The Defenders

CHAPTER 6

Starship Thieves!

No sooner had the ejector mechanism cycled than space itself erupted in a blinding inferno of raw energy as both Gorn-Hoffs fired ranging shots—at precisely the wrong time for the HSTS, which had come through only half of Brim's intended escape maneuver. The little ship's hull took tremendous blast waves along its whole spine, which thwanged audibly like a child's elastic band. The local gravity pulsed and every loose object in the cabin took on a life of its own, caroming off the walls as if they were old-fashioned projectiles. The next instant, their whole Universe seemed to go mad in a cataclysmic explosion of light and silent concussion that spiked their Drive into silence. The starboard Hyperscreens shattered in a great confusion of flying crystal shards while Brim braced himself, waiting for the final instant of pain that would reduce him to atoms....It never came.

Panting in his suit as if he had run a hundred c'lenyts, he looked around the cabin—as his companions looked at him in obvious surprise.

"By all that's holy to the Gradygroats," Onrad whispered timidly. "D' you suppose we're dead?"

"N-no, Your Majesty," Aram quipped in a shaky voice. "I don't think so. Otherwise, we wouldn't be watching that." He pointed out through the remaining Hyperscreens.

"By Voot's great, greasy beard," Oodam whispered in a reverent voice, "we g-got the bastards."

Outside, both Gorn-Hoffs had barged past them on momentum alone and were now diminishing in the distance whipping and looping through aimless circles, completely out of control. Each had apparently lost a "wing," one starboard and one port. Space around them was filling with lifeglobes. "You put that torpedo right between 'em, didn't you?" he said.

"I tried," Brim said weakly, just now getting his breathing under control.

"Voot..."

The HSTS itself was now rapidly losing velocity, coasting down toward the great constant of LightSpeed, to which all HyperLight vehicles must return without Drive power to keep them going.

"Now what?" Aram asked.

"I was afraid somebody was going to ask that," Brim whispered, "'cause we sure can't stay here.

This place is gonna be full of rescue vessels in a matter of cycles—and none of 'em will be speaking Avalonian."

"Got a point there," Onrad said. "But lifeglobes're out for me. I can't be captured alive."

Brim nodded. He understood. "Can you restart the Drive?" he asked Aram.

The A'zurnian bent to his systems console. Miraculously, it still appeared to be operational.

"Drive's dead," he said presently. "The crystal itself checks out, but there's no way I can route power to it. The control system probably fused out during the energy surge when the torpedo got those two Leaguers."

Brim nodded; he'd been afraid of that, too. "What about the grav?" he asked. "Can you start that?"

''Yeah," Aram said after some moments of consideration. "But we won't have much control."

"Right now," Brim said, "we only need enough control to get the xaxt out of here. After that, we can worry about finer maneuvering." -

"But how are we going to get below LightSpeed?" Aram asked. "We need the Drive for braking, don't we?"

"The Fullstop," Brim said, pointing to a red button beneath a clear plastic plate at the lower right of the readout panel. "It has its own paths to the Drive."

"Holy Voot, I didn't think of that," Aram said. Every vehicle that operated in space had one—by intergalactic law. Otherwise, disabled ships could drift forever. Typically, the devices stored enough energy to bring ships to a full stop from whatever speed they were making at the time of failure.

"Hit it, then," Brim commanded. "Those two Gorn-Hoffs are probably drifting at close to 30M

LightSpeed. That'll put a lot of distance between us."

"Everybody strapped down?" Aram asked, sliding the plate from atop the red button.

"My restraints are powered," Onrad said, nodding toward his armrest control panel.

"So're mine," Brim answered.

"Mine, too," Beyazh said.

"Wilf?"

"Yeah. Go!"

Aram mashed the red button and their Drive activated immediately—at full power, shaking the already weakened spaceframe like a leaf in a windstorm. Brim was thrown painfully against his restraints while loose items in the littered cockpit once more took on a life of their own. The remaining Hyperscreens burst pulverized from their frames, and outside, the view of the Universe went crazy again—this time in all improbable colors of the rainbow as the ship quickly slowed toward HypoSpeed.

Slowly, the rainbow fused to crimson—then, haltingly, orange-outlined silhouettes began to appear out of the chaos. One moved, then another.

"We've made it!" Onrad shouted.

"Looks like," Brim said tensely as the wrecked cabin defined itself around him. Finally, normal vision returned. "Aram," he demanded. "What about those systems?"

"Fullstop's empty," the A'zurnian chuckled.

" And?"

"Grav looks workable, Wilf. But everything about this little tub is shaky now. Best we get her down somewhere—and soon."

"Er... when we're down..." Onrad began.

"When we're down...?" Brim prompted.

"Same as the lifeglobe thing," the Emperor said quietly. "I can't be captured. The last thing before that happens, one of you shoots me. Understand? You've all got side arms."

Brim winced, then nodded. So did the others.

"Swear it!" Onrad snapped. "Don't think of me, xaxtdammit think of the Empire!"

"I swear..." Brim said presently.

"So do I," promised Beyazh in a tight voice.

'And I," whispered Aram.

"Let's get this thing on the surface, then," Onrad said.

Brim called up a HoloMap of the area on his navigation display. Manipulating the image, he homed in on the nearest Effer'wyckean frontier stars, then searched for ones with human-habitable planets. Moments later, most of the pinpoints of light dimmed considerably. Three, however, increased in brightness. One orbited a star directly on the 'Wyckean Void. When he "touched" it with a logic pointer, a dialog box appeared at its side.

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Effer'wyck:

Frontier, Zone HN31.6 (G.V)

Star FTR8459/33.4S499 (typc-1)

Planet 3: Bra've (local appellation)

Habitable, anatomy types 2, 9, 9A, 13-21, some 25s (see Note CH-234)

Rotation period: 31 Standard Metacycles

Remote population centers: none dominant

Heavily forested in temperate band

History: greatest growth during mid 4800 century when population reached est. 645,000. Since then, gradual urban drift plus declining birthrate.

• General agriculture

• Ancient ruins: lost civilization

NOTE: Suspected advanced base for League Squadron 88.4 " Angrieff": 44+ GA 87 starships.

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"Not a lot of choice," Onrad grumbled.

"It's closest, so it's the choice," Brim said firmly. "Turn up your battlesuit cooling units. With no Hyperscreens, it's going to be a little hot in here during reentry, regardless of how much I ride the gravity brakes...." With that, he put the helm over and set course for the little planet its inhabitants called Bra've.

