MEAN STREETS

‘I offer fair challenge,’ said the Dethak

Chris stood silent for a moment. Then he said mildly ‘How

can the challenge be fair? I have no sword.’

The Dethak threw him one of his swords. Chris caught it by

the hilt and studied it curiously. It was beautifully balanced,

relatively short, slightly curved and razor-sharp.

The Dethak bowed and stepped back a few paces,

remaining sword held high. ‘Fight!’

‘Sorry,’ said Chris. He tossed the sword to the ground, and

plunged his hand back into his pocket.

‘Then die!’ The Dethak sprang, curved blade held high.

T H E N E W

A D V E N T U R E S

MEAN STREETS

Terrance Dicks

First published in Great Britain in 1997 by

Virgin Publishing Ltd

332 Ladbroke Grove

London W10 5 AH

Copyright © Terrance Dicks 1997

The right of Terrance Dicks to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by

him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Bernice Summerfield originally created by Paul Cornell

Cover illustration by Fred Gambino

ISBN 0 426 20519 7

Typeset by Galleon Typesetting, Ipswich

Printed and bound in Great Britain by

Mackays of Chatham PLC

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real

persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be

lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in

any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar

condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

PROLOGUE IN MEGACITY

„Kill them. Kill them both.‟

The speaker stood at the picture window of the penthouse,

gazing out over Megacity. Gazing, rather, at the fog of

pollution which roofed the city. Only the tallest towers in

Megacity pierced through the perpetual murk. Only the very

rich and the very powerful ever saw Megerra‟s feeble red

sun.

The man hovering anxiously by the door was massive,

with a scarred, weathered face and hands the size of shovels.

He could have killed the neat, plump little man by the

window with a single blow. All the same, he was afraid.

He gulped and licked dry lips, nerving himself to question

the order. When he spoke his voice had a rough, gravelly

quality. „That might not be wise, Chief…‟

The little man frowned. „And why not?‟

„Well, if they really are Pinks…‟

„We‟ve no proof of that.‟

„Garshak is usually reliable. And you know what Pinker-

tons say, boss.‟

„Do I?‟

„They never let the death of an operative go unsolved - or

unpunished. They‟ll flood the planet with agents, ask all

kinds of questions.‟

„I can handle Pinkertons…‟

Sure you can, you arrogant little shit, thought the big man.

The biggest, most effective private-investigation agency in

this sector of the galaxy, but you can handle them. Out loud

he said deferentially, „Pinkertons are very big and very

persistent. They could give us a lot of trouble - especially

now.‟

„Why especially now?‟

„Well, what with the Project under way…‟

„And exactly how much do you know about the Project?‟

The voice was mild and enquiring but the big man felt a

sudden chill. In his peculiar job, to know too little was

dangerous. To know too much could be fatal.

He kept his voice calm. „Just what everyone knows, that it

exists, and that it‟s big.‟

The little man nodded. „Quite so. When you need to know

more you‟ll be told.‟ He frowned suddenly. „You say every-

one knows this much?‟

„Well, everyone seems to be talking about it. Barmen,

hovercabbies, petty grafters. So if this is a sensitive time,

maybe the Pinks should be handled with discretion. It‟s your

decision, Chief.‟

The man by the window watched the sun touch the cloud

banks of smog with a faint pink glow. Quite a pretty effect,

he thought.

He turned away from the window.

„Very well. A good beating, just as a warning. See to it.‟

„Right away.‟

The big man turned to go.

„Just a moment.‟

He waited. „Chief?‟

„All this gossip about the Project... I don‟t like it, I want

it stopped.‟

„How, Chief? You can‟t stop people talking.‟

„You can discourage them. Kill a few of the chattier ones,

for an example to the rest.‟ He raised an eyebrow. „I take it

you don‟t object to killing a few barmen and hovercabbies?‟

„They‟re scum,‟ said the big man simply. „No one‟s going

to worry about them.‟

„Very well. And once that‟s done, arrange a few more

beatings for the rest. Spread the word. Tell the usual sources

to contact us direct if they hear anything dangerous.‟ He

smiled complacently. „People can think what they like - but

teach them that talking about the Project, even if it‟s gossip

or guesswork, just isn‟t healthy.‟

The big man nodded. „I‟ll get on to it today. First, we‟ll

deal with those two nosy Pinks.‟

Roz Forrester wasn‟t much worried when four burly miners

swaggered drunkenly into the sleazy downtown beer hall. It

was early in the day to be drunk, but Megerra‟s miners

worked and played in shifts that ignored the clock.

She wasn‟t even concerned when her cop instincts told her

the four weren‟t nearly as drunk as they pretended to be, and

that they were taking a particular interest in her and her

companion - a massive fair-haired young man with sleepy

blue eyes.

Roz Forrester and Chris Cwej were hunting a planet-

hopping serial killer called the Ripper as a favour to an old

friend.

They were using fake credentials to pose as Pinks - agents

of the Interplanetary Pinkerton Bureau - and they‟d been

warned that Megacity was an unhealthy place for

investigators. The place was so corrupt that everyone had

something to hide.

„Over there, by the door,‟ she said quietly.

Chris glanced up at the miners. „Half drunk. Looking for

trouble.‟

„Looking for us.‟

Chris yawned. „Same thing. Want another beer?‟

„Why not?‟

Chris moved over to the bar, leaving Roz alone and

apparently unprotected. He smiled at the idea of Roz

Forrester ever being unprotected. Chris was bored, and a

good bar-room fight was just what he needed.

This one didn‟t last long.

When Chris moved away, the four miners moved in on

Roz. After a few predictable sexual innuendos, the biggest

grabbed her by the arm, pulled her to her feet and released

her with a scream when her knee slammed into his groin.

Chris crossed the bar in a few long strides, grabbed two of

the remaining miners by the back of the neck, and slammed

their shaven skulls together with a deeply satisfying clopping

sound that echoed around the bar.

Dropping the two dazed miners, Chris swung hopefully

round on the fourth, but he was already heading for the door

with Roz‟s victim hobbling painfully after him.

Chris sighed and went back to the bar, returning a moment

later with two more beers. Ignoring the unconscious miners,

they finished their beers and wandered outside.

Despite the early hour the street was hot and murky, lit by

flickering neon.

Chris yawned and stretched. „What now? Hit a few more

joints?‟

Roz shook her head. „You can if you like. My back teeth

are floating already. I‟m going back to the hotel for a shower

and a sleep. After that we‟ll hit the nightspots. I reckon the

Ripper‟s probably a night person anyway. Your average

murdering fiend doesn‟t care for the daylight.‟

„This planet doesn‟t have any daylight,‟ grumbled Chris.

„Still, suit yourself. I‟ll get you a hovercab. Let‟s try our old

friend again.‟

„Must we?‟

„Better the rat you know... Besides, I like to think we‟re

developing a good relationship.‟

He crossed to the comm unit by the bar door and shoved a

disc into the slot.

The unit crackled into life. „Hovercab seventy-nine, wha‟

you wan‟?‟

„Pick-up at...‟ Chris glanced up at the sputtering neon

sign. „Pick-up at the Dirty Digger, right away.‟

„Nah, try someone else, I‟m just knocking off.‟

„If you don‟t get your furry ass and your clapped-out

hovercab here in two minutes, I‟ll come and find you and

strangle you with your own tail!‟

„Hey, that you, boss?‟ said the voice delightedly. „Big fair

guy with the little dark dame?‟

„That‟s us.‟

„Thass me you see turning the corner!‟

There was another crackle and the disc popped out of the

unit.

Chris pocketed it, grinning at Roz. „See? I told you we had

a good relationship!‟

A few minutes later a battered hovercab lurched round the

corner and plopped down in front of them, sending up a

fountain of dust and debris. The driver, a ratlike life form in a

leather jerkin, stuck his head out of the window, flashing

rows of long sharp teeth in a maniacal grin.

„OK, where to? You wanna go back to the cop shop?‟

Chris handed Roz into the hovercab and shoved a handful

of Megacity credits through the driver‟s window.

„Take the lady back to Megotel One, straight there, shortest

route. Don‟t ask her for any more credits, or I‟ll have you

stuffed for a souvenir.‟ He leant through the still-open

passenger door. „I‟ll check out a few more joints, Roz, meet

you in the hotel for dinner.‟

„Go easy on the beer. We‟ve got a long night‟s drinking

ahead.‟

Chris closed the door and stepped back, and the hovercab

rose and zoomed away in a cloud of dust.

Roz Forrester leant back on the stained plastic upholstery -

stained with what, she hated to think - while the hovercab

shouldered its way through Megacity‟s perpetual gridlock.

She felt tired and a little despairing. The unending hunt for

the Ripper was wearing her down. Maybe she was getting old.

She became aware of the driver‟s grating voice.

„Hey, lady, you wanna ditch the big guy and come out on

the town with me? I know everything that goes on in this

town, all the bes‟ joints!‟

Roz opened her mouth to blast him, then her cop instincts

took over. A local source was a local source - even if it took

the form of a giant rat with long yellow teeth and a lecherous

disposition.

„What‟s the best joint in town? The absolute tops?‟

„Gotta be Raggor‟s Cavern, classiest nightclub in Mega-

city. Hey, I can‟ take you there, lady.‟ The driver sounded

alarmed. „Thass only for the big boys. I‟d haveta sell the cab,

pay for the first drink.‟

„Too bad, I don‟t go out with cheapskates!‟

„Ah well.. . Still, maybe is no‟ such a good idea anyway.‟

„Changed your mind about our date? What‟s the matter?‟

„Word on the street is you and your big friend are

dangerous company.‟

„We are?‟

„They say you‟re Pinks. Some people even say you goin‟

after the Project.‟

„The how much?‟

„Come on, don‟ pretend you don‟ know about the Project.‟

You could hear the awe-struck capital „P‟ in his voice.

„I‟m new in town, remember. What Project? What is it?‟

„Somethin‟ big - real big. A scheme, a scam, a caper.

Millions of credits, big people involved. The kinda people

who don‟t like questions.‟

Roz Forrester kept on asking questions nonetheless. Quite

why, she wasn‟t sure; it was none of her business. Those old

cop instincts again, probably. She soon realized there was

just no hard information to be had, not from this source

anyway. But there was plenty of gossip.

According to the rodent hovercabbie, Megacity was seething

with stories that somewhere, somehow, some billion-

credit big deal was being set up. What it was and who was

operating it, no one seemed to know.

Some said it was being organized by one of a number of

competing crime lords. Others thought it involved the corrupt

city government, the big business corporations, or the

complex banking and financial network - money-laundering

was one of Megacity‟s major industries. ,

As for the Project itself - it was drugs, it was computer

crime, it was some brilliant new con game. Everyone had a

theory, no one really knew.

The hovercab stopped outside the hotel and Roz shoved a

wad of credits at the driver.

He looked worried. „Your boss said no more credits. I don‟

wan‟ him comin‟ after me.‟

„He‟s not the boss. I am,‟ said Roz. „And the money‟s not

for the ride: it‟s for the information - about the Project.

Maybe I‟ll look into it one day, if I get the time.‟

The driver grabbed the money. „Jus‟ remember, I din‟

tell you nothin’. One day my big mouth gonna get me in

trouble.‟

The cab zoomed away. Roz crossed the luxurious

chandelier-hung foyer of Megotel One, and rode the lift to her

room on the fiftieth floor.

She was heading for the shower when the comm unit

buzzed.

„Yes?‟

„Hotelcom here,‟ said a bored female voice. „Got someone

here wants to speak with one of the Pinks. I tried the big

guy‟s room but he‟s out. You wanna take the call?‟

„Why not?‟

Reflecting that their cover story appeared to be public

property in Megacity, Roz waited.

A nervous male voice said, „Am I talking to one of the

Pinkerton operatives?‟

„You‟re talking to Roz Forrester.‟

„Is it true that you‟re here to investigate the Project?‟

„I‟m not interested in discussing my private business with

some stranger,‟ said Roz. „You made the call, mister. If

you‟ve got something you want to tell me, I‟ll listen.‟

There was a pause. Then the voice said, „I‟ll have to take

the chance. I‟ve been involved in the Project from the

beginning. In fact I started it.‟ The voice rose hysterically.

„I was obsessed with my work, but now I know I was

wrong. There are fatal flaws. It‟s got to be stopped. It‟s an

abomination, a crime against humanity. They think they can

control it, but they don‟t realize the danger. Once it gets

away from them there‟ll be blood in the streets. The killing

will begin again - and it‟ll spread from here to a hundred

worlds.‟

„So tell me about it.‟

„Not over the comm. Meet me by the fountain in Mineral

Plaza right away. It‟s in the business district, not far from

your hotel. I‟ll bring evidence.‟

The voice cut off.

„Hello?‟ said Roz. „Hello?‟

„Transmission ended,‟ said the Hotelcom operator‟s voice.

Roz looked longingly towards the shower. Then she sighed

and headed for the door.

Once a cop...

In her windowless control room on the top of the hotel, the

Hotelcom network operator touched a control.

A gravelly voice said, „Yeah?‟

„One of the Pinks just took a call might interest you. Word

was to get in touch direct.‟

„Go ahead.‟

„Special rates?‟

„Sure. If it‟s worth it.‟

She touched a control.

A man‟s voice said, „Am I talking to one of the Pinkerton

operatives?‟

„You‟re talking to Roz Forrester.‟

When the recording finished the gravelly voice said

urgently, „Can you trace the call on the comm network?‟

„It‟ll cost you.‟

„Name your price.‟

The Hotelcom operator set to work. She was vaguely

aware that the required information might be someone‟s

death warrant. But then, everything was for sale in Megacity.

* * *

The plump little man said, „You‟re sure it was him?‟

„Traced the call right to his office, Chief.‟

„I thought those Pinks had been dealt with.‟

„Minor hitch, Chief. I reckoned the prof was more urgent.

What do I do about him?‟

The little man‟s face twisted with rage. „Get rid of him.‟

„But Chief, the Project -‟

„The Project‟s well under way now. We can do without

him. I will not tolerate disloyalty. Get rid of him - now! And

make an example of him - something spectacular to impress

the Pinks!‟

Roz Forrester found Mineral Plaza without difficulty. The

result of one of Megacity‟s rare attempts at civic

improvement, it was a scruffy little square with a non-

functioning fountain, surrounded by towering office

buildings.

It was also empty, and Roz settled to wait. She didn‟t

really know why she was here at all, but, now that she was,

she could give the guy a few minutes...

The white-haired old man in the office stuffed the last few

computer disks in the briefcase and forced it to close.

A gravelly voice from the doorway said, „Taking work

home, Professor?‟

The old man whirled round. A big hard-faced man had

come into the room, followed by two others almost as large.

„Oh, it‟s you,‟ said the old man nervously. „Yes, there‟s a

great deal to do. We‟ve had some problems on the Project

and so I thought -‟

„Now, Professor,‟ said the big man reprovingly. „You know

it‟s forbidden to take Project material out of the building.

Suppose it got into the wrong hands?‟

Gently he took the briefcase away from the trembling old

man.

„Yes, of course,‟ babbled the old man. „Why don‟t you

look after it for me and I‟ll sort it out tomorrow? I really must

go, now.‟

He headed for the door but the two thugs barred his way.

„Late for your appointment, are you?‟ said the big man. He

strolled to the window and looked out. Down below in the

little square a small dark figure stood by the fountain.

