remember your philosophy though, once he gives you your assignment, you're pretty much on your own. Once you lift ship, his moods aren't your problem any more. Say- You're not thinking about hiring on to take a message to the Shebeja homeworld, are you? That's over in the Andromeda galaxy- Even an Immortal wouldn't line up for that trip. No sane pilot would try it."

"Nobody's got a few million years to spare, you mean?"

"Right in one go," said Max. I sipped my drink thoughtfully as Max took orders from further down the bar.

******

"I'll have to turn that one down," I said when Max came back. "If the boss tries to snag that contract I'll make sure everyone at the agency knows it's a freakjob. Thanks for the reminder."

"No problem. I seriously doubt that anyone would offer to contract it out, anyway. Freshen that drink?"

"Sure." I sipped my new drink, looked around at the morning crowd, and thought random thoughts for a while. "Hey!" I said as soon as the penny dropped. Max looked at me as if I were a bright dog who has just gotten a new trick right. "If their homeworld is off in another galaxy, how did they get here? And why can't they go back the same way?"

"They can't get back because it's too far away. And they got here by being kidnapped, just like the rest of us," said Max. "About seven hundred years ago this whole solar system was snatched out of Andromeda and dropped down here in the Milky Way. Two million lightyears from where it used to be. I thought everyone knew that already. It happened less than a century before the first Terran Federation ship contacted Bethdish. That's why the Federation came here- The system just popped into existence in their backyard, naturally they had to check it out. Anyway, we were moved in 6055- 'the year that Astrology died' -That's what the local news services called it at the time. The Halazed and the D'rrish- and almost all of the natives -call it 'the Night the Stars Changed', or something similar. The Federation expedition arrived in 6126, led by the Starship Admiral Herndon, and City of Lights spaceport opened in 6129."

"it's 3840 on Earth's calendar this year- What year is it on your calendar here? 68- something? And how did astrology die?"

"6827, about a month and a half from being '28. Year number 1 was when the Altiplaino Spaceport started construction. We started a whole new calendar 'cause we'd just come through a planetary disaster. That reminds me, I need to buy the Reever a Solstice Holiday gift. And it's sort of difficult to have astrology without any astrologers."

"You mean- I mean... All of them?

"Yep, every last one dead inside a year. Hanged, burned at the stake, torn to pieces by mobs, heads lopped off... The usual atrocities. Most of the honest ones killed themselves, before the first mob even formed. Probably mad as hell and wanted to demand an explanation from the Gods. As for the mobs, well... Like any natural disaster, there was bound to be panic in the streets. People picked a scapegoat. The Immortals that were out and about at that time tried to keep things calmed down, but couldn't be everywhere at once. There's less than a hundred that work outside of Fort Mountain nowadays, you know? And the natives are only humanoid, after all. People understandably got upset when the whole night sky changed and not one astrologer had predicted it, or could cope with it. Not one of them could explain what had happened or adapt their star charts to the new sky. The mobs got every one that didn't suicide. Except for the smarter ones who switched to astronomy right away- or were really just astronomers at heart anyway. And the astronomers didn't have an easy time of it either. Some of them got caught in the fallout. Getting caught in a riot is no fun, let me tell you. It was almost like watching a religion collapse. Oh well, I think of it as evolution in action- We did wind up losing an entire class of con men..." Max grinned.

"You realize that you're talking like you were there, seven hundred years ago. The sign outside says that the Mare was established in-"

"6698. Yeah. I didn't start working here 'til 6735 or so, though. Yeah, I'm a native- I was born here on Bethdish."

"You're an Immortal?"

"Uh, yes. But not an important one, so keep it quiet will you? I don't want people giving me funny looks. But yeah, I'm about 2 million or so. Big deal. You're only alive for one day at a time, you know? But sure, I remember the night the stars all changed. It meant exile for all the colonists here, for one thing."

"Somebody moved the planet? Bang-zoom, new address, new galaxy?"

"Somebody moved the whole solar system, Jon- as best we can tell. The star, all the planets, the comets, every last grain of dust and gas. Every subatomic particle in the whole system was teleported to where it is now. It took about a minute. It seemed to take forever... Astronomers can still see the light from where our sun used to be."

"Come on, pull the other one. it's got bells on."

"I kid you not," Max said. "I thought I'd seen it all during the war we had with the Scourge way back in 1840, but that night the stars changed scared me half out of my wits. Earthquakes, lightning storms, loud noises, lights in the sky... I thought the Gods had forgotten to tell us that the end of the world was scheduled- or something. Why we were moved, as well as how, no one knows. Or at least, no one is telling me anything if they do know."

"The Scourge? In 1840?"

"Oh yeah. Big robot killing machine." Max waved his hands around like a fisherman bragging about the one that got away, "Thing was the size of a small moon- all one big machine. Bombed us with rocks from our own asteroid belt, threw a few nukes at our cities. Slagged us good, but we beat the bastard finally. Out in the cometary halo, we shot the thing to scrap and left the melted chunks drifting. Cost us a lot of good pilots trying to get to it- dozens more trying to hurt it. A whole Shebeja squadron rammed the thing- one after another -to open up a hole in its armor for the rest of us to shoot through. Ten of them gave their lives to give us a good shot at killing the thing. Full blast and guns blazing- for honor and duty..." Max looked thoughtful for a long moment. "It also killed everyone on the ground over a fifth of the continent. Thank the Gods that it was mostly the spaceport that was targeted- None of the natives lived there and only one of the Kefa Empire cities was close enough to sustain damage. Most of the losses were the ground crews and Port Authority workers. Only about half a million dead. It could have been a hundred times worse..."

Click here for a largerimage with nametags.

"Sounds bad," I said.

"It was. But that night we were moved... That was far worse than anything I've ever lived through. Even though there weren't many casualties, the shock of being cut off from the neighboring star systems was terrible. All the colonies on the planet were cut off from their homeworlds- Even the travelers on holiday at the Three Peaks Resort. We were all trapped here and we had to learn to deal with it. The Shebeja went into sleepfreeze to wait it out, thinking that rescue would be coming before they would wake up. That didn't work and now they have to learn to deal with it like the rest of us."

"But they're seven hundred years behind everyone else," I said to indicate that I wasn't lost. "The world has changed, but they haven't. What were they like before the big sleep?"

"Mean, cunning, smart... They've always been hunters, of one kind or another. Ruthless, honor-bound... They can't be bribed, they can't be blackmailed, and they take a contract very seriously. They obey it to the letter. They were often hired out as mercenaries or government police. And they make fierce bounty hunters. The old Altiplaino spaceport authority hired them as security and customs police. That's why they have a colony here in the first place. Time for another drink?"

"Sure. One more of the same."

"Coming right up. Oh, let me get these other orders out of the way." Max walked off towards the other end of the bar after handing me my refill.

******

"Spaceport Authority?" I said when he came back again. "The old Altiplaino? More ancient history?"

"Um... Yes, but it's real history, first person singular- eyewitness testimony. Not the assumptions written down centuries later- by someone who'd only read about it. The Port Authority ran the whole spaceport. Their building used to stand near the southeast edge of the Altiplaino. Huge building... Had to house all the communications gear, crash crews and their equipment, a complete hospital, foul weather gear- The works... Everything that was needed to run the biggest spaceport ever built. Everything designed for a hundred different species. The Authority operated all the services for the spaceport- different Co-Op members supplying the personnel. You've seen the old Altiplaino from low orbit when you were setting up for a landing, I know."

Click here for a large map of the Altiplaino Spaceport in its prime.

"Yeah, sure. Ancient landing field, thousands of years old, only archaeologists are allowed up there nowadays. But I'll bet that there are some smugglers that use it. it's right next to that circular sea with the big volcano in the middle. You're right, I've seen it from orbit a hundred times. I fly over it on almost every landing approach."

"You've seen a third of it- The rest was vaporized by the Scourge."

"Looks like a desert to me... What's there left after all this time?"

"Only six thousand years? That's nothing, take it from me. The Immortals have a written history of over a billion years. We've gotten good at building things. The Altiplaino was built to last for eons. You see, Bethdish was still recovering from a polar shift when a Co-Op of nearly a hundred nearby alien worlds contacted the Immortals, wanting to make a deal. They offered to buy the most devastated area of the continent and landscape it into a huge landing area and navigational marker system."

"What?"

"Hey, we were hurtin'! The death toll from the pole shift was horrible. What the quakes and tidal waves didn't smash, hunger and disease did. Fort Mountain was glad to get the Co-Op's message. We needed all the help we could get."

"Sure..." I said. "I can understand that. But what did you mean about navigational markers?"

"Those long lines and hieroglyphics aren't just approach markers and landing pads, they're also star charts to the systems that were nearby- back in Andromeda. A ship could read that chart from orbit, then boost back out of the system. Even ships built thousands of years after the Altiplaino- or before, for that matter. Some species never give up hope that some old sleeper ship or multi-generation sub-light ship might turn up. Almost every species of space-going people have them out there, somewhere- lost ships, I mean. Anyway... We were near the center of a big globular cluster of stars, lots of them had advanced civilizations. We were on the way to almost anywhere civilized in the cluster, so we became a navigational crossroads for- Oh, five hundred systems or more."

"Right," I replied. "I can almost imagine it."

"Each species that bought a landing space kept a small base there. Built to last forever, as far as they were concerned. The Immortals helped the different species in the Co-Op to build the Altiplaino. They did their planning in geological timeframes, back then. But don't get the idea that it was as busy as City of Lights spaceport is today- The Altiplaino wasn't ever crowded. How could it be? A thousand ships a day could ground there and never even see each other. The thing was nearly the size of China, over on Earth. By the way, nice Wall your folks built there. I saw it on vacation once about seventy years ago. Anyway, the Altiplaino was originally about the size of China- All one big flat landing field, raised up a mile and a half above sea level, enclosed by artificial mountains all the way 'round. Only a few Co-Op species were allowed to establish regular trade here with the natives. We regulated that pretty heavily, you know. The rest of the Co-Op used the port for a way-station, pretty much. One of their ships would land, off-load cargo into a warehouse, then boost back up and out of the system for somewhere else. A week later, or a month, or a year, another of their ships would ground and pick up the cargo from storage. Quite a lot is left I'll bet- In bases on the remaining section."

"OK, it had a lively past, but what goes on there nowadays?"

"I know ships in distress can still land there, but there's a big fine that the Reever gets really sticky about. It makes a big to-do when the Emergency Rescue Squad have to airlift some poor being down off of the plateau. And there's always at least three archeology teams up there at some of the thirty or forty bases still existing. Shut down, empty, sealed away..." Max shrugged. "I know that the Air Guard flies regular patrols over it, watching for smugglers. But that's all beside the point. There are at least fifty two ships still parked there, that I know of personally. Some of them still run. One of them's mine. Then there is the ruins of the port building- even though that's mostly underwater now... And then there's Oktishnear."

"That seems to be the sticking point, yeah. The old Shebeja base. Wait a minute- You've got a working ship sitting abandoned up on the plateau? They won't let you go get it?"

"Oh no. Nothing like that. No one's keeping me from it. I could go get it any time I wanted too. it's just something I learned from the Reever: always have a back-up plan! If I absolutely had to get off world, I've got a way. That's all- Just insurance." Max shrugged. "I haven't always been a bartender. Among other things, I, uh... I flew fighters and freighters, tankers, even pulled fifty years with the COP’s, the Civil Orbital Patrol, on a cruiser based up on Xerxes. Kind of like a Coast Guard service, but in space."

"Yeah, " I said. "I understand. But you parked your boat and left it? What about those others you mentioned?"

