No Good Deed


George J. Condon

Dylan thought it was a perfect night for a crime. While Governor Daltry was off planet at a Galactic Federation meeting, his wife was having a party for one hundred or so of her closest friends. Dylan arrived at the Governor's mansion just before midnight. He wanted to get there after the fun was well underway.

It was the middle of Ram, the warmest month on Avalon. Both moons were full and Dylan felt comfortable on this sultry night wearing only a light silk suit. A slim, blonde man with a neat mustache, he walked up the driveway looking as poised as a dancer.

Dylan smiled when he saw the line of sleek luxury cars parked in front of the house. Now that he was at the top of his profession, he worked only the homes of the rich and these people were very rich indeed. He had been careful to park his own small bubble car around the street corner, out of sight.

At the top of the marble steps of the front entrance, Dylan pressed the gilded doorbell button and waited. A moment later, the door was opened by an android butler dressed in a powdered wig, a frock coat and velvet knee breeches.

"May I help you, Sir?" the butler asked haughtily.

"I'm Peter Sweers, a guest of Her Excellency," Dylan said, offering his invitation letter.

The butler seemed unimpressed.

"I shall have to authenticate you against the guest list, Sir. Please hold out your right hand."

"Certainly," Dylan said. The butler's eyes glowed violet as it scanned Dylan's fingertips, then the android bowed and stepped aside.

"Thank you, Sir. Welcome. Please come in."

As Dylan stepped into the foyer, he thought of the real Peter Sweers who was vacationing two planets away, unaware that his manicurist had carefully made jelly molds of his finger tips. Dylan paid the girl a handsome price for the molds after intercepting the party invitation that was sent to Sweers. He wore the other man's fingerprints tonight.

Dylan heard rhythmic music pounding from somewhere on his left and he turned in that direction. The sounds led him down a carpeted corridor to a large room where the door was ajar and the lights were dimmed. About twenty people were in the room already when Dylan entered. A few couples danced unsteadily in the center of the floor, while the others sprawled on couches, partially undressed and locked into a variety of intimate embraces. Several liquor glasses were scattered on the carpet and the air was heavy with Arcturian dope smoke.

Dylan wasn't surprised. Experience had taught him that the richer the people were, the more decadent were their parties. He had seen a floor plan of the house and he knew the bedrooms were on the upper floor. He didn't have to strain his imagination to guess what was happening up there.

The loud music was giving him a headache, so he walked back to the foyer, choosing a glass of cloudy yellow liquid from a tray offered by a passing servant. Taking a sip, he recognized the liquorice flavor of Pernod. He looked around, watching for a chance to go upstairs without being noticed.

"Hello," said a voice from behind him.

Dylan turned to see a beautiful raven haired woman smiling at him. She wore a strapless dress that was the color of sea foam and it clung to her tall slim body while her ruby necklace and earrings gleamed in the light from the chandeliers overhead. Dylan recognized Lady Daltry, the Governor's wife, and he bowed to hide his dismay. This was going to be a messy complication. Fortunately, when he looked at his hostess again, he saw that her pupils were dilated. Lady Daltry was sky high on something.

"Have we met?" Lady Daltry asked, slurring her words slightly.

Dylan bowed again. "Peter Sweers, at your service," he said.

"Have you been to one of my parties before?"

"I don't have much time for parties, My Lady," Dylan said. "I've been devoting my time to becoming obscenely wealthy."

Lady Daltry laughed. She gave Dylan a long, appraising look.

"Is that all that you do obscenely?"

Unsure of where the conversation was going, Dylan smiled.

"It depends on what inspiration I receive," he said.

Lady Daltry stepped forward and took Dylan's hand in hers.

"Come with me," she said. Dylan saw one of the servants smirking at them as they walked to the stairs and began climbing.

"Where are we going?", Dylan asked.

Lady Daltry leaned close to him and whispered into his ear.

"I'm going to inspire you," she said.

Reaching the top of the stairs, she led him into a room with a chartreuse color scheme and a large four poster bed. Lady Daltry switched a lamp on and closed the door behind them. She undid a clasp at her waist, stepped out of her dress and stood before him wearing only her shoes and jewelry. Dylan conceded that she looked stunning for a woman who was over one hundred and fifty years old, but he knew that her beauty was due to a body replacement.

"Now, my handsome Mr. Sweers," Lady Daltry said. "Surprise me."