„Don‟t worry, she‟s still waiting for you. But she‟ll be

getting impatient by now. Tell you what, why not take the

quick way down?‟

The sound of shattering glass was so high overhead that

Roz Forrester heard it only faintly. But it was enough to

make her glance up.

Something was hurtling down towards her. As it came

nearer and grew larger she got a quick glimpse of flailing

limbs and white hair - and then the thing thudded into the

stone fountain with hideous force. Something broken, bloody

and shapeless lay sprawled across the jagged top of the

shattered fountain, and blood, not water, began trickling

down its side.

There was nothing to be done and Roz turned and walked

quietly away. A gruesome rhyme from Old Earth, once

recited to her by a scholarly friend started running through

her head.

„Sammy met a tram -‟

(What the hell was a tram? How did it go on?)

Sammy met a tram and the tram met Sammy.

The tram was jammy and the jam was Sammy.

It wasn‟t until she was nearly back at the hotel that she

saw the splodge of blood and brains on her sleeve.

Showered and changed, Roz met Chris in front of the hotel.

Her dark face was grim and tense. Chris looked worriedly at

her.

„You OK?‟

„Tell you later. Let‟s get on with it - call a hovercab.‟

Chris stuck the call disc into the comm unit and a familiar

voice crackled out.

„Hovercab seventy-nine, wha‟ you wan‟ ?‟

„Pick-up outside Megotel One to go to...‟

He looked enquiringly at Roz.

„Tell him Raggor‟s Cavern,‟ she said.

„Hey tha‟ you again, boss?‟ said the voice. „You an‟ the

little dark lady? You have fine time at Raggor‟s Cavern! You

stay right where you are, thass me you see comin‟ -‟

There was the flat crack of an explosion and transmission

broke up in a series of crackles.

After a few minutes a voice said, „Hovercab Control, wha‟

you wan‟?‟

Chris said, „I was talking to Hovercab seventy-nine -‟

„Hovercab seventy-nine no‟ available, I sen‟ another cab.

Where you at?‟

Minutes later a slightly smarter hovercab appeared, driven

by a rather sleeker rodent driver in a shiny red plasticloth

jacket. After the usual exchange of threats, bribes and hag-

gling, he agreed to take them to Raggor‟s Cavern.

„What happened to driver seventy-nine?‟ asked Chris, as

the hovercab sped along the rutted streets towards Old Town.

„Din‟ you hear? Someone lef‟ a bomb in his cab. Helluva

tip, hey?‟

„Any idea who was behind it?‟ asked Chris.

„Coulda bin lotta people. Ol‟ seventy-nine, he like to talk.

Maybe he talk too much, hey?‟

„About the Project, for example?‟ asked Roz.

They heard the click as the rodent driver‟s jaws snapped

shut.

„I said maybe he talked too much about the Project,‟

persisted Roz.

„Never heard of it.‟

„I thought everyone in Megacity was talking about it.‟

„No‟ any more,‟ said the driver grimly. „Lissen lady, gimme a

break. I just got this hovercab, she practically new. You think

I wan‟ us both smeared all over Spaceport Boulevard?‟

He drove the rest of the way in silence.

* * *

Later, much later, that night, Roz Forrester and Chris Cwej

sat in a space shuttle, heading for Space Station Alpha.

The tip about Raggor‟s Cavern had paid off and they‟d

found their serial killer. Unfortunately, after killing and

robbing Raggor himself and slaughtering a sizeable number

of the nightclub‟s patrons, the Ripper had escaped, leaving

Megerra on an earlier shuttle to Station Alpha.

Now Chris and Roz were once again in pursuit.

Roz whiled away part of the journey by telling Chris about

her encounter with the Project - whatever it was.

Chris was interested, but not overconcerned. „None of our

business, really. And with the Ripper still on the loose

„The guy who called me said it was a crime against

humanity,‟ said Roz. „That‟s everyone‟s business.‟

„Tell you what,‟ said Chris. „When all this Ripper affair is

cleared up, we‟ll come back to Megacity and sort out the

Project.‟

„Promise?‟

„Promise.‟

„Well, it‟s working, Chief,‟ said the big man with the gravelly

voice. „We blasted a few hovercabbies and barmen, beat up a

few petty snitches and now you won‟t hear a whisper about

the Project anywhere.‟

„What about the two Pinks?‟

„No problem. I sent round a few of the boys to see to them

and they left the planet that same night.‟

No need, thought the big man, to say that the attempted

seeing-to had resulted in two thugs with minor concussion, a

third with a severe groin strain and a fourth close to a

nervous breakdown. Or to add that the two Pinks had left the

planet on their own affairs and of their own accord.

The plump little man smiled. „I told you the Pinks were

nothing to worry about.‟

Ah well, what you don‟t know won‟t hurt you, thought the

big man. Or the Project either.

But he was wrong about that.. .

1

VACATION

Benny was bored.

On a fine summer afternoon, with the campus of St Oscar‟s

bathed in Dellah‟s rare sunshine, Bernice Summerfield was

sitting behind her huge desk in her impressively furnished

Rector‟s office, wondering what the hell to do with her day.

She told herself she couldn‟t possibly be bored.

Look at who she was - Professor Bernice Summerfield,

holder of the Edward Watkinson Chair of Archaeology,

Rector of Garland College. She was a distinguished academic

and she had far too many cultural and intellectual resources

to suffer anything so mundane as boredom.

Professor Summerfield led a rich, full life. She was an

important member of the faculty of St Oscar‟s University. She

had committees to chair, essays to assess, courses to revise,

pupils to nurture and advise, and overambitious academic

colleagues to stab in the back.

She had her long-awaited master work of popular

archaeology (currently entitled So Vast a Pile) to complete.

Well, more like start, actually.

Thanks to an atypical burst of energy and efficiency, she

was up to date with all her academic tasks. Term was nearly

over, the long vacation was looming up and her teaching

work was winding down. Nevertheless, a number of import-

ant and worthwhile activities were available to her.

She could visit the Applied Arts Building and inspect

progress on Menlove Stokes‟s latest project. Menlove had

recently exhausted the artistic possibilities of his own bodily

fluids and had moved on to explore the random aesthetic

effects produced by the activities of the giant Dellahan dung

beetle.

The results were fascinating but smelly.

She could go and see her head of department, Dr Follett,

and lobby for the increased funds, extra staff and more

elaborate teaching facilities which she undoubtedly deserved.

She probably wouldn‟t get anywhere, but it would annoy Dr

Follett - always a good thing.

However, since the good doctor was an aged reptilian who

discouraged troublesome visitors with a permanent cloud of

chlorine, this option was even less fragrant than visiting

Menlove Stokes and his „a hundred and one things you can

do with beetle shit‟ project.

She really ought to do a bit of networking on the vidicom,

to try to snag one of the interesting - and lucrative -

off-planet archaeological digs that were floating around at

this time of year. There were several interesting possibilities

but she still hadn‟t fixed anything up. She told herself she

was carefully considering her options. The truth was, she

couldn‟t be bothered.

She could do some work on her book - no, she wasn‟t that

desperate yet.

Or she could leave the office early, head for the Garland

College bar, the Witch and Whirlwind, and spend the evening

sorting out the universe with a few adoring students,

over mugs of old ale.

The trouble was that none of these choices, not even the

inevitable last one, really appealed to her.

Bernice looked up from her desk and caught her own

reflection in an antique mirror. Impeccably made up and

coiffured, wearing her newest power suit - Bernice had

decided to clean up her act recently - there she sat. Professor

Bernice Summerfield, glamorous, powerful and self-assured.

A successful career woman with an enviable life.

But inside there was still Benny - and Benny was bored.

Benny missed spending her days in boots, jeans and safari

jacket with everything she owned in her pockets and the

pack on her back.

She missed planet-hopping in battered space freighters,

heading out into some hot and spicy alien night, stopping for

a drink in the nearest bar and wondering if the life form with

red eyes, scales and fangs in the corner really fancied her or

was simply feeling a bit peckish.

A line from an Old Earth poet floated into her mind: „Pull

out, pull out on the Long Trail - the trail that is always

new!‟

There was nothing to stop her.

She had shillings in the bank and free time ahead. She

could go to the spaceport and buy a ticket on the first ship to

anywhere in the galaxy.

Only - it wasn‟t so much fun on your own any more, not

when you‟d been used to someone -

Blocking off that train of thought - what was Jason doing

these days anyway? - she looked up and saw a black sphere

hovering in front of her. This was Rodney, her secretary, who

managed to be even more irritating than her porter, Joseph.

„There is an unscheduled visitor for you in the anteroom,

Madame Rector. I informed him that an appointment was

essential and that it would probably be several weeks before-‟

„Name?‟ interrupted Bernice.

„I am Rodney, your secretary, Madame Rector.‟

Bernice ground her teeth. „ Visitor’s name?‟

A deep voice said, „The name‟s Cwej. Christopher Cwej.‟

A very large young man was filling the doorway. He had

fair hair and blue eyes and he wore simple black travelling

clothes.

„Chris!‟ squeaked Bernice delightedly. She jumped up and

threw herself into his arms.

Chris lifted her high in the air, gave her a warm but

essentially brotherly kiss and put her down again.

Rodney was looking shocked. (How does a plain black

sphere register disapproval? thought Bernice. But it does.)

Remembering her academic dignity, Bernice waved him to

a guest sofa and sat down beside him.

„This is wonderful, Chris! When did you get here? How

long are you staying? What are you doing back at St Oscar‟s

anyway?‟

„Taking the questions in order, I‟ve just arrived on the

shuttle, just until tomorrow, and I came here to talk to

you.‟

Bernice jumped up again. „And so you shall. But not here.‟

She turned to the still-hovering Rodney. „The Rector‟s office

is closed. I‟ll be in conference until tomorrow.‟

„Certainly, Madame Rector. Shall I relay any urgent mess-

ages to the Witch and Whirlwind?‟

„Not unless you want your circuits scrambled,‟ said Ber-

nice coldly. „Machines may or may not have developed

sentience, but they‟ve certainly developed insolence! Come

on, Chris.‟

„Nice to be back,‟ said Chris, as they strolled along brick

walkways. „The old place is looking good.‟ His gaze took in

the vast redbrick building known as „the Barrel‟ and the

other, newer edifices around it. „Quite a bit of new building

since my last visit.‟

„Oh, they‟ve thrown up a few more hi-tech mud huts,‟ said

Bernice. But Chris seemed genuinely impressed and she

couldn‟t help feeling pleased.

They paused to admire the jet-black doors of the Advanced

Research Department and came under the suspicious gaze of

the Goll security guard.

She moved towards them, clearly intending to move them

on, took another look at the size of Chris and decided not to

bother.

Bernice beamed at the watching security camera, raised

two fingers in salute and they moved on.

„What was all that about?‟ asked Chris.

„That‟s the Advanced Research Department - ARD for

short. Place is full of paranoid mad scientists. I just enjoy

winding them up.‟

„That sign you made -‟

„They asked me about that in the University Senate. I told

them it was an Old Earth gesture signifying admiration and

respect.‟

„And is it?‟

Bernice grinned. „Not exactly. If they ever consult a cultural

anthropologist, I‟m in trouble!‟

„What do they do in there?‟

„Something sinister and nasty,‟ said Bernice darkly.

„Sounds from a horror holovid have been heard leaking out of

the air vents. Mysterious misshapen figures emerge and

lurch about the campus in the hours of darkness.‟

Chris gave her a sceptical glance. „I think you‟ve been

overdoing those horror holovids yourself.‟

„Oh yeah? Listen! A few weeks ago a man in a hospital

patient‟s gown appeared on the campus one night. He

attacked a passing student coming home from the bar - for

no reason at all. Luckily a gang of her friends came along. It

took six brawny students to pull the man off her - he was

chucking them about like ninepins.‟

„What happened?‟

„Suddenly the man collapsed and died. One of the students

was a medic - he examined the man and said he showed

signs of recent brain surgery. Reckoned he‟d had an - an

embolism or something. And here‟s the good bit. All of a

sudden a gang of ARD security goons arrived and carted

away the body.‟

„Did they give any explanation?‟

„You‟re joking! Total blackout, no statement, no nothing.

The whole thing never happened.‟

Always inclined to be charitable, Chris said, „They could

be doing legitimate medical research

„So what are they so secretive about? They‟ve got all the

money in the world and twenty-six-hour security. You know

what they say - there‟s no completely honest way to make a

million shillings.‟

They made their way to the Witch and Whirlwind and

settled themselves with mugs of ale at Bernice‟s favourite

corner table, which was isolated enough to offer some

privacy.

As they sat down Bernice noticed that the table had a new

feature - a weirdly shaped lamp with a transparent columnar

base inside which coloured bubbles rose and fell sluggishly.

She looked up at the student waiter, a haughty golden-

skinned Lucidean working his way through college.

„What the hell‟s this atrocity?‟

The Lucidean shuddered delicately. „A new design feature,

Professor. The bar got an unexpected grant. That thing is Old

Earth retro, apparently. It‟s called a lava lamp. Don‟t you like

it?‟

„I hate it, take it away.‟

„I‟m afraid it‟s built into the table.‟

„Oh well...‟

Bernice ordered two tankards of old ale. When they finally

arrived - Lucideans hated doing anything that seemed like

service and compensated by doing it slowly and badly - she

raised her tankard to Chris, took a restorative swig and

glanced around the room.

It was still early, and there were only a handful of students

at the scattered tables. Every single one of them registered

Bernice‟s arrival, and took a good hard look at Chris.

Rumours about the profs after-work tryst with her new toy

boy would soon be whizzing around the campus.

Utter nonsense, of course.

Chris was - well, he was just Chris. Ridiculously large,

touchingly young and naive.

A skilled professional in police work, formidable in combat,

an overgrown adolescent in everything else.

Or... Bernice studied him over the rim of her ale mug.

There was something different about Chris. Of course, he

wasn‟t quite so young any more - but then, who was? And

Roz‟s death must have hit him hard.

But there was something else. A different look in the wide

blue eyes, different lines on the handsome, open face.

A different aura.

Somehow he just felt different. Beneath the still-present

puppyish charm was something solid, determined, focused.

Chris Cwej had grown up.

Suddenly Bernice realized that, while she was studying

Chris, he was assessing her.

„Well, you made it,‟ he said softly.

„Made what?‟

„It - everything you ever wanted. A top job, a big office,

fame and fortune. Academic respectability

„Well, you know the old saying,‟ said Bernice. „Be careful

what you wish for - you might get it!‟

„I looked you up in the St Oscar‟s Faculty Handbook. A

string of impressive qualifications and publications. And

you look... different. Powerful, impressive, sophisticated.

Establishment!‟

Bernice looked hard at him. It could have been a

compliment, but it wasn‟t, not quite.