Max wiped the bar top and sighed. "That's why most of those ships were grounded up there. The ones from the battle with the Scourge, I mean. The ones who came back- We just landed there and... We walked away. Shock, I guess. We were just standing around in a daze until someone sent a transport to pick us up. Even the Reever left his fighter up there that day. Some of us went back later to get their ships... He did- I never have. I haven't gone back to fly the beast again since I grounded her after the battle with the Scourge. But she's there ready to go if I ever need her. Kind of comforting, knowing that she's sitting there charging up if I ever have to fly her again. Plus, the Spaceport here would get really interested in a fully-loaded fighter just sitting on one of their pads. Our tech is a bit on the uh, flashy side when it comes to vehicles. So it's best if Libby just sits up there in case I ever need her."

"I know what you mean. That's why I keep my Della Sue topped off and ready to lift when I'm in port. You never can tell when you'll have to roll. She's not a fighter, but she's more than she looks like. She's got teeth and claws now, and longer legs. I've tried to make sure that my little, uh- weapons and engine modifications don't show. In my business, it pays to keep a low profile. But she's on a low alert and ready to lift as soon as I can strap in." I raised my glass as if in toast to both of our ships. "Libby?" I asked, lowering my glass.

"Roughly translated, it's short for Sword of Our Lady of Liberty, Defender of Truth- Of course, it looses something in the translation... 100 footer, twin engine, dorsal cockpit- Ground to orbit in 78 seconds on a scramble launch. 'From powered-down dead to roaring overhead,' as we used to say back in the COP’s. Overpowered on a factor of about three hundred percent, for its weight. Loaded to the very teeth with more weapons than I've got time to talk about... Sweet little machine, flew like a dream." Max grinned and wandered off to take another order.

******

I was beginning to wonder about coffee and breakfast about this time, myself. So I left the bar and took an elevator up 30 floors to a restaurant I knew of in the building. Best breakfast bar in town. I stuffed myself with an omelet fit for a king and nearly a gallon of strong black coffee. Then I went back down to the Mare to relax. After all, I did have the rest of the day off. I was still interested in how the Shebeja would shake up the diplomats that usually made up my best customers. If my boss was half as good as he thought he was, he'd be taking contracts right now. Those diplomats would be shooting off message traffic faster than a Battleship could lay down blaster-fire. And my salary from what I might be able to snag of them could well double my bank account for a year or so. I'd have to consider some investments to tide me over after the rush of business was done. Pleasant thoughts indeed. So I was completely distracted when the elevator doors opened and I nearly tripped over the Halazed Ambassador as I stepped out.

"Oh, I beg your pardon Hnarcor..." was all I had time to say before I realized what I'd literally stepped into. With the Halazed Ambassador were Kazsh-ak Tier, Max, and what had to be the Shebeja Ambassador. I'd nearly fallen on my face in front of what could become my three best customers. Of all the bad luck to have, I was stuck with mine. And stuck with my mouth open, I realized. I shut it with a snap, before I had a chance to put my foot in it further. Tripping over the Halazed Ambassador's bad enough, without my saying something stupid to compound it. Max came to my rescue.

"Ambassador Czhark Ali Haa-nimb, may I present to you- Diplomatic Courier Jon Stewart Sebastian. One of our patrons.

"My abject apologies..." I began.

"A pleasure to greet you," Czhark intoned. "Hnarcor Finivalda speaks highly of you." He bowed towards the Halazed Ambassador. I had done the Halazed a favor or two in the past, but the canny little old lizard was keeping his mouth shut right now. Right at the moment, he looked even more like his saurian ancestors than he usually does. I wondered, briefly, if it were the matter of the missing documents that I'd helped him recover, three years ago or so, that was on his mind. Or was it the time I assisted Blanche and he to foil a fraud? But I made the mistake of glancing at the Shebeja again and got distracted.

Just watching an eight foot tall werewolf bowing was distracting enough. It wasn't the fur or pointed ears, it was more the double joints in its arms and legs. OK, so the Shebeja aren't werewolves, more like tall, thin orangutans. His short fur was a light tan, shading to gray. His long, horse-like face was bare of fur, as were his hands and feet. I could see retractable claws tipping each finger and toe. No shoes, I thought to myself. They must fight with their feet and hands equally well. He looked damned dangerous, a quick calculation giving me somewhat less than a zero chance of surviving one of these aliens pitching a hissy fit... And Max had told me that they were mean- But this one was being polite. And his name is pronounced Shark? I thought. Land-shark, maybe. So I started looking for the hook- so to speak -and let my mouth react on its own. it's good at that, I've hardly had to train it at all.

"I have been quite honored to assist the Halazed Embassy in some small way in the past, sir. Thank you most kindly for letting me know that my work has pleased them- enough for my services to be recommended." I shuffled fast for something else to say. "I have only today become acquainted with your situation... Let me join those who have welcomed you to-" What can I say? "Your new awakening." OK, yeah. It was lame, but let's see you think that fast. I gave Shark a quick bow, just to make sure that I was being polite.

"We've agreed to host a luncheon for the diplomatic corps," Max said, saving me yet again. "The Ambassadors were just having a little tour when you, uh- ran into us. We've seen most of the side rooms and special habitats, so we were wandering back to the main bar. Care to join us?"

"Yeah, I could use a drink right about now," I said.

"I second that motion," Kazsh-ak Tier replied. "All this talking has me dry as the desert."

******

So a few minutes later we were all at the bar. Max had relieved a grateful Droid named Bob, electroplated in a tasteful cherenkov-blue chrome, that was currently his back-up daytime bartender. I was in the Mare the night that Max had bought Bob off of a Trader Captain. It must have been nearly two years ago now. Max manumitted Bob minutes later, after the Trader had left with his money. Bob was studying to be an astronomy photographer at one of the big universities nearby. I forget which one. Bob likes working days and studying nights and only needs an hour a day off to recharge, so Max lets him get away with it. He's OK, but kinda stiff for a bartender. He mixes a great Tonshu Blitzer, even though he's not much on small-talk. And by the way, don't ever ask him about astro-photography. Not unless you've got an hour or so to hear about the beauty of some obscure area of space as seen in ultraviolet light - in excruciating detail. Just a word to the wise, you understand. You're welcome.

"To the Hunt!" Czhark proposed as a toast when Max had served our drinks and we'd sipped them. I couldn't help noticing that his drink was some blue, glowing liquid, with what looked like shrimp floating in it instead of ice cubes. Kazsh-ak had his usual radioactive sludge - And Hnarcor was having his usual dMembii Martini with extra olives. I almost blushed when I saw Max pour us both an Irish Whiskey that had to have been 300 year old Tullamore Dew - or so I thought. Until I tasted it. He'd given me one of these just once before, on the house - the night I came in with that freighter shuttle crew who'd fallen down a wormhole -so I recognized the drink. It was Terran Krupnick - aged nearly 2400 years in a glass barrel. This was the Irish Mist formula, I could tell. The way it burned me a new gullet on its way down was a dead giveaway.

"To the Hunt!" we repeated. Or in my case, gasped. This was strong drink indeed! The Shebeja interpreted my wheezing for a question.

"The Hunt is life," he said. "We are all predators here - Each species at the top of its own food chain. But prey can take other forms than food. My people glorify the chase, the capture. We extend that metaphor into our daily lives. In our religion, in our business, in our work. We celebrate the Hunt, in all its forms."

"And kill a great number of pirates," sighed Hnarcor. "We could be prosecuting them instead, you know. The Reever may have moved too soon in reaffirming your old Coast Guard commission."

"Think of it as evolution in action," said Kazsh-ak. "These corsairs may be romantic in popular folklore, but the rest of the natives need the shipping that they prey upon. The Shebeja are taking up their old service of policing the shipping lanes. So the greatest number of the natives will reap the greatest good."

"But these same pirates are powers in their own right in the local political situation. Let us not forget that City of Lights itself was originally built from Freeport Durkone, itself built on the profits of piracy and smuggling," replied Hnarcor. "These tribal power struggles will be with us always, it seems."

"But these pirates will not," said Czhark. "And the natives will know security and plenty once again. My people offer violence only to the violent. No honest trading vessel has ever been harmed. Only ships actually engaged in attacking others have been punished. Eventually all shipping lanes will be safe. This is our mission."

I knew diplomats well enough to tell that this little debate was going to be more important than any official meeting. Max was giving me the eye again, so I spoke up with the first thing on my mind. "So what do your people want? All three of you, I mean. How do you each see our modern world? But I'm interested in your view especially, Ambassador Czhark. How do your people see the world now, after having taken the long sleep?"

"What do you wish me to say? We guard and protect. That is all that we exist for. We only wish productive work and meaning to our lives, like any other beings. Bethdish is still a changed place - Even more now than it was when my people first took the Long Sleep. Our home world is still gone - unreachable across the intergalactic gulf. All our various peoples are still cut off from our own kind, as none have ever been before. My people were wrong to take the long sleep in hope of rescue. That was foolishness. There was no hope at all of our Homeworld developing the kind of space drive to make a rescue possible. Our ruling Triad was moved by the advice of ignorant dreamers... Good politicians, but not scientists. They were ruled by wishful thinking, not science. We should have remained on watch and adapted to the changing world. We should have made a place for ourselves in this new galaxy. I argued thusly at the time, but was overruled by our leaders. We have so much to catch up upon, now."

"I'll drink to that," added Max. "Being willing to catch up, that is."

"Hear, hear!" we all echoed.

"It is the dawning of a new day here," Hnarcor began.

"it's almost lunchtime," Kazsh-ak replied.

"A metaphorical day, my friend," the Halazed replied in turn. "We must needs work out the updated rules for our Shebeja friends and their great Hunt. They can do great good, but we must decide where the lines are to be drawn. We can not afford frighten our native hosts, least our colonies be each put at risk. We should always remember that each of us are here, not to impose order, but to add to the pattern that already exists. We three species have a special place, a unique place, in that pattern because of our longstanding colonies. We are already part and parcel to these people - Whatever their species, we still have to live alongside them.

"Hear, hear," boomed Kazsh-ak as he raised his - uh, container in a toast.

"This place is the best evidence of interspecies co-operation that I've ever seen," I offered by way of making conversation. "Maybe Max could be persuaded to part with some of his methods of dealing with several hundred lifeforms at once."

Max laughed. "Somehow I doubt that 'don't water the booze' is going to help the Ambassadors too much."

Czhark chuckled. "It is clear that you do not attend many diplomatic functions, Max. Intoxicants are the rocket fuel of modern Diplomacy."

"Aside from that," I asked when everyone stopped laughing. "You all know that adjustments are going to have to be made for each of your peoples. What are your hopes for the future? What are your dreams?"

"Room to grow," said Hnarcor, the expensive dye-job on his tiny scales glistening softly in the indirect lighting. Again I marveled at how I automatically overlooked his five foot height and slight mass. For someone with amphibious pack-hunting dinosaurs in his family tree, he looked deceptively harmless. Until he showed his needle-like teeth in a wide smile, like now.

"My people want to expand to off-world colonies, though we have avoided it for far too long. We have finally come to grips with the fact that we are, now and forever, to be the most distant outpost of our species. Our underwater city has long ago reached the limits for which we designed it, but we still avoided the search for more room. There are no other freshwater lakes large enough for us to use on this world. Not that do not have their own population of aquatic natives. Those we could only establish small trading posts within. More than that would be an invasion of the property of those natives. That we cannot do. So now, the awakening of our Shebeja friends has shocked our government into motion. We have come to our collective senses, so to speak, and wish to grow in this new galaxy. It is time we healed completely and began exploring and expanding again. We seek worlds with abundant freshwater lakes and shallow, low-salt seas. We are prepared to pay well for the rights to settle new colonies. But we can only ask, we will not seek to take another's world."