"I'm sure I will, Ma'am." Dylan said as he walked toward her. Putting his left arm around her waist, he pulled her close to him and used his right hand to pull a small, pressurized canister from a pocket of his jacket. Being careful to hold his breath, he fired a cloud of the narco mist into Lady Daltry's face.

She gasped and her eyes closed as she slumped against him. He caught her limp body in his arms, carried her over to the bed and put her down gently. She was asleep already, breathing slowly. With practiced fingers, Dylan stripped away her necklace and earrings and held them close to the lamp. Beautiful. They were real. Wealthy women on Avalon often wore fake jewels to parties, not wanting to risk robbery.

Dylan tried to stay calm, but his heart was racing. Putting the jewels into his jacket, he looked down at Lady Daltry where she slept.

"Sorry," he said softly. "Rough stuff isn't my usual style. I meant to steal these from your safe while you were frolicking with your guests, but you complicated things by wearing them."

For a moment, Dylan considered searching the house for more loot, but he decided it would be a mistake to be too greedy. The rubies in his pocket were rare stones from a planet orbiting Tau Ceti. Though he would have to fence them for a fraction of their real value, tonight had been very profitable already.

Dylan left the room, closing the door gently behind him. He went downstairs and he was walking to the front door when the android butler's voice startled him.

"Leaving so soon, Sir? I hope nothing is wrong."

"Eveything's fine. Just stepping outside for a breath of air."

"Very good, Sir. When you return, do try the caviar. It was imported all the way from Earth."

Dylan left the house and strolled down the driveway and into the street. He walked much faster after he turned the corner. As he moved along, he stripped the jelly molds from his fingers and threw them away. Next, he pulled off the blonde wig, revealing his own short dark hair. Finally, he peeled away his false mustache. By the time Dylan reached his car, there was no trace of Peter Sweers.


Two nights later, Dylan sat in a floating chair at The Purple Cat, sipping an Earth beer and listening to some cool Martian jazz. He was waiting for Wolf Man. The stolen rubies were too easily recognized to be fenced safely on Avalon. He had to sell them off world. Wolf Man had connections in several star systems. He was actually a Valzan from Barnard's Star, but his hairy pelt earned him the lupine nickname.

Dylan was admiring a beautiful blue skinned woman who stood at the bar when a man walked in from the street and began talking to the bartender. Dylan recognized Detective Juan Corillo from the city police. He was sure that the stocky Latino cop was looking for him about the robbery at the Governor's mansion. Dylan had the jewels in his pocket, so he couldn't afford to be picked up for questioning. Fortunately, Corillo hadn't seen him yet.

Leaving his table, Dylan stayed close to the wall as he moved to the rear of the bar where the restrooms were located. One of the things that he liked about The Purple Cat was the large window in the men's room. It was handy for hasty exits.

There was nobody using the washroom when Dylan slipped in. He unlatched the window and swung the glass pane up out of the way. Climbing onto the sink, he put one leg over the window sill, climbed out and dropped silently into an alley behind the bar.

Dylan stayed alert for signs of trouble as he walked through the darkened streets. This was one of the rougher parts of town and walking here alone at night was a risk. He saw the flare of a car's headlights as it turned the corner, moving in his direction. By reflex, he stepped into the shadows of a nearby doorway.

A large black sedan stopped at the curb, a short distance from where he was hiding. Two men got out of the vehicle. They didn't see Dylan in his darkened doorway, but he could see them plainly in the light of a nearby street lamp. One was a white man with a shaved head who wore large gold earrings. His companion was black and had his hair braided into dreadlocks.

The pair opened one of the car's rear doors and pulled out a slim white girl. From where Dylan stood, she appeared no more than eighteen years old. The girl's hands were tied behind her back and a band of tape was stuck across her mouth. Each of the men gripped one of her arms as they half carried her toward the steps of a nearby house. She struggled against them and the bald man slapped her.

"Don't go making it harder for yourself, Dearie," he growled.

The girl turned her head toward Dylan's doorway and he realized that she had seen him. A look of joy appeared on her face and she tried to call out, but the tape over her mouth allowed only a muffled sound to escape. When Dylan didn't move to her aid, the girl's expression changed to bewilderment, then to despair. Her captors pulled her away, not realizing what had happened. They dragged the girl up the steps and into the darkened building, closing the front door behind them.