„It‟s all a front,‟ she said. „I‟m still Benny underneath.‟

“That‟s what I was wondering about,‟ said Chris. „I‟ve

got a weird sort of proposition for you. Professor Bernice

Summerfield would probably turn it down flat, but Benny

might be interested.‟

„Go on.‟

„It‟s about something that happened in a place called

Megacity. Roz and I were hunting a serial killer. You were

doing historical research on Sentarion, remember?‟

„Shall I ever forget? On a teetotal campus where they

served salad and fruit juice for dinner. I could cope with

attacks by giant bloodsucking killer beetles, but all that

healthy living nearly finished me off.‟

Shuddering at the memory, Bernice ordered another round

of drinks. „So what‟s it all about?‟

Chris drained the last of his tankard. „Sometimes when

you‟re investigating one crime you come across another,

quite unconnected. You‟re chasing a mugger and you trip

over a murderer. Or the other way round, of course.‟

„And that‟s what happened in Megacity?‟

„In a way. Roz ran into something called the Project…‟

In a shadowy control room deep beneath the Advanced

Research Department an alarm pinged gently.

The dozing octopod technician swivelled around to one of

the surrounding control consoles, studying it with huge,

glowing eyes. A light was blinking beside a touchpad, and

the technician stretched out a tentacle.

A female voice said, „And that‟s what happened in Mega-

city?‟

Then a male voice: „In a way. Roz ran into something

called the Project.‟

The female voice again: „And which was it? A murderer or

a mugger?‟

„It was something big. According to Roz, even people who

just talked about it got killed.‟

Checking that recording was still proceeding, the octopod

switched off the playback, swivelled round in its central

command chair and touched another control.

A deep voice said, „Yes?‟

In its cool, dispassionate voice the octopod said, „Two

top-priority flag words showed up on the new surveillance

system, Chief Kedrick. You asked to be informed when -‟

„Words?‟

„“Megacity” and “Project”.‟

„Surveillance site?‟

„Witch and Whirlwind - it‟s a student hostelry -‟

„I know what it is. Number of speakers?‟

„Two, one humanoid female, one humanoid male.‟

„Speaker identification?‟

„One moment please...‟ Turning to another console, the

octopod touched the controls. „Female voice print identified

as Professor Bernice Summerfield. Male voice unknown.‟

„Prioritize. Continue audio surveillance. Make sure you get

a full recording, send me a copy.‟

„Understood, Chief Kedrick. I shall send it -‟

A faint click signified that the comlink was dead.

Unperturbed by his superior‟s rudeness, completely

uninterested in the subject of his report, the octopod made a

routine systems check. Bipeds had no manners anyway, and

their affairs were of no interest.

Satisfied all was well, the octopod sank back into its doze.

Sometime later, in a comfortable office high up in the same

building, Jarl Kedrick, Security Chief of the Advanced

Research Department, sat listening to the end of the

requested recording.

„And that‟s all?‟ asked Bernice Summerfield‟s voice, over

a babble of conversation.

The male voice said, „That‟s all.‟

There was a moment‟s pause. Then Bernice Summerfield

again: „Let‟s get out of here. This place is getting crowded.‟

The scrape of moving chairs, sounds of departure, and the

recording ended.

Jarl Kedrick was thinking hard. The audio-surveillance

experiment was his own particular pet project. It had proved

a costly experiment to set up and it was nice to see it

producing results so quickly.

He sat back in his big office chair, a cherubic smile on his

lips. A tubby, red-faced man with a fringe of white hair and a

neat white beard, Kedrick had the benign appearance of

everyone‟s favourite uncle. He might have been planning a

birthday surprise for a favourite child.

„Now then,‟ he said softly. „What are we going to do about

our dear Professor Summerfield?‟

It would be best to move quickly, he thought. This sort of

thing had to be stamped on - hard and fast. It would

justify his audio-surveillance project, it would be an example

to others - and it would impress the Director with his

efficiency. He would handle the matter personally.

* * *

„Something called the Project, and a couple of corpses,‟ said

Bernice. „It‟s not a lot to go on.‟

They had left the Witch and Whirlwind by now, and were

strolling across the busy campus towards Bernice‟s living

quarters.

The bar had filled up while they were talking, and although

no one was obviously listening to their conversation, Bernice

had been plagued by an odd feeling that they were being

overheard.

„Roz felt sure it was something big, something important,‟

said Chris.

„But why? From your own account, Megacity must be full

of criminal scams. What made Roz so sure this one was

special?‟

„Instinct,‟ said Chris. „Roz Forrester was a good cop.‟

And Roz Forrester‟s what this is all about, thought Bernice.

Clearly Chris had never really got over his partner‟s

death. No doubt he felt an irrational guilt because he hadn‟t

been there to save her. This whole mad scheme was some

kind of tribute to her memory. Somehow she had to talk

Chris out of it.

„What can you possibly hope to do?‟ she asked gently.

„Go back to Megacity. Start poking around, ask a few

questions, see what develops

„See who tries to kill you first?‟

„Always a useful clue!‟

Bernice shook her head despairingly. Another argument

presented itself. „Do you realize how much subjective time

has passed in Megacity since you and Roz were there?‟

She did a few rapid mental calculations, complicated by

the fact that time travel was involved. „It must be ...‟

She paused.

Chris smiled. „I couldn‟t quite work it out either! But it‟s

quite a while.‟

„Exactly. By now this Project, whatever it is, will have run

its course. Either that or it will be so well established it‟ll be

untouchable. Either way...‟

Chris sighed. „I know. Everything you say makes absolute

sense. But it‟s a kind of loose end in the fabric of my life. I

thought perhaps you might like to come and help me tug it

free - just for old times‟ sake.‟

Forget it, thought Bernice. It was a totally lunatic plan and

she wanted nothing to do with it. She glanced around the

sunny crowded campus, thought of her luxurious living

quarters, her imposing office, her adoring students and her

important position at St Oscar‟s. Give it all up to go off and

get killed on the Roz Forrester Memorial Crusade? No

chance.

She glanced up and saw Chris looking anxiously down at

her. For a moment she wavered, but she forced herself to be

firm.

„I‟m sorry, Chris, it‟s just not for me. I turned in the white

horse and the suit of armour ages ago. I won‟t pretend I don‟t

have moments of nostalgia - I was having one when you

arrived as a matter of fact - but these days I‟ve got a living to

earn and a position to keep up.‟

(Did I really say that last bit? she thought. „A position to

keep up‟? Yuck!)

Still, she was sure it was the right decision and Chris

seemed prepared to accept it.

„Yes, of course. I‟m sorry, Bernice. I‟d no real right to

ask you. Look, let‟s have dinner tonight and a few more

drinks...‟

„A lot more drinks,‟ said Bernice. „It‟s not every day you

have a reunion with an old friend.‟

(And turn him down flat when he asks for your help.)

„I‟ll get the first shuttle out of here in the morning,‟

said Chris cheerfully. „Then you can forget all about this

nonsense.‟

„But will you?‟

„Yes, very likely.‟

The hell you will, thought Bernice. You‟ll go back to

Megacity and get yourself killed for nothing. And there‟s

nothing I can do to stop you.

She was trying to summon up more convincing arguments

when a distant voice called, „Professor! Hey, Professor!‟

St Oscar‟s was a hilly campus, and they were standing at

the top of a very long, very steep incline. In a little rotunda at

the bottom a spindly young humanoid in a suit of red

feathers stood waving and yelling. His other hand supported

a wheeled machine.

„He‟s got my bike again, cheeky young devil,‟ said Bernice.

„Who has?‟

„It‟s an Ootsoi kid called Jeran. I helped him pick up his

books at the beginning of my first term and he‟s had a crush

on me ever since.‟

„What‟s that thing he‟s holding? Some kind of velocipede?‟

„My bicycle,‟ said Bernice proudly. „Souped-up Old Earth

retro. I had it made specially when I got my bestseller

royalties. Basket on the front, big brass bell, the lot...‟

„Is the boy stealing it?‟

„Call it borrowing,‟ said Bernice. „Jeran adores it. Some-

times I think it‟s really the bike he‟s got a crush on!‟

Jeran mounted the bicycle and rode towards them.

„I was just looking for you, Professor,‟ he yelled in his

shrill, birdlike voice. „I thought you might need your travel

machine. I was bringing it to you!‟

„Sure you were,‟ said Bernice indulgently.

As the hill grew steeper, Jeran began wobbling

dangerously.

Chris grinned. „I don‟t think he‟s going to make it.‟

„Oh yes he will!‟ said Bernice. She cupped her hands and

yelled, „Use the motor, Jeran. There‟s a switch on the handle-

bars, on the right.‟

Jeran waved, which caused an even bigger wobble, and

began fumbling for the switch. Suddenly the bicycle began

gliding smoothly up the hill towards them.

Chris gave her a quizzical look. „An engine on a

velocipede?‟

„Just a simple gravitic motor on the back to help with all

these hills. I‟m not that fond of healthy exercise, you know.‟

They stood at the top of the long hill, looking at young

Jeran as he sailed up the incline towards them. It was a sight

Bernice was to remember always. Jeran‟s face radiant with

delight, the red feathers fluttering on his suit...

With a dull boom the bicycle exploded into a fireball.

Fragments of metal and flesh rained on to the path.

A few charred red feathers drifted down after them.

2

ESCAPE

Bernice started downhill, but Chris clamped a big hand on

her arm. „No. It‟s no use.‟

„Jeran may still be alive.‟

„Not a chance.‟

„But we‟ve got to go and see!‟

„Benny, he was blown to bits,‟ said Chris. „Very small bits.‟

„We can‟t just leave him

„You want to say goodbye to a bloody smear on the

ground? Remember him gliding up that hill. If ever anyone

died happy... Now come on, we‟ve got to get away from

here.‟

„I‟ve got to report the accident.‟

„Plenty of people to do that.‟

Already an agitated crowd was gathering in the rotunda

below. Retaining his grip on her arm, Chris led her away.

„What‟s the rush?‟

„You‟re not thinking, Benny. You say there was a simple

gravitic motor on that thing? Nothing nuclear?‟

„Of course not. Just a rechargeable power pack.‟

„Have you ever heard of a gravitic motor blowing up? The

worst they ever do is grind to a halt. Someone planted a

bomb on your bike. A bomb intended for you.‟

„I told him to switch on the motor...‟

* * *

They took a roundabout route back to Bernice‟s quarters,

keeping well away from the scene of the explosion. She still

couldn‟t take in what had happened, but Chris had taken

charge. That focused quality she‟d noticed earlier was

working full blast.

„Now think hard, Benny. Are you mixed up in anything

that could make someone want to kill you?‟

„Currently, no.‟

„No envious fellow professor nursing some grudge?‟

„Some of my colleagues probably resent the publicity -

and the profits - I got from my book. They‟d be happy to

steal my students or take over my budget. One or two

probably have their eyes on my job. But academics fight with

memos and meetings. That stab in the back you hear about

is strictly metaphorical. And as for bombs…‟

„You‟re sure?‟

„Positive.‟

„Then it‟s my fault,‟ said Chris. „I‟m sorry, Benny, but I‟ve

put you in danger - just by talking to you about the Project.‟

Bernice stopped and looked up at him. „Oh, come on now,

that‟s crazy. We have a brief chat about this mysterious

Project in a bar and ten minutes later my bike blows up?‟

„It‟s what happened in Megacity. The people Roz talked to

got killed, and after that everyone shut up.‟

„That was years ago, and light years away. I still say it‟s

ridiculous.‟

„I‟d call it frightening,‟ said Chris. „To be prepared to kill

so quickly - and to have the resources to do it.‟

„Why me?‟ demanded Bernice as they walked on. „Why

not you as well?‟

„Oh, they‟ll get round to me as well. But I‟m still an

unknown quantity to them. They need to study me for a

while, discover my habits and my weaknesses. They already

know yours.‟

Bernice shuddered. „There‟s a consoling thought.‟

They made their way to Garland College Hall and up to

Bernice‟s quarters. The small white sphere that was Joseph,

Bernice‟s porter, floated forward to greet them, and Bernice

ordered wine and snacks. When the refreshments had been

served Joseph purred, „Will that be all, Madame Rector?‟

It was always particularly obsequious in the presence of

visitors.

„Just a little privacy, please,‟ said Bernice.

Joseph floated offendedly towards the porterhatch.

Chris gave her a warning look. „That may be harder than

you think.‟

„What?‟

„Privacy.‟ He made a sweeping gesture, indicating the

room around them.

Bernice thought for a moment and then called Joseph

back.

„Has anyone been in here recently, Joseph?‟

„Many people, Rector. At your recent social gathering over

fifty faculty members attended. The alcoholic liquor

consumption was -‟

„Never mind about my drunken friends,‟ said Bernice.

„Apart from me and my guests and my students, has anyone

unusual been here?‟

„Only the technicians, Rector.‟

„What technicians?‟

„A team from University Maintenance, checking the

building‟s electronic systems. It‟s going on all over the

campus.‟

„I bet it is,‟ said Bernice. She waved Joseph away and

looked helplessly at Chris. „Now what? We can‟t even talk!‟

Chris took a small black device from his pocket and began

moving it around the room. The device gave out a low,

soothing hum, then, suddenly, a loud, exultant ping.

Chris made an adjustment to the device, which emitted a

high, intermittent pulsing.

„At least one in here. Bound to be more in the other

rooms.‟ He tapped the device. „This will jam them so we can

talk.‟

Bernice hated the idea of unseen listeners. „Can‟t you find

the bugs and take them out?‟

„I could, but then they‟d know we knew. This way it‟ll

look like a temporary breakdown.‟

„Who‟d know we knew what?‟

„The buggers - whoever they are - would know we knew

we‟d been bugged. We might want to use the bugs later for

disinformation.‟

„For how much?‟

„If they don‟t know that we know they‟re listening,‟ said

Chris patiently, „we can feed them whatever we want them to

hear.‟

Bernice was starting to feel that she was trapped in an

old-fashioned spy holovid. „Of course. And we must make

quite sure they don‟t find out that the secret microfilm is

really hidden in the MacGuffin!‟

Chris looked blank. „I‟m sorry?‟

„Never mind.‟ Bernice shook her head helplessly. „I‟m an

academic, not a spy, Chris. I just don‟t believe this is

happening, not here, not at St Oscar‟s.‟

„I know,‟ said Chris. „I brought the danger here. I‟d better

go as soon as I can. Maybe I can draw their attention away

from you.‟

„Forget it,‟ said Bernice fiercely. „We‟re going to get these

buggers together.‟

„But you said -‟

„That was before they blew up my bike. Cost me a fortune,

that bike did, I was... very fond of it.‟

„Yes,‟ said Chris gently. „Of course you were. Benny, are

you sure?‟

Bernice saw charred red feathers drifting down on to a

redbrick path. „Oh yes, I‟m sure. But where do we start? We

don‟t know what we‟re looking for or who we‟re fighting.‟

„We know one thing we didn‟t when I arrived,‟ said Chris.

„There‟s a link between the Megacity Project and St Oscar‟s.

A link someone‟s extremely sensitive about. The minute they

pick up a mention of the Project they swing into action.‟

„Yes, but how come they picked it up at all?‟ demanded

Bernice. She broke off, realizing. „Dammit, they must have

bugged the Witch and Whirlwind as well. That‟s where we

did all our talking. I bet it was in that bloody lava lamp!‟

„So?‟

„Don‟t you see? All the bugs must have been in place for

some time - even before you ever came to see me.‟

„I think that was just bad luck,‟ said Chris. „The bugging

wasn‟t particularly for your benefit. It was part of a broad-

sweep intelligence-gathering operation. Someone‟s keeping

tabs on the entire university.‟

„That‟s insane.‟

Chris shook his head. „It‟s practically routine, at least for a

big security organization with unlimited resources. It goes

right back into history. Dictators were doing it on Earth way

back in the twentieth century. „

„Why? Why bother?‟

„Paranoia. Knowledge is power. You bug the homes of

prominent people, friends and enemies, to see what they‟re

really saying about you. But that‟s just the start. You bug top

hotels, cafes, restaurants, anywhere where people may let

something slip. I believe, er, “houses of ill fame” were

particular favourites.‟

Bernice grinned at his embarrassment. „Houses of what?

