Then, once the formation was to his liking, the noncom fell in at the head of the column three paces back from the man in the long, flowing robe. The crowd parted to let the formation pass, and as it did so, Alamy recognized her stepmother.

  Domna was in the process of consuming a meat pie as Alamy walked past, and when the big gob of spit hit her cheek, those around Domna laughed. Including the militiamen, who had no reason to favor the heavily made-up woman, or anyone else in the crowd for that matter. It wasn’t much of a victory, but one that gave Alamy a small measure of satisfaction, as she followed the men in front of her up the busy street. The question foremost on her mind, and others’ as well, was where were they being taken?

  But there was no way to know as they were led up Market Street, and from there onto Imperial Boulevard, which was a double-wide thoroughfare designed to inspire a sense of awe as people approached the palace. Of course it was also intended to facilitate a quick and expeditious movement of troops should that become necessary.

  Persus, who was walking beside Alamy, was the first to voice what all of them were thinking. And, as was her habit, the comment was hopeful. “Well, I’ll be damned!” the slave exclaimed cheerfully. “We belong to Procurator Nalomy! Life is looking up.”

  But as Hingo threw his hood back, and the group passed a gibbet from which three half-rotted bodies hung, Alamy wasn’t so sure. Because Nalomy’s reputation was anything but positive, there were worse things than going without a meal, and the blocky palace looked a lot like a prison. A gate swung open, the column marched through, and there was a loud clang as the barrier closed behind them. Alamy was home.

  The Plain of Pain, on the planet Dantha

  The foothills were closer now, or that was the way it looked as the Lir named Issit put one weary foot in front of the other, and Cato followed behind. Of course distances could be, and often were, deceiving on the Plain of Pain, as Cato had already learned. Based on how close the foothills appeared Cato had assumed that he and his prisoner would reach them by nightfall of the day before. But they hadn’t. So there they were, trudging across a large expanse of white saltpan, with the dark shadowy hills shimmering in the distance.

  It had been a long, torturous three days since Cato had taken Issit by surprise, and the two of them had been forced into hiding while a dozen members of the Lir’s extended family patrolled the skies above, searching for both the warrior and the Uman he had been assigned to monitor.

  But while Cato was hot, thirsty, and uncomfortable, the time spent with Issit had been productive since Cato had been able to learn more about the massacre at Station 3. Not the bloody details because Issit hadn’t taken part in the attack, but the identities of the clan leaders who were in charge, the name of the High Hold where they lived, and the fact that they had been acting on behalf of unnamed individuals in Solace. People who, for reasons unknown, wanted to seize control of Fiss Verafti. All of that was quite consistent with what Cato had discovered during his investigation.

  Was Issit telling the truth? There was no way to be absolutely sure; but, like all members of the Xeno Corps, Cato had something “normal” policemen didn’t, and that was a built-in lie detector. When a suspect lied to Cato, the empath could “feel” the increased anxiety associated with telling a falsehood—regardless of what species the person might belong to.

  That, at least, was good, but as an entire day and a half passed, and Issit’s relatives continued to search for the missing warrior, Cato’s water supply was quickly exhausted. So by the time the searchers finally gave up, and the unlikely twosome finally set off, both of them were extremely thirsty.

  But once Cato explained it was going to be necessary to shoot Issit before heat prostration overwhelmed him, the formerly taciturn Lir became suddenly voluble. Like the other members of his flock, Issit knew the Plain of Pain extremely well, including the location of half a dozen widely dispersed water holes.

  The claim “felt” truthful, so Cato allowed the footsore Lir to lead him to a large jumble of weather-sculpted rocks, where deep inside a hidden recess a pool of crystal-clear water was waiting. A small population of nearly transparent fish lived in the pool, and had for more than a million years, ever since the lake that once covered the Plain of Pain disappeared. They flitted this way and that as both sentients drank their fill.