Dylan had seen these two men before in one of the local bars and he knew they were slavers, a trade that even many people in the local underworld shunned. Slavers captured unwary kids who were runaways or who were just out at night looking for excitement. They sold their prettier captives into the sex trade and peddled the others to a living death in illegal mining operations. Having seen how very attractive this girl was, Dylan could guess which fate would be hers.

Well, it was none of his business. He remembered the two prime rules his mentor Sandu taught him as an apprentice thief. Never try to steal from another thief and never let your feelings affect your judgment. It was too bad for the girl, but the city was full of sad stories.

Dylan stopped as he remembered the look on girl's face when she realized that he wasn't going to rescue her. Was he going to be stupid about this? He cursed himself for a fool when he realized he was going to help her after all.

Couldn't he just make an anonymous call to the police? Forget it. Videophone calls were easily traced and it would be a wasted effort anyway. Dylan had two cops on his own payroll who supplied information and who made sure that any evidence collected against him would disappear. He was sure the slavers had their own agents inside the police department. Nobody would come to this girl's aid.

No, he had to do this alone, but he wasn't going into that house unarmed. Slavers always carried weapons and killing him would bother them less than stepping on a bug.

Looking down the street, Dylan saw the blue light of a teleport booth at the corner. Usually, he avoided teleportation. Rich people used their cars or private planes to travel. Teleportation was for the masses, so nobody worked very hard to ensure that it was safe. Tonight, he would have to take a chance.

He ran to the booth, swiped his cash card through the fare collector and punched in the code for his destination. His stomach lurched as the unit's powerful force fields kicked in, bending the fabric of time and space around him. Everything outside flickered out of existence for an instant, then he was standing in an identical booth in a different section of the city.

After walking quickly for two blocks, Dylan reached one of several apartments he kept as safe houses. In his line of work, it was unwise to have just one address. He checked the small strip of tape he had left stretched between the front door and the door frame. It seemed to be undisturbed. Pressing his palm against the door's hand scanner, he heard the magnetic lock snap open.

Inside, Dylan went to a hall closet and pulled open a panel hidden in the wall, revealing a set of shelves stacked with bins. He stuffed some tools and other items into a pouch and shoved the pouch into his pocket. Next, he pulled out a heavy object wrapped in waterproof sheeting. Peeling away the coverings, he hefted the energy pistol in his hand. Damn! He hated guns, but he would need one tonight. He shoved a blast cartridge into the pistol's butt and watched the charge light come on, showing that the weapon was fully armed. Putting the gun and an extra blast cartridge into his jacket, he replaced the panel, closed the closet and left the apartment.

One gut wrenching teleporter ride later, Dylan was back near the house where the slavers were holding the girl. Their black sedan was still parked out front. Things might go better if he had a plan, but Dylan had no clue yet what he was going to do.

He moved quietly up the steps of the house and looked at the front door. In the dark, the lock looked like a cheap one that would be easy to pick. Too easy. Slavers weren't usually that careless.

He took a pair of night vision goggles from his pouch, pulled them on and looked at the door again. This time, he saw the infrared beam that crossed the door, around waist height. While he was picking the lock, he would break the beam and an alarm would sound inside. He'd open the door just in time to get shot in the face.

Dylan grinned as he saw the mistake the slavers had made. The signal crossed the door a few inches above the lock. By lying on his back and reaching up, he could pick the lock without breaking the beam. After several minutes of painstaking work with his picks, he felt the lock mechanism click open. Pushing the door ajar slowly, he held his breath, listening for any sign that someone had heard him. Nothing. After a moment, he crawled inside.

Everywhere inside was dark, except for a pool of light spilling out from the partially open door of an adjoining room. Dylan stood up and moved gingerly toward the light. From the other room, he heard two men talking.

"We can get ten thousand for her, easy," said a voice Dylan recognized as that of the bald man who had hit the girl.

"Well, let's sell her quick, Man. I got a bad feeling," said a second voice that had to belong to the black slaver.

Just then, Dylan bumped into a sofa in the dark and he almost went sprawling. As he grabbed the arm of the sofa to steady himself, he brushed against a nearby table and a small china figurine crashed to the floor.

"What was that?", said the bald man.

"I dunno," his partner answered. "Stay here. I'll check it out."

Dylan crouched behind the sofa as the man wearing dreadlocks came into the room, gun in hand. He could see the slaver silhouetted against the lighted doorway.