Oh, brothels! You mean they even bugged people‟s pillow

talk?‟

Chris nodded. „The Nazis even set up a brothel of their

own to bug visiting VIPs. Salon Kitty, it was called.

And there was one American President who even bugged

himself!‟

„That‟s enough ancient history,‟ said Bernice impatiently.

„The important thing is, who‟s bugging us - here and now?‟

Chris shrugged. „It‟s your university, Benny. You tell me.‟

Bernice wasn‟t in any doubt. „If we‟re looking for a bunch

of overpaid paranoids with a massive security setup, there‟s

really only one candidate

Jarl Kedrick was afraid.

It was an emotion he was more used to causing than

feeling. Despite his jovial exterior, most people Kedrick met

knew who he was, and what he did. Even those who didn‟t

sensed something sinister beneath the surface jollity.

There was nothing obviously intimidating about the

Director of the Advanced Research Department. A tall, thin,

olive-skinned, silver-haired humanoid, beautifully dressed

and impeccably mannered, he had the air of a high-level

diplomat. Nevertheless, Kedrick never met him without

feeling a thrill of fear. The sensation was so rare that he

almost enjoyed it.

The Director rose as Kedrick entered his penthouse office.

„Chief Kedrick! How kind of you to spare me the time!‟

„My pleasure, Director.‟

The Director waved Kedrick to one of a pair of guest

armchairs and took the other himself. „Can I offer you some

refreshment? Tea perhaps?‟

„Thank you, no. I mustn‟t take up any more of your

valuable time than is necessary.‟

The Director settled back in his chair. „I gather there was

some kind of unfortunate incident on campus a short while

ago.‟

„Sadly, yes, Director. Bernice Summerfield, Professor of

Archaeology, was killed when the engine on her antiquated

travel machine exploded.‟

„Not so, Chief,‟ said the Director softly. „Professor Summer-

field is quite unharmed. One of her students borrowed the

machine and suffered the consequences.‟

Kedrick jumped to his feet. „I apologize, Director, for my

ignorance, and for the error. It will be remedied at once.‟

„Sit!‟ hissed the Director.

White-faced, Kedrick dropped back into his chair.

„Do not apologize for the error,‟ the Director went on. „It

may well have saved your life. What was your reason for this

precipitate action?‟

„A conversation recorded in the Witch and Whirlwind - a

student hostelry, Director -‟

„I know what it is. With whom and on what subject?‟

„Professor Summerfield received an off-planet visitor today.

They were discussing the Megacity Project.‟

„Indeed.‟ The Director was silent for a moment. „The

visitor?‟

„He is registered as Christopher Cwej, Director. It may

be an alias. We are experiencing difficulties in tracing his

background.‟

The Director responded with another unnerving silence.

Nervously Kedrick asked, „Do I gather, Director, that you

do not wish sanctions imposed on Professor Summerfield?‟

The Director sighed. „There are sanctions and sanctions,

Chief Kedrick. Our purpose on this primitive planet is to use

this academic backwater to carry out a number of delicate

assignments for some extremely important clients. The

Megacity Project is one of the most important, and potentially

one of the most lucrative. There has already been one

unfortunate incident.‟

„The escaped miner, Director? But the security blackout

was absolute and we atomized the body that same night.‟

The Director sat back, steepling his long, thin fingers. „We

chose St Oscar‟s University because it is new and obscure.

Our influence here is consequently greater. But it must be

discreet, behind-the-scenes influence. The precipitate

detonation of popular female faculty members is liable to

attract unwelcome interest.‟

„My apologies, Director.‟

The Director waved them aside. „The death of an obscure

student can be glossed over far more easily. He was an

Ootsoi, I gather. They are a backward people, and fortunately

his family are persons of no importance.‟

„And the stranger, Director? Arrangements concerning him

are already in place. If you wish me to cancel them, I must

act quickly.‟

The Director considered. „Let your arrangements stand.

The death of a stranger - some criminal, no doubt - is of

little concern. Moreover, his fate may serve as a warning to

Professor Summerfield.‟

„Is it your view that such a warning will be sufficient,

Director? Do you wish me to take any further action in that

quarter?‟

„You may leave Professor Summerfield to me, Chief. She is

an academic - and there are ways of dealing with academics.‟

Bernice studied the almost empty flask of Eridanean brandy,

decided she really shouldn‟t drink any more, decided that the

remnant wasn‟t worth saving, and poured a final slug into

the heavy crystal glass.

„Just a nightcap,‟ she muttered to herself. It was late, and

she really must go to bed. She and Chris had discussed the

situation for ages without getting much further, and

eventually Chris had insisted on returning to his bed in the

visitors‟ hostel. She‟d offered him the spare bedroom but

Chris had insisted on going back, and Bernice knew why.

He‟d noticed the interested looks in the Witch and Whirlwind

and was afraid of compromising her.

Bernice had insisted that she didn‟t give a damn about her

reputation, and that anyway she didn‟t really have one to

lose, but Chris wouldn‟t listen.

He‟d stridden off nobly into the night, promising to call

her when he was safely installed. Come to think of it, the

hostel wasn‟t that far - he should have called by now .. .

The vidicom chimed discreetly and Bernice felt a surge of

relief. „Chris?‟

But the face on the screen wasn‟t Chris at all. It was a

cross-looking Irving Braxiatel.

„What have you been up to?‟ he demanded.

„Moi?‟ said Bernice defensively. „Why?‟

„They‟re planning to haul you up before the Faculty Ethics

Committee.‟

„On what grounds?‟

„You name it, there‟s quite a list. It starts with insufficient

attention to student welfare...‟

„Rubbish. I spend more time with my students than anyone

else on this Faculty.‟

„Apparently there are those who feel more of that time

should be spent in the lecture room and study halls and less

in the Witch and Whirlwind.‟

„What else am I supposed to have done?‟

„Unorthodox and inadequate teaching methods, failure to

publish projected work, inappropriate dress and demeanour,

overindulgence in alcoholic beverages

„Nonshense - I mean nonsense,‟ said Bernice indignantly.

She drained her Eridanean brandy, attempted to pour

another and remembered the flask was empty.

„Oh, and causing the death of one of your students by

importing an antiquated and dangerous travel machine.‟

„That explosion was the result of an attempt to kill me!

This is all a calculated smear campaign. It isn‟t fair!‟

„Of course it isn‟t fair,‟ said Irving Braxiatel impatiently.

„This is academic politics, Bernice. It isn‟t a matter of

fairness, or justice, or anything like that. You seem to have

offended some very powerful people. Now it‟s a matter of

whether those of us who want to keep you have got more

clout than those who want to chuck you out.‟

„And have you?‟

„It‟s running about fifty-fifty,‟ said Irving Braxiatel with

ruthless frankness. „But I‟m working on it, calling in a few

favours. We may tip the balance.‟

„So what do I do?‟

„Nothing. You‟ll probably be called up before your head of

department tomorrow. Just accept whatever he says and lie

low till we get this sorted out. And stop drinking. A hangover

won‟t help you.‟

The screen went blank.

„Thanks a million,‟ muttered Bernice. „With friends like

you...‟ But she knew Braxiatel would do his best to save

her.

Then she remembered that Chris still hadn‟t called.

Hands plunged deep into his tunic pockets, Chris Cwej

strode through the warm dark Dellahan night. The campus

seemed very quiet. The brick paths were lit only by the

occasional glo-globe, and most of the buildings were in

darkness. Bernice had assured him that there were late-night

places to go, but you had to know where they were. By and

large Dellah was an old-fashioned, provincial, early-to-bed

sort of planet. Chris rather liked it.

The massive black doors of the Advanced Research

Department loomed up ahead, guarded by the ever-present

sentry. Chris wondered if Bernice‟s theory was right, that the

Advanced Research Department was responsible for the

campus bugging and the bomb attack.

It seemed highly likely. Who else was there? Most of

the other faculty disciplines were concerned with abstract

academic theory. Many, like Bernice‟s archaeology, were

firmly focused on the past.

Advanced scientific research was, by definition, on the

sharp edge of galactic affairs, the frontiers of weaponry,

medicine, bioengineering. It meant wealth and power.

It meant danger.

As he came abreast of the black gate the sentry stepped out

to bar his way. Suddenly Chris realized that this sentry didn‟t

have the bulky shape of the guard he‟d seen earlier.

The cloaked figure was tall and elongated with a tufted

head, black glittering eyes, a sharp beak and long sinewy

limbs ending in clawed feet.

It was a Dethak.

Chris had heard of the species - everyone had - but he‟d

never actually encountered one before.

An avian-evolved life form which had long ago lost the

power of flight, the fierce Dethaki had been driven into the

mountains when their remote planet had been taken over by

the big mining corporations.

Too few to regain their planet, too proud to adapt, the

surviving Dethaki became mercenaries.

What was a Dethak doing on sentry duty? wondered Chris.

They were too temperamental for routine military duties, but

they were incomparable guerrilla fighters - and assassins.

It was said that no Dethak returned unsuccessful from a

mission. They made their kill, or they died.

The Dethak spoke in a harsh, screeching voice. „You are

the one called Christopher Cwej?‟

„That is my name.‟

„I offer you challenge.‟

„I have no quarrel with you.‟

„Nor I with you. The quarrel belongs to those I serve. I

offer you fair contest.‟

The Dethak swept back its cloak to reveal sinewy feathered

arms ending in clawlike hands. Each hand held a sword.

The swords whirled and spun and then became still. It was

a dazzling, deliberately intimidating display.

„I offer fair challenge,‟ said the Dethak.

Chris stood silent for a moment. Then he said mildly,

„How can the challenge be fair? I have no sword.‟

The Dethak tossed him one of the swords. Chris caught

it by the hilt and studied it curiously. It was beautifully

balanced, relatively short, slightly curved, and razor-sharp.

The Dethak bowed, and stepped back a few paces, its

remaining sword held high. „Fight!‟

„Sorry,‟ said Chris. He tossed the sword to the ground,

plunging his hand back into his pocket.

„Then die!‟ The Dethak sprang, curved blade held high.

Chris took a stubby black blaster from his pocket and shot

the Dethak in the heart at point-blank range.

It staggered back, dropping its sword, and toppled to the

ground.

Kicking the swords out of reach, Chris knelt beside it.

The glittering black eyes opened and looked reproach-

fully at him. „You have no honour. You have slain me by

treachery!‟

„Sorry, I‟m not into ritual combat,‟ said Chris. „If I have to

fight I like to get it over with quickly, before I get hurt.

Besides, I haven‟t actually slain you at all.‟

„I feel the coldness of death

„You feel the effect of a neuron blaster set to stun.‟

Chris flicked a lever on the side of the blaster. „Now it‟s on

maximum. If I see you again, I‟ll kill you.‟

The Dethak said harshly, „You will not see me again.‟

„Good!‟ said Chris. He rose and marched away into the

night.

For a time the Dethak lay still. Then, slowly and painfully,

it got to its feet, picked up both swords, and staggered

towards the black gate.

Chris went back to the hostel and called Benny on the

vidicom, telling her he‟d arrived safely. He didn‟t mention

the Dethak.

He noticed that Bernice looked pale and shaken.

„Benny, what‟s the matter? Are you all right?‟

„Not really. They‟re trying to get me flung off the faculty.‟

She told him about her conversation with Irving Braxiatel.

„Oh well,‟ she concluded, „easy come, easy go!‟

„Cheer up,‟ said Chris. „At least they‟ve stopped trying to

kill you. Get some sleep, Benny. I‟ll come and see you

tomorrow.‟

Jarl Kedrick was still at his desk, working late. It had not, he

felt, been one of his best days. He was waiting for the Dethak

assassin to report that its task had been carried out.

The voice of a security guard came over his comm unit.

„The Dethak is at the main gate.‟

„Admit it, and escort it here immediately.‟

Jarl Kedrick looked up eagerly as the Dethak entered the

room. It stood before the desk, towering over his seated

form.

„Is it finished?‟ asked Kedrick eagerly.

In a harsh grating voice the Dethak said, „Not yet.‟ It

whipped the glittering swords from beneath its cloak.

Jarl Kedrick cowered back. „He bribed you to kill me!

You‟ve changed sides! What about your famous Dethak

honour?‟

The Dethak said, „I have no honour.‟

Both swords swept down, slicing open its own abdomen,

depositing its entrails in a neat steaming pile on Kedrick‟s

desk.

The Dethak stood upright for a moment longer, and then

fell stiffly, like a tree.

With a yell of rage and repulsion Jarl Kedrick leapt to his

feet, stabbing at an alarm.

Security guards ran into the room and froze at the gory

sight before them.

„Don‟t just stand there, you fools,‟ screamed Kedrick. „Get

that useless bloody turkey out of here!‟

„What shall we do with it, sir?‟ stammered a guard.

„You can roast it for your supper for all I care!‟ Kedrick

pointed a shaking finger at his desk, and laughed

hysterically. „Look! The giblets are out already!‟

Next morning Bernice Summerfield had a brief and

unpleasant interview with Dr Follett, her head of department.

He informed her that she was suspended from the faculty of

St Oscar‟s University, pending the investigation of „certain

allegations‟. He advised her to go away for a while, lie low,

and avoid all controversy. He intimated vaguely that, if she

followed this course, the whole matter might well blow over.

Holding her breath against the chlorine fumes, Bernice

nodded silently and left without protest.

Chris was waiting for her in her quarters with his travel

pack. He helped her to pack and after a brief conversation

they left for the spaceport together.

It was some time before Jarl Kedrick recovered his

composure, but he managed it at last. Later that same day

he went back to see the Director.

„I know things didn‟t work out exactly as planned, Director,‟

he said smoothly. „But I think you‟ll agree that the end result

is satisfactory. This is the relevant part of their conversation

before they left for the spaceport. With your permission,

Director?‟

Chris‟s voice came first: „So what‟ll you do?‟

Then Bernice Summerfield: „Take a bit of a holiday. I‟ve

got a few shillings piled up. I‟ll probably book a cruise on

one of those spaceliners. Old Follett reckons all this fuss will

soon be forgotten if I keep my nose clean. What about

you? Are you going on looking into this Megacity Project

business?‟

„No, I‟ve decided you were right. Too far away, too long

ago - and much too dangerous. No, there‟s nothing to be

done now, not without treading on some very powerful and

sensitive toes. And I don‟t want to meet any more Dethaki. I

might not be so lucky next time…‟

The recording clicked off, and Kedrick looked triumphantly

at the Director.

After another of his unnerving silences the Director said,

„Now isn‟t that convenient?‟

Suddenly Kedrick felt his recovered confidence ebbing

away.

„What‟s that, Director?‟

„They‟re saying exactly what we want to hear…‟

Many days and light years later, Bernice Summerfield turned

to her travelling companion and said, perhaps for the

hundredth time, „Do you think they bought it?‟

He glanced out of the thick plastiglass window of the

space shuttle. At first there was little to be seen, just a thick

blanket of smog, broken by occasional flares. Then, as they

descended further into the choking smog, a sea of flickering

neon appeared through the grimy clouds.