He absent-mindedly drummed his taloned fingertips on the bar, then straightened the collar of his iridescent-blue vest. His hand strayed to a pocket in his sea-green pantaloons, then placed a large denomination credit chip on the bar. When Max returned his change, he tucked it into a fold of the electric-red sash he wore about his waist. The colors went well with the shimmer of his multi-colored scales, especially the green, tan, and gold ones on his round hairless head. That dye-job must have set him back plenty. A Halazed's normal coloring is various shades of gray.

"I am proud of my people, good friends. We also withdrew to our city after the night the stars changed... It took us several years to venture above water again to stay, but the rewards were too good to pass by. In the end we found the rewards of shedding that caution and embracing our fellow castaways to have been legion. We have the D'rrish to thank for an excellent example of how to cope with a crisis. They never panicked, they kept contact with the Immortals and Valley of the Three Peaks, they established contact with the natives and built off-world colonies. They explored, they encountered new species, began trade- They made a place for themselves in the new galaxy."

"Thank you," boomed Kazsh-ak through his translator. He raised his drink container in a silent toast. For a scorpion the size of a horse, he moved lightly. "But we too took a long time before we felt safe to re-join the world. But we speak of ancient history - Too dry a subject without asking Max for refills. Bless you, Max... But young Jon Stewart has asked a fair question. Well my boy, without putting too fine a point on it, our Arcology - our huge city -has nearly reached its comfortable limits, as to the population. Another two or three generations - seven hundred years or so -and we will face intolerable crowding. We have long wanted to establish more colonies. But we wish to stay close to our families and expand on this world, rather than go even further away from our homes, here. To the ancient Kefa Empire cities, now that the Immortals have finally lifted the ban on their use," Kazsh-ak said. "Or rather, the radioactive ruins of those bombed-out cities - to be precise."

"That will be a massive undertaking," Hnarcor said.

"I need to discuss this matter at some length with the Reever," Kazsh-ak continued, "though I have little doubt of the ultimate result. I have been granted the authority to ask of the Immortals the purchase outright of the four Kefa Empire cities. This will take time to pursue, but it is a worthy cause. Our off-world colonies are relatively few, due to our special environmental needs, but now our own economy is booming and at the same time, the Immortals have only recently offered the Kefa ruins as colony sites - declared them available for use. We can now build small arcologies in place of the ruins, then farm and hunt the surrounding wastelands. The remaining mutants should prove interesting prey. We should be able to assist them to evolve most admirably. A most auspicious time we are living in, Gentlebeings. Why, Kefa-ku itself would allow us to nearly double our living area. A most auspicious time, indeed!"

"My people need a grander purpose," sighed Czhark after a short pause. "Not room. I am ashamed to have to admit that the long sleep has weakened us. We are not as vigorous as once we were. We are more... hide-bound and officious. It is almost like a sickness. Perhaps I see this more clearly because of my service in the Awake Crews and all the years I spent out of sleepfreeze, on and off. Because of my beliefs I tried to spend as much time out of the sleeper tanks as was allowed. I can see the shock that being cut off from our homeworld has caused. And it has not been lessened by a mere seven centuries of sleep. I fear for my people. We need a grand purpose to unite us, to re-awaken our souls as well as our bodies." He looked down at the bar top for a long moment, then said "We are a race in search of a quest, I'm afraid. Not just a purpose, but a quest. We must have some thing that unites us in a way that will allow us to make a place in this new galaxy, or we will fade away... Become a lost branch of our people."

"Something like - Oh, getting word back to the homeworld over in Andromeda that you were alive and waving the flag over here in the Milky Way," I said. "But it'd take over two million years to get a radio signal from here to there. Ships and sub-space radio are a little quicker, on that scale, but not much. Let's face it, unless there's some kind of super-science that the Immortals could pull off, it would take thousands of years to get even the fastest FTL ship anyone has now over to the next galaxy."

I suddenly shut up when I saw a pained look quickly cross Max's face when I mentioned super-science. Just as sure as sunshine, I knew that I'd put my foot in my mouth again. I was sure that the Immortals did have a way to get from here to there quickly - and just as sure that Max was forbidden - for some reason -to mention it. And I had. Oh boy... How do I cover this screw-up?

"But that's just dreaming, if there was a way, they'd have given it to you seven hundred years ago, right?" Please, don't anyone notice me sweat! "The Reever wouldn't let any of you suffer by being cut off from home if there was a way that he could get you back. That wouldn't be justice, not the way he sees it. No, the Immortals are just as powerless to get you back home as anyone else in this galaxy."

I looked quickly at Max again for approval and knew that I was doing good up 'til I said 'anyone else in this galaxy.' Then he looked like he'd had another pain. He covered it this time by excusing himself to take other drink orders. So it wasn't the Immortals that had the putative super-gizmo, but it was someone else that Max knew of and - and wasn't allowed to talk about! Oh - my - Heavens! This was deeeep doodoo, and I knew that Max trusted me to put this topic away before he got placed in an ethical bind. All right, but I had to admit to some questions of my own. Ones that I hoped to put to Max in private some time in the unforeseeable future. If I didn't choke to death on my foot tonight, that is. I'm betting that it was Polios, the Mare's owner. I'd heard rumors before and thought them rather wild. But for now, I had to try to steer the conversation into a safer path...

What to say? "So that's right out of the realm of possibility, right? Yeah, right out... Um, right..." I'm dieing here! Think, boy! Think! "When you get right down to it, isn't the right here and right now all that any of us have to depend on?" Lame! So lame! But it was the best I could do on the spur of the moment. "So, voyages home are out, message signals are out... Maybe a robot probe? One outfitted with the biggest FTL boosters we can buy. It would still take generations to arrive in Andromeda, but you could boost the thing at speeds that would kill anything living on board. That would cut the trip time to thousands of years rather than millions. I admit, it's not a way home, but it is a way for you to tell home that you're still alive and well and waiting on them to come visit... "

"The Immortals did that as soon as they determined where we were," said Kazsh-ak Tier. "And where our home galaxy was, once it was clear that we had been moved that far. Salvation does not lay there, but some small comfort for our peoples do. Our homeworlds will someday know our fate, if our civilizations in Andromeda last long enough."

"How long will the probe take?" I asked.

"Ten to twelve thousand years," Max said when Kazsh-ak paused for quite a while to recall. "I remember reading about the probe a couple of days ago. The news services have been overflowing with historical interest articles since word came from Oktishnear."

All right, I thought, Obviously, someone here isn't cleared for the knowledge that Max is an Immortal - Probably Ambassador Shark. I need to play it cool. "How fast is it going?" I asked, to help Max cover mostly - but I was curious, too.

"Roughly?" Max frowned in thought and scratched his head. "It'll reach a peak speed of - Oh, the article said nearly five light years per day, I think. But when you factor in the need for the probe to boost up out of the Milky Way's galactic disc at much lower speeds, and the acceleration and deceleration times involved crossing the intergalactic gulf, then going even slower to enter Andromeda - The actual average speed'll be closer to six tenths of a light year per day"

"Odin on roller skates! -The fastest passenger liners can only pull about three tenths of a light per day. My courier ship is fast, but at strain-everything speeds," I shrugged. "I can only brush four tenths of a light per day -With booster engines I could, just maybe, manage half a light per day." No need to confess to anyone that I've already got those boosters installed. "And Della Sue couldn't even begin to move if she was towing ten thousand years worth of fuel. That'd be a fuel tank the size of a planet. How big is this thing?"

"About ten feet in diameter. It masses roughly a hundred tons," Max replied after a moment.

"Good grief! What's it made out of? Neutronium?" I gasped.

"Um," said Max, "Not really, but something close. A quantum black hole is the power plant - and payload for that matter, when it was a live weapon - although the normal weapons used much less massive ones. This one was beefed up for the long trip. A teeny-tiny quantum black hole, deep inside the heart of the machine itself. It'd help if you think of the probe as an over-powered, but disarmed torpedo - With some communications gear grafted on as an afterthought. You wouldn't be far off that way. The quantum black hole has an event horizon about the size of a proton, so you can tell that it isn't very dense. I mean, at only a hundred tons and the size of a proton, the thing has the density of foam rubber - or smoke, maybe - as far as black holes go, that is. When it was still a torpedo, part of the machinery in the shell used the energy of the hole for propulsion, even though it wasn't very efficient. I mean, the thing had an expected life-span of - maybe -ten minutes, as a torpedo. So the drive didn't have to be efficient, just very fast. And this thing is supposed to last for ten thousand years as a message buoy? Maybe... Anyway, when it was still a torpedo, another machine on the shell was supposed to make the black hole evaporate instantaneously when it reached its target. All that mass converting to energy all at once? That's a big bang - Uh..." he looked up and went silent.

"We have a problem," interrupted the Reever, walking up to the bar with a beautiful raven-haired woman on his arm. "Tarja has just brought me some disturbing news..."

******

I knew who she was as soon as I saw her. Even through the shock of seeing the Reever escorting her (or anyone, for that matter) as if she were a casual date -- There could never be any mistaking Tarja. I'd never crossed paths with her professionally - But since she's a high-priced assassin, that fact was a comfort to me right at the moment. Since I also knew that I've never bothered anyone (still living) badly enough for them to put any putative bounty on my head high enough to be in her price range, I relaxed - slightly. But I was still on high alert. What's the best assassin in the stellar cluster doing playing nice-nice with the biggest cop on the planet? My intuition was leaping at conclusions in the back of my mind, but I tried to devote most of my attention to what was happening in front of me. Unless I had suddenly become delusional, there was something really strange going on today. I could hear the old Twilight Zone theme ding-ding-ding-dinging in the back of my mind.

"It seems that there was to have been an attempt on your life, Ambassador Czhark," the Reever said evenly. "I'm happy to report that it is no longer scheduled to take place. Miss Tarja was approached to undertake the contract. She smelled a rat, so to speak, and came directly to me."

"Any professional would know that the Reever never lets anyone get away with killing Diplomats on this planet," explained Tarja. Her melodious voice fit her beauty perfectly. Exactly the same way that her blue satin dress fit her body - Perfectly. If just half of what I'd heard about her was true that delicate, satin-draped frame could probably beat nearly any being in the room to a pulp -- Except for the Reever of course, and possibly Bruce. I stopped my ruminations as she began to speak again. "Right away I realized two things; that this contract was a set-up and I was supposed to get caught - And that these people who contacted me were being backed by big money interests here on Bethdish as well as from off-world. They were trying to hide the local connection, but I spotted a few clues that gave them away. So then I took their retainer - and ran straight to the Reever's office. I haven't lived this long in my business without developing an instinct for smelling a trap."

As the three Ambassadors sat stunned by the news, the Reever continued, "I've already assigned a team to trace the contract back to its source. They'll make the necessary inquiries and arrests. But something in the way Tarja related the incident prompted me to re-think the situation. Now I believe that there is more to this than meets the eye. I started thinking; What if this is just a diversion? Killing the Ambassador wouldn't change the political situation here and now. The meeting would still take place, with even tighter security. If that's even possible. After today, I'm beginning to doubt that. And the Shebeja themselves would still be hunting pirates, but after the assassination they'd be angry. Add to that the fact that I'd be hunting for them too. The investigation would only tie up so many of my officers - A significant number, yes - But not when compared with the citywide force. But this is a very big city... So what if - What if I were supposed to be distracted by this investigation? What if someone wants me personally to concentrate on this case - to the exclusion of everything else? I began to wonder what else might be planned to be happening while I was looking where 'they' - whoever 'they' are -wanted me to look. So I decided to look elsewhere, as discretely as possible..."