  Once all of Cato’s canteens were full, it was time for the twosome to crawl back out of the recess, and resume their journey. Issit’s wings had been freed by then, but having been forced to carry more than half of Cato’s gear, the warrior was too heavy to take off. Not to mention the fact that Cato was armed and would shoot Issit if he tried.

  Having been fooled before, Cato was understandably cynical about how close the hills really were when something new appeared up ahead. Light reflected off one of them, and it had a hard, angular quality. And when Cato paused to examine them through his binos, he saw rows of computer-controlled solar panels that were set up to track the sun throughout the day and produce electricity for the city of Solace.

  That meant that Cato was very close to the freewheeling community of Donk’s Well, which had grown up around a good source of water, and the solar array, which employed more than a hundred technicians.

  When Cato stopped, Issit had been forced to do likewise, due to the eight-foot-long leash that was connected to his throat. So he was only a few feet away when Cato turned to address him. “I’ve got some good news for you,” Cato said cheerfully, as he restored the glasses to their pouch. “We’ll be in Donk’s Well by dinnertime. . . . So I’ll carry the pack for a while. You deserve a rest.”

  Issit was both surprised and pleased, because if the desert journey had been difficult for Cato, it had been doubly so for him given that his species wasn’t equipped to travel long distances on the ground. Not to mention the fact that Issit was alert to any chance of escape, and once freed from the weight of the pack, could easily take to the air. Assuming the Lir could sever the leash that is—which had always been within his power.

  So, having rid himself of the pack, Issit was ready when the Uman turned his back as if to take a pee, and immediately bit through the cord, something Issit’s razor-sharp beak could accomplish with ease. Then, having sprung up into the air, Issit began to beat his wings. Cato was going to shoot him, he knew that, but Issit preferred death to being led into Donk’s Well on a leash for all of the drifters, prospectors, and townspeople to stare at.

  Cato heard the steady whuf, whuf, whuf of the Lir’s wings and had a smile on his face when he turned back. There was a soft whisper as the handgun cleared leather, followed by a loud bang as the lawman fired.

  Issit was amazed to discover that he was still alive, and redoubled his efforts to gain more altitude, knowing full well that he was still within range. But Cato had returned the pistol to his holster by then—and shaded his eyes as he watched the Lir spiral ever upward. The warrior’s emotions were starting to fade but there was no mistaking the sense of jubilation and the fierce sense of pride that Issit felt.

  Would Issit tell his clan leaders how much information had been divulged to the Uman? No, Cato didn’t think so, and since he had no way to secure and house a prisoner, it served him to let the Lir go. Especially given the nature of the task ahead.

  So when Issit was little more than a high-flying speck, Cato took up the pack and pushed his arms through the straps. There was still a lot of ground to cover, but knowing that a cold beer was waiting for him in Donk’s Well, he was eager to get started. Cato began to walk, and as he did, his long, dark shadow pointed the way.

  The town of Donk’s Well, on the planet Dantha

  For those who lived in the community of Donk’s Well there were only two places to go after the sun set, Ril’s Bar, or the Universalist Church. And, given the fact that the local pastor spent most of his evenings in the saloon, it was clearly the more popular of the two.

  The long, rectangular room included a much-abused bar that ran the length of the left side of the room, a scattering of mismatched tables, and a small stage where a local band played every six days. But on that particular night there was other entertainment to be had in the form of a work-worn android who went by the name of Phelonious. The A-7276 utility droid was seated at a table around which half a dozen of the bar’s patrons were gathered, all of whom watched intently as the robot’s skeletal hands manipulated a set of matched measuring cups. They knew that a pea-sized rubber ball was concealed under one of the containers, but which one?

  When the cups eventually came to a stop, they formed a straight line. Phelonious eyed the faces around him. His plastiflesh face couldn’t register all the nuances that a real flesh-and-blood countenance could, but his stiff number two smile was serviceable enough. “So, my friends,” the android said genially. “Where’s the ball?”

