Then it was time to check the placement of his body. If he was grounded or standing in a puddle of water, Werkmor would need a new PM.

  He opened the tool as far as it would go and prepared to cut the center cable. That was the one, right? Rogan tried to visualize the schematic he’d seen, but nothing appeared. Wally’s voice sounded in his head. “Quit screwing around down there . . . The CO2 bots weren’t able to put the fire out. Cut the power, damn it.”

  Rogan closed his eyes, made the cut, and waited to die. The fire alarm stopped. “Nice going!” Wally said. “The power’s off and the belt is still operational. I’ll send more droids. They can fight the fire with water now.”

  Rogan felt an almost overwhelming sense of relief as he stumbled away. It felt good to be alive. Lights came on as he entered the truck. Suddenly he was tired—very tired—and wanted nothing so much as a nap. So he put the tools away and went back to collapse on a bunk.

  Sleep carried him away.

  • • •

  The fire was out—and so was Rogan. That left Wally with some free time. And because the cyborg could monitor what took place inside Rogan’s house, he could watch what guests did as well. That included the Ag heads—not because he was suspicious of them but because spying on people was fun.

  However, what started out as a bit of idle entertainment soon turned into something else as Olafson posted a sentry on the porch and ordered the rest of them to search the house. It soon became apparent that he had a particular interest in Jennifer Tran’s room. Olafson looked in her closet, in her dresser, and under the bed, all without finding what he was looking for.

  So it didn’t take a genius to realize that the Ag heads weren’t Ag heads. There was no way to know what they were after, but given Wally’s estimation of Tran’s character, he figured it was money or something worth money.

  So, Wally thought. What should I do? Tell Dan? If I do, he’ll realize the full extent of my surveillance capabilities, and that could place an unnecessary strain on our relationship. Or should I tell Tran? Maybe she’ll leave sooner than planned. And that would be good. Wally was about to contact Tran when all hell broke loose.

  • • •

  “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

  Rogan thought the voice was part of a dream, so he rolled over. But the voice wouldn’t go away. “Dan . . . Seriously. Wake up. We have a problem. A big problem.”

  Rogan opened his eyes and found himself looking at the bunk above him. The fire! Maybe it wasn’t out after all. His boots hit the deck. “What happened?”

  “One hundred and fifty-six ships just dropped into orbit.”

  “Okay, that’s it. I’m going to go up there and kick your ass.”

  “This is no joke,” Wally insisted earnestly. “I’m serious. More than a hundred and fifty Hudu ships have arrived, and according to an anthropologist named Dr. Matti Meyers, three hundred and sixty more are on the way. Moms is furious.”

  Rogan could imagine the problems that Moms and her crew faced. As the rail gun fired containers up into orbit, the crew had to make sure they got aboard the right freighters. The sudden arrival of so many ships would make the task more difficult and increase the chance of a collision. “Why?” he demanded. “What are the Hudu doing here?”

  “Apparently, according to Dr. Meyers, this is where they come to die. It all dates back to the days before the planet was terraformed.”

  Rogan was aghast. “How many?”

  “As I understand it, about fifteen thousand Hudu plan to die. And the rest will want to attend the ceremonies.”

  Rogan’s mind was reeling. “And how many is that?”

  “A million and a half Hudu, give or take. They should start to arrive shortly.”

  “We’re screwed.”

  “Yup, that’s about the size of it.” There was nothing left to say.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Hudu are a little-known race said to number fewer than two million individuals. They live aboard huge spaceships and travel from planet to planet, cutting business deals as they go. Some people claim the Hudu are unscrupulous, but it’s possible that their detractors are individuals who, having been bested in a business deal, qualify as what the Hudu refer to as “sorry-assed losers.”

  (Excerpted from the Business Section of the Crumby Times, Multimedia Matrix 187.6.)

  Calag Planet 4782/X

  In spite of his vociferous objections, Leo had been chosen to coordinate the dying. So he and two assistants (gofers) were give the task of landing on what was currently designated as Calag Planet 4782/X. The purpose of the mission was to make contact with the resident corpies and take care of whatever arrangements (bribes) might be required.