The little Effer'wyckean planet had long since ceased to reveal its curvature. The sky was still nearly black, a deep bluish purple, but it was no longer possible to see the stars as they appeared in outer space. The little Type-1 luminary star—never officially named according to Imperial records—had already outshone all its galactic siblings. Below, forests, rivers, and occasional cleared areas or fields were now visible in the dusk of late evening, including a large cold front that flickered with lightning and gave them a bump as they passed between some of its higher storm clouds.

Brim worked the controls delicately, attempting to get everything he could out of the ship's little gravity generator before it failed—which it would clearly do some time in the near future. Judging by the sounds coming from behind the rear cabin bulkhead, one, or more likely both, spin rotors on the primary thrust unit (which were also used in braking during landfall operations) had lost magnetic bearing units, and were now thumping and hammering dreadfully each time he changed the power setting. Inside, the cramped flight bridge looked as if it were victim of some disastrous fire, courtesy of their reentry heat, which Brim had—only just—managed to keep within the parameters of Imperial battlesuit cooling units.

Raging flames that blasted through the empty Hyperscreen frames had been enough to melt and char nearly every item of organic origin. "A xaxt of a way to treat an Emperor, by Voot!" Onrad had chuckled at the height of the inferno. He'd been joshing, of course, but Brim agreed with him anyway. It was a xaxt of a way to treat a Carescrian, too.

"Hey, look at that!" Aram exclaimed, his voice scratchy on the voice circuit because much of the insulation had been burned from its exposed connectors, "Down there, about a c'lenyt off to starboard."

Brim forced his attention from the ship for a moment to a majestic hill rising green from the darker colors of the forest. Crowning its summit was a tiny village surrounded by an ancient stone wall and lighted by the fading twilight. It dominated the surrounding countryside like some great tanwahr's eyrie.

As they glided closer, they could see the outline of a Gradygroat abbey that looked as if it had been built at least five centuries before the galaxy formed. Beyond, not more than another ten or fifteen c'lenyts, a small lake reflected the night sky from what appeared to be a heavily forested valley. Lowering the nose judiciously, he pulled back on the gravs to hush their passage, then took a deep breath. "I'm going to put us down on that lake ahead," he said while the grav renewed its frantic thumping.

"Sounds like the decision wasn't all yours," Aram chuckled grimly.

"The ship did have a big vote in it," Brim admitted.

At that moment, the grav gave a last, convulsive shudder and went quiet.

"I think it's changed its vote," Aram observed in the abrupt silence.

"WON-der-ful," Brim grumbled. "Just thraggling WON-der-ful," He ground his teeth. Without its grav, the HSTS could still outglide a brick, but not by much. He could pretty well estimate their point of impact by momentum alone—but it was dark down there—except for lightning flashes from the storm they'd passed.

"Oh, great!" Beyazh swore. "Look off to starboard. If that isn't a Leaguer base, I'll eat my helmet. The lights are just now coming on."

"Don't ruin your teeth, friend," Onrad said quietly. "Nobody'll take your bet. Those are Zachtwagers parked along the taxiways."

Brim had only a moment's glance to confirm their verdict— that was all he needed to get the essential message. "So much for sneaking onto this bloody planet," he groused. "Everybody within a hundred c'lenyts must have heard the gravs go."

"They didn't have to," Beyazh said. "We've clearly set off every proximity alarm on the base by now."

" If they hadn't got enough warning already from those two Gorn-Hoffs we gonged," Aram added.

"Pull your straps tight as you can make 'em, everybody," Brim cautioned, snugging down his own recliner belts until they hurt. "And set your battlesuits for minimum freedom," he added with a twinge of envy. He couldn't protect himself the same way. He had to keep his own suit flexible so he could fly the ship.

"Got you," Onrad said stolidly.

The others only grunted.

All that remained now was the steering engine. Brim would use that at the moment of impact in a final, desperate effort to soften their crash. And the forest itself—for they were heading rapidly into a lofty stand of gigantic trees. Just before impact, he switched on the landing lights and desperately picked two stout oaklike dicotyledons that looked as if they were just slightly farther apart than the width of their hull. If he could steer between them, the stout-looking disruptor winglets on either side would be ripped from their mountings, taking a lot of energy with them before the main hull hit anything more solid than brush. "Here it comes!" he warned and snapped off the lights.

After that, things happened much too quickly for anything but raw reflexes. The trees flashed past in a blur against the last vestiges of twilight, then in one terrible moment of concussion and noise, the whole Universe seemed to go wild in blinding sparks as the disrupter mountings tore free against the trees. Brim stood on the starboard rudder and for the slightest fraction of a moment he heard the steering engine whine. The ship skidded sideways in a cloud of broken branches and debris from the forest floor, sheering off trees as if it were some sort of forestry harvester. In the final moment, all he could see directly in their path was the biggest, thickest tree his benumbed mind could recall. He fumbled for the freedom control on his battlesuit, swiped it toward minimum at the same moment that unbelievable concussion brought a personal galaxy of bright flashes to his closed eyes... followed by soothing darkness that swept all other sensation in its merciful path....

Onrad's voice seemed to be coming from somewhere a long distance away.... "I think the poor bastard's still alive...."

"Your Majesty?" Brim groaned.

"Wilf...?"

"Yeah."

Stretched out uncomfortably on his back, the Carescrian could just pick out three figures bending over him in the darkness. His helmet was open and the cool, damp smell of the forest was strong in his nostrils. Distant lightning flashed fitfully, its distance-muffled thunder arriving only after a long delay. Yeah, he thought. The forest.... He'd survived the crash after all.

"Thraggling miracle you're still with us," Beyazh said. "You must have stiffened your battlesuit at the last possible click, otherwise you'd be smashed to jelly."

"Anything feel broken, Wilf?" Aram asked.

Brim spent a few moments moving various parts of his body. Everything felt sore, but... "I think I'm all right," he said tentatively.

"Can you get up?" Onrad asked.

"That's what I'm going to try next," Brim said, rolling over onto his stomach. Carefully, he drew his knees beneath him. So far, so good. Next he pushed his trunk and head erect to a kneeling position and turned his head this way and that. What remained of the HSTS lay in a dark, crumpled heap some twenty irals distant against the darker bulk of the giant tree.

"How's everything feel?" Beyazh asked.

"Like somebody once said," Brim quipped as he pushed himself arduously to his feet. " 'A little pain never hurt anybody.' But I have just redefined the term 'sore.' "

"And?" Onrad demanded as lightning flashed through the trees again.