"Can't see nothing," the man called to his partner. "Wait 'till I turn on the light."

If the lights went on, Dylan was finished. He pulled his gun from his jacket as the slaver moved over to the wall switch. Jumping up, he rushed the man from behind. Hearing the floor creak, the slave trader started to turn, but Dylan brought the butt of his pistol down hard.

Stunned, the slaver groaned and fell to the floor.

Dylan heard a shouted curse from behind him and he threw himself back behind the sofa, just as a pistol blast burned a gaping hole into the wall exactly where he had been standing. Peering around the sofa, Dylan saw the bald man crouching in the doorway, taking aim. He pulled his head back just as the slaver's second shot burned a corner off the sofa back. Dylan felt the sour bile of fear in his mouth. The furniture wouldn't shield him for long.

Jumping up, Dylan snapped off two quick shots from his own gun. He missed both times, but the second pistol blast vaporized a chunk of door frame, close enough to the bald man's arm to make him yell with pain. Dylan ducked back behind the sofa, waiting for more return fire. Instead, he heard a crash and the sound of glass shattering from the adjoining room, then there was silence.

Dylan waited for several minutes, suspecting a trick. He heard a groan from where the black man was still lying on the floor. Keeping his eyes on the doorway, Dylan ran to the fallen man, kicked the slaver's gun across the room and pulled the slave trader to his feet. Jamming his own gun against the man's head, he pushed his captive forward, using him as a shield.

"Let's go and meet your buddy," Dylan said.

"Don't shoot, Marcus," the slaver shouted toward the doorway.

There was no reply from the other room.

As he pushed his prisoner through the doorway, Dylan saw an overturned chair lying next to a smashed window. The bald man must have gone out that way, fleeing down the fire stairs attached to the outside of the building. The girl lay on a cot set against one wall of the room. She was still tied and gagged, but now she was naked.

Dylan tried not to think about what the slavers had done to her before his arrival. It would be tricky to free her and watch the man with the dreadlocks at the same time. He shoved the slave trader toward the shattered window.

"Your partner ran out on you," Dylan told him. "Go find him."

"How I know you won't shoot me in the back, Man?"

"If you're not through that window before I count to three, I'm going to shoot you anyway."

The slaver climbed quickly through the broken window, yelping as he nicked his leg on a shard of broken glass, then he pounded down the fire stairs and ran off into the night.

Dylan put his gun into his jacket and moved to where the girl lay on the cot. He tried to be gentle, but she flinched as he pulled the tape away from her mouth.

"Please don't hurt me," she pleaded.

"I'm here to help," Dylan told her. "What's your name?"


Dylan pulled a small knife from his tool roll and cut away the girl's bonds.

"We have to get out of here, Joanna. Where did they put your clothes?"

"On the floor, over there." She began to sob. "I'm scared. I want my Mommy."

Startled, Dylan looked at the girl more closely and the truth hit him suddenly. Physically, Joanna was eighteen or so. Mentally, she was about ten years old. No wonder the slave traders had found her to be easy prey. What was he going to do with her?

He retrieved Joanna's clothes and handed them to her. Realizing she would feel embarrassed by her nudity, he turned his back while she dressed herself. She had stopped crying, but she was still shaking.

"I'm going to take you home, Joanna," Dylan told her. "Can you walk?"

"I think so."

"Good. Let's go."

Dylan held Joanna's arm and helped her out of the house. The street outside was dark and empty. He saw that the black car was gone. As he and Joanna walked toward the teleportation station, Dylan tried to form a plan. He could keep Joanna at one of his safe houses until he could locate her family. He asked the girl where she lived, but her answers were confused. She was still traumatized by what had happened to her.

A dark gray limousine turned the corner, passed them, then stopped with a screech of tires and reversed itself quickly. Two muscular men in dark suits jumped out of the vehicle. Expecting an attack, Dylan reached into his jacket for his pistol.

"Joanna, where have you been?" one of the men shouted.

"It's Drax and Larry," Joanna said.

Dylan relaxed. Joanna knew these men and she was glad to see them. Maybe they were her relatives. One way or another, he would be finished looking after her and he could get on with his own life.

Both men smiled at Joanna.

"We've been looking for you, Kid," the larger man said.

"I was with him, Drax," Joanna said, pointing to Dylan. "He helped me put my clothes back on."