  Meyers had requested permission to go along. She wanted to document every aspect of the Hudu death rites and thought it would be nice to breathe some fresh air as well.

  Leo had responded to the request with the lack of graciousness typical of his kind. “Although taking the Meyers female (of no familial status) along will constitute a heavy burden, I will allow it in order to enhance production of the historical record (marketing materials) that she has responsibility for.”

  So Meyers was allowed to follow as the Hudu led her through a labyrinth of passageways and out into an area that Leo identified with a series of high-pitched squeaks and the translator referred to as “the pod deck.” The name made sense, since hundreds of egg-shaped pods could be seen between the tree trunk–like structures that connected floor to ceiling.

  The pods were green and covered with what looked like scales but were actually overlapping heat-resistant tiles, each of which could withstand temperatures up to three thousand degrees Fahrenheit. As Leo approached a pod, it produced an explosion of phosphorescence. That was when Meyers realized that the egg-shaped space shuttles were similar to the ship itself in that they had emotions. Or were they mere expressions of the larger vessel? Still another mystery to solve.

  As Leo touched the pod, a slit opened to provide an oval shaped opening. The Hudu entered and Meyers followed. Once inside, she saw that a so-called happy tooth occupied the center of the space, with 330-degree seating against the curved sidewalls. Meyers took her place between Leo and a female she called Nomi. All of them strapped in. “Okay,” Leo said as he placed a small holo deck on top of the “tooth.” “Focus on the image you’re looking at and a desire to go there.”

  “How will you launch the pod?” Meyers inquired.

  “The ship will push it out through its skin (hull) and eject it into space,” Nomi answered.

  “So it has a propulsion system?”

  “No, Meyers female,” Leo responded. “It shares a propulsion system with the ship.” Meyers wanted to ask a follow-up question, but there wasn’t enough time.

  She felt a lurch, followed by a moment of vertigo and a touch of nausea. No one had to tell her. She knew the pod had been ejected into space. Three-dimensional images appeared in the air above the “tooth” and began to rotate so all the passengers could see them. Photos of a pristine ice world gave way to pictures in which monstrous gas-spewing terraforming machines inched their way across the planet’s surface and the weather began to change.

  Then via a series of time-lapse photos Meyers saw a preindustrial Earth-normal planet appear, complete with vast fields of wheat, sparkling rivers, and grazing aniforms. Finally there were shots of large mounds surrounded by rich grassland. It was a beautiful spot and she wanted to go there. The feeling was rewarded with a display of phosphorescence on the curved walls. The Hudu placed their hands on the “tooth,” and Meyers did likewise. The pod began to purr.

  • • •

  Elvas Werkmor was snoring. So, confident that it was safe to do so, Tran slipped out of her sleeping bag. Moving cautiously to avoid waking Werkmor, she gathered her belongings and crawled out of the self-inflating tent. She was naked and the night air felt cool on her skin. Her clothes, like his, were on the truck. The original plan was simple. Form a relationship with the executive and hitch a ride on his speedster.

  Then came the call from Wally. A bunch of agricultural inspectors who weren’t agricultural inspectors had arrived, and the leader was blond. Somehow, someway, Joman Jones had been able to follow her to Calag 4782/X and was searching Rogan’s home. Fortunately the bag full of money wasn’t in the house. It was nearby, however, and Jones might find it. That’s why she had to go back and retrieve the loot. Then, having alienated Werkmor, Tran would contact Moms and buy her way off Calag 4782/X. That was the plan.

  Servos whined as the hatch opened, and Tran felt a sudden stab of fear. What if Werkmor woke up? She could lie, of course, but it would be impossible to steal the truck if he was up and around. “Autopilot on. Prep for takeoff.”

  As the hatch whined shut and the engines began to spool up, Tran issued another order.

  “Lock the hatch. Disable external voice commands.”