Brim limped a few highly experimental steps while the muted thunder came again, "I tkink I'm all right," he said in real amazement.

"Thank Voot for that," Onrad swore. "We've got to get moving. These woods will be alive with Leaguers at dawn."

"All right," Brim agreed tentatively, "but to where?"

"Well," Onrad said grimly, "I've been thinking about finding our way to that hilltop village we saw back there."

"There's also a Leaguer base in the same general direction," Aram reminded him over more thunder.

"I know," Onrad said. "But you're going to take care of both problems for us."

"Me?" Aram asked, then groaned with the same breath. "Of course!" he snorted. "I've been spending so much time in space that I hardly think of flying by myself anymore."

"How about that singed wing of yours?" Brim asked.

Aram shrugged. "It's flyable," he said, unsealing the wing covers of his battlesuit. "I practice every time I get on the surface where there's a bit of room." He looked up momentarily as lightning flickered in the sky, then began to unlimber his great wings like an athlete readying himself for competition.

"Takes care of that," Brim laughed. "But after we find the village—then what?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Onrad admitted. "But where there's a village, there are bound to be Effer'wyckeans. And I can't believe they have any love for the Leaguers who are sacking their country."

"Got a point there," Beyazh agreed thoughtfully. '"There's got to be more help there than out in the middle of the woods."

"What do you think, Aram?" Onrad asked, his face lighted momentarily by lightning.

"I'm ready to go anywhere," the A'zurnian said while a freshening breeze noisily rustled the high treetops, "just so long as we get going."

"Wilf?"

"Sounds good to me," Brim said. "I certainly can't think of a better plan, although I think that storm's definitely headed our way. Do you fly in the rain, Aram?"

"Haven't melted yet," the A'zurnian quipped, "It's settled, then," Onrad said. "Now, what about weapons? We got anything but our side arms?''

"Yeah," Aram quipped, "as we say in A'zurn, 'You can get more with a kind word and a blaster than you can get from a kind word alone.'"

"True," Beyazh chuckled. "Well," he said, pointing to a long, badly dented metal box. "I dragged this out of the wreck while you were working on Brim. It says it's a survival kit, but I'm xaxtdamned if I can get it open."

"Probably jammed," Onrad offered after having a go at the lid himself.

"I'll take care of that," Brim said, making his way cautiously into the wreckage. A few clicks later, he returned with a stout metal rod about three irals in length. "Found me a 'Carescrian persuader.' " he chuckled darkly, and made for the box. Moments after a rending screech of metal against metal, the box lay open. "Always was good at precision tools," he said proudly.

"So I see," Onrad laughed. "Or rather don't see."

"It is sort of dark here," Beyazh agreed.

"Not anymore," Brim said, feeling through the contents blindly. "I'll bet this is...."

"A flashlight," Onrad exclaimed as a dull glow illuminated the box's interior.

"And thoughtfully preset at minimum intensity," Brim said admiringly. "We really didn't need a bright flash of light right now, although that lightning must be messing up their orbiting light sensors in a big way." He quickly inventoried the contents: a week's rations (anatomy types 2, 9, 9A, 13-19), four rapid-firing BL-58 blast pikes with sixteen energy cartridges, a case of thirty-six proton grenades, eight rapid-cure battlesuit patches, a first-aid kit (831-B radiation, anatomy types 2, 9, 13-19), four backpacks with climbing gear, and a second flashlight. "Not bad for emergencies," he observed with a grin and passed out the blast pikes. Wiping the last clean of preservative gel, he slotted a power cartridge in place and ran a self-test sequence on the powerful weapon's tiny status panel. Moments later, a ready indicator glowed softly beside the safety switch.

"This pike's looking good," Onrad said over a loud roll of thunder.

"Mine, too," Aram said.

"Bad power cartridge here," Beyazh grumbled, heaving the finned cylinder into the wreck.

Brim tossed him another. That did the trick.

"Aram," Beyazh asked, "how much can you carry when you fly?"

"I'm pretty well out of shape," Aram admitted. "Probably I could carry a blast pike with this battlesuit on, but someone'll have to carry my backpack while I'm up."

"You won't be carrying anything on these missions, my feathery friend," Brim said. "The proximity sensors those Leaguers will be using scan for synthetic materials and metals. In a forest like this, they'll be specially set to ignore birds and the like. Even big ones."

"You've got a point, Wilf," Aram said. "I guess while I'm up, then, somebody will have to carry all my stuff."

"No problem, there," Onrad said.

"All right," the A'zurnian said, looking up through the trees, "Since we're in sort of a clearing here, I think I'll have my first look right now." Presently, he was out of his battlesuit, his reddish feathers black in the near darkness.

"You going to have any trouble finding us from up there?" Brim asked.

"I was thinking of that," Aram answered. "Probably the best way is for you to use the flashlight.

In the dark I've always been able to return pretty close to where I took off, but forests like this begin to look the same from about five hundred irals on down."

"That light'll also show any orbiting Leaguers where we are," Beyazh warned.

"I'm pretty sure our storm will take care of that," Brim said.

"Right," Aram agreed, "Besides, you won't flash it until you hear me calling. I'll simply fly a grid pattern in the general area until I hear one of you yelling or I see the flashlight blip. How's that?"

"Sounds good to me," Onrad said. "May Lady Fortune smile on you."

"By Voot's beard, may she thraggling crawl in bed with you!" Beyazh swore.

"I think I like that even better," Aram returned with a chuckle. Then slowly his great wings began to beat the air. Moments later, he rose majestically into his own natural element.

Brim felt shivers race along his back as the A'zurnian became a dark shape among the stars and then disappeared completely. Now that, he thought with a smile, was flying!

No more than a quarter metacycle later, they heard singing coming from above the trees.

"There once was a flyer from Zeight," the voice went. "Who traveled much faster than light. ...

He left one day in a relative way.... And came back the previous night...."

"Hey, Aram," Brim shouted into the night sky. "Over this way!"

"Which way?" asked the voice after a rumble of thunder.

"Over here.'"

"Say again!" This time, Aram's voice was closer.

"Over here!"

"Yeah," Aram said. "Blip the light—at glow. I think I'm right above you.'1

Brim set the flashlight at glow and blipped it once.

"That's enough," Aram warned, "I'm comin' in."

Immediately, Brim watched an area of sky become even darker, and moments later Aram was down.

"How'd it go?"