The two men glared at Dylan as though he had just crawled out from under a rock.

"You don't understand ..," he started to say.

He didn't have a chance to finish his sentence. Drax grabbed Dylan and Larry punched him in the groin. As Dylan sank to his knees in agony, Drax's huge right shoe collided with the left side of Dylan's face and everything went black.


Dylan awoke lying on his left side on a cold, smooth floor. A fluorescent glow came from somewhere above and he could see some shelves nearby that were stacked with cans and boxes. He must be in some kind of storage room.

His hands were tied behind him and his ankles were bound together. The left side of his face felt sore and swollen. When he moved his jaw, he was relieved that it didn't seem to be broken, but one of his side teeth felt loose as his tongue brushed over it.

He was a fool to try to help the girl. Now, he was trussed up in the same way she had been, except that nobody would be coming to his rescue. Dylan decided there must be truth in that old joke about no good deed going unpunished.

For the next few minutes, he rubbed his wrists raw trying to wriggle out of the strands of plastic that bound him. He had to get loose somehow. Sooner or later, those two goons would be coming back for him. When they did, his fate wouldn't be pleasant.

While he was still struggling, he heard a door open behind him, then Drax and Larry stood over him.

"Let's go, Sport," Drax said. "We're taking you to meet with somebody."

Each of them grabbed one of Dylan's arms and they hauled him to his feet. Dragging him like a sack of flour, they went down a hallway and into a room where a woman with gray streaks in her dark hair sat behind a desk. Dylan was startled to recognize Judge Susan Carver, known to his peers as "The Angel Of Death" because of the harsh sentences she assigned to those convicted in her court.

Judge Carver was reading from a flip up view screen as Drax and Larry brought Dylan into the room. She looked up and nodded.

"Put him there," she said, pointing to a chair set in front of her desk. "Untie him, then leave us. I'll call if I need anything."

The two men pushed Dylan onto the chair. Larry pulled out a knife and cut the strands binding Dylan's arms and legs, then he and Drax left the room, closing the door behind them. Judge Carver turned to Dylan.

"I apologize for the way my men treated you. They're very protective of Joanna."

"I noticed that," Dylan said as he rubbed his chafed wrists. "How is she?"

"Doing well, considering what happened to her. I suppose you've guessed that Joanna is my daughter. Also, I'm sure that you've noticed that she's very .... young for her age. It used to be worse. She has made a lot of progress, but it takes time."

"Why was she out alone at night?" Dylan asked.

"I always have someone with her, twenty-four hours a day. Joanna told my housekeeper that she was going to bed, then she slipped out to visit some friends. She got lost in the city and those slavers found her wandering the streets. You know the rest.

"Joanna told me about how you rescued her. I owe you a great debt, Dylan, but I'm puzzled. I did a background check on you and everything in your records shows that you're an incorrigible thief. Why did you help my daughter?"

"I don't know," Dylan said. "Anyway, I'll have to watch my back from now on. Those slave traders will try to kill me for spoiling their fun."

"You needn't worry about that. Joanna was able to describe both men well enough for my people to pick them up. They've been taken to a house that I keep out in the country. It has a soundproof basement with walls and floors that are lined with tile, so they can be hosed down easily. Considering what's happening to both of those animals right now, I'm safe in saying you're the last thing on their minds."

Dylan felt cold as he thought about how close he had come to being in that basement, screaming along with the other two.

"You seem to have quite an organization, Your Honor," he said.

Judge Carver smiled."Who do you think controls the crime syndicates in this city, Dylan?"

"Nick Barrino."

"Wrong. Barrino is just a figure head. Think again."

Suddenly, Dylan realized how easily a judge could monitor police activities. Who would suspect a judge with a reputation for hard nosed law enforcement? He grinned in admiration, then winced as his swollen face started to throb. Abruptly, he wondered why she was telling him all this if she planned to let him live.

The door opened and Joanna walked into the room.

Judge Carver frowned. "Joanna Darling, Mommy told you to never come in here while she's having a meeting. Besides, you should be resting."

"I know, Mommy, but I want to talk to him," Joanna said, pointing at Dylan. She turned to him. "You never told me your name."

"My name's Dylan."

"Thank you for helping me, Dylan. You're a good person."

"You don't know anything about me, Joanna."

"I know that you're nice. I have a present for you."