"Did you find anything?" I asked.

"Several disturbing trends, but nothing overt, actually. I'm glad you're here today, Jon Stewart," replied the Reever evasively. That's not normal for him. He usually says what's on his mind. The Reever's more honest than a Boy Scout. As he continued I broke out into a Zen sweat - Mentally, in other words, I started sweating bullets. "Have you spoken to Blanche or the Gremlin lately?" --That was all he said, but that was enough to trip all my alerts.

Max replied before I could open my mouth. "Blanche is off-world on vacation, but the Gremlin should be in tonight at his regular time."

This did not sound at all good to me. The last time I worked with Blanche and the Gremlin, the Reever wound up having to deputize me as a dodge to keep from having to arrest me. Please, no! I thought. I've given up playing Jon Stewart Sebastian; Intergalactic Being of Mystery for my health. Blanche almost got me killed twice last time I played spy. I'm getting too old for that stuff. That's why I retired ten years ago.

"I see," the Reever said. "Well, there's no help for it, I'll wait. I may want to bring the Gremlin in on this one. Until my agents can identify the real culprits and we can figure out just exactly what's up, my available man-power is going to be spread rather thinly. We may need your help too, Jon. You're a Blue Blaze Irregular, as I recall. I've worked with you before - You're a real pro. If things get worse, I may have to signal an alert. You can guess that that'll be like. As to what I've found, there appears to be several disturbing trends developing. Street-level crime has declined ominously, as if the muggers, burglars, and pick-pockets had all gone into hiding. Also, there has been a sudden lack of more major crimes as well. For instance, there hasn't been a single bank robbery in over a week. In the whole city... In a city this size, that's just not possible under normal circumstances. Furthermore, out in the asteroid belt there's been a rash of mining tugs being stolen. I'm willing to bet that there are more than just the ones that've been reported so far. Which means -among other things, if I'm right - that some of the miners must have been murdered... There are more missing persons reports in the Belt than are normal."

"What are the statistics for beings exiting the city?" Ambassador Czhark asked suddenly. "Have any native factions become conspicuous by their absence? Also, is there a marked absence of the expected off-world shipping. Both legal and clandestine, I mean."

"Good questions," said the Reever. He made a reaching motion with his right hand - I noticed that his left was still around Tarja's waist. Were these two dating? My train of thought was de-railed when the Reever's Staff of Office appeared out of nowhere. The damn stick just popped into his hand! I took a sudden gulp of my Krupnick and set the empty glass down. I noticed Max refill it out of the corner of my eye. "I'll put the computer to searching the records..." He stood the staff upright and let it go. It must have locked on to the floor somehow, because he started punching a small keypad inset into the stick's surface and it never even swayed. Why hasn't he let go of Tarja? Nothing can come between the Reever and what he sees as his duty. Not even romance! He's just made that way. I knew that I was missing some important bit of information then.

"Reeee-ver?" Tarja cooed sweetly. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up in alarm at the sound.

"Yes?"

"Do you think that we can do without the handcuffs now? I'd like to have a drink."

"Word of honor? No tricks, no escapes - You're one of the party until we're all out of danger?"

"Word of honor," she replied, arching one eyebrow. "I'd rather not have you for an enemy. And I make a habit of ensuring that my survival is one of my highest priorities."

"I can guarantee that you wouldn't enjoy our becoming enemies," he replied with a grim look. "I know that I wouldn't." Without another word he pulled his hand out from behind her back, holding a set of unfastened handcuffs. "Max -"

"I'm on it," Max cut him off. "I remember her favorite."

"Max," I said quietly, when he came back with Tarja's drink. "We're going to need a room to ourselves. We can't keep talking about this stuff out here at the bar."

"On the contrary," Kazsh-ak said. "How better than to see what beings might be interested in overhearing our converse? I happen to know that the security systems here are the finest that can be devised. Any enemy would hesitate to act, within these walls. The Mare Inebrium Tower has a certain - reputation, among the criminal element in this city. We are free from harm and can see with our own eyes whomever might attempt to eavesdrop on our little debate. We may need the extra time any warning could possibly give us."

"That's true," Max said. "The Thieves Guild has a big reward posted for any member that's able to steal anything more valuable than a shot glass - from anywhere in the building. The Boss has security set-ups here that scare me! But we can have a side room set up in a couple of minutes, if you want one. Otherwise, I can inform the security AIs to unobtrusively step up the coverage. No one in the room will notice. And the Boss will want to know."

"Polios always knows everything that goes on in the building," the Reever replied. "I'm betting you don't have to call him. If you don't believe me, here's a quick test. Check the AI's alert level. You haven't changed anything yet yourself, remember."

Max tapped a code into the nearest screen. He paused, then glanced up at us quickly. "They've been on heightened alert for the last twenty minutes. Since before you and Tarja entered the building. Near as I can figure, they went into alert status the moment you two came in sight of the front door. According to this readout, nothing can touch us in here right now. Nobody can teleport in, bomb-screening is in progress for the entire building. Structural integrity forcefields -didn't know we had those - they've been boosted to three hundred percent of normal... Woah - Too much information - can't tell what half of it means... What's this window? What the hell? Some of this stuff has to be illegal! There's a tie-in to the city-wide traffic-control systems - continuous scans of air traffic radar from the spaceport, and - Holy Mother of the Gods! -Here's a link to the Deep Space Scanners up on Xerxes! I know for a fact that that stuff is classified..."

"Yes," mused the Reever, "But Polios isn't prone to respect such petty things as other people's 'secrets' when something threatens his interests. He's programmed these AIs rather well. I doubt that anyone else could hack into so many systems without setting off all sorts of alarms. I'll bet that not one of those systems has set off so much as a peep of the first intruder alert. Alright, see if -"

"The AIs are requesting a link to the computer in your Staff of Office," Max interrupted. "I've never seen that before." He locked eyes with the Reever for the barest second. I doubt if anyone else but me even noticed it lasted just a fraction of a second too long. I was guessing it was some kind of Immortal-to-Immortal 'significant glance' and wondered what it meant, but Max continued and derailed that train of thought. "Not a 'Red Alert', just a conference and update request."

"Where is the nearest communicator?" Kazsh-ak asked breathlessly. Neat trick, for someone whose voice comes out of an electronic box. "I might be able to learn something from my friend Guiles Thornby. He is -"

"One of the Boss's research agents," Max shot back. "For that spooky old Museum of his. He's been coming in here for years. Good idea. Yeah, there's a com screen in your restroom lounge."

"Gentlebeings, I shall return," the D'rrish said as he scuttled off towards the restroom for his species. In the Mare Inebrium, always be sure you're in the right restroom for your species.

"What does all this mean?" asked the Shebeja Ambassador, shaking his head in puzzlement.

"That we, ourselves, are in no danger - for the moment," replied the Halazed Ambassador. "Or so I feel safe in assuming. A plot is afoot - and a part of it has been stopped, but just how large a plot and how great the danger to the rest of the city has yet to be established. I trust the Reever in this. Also, at the moment we seem to have acquired the use of enormous resources, provided by Mr. Polios. I have heard many rumors concerning the mysterious owner of the Mare Inebrium, but until this day, they have been rumors only. Truly, he is a hidden power in the city."

"No, nothing like that," said Max. "He's just an eccentric old Archaeologist. He just likes a good bar to relax in, he told me once. That's why he bought into the Mare Inebrium in the first place, he said. He wants it to be the best bar that's ever been, anywhere. He doesn't give a flip for city politics. He's hardly ever on Bethdish anyway, because of all the digs he goes on. He's supposed to spend most of his time off-world digging up pottery and old bones. All I know about his Museum is that it exists, never been there myself. Some of the Museum staff come here for drinks occasionally. Pretty normal beings, for the most part, I'd say."

"The link is established," said the Reever. Several virtual computer windows blossomed in the air, above eye-level at the bar. If I squinted, I could just barely make out thin beams of light connecting them to the Reever's Staff. "The AIs seem to be giving us visuals of the local air and space traffic, the Deep Space tracking system, and something I don't recognize... Anyone know what this third window is showing?"

Czhark gave out a choked sort-of cough. "That appears to be a -- a greatly enhanced -version of the signals from one of our orbital satellites. We have several such devices watching the various coastlines. We use them for weather monitoring and navigation. But our equipment cannot produce anything near the amount of detail that that visual is displaying."

"Can anyone tell what area of the ocean that the satellite is scanning?" I asked. I looked quickly around at the rest of the patrons in the main room, but none of them seemed to see the floating computer windows that we saw. "It looks like open ocean to me, except for that glint of light over there on the lower left."

"Assuming that glint is something on the east coast of the continent, then that would have to be sunlight reflecting off of the Tower of Shy'are the Wizard," replied the Reever after a moment's thought. "That would put whatever is at the center of the screen very far out to sea east of us, and somewhat south as well. I make it two thousand, maybe three thousand standard miles east-southeast of us. But what is it? I can't see anything but tiny blurry blobs and leagues of open sea."

"What's that on the fourth window?" I asked.

"That one is a graph showing the population flux of the city -" the Reever explained. "People observed leaving verses the expected number for this time of year. You can see that it's being cross-referenced with the known whereabouts of various organized crime figures and several of the shadier sort of local politicians. That gold colored line on the chart seems to be the number of the 'Old Money' families in the city that have suddenly decided to take off-world vacations. And that dark blue line is the low number of street crimes that I mentioned. All this is 'giving me furious to think', as a French Terran once said to me. I know that all of this is supposed to add up, but what kind of math are we supposed to be using?"

"Hello people," said a foxy-faced man who had just walked up. Kazsh-ak followed closely behind, his bright blue eyes dancing joyfully on their stalks. "The big bug tells me that you folks need a hand with some data that the Boss is providing to you..." He trailed off as he came close enough to be included in whatever voodoo that was keeping the other two hundred aliens in the room from seeing the floating windows above the bar. "Oh my..." he sighed. "That's a good one..." He turned to the Reever and held out his right hand. "Nice to see you again, Reever. Is that one of your illusions?" They shook hands like old friends, so I gathered that they'd met several times before.

More semi-invisible computer windows popped up -- each making a quiet thwipping noise as it appeared. From the way that he was eyeing them, I figured out for myself that Max was able to read them from the back as easily as the rest of us were able to read them from the front. I still wondered why no one else in the bar could see them, but then I figured that I probably wouldn't understand the explanation anyway. I'm just a rocket-jockey (and ex-spy), not a rocket scientist. There was a pause as Kazsh-ak introduced Thornby to the other Ambassadors. Thornby nodded at Max, bowed to Czhark, clasped forearms with Hnarcor, and shook hands with me. Tarja seemed to enjoy it when he kissed her hand. I couldn't overhear what he murmured to her as he bowed over her hand, but she giggled and blushed.

Anyway, I'd heard Kazsh-ak talk about Thornby before, but this was the first time that I'd ever seen him. He was an average-sized fellow, but very fit. He had dark brown hair with just a faint trace of gray at the temples and sharp, foxy features. He spoke in a clear, accentless voice, like a newscaster and wore a non-descript suit of a fashionable style, nothing rich or flashy, just well-to-do. He could have passed for any age from thirty five to sixty, what with his unlined face and smooth looks. From what Kazsh-al Tier had let slip one night whilst the scorpion was in his cups, so to speak, Thornby was closer to a hundred fifty than to thirty. Personally, I think Kazsh-ak was overstating the case that night - in his intoxicated desire to tell a good story. To tell the truth, Thornby reminded me of a safe-cracker that I'd known in my wild and mis-spent youth. One of my old instructors -back long before I'd given up spying for retirement to a more sedate life as a delivery-boy... Not in how he looked, or anything he said, more in his mannerisms and body language. I know that it's hard to explain, but then, it was more of a subliminal thing than something that I was aware of at the time. Needless to say, I trusted him at first sight.