"Piece of cake," Aram said. "Aside from the wind—which is definitely getting worse as the storm approaches. But we have to get going right away. I spotted three search groups coming through the woods in our general direction. They must be starsailors, 'cause they're making enough noise for two battle groups of soldiers." He paused for a moment. "Listen," he said. "At least until dawn, I'm going to take my helmet up with me and stay there while you three walk. The helmet's so small it'll look like static on their proximity alarms, and we can stay in touch with the secure voice circuits. Besides that, I'll be able to track you without the flashlight and I can keep you on the most direct route possible."

"We've got nearly ten metacycles before it gets light," Brim said, looking at his timepiece. "Can you stay up that long?"

"Depends on the storm," Aram said, looking up as lightning flashed through the trees. "If I get tired, I'll let you know. Anybody have problems with that?"

"None here," Brim said after a moment. "It's clearly our best chance."

"All right," Onrad said, "let's split up the rest of this gear and get moving."

Within half a metacycle, they were on their way, Brim and his two nonflighted cohorts marching and stumbling single file through the forest at the direction of a large "bird" flying over head. Bringing up the rear, Brim found himself chuckling in spite of the desperate circumstances. Here we go again, he thought to himself. Funny how things went in a war. It hadn't been that long ago he'd been afraid he might be bored with his job as Group Leader....

"So how you doing up there?" Brim asked into the helmet microphone of his battlesuit. Aram had been aloft for nearly a metacycle, now, and from the rush of the wind, the storm was about to break.

"It's a little bumpy up here," Aram answered, "but I'm fine aside from that." He chuckled. "You're the poor sods who have to carry backpacks. How's it going with you?"

"If it weren't for the honor of the thing, I'd rather be in a starship myself," Brim quipped.

"Yeah," Aram agreed. "I know what you mean."

"Where are you, anyway?" Brim asked.

"About two c'lenyts from you—over the Leaguer base."

"Anything going on there?"

Aram laughed. "Until the rain started, it looked like an anthill somebody poked with a stick," he said. "Now, they're pretty much settling down."

"Probably waiting till morning to come looking for us," Brim suggested.

"That's my take," Aram assented. "And... wait a moment," he said. " Here's something interesting."

"What?" Brim demanded.

"Hang on..." the A'zurnian said.

A much longer, louder rolling sort of thunder came from the direction of the base: clearly the sound of a starship landing on a Becton tube. The first drops were filtering through the trees and the wind smelled strong with rain. Nearly a quarter metacycle passed before Aram came back on the line.

"One of those little Gorn-Hoff 219s just landed," he reported excitedly. "You know, the executive starships their High Command uses for the VIPs."

"Yeah," Brim said. "Two Helmsmen, twin spin-gravs on pylons aft, eight or so passenger seats.

Plush."

"You've got it."

"And...?"

" Big brass," Aram replied as lightning flooded the forest with momentary brilliance. Rain was now falling steadily, and the wind had become a constant moaning in the treetops. "The base people sent a limousine skimmer to meet it. Soon as the 219 rolled to a hover, a couple of black-suited Controllers got out, and the ship moved back out to the ready area at the launch end of the Becton tube. It's sitting there right now with the hatches open and the crew loafing around outside."

"So?" Onrad asked. "What do you have in mind?"

"So that 219 would sure be a sporty way to get back to Avalon," Aram said. "I'll bet it's even ready to take off."

"You mean steal it?" Onrad demanded.

"Absolutely," Aram replied.

"Damn," Onrad chuckled thoughtfully. "A Leaguer executive transport. Now that appeals to my sense of comfort. And, oh, wouldn't it just provoke the miserable bastards!"

"Maybe it's a trap," Beyazh suggested cautiously.

"I doubt it," Onrad said after a pause. "They don't even know we're alive, much less anywhere near their base. Aram. How far away are we from the ship?"

"The 219?" Aram asked.

"No, the thraggling Benwell," Onrad snapped.

"Er... sorry," Aram said in an embarrassed voice. "You're less than half a c'lenyt away."

"Good," the Emperor said. "Brim, do you think you could get that bucket of bolts started? I know you read Vertrucht."

"It's damn well worth a try," Brim answered. "I'd rather take my chances with that Gorn-Hoff than a village full of frightened Effer'wyckeans."

"Yeah. Me, too," Beyazh said. "But it's really up to you, Your Majesty. You're the one most at risk tonight."

"I say, let's go for it," Onrad said without a pause. "I'll damn well spend the night in Avalon if I have my choice.1'

"Next stop, then, Avalon," Aram declared. "Turn approximately one hundred points to your right and start moving as fast as you possibly can."

"Got you," Onrad said, looking up through the drenching rain. Without another word, he started through the sodden undergrowth with Beyazh and Brim in his wake.

After nearly half a metacycle of rough going, the A'zurnian ordered them to halt in a clearing.

"What's up?" Brim asked.

"I'm coming in for my battlesuit and a knapsack with some of those grenades," Aram said. "It's the next part of my plan." Moments later, he appeared overhead., "I'll also need the flashlight again to get all the way down."

"You've got it," Brim said, opening his visor and slitting his eyes against the rain as he looked up to blip the light.

Presently, the A'zurnian splashed to the ground. "You're no more than five hundred irals from the field boundary," he explained a little breathlessly.

"You getting tired?" Brim asked, handing him the battlesuit.

"No more than from a long, fast walk for you," Aram said, "against the wind. Don't forget, at home, this is my normal mode of getting around." He struggled into the battlesuit as best he could in the heavy rain. "Now," he continued, "here're my thoughts. First, there's a mesh barrier about sixteen irals high surrounding the base. I couldn't see it from the HSTS, but it's there and the support posts carry powerful lights. I assume the mesh itself is lethal."

"Good assumption," Beyazh interrupted. "I've seen those fences before. They'll kill at about two irals' distance."

"No surprise there," Aram said. "I'll get back to that in a moment. Right now, I need to tell you about my plan. First, I'll want everyone at a point just short of the cleared area surrounding the fence—directly opposite the 219 we're going to, er, 'borrow.' Got that?"

"So far, so good," Brim said.

"All right. I'll take some of these proton grenades and fly to the opposite end of the base where they have a lot of temporary buildings and hangars. They took the bigwigs there in the limousine skimmer.

My guess is there're stored flammables in some of those shacks—stuff that grenades could set to burning in short order."

"That'll get their attention," Onrad said.

"Right you are, Your Majesty," the A'zurnian continued. "At least that's what I hope for. That'll give you three the opportunity to cut an opening in the fence with your blast pikes, then make a run for the 219."