„We‟ll soon know,‟ said Chris Cwej. „That‟s Megacity.‟

3

CRIME SHEET

MEGACITY:

Megacity is the only town of any size on all Megerra.

The city, and indeed the planet, have a strange history and

an oddly mixed economy.

A bleak and isolated planet on the fringe of the galaxy,

incredibly rich in valuable minerals, Megerra was grabbed

and carved up by the big mining corporations in their early

expansionist days.

At first it was purely an industrial planet. But mining

corporations employ vast numbers of personnel. There are

highly paid executives and engineers. To back them up there

is a whole network of administrative staff - who have to be

paid high salaries to lure them to unpleasant planets with

few amenities.

Miners make good money too, though only by working

brutally long shifts all round the clock.

For a time Megerra was full of hard-working people

with money in their pockets and nothing to spend it on.

It was a situation that couldn’t last. Soon entrepreneurs

flooded in from all over the galaxy to supply the lack. They

included hoteliers, restaurateurs, bar owners and show-

business people of every kind. They also included gamblers,

whores, drug dealers, killers and thieves.

Megacity mushroomed, spreading until it covered much of

one of the planet’s smaller continents. Soon there were

hotels, bars, restaurants, casinos, nightclubs, establishments

to cater for every pocket and every taste. Everything from

expensive high-class casinos, where you. could lose a fortune

under glittering chandeliers, to cellar gambling dives where

you would be robbed much more cheaply by a roll of the

loaded dice.

Then a strange thing happened. Megacity became so well

known as a wide-open pleasure city that it started attracting

tourists from other planets. Word spread that for a wild time

with no questions asked Megacity was the place to go. An

ugly, sprawling, incredibly large metropolis on an industrial

planet with no natural amenities of any kind has become an

intergalactic tourist attraction.

Tourism and entertainment - in the widest possible sense

of the words - have grown into an industry that rivals the big

mining corporations themselves. The new industry now has

representation on the Planetary Council, and mining mag-

nates and show-business tycoons jostle for civic power.

With so much money being made, much of it in fairly

dubious ways, there is also crime. It’s no secret that many of

the clubs and casinos are owned and run by criminals of one

kind or another. In the early days there were savage territory

wars, but in time things settled down. Just as the mining

corporations have carved up Megerra, the gang lords have

divided Megacity among them.

Today the crime situation in Megacity is of a rather strange

and specialized nature. Booze, gambling, most drugs,

prostitution and money-laundering are treated as everyday

businesses in Megacity - a fact some ojf-planet criminals find

distinctly unnerving.

(The celebrated gangster Big Rocco from Formalhoute

Four was once heard to say, ‘Here in Megacity I’m practi-

cally legit. I can’t hardly find no crimes to commit!’)

All the same, there are limits. It’s perfectly all right to rob

the off-duty miner or the visiting tourist with rigged cards, a

crooked wheel, or loaded dice. If drinks with a friendly local

life form, encountered in a dimly lit bar, lead to the visitor

waking up in some alleyway with a thick head and an empty

wallet - well, that’s only to be expected.

It’s severely frowned upon, however, to follow the visitor

into that same dark alley and relieve him of his credits by

more direct means, such as a blow on the head or a knife in

the back.

This sort of thing harms the tourist trade, which means it’s

bad for business. In Megacity, anything that’s bad for busi-

ness is a crime.

Some entertainments are forbidden as well. Brutal bare-

knuckle prizefights are extremely popular, but the arenas,

where gladiators fight savage beasts, and each other, to the

death, are technically illegal - though widely available if

you know where to go.

Paradoxically, Megacity is not too unsafe a destination for

the ordinary tourist. City Council and criminals alike frown

on any harm being done to those who bring them the money.

You can more or less bank on being swindled, but on the

whole you’re rather less likely to be robbed or killed -

though it still happens from time to time. And there’s always

the danger of being caught by a stray blaster bolt in one of

the occasional gang wars - in which case the Megacity

Council will ship your body home free of charge.

Even the legendary Megacity cops are less fearsome than

they used to be. In the bad old days law and order was

maintained by Chief of Police Garshak and a squad of

head-cracking Ogrons.

But as time went by his methods were felt to be a touch too

flamboyant, and he has been replaced by a succession of

police chiefs who maintain a lower profile.

There are, however, disturbing rumours lately of an upswing

in violent crime. The Tourist Board says these rumours are

greatly exaggerated, and the police force have the situation

well in hand - but then, they would, wouldn’t they?

Quite frankly, we still advise against making Megacity a

stop on your galactic tour. However, if you must go, we

advise a few simple precautions. Make sure you get all your

shots before you land, and be reasonably discriminating in

your choice of drink, drugs and companions. Carry as few

credits as you can and resign yourself to leaving most of

them behind in Megacity.

Hotels range from the hot-bed joints along Spaceport

Boulevard to the glossy and incredibly expensive Megotel

One.

There are no youth hostels...

from „Megacity‟ in The Rough Guide to the Galaxy.

That‟s how it was, at least for a very long while. Finely

poised between mining business, show business and crime,

Megacity found a kind of uneasy equilibrium.

But strange forces were seething below the surface, and

they started to erupt...

His Honour Markos Ramarr, Mayor of Megacity, studied the

computer printout.

„Up!‟ he said bitterly. „The goddam figures are up again.‟

His Honour was a big, imposing figure with a politician‟s

ready smile. At the moment his handsome features wore a

look of gloomy resignation.

He swung round on the other occupant of the penthouse

office, a stocky, ornately uniformed figure with a low fore-

head, beetling brows and a heavy jaw. Chief Harkon‟s sub-

ordinates called him „the Chimp‟ - but not where he might

hear them.

„The figures aren‟t all up, Your Honour,‟ said Harkon

stubbornly. „Fraud‟s down, burglary‟s down

„Yeah, but crimes of violence are up!‟ said Ramarr. „And

that‟s what people care about. Murder, muggings, assaults,

criminal damage

„I know it looks bad,‟ said Harkon defensively. „But a lot

of that stuffs really pretty small-time. Every time some

drunk miner picks a fight and wrecks a bar, or some fool of a

tourist gets himself mugged, it shows up in the violent-crime

statistics.‟

„Those fools of tourists pay most of our salaries, Chief,‟

said Ramarr. „If they stop coming times will be hard around

here. The Tourist Board says bookings are starting to fall off

- not by much yet, but it‟s a trend. The mining corporations

are complaining as well. When their miners go out for a night

on the town, the bosses like them to report back for duty in

one piece. They say profits are down and investment‟s slow-

ing up.‟ He scowled down at Harkon. „You‟d better do

something about these violent crime stats, Chief. People are

starting to say we ought to get the Ogrons back!‟

„Things aren‟t that bad, Your Honour.‟

„They‟re getting that way,‟ said the Mayor gloomily. He

looked thoughtfully at Harkon. „I hear Garshak‟s still

around...‟

„Garshak? I thought he died years ago,‟ said Harkon, well

aware that Garshak was still very much alive.

Ramarr shook his head. „Garshak‟s too mean to die. He‟ll

probably live for ever. One or two of his boys are still

around, working as bouncers and bodyguards. Maybe I

should ask Garshak if he wants his old job back.‟

Harkon scowled, hoping His Honour was joking. The

trouble was, he wasn‟t really sure.

„I‟ll crack down harder, Your Honour,‟ he promised. „The

problem is, these things flare up so suddenly - and in such

unexpected places.‟ He picked up a computer printout at

random.

„Look at this crime sheet here. Little Louie‟s Hotel and

Piano Bar Lounge, a perfectly respectable criminal hang-out,

never any trouble. Late last night a fight starts, somebody

hits the bouncer with the piano and a riot breaks out.‟

The Mayor snatched the printout. „You picked a very good

example, Chief. You realize the consequences of what

happened here? The place gets wrecked so the owner is

complaining.

Three

Alpha

Centaurian

tourists

are

hospitalized, so the Consul from their home planet is

complaining, and so is the Tourist Board.

„Elections are coming up soon and this is just the sort of

incident that‟s hurting the administration. And what are our

wonderful Megacity Police doing about it? Nothing!‟

„There‟s nothing to go on,‟ growled Harkon. „By the time

my boys got there, the fight was over, the place was

wrecked and the guy who started the trouble had vanished.

If I know Louie he‟s looking for him harder than we are -

and if Louie finds him before us, believe me, he really will

disappear…‟

„I should never have employed an Ogron for a bouncer,‟ said

Little Louie. Louie was a round, troll-like figure from the

high-gravity planet Vathek II, and his usually cheerful face

was contorted in a scowl. Since Louie had the bald head,

wide mouth, hooked nose and flapping ears typical of his

species, his scowl was really something to see.

He looked around the wreckage of his bar, and glared

reproachfully at the massive figure towering above him.

„You‟re paid to stop fights, not start them.‟

„Not start fight,‟ said the Ogron patiently. His name was

Murkar, and once, a long time ago, he had been a policeman,

one of Chief Garshak‟s principal assistants. Now, like the

other survivors of Garshak‟s special squad, like Garshak

himself, Murkar earned his living as well as he could: as

bodyguard, bouncer, whatever came along.

Murkar had enjoyed working at Louie‟s Lounge. He liked

the easy-listening music and the fact that there were few

fights. He even liked Louie himself. This latest job had been

a good one. He would be sorry to lose it.

„OK,‟ said Louie. „Tell me one more time.‟

„Man come in,‟ said Murkar. „Big man, quiet, well dressed.

Maybe miner in best clothes. Not drunk, not angry. Sad. Sits

at bar, listens to music, drinks. Bar gets crowded. Man

orders another drink.‟

„Was he drunk by now?‟ interrupted Louie. „Had he been

tossing them down?‟

„Barman say no,‟ said Murkar. „Man still sober. Orders

drink, barman busy, say just a moment, serves someone

else. Man grabs barman, pulls him over bar.‟

Little Louie looked sadly around the shattered bar.

„He caused all this because he had to wait for his drink?‟

Murkar went on with his tale. „I hear noise from door, come

in, tell man to let barman go. He throws barman through

mirror behind bar. Then he hits me.‟ Murkar frowned. „Not

usual, hit Ogron.‟

The whole point of employing Ogrons was that their very

presence usually prevented trouble. Nobody in their right

mind would attack an Ogron.

„I surprised, stagger back,‟ Murkar went on. „Man picks up

piano, hits me with that, I fall.‟

„He picked up the piano?‟ said Louie incredulously.

Murkar nodded. „Small piano,‟ he pointed out. He

hesitated.

„Something else.‟

„What?‟

„In his eyes, when he first turn round to hit me,‟ said

Murkar. „Something like red flame. Something... not human.‟

„Guy must have been wired,‟ muttered Louie.

„Wired?‟

„High, flying, on something. There are drugs that do that -

abnormal rage, abnormal strength. Skoob, for instance. Go

on.‟

Murkar shrugged. „Someone grabs man‟s arm, he knocks

them down, big fight starts. Time I get up, stop fighting, man

gone.‟

Louie wondered briefly if one of his competitors could be

behind the attack. It wouldn‟t be the first time that a wrecked

bar was the first move in an intended takeover.

He rejected the idea almost at once. As far as he knew the

latest territorial treaty still held, and this didn‟t feel

professional - it was too weird, too irrational.

„Guy was definitely wired,‟ said Louie decisively. „Some-

one‟s putting some bad stuff on the street. I better check it

out.‟

There was no other explanation, he thought. The man‟s

behaviour was simply insane. Louie was connected, everyone

knew that, and to start trouble in a mob-connected joint was

suicide.

But then, so was hitting an Ogron with a piano...

Louie turned to the huge patient figure beside him.

„I‟m afraid I‟m going to have to let you go, Murkar, at least

for a while.‟

Murkar nodded sadly. „I understand, Louie. I let you

down.‟

Louie shook his head. „No, it wasn‟t your fault.‟

„I should have seen fight coming, stopped it.‟

„No way you could know. Anyway, apart from anything

else we‟ll have to close down for a while, get this mess sorted

out.‟ He reached in his pocket, produced a massive roll of

credits and peeled off a few notes. „Here, little something to

tide you over.‟

Murkar waved the offered credits away. „No. You already

pay me up to date, Louie.‟

He turned away and trudged across the rubble-littered

floor.

„Come and see me when we reopen,‟ yelled Louie. „We‟ll

work something out.‟

Murkar raised a huge hand in farewell, and disappeared

into Megerra‟s perpetual murk.

Suddenly Louie realized he was going to miss him. Murkar

was a nice guy - for an Ogron.

He began to calculate how many credits it was going to

cost him to get the bar up and running again. And what was

he going to do about this new drug that was turning miners

into madmen?

The big man waited patiently at the queue in the little

money-changing booth on Spaceport Boulevard. When he

got to the head of the line he produced not a bundle of

off-planet currency but a heavy-duty military blaster. He

aimed it at the spindly grey-haired clerk on the other side of

the plastiglass screen.

„Just shovel out all the Megacity credits you can reach.‟

The clerk‟s foot touched the alarm button set into the

floor.

„Get lost, chump. That screen is blasterproof.‟

„You sure?‟ The man raised the blaster and fired and the

screen exploded into thousands of shining fragments.

There were shouts of alarm from the other clerks and

customers. „Nobody move!‟ yelled the man. He grinned at

the terrified change clerk. „Don‟t believe all your employers

tell you. Good armour glass costs credits, and they‟re too

tight to pay out just to save your miserable skin. Now, get the

money!‟

Hurriedly the clerk shoved credit notes over the counter

and the man stowed them away with his free hand.

When he finished he turned to force his way out of the

shop. But the narrow booth was crammed and the terrified

customers were still obeying his original command not to

move.

The man started shoving his way through the tightly

packed crowd. „Out of my way!‟ he screamed. „Get the hell

out of my way!‟

The electronic howl of a police hovercar came from out-

side the shop. The man whirled round on the clerk he‟d just

robbed.

„You bastard, you pressed an alarm!‟

A red flame flickered deep within his eyes.

The world narrowed, focused, seemed to slow down. He

saw everything through a burning red haze. His mind, his

body, his whole being pulsed with one fierce perception.

Enemy, enemy, enemy. Danger. Kill! Kill! Kill!

He raised the blaster and fired. The impact of the blast

slammed the clerk‟s body across the inner room.

There were more screams from the crowd, and the man

with the blaster went berserk. He fired blast after blast into

the crowd ahead of him, searing a path through packed

bodies, trampling over the dead and dying as he escaped.

Once clear of the booth he turned and raked the crowd

with blaster fire until the charge was exhausted. Throwing

the weapon down, he turned and ran, disappearing into the

fast-gathering crowd. Nobody tried to stop him.

When the police hovercar swung round the corner it found a

scene of panic and carnage. There were bodies everywhere,

some dead, some dying, some with blaster burns of varying

severity. The two hovercops called for immediate backup

and a medical team and soon the street was filled with

ambulances and more police hovercars.

While the medics carted away the dead and wounded, the

cops secured the crime scene, questioned witnesses and

chased away the merely morbidly curious.

By the time Chief Harkon arrived they‟d got things pretty

well sorted out.