"Well, you've certainly got a lot of information here," Thornby said as he slid onto a seat. "Actually it was Mistress Sarah who approved this little exercise in creative hacking. Polios has been off on a dig for the last six months. Sarah's always in charge when he's away." Max put a gin and tonic in front of him and stood back to look at the displays himself. "I think," Thornby said cautiously. "I think I can get a bit more detail on a couple of them, but the most important ones look like these sets of charts here..." Thornby sipped his drink and studied the window that floated nearest him. "The AIs wouldn't have displayed them if they weren't something that they thought was necessary to us. These figures make it look like there's a lot of important crooks - er, politicians -fleeing the city for their vacation resorts. Some of them are even going off-world. Like rats fleeing the proverbial sinking ship... They're obviously either up to something, or know of someone who is up to something... Then again, what is this out there on the ocean - and what in the seven hells is it that we're supposed to see on a scan of the blasted asteroid belt? Hmmmmm - I want to try something."

"Go ahead," said the Reever. "Right now we need all the help we can get. I can't escape the feeling that our time is limited. Whatever is going to happen, it'll happen soon.

"Thanks," said Thornby. "Computer, this is Guiles Thornby. Do you recognize me?"

I heard a bell-like tone and a quiet voice answered. "Guiles Thornby is recognized. Temporary access granted. Awaiting input..."

"Temporary?" I asked.

"The system knows me, but also knows that I don't work for the Mare," Thornby replied offhandedly, lost in thought. "Max would be treated the same way - if he were in the Museum. We both work for the same guy, just in different enterprises," he grinned as if had just made a pun. I didn't get it, if it was a joke. "All right, let's see what we can get out of this... Computer, enhance and magnify image on screen three. Enhance image on screen five. Identify any targets on screens three and five, continue scan in realtime. Screen two, indicate destinations of vacationing travelers. Screen four, cross reference out-going travelers to space with the known and suspected organized crime figures. Screen six, give an alert if there is any unusual spaceport traffic. End of command string."

"Processing..." said the computer-voice. "Screen three magnified... Image enhanced, identification of targets in scan area in progress... Processing... Screen five image enhanced... Processing... Eight targets painted as unidentified by transponder signals... Possible stolen ships with transponders disabled... Processing image further..."

"Your missing mining tugs?" I asked the Reever.

"Twice as many as have been reported..." He shrugged. "One would think so, but let's wait and see. I'm more concerned with what's going to happen out at sea. That's a lot closer and more immediate."

"You had better start worrying about those tugs," Tarja said as she elbowed the Reever in the ribs. "If one of those boats can move a fair-sized asteroid, how big of a projectile mass do you figure all of them linked together can tow? Say, into a bombing run somewhere on the planet's surface? Like right here, maybe?"

Needless to say, we were all a bit dumbfounded by that little deduction.

******

"This hunt is beginning to make sense," said Ambassador Czhark. We all turned to look at him.

"How so?" asked Hnarcor. "All I perceive is that the pack hunting yourself stands revealed as being vastly larger than we thought. They have lost the element of surprise, that is all. What have I missed, oh honored colleague?"

"Ah, but that is the very point I wished to make," Czhark replied. "Or rather that it is unlikely to be one pack against us. Rather it will be several. This stands revealed as some local and off-world smugglers - Technology smugglers, working together, perhaps. Undoubtedly, my people flying patrol once again have begun to cut severely into their profits. The events in the asteroid belt point to some off-world group, while the menace from the sea points to some alliance of the locals. Are they actually working together, or are we simply assuming so? How many talons are in the paw reaching to grasp us? I wonder... As to the time left to us - When was to be the allotted hour of my demise, my lovely Mistress Assassin?"

"Tarja," she replied pleasantly. "I'm no one's mistress. And I was to kill you tomorrow evening, when you stood to make your speech. They wanted me to put a bomb in the podium. A bomb in the podium!" She shook her head. "So unprofessional. I gave the nasty thing to the Reever. Dirty little bugger - much too big for the job. It would have made a hash of the nearest fifty beings, at least. Frankly, I'd have turned the whole matter over to the Assassin's Guild and their External Affairs committee instead of the Reever, but I can't take the chance that some highly placed local Guild member isn't involved. At least this way, my pretty little ass is covered."

"Wha - ahem... Where was this speech going to be?" I asked, blocking all the erotic images of Tarja from my mind that had resulted from her previous statement... With difficulty, I might add.

"Here in the Mare," Max replied. "In the small ballroom. Pitting Tarja up against the house security AIs. The very same ones that are giving us these data screens. The same ones that, on a normal day, can tell me which one out of several hundred patrons is carrying so much as a pocketknife? Talk about a stacked deck!"

"That was one point that told me the job was a trap," Tarja replied. "Besides the target being forbidden prey, the location specified made escape downright impossible. It might just barely have been possible to make the hit in the first place, but the security systems would have recordings of everything, all day long. It might even have been possible to simply plant the bomb and get out of the building, but the system would have been able to ID me from the recordings. I'm not a stranger here. And given my line of work, I'd be insulted if the security didn't watch me when I'm visiting." Again she arched an eyebrow, then actually pouted for a second. "After all, one does have one's reputation to uphold."

"So whatever else is planned to happen," I said slowly, thinking out loud. "It looks like we have a little over a day to figure it out. If those tugs do throw rocks at us, when is the earliest they can get here? And what would they be trying to hit?"

"Assuming that my people are the only target - Then they will attempt to drop their asteroids on Oktishnear," said Ambassador Czhark sadly. "Which puts all of the Kingdoms of Ellor and Kineth at risk. A near-miss would wipe them out. And if they choose too big a missile, the devastation would be - unthinkable."

"So send the Navy after them," I suggested.

"Are they not now as aware as we?" Hnarcor asked.

"I doubt that the Navy is seeing these images," Thornby replied. "The AIs are accessing raw data and enhancing it for us -- alone. The data-stream isn't going both ways, bet on it. But we can't move too soon or we'll spook the masterminds into running. If they aren't running already. But those tugs - We still have some time, I think. The screen would show a rock with them anchored to it if they'd already gotten their asteroid. It would even show little ones if they each had one. They're just seem to be converging, but there's no rock there for them to grapple. Until they actually do something, they're only stolen ships. We want the people behind them too, not just the hired help. Best thing to do is let them go for now. Ignore 'em until they do something... Computer, signal alert if painted targets in screen five change course or dock with any other target. Query: Update on ID of targets in screen three? End of command string."

"Acknowledged; Alert condition set for screen five and screen six... Screen three image processing still in progress... Preliminary target ID indicate two fleets of sea craft, widely dispersed. Further data not yet available. Processing in progress... Please excuse the delay..."

"An assassination, two fleets of ships out of sight of land, and eight space-tugs out in the belt," Tarja said thoughtfully. "What could they possibly be doing with all of that?" She leaned forward on the bar, set her empty glass down, and motioned to Max for a re-fill. The fact that the scandalous cut of her gown gave Max an unimpeded view of her charms seemed to be an unconscious gesture on her part, but my old ex-spy instincts told me that her every move and word were calculated actions. The fact that she flew from world to world to kill people for a living kept coming back to me. Frankly, I was damn glad that the Reever was there. Still, even though she'd given the Reever her word not to try anything - I couldn't help praying that she wasn't up to something anyway. Then again on the other hand, women always found something about Max to be extremely attractive, and Trixie was filling in in one of the specialty rooms tonight. Maybe I was just paranoid. But on the gripping hand, was I paranoid enough?

"A three-pronged attack then," Czhark replied. "My murder, then an attack on the city by sea, then the bombing of Oktishnear from orbit. That is the way I read the spoor the data tell of."

"But these two fleets can't see each other," Hnarcor said. "Unless I am reading the fuzzy blobs on the screen wrongly, they are well over the horizon from each other. Do we have two pirate fleets meeting, or pirate and prey?"

"I have my doubts of the Shebeja Ambassador's proposed timeline," interjected the Reever. He consulted one of the smaller data windows for a moment before continuing. "Those ships are several days from land, and the tugs are a week away from being able to launch a strike at us. But the one fleet is only hours away from the other. I wish we had the data on what kind of ships they all are. That would tell us a great deal. But the criminals are all fleeing the city now, not two days from now or sometime next week. Was the Ambassador's death supposed to lead off the attack? Or was it supposed to be the final act?"

Another semi-visible computer window blossomed into being above the bar. This one was smaller, and flashed until the Reever had read it.

"I've just had a report from one of my Peacekeepers -" said the Reever. "It seems that someone has been sending warning messages to the underworld families. My agents have begun tapping into the city-wide comm net. They've already intercepted several of the messages. They were phrased as being friendly warnings from someone who professed to be 'in the know' and advised that City of Lights was about to become 'dangerous'. All the messages so far have been sent to the crime lords' most secure addresses. That would make them take the matter most seriously."

"So that's why they're all running" gasped Max.

"If one of the organized crime families is behind this, what better way to flee to safety than to spook the rest of the herd and run among them?" Hnarcor asked.

"Who did your agents trace back," Thornby asked. "As the ones behind the contract Tarja warned us about?"

The Reever shrugged and replied, "Five of the minor smuggling clans based in the Old City. But they don't have enough money between them to afford half of this operation so far. So I've put spy-eyes watching the smugglers, hoping that they'll lead us to the off-worlders that are bankrolling our local crime lords."

"Spy-eyes?" I asked.

"Remote camera drones," he replied. "They're about the size of a speck of dust. This is City of Lights, I don't have to restrict my tech here, after all. Originally these cameras were meant for non-invasive medical testing. One researcher pointed out later that the devices worked just as well outside of a body as it did inside. And thus a new security tool was born, to make a long story short. I hardly ever use the things though, because of the invasion of privacy laws they violate by accident. Besides, if I had every crime lord bugged... There'd be so much data I'd never be able to wade through my Peacekeeper's reports."

We were halted by a chime and verbal report from the AIs - "ID of targets in screen three, update: Fleet one identified; 5 nation fishing fleet composed of 28 ships from Nalth, 32 ships from Kingdom of Seven Isles, 14 ships from coastal Utrthay, 15 ships from Ellor, and 35 trawlers from Yalled. Fishing is in progress for schools of T'chadenross, Kanshelast'nor, B'gesh, Esconsellt'kalt, Seras'kek, D'gaaret'en, and the giant M'nisht'uusor."

"Sounds innocent enough," said the Reever. "Those countries are often allies in fishing ventures. They used to fight among themselves, sure. Oh - a thousand years or so ago they'd have been at each other's throats. But nowadays they prefer to co-operate. Nalth is a small country on the west coast - Fishing is their biggest industry, second to shipbuilding. They build the best sailing ships in the world, bar none. Like one of their neighbors; Kingdom of Seven Isles, Nalth has a bigger population aboard ships at sea than they do anywhere on land. Some of 'em never set foot on shore. Yalled and Utrthay are both bigger countries that border the ocean, but they've always harvested as much food from the sea as they do from their own fields. And what a chef from Ellor can do with a Kanshelast'nor fillet would make your mouth water..."

"Fleet two identity; Processing..."

"What of the evacuation of the local criminal underworld?" Kazsh-ak asked. "Does it still proceed apace?"