"And take care of the crew," Onrad said.

"And get it running," Brim added, knowing whose job that would be.

"While you're off doing the easy stuff," Aram quipped, "I'll continue to drop grenades here and there to keep the Leaguers occupied."

"And once we've got it ready to take off, you'll fly back and the four of us will take off. Is that it?" Onrad asked.

"That's my plan," Aram said, placing his helmet back on his head. "But we'll all have to hustle.

It's getting tough to fly up there, and the battlesuit's going to make it worse."

"How many of these grenades can you carry?" Brim asked, handing over one of the fist-sized ovals.

Aram bounced it a few times in his hand while thunder split the night like a disrupter salvo. "With the battlesuit and the knapsack, probably a dozen or so," he said presently. "Zaxt— maybe one more for good fortune, too."

"You sure?" Onrad asked. "You've been up there a long time."

"Thirteen," Aram repeated firmly.

"Thirteen it is," Brim said, testing the grenades carefully, then placing them in an empty knapsack.

When he was finished, he handed it to Aram who clutched it by one of its straps in his left hand. "See you in the 219, my friend," he said.

Aram gripped Brim's shoulder. "You get that Leaguer bucket of bolts started, Wilf. I'll be there—count on it." Then, with a drumming of wings, he was gone, crabbing almost sideways as the wind carried him along.

The three waited only a moment for their first guidance.

"Turn about three points to your right, and go!" Aram ordered in a voice tight with strain.

"Got you," Brim answered, grinding his teeth. The young A'zurnian was fast reaching the end of his energy rope. Evidently, Onrad had heard the same bad news, because he was fairly running in the darkness. It was going to be a near thing!

Lights began to shine through the undergrowth after only a few moments. "Looks like we're there, Aram," Brim reported. "What do you see?"

"You're there," Aram assured him. He was breathing with effort now. "There's a patrol of sentries heading your way on the outside path, but I can't wait any longer. I've got to drop a couple of these grenades."

"Start dropping 'em," Onrad ordered. "We'll take care of the sentries." Then he turned to his two companions. "Ready?" he asked, unslinging his blast pike.

"Ready," Brim assured him, bringing his own weapon to hand.

Beyazh only nodded. He'd been carrying his at the ready for the last quarter metacycle.

After that, it seemed an eternity passed until a pealing discharge boomed out of the distance.

"Let's go for it!" Onrad thundered, and took off through the last of the trees like a land crawler, Brim and Beyazh at his heels. They stopped just short of the clearing, and Brim poked his head through the underbrush.

"Gorksroar," he swore, dodging back into the cover. "Hold everything!" he whispered. "Those zukeed sentries are no more'n a couple irals away." Three gray-suited Leaguers had stopped to peer through the fence at a rising cloud of smoke and flame coming from one of the hangars.

"What about the 219?" Oodam asked in a hushed voice.

"It's right where Aram said it would be," Brim answered. "Crew and all, less than a thousand irals inside the fence. But we've got to do something about those guards before we worry about anything else." He thought for a moment. "Let me try it alone. The less noise we make, the better."

"Go for it," Onrad whispered.

Thumbing off the safety, Brim waited until a second grenade rent the downpour, then burst into the clear. Before the startled Leaguers could turn to face him, he cut the first two down with a high-energy blast that burned them completely in half.

The third Leaguer, clearly faster than his unfortunate comrades, threw himself to the ground while he swung his own pike to the ready.

Brim likewise dived for the ground, but before he could aim his BL-58, the Leaguer leaped to his feet with a sideways motion—directly into the killing radius of the fence. With a blinding flash and a loud, sputtering hiss, he was instantly reduced to clouds of greasy blue smoke and steam, attracting the attention of the 239's Helmsmen who had been standing in the downpour while they watched the mysterious explosions with obviously growing concern.

"Get the fence, xaxtdamnit. Now!" Brim yelled as the third grenade detonated somewhere in the midst of the Zachtwager parking area. With that, he began to spray the deadly barrier with his blast pike.

The mesh resisted momentarily, until, under attack from three powerful beams of energy, it shredded in a blinding flash of loosed energy, sparked noisily for a moment on either side of the smoke-filled rift, then returned to silence, while the 219's crew gawked in bewildered amazement. By now, sirens were filling the air, and every light in the base was burning.

When the fourth grenade explosion momentarily recaptured the attention of the two Leaguer Helmsmen, Brim and his two comrades took off through the fence at a dead run. The two bewildered Leaguers spun around once more and did a fast double take at the three figures in Imperial battlesuits splashing through die downpour at them with large blast pikes. Desperately groping for their side arms, both made for the shelter of the 219, but a volley from Onrad's blast pike cut one of them down before he'd covered ten irals. The second dived for the ground and scampered through a puddle toward the ship on his hands and knees.

It gave Brim the few clicks he needed.

The Leaguer scrambled into the hatch, but as he tried to pull the circular door shut behind him, Brim arrived and desperately shoved the barrel of his blast pike over the dripping sill. The door stopped with a jarring crunch, and Brim heard the Leaguer shout with fright and anger. He looked up through the rain into the crack just in time to sight down the trembling barrel of a powerful Zspandu-50 blaster held by a glaring, mustached Helmsman in gray uniform. The next thing he sensed was the loud crack of a discharge—followed by a muffled splash as the Zspandu tumbled onto the ground in front of his eyes.

"Got the bastard," Oodam said matter-of-factly, swinging the door open again. "Bet he had your wind up."

"N-nonsense," Brim said over a rolling volley of thunder. "I'll get fresh underwear soon as we get back to Avalon...."

The next explosion wasn't a grenade. Even in the midst of his wild sprint, Brim could see it came from the Zachtwager parking area: source of a glowing cloud of reddish smoke or steam and tumbling debris that billowed swiftly into the morning sky. The whole base had become a chaos of sirens, rain, explosions, lightning flames, and confusion. He heard the fifth grenade go off just as he pulled himself into the 219. A headless Leaguer leaked blood across two luxurious seats upholstered in priceless ophet leather. Fighting back his gorge, he threw the body over a stack of wooden crates strapped to the deck at the rear of the passenger compartment, then ran forward to the little ship's flight bridge and flung himself into the Helmsman's station.

By flashlight, the instrument panels looked normal enough. Of course, they ought to, having clearly been designed for use by five-point people (anatomy types 2, 9, 9A). Before him, a queer-looking crystal about the size of his fist was secured at its base to the glare panel and attached to a temporary-looking box on its right by a number of bright-colored cables. Clearly, some experimental device, but at the moment, not very interesting.