  Werkmor was pounding on the door as the autopilot ran through the final part of the preflight checklist. When that failed to work, the executive backed away and circled around to the point where he could be seen from the cockpit. The wash from the truck’s rotating belly light blipped across the sector director’s naked body as he waved his arms and yelled words that Tran couldn’t hear. She couldn’t help but laugh.

  • • •

  The sun was up and Rogan wasn’t sure what to expect as he looked up into the sky and shaded his eyes. He was about a thousand yards away from one of the mysterious mounds.

  Why would the Hudu want to meet him there of all places?

  Rogan saw a dot appear above him. Then it turned into what looked like a pod as it grew larger. There was no glide path—just a straight drop. Rogan thought the shuttle was going to smash into the ground when the pod flattened out to become something that looked like a concave pancake. That caused it slow. The disk wobbled as jets of air stabbed the ground.

  Then, just prior to landing, the shuttle morphed into a pod again.

  A slit appeared and was transformed into an oval moments later. The first person to exit the spacecraft was a Hudu. Although Rogan had never seen a member of that particular race before, he’d seen pictures. The being’s small stature, loose-fitting skin, and raccoon-like muzzle were consistent with the pictures he’d seen.

  That Hudu was followed by two more and, last but not least, a human female. She had lots of curly hair and even features and was dressed in khakis. Various types of equipment hung all about her. And when their eyes made contact, Rogan felt a sense of recognition, as if they had met before even though they hadn’t.

  But rather than take the time required to analyze the feeling, he had to go over and introduce himself. “Hello, and welcome to Calag 4782/X. My name is Dan Rogan.”

  What he got in return was a series of high-pitched squeaks and squeals, like feedback from a PA system. “Sorry,” the woman said, “but you’re going to need a translator. We can share mine. I’m Mattie Meyers.”

  Rogan looked into hazel eyes and liked what he saw there. Intelligence, yes, but other qualities as well. Curiosity perhaps . . . and a touch of amusement, as if she was thinking about him, thinking about her, thinking about . . . Rogan forced his mind back to the task at hand.

  “Yes, thank you. What did he or she say?”

  “I can’t pronounce his name, so I call him Leo,” Meyers answered. “He said that you are to be congratulated.”

  “Congratulated? For what?”

  “For making good on Calag’s promise to take care of the planet the Hudu call Peace.”

  Leo spoke again, and now Rogan could understand him, thanks to the translator. “What the Meyers female (of no familial status) said is true. It is my privilege to inform you that we don’t plan to sue the Calag corporation.”

  Rogan’s head was spinning. “Sue? Over what?”

  “When we sold Peace to Calag, it was with the understanding that the planet would be properly maintained, our burial mounds would remain untouched, and we could return to process (inter) our dead. All of it is spelled out in Section 3701 of the title transfer agreement on file with the Confederation. So, as I said, congratulations. We assumed the company would fail to meet its obligations, thereby forcing legal action. A nice out-of-court settlement is always welcome.”

  The fact, if it was a fact, that Calag 4782/X had been purchased from the Hudu was news to Rogan. Meyers smiled. “The Hudu have a saying: ‘The only thing worse than dying is blowing a deal.’ ”

  “And that brings us back to the situation at hand,” Leo said pragmatically. “In order to carry out our death rites, we need to reactivate the structures stored underneath those mounds.”

  Visions of giant earthmovers, mountains of dirt, and bottomless holes filled Rogan’s head.

  The whole thing was a nightmare. “How long will that take?” he inquired, fearing the worst.

  “Five or ten minutes should handle it,” Leo said as he produced a pistol-shaped device. He aimed whatever it was at the nearest mound and pressed a button. Rogan waited, but nothing happened. “Listen,” he said, “maybe we should—”

  Leo held up a paw-like hand. “Hold that thought, Rogan male (of no familial status). I’ll be with you in a minute.” Then the ground began to shake, a rumble was heard, and the earth covering the nearest mound started to slough away. The reason for that became apparent when three bladelike arches appeared. And that wasn’t all. The ground continued to vibrate as more long-buried constructs rose to the surface. If Meyers was surprised, Rogan couldn’t tell, because she was busy documenting the process with a vidcorder.