"Yes," said the Reever absently, while studying one of the new screens.

"What's up?" I asked quickly.

The Reever tapped one of the newest data screens with one finger and it stopped its sudden blinking. "One of my Peacekeeper teams... They reported that they just stopped a bomber. A Cheeryenbar mercenary was caught arming a large explosive device in the basement of the Shebeja Embassy, ten minutes ago. He put up a fight when he was found, ran out of ammunition, then tried to detonate the device. One of my officers had to kill him to stop him. Too bad, we needed whatever he might have known."

"Things are going too fast," hissed Hnarcor. "We are juggling antique explosives here. One slip and we're geography. Or at least, spattered across the local geography."

"I've often thought," said Kazsh-ak. "That life could well benefit from a 'Pause' button."

"Hear, hear," replied Czhark in a toast - by way of reply. The chime of the security AIs about to make another report cut him off.

"ID of targets in screen three, update: Fleet two is identified as 75 craft of various classes of native warships, from widely differing eras. "

"There's the Balrog in the wood pile," Thornby said. "Computer, enhance Fleet Two image and scan. End of command string."

"Processing..." replied the AIs.

"Better and better," I muttered as I drained my glass yet again. "This keeps getting better and better... If this goes on -"

"We'll need a new planet," Tarja sadly said.

"I will not let that happen," said the Reever angrily. "There has to be another way..."

"We will find a way to protect our adopted home," said Kazsh-ak. "There is nothing that we cannot deal with -"

He was interrupted by the chime signaling another report from the AIs.

"ID of targets in screen three, update: ITEM 1: Central ship in fleet positively identified as a Terran seagoing aircraft carrier, military-surplus, estimated to be circa 3550 AD. NOTE: This ship violates Treaty of Bethdish / Terran Federation Concord; section 7, item 5, paragraph 217, and is therefore Proscribed."

"...Or perhaps not," the big bug squawked in alarm. "What kind of people are we dealing with?"

"This just gets better and better, doesn't it?" I said as I wondered for a moment how someone had managed to get the carrier to the surface of Bethdish.

"Computer," said Thornby wearily. "Enhance Terran ship further and scan. End of command string."

"ID of targets in screen three, update: ITEM 2: Aircraft on carrier launching pad is tentatively identified as Shebeja MK A-210 Model 15-b Heliship. Possible ID match with serial number BKU7640-735JK-HF5-4, reported lost at sea with an Awake Team approx 300 years ago. Possession of this technology by natives of Bethdish is Proscribed."

"Holy Mother!" Max exclaimed.

"Indeed," replied Hnarcor.

"The minimum penalty," Kazsh-ak intoned gravely, "for importation for sale and or use of proscribed tech on Bethdish, is life without the possibility of parole in Membeth Prison. Minimum penalty for importation for sale and or use of proscribed tech and contributing to the death of Bethdish natives by use thereof is death by the 'long swim' or single combat with the Reever in the Arena."

"But," Tarja asked, "what are they going to do? They've got enough firepower to level a good portion of the city."

"Obviously," said Kazsh-ak. "They intend to attack the fishing fleet with the Heliship and frame the Shebeja for the attack. That explains the ships at sea, but what about the tugs out in the belt? What could their target be? And the planned disruption of City of Lights?"

"That Heliship can function as an interplanetary hopper as well as an airship," Czhark said. "After attacking the fishermen, it can boost up out of the atmosphere and meet those tugs."

"To what end?" Hnarcor asked.

"It could transport them here faster than they could arrive on their own. That is," Thornby mused aloud, "if the heliship has enough range. But they still don't have any payload to use as bombs. At least, not any payload that we can detect. They still look like they're going to all meet up, but unless we're scanning for the wrong things, they don't seem to be a big threat yet."

"And they'd burn up trying to enter the atmosphere on their own," Max pointed out. "And they'd fly like bricks in the atmosphere, anyway. Would the heliship be able to lower them safely?"

"Perhaps one at a time - with great difficulty," Czhark said thoughtfully. "But one single mistake and they'd all die - Burn up upon re-entry."

"So City of Lights could still be the main target for bombing instead of Oktishnear?" I asked.

"The heliship could just as easily fly here to the city and attack," Czhark said. "Or fly to Oktishnear and attack, rather than lift out to orbit. Yes, both are possible. And it carries enough firepower to level several city blocks."

"But why the bomb in the Shebeja Embassy," Tarja asked, "if they're going to frame the Shebeja?"

"Good point," the Reever said. "Perhaps the bomber was to set the time of detonation to simulate public reaction to the attacks."

"Ah," said Hnarcor. "After the news broke and the City was in an uproar?"

"Exactly, we were no doubt supposed to believe that the Shebeja had attacked an innocent fishing fleet and then attacked City of Lights - but that is speculation. We will never know, now." The Reever was beginning to look worried. "The amount of money involved in this is staggering."

"Now that the bomber is dead?"

"Yes, Tarja," said the Reever. "Unless we catch one of the culprits ultimately behind all this and force them to talk, we'll never know the truth."

"I don't care about the truth, she snarled prettily. "I care about not being murdered in my bed! I don't look good in black..."

"So what happens if you nuke that pirate fleet?" I asked, to change the subject.

"Literally?" The Reever snorted. "That'd most likely kill the fishermen in the first fleet - as well as send a tidal wave onto the east coast. The two fleets are too close together for me to simply vaporize one of them. The most I could do right this minute would be to launch a strike team to go shoot up the pirate fleet - with much less powerful weapons. And that heliship wouldn't be any kind of a pushover when it comes to combat. Neither would the Carrier, for that matter. Those Terrans build good ships to start with, and that ship carries better weapons than this world's seen in nearly seven thousand years - Aside from ours... It's taken most of the native civilizations that long to claw their way back up to the steam engine and electricity!"

"How so?" Tarja asked.

"The polar shift knocked them almost back into the stone age - Isn't that bad enough? I don't want them to loose everything they've rediscovered in some useless bloody war. People in City of Lights tend to forget what it's really like outside the city's walls. Go outside and travel a thousand miles in any direction -- You'll find people working their way back up to indoor plumbing and streetlights. Less than ten percent of those fishing boats will have any kind of motor. Those that do will have steam engines. The rest will only have sails. That carrier, on the other hand, has nuclear powered turbines turning propellers that are two stories tall. The fishing fleet can't run from that. Nor could they defend themselves. I'm not going to let some off-worlder destroy what we've been able to re-build."

"OK then," Max said. "How many Shebeja heliships can be called out?"

"Sixty one," said Czhark. "That is all that have survived the centuries of storage and are functionable at the moment. Out of the one hundred and six that the base originally had, fourteen have been either lost or destroyed. The rest are being repaired - or used for parts."

Tarja looked happier with the Shebeja's revelation. "How many other atmospheric fighter craft could be mobilized to attack the pirate fleet? That is, if we did decide to sound the alarm."

Kazsh-ak tapped one pincer with a medial limb while counting, then spoke as if re-assured. "The spaceport has twenty of its own Patrol ships - two and three man fighter/interceptors. Xerxes can provide perhaps ten to twelve atmosphere-rated fighters from the Terran Navy craft stationed there. Fifty to a hundred Halazed & D'rrish fighters can be called out, by my estimate. Various others could be called upon if necessary."

Tarja frowned. "How can we do that without making people panic?"

"Without letting anyone know what we're doing," I said. "And that won't be easy. Matter of fact, it may not even be possible."

Kazsh-ak made a quick snipping motion with his right pincer. "The Reever should ask Xerxes to send a battle group out to deal with those tugs. It would be foolish to leave them at our backs as we deal with the pirate fleet. We don't have the time to waste fighting a war on two fronts. We can be rid of one front in a single fell swoop."

"Before they can do anything?" Thornby sounded doubtful.

"Yes," replied Czhark. "We can't afford to waste any time. At the very least, they are stolen property. They are also to be considered potential weapons or weapons delivery systems. They cannot be allowed to make any kind of attack."

"Very well," said the Reever a moment later. "The message is sent. Awaiting reply from Xerxes. I hope they don't take long."

"What will they think when they get your message?" Tarja asked. "Do you often ask them to flit about on little errands for you?"

"They'll no doubt believe that I'm just using some esoteric science to detect things their own equipment can't. In a way, that's the truth. Except that it's not Immortal tech, it's the Mare's. But no, I don't make it a habit to call out the Navy. Someone will know that something strange is up, but I think we can count on the Navy's discretion."

"One would hope so!" Kazsh-ak said.

"I'd hate to save the world," I said. "Just to find that panic in the streets killed everyone I was fighting for in the first place. We've got to figure a way to keep this quiet."

"Security verses need-to-know," Hnarcor said snickering. "Let me know which you find more necessary. I am open to suggestions upon how to deal with the pirate fleet, myself."

"All right," said the Reever a minute later. "Here's a reply from the Navy. Xerxes is sending out a Battleship, two Destroyers, and a dozen smaller support craft. They'll meet the tugs in thirty hours. Assuming the tugs don't pull some kind of trick. Less than thirty hours if the tugs make for Bethdish under their own power. That flotilla packs enough firepower to deflect any asteroid that those tugs can possibly intercept and redirect in that thirty hour timeframe. They have orders to arrest the Tug pilots if possible, but to stop any putative attack the tugs could make, no matter what. Now, about the pirates... I've been thinking that it may take too long to assemble an air attack on that fleet. The fishermen may be slaughtered before we can get a single fighter in the air."

"Too bad Xerxes is space Navy instead of a wet navy," I said. "We could use a battle fleet of our own. So -- why don't we go to the News and blow the lid off this?"

Hnarcor frowned. "Panic in the streets would kill millions."

"This is a big city," Tarja said. "it's bigger than some countries."

The Reever grimaced. "Over twenty four thousand square miles of city. Yes, I know. I'm running short of Peacekeepers since I upped the search for potential bombers."

Tarja wrinkled her brow in thought. "So how do we deal with the Pirates?"

"Well..." said Thornby cautiously. "We could cheat."

Hnarcor looked curious. "How so?"

"We could ask Sarah for a little more help," Thornby said evenly but sadly, like a man betraying a secret for the greater good. "For a strike team from the Museum to go out and smash that pirate fleet before they can launch an attack."

Hnarcor gasped in shock. "Polios can do that?"

"He's had to employ one hell of a security service, over the years," said Thornby. "Look, if we can pull this off without making the BBN headlines, we totally halt any attempt to vilify the Shebeja. That helps them and Bethdish as well. The Terran Navy can pull in -and arrest - the tug's pilots, and the Reever can make the necessary charges against them. Everything has to be kept quiet or the terrorists win."

Czhark snarled angrily. "There has to be a better way to stop the pirates than an outright attack. I would prefer that we out-smart them somehow."

"What do you suggest?" Max asked.

"I'm cannot see the larger picture well enough to plot strategy." He replied. "Jon Stewart, what are your thoughts? Do we have any better options?"

"Damnifino," I said tiredly. "But we need to think of something. There's no way to keep some kind of pitched battle with that batch of ships from hitting the news. If you call for a militia force to defend the city, there's no way that that can be kept from the Press either. Ditto for any kind of discrete mobilization of an air force. The BBN already has a couple of crews out at the spaceport - Can't hide anything from them!"

"I'm open to suggestions from anybody," the Reever replied evenly. "Right now, I'm ready to listen to any plan that saves lives. I don't care who comes up with the idea!"