"The master switch, dammit," he mumbled to himself. Where is it?

Outside, lightning revealed a number of soldiers splashing toward the hole blown in the barrier.

He'd expected the broken mesh to report its damage to Security, but the damn Leaguers were out to fix it a lot faster than he'd dreamed! Aft, in the cabin, he could see Onrad and Beyazh guarding the hatch with their blast pikes, the remainder of the grenades piled neatly in the aisle. They'd thrown the other Leaguer's body from the hatch.

Just then, another grenade went off outside—a lot closer than the others. He'd lost count, by now, but the A'zurnian must be getting to the bottom of his knapsack.

He willed himself calm by scanning the panels again for the master switch. Between the two consoles, he located the generator temperature gauges, and below them what must be an energy bypass actuator. Next to it was the graviton cutout control, and the cooling-flap levers with their indicators.

Temperature gauges, regulators, boost controllers. All there.... The grenade explosion was followed immediately by a clap of thunder he could almost feel. He'd found die Hypospeed propulsion cluster, all right. And the Drive cluster was clearly below that. But where was the xaxtdamned master switch?

Everything on the thraggling starship was worthless unless he could find it. He jumped as lightning blasted the early-morning twilight.

Wait! There right in front of his nose among the controls! A big red switch marked zomort,

"starter." He snapped his fingers in annoyance. It wasn't with the systems stuff at all. Damn Leaguers! He pushed it in, and every panel in the flight bridge began to glow. Universe!

Now to start the xaxtdamned thing. He scanned the panels for a power regulator; he knew there had to be one of those somewhere.... Shaking his head, he gave up. It would simply have to be in the right position. Once again, he concentrated on the Hypospeed cluster: the gravs. First things first. His eyes stopped for a moment at a large green slide mechanism, but he had no idea what that was for, and decided to leave it right where it was.

Unfortunately, things weren't quite that easy. He knew that GA 87s flew below LightSpeed on spin-gravs, but what type were they? The Leaguers installed both interchangeably, but each had a different starting sequence. "ZN-type," spin-gravs required hitting the start circuit for a few clicks before keying energy boost. Otherwise, the plasma field could be drowned and the whole starting sequence would have to be repeated—after waiting for the revolutions to reach zero.

On the other hand, "YZ" types required the starter and energy boost to be applied simultaneously. And if boost were keyed more than a few moments before—or after—start, short-circuiting could actually damage the interrupter mechanism. Unhappily, no one had yet invented a workable coupler.

Taking a deep breath, he knew he'd have to guess. Somewhere on board the ship was a set of manuals he needed. But he had no time to search for it anymore. Wiping steam condensed on the Hyperscreens, he glanced outside where more sentries were splashing along the fence, accompanied by a small skimmer that mounted a large roll of mesh and numerous tool boxes. So far, they hadn't noticed the bodies near the hatch—or considered them important enough to interrupt their fence mending.

Then he looked aft toward the port spin-grav at the end of its stubby "wing" pylon. Its teardrop housing had two rows of cooling doors just below the interrupter assembly. He'd seen both ZN and YZ types with them, but the latter were much more likely to need extra cooling because of the energy required by simultaneous use of both systems.

"Wilf!" Aram's haggard voice came over the battlesuit circuits. "I'm down to my last two grenades," he gasped. "How're you comin' with the ship?"

"I'm ready to try a start sequence," Brim replied. "You all right?"

"A lot better now the knapsack's empty," he said, "but this damn battlesuit feels like it's made of lead and the wind's just plain bad."

"Can you last awhile more?"

"A little while. But hurry,"

"Right, then. Drop those eggs as far away from us as you can, then keep your altitude till I call. If I can't make this bucket of bolts fly, make for the village on your own. No sense in all of us being caught."

"Got you," Aram answered, but Brim hardly heard; he was back with the controls. There was no time to lose!

First, he started the auxiliary power unit and watched the instruments begin to register. Next, he toggled the energy-change switch and gated the power impeller. Two green indicators marked vladam-A and vladam-E showed he'd successfully set the plasma. He nodded. Now for the gravs themselves.

Outside, he could hear shouting, now. He switched on the clearview and watched the Hyperscreens clear. A lot of gray-clad soldiers were running toward the hole in the fence. Nearly all of them glanced curiously toward the 219, but continued doggedly on their way.

Brim muttered silent thanks for the Leaguers' propensity to follow orders absolutely, then grimly switched the starter to tovo, or "port." Scanning the rest of the instruments for a moment—none seemed out of tolerance—he cracked the thrust damper, then hit zomort and roth-ta (energy boost) at the same time. Instantly, the spin-grav whined, its interruptor strobing brightly. "One... two... three..." he counted as the strobing increased linearly. At "ten," he mashed the enable button—the spin-grav fired, caught for a moment, but sputtered and died as he delicately worked the thrust damper.

"Gorksroar!" Now, he had to start all over again.

"What happened?" Onrad demanded from the passenger compartment as lightning crackled somewhere downfield— accompanied by an earsplitting crack of thunder.

"Don't know," Brim admitted furiously. "Probably too little on the thrust damper." Keeping himself just under control, he reset everything, retoggled the energy-change switch, and once more gated the power impeller. The indicators marked vladam-a and vladam-e returned to green, and he cracked the thrust damper a second time.

With sweat running along his ribs, this time, he pushed the damper a hair farther. Too much, and he'd really bollix things up. The shouting was getting much louder outside, and a number of black-uniformed Controllers had garnered in a circle around the ship. Far down the field, he could see the limousine skimmer pull onto the perimeter road in clouds of spray! He squeezed his eyes shut while he contemplated shooting Onrad!

Heart in his mouth, he hit zomort and roth-ta. Obediently, the spin-grav whined, its interrupter strobing. "One... two... three..." he counted. At "ten," he mashed the enable button again. Once more the spin-grav fired, caught almost instantly, but again started to sputter and die, shaking the whole spaceframe no matter how he worked the thrust damper.

Then it came to him. The green slide. That was the thraggling power regulator! With a shaking hand, he nudged it toward the middle of its track and... the failing grav deepened in timbre and rapidly smoothed out into steady thunder.

"Aram!" he shouted as he started the second spin-grav.

No response....

"Aram! Can you hear me?"

"Yeah, Wilf. She started?"

"Just now. Get your feathery ass down here right away."