  “That’s easy,” a bearded prospector replied confidently. “The ball is under the middle cup.”

  Phelonious lifted the middle cup, and sure enough, there was the ball! The robot frowned. “Everybody gets lucky once in a while,” he grumbled. “Let’s try it again.”

  The second go-round played out exactly like the first, except that a half-drunk solar tech made the call, which the rest of the onlookers took note of. Phelonious was visibly agitated by that time. “Okay,” the android said irritably, “it looks like everybody is lucky tonight! But it can’t continue—and I’m willing to bet on it.”

  The prospector raised two bushy eyebrows. White circles marked the hollows where sun goggles had protected his eyes out in the desert. “How much?”

  “If you choose a cup, and you turn out to be wrong, then I get to keep your money,” the robot replied. “But, if you get it right, then I’ll double your money! So a one-Imperial investment would pay off with two!”

  “I’ll take some of that action,” a high-pitched voice said, and all eyes went to the Kelf who was standing on top of the wooden table. His name was Belok, and, like all of his kind, the furry sentient was about three feet tall. His grandparents had been brought to Dantha to work in the high-altitude silver mines, where their small size and capacity to deal with wintry conditions were a real advantage, but Belok wasn’t interested in that sort of employment.

  Belok had a rounded head, beady eyes, and a short muzzle. He was dressed in a hand-tooled leather vest and matching shorts. Having climbed up onto the table so he could see what was going on, the Kelf waddled forward. The shiny Imperial rattled as it hit the table, then settled into place. Some of the others were interested in placing bets, too, especially on what looked like a sure thing, but were happy to let someone else risk their money first.

  Phelonious nodded gravely, raised the right-hand cup to remind everyone where the so-called pea was hidden, and put all three of the aluminum cups into motion. They circled, swooped, and finally came to rest. “Well?” Phelonious demanded, as he eyed Belok. “Where is it?”

  “Under the cup on your left,” the diminutive said unhesitatingly. And, when Phelonious lifted the shell, the ball was right where Belok said it would be!

  The android looked disappointed, and was forced to pay out two Imperials, as bets flooded in from all sides. The next bettor lost, as did the one who followed him, but the next gambler won. That served to stimulate the betting once again, and thanks to the fact that most of the participants had been drinking, none of the people gathered around the table noticed that the overall ratio of wins to losses had shifted subtly so that Phelonious was taking in more money than he was paying out. A result that was a foregone conclusion given the android’s ability to shift the rubber ball from one cup to another without being detected.

  So everything was going very well indeed until an off-duty lineman entered the saloon and went straight to the bar to get a beer before wandering over to join the crowd. That was when a look of anger appeared on his weathered face. “What the hell is going on here?” he demanded loudly. “The robot is cheating you! And so is the Kelf! They work together. . . . I saw them run the same scam over in Tolly’s Crossing.”

  That announcement produced a brief moment of silence, followed by a roar of outrage, as the crowd turned on both coconspirators. But the larcenous duo had been in such situations before and knew what to do. There was a soft pop as Phelonious triggered a smoke grenade and rolled it under the table. Then, as a cloud of thick gray smoke billowed upward, people collided as they sought to grab onto the con beings.

  Meanwhile, the patter of small feet could be heard as Belok crossed the table, made the leap onto his friend’s back, and was careful to hold on tight as Phelonious ran for the front door. The android could see the exit quite clearly thanks to his alternative infrared vision.

  But the lineman had seen all of it before, and knowing what to expect, sought to rally the bar’s patrons. “Don’t let them get away!” he bellowed, and successfully led half the group out through the door and into the street beyond.

  Phelonious could run, but not fast enough, as one of the more fleet-footed members of the crowd tackled the android from behind and threw both con artists to the ground. “I’ve got them!” a townsman trumpeted triumphantly as he managed to grab Belok by the scruff of the neck and hang on to Phelonious at the same time. The rest of the mob arrived seconds later.