She held out a small glass figurine of a unicorn.

"He's my favorite," she said. "I want you to have him."

Dylan felt touched and embarrassed at the same time.

"Look, Joanna, you don't owe me anything..."

"Please take him. He'll bring you good luck."

Dylan took the figurine and turned it in his hand, watching it sparkle in the light, then he put it into the pocket of his jacket.

"It's beautiful," he said. " Thanks. I hope you're right about the luck."

"Run along now, Darling," Judge Carver said. "Dylan and I have things to discuss."

Joanna hugged Dylan, kissed her mother and left the room.

"I have something else to show you, Dylan," Judger Carver said. She reached into the drawer of her desk, pulled out a small cloth bag and turned it upside down. Out spilled the ruby necklace and the earrings that Dylan had taken from Lady Daltry.

"Drax and Larry found these in your clothes."

Dylan reached for the jewels, but she pulled them away.

"Finders keepers, Dylan. Please don't accuse me of being a thief. The irony would be too much."

"Is this your idea of my reward for helping Joanna?"

"In a strange way, it is. You're a clever young man, Dylan. You've been fairly successful as a thief, but you're too soft to be a criminal in the cesspool that this city has become. Only the utterly ruthless can survive out there and most of them wont live for very long. If I let you go back to your old trade, you'll soon be found face down in some dirty alley."

"I can look after myself," Dylan said.

Judge Carver laughed. "Is that why you're sitting here, bruised and a captive? No, Dylan, my reward to you for helping my daughter will be something you need but don't want. These jewels will pay for the costs involved."

She pressed a button on her desk, bringing Drax and Larry back into the room.

"Get him ready," Judge Carver said. "You both know what to do."


Dylan felt dazed sitting aboard the space shuttle. For two weeks he had been drugged repeatedly by people in hospital greens as they repaired his teeth, remodeled his face and lightened the color of his hair.

He was despondent about his situation. After all the years he had spent clawing his way up from the street, becoming a successful thief, had it all come to this? He was being run off the planet like some amateur punk.

Drax and Larry had made sure he boarded the shuttle. At the departure gate, Drax held out a thick brown envelope.

"Your future's in here, Sport. There's a passport issued in your new name, a personal history that you'd better memorize, a one-way starship ticket to Elsinore and a cash card with enough Galactic credits on it to keep you going for six months, if you're careful. After that, you're on your own."

Larry handed Dylan a small suitcase and a carry on bag."I put in a couple of changes of clothes, shaving gear, that kind of stuff. Enough to take you to Elsinore."

The two men had been almost cordial. Now, he was on the shuttle as it climbed out into space. He switched on the viewer over his seat and watched Avalon drop away beneath him. Going to Elsinore might not be so bad after all. It was a newly settled world. There would be plenty of gullible rubes there who were careless about protecting their valuables. He would have to start at the bottom again, but a talented thief should be able to make a good living.

Dylan needed to prove something to himself and he saw his chance when a fat man wearing a lime green suit moved along the aisle toward him, searching for a seat. Dylan stood up, tripped and fell heavily against the obese stranger, nearly knocking him over.

"Hey! Watch where you're going," the fat man growled.

"Sorry," Dylan mumbled in embarrassment.

The man glared and moved on, finding his own seat several rows down the aisle. Dylan smiled, reached into his jacket and pulled out the mark's wallet. He examined the contents carefully. While most of it was junk, there was a cash card inside that might buy Dylan some new clothes.

As he shifted in his seat, Dylan felt a lump in another pocket of his jacket. Pulling the object out, he saw the little glass unicorn that Joanna had given to him. He turned the figurine in his hand for several minutes before putting it back into his pocket.

"I think you dropped this," Dylan told the fat man as he handed him the wallet. He left the mark gaping in surprise and returned to his own seat.

The view screen overhead showed stars now, as the shuttle approached the starship docking station. Dylan let his breath out in a long sigh.

"All right, Joanna," he said. "I'll try to go straight, but it won't be easy."


2005 by George J. Condon

G. J. Condon

After serving in the Canadian Armed Forces, George J. Condon worked in several career fields before finding his niche as a computer security specialist with The Bank of Nova Scotia. George and his wife live in Toronto where they try to enjoy the entertainment that the city has to offer. George has published stories previously in Aphelion (The Shores of Night, April 2005) and in Planet Magazine.

E-mail: George J. Condon

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