Brim never had a chance to hear his answer, for at the moment, a tremendous hubbub began outside the cabin, He glanced to his left just hi time to see at least twenty Controllers rush the 219's hatch through ankle-deep water, side arms at the ready. The jackbooted Leaguers immediately fell back under a withering barrage of fire from Onrad and Beyazh, who had finally shown themselves at the door.

Moments later, the few survivors were in full retreat, splashing pell-mell for whatever shelter they could find while they shouted wildly at another squad of gray-clad soldiers who were clearly still on the way to deal with trouble that might come through the damaged fence. And they were armed with blast pikes, enough of them to seriously damage the 219!

The still-disciplined soldiers immediately unslung their pikes, and began advancing in a unit behind an extremely capable-looking noncom with a look on his face that nearly froze Brim's blood.

" Com'on, Aram!" Brim yelled into the voice circuit. "Time's a'wastin'!"

As he spoke, a tremendous explosion tore the very center out of the advancing Leaguer formation, breaking the soldiers' discipline and sending the few survivors off in every direction.

Heartbeats later, a form dropped to the ground and leaped through the hatch. "All right," Aram yelled breathlessly, "let's get the xaxt out of here!"

Working the steering engine with his feet, Brim pushed the thrust dampers forward and the little ship began to move toward the entry port of the Becton tube. As Onrad slammed the hatch, everything outside seemed to be erupting in little waterspouts speckled with dirt clods and debris as the Leaguers called up heavier disrupters—at the same moment the limousine skimmer pulled directly into Brim's path.

Two officers jumped out, completely ignoring the storm and arrogantly began to fire their side arms at the Hyperscreens. Brim didn't mind running them over, but he didn't want to hit anything quite as solid as their limousine, so he bumped the steering engine to port.

Too much!

"Oh, GORKSROAR!" he bellowed as the 219 careened all the way around in a circle and headed for the limousine again—this time one of the brass hats splashed off in a most undignified manner.

The other however—blond, square-jawed, and strikingly handsome in a somehow familiar manner—peered for a moment at the 219, stepped cautiously aside, then pocketed his blaster with a great, swashbuckling grin. Next he waved his sodden cap, grinning as if he had suddenly recognized an old acquaintance—which clearly he had. Brim recognized him at the same instant.

"Kirsh Valentin." he whispered more to himself than anyone else—his long-time adversary through two wars and a number of years deceitfully labeled "peace." The blasted Leaguer could do nothing to influence the situation either way—and seemed to be enjoying himself immensely as his long-time rival made a fool of himself at the helm of a small starship!

Almost blinded with sweat, Brim returned the grin in spite of himself and waved back, only nudging the steering engine. He got past the limousine this time with merely a loud scrape as the ship's ventral safety cladding removed most of its passenger compartment.

Then, abruptly, they were at the portal. Carefully prodding the thrust dampers forward, Brim switched to local gravity and nudged the ship onto the glowing tube. "Hang on back there!" he bellowed, standing on the gravity brakes and shoving the thrust dampers all the way to their forward stops.

As thunder filled the control bridge, a dripping Aram slipped into the co-Helmsman's seat and buckled in. "Think she'll fly?" he quipped as rainwater ran from his feathers and collected in puddles on the cabin floor.

"We're going to find out right now!" Brim answered grimly, and glanced back at the still-grinning Valentin, who had just raised his hand in a casual salute. In spite of a sodden uniform, the Leaguer's smile was infectious. Brim returned it again—and the salute—then released the brakes. Instantly, the little ship surged forward through the sheeting rain, staggering along the Becton tube until Brim hauled back on the unfamiliar controls—a bit too soon! The ship lifted only for a moment, then sank uneasily back to the tube. ''Fly xaxtdamnit!" he urged. "FLY!"

This time, the 219 lifted again, still too early for comfort, but Brim's innate skill as a Helmsman kept it airborne—amid howls of protest from the flight warning system. He could almost feel Valentin's scornful laughter on the back of his neck. Moments later, however, the little ship began to steady as it bumped and clawed its way blindly into the storm. Soon, they were accelerating toward LightSpeed.

"Aram, you got the Drive figured out yet?" he demanded.

The A'zurnian hesitated only a moment. "What's a Czambell?" he asked.

"A Drive crystal," Brim translated.

"Then, I've got it figured out," Aram whooped. Presently, a deep growl began to build beneath their feet. "Avalon, here we come!" he chortled happily.

"Yeah, Avalon," Brim repeated. Now, it might actually be true. Their 219 could outspeed any of the clumsy Zachtwagers back at the base, and with a little luck, they'd be well into the Void before the Leaguers could call in anything faster. Unfortunately, the bigger trick would be figuring how they would get anywhere near the Triad in a ship with the red daggers of the League painted boldly on either side of its hull. He felt for his new Effer'wyckean timepiece to clock their passage and... "It's thraggling gone," he exclaimed angrily, checking all the pockets of his borrowed battlesuit.

"What's gone?" Aram asked, looking up in surprise. "Is there something wrong with the ship?"

Brim shook his head in exasperation. "No," he grumped, "there's nothing wrong with the xaxtdamned ship. I've just lost my new timepiece back there, the one I bought in Luculent just before Effer'wyck threw in the towel, Gorksroar!"

"You thinking of going back after it?" Aram joked.

"No," Brim said, throwing a bogus punch across the little flight bridge. "But if someone ever finds it, they'll know I've been there. I even had my name engraved on it." He thumped the armrest.

"Damnation," he pouted. "I'd hate to think of some thraggling Leaguer enjoying my timepiece. I never owned one that good before."

Aram frowned. "Probably won't matter much if people know you were there."

"Yeah," Brim agreed, shaking his head in disgust. "Let's just hope Onrad didn't drop his, too...."

Just to be on the safe side, Brim set a roundabout course for home: an old smuggler's trick he'd learned from Baxter Calhoun. The enemy base had begun broadcasting demands for a general interception before he could even accelerate into HyperSpace. But as soon as the little 219 passed above LightSpeed, he made a sharp turn—directly into the path of a fierce gravity tide— then fought his way through raging streams of gravitons parallel to the Effer'wyckean frontier, dodging in and out of spacecoast stars for nearly half a metacycle before he actually set course for home. The ruse clearly worked (as others had over the centuries, according to Calhoun), for KA'PPA communication was abruptly flooded by calls from every Leaguer warship in the area—all heading at their best speed for positions along a line of flight leading directly from the base to the Triad.