  At that point, the twosome was subjected to some very rough treatment as members of the crowd battled not only to recover their money but even more if that was possible. Once the rough-and-tumble process was over, it was time to mete out some vigilante justice. “Let’s take them to the pit,” the prospector with the beard proposed. “But remember. . . . Only one rock per person.”

  “What about the droid?” somebody wanted to know. “He ain’t no person!”

  “Wait!” Belok insisted, as he was hoisted over the solar technician’s head, and borne toward the town’s garbage pit. “This isn’t fair! We deserve a trial! Put me down!”

  But the crowd was in no mood for trials, so when the mob arrived at the edge of the man-made pit, they threw both of the miscreants down into the stinking hole. There were squeals of outrage, and rustling sounds, as more than a hundred red-eyed rot rats scurried away. There were no streetlights in Donk’s Well, so many of those present routinely carried flashlights, and a dozen blobs of light converged on the filth-covered twosome as they struggled to find firm footing on top of the latest layer of garbage. “Okay,” the prospector said. “One rock apiece! Let ’em have it!”

  There was a clang as one of the missiles hit Phelonious, followed by the unmistakable double-clack of a pump-style shotgun, as Jak Cato emerged from the surrounding gloom. The red dot projected by the weapon’s targeting laser slipped from chest to chest and that was sufficient to bring the stoning to a halt. Cato had just entered town and was still carrying his pack. “Hold it right there,” he ordered, as people turned to look at him.

  “Why the hell should we?” a grizzled drifter demanded defiantly.

  “Because I’m an Imperial law officer,” Cato replied calmly, and raised his left hand to prove it. Like all his kind, Cato had a phosphor badge that had been chemically “printed” onto the palm of his hand shortly after graduating from the Xeno Corps Academy on Regulus IV. He could trigger it simply by thinking about it, and, while visible in daylight, the device was especially effective at night. And the bright green glow left no doubt as to the extent of his authority.

  The solar tech swore bitterly. “Well, I’ll be damned. . . . A Xeno Corps freak in Donk’s Well! What’s this planet coming to?”

  “Not much,” Cato commented matter-of-factly, as he swung the shotgun from left to right. “But let’s see if we can’t maintain at least the appearance of civilization. Now drop the rocks, and crawl back into your various holes, or I’ll arrest the whole lot of you and let Procurator Nalomy sort you out.”

  That wasn’t entirely true, of course, since there was very little chance that Nalomy would back him, but the residents of Donk’s Well didn’t know that.

  There was grumbling, but the crowd melted away, as most returned to the bar. Cato waited until all of the townspeople were gone before stepping over to the edge of the pit. The light from his torch wandered a bit before spotlighting Phelonious and Belok. They were halfway up the other slope and clearly headed for the desert. “That’s the wrong direction,” the policeman said mildly. “Keep those hands where I can see them. . . . That’s right. Now turn around and come this way. I don’t know what you two did to make everyone so unhappy with you, but we’re going to have a nice chat.” Though long absent—the rule of law had returned to Donk’s Well.

  SEVEN

  The city of Solace, on the planet Dantha

  THOUGH LOCATED ONE STORY UNDERGROUND, Imood Hingo’s office was large and well-appointed. An abundance of sunlight had been piped in via solar tubes to provide the room with a sense of warmth. Well-chosen pieces of art conveyed a sense of restrained elegance, the huge granite-slab desk testified to Hingo’s authority, and the fact that it sat on a raised platform ensured Hingo’s dominance over those who came before him. However, comfortable though his surroundings were, there was plenty to worry about.

  Legate Isulu Usurlus was going to arrive on Dantha in two days, and there was a tremendous amount of work to get done prior to the dignitary’s arrival, which was why Nalomy had instructed Hingo to buy more slaves. The investment would probably pay dividends in the future but was something of a liability at the moment since the newly acquired slaves were untrained and had a tendency to make mistakes.