  “Okay,” Leo said as the remote went back into its holster. “You had a question?”

  • • •

  “I’m a freaking genius.” That’s what Tran told herself at the time. Because who would think to look for the money inside a maintenance bot’s built-in tool compartment? But now, with Joman Jones on the ground, Tran regretted the decision. The droid carrying the loot was nowhere to be seen, and she lacked the means to summon it.

  The truck was a mile away, hidden behind a windbreak that consisted of fast-growing willows. From there it had been necessary to proceed on foot using her recently acquired knowledge of the terrain to reach the south end of the support building undetected. And that’s where Tran was, crouched behind a stack of empty cable reels, when she heard the crackle of electricity and a humming sound.

  Tran turned. The rateye was hovering three feet away. She got up and began to run, but the drone stunned her. Tran tumbled head over heels and wound up on her back. She could see a fluffy white cloud and the blue sky beyond it. Tran heard the crunch of boots on gravel and saw Joman Jones loom above her. “Hello, bitch . . . Where’s my money?”

  • • •

  Meyers had accepted Rogan’s invitation to stay at the house for a few days, and they were airborne when Wally’s voice came over the com. “Hey, Dan . . . We’ve got another problem.”

  Rogan sighed. “What now?”

  “Tran.”

  Rogan looked at Meyers from the corner of his eye. She was seated next to him. He liked her and wanted her to like him, so how to explain Tran? “What about her? She’s with Werkmor, right?”

  “Wrong,” Wally replied. “It’s kind of complicated, but here’s how I understand it. Tran stole some money and came here to hide. The Ag heads aren’t Ag heads. They’re after the money.

  Once Tran realized that, she left Werkmor and returned to the house. That’s where they captured her.”

  Rogan felt a deep sense of disappointment and embarrassment. Tran had never been interested in him. All she wanted was a place to hide. As for Wally, well, his story didn’t add up.

  “I think you left something out. How did Tran figure out that the Ag heads weren’t Ag heads?”

  • • •

  That was the part of the chronology Wally had hoped to skim over. Now he had to respond and do so without implicating himself any more than necessary. The key was to tell carefully selected parts of the truth. “I can see what’s going on inside the house when I need to,” Wally began.

  • • •

  “And when you don’t need to,” Rogan replied. “Go on.”

  “I saw that the fake Ag heads were searching Tran’s room, and figured I should tell her,” Wally said carefully. “She’s your girlfriend. I assumed that was what you’d want me to do.”

  The words had an edge, and Rogan could feel the weight of Meyers’s gaze. There was no reason to be embarrassed, but he was. And even though he had known Meyers for less than an hour, Rogan didn’t want her to think he was in a relationship. “She isn’t my girlfriend,” Rogan said, hoping Meyers would take note, “but she is a guest. You said they captured her. What do they want?”

  “They want to speak with you,” Wally replied. “In person.”

  “Okay,” Rogan said. “I’m on the way. Dr. Meyers is with me. Please forward messages from the Hudu if there are any . . . And, Wally . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “Send a grav barge for Werkmor.”

  “Will do.”

  Rogan heard a click followed by silence.

  • • •

  As a house and some outbuildings appeared in the distance, Meyers struggled to adjust.

  Suddenly, after months spent with the Hudu, she found herself in the company of a very interesting man, who, if she understood things correctly, was in the middle of a gigantic mess.

  One thing was for sure, though . . . Life on Calag 4782/X wasn’t boring.

  Rogan put the truck down well away from the house and ordered the autopilot to run the shutdown sequence. “I’m sorry about all this craziness,” he said. “Perhaps you should stay here while I speak with these people.”

  Meyers smiled. “Fat chance. I’m not very good at watching. I tend to get involved.”