"The bastards are really after us, aren't they?" Aram remarked after watching the static-filled KA'PPA display for a few moments. "I've never seen 'em make so much of a fuss."

"You're right," Brim agreed. "It's like they've forgotten about everything else. Just look at the KA'PPA—Your Majesty, you need to see this—they've even recalled a couple of raids that just got started for Avalon."

Onrad stepped to the flight bridge. "Where's the KA'PPA on this Leaguer garbage scow anyway?" he demanded.

"Right here, Your Majesty," Brim said. "Right below this big crystal 'thing.' "

The Emperor frowned and stared at the crystal. "I'm no Helmsman, but I've never seen anything that looks like that. What d' you suppose it is?"

Brim laughed and turned in his seat. "Got no idea, Your Majesty," he said, "and I've never seen anything like it, either. I think it's only a temporary mount, though. And the ship handles fine without it, so...."

Onrad nodded and turned his attention to the KA'PPA, which if anything was even more active with messages now. "By Voot," he swore, "they're raising a lot of fuss about losing one little transport. D' you think they know I'm on board?"

Brim shrugged. "How could they know?!'

"Couldn't be any of the survivors at the BKAEW satellite," Onrad said with a frown. "That place is so classified, nobody who's even a slight risk gets in." He shook his head. "It's got to be coincidence."

"Thraggling WON-der-ful," Brim grumped as KA'PPA traffic requesting help with the search continued to build. As the little 219 sped homeward, they even received an angry rebuke from a passing GH 262 because they hadn't joined in on the search for the Weg'wysershmook ship. He frowned for a moment. "Weg'wysershmook?" That was a word in Vertrucht he hadn't often heard. Its derivation had something to do with glass or mineral crystals, though. But then, he only had a good working knowledge of the Leaguer language; he was far from being an expert in technical terms. Chuckling grimly, he KA'PPAed back (in perfect Vertrucht) that his ship was flying a secret mission and that they would find themselves in serious trouble if they attempted further communication.

KA'PPA transmissions from the Gorn-Hoff ceased immediately.

Brim's chuckling ended not more than a quarter metacycle later, however, when the 219's proximity alarm wailed and the little ship was suddenly blasted off course by a tremendous explosion that ripped the very fabric of space not more than a thousand irals to port. A ranging shot, clearly. Brim swung in his set just in time to see four Imperial Starfuries turn onto his tail—at such a reckless speed that they were on top of him before he could make the slightest move. Pitching heavily in an area of gravity turbulence, the sleek, deadly ships outclassed the 219 in everything, especially size and in speed. There seemed little hope of escape.

"I used to think they were rather attractive starships," Aram quipped grimly, swiveling in his recliner.

"Yeah," Brim answered. "Surprising how your mind can change about things. Get on the KA'PPA and see if you can...."

Space went wild as all four Starfuries opened up at the same time, battering the little ship in a zigzag path with tremendous explosions to port and starboard.

Self-preservation instincts took over Brim's reflexes. Defying everything he knew about spaceframe safety, he kicked the steering engine hard to starboard, pulled the helm right back, then sideways in one seamless movement. The violence of the maneuver took him by surprise, too. Even the Hyperscreens blacked out in confusion and the whole ship groaned in strident protest. As the others shouted in consternation, Brim was flung violently against his restraints, grunting in pain while his shoulders and pelvis were nearly crushed by the straps.

But it saved them... .

When the screens cleared, Brim found he'd put the little ship on its back in relation to the Starfuries, which—surprised at his unexpected movement—passed by in a great rush of gravitons. Again, entirely by instinct, he pulled the helm and straightened out, running the powerful Leaguer Drive at military overload directly into the teeth of the graviton stream. Somehow, the little Gorn-Hoff managed to stay in one piece.

Saved for the moment, he thought—but for what? There was nowhere to hide, and the Starfuries would be back on him in a moment.

"DON'T SHOOT. WE'RE IMPERIALS," Aram KA'PPAed.

"What's going on?" Onrad demanded in a dazed voice. "Those're Starfuries out there."

"Couple of loyal subjects, Your Majesty," Brim said as the KA'PPA display remained blank,

"merely doing their duty for the Empire."

"You mean...?"

Brim ground his teeth, trying to stabilize the little 219 as best he could—his attitude indicators had been confused since the first disrupter shot. "The bastards are thraggling playing with us!" he explained.

"We're just a couple of Leaguers to them."

"They must know we're unarmed," Oodam complained in an outraged voice.

Brim tried all the controls. Everything seemed to answer. Normal Drive crystal temperature—the bastards hadn't hit anything vital. "Armed or unarmed," he replied at length, "smoking us to space dust counts toward somebody's score."

"Universe," Onrad whispered.

"Here they come again!" Aram warned as a great flash of light and energy concussion blasted them sideways.

Brim skidded toward the blast, just as a second explosion erupted in the position they'd occupied only moments before. "Poor shooting," he growled to no one in particular. "Must be a couple of rookies."

"EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY!" Aram KA'PPAed amid Brim's violent maneuvering and the murderous near misses. "WILF BRIM IN GORN-HOFF 219 WITH FLUVANNIAN

AMBASSADOR AND SPECIAL PASSENGER UNDER ATTACK BY STARFURIES. PLEASE

ASSIST. PLEASE ASSIST."

Abruptly, the shooting stopped—but not because of the messages. Peering out the Hyperscreens in surprise, Brim watched a brace of Gorn-Hoff 262s streak in from HyperSpace behind two of the Starfuries, one of which exploded in a huge, roiling ball of radiation flame. There were no lifeglobes—the cold-hearted Imperials had paid the price for negligence. The remaining three Starfuries immediately dismissed their smaller prey and turned to meet the Leaguers, their disrupters flashing brightly in the blackness.

Brim needed no urging. Putting the helm over once again, he drove off across the void in a straight line for Avalon.

"EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY!" Aram KA'PPAed again. "WILF BRIM IN GORN-HOFF

219 WITH FLUVANNIAN AMBASSADOR AND SPECIAL PASSENGER UNDER ATTACK

BY STARFURIES. PLEASE ASSIST. PLEASE ASSIST."

Moments later, the KA'PPA came alive—only now, the language it displayed was Vertrucht.

"GLAD TO ASSIST, MY OLD ADVERSARY," it read. "I LOOK FORWARD TO GREETING

YOU—AND YOUR 'SPECIAL PASSENGER' IN EFFER'WYCK. YOU WILL, OF COURSE, CEASE KA'PPA BROADCASTING." It was signed simply, "VALENTIN."