For just a second, my head swam dizzily. To regain my composure I looked around the room again, checking for eavesdroppers. Nothing out of the ordinary met my eye. It looked like a normal day's crowd really. Tourists, businessmen, locals - A pretty even mix, I'd say. Over near the front wall I noticed the sounds of a live band playing techno-pop dance music coming out of the doorway into the Small Ballroom. Max had mentioned them to me earlier this morning. He'd told me they called themselves "Blood, Sweat, & Beers" and they didn't sound half bad, actually. By that doorway - at a small, out of the way table -I noticed a pair of old geezers setting up a 3-D chess game. I remembered having seen them before and recognized them as regulars. They stuck in my mind for some reason. Next to them were a pair of Kinch-carnum blowing fancy smoke rings from the hookah they were sharing. More people were looking at them than were looking at us. As I panned my view around the room I couldn't see anything out of place, or anything odd for that matter. No one looked to be paying our group at the bar any extra attention. When the computer chime sounded again, I quickly drew my own attention back to the screens.

"Update: enhanced image of Terran aircraft carrier deck now available. Image on screen ten..."

"What's that flag they're flying from the Bridge?" Max asked.

"Just a circle," I replied after a moment's hesitation to study the screen. "A black circle on a red field. That's what it looks like."

"What?" gasped the Reever, jerking await from his study of one of the statistics screens as if he'd just been punched in the gut.

"Look for yourself," I said.

"Zoom in on that flag!" the Reever commanded.

"Done," said Thornby a minute later, after giving the AIs the correct commands. "What is it?"

"A snake biting it's tail," said Tarja. "A black snake..."

"Oh, damnation!" Max exclaimed. "Oh sweet Mother of mercy... Surely not - Surely not her? I thought she was dead."

"it's her --" said the Reever. "It really is her... That's her personal flag, anyway. I'd prayed to the Gods that she was finally dead, that murderous hag... The Black Snake. So this is one of her plots. Now a lot of odd things about this whole situation make a lot more sense. But still, what would she stand to gain by destroying the Shebeja? And somewhen in the last 300 years or so - she's gotten hold of a Shebeja heliship and a Terran aircraft carrier to help her do so - This is too much. This has just gotten us to the threshold of Armageddon here, folks. The Black Snake is the most dangerous being on the planet, and has been for the last ten million years. She's a rogue Immortal -- High Priestess of the devil himself. And the most destructive, amoral, and ruthless being that's ever crossed my path... If she's behind this then we're in deep trouble. She's managed to make slaves out of those pirates, that's clear. And she's also spent lots of money on the local crime lords. I can't figure what's she's after yet, but I've got to stop her -- Whatever she's up to. I've got no choice now. I have to notify Fort Mountain and the High Council of the Immortals. I have to declare a planet-wide red alert before that - renegade -can start the next war!"

"Reever," Thornby said with a quiver in his voice. The hair on the back of my neck stood up in alarm at the sound of Thornby's voice. He was scared half out of his wits. And I knew the man was braver than I am. Just from knowing him this long, today.

"Yes Guiles?

"You remember asking for suggestions on how to deal with the pirate fleet a few minutes ago?"

"Yes."

"From 'anybody', you said?"

"Yes."

"The uh, the AIs seem to have taken you at your word... They have a suggestion here on this screen... but it's pretty - ahhhh... it's pretty weird. You'd um - you better come here and take a look."

******

Thornby haltingly explained what the AIs had come up with. "The Mare's AIs have been in conference with the AI in the Reever's Staff all this time. The Staff's AI is in contact with Fort Mountain -- the city of the Immortals. It can command a slew of small tele-operated security drones the Immortals have in storage, but that the Staff knows about. They're armed and can fight. The AIs think that the pirate fleet can be beaten without letting the City's dwellers know enough to panic. That way the collateral damage can be minimized. The drones are old Immortal equipment that's been in storage for ages."

The Reever nodded. "Those things are so old I'd forgotten them. Last time we used those was about seven million years before I was born. If I remember correctly, they're roughly a meter in diameter. Each one carries about the same firepower as the average surface-to-orbit fighter-craft of most mortal species. The armor on 'em isn't bad, but it's not invincible. But the control machines are in Fort Mountain. Also mothballed for twenty million years, as I recall. It'd take hours to get anything ready for use."

"Well, remember that I said that they were... tele-operated?"

"Yes."

"Good. The AIs have suggested a way to supply the tele-operators, quickly and quietly. Us, in other words."

"You're going to have to explain that one in more detail, Hotshot," Tarja said to Thornby. "How are we supposed to run these drones?"

"Ah," Thornby replied. "That's the really surreal part." He shrugged, "The Mare's AIs think in terms of war games, sort of like a big chess game. They can't work the drones themselves because of limits on their programing, their world-view. They suggest that they link one of the Mare's side rooms through themselves, to the Reever's Staff, to the drones. We fly the drones and fight them from here in the Mare. All of us that're in the know. To keep the secret, we're it, folks. Otherwise, people in the city will panic and lots of them will get hurt trying to get to safety. We've all got some degree of combat pilot experience. And we already know what's going on, what's at stake. Besides, we won't actually be inside the drones, so we can't get hurt. What do you think, people?"

"Which room?" Hnarcor asked.

"The Game Room," Thornby said.

"The Game Room?" Max asked. "We don't have a game room. A few of the side bars have pool tables or a few game machines, but we don't have a special side room for games."

Again, Thornby shrugged as he read from the small window floating in front of his eyes. "You will have by the time we get there. The AIs say that the door will be over near your office, Max. They're going to create a side room using the Mare's own environmental control systems. The ones that Max would use to deal with alien customers from really strange planets to make a full environment senso-suite for them. The room will have several types of Arcade-style games. We're to pick out a game machine we like, and play. The AI's will translate what we do with each game into signals to properly control the drones. Oh, and when we're finished with it, the room will go away. Forever."

"People," I said. "Looks like, um... it's the end of the world as we know it. If we sit on our butts. We've been asked to save the world. it's a nice world. I like it, even if I don't live here. Each of us has a stake in preserving the status quo, don't we? I take it that we're all in favor of coming to the defense of our fellow beings?"

Everyone agreed, though Czhark and Tarja both looked a bit puzzled. Kazsh-ak and Hnarcor are both old hands at the Mare, and Thornby looked to be getting his nerve back quickly. Matter of fact, he was beginning to look excited. I didn't really understand what we were about to do myself, as it turned out. But I was happily ignorant right then. The Reever picked up his staff and spoke to it quietly. I didn't hear what he said.

One by one the floating computer windows blinked off with a quiet chirp noise. "Bob Droid? Bobby Blue!" called Max. "Could you come over here a minute?"

******

Leaving Bob the blue Droid once more tending the main bar, in twos and threes we ambled over towards the hallway to Max's office. Hey, we were trying to be cool. The new doorway was open, and the door closed by itself as the last of us stepped inside. For the barest moment, it looked to me as if the room were cavernous, huge, and filled with all manner of game machines. Then... it was as if my perceptions flipped into a sharper focus. What had looked like infinite walls and rows of machines became mirrors on the walls, fifty feet away. Although, if you looked at just the right angle, you got the feel that the mirrors were just... glass walls, shutting off the rest of a much, much vaster space. Strange music played insistently in the background, issuing from hidden speakers. Cream, I think. "Sunshine of Our Love...", but then I'm not hip to much classical music. I wouldn't know anything about the subject except that I had to spend a year as a Creative Anachronist, back when I was still a spy. Looking at my companions, I could tell we all felt a touch of the truly strange. We all had that look of "this can't really be happening" shock on our faces. It was as if somehow even then we each knew we'd gone through the Looking Glass. Wordlessly, we set out examining each game in turn.

"Look at all these classics!" I exclaimed after a moment. I lovingly touched the framework of a beautifully restored Omega Race. Tarja laid claim to a Centipede machine sitting between the gleaming restorations of a Spy Master and a Battlezone machine. The Reever looked as if he were torn between choosing a Defender or a Silpheed machine. Czhark, predictably, found a Chopper Attack flight sim nestled between a Thexdir and a Submarine Commander game. I almost laughed out loud as I saw Kazsh-ak approach an outsized Tailgunner table with what looked near to reverence. Hnarcor slipped gracefully into a booth with Stealth Fighter logos painted gaily across its surface. Thornby did laugh aloud at the Reever's indecision, slapped his friend on the arm, and pointed him towards the Defender game. Max sat inside an X-Wing machine as Thornby finally picked out a Zaxxon machine and sat inside its booth. I was the last one to sit down. It was strange to see so many of the rare antiques in one room. I noticed tiny speakers echoing the background music.

"Hey," I clearly heard Thornby say. "Check out the com systems! This headset is just like the one in my Blackbird."

"What headset?" I muttered. "Oh, I see it." Clipped to the roof of the game booth was a lightweight wireless headset, headphones and a tiny microphone. Other than that, I couldn't detect any big changes from the original arcade game. I donned the headset and could hear the comments of the others much more clearly. There was a narrow perspex strip that hinged on the earphones. I thought it was a second head strap at first, but when I touched the plastic it snapped down in front of my eyes. "YIPE!" I yelled. "The headset!"

I was in the cockpit of my own ship, familiar in every detail. And I was skimming the wave tops, flying over the ocean at an insane speed! I grabbed for the controls as if my life depended on it.

"...Is more than a headset," Max finished for me. "Watch that first step. it's a doozy."

"Fortunately," I heard Kazsh-ak solemnly intone. "Ah keep mah feathers numbered for just such an emergency... These visors are acting as VR imagers, no doubt. I hazard to guess that we each are being fed images of the operation of our favorite vehicles?"

"Too right," Max replied first. "I feel like I'm really flying Libby, This is great!"

"Then these AI computers," said Czhark. "They are reading our game play in order to control the Immortal's drones - as if we were actually at the controls of our own craft. yet using the game's controls. This is truly impressive."

"I suggest we look to our course and speed indicators," said the Reever. "The drones will be coming up on the fleet's position quite soon. They seem to have left Fort Mountain and continued west, across the ocean. So we'll be coming up on the pirates from behind."

"Shall we stay on the deck," asked Tarja. "Or grab some altitude?"

"Stay low," Thornby replied a beat ahead of the Reever and Hnarcor.

"We should stay beneath their detectors until the last possible moment," added Hnarcor.

"Work to the advantages of your own ships," advised the Reever. "Each of our respective fighters have differing strengths and weaknesses. The drones may be identical, but our reactions won't be. The drones will behave exactly like our ships would, because that's the way the AIs will read our playing these games. Just fly as if you were in your own ship -- And try and ignore the fact that this VR gear must be reading our memories in order to give us the illusion of our own ships. I've never known Polios to make equipment that wasn't safe. Whatever it looks like, lives hang in the balance..."

"And remember men," Max said in a voice that had to mean he was quoting something. "Stay in time with the music!" Max, Thornby, and Kazsh-ak laughed themselves silly.

"Gentlemen," Tarja said soon after the laughter had died down. "I think we're nearly there. Tactics?"

"I suggest," said Czhark. "That Kazsh-ak, Hnarcor, and myself stay low and harry them from three sides, one hundred and twenty degrees apart. The rest go high and hit them from above. Is there any dissent? Reever, do you have any instructions?"

The Reever's voice was cold as he replied. "That Terran carrier and the stolen Shebeja ship have to be knocked out. Totally. Any missile launches towards the fishing fleet have to be intercepted. We need to protect that fishing fleet as best we can, but we can't let that carrier or heliship get away. Max, get between the pirates and the fishing fleet... we can't let the battle be carried to them. Keep any of the pirates from getting closer to the fishermen. Be careful, people. The Black Snake and these pirates are already guilty of thousands of deaths in the past. Now she's plotting more mass murder. The pirates are just tools to her." He sighed. "I want that fleet stopped, but not exterminated. I want that carrier and heliship stopped -- Cold. This should be a surgical strike, not a mass murder."