„Basically just a simple stick-up, Chief,‟ said a hovercop

sergeant who‟d been one of the first on the scene. „Guy sticks

a blaster in the clerk‟s face, shoots out the screen, grabs the

money and takes off.‟

„Pausing only to kill - how many people?‟ The Chief

grabbed a passing medic by the arm. „What‟s the score so

far?‟

The medic checked a list. „Seven stiffs, three more probably

won‟t make it, about a dozen blaster burns, ranging from

severe to minor.‟ The medic pulled free. „Do you mind,

Chief? There‟s still a lot to do.‟

„Ten people killed and twelve wounded,‟ said the Chief

bitterly. „All for a lousy handful of credits. Just a simple

stick-up.‟

„That‟s what‟s so weird, Chief,‟ said the hovercop. „He

already had the credits. He didn‟t have to blast anybody.

From what the witnesses say he just snapped when he heard

our siren.‟

„Must have been on something,‟ muttered Harkon. „A

vrax-head.‟

The sergeant shook his head. „Vrax-heads go all to

pieces, shaking all over. Wouldn‟t have the strength or the

concentration.‟

„Maybe something new,‟ said Harkon. „I‟ll check it out.

What about the weapon?‟

The sergeant produced a sealed transparent evidence bag.

„We found this just outside. It fits the description of what

he used.‟

Chief Harkon examined the squat heavy weapon. He

sighed.

„What we got here, Sergeant, is your standard military

heavy-duty hand blaster. Millions of „em all over this sector

of the galaxy. Untraceable.‟

The sergeant nodded. „Some busted mercenary probably

traded it in for a few free drinks.‟

Chief Harkon handed back the bag. „Get it to the lab, see if

they can pick up some DNA traces. Maybe just once we‟ve

got a killer who didn‟t wear gloves. Have we got any kind of

description?‟

„Just a guy, Chief. Not old, not young, not big, not small,

not spiffy, not shabby. Just a guy.‟

„That‟s all?‟

„Very nearly. Human, or at least humanoid, somewhere

between young and middle-aged, average height, strongly

built. Someone said he could have been a miner. Not the way

he was dressed, just something about the way he looked.‟

„Miners don‟t do stick-ups,‟ said Harkon. „They don‟t

need to. All they do is get drunk and bust up bars

occasionally -‟ He broke off. „Hey, just a minute! Some

miner type busted up a piano bar late last night.‟

„You think it was the same guy, Chief?‟

„As far as I remember the description fits. And it had the

same screwy feel to it. This guy went berserk for no real

reason at all.‟

„ Well, if the same guy pulled this stick-up and he did it for

booze money, he‟ll spend the money and do it again,‟ said the

sergeant philosophically. „Maybe we‟ll get him next time.‟

Chief Harkon nodded. „Let‟s try to do it before he kills

another ten people - just to keep the Mayor happy.‟

* * *

In a rundown back street not far from Spaceport Boulevard

was an old-fashioned pledge shop. You could raise money on

almost any article of value - not much, but the price of a few

drinks.

You could sell - for a fraction of its value, but with no

awkward questions - a vidiphone, a comm unit, any odd

portable item that might come into your hands. You could

pick up a bargain, if you too asked no questions, and were

prepared to keep your new purchase out of sight for a

while.

The shop was run by a Pakhar called Zarnek, who was so

old that his fur had turned entirely white. He was never seen

outside his shop, where he lived surrounded by a clutter of

miscellaneous objects - clothes, jewels, weapons, ornaments

and antiques.

There were those who said that all this clutter was just

protective coloration. They, said that old Zarnek dealt in

goods of considerably more value - often buying and selling

valuable property while it was still in the possession of

unsuspecting owners, arranging for collection and delivery

by freelance entrepreneurs.

On this, his last morning, old Zarnek sat hunched over a

vision screen watching the mid-morning newscast with an

expression of frozen horror on his hamster-like features.

„Massacre

on

Spaceport

Boulevard,‟

intoned

the

commentator. „We bring you up-to-date pictures of the

shocking crime, just one of the latest horrors that have

shocked and shaken Megacity

Zarnek sat motionless as the scene outside the change

booths flowed across the screen - the police hovercars and

ambulances, the grim-faced hovercops, the terrified

witnesses.

„He just went on blasting and blasting,‟ sobbed a

frightened woman, the camera closing in voyeuristically on

her ravaged face. „There was no reason, he had the

credits…

Zarnek reached out and switched off the screen with a

trembling paw. A shadow fell across him and he looked up. A

man stood on the other side of the counter. An average-

looking man in everyday clothes, not old, not young.

Zarnek shrank back in horror. „What have you done?‟ he

whispered. „What have you done?‟

„What you sent me to do,‟ said the man. „It went very

well.‟ He fished out a bundle of credits and tossed them on

the counter. „Here‟s your percentage.‟

Zarnek made no move to touch the notes. „I sent you to

steal, not to kill. You come to me penniless and beg for work.

I happen to know that a certain change booth has installed

substandard armour glass, that a determined man with the

right weapon could clean the place out. I tell you of the place,

I even give you the weapon, and you bring me this!‟ He

jabbed a stubby paw at the credit notes. „A miserable handful

of credits - in exchange for ten lives!‟

„There was some trouble,‟ said the man vaguely. „People

got in my way. Why did you give me the blaster if you didn‟t

want me to use it?‟

Old Zarnek was genuinely shocked. „To smash the screen

- and then to get the money. You shout, you yell, you even

fire a blast into the ceiling. You frighten people - but you

don‟t hurt them. And you certainly don‟t kill them.‟

The man shrugged. „Oh well, these things happen. Do you

want your credits or don‟t you? And what about another

job?‟

„No, I don‟t want the credits,‟ snarled Zarnek. „As for

giving you another job - you‟re a savage, a wild beast. Do

you realize how hard the police will be looking for you

now?‟

„Then you must help me, find me a place to hide.‟

„Help you? I don‟t know you, I‟ve never seen you. Hide

you? There‟s nowhere in Megacity for you to hide, nowhere

on the planet. Now get out of here. Get lost!‟

Yet again the slowing down, the focusing, the burning red

haze. The urgent demand pulsing through his entire being.

Danger! Enemy! Kill!

Suddenly the man sprang. He stretched an arm over the

counter, grabbed Zarnek by the throat and lifted him high in

the air.

Old Zarnek choked and kicked and writhed, but his

struggles became weaker and weaker.

The man held him in the air, one-handed, watching him

die, a red flame burning deep in his eyes...

4

WELCOME TO MEGACITY

Travel packs at their feet, Chris and Bernice stood in the

centre of Megacity Spaceport.

„They‟ve done it up,‟ said Chris approvingly.

Bernice stared grumpily round the crowded concourse.

„Well, I‟d hate to have seen it before!‟

They were inside an enormous metal dome, the walls

broken up by the arched entrances to the various landing

and departure bays. Periodically the whole place shook with

the roar of retrorockets as another space shuttle landed or

blasted off.

The atmosphere was muggy and the air was heavy with

strange odours from the fast-food and drink stalls that dotted

the concourse.

The place was swarming with newly arrived tourists, eager

to sample the delights of Megacity. There were banks of

gambling machines everywhere, so they could start parting

with their credits right away. Heading in the other direc-

tion were departing tourists, haggard and hung-over, who‟d

obviously enjoyed all that Megacity had to offer and were

heading home, sadder, possibly wiser, definitely poorer.

Mingling with them were serious-looking men in formal

clothes clutching document cases, mining executives going

off on leave, or returning for another tour of duty.

There were also quite a few less prosperous-looking types,

stocky, broad-shouldered men with beetling brows, jutting

jaws and pitted skins. Some wore black coveralls with a

shoulder patch bearing a red letter D.

Bernice guessed that they must all be miners. Curious, she

thought, how alike they all looked. Did mining attract a

particular physical type? Or did you somehow grow like that

just through working in the mines?

Most of the miners seemed to be human or humanoid.

The tourist crowd was more varied, and Bernice recognized

Falardi, Foamasi and Arcturans, among others. There were

even a few nervous-looking Alpha Centaurians hurrying,

head down, through the crowd.

A few of the nonhumans were bearlike in appearance,

barrel-chested creatures covered in thick black or brown fur.

Bernice tugged Chris‟s arm as a couple of them moved past,

shouldering their way roughly through the crowd.

„Look, teddy bears!‟

„Don‟t stare at them,‟ warned Chris. „Those are Ursines.

They may look cute but they‟ve got a very unpleasant

attitude. When Roz and I were here a couple of them tried to

mug us.‟

Bernice turned hurriedly away - and found herself staring

into the face of yet another nonhuman. This face was furry

too but thin and sharp with long yellow teeth. It belonged to

a thin sinuous creature wrapped in a tattered cloak.

„Porrer, lay?‟ it snarled.

„I‟m sorry?‟

„Porrer, lay!‟ growled the alien again, and pointed to her

travel pack.

Bernice realized that it was saying „Porter, lady?‟

She nodded. „Sure, why not?‟

The creature‟s claw grabbed the travel pack - and Chris‟s

big hand swept down and chopped it away.

„No thanks. We can manage,‟ said Chris. His voice was

deep and menacing.

The alien sprang back with a snarl, its hand disappearing

under its cloak.

Chris slipped his hand inside his tunic.

For a moment they confronted each other. Then, with a

final snarl, the alien turned and slipped away into the crowd.

Bernice frowned. „What‟s wrong with hiring a porter? I‟m

tired of lugging that thing around anyway.‟

Chris took his hand out of his tunic. „That porter was a

Wolverine. They run the local street gangs, and they don‟t go

in for honest toil.‟

„Maybe that one was trying to go straight.‟

Chris grinned. „Straight to the nearest hock shop with all

your luggage. You‟d never have seen that travel pack again.

Welcome to Megacity, Benny!‟

„Terrific!‟ said Bernice. Wearily she shouldered her travel

pack. Chris did the same and they began walking across the

concourse towards the main exit.

„What now?‟ she asked.

„We need a base of some kind - a hotel.‟

„Where did you and - Where did you stay last time?‟

Chris smiled reminiscently. „Megotel One, the biggest

and most expensive place in town. There was this topless

waitress, I remember He caught Bernice‟s eye and broke

off hurriedly. „But then, last time we were working for

someone with unlimited financial resources.‟

„This time it‟s different,‟ said Bernice. „This time we‟re

spending our own money.‟

They‟d agreed to share expenses for the expedition. Chris

had funds from some undisclosed source, and Bernice had

just received another chunk of her bestseller royalties. They‟d

be all right for a time - but not if they threw their credits

around.

„We‟d better try to find somewhere cheap,‟ Bernice went

on.

„Not too cheap,‟ warned Chris. „Not in Megacity.‟

„If we go somewhere too high-class we can‟t afford to stay

on here.‟

„If we go somewhere too low-down, Benny, we probably

won‟t live through the night.‟

„Terrific,‟ said Benny again. „There must be some happy

medium between being robbed and being murdered. Maybe

there‟s somewhere we can ask. Let‟s try over here.‟

They were approaching a row of ticket booths when the

row broke out. A big, broad-shouldered man was shouting at

a clerk.

„I want a ticket on the next shuttle out and I want it now.‟

They heard the woman‟s voice, sharp with anger.

„I‟m trying to tell you, sir, the next three shuttles are fully

booked. It‟s our busiest time. I can get you on the midnight

shuttle to Space Station Alpha. You can pick up a connection

to anywhere in the galaxy from there.‟

„I can‟t wait that long. I‟ve got to get away now. If it‟s the

credits you‟re worried about...‟ The big man started pulling

credit notes out of his pockets and slamming them on the

counter.

„It‟s not the money, sir, there simply are no seats.‟

Bernice wasn‟t surprised to see Chris stop and observe the

situation. He‟d been an Adjudicator for so long that it was

hard for him to realize that any public disturbance was no

longer automatically his business.

She tugged at his arm. „Come on, Chris, let‟s not get

involved. We‟ve got more important things to do.‟

„I suppose so.‟ Reluctantly Chris started to move away.

The big man shouted, „Give me that ticket, you bitch!‟

He grabbed the clerk, a stout middle-aged woman with a

purple bouffant, dragged her over the counter and held her

high above his head.

„Give me that ticket before I break your fat neck!‟

He shook her so violently that the threat seemed likely to

be fulfilled at any moment. Angry shouts and screams of fear

came from the nearby crowd, but nobody moved to help.

Nobody but Chris.

He ran towards the ticket booth and grabbed the big

man by the shoulder, feeling iron-hard muscles beneath his

fingers.

„All right, that‟s enough. Let her go.‟

The man tossed the clerk almost carelessly back over the

counter and she crashed screaming to the ground amid a

litter of exploding computer terminals.

Then he grabbed Chris and threw him across the

concourse. Considering Chris‟s size it was an extraordinary

feat of strength.

Astonished as he was, Chris hit the ground in a smooth,

controlled roll, sprang to his feet and ran back in for the

attack. His hand lashed out in a savage chop, aimed at the

big man‟s jugular.

The big man brushed the blow aside and clamped his

hands around Chris‟s throat. Chris swung up linked hands

to break the stranglehold and found he couldn‟t do it. All he

could do was try to force the hands apart to relieve the

pressure, enough to stop the big man from killing him - at

least for the moment. But the man was incredibly strong.

Bernice ran up and punched Chris‟s attacker in the face as

hard as she could. It was like hitting a rock.

Forcing Chris down, the man raised his head and glared at

her over Chris‟s body.

Bernice saw red flames burning deep in his eyes.

For a moment she felt almost hypnotized. Then she cupped

her hands and brought them down both at once over the

man‟s ears.

The head jerked back and the man gave a roar of pain

- just as Chris, with a last convulsive effort, broke the

stranglehold and broke free, jumping to his feet.

The big man sprang up too. For a moment he stood

hunched, swinging between Chris and Bernice as if

wondering which to kill first.

A magnified voice boomed, „Armed police - down!‟

Chris reacted instantly, dropping to the ground and

sweeping his legs round in a scything motion that knocked

Bernice off her feet. Blaster bolts crackled over their prone

bodies and then Chris rolled protectively on top of her.

Bernice struggled wildly. „Gerroff, you‟re smothering me!‟

Wriggling from underneath him, she raised her head and

saw the big man running towards three armed policemen.

They fired again and he staggered to a halt, caught in the

crossfire from three blasters. Incredibly he lurched forward

for a few more paces.

The police fired again and the charred smoking body

crashed to the ground.

Chris helped Bernice to her feet and began clumsily

brushing her down.

Crossly she pushed him away. „Keep your hands off me you

big ape or I‟ll have you arrested for assault.‟

Chris looked hurt. „Are you all right, Benny?‟

„No thanks to you if I am. You knocked me down and

squashed me flat.‟

„I thought maybe you‟d sooner be squashed than blasted.‟

„You‟d no business interfering…‟

Her opinion seemed to be shared by the grizzled, heavily

moustached police sergeant who came to take their

statement.

„Very rash of you to interfere in police business, sir,‟ he said

severely, when Chris had finished telling him what had

happened. „Much safer to leave it all to us.‟

Perversely, Bernice leapt to Chris‟s defence.

„If you‟d managed to arrive a bit earlier, you‟d have seen

that lunatic waving some unfortunate fat lady like a flag.

She‟d probably be dead by now if my friend here hadn‟t

interfered in police business.‟

Hurriedly Chris said, „I‟m sorry, Sergeant, my companion is

still a bit upset. And I‟m sorry about interfering, but I acted

on instinct. I used to be in the job myself – Adjudicator.‟

The sergeant‟s manner changed at once. The Adjudicators

were recognized as an elite police force all over the galaxy.

„Quite all right, sir, and the lady‟s right too. You probably

saved the poor woman‟s life.‟

„What‟s it all about, Sergeant?‟ asked Chris.

The sergeant looked down at the big man‟s body.

„Nasty piece of work, this one, sir. We‟ve been on his tracks

for quite a while.‟

„Who is he?‟ asked Bernice.

„We‟re still not sure. Ex-miner, by the look of him. What we

do know is he went off on a killing spree. He smashed up

a bar, killed ten people while he was robbing a change booth,

then murdered the old crook who set the job up for him. He

was spotted leaving the murder scene and heading here.‟

Bernice was horrified. „He killed ten people - in a robbery?‟

The sergeant nodded. „No reason for it, either. Just went

berserk, same as here.‟

Chris‟s professional interest was stirred. „Do you get much

of this sort of thing?‟

„Seems to be on the increase, sir. To be honest, Megacity‟s

never been famous for law and order, but the amount of

violence these days - well it‟s pointless. Unprofessional.

Even the old crooks don‟t like it.‟ He lowered his voice.

„Between you and me, Chief Harkon is dead worried. He‟ll

be lucky if he holds down the job much longer.‟

A team of medics arrived to take away the dead body. The

sergeant took a mini-comp recorder from his pocket.

„If I could just have your names, please, for my report.‟

He held the mini-comp out to them.

„Christopher Cwej,‟ said Chris.

Bernice said, „Professor Bernice Summerfield.‟

As they spoke, their names appeared on the tiny screen.

The lettering faded and more data appeared.

The sergeant studied it and then said, „Mr Christopher

Cwej and Professor Bernice Summerfield? That is correct?‟

„That‟s right,‟ said Bernice impatiently. „Can we go now?‟

The sergeant looked embarrassed. „I‟m afraid not. I must

ask you to come with me.‟

„Whatever for?‟

„Warrants have been issued for your arrest.‟

„By whom?‟ asked Bernice indignantly.

„And on what charges?‟ demanded Chris.

The sergeant studied his screen. „The warrants originated

on the planet Dellah, on behalf of St Oscar‟s University. The

charges are: Professor Bernice Summerfield, embezzlement of

university funds. Mr Christopher Cwej - murder.‟

* * *

„I think this must be a record,‟ said Bernice bitterly, as the

police hovercar, siren blaring, bulldozed its way through

Megacity‟s permanent traffic jam. „I mean, I‟ve been in

trouble before as soon as I arrived on some strange planet -

but this is the first time I‟ve ever actually been arrested in the

spaceport!‟

„It took Roz and me several days to get arrested,‟ said

Chris. „We were investigating one of the Ripper murders

when the Ogron police turned up and chucked us in a paddy

wagon with two drunk miners and a very unhappy Alpha

Centaurian.‟ He chuckled. „Roz was furious. That was the

first time we met Garshak.‟ He leant forward and spoke to the

sergeant in the front passenger seat.

„I take it Garshak‟s not still Chief of Police?‟

„Not for years. It‟s the Chimp - er, Chief Harkon now. You

knew Garshak?‟

„Best of friends,‟ said Chris.

„I‟m not sure that‟s much of a recommendation these

days.‟

„Is he still around?‟

„Oh yes, he‟s still around.‟

Chris turned to Bernice and said quietly, „It looks as if we

didn‟t fool the good folks at St Oscar‟s after all then.‟

„What‟s the point?‟ demanded Bernice. „They must know

none of those charges will stand investigation.‟

„I don‟t think they‟re worrying about that. They just want

to nail us down till they can get their hands on us.‟

„How will they do that if we‟re in jail?‟

„Very easily, I imagine,‟ said Chris grimly. „If we end up in

Megacity Prison, there‟s a very good chance we‟ll never get

out alive.‟

The police hovercar came to a halt, and Chris looked out of

the window. As before, he saw a cobbled yard behind a high

stone wall. As before, he and his complaining companion

were marched up a grimy stone staircase and along a stone

corridor.

This time, however, they weren‟t thrown into a holding

cell to stew for a while but taken straight to the office of the

Chief of Police. Maybe, thought Chris, it was a reflection

of their double status as have-a-go heroes and suspected

criminals.

They were left outside under guard while the sergeant went

in and made his report. About ten minutes later, he came out

and beckoned them inside.

„Chief Harkon wants to see you. Listen, he‟s not a bad guy,

for a chief - he‟s as honest and fair as they let him be. I tried

to put in a good word for you. But he‟s under a lot of

pressure, so handle him carefully.‟

„Thanks,‟ said Chris.

The sergeant ushered them inside.

With a weird feeling of deja vu Chris looked around the

enormous office. Nothing seemed to have changed since

Garshak‟s day. The same lavish carpeting, the same gorgeous

hangings and colourful holographs, the same chairs and

tables, the same pictures and pieces of sculpture. They all

had a dusty neglected air, as if nobody really cared about

them any more.

There was even the same massive desk, although the

computer terminal on it looked considerably more up to

date.

The figure behind the desk had changed as well. Instead of

the massive, incongruously elegant figure of Garshak, Chris

saw a squat, beetle-browed figure in an elaborate uniform. A

chimp in uniform instead of a gorilla in a silk shirt, thought

Chris, and wondered guiltily if he was being speciesist.

Chief Harkon noticed Bernice staring around in

amazement.

„Pretty fancy for a cop‟s office, ain‟t it?‟ he said gruffly.

„One of the chiefs before me had it done. I keep meaning to

clear all this junk out, but I never had the time.‟

„Don‟t change a thing,‟ said Bernice. „I love it!‟

Harkon waved them to a couple of seats before the desk.

„Siddown!‟

They sat. There‟d be no herbal tea and spiced cakes with

this Police Chief, thought Chris. Harkon was all business.

He punched keys on the computer terminal for a few

moments and stared at the readout. He punched a few more

keys, frowned and stared some more.

Then he looked up, giving them both a cop‟s hard stare.

„Mr Christopher Cwej and Professor Ber-nice Summer-

field.‟ He looked from one to the other. „I don‟t know what to

make of you two.‟ He pointed a stubby finger at Chris. „My

sergeant seems to think you‟re a pretty good guy.

Ex-Adjudicator. Says you tackled a mad killer at the space-

port, saved some woman‟s life. Says you joined in pretty

good too, lady - sorry, Professor.‟

„I did my best,‟ said Bernice. „I don‟t think I achieved

much.‟

„You stopped him from strangling me,‟ said Chris. „It

seemed like a lot to me.‟

„Point is, you both tried,‟ said Harkon. „Lotta people don‟t

do that. That puts you with the good guys in my book.‟ He

nodded towards the computer screen. „But according to this,

one of you‟s a swindler and the other‟s a murderer.‟

„Just out of interest, who am I supposed to have

murdered?‟ asked Chris.

Harkon peered at the screen. „Someone called Arego - a

Dethaki.‟ He looked up at Chris. „Ring any bells?‟

„A Dethaki assassin attacked me when I was on Dellah.‟

„So you killed him? In self-defence of course!‟

„Not even that, Chief. I stunned him at close range.‟

„Maybe he died of it later.‟

Chris shook his head. „No way. The Dethaki are tough. If

he is dead, he was probably killed by his own employers to

shut him up. Or he may have committed suicide.‟

„What the hell for?‟

„He was sent to kill me and he failed. He would have felt

dishonoured. The Dethaki are very sensitive about their

honour.‟

Harkon shook his head. „Lotta weird shit going on out

there,‟ he muttered. He turned to Bernice. „And you, Prof?

Did you take off with the university piggy bank?‟

Bernice shook her head. „Those charges are false, Chief.

All of them. They‟re designed to put us in the hands of our

enemies so they can murder us.‟

„What enemies?‟ asked Harkon. „Why do they want to kill

you?‟

Bernice hesitated. Chris suspected she was wondering how

much to reveal. She gave him an enquiring look.

Chris, meanwhile, had been thinking hard. Long experience

of difficult and dangerous situations had made him

cautious. At times like this, the smart thing to do was either

to say nothing or to lie, to come up with a good cover story.

For some reason he found himself remembering something

an old friend had once told him: „I know it seems safest to

keep your own counsel, trust no one. A lot of the time it is.

But there‟s a danger. One day you might meet someone you

can trust, and you won‟t know how to deal with them.‟

Chris came to a decision.

„We‟re investigating something,‟ he said. „Privately, on

our own behalf. Something big, right here in Megacity

- with links to the Advanced Research Department at St

Oscar‟s University on Dellah. Some very powerful people

want us to stop looking.‟

„Looking for what?‟

„The hell of it is, Chief, we don‟t really know. It all started

here in Megacity, a long time ago

Briefly and simply he told of his earlier visit to Megacity,

of Roz‟s stumbling upon the Project, and of what had

happened afterwards, in Megacity and later on Dellah.

Harkon heard him out in silence. When Chris finished his

story Harkon said, „So all this comes second-hand from this

partner of yours? She around to back up your story?‟

„Not any more. She died.‟

„And all she knew about this Project, all she told you, is

what this guy who conveniently jumped out of a window told

her?‟

„“It‟s got to be stopped,”‟ quoted Chris. „“It‟s an

abomination, a crime against humanity. They think they can

control it, but they don‟t realize the danger. Once it gets away

from them there‟ll be blood in the streets. The killing will

begin again - and it‟ll spread from here to a hundred

worlds…”‟

Chief Harkon shook his head. „It‟s a helluva story. I‟m not

sure I want to get mixed up in it. Maybe I should just lock

you up and let them sort it out on Dellah.‟

Bernice echoed Chris‟s sentiments from the hovercar: „If

you do that you‟ll just be setting us up for our enemies to

murder us.‟

Harkon shrugged. „So?‟

„So you‟re a cop,‟ said Chris. „That‟s not the kind of thing

cops are supposed to do.‟

„Don‟t you preach at me!‟ snarled Harkon. „I‟m a cop in

Megacity. That means I‟ve got problems of my own.‟

Bernice seemed to have a sudden inspiration. „Does it

occur to you, Chief, that your trouble and ours might be

connected?‟

„How‟s that, Prof?‟

„We‟ve only been in Megacity for a few hours,‟ said

Bernice urgently. „All we‟ve seen is the spaceport and this

police station. But we‟ve already learnt that things are going

badly wrong here.‟

„Like what things?‟

„Like an upsurge in violent crime that you can‟t explain

and can‟t handle,‟ said Chris. „Like the fact that your job is

on the line if you don‟t produce results - and you‟re not

getting results.‟

„I‟m doing all I can,‟ said Harkon angrily. „All anyone

could do. Megacity‟s a tough town. Always has been, always

will be.‟

„It used to be a tough town back in the old days,‟ said

Chris. „I know, I was here. But the way I heard, it got

organized. There was still crime, sure, but there was no

violence – because violence is bad for business. Now it‟s out

of control again. There‟s blood in the streets - just as Roz

Forrester’s informant prophesied before they killed him!‟

Chief Harkon looked from Chris to Bernice, then back to

Chris.

„Lemme get this straight. You‟re saying that what‟s

happening here and now, stuff like that business at the

spaceport, is caused by this Project that was set up way back

then?‟

„We‟re saying it‟s possible,‟ said Chris. „Have you got a

better explanation right now?‟

Chief Harkon scowled, swinging his head to and fro. He

looked, thought Chris, like an old bull-ape tormented by

flies.

„That‟s crazy,‟ he growled.

„Maybe it is,‟ said Bernice. „But maybe it‟s true all the

same. Why don‟t you let us find out for you?‟ She gave him

her most winning smile. „After all, Chief, what have you got

to lose?‟

A hovercab stood waiting outside the police station.

The driver watched curiously as two prisoners, a big

humanoid male and a smaller humanoid female, were

escorted to the front steps of the police station by Chief

Harkon and a squad of his men. At a nod from Harkon one

of the cops opened the passenger door.

The male stood back deferentially, the female got in, the

male followed. The driver‟s long furry ears twitched as

Harkon leant through the still open door.

„Now listen, you two creeps, and listen good. I don‟t care

how big you are back on your home planets, how connected

you are to the Combine, here you‟re nothing - and there‟s

nothing here for you. We don‟t need imported scumbags

here, we got plenty of our own. So get out of Megacity - and

I mean today. Because if you‟re not both on the next shuttle,

I‟ll find some reason to slam your asses in jail.‟

The big male stared impassively ahead, as if he‟d heard

many such speeches before.

The female leant across him and said, „Thanks for the civic

welcome, Chief.‟

Harkon slammed the door in her face and roared, „Get

moving, cabbie. Get these two sleaze balls out of my sight!‟

The hovercab zoomed away.

Chief Harkon glared after it for a moment. Then he

grinned to himself and stomped back inside.

As the hovercab sped downtown the driver heard the big man

mutter, „Can he make it stick?‟

The female shook her head. „Hick-planet police chiefs!‟

she snarled, equally loudly. „He was just blowing smoke.

There are no charges against us here, and Megerra doesn‟t

have an extradition treaty - with anybody! It‟s the perfect

planet to take over a big operation.‟

„The local talent may object.‟

„Then teach „em different, Chris. That‟s why you‟re here.‟

„Anything you say, Dragon Lady. You set „em up, I‟ll blast

„em down.‟

In the front seat of the cab the driver‟s sharp furry ears

pricked up, and his ratlike muzzle twitched.

He spoke over his shoulder. „Spaceport, lady?‟

„Spaceport hell,‟ said the big man. „Take us to a hotel.‟

„Sure, boss. I take you to Megotel One, best in Megacity.‟

The big man glanced at the female, who shook her head

again.

„Too conspicuous.‟

The big man leant forward and clamped a massive hand on

the driver‟s shoulder. „Listen, we want a nice quiet hotel,

somewhere comfortable but discreet. Somewhere they don‟t

ask questions - or answer them either.‟ He reached into

his pocket with his other hand, pulled out a handful of

credit notes and stuffed them inside the hovercabbie‟s leather

jacket. „You know the kind of place I mean?‟

„I know exactly the kind of place you mean, boss. Jus‟ you

leave it to me.‟

Sometime later, the hovercab, now empty, was cruising

Spaceport Boulevard. The driver was talking into his comm

unit, so intent on his conversation that he drove past several

frantically waving tourists.

„I tell you, boss, they‟re a couple of heavy hitters. Chief

Harkon ordered them out of town and they just laughed at

him. They‟re connected to the Combine, and they‟re here to

take over some big operation... Yeah, two of „em. A dame

and a big fair guy called Chris. The dame‟s the boss, though.

He‟s just the muscle. He called her Dragon Lady... I took

„em to Little Louie‟s joint. They wanted somewhere discreet,

know what I mean?‟

The hovercabbie network was the fastest information

system in Megacity.

Very soon the word was out all over town.

5

MEGACITY EYE

My office that year was on the first floor of a rundown office

block just off Spaceport Boulevard. It wasn‟t much, just a

desk, a chair, a beat-up comm unit and an antique filing

cabinet, empty except for Megacity smog.

The only other features were a pair of large glass doors,

giving on to a ridiculously small balcony. The balcony

looked out over a sleazy side street filled with bars, hotels

and hock shops.