"Clear," said Thornby. "The Black Snake is the main threat behind all this. The pirates are just... another weapon in her arsenal. Let's go get her."

Czhark laughed, a sound that chilled my blood for a second. Until I remembered he was on our side. "Honor demands I seek out the stolen Heliship," he said. "But I shall not neglect the rest."

"OK gang," I said. "Looks like we're coming up on the target. Let's make like a Hockey team, and split."

In the background, the music in the gameroom got louder, the beat more insistent, more insidious. I knew it was classical music- Bach, McCartney, Straus, Mercury... something. Maybe Brock or Calvert. I think the AIs decided we needed a soundtrack for the battle. A light blinked on the VR clone of Della's control panel in front of me. Waypoint reached, time to go to manual. I pulled the stick back hard and kicked in the boosters. At the top of the arc, I leveled out, then nosed down. To the sound of thundering bass and soaring theramin, I came at the pirate menace from out of the sun!

As I dived, I saw that the VR was painting in replicas of our individual fighters over the image of the drones we were using. Tarja flew a fighter/scout somewhat like my Della Sue blockade runner, but much newer. I glanced aside at the others at my altitude and spied Max's Libby, looking like a winged sword, close by and angling off to get between the two fleets. Further off, the Reever's Spear of the Gods also fell point downward. It looked for all the world like a round shield transfixed by a javelin. Thornby's Blackbird was a flattened black ovoid with rudimentary fins. Definitely a stealth ship. Still falling, I got busy assigning targets. Briefly, I flipped up the VR visor and saw I was still using the trackball and buttons of the Omega Race game. I flipped the visor back down -- and I had Della's whole cockpit in front of me. This was a neat game!

Getting back to the matter at hand, I saw I was nearly in firing range and cut my speed back. I could see the smoke of explosions from the pirate ships as I dropped lower. Czhark, Hnarcor, and Kazsh-ak beginning their attack, no doubt. I hoped it diverted the pirates for a few seconds longer. We kept falling, but I reduced my speed a bit more to stay close to the others. I cycled the targeting screen through all the missile targets I'd assigned. All I had to do was punch her Auto-fire button and Della would launch at those targets. Or rather, the game would tell the drone to imitate Della's launching missiles at the targets. But I knew that the drone was using other weapons than my own ship's particle beamers and proton torpedoes. It was getting hard to remember this wasn't real combat. My nerves were all on combat alert and nothing my mind said to them was going to change it.

Anti-aircraft fire began blossoming below me, but coming up fast! Just a few more seconds and I'd be in missile range. I had the nose pointed at the Terran carrier's deck and squeezed off a few rounds from the particle beam guns. Just to get in a few licks before the missiles could launch. The beamers wouldn't have much punch at this range, but they might add to the pirates confusion. Last Waypoint coming up........... Now! I hit the auto-fire and start choosing new targets as the launches free up the computer. I squeezed off several hundred rounds from the beamers, too. Auto-fire again, then I had to pull up or hit the sea!

Whipping the VR version of my Della Sue into a flat arc and rotating upright, I zoom in my visual onto the carrier's deck. Magnify, magnify... it's burning in several places, but most of its guns are still firing at us.

Then my heart stops.

The stolen Shebeja Heliship has cleared the carrier's deck. it's in the air and returning fire! I quickly reset the targeting screen and auto-fire again. The carrier takes most of the hits... I can see the stolen Heliship evading most of our fire. Whoever's flying that thing is too damn good. Then my IFF beeps at me. it's the "friend or foe" alarm - to tell me that one of my fellow vigilantes is within my targeting range. I quickly click on the zoom to see that Ambassador Czhark is making his move on the stolen Shebeja heliship.

"Jon," I hear the Reever's voice in my ear. "Stay low and fill in the gap that Czhark left. Pour on the firepower. Remember, you're using more than one drone at a time. Soak those other pirate ships with fire, and keep hitting the carrier below Czhark's altitude."

"Roger that," I said. "I'll stay flat on the deck, but I'm going in closer. I'm not used to working this far out. Work to our strengths, you said. Della Sue's strength is her reaction time, she can doge most anything. Once I'm in I'll hammer them, but I'll need a wing-man."

"Watch your own tail Delivery Boy," Tarja's voice cooed through my headset. "I'll be above and behind you to help cover it, but I can't look everywhere at once. You're a bit too cute to lose. Wait a minute, we're not really here... Well, be careful anyway, Spyguy."

"Yes Mother," I joked under my breath. "I'll be sure to eat my galoshes twice a week and wear my spinach whenever it rains..." I was a bit busy picking new targets and slowing to a near-hover as I hit the auto-fire again. 100 kph and slowing, shields down to 86%, beamers at 37% and recharging, missiles fired and reloading of all launchers is in progress... I didn't have time to devote much brainpower to badinage. Or to ponder why Tarja knew so much about little old me.

"Cute," she replied while I was fumbling at my control panel. "This game-thing is too real. I keep believing I'm flying Peppermint Patty in a real battle."

"Roger that!" Thornby added. "Though this VR Blackbird has better sensors than mine." He laughed. "I'll have to hack myself an upgrade, later."

"Yeah, later," I said as I strafed the smaller pirate ships between myself and the carrier with my freshly-recharged beamers, then hit auto-fire for another missile salvo as soon as I had enough targets picked. I was close in now and slowed to a hover. I weaved back and forth a bit to confuse targeting sensors, but I kept firing too. I zoomed in on Czhark again. His VR ship looked much sleeker and more advanced than the bigger, slower stolen Heliship. I could tell that the two were from the same basic design, but Czhark clearly had the more advanced version. I clicked on his image in the targeting screen to confirm Czhark as a "friend", so my remaining missiles would avoid Czhark's IFF signal. The automatics would have done it anyway, but I didn't want any mistakes. Then I sweated as my beamers recharged yet again. On my screen, Czhark lit into the stolen Shebeja ship like an avenging angel. Guns and missiles blazing, dodging and weaving like a dervish, Czhark kept hammering on the stolen heliship -- while still directing some of his shots at the carrier and other pirate ships.

"Look at him go!" Thornby gasped. "Keep the Ambassador covered. Don't let any of the pirates draw a bead on him."

"Blood feud," said the Reever with a trace of irony in his voice. "She wanted him dead -- Well, he doesn't like the idea any too well. I damn well hope that she's the one flying that stolen Shebeja ship. Czhark might save me the trouble of finally killing the Black Snake... Somehow I doubt we'll get her, though. She's old! And she can take care of herself damned well..."

"How old?" I asked in between shots, remembering the Reever's age.

"Old enough to be my great, great, great grandmother. Thank the Gods she's not, but she's old enough. I'm a fifth generation Immortal... thirteen and a half million years old. She's a second generation Immortal -- and she's lived for the last three quarters of a billion years. She's been trying to kill me all my life, you know."

"Yeah," I said. "I gathered that. I'm running out of pirate ships, targeting the carrier again."

"Roger, we copy. Back-up in flight..." came a faint voice through my headset.

"Who was that?" I asked.

"Tom?" Thornby asked, relief in his voice. "Tom Darby?"

"Yes Guiles," came the faint voice again. "I've got a scout wing that Miss Sarah sent to blockade the shoreline. Twelve of us. She said to hang back here and hold the line, but if you need us we can be at the battle in seven minutes. Otherwise we're supposed to stay as invisible as possible. We're not really part of this continuity and we don't want to screw it up."

"I understand," Thornby replied. "Glad you're there. Keep anything from getting through to City of Lights. We'll hold out here somehow. But if we go down, you have to stop this fleet."

"Understood, Widow Maker is ready for anything that comes our way. Your job is to take out that fleet. If you need us, we're here. Godspeed." The voice faded out, but still, it felt good to know we had some kind of back-up. Wait a minute! We aren't really there... We're here... This VR is strange stuff. I knew I was sitting in a room playing a video game, but I could look out the windscreen to my left and see Max's ship, and Tarja's off in the distance. The VR was giving us images of our own ships instead if pictures of whatever the drones look like. I was getting lost in this game -VR -whatever. Once more I strafed the deck of the carrier and the nearest ten pirate ships with missiles and blaster fire. Again I swooped up to dive and fire once more. Dive down nearly to the wave tops, then pivot and flash inward - firing all the while. Then I moved off once more to fill in the gap left by Czhark and his vendetta.

Speaking of which, it was looking more like a boxing match than a dogfight between those two Shebeja ships. They were just spiraling around, hammering away at each other. I noticed some of the tracer fire from the stolen ship passing through the image of Czhark's fighter. The drones were projecting holograms for the pirates to aim at! I raked the wave tops, auto-firing missiles at the carrier again. Its shields already had gaping holes where generators had been blown away. I could see Hnarcor's yellow, manta ray-shaped fighter off in the distance to my right. He was diving into the sea and then firing as he came back out of the water in unexpected places. I should have expected that kind of tactic from an amphibian. I looked back at the carrier, and I had incoming! Some kind of cruse missile, fired from the carrier. Exit, stage right... I thought, as I dodged to the left while launching a slew of counter missiles. Need to nail that launcher. Got to get in closer and do some damage. In the background, the music got faster, the beat more insistent. I dropped a couple of bursts of chaff, popped a flare, then hooked right and kicked the boosters for a heartbeat. That left a radar and infrared target where I had been, and the burst of speed should have made me vanish from their screens for a moment. I pointed Della's bow towards the biggest hole in the carrier's shields and kicked the booster's again. Retro to a stall, auto-fire into the carrier, empty my beamers again, then boost up into a loop and back to safer position. I noticed I was upside down about a meter over the wave tops and quickly rotated upright while my weapons recharged. I dumped the charge from my rear shields into my front ones, then redirected the rear shield chargers to add to the weapon system's chargers. That'd give me a faster recycle time on my guns and double my front shields. That's good, unless someone gets behind you. Then I took time to see if I had done any damage.

I had. There was a huge hole in the carrier. Fire blazing from the waterline all the way up to the deck. I saw the Reever swoop down and add to the damage, then dodge away. Tarja was laying down some intense fire on the newer pirate ships while dancing around the carrier and pummeling it too. I saw some big underwater explosions toward the carrier's stern. Hnarcor must have shot it up from beneath. Over half the pirate ships were burning. A lot were breaking away and running south. I'd lost sight of Thornby and Kazsh-ak, but I could see explosions on the far side of the fleet that had to be their doing. Most of the carrier's shield generators had been popped. I could only see three or four dimly flickering areas protecting the carrier's Bridge and stern. The whole flight deck was on fire. And the bitch was still shooting back! I magnified my targeting screen and started assigning those gun emplacements as missile targets. I saw a pair of quick flares of light from its starboard side, away from me. Maybe a couple of missile launches towards the fishermen or City of Lights. As soon as I got a full charge on the weapons I hit the auto-fire again and held the trigger down on the beamers until they were exhausted yet again.

"I've got incoming," I heard Max say. "Sensors 'r' saying two MIRVed cruse missiles, on the deck and flat out for the city. Forty two kilotons each, boosting at MACH 2.35 and increasing. Deploying countermeasures...." He sounded so calm, those things were atom bombs! I started praying as I auto-fired again. "Got one," Max added. "Going to be some trouble with the other..."

NO! Please, God, let him get it! I remember praying -- then I got pissed off.

Ever been there? So totally angry you lose it? Somewhere between Berserker and omnipotent fury. You read things about "seeing red", but it's a white-hot, towering rage that you really feel. I w