Things were quiet that particular morning. It was a dull

muggy day and I had the windows wide open, letting in the

choking fumes that Megacity calls air. Cat, a werecat who

sometimes drops in, was nowhere in sight. I bought myself a

drink from the office bottle, put my feet up on my desk, and

started thinking about how and why I‟d ended up in this

dump.

I‟d had a much bigger office once, an elegant place, full

of paintings, holograms, precious hangings and priceless

antiques. I‟d had power, authority, squads of men under my

command.

That was when I was Chief of Police. Now all I had was

this shabby office, a hat, a trenchcoat and a blaster.

The name‟s Garshak. I‟m an Ogron - and a private eye.

I came to Megacity with a handful of my people a long

time ago. We were the remnants of a botched experiment in

brain enhancement. Most of the subjects of the experiment

died, others went mad. A few survived, with varying degrees

of increased intelligence.

There was just one spectacular success. One Ogron whose

brain power got boosted to genius level - me!

The mad professor who was running the experiments was

delighted, until I put an end to the experimental programme

by breaking his neck. I killed the Ogron chief who‟d sold us

to him too. Then I stole the professor‟s spaceship and blasted

off with my fellow survivors. For some reason I felt

responsible for them.

We planet-hopped for a while, earning a living as

mercenaries, bodyguards, the usual thing. Then we arrived in

Megacity, back in the days when it was a boom town, when

anything went. They needed a police chief and I applied for

the job. There was one other strong contender, an Ice

Warrior, but he had an unlucky accident.

(Somehow he ended up in a vat of boiling metal in a

smelting works. Nobody ever figured out what he was doing

there - Ice Warriors hate high temperatures. Still, like I

always say, if you can‟t stand the heat, stay out of the

foundry.)

I became Chief of Police, with my fellow Ogrons as a

special flying squad. I did pretty well at it. I cleaned the

muggers and the petty thieves off the streets and made

Megacity safe for the tourists - and for the bigger thieves

who were running the town.

There was no salary as such, but fines and bribes more

than made up for it. It was a pretty good life for a while. But

times change and Megacity changed with them. Everything

became more organized, including the crime. The tourist

trade grew until it rivalled the mining business, and it was

felt that Megacity needed a more low-profile form of policing.

It‟s hard to be low-profile when you‟re an Ogron.

Eventually the City Council made it clear it was time for

me to go. They also made it clear that I had a choice. I could

go gracefully, or be shipped back home in a body bag.

I decided to take the retirement option. No pension, but a

handsome sum in severance pay - a bribe for going quietly -

plus all the credits I‟d stashed away in a long and corrupt

career in Megacity law enforcement.

My Ogron Flying Squad wasn‟t wanted, either, and I made

sure they all got good leaving bonuses as well. Ogrons being

Ogrons, they soon boozed and gambled it away. Some got

themselves killed, some drifted off-planet, until only Murkar,

my old number two, was still around.

I stayed around as well - quite why I didn‟t really know.

I‟d been in Megacity so long it was the only home I had.

There was nothing for me on the home planet any more, with

fellow Ogrons still communicating, no doubt, in grunts and

blows.

Anyway, I stayed. I moved into a penthouse suite in

Megotel One and started living the high life: fine food, fine

wines, and everything in the way of entertainment Megacity

had to offer - which covers a hell of a lot of ground.

For a while everything was fine. I had plenty of credits,

lots of highly placed friends. I became quite a figure in what

passed for society in Megacity.

When the credits started to run out, so did the friends.

I soon realized I‟d only been a sort of interesting freak

anyway.

I left Megotel One and booked into a sleazy downtown

hotel while I still had enough credits left to get by. I lay on

the bed boozing and watching old holovids all day and all

night.

In a weird kind of way those old holovids were to be my

salvation. A lot of them were historical cop shows set on Old

Earth. Seems there was once a town called Chicago that was

almost as corrupt as Megacity...

Some of them were about a special kind of detective,

private not police. Tough lonely men who took on crooks and

gangsters and sometimes the law itself, with nothing but guts

and a gun.

They were called shamuses, gumshoes, private eyes...

I did some research and found that this kind of story had

started on early-twentieth-century Earth. Some of them were

still available in vidbooks, and I read as many as I could

find.

Some words from one of these old writers seemed to stick

in my head. Something about a man going down the mean

streets who wasn‟t mean, wasn‟t tarnished or afraid. „The

best man in his world, and a good enough man for any

world...‟ How did the rest of it go?

There was something about taking no man‟s money

dishonestly, and no man‟s insolence without a due and

dispassionate revenge.

„He is a lonely man and his pride is that you will treat him

as a proud man or be very sorry you ever saw him.‟

Over the years I‟d been about as tarnished as they come.

As for honour, it wasn‟t a word for Ogrons - any more than

intelligence. But I suppose you could say I was unafraid. And

poor and proud and lonely - I was all of that. I‟d been a

corrupt cop for a hell of a long time. Being a fairly honest

private eye was something to aim for. Something to give

some point to a life that had gone on too long.

So I opened the office and waited for business. It was a

long time coming, but eventually a few cases started drifting

my way.

The first was a wandering-daughter job. I found the

missing daughter of a wealthy off-world businessman. She‟d

fallen in love with a gambler from Rigel II and run away with

him to Megacity.

By the time I caught up with her, she was glad to go home.

The gambler wasn‟t so keen on the idea but I reasoned with

him. I even went to see him in hospital afterwards.

I discovered why one of the smaller mining operations was

losing money. The guy who hired me, their chief accountant,

was siphoning it off to spend on drugs and dancing girls.

He‟d hired me to make it look like he had nothing to hide -

and because he thought an Ogron detective would be too

dumb to catch him.

I even caught a murderess - a mining president‟s pretty

young wife. She‟d been poisoning her husband‟s favourite

dish - fugora-fish stew - on a regular basis, using arsenic

she‟d stolen from the mine‟s laboratory.

She nearly got away with it. She‟d kept the doses small

and fugora-fish stew is pretty poisonous in its normal state.

But she forgot that arsenic grows out into the hair and nails

of the victim. She had the body cremated - but before she

managed it I gave the corpse a quick haircut and manicure. I

got the lab to check - the old boy‟s hair and nails were

loaded with arsenic.

Gradually I started to make a living.

Sometimes I had more cases than I could handle and had

to take on Murkar as an assistant. At other times, like now,

business was slack. I had time to sit back in my office chair,

smoke my nicotine-free cigarettes - „I‟d walk a mile for a

Drashig‟ - and catch up on my drinking.

The drinking was fine - I‟d got hold of some vragg strong

enough to burn a hole in the filing cabinet - but I didn‟t

really enjoy the smoking. Still, it was all part of the image. I

practised blowing smoke rings at the ceiling and brooded

about the state of things in Megacity.

I knew Megacity better than anyone else alive. I‟d been here

in the wild and wicked early days. I‟d seen the city settle

down into a highly efficient, tightly regulated machine for

extracting minerals from solid rock and credits from visiting

tourists.

But now something was going on. Maybe they‟d just been

sitting on the lid for too long. Like a half-tamed wild

beast, Megacity was reverting to type. Sudden gang wars

were breaking out, meaningless eruptions of savage violence

between mobs that had always gotten along pretty well.

The murder count was up for the first time in years.

I knew Chief Harkon pretty well - it shows how far

Megacity had come that they actually had an honest Police

Chief. „Chimp‟ Harkon and I weren‟t exactly friends - I

think he tolerated me as a necessary evil - but I knew him

well enough to know he was badly worried.

At this point in my reflections the two Ursines came in.

Ursines are a large, furry, not very intelligent life form who

resemble, as their name implies, an Old Earth species called

bears. Like their namesakes they are truculent and bad-

tempered.

At one time most Ursines used to work in the mines. But

when the machinery got more sophisticated the Ursines

couldn‟t cope. Many left Megacity, and those that stayed

drifted into low-level crime. They weren‟t bright enough for

anything too complicated, but they were OK as enforcers and

general hired muscle. They didn‟t usually bother to carry

weapons. The big paws could stun you, the sharp claws rip

you to bloody shreds.

So when these two shouldered their way into my office,

getting jammed in the doorway in the process, I knew they

weren‟t collecting for charity.

When they‟d sorted themselves out I gave them a friendly

nod.

„Morning, boys. What can I do for you?‟

There were two of them, one black and one brown. I‟d

heard somewhere that the black ones were supposed to be

brighter - which wasn‟t saying much. The black one seemed

to be in charge.

„OK, Garshak, move it!‟

I blew a smoke ring. „Move what, where?‟

„Move your Ogron ass downstairs. The boss wants to see

you.‟

„The boss being?‟

The brown one said proudly, „We work for Nastur.‟

The black one said, „He‟s outside, in the Caddy.‟

They both looked at me, waiting for me to shake with fear.

Nastur was bad news all right. He ran the drugs and liquor

on the South Side, which made him one of the most powerful

of Megacity‟s merchants. He was an immensely fat toadlike

reptilian who seldom left the fortified warehouse that formed

his South Side HQ. If Nastur had ventured out it was

something big. Which meant mega-credits. Nastur could

afford to pay well - and my bank account was getting low

enough to crawl under a Dalek.

All the same, I wasn‟t about to come running when Nastur

croaked. Bad for my image.

„If Nastur wants to see me he can call for an appointment.‟

The black one growled, „You deaf as well as stupid,

Garshak? The boss wants to see you, downstairs - now!‟

I yawned and stretched. „Tell you what, I happen to have a

gap in my busy schedule. If your boss likes to come up I‟ll

see him right away.‟

„There‟s no elevator in this crummy joint,‟ said the brown

Ursine. „The boss don‟t like to climb stairs.‟

„So carry him up.‟

„Easier to kick you downstairs,‟ said the black one. „Come

on, Garshak, quit jerking us around. You‟re coming down to

see the boss, right now. Hard or easy, your choice.‟

„If you insist, boys,‟ I said. I stood up, ducking my head to

avoid hitting the ceiling. I headed for the door and they fell in

beside me. I stopped so they came level and draped a friendly

arm across each of their furry shoulders.

„Hey!‟ protested the black one.

„It‟s all right, boys,‟ I said. „We‟re all friends, right?‟

Then I grabbed each one by the loose fur at the scruffs of

their necks and lifted them off the ground, holding them out

at arms‟ length. Sometimes there are advantages to being an

Ogron.

The Ursines were so amazed that they didn‟t even struggle.

They just hung limp, like oversized furry kittens.

I wheeled round, headed for the balcony, and peered out.

Sure enough there was a big, black Cadillac hoverlimo down

below, making my own cheap hovercar and the rest of the

street look shabby.

„Tell your boss I don‟t do business on the street,‟ I said.

„Or in hovercars either, not even Caddys.‟

Then I tossed them out of the window, first the black one,

then the brown. The black one hit the roof of the Caddy and

the brown one hit the black one.

An angry roar came from inside the limo.

I went back to my desk, poured another drink, set fire to

another Drashig and awaited developments.

I was on my sixth smoke ring when I heard huffing and

puffing and grunting coming from the bare wooden stairs.

Then the two Ursines carried Nastur up to my office. He sat

between them on a massive round seat specially built to

carry his enormous bulk.

The Ursines manoeuvred him into my office and put him

down in front of my desk. He waved them away with a vast

flipper-like hand and they took up positions by the door.

They looked a bit ruffled, but they didn‟t seem to be

damaged. Ursines are tough all right. They‟re just not as

tough as Ogrons.

Nastur glared at me with huge orange eyes.

„Those clowns made a dent in the roof of my brand-new

Caddy. I oughta have you wasted, Garshak.‟

‘Then I wouldn‟t be able to do whatever you want me to

do,‟ I said reasonably. „It must be something important or

you wouldn‟t have come. Have a drink, Mr Nastur. Tell me

how I can help you.‟ I took a glass from the desk drawer,

poured a belt of vragg and held it out to him.

He wrapped a flipper round the glass, sniffed the liquor

suspiciously, opened a wide lipless mouth and tossed it

down. He grunted as the fiery liquor hit him, gasping

frantically for air.

I knocked back my own drink and sighed with content.

„Good health, Mr Nastur.‟

Nastur belched, and gasped some more. „Can‟t you afford

to drink something decent, Garshak? Remind me to send you

a case of Algolian champagne.‟

Relieved that wasting me seemed to be off the agenda, I

gave him my serious professional look. „Now, what‟s the

problem, sir?‟

Nastur turned to his two furry henchmen. „You two - get

downstairs and see no local scumbag steals my Caddy.‟

Black Fur looked worried. „You sure you want us to leave

you alone with him, Mr Nastur?‟

„He was gonna waste me, he‟d a done it by now. Damn

little you two pussies coulda done to stop him.‟

Looking hurt, the two Ursines lumbered off downstairs.

Nastur belched again, and studied me through big orange

eyes.

„I hear you find things, Garshak. Things and people. I even

hear you‟re reasonably honest - which is a very strange thing

to hear about a Megacity cop.‟

„Ex-cop, Mr Nastur. I‟m trying to live down my sordid

past. Who or what do you want found?‟

„Who and what,‟ corrected Nastur. „The who is a guy

called Razek, works for me, or used to. The what is a

hovertruck full of booze and drugs and a bundle of credits,

money Razek was supposed to be paying out for me.‟

„So what happened?‟

It appeared that Nastur‟s shipments of booze and drugs

had to pass through the territory of Lucifer, another crime

lord, on their journey from the spaceport to his various joints

way out on the South Side. The shipments were sent under

escort and they paid an agreed toll. Razek had been in charge

of the latest shipment - and the passage money.

„So what went wrong?‟ I asked.

„Who the hell knows?‟ wheezed Nastur. „All I heard is

there was some kind of beef when the hovertruck reached

Lucifer‟s territory. Razek blasted several of Lucifer‟s guys -

and my guys when they tried to stop him. Then he took off

with the hovertruck and the rest of the toll money.‟

„Any idea where he is?‟

„I heard a rumour he was heading for the Lair.‟

The Lair was a ruined area of Megacity, blown up in the

last of the big gang wars. It had been taken over by the

Wolverines, the biggest and most vicious of the Megacity

street gangs, and was pretty much a no-go area for cops and

other crooks alike.

I shook my head. „I‟m not sure if I can help you, Mr

Nastur.‟

„You gotta help me, Garshak,‟ said Nastur. The throaty

voice was almost pleading. „I‟ve lost a whole shipment -

I‟ve just gotta get that hovertruck back!‟

He seemed absolutely frantic - so frantic I was suspicious.

„I wouldn‟t have thought losing just one booze shipment

would mean so much to a big-time operator like you.‟

„It‟s the next one I‟m worried about and all the ones after

that. At the moment, Lucifer‟s threatening to blast any of my

boys on sight. I‟ve got to get things running smoothly again,

and to do that I gotta know what happened.‟

„It‟s one hell of a job,‟ I said. „It‟ll cost you.‟

„It‟s costing me now,‟ howled Nastur. „Every day those

hovertrucks don‟t get through.‟

„Have you tried talking to Lucifer?‟

„Sure, I tried. I sent him one of my top men as a messenger.

Told him to find out what was going on and get it sorted out.

Lucifer sent him back - or part of him.‟

„Which part?‟

„He sent me his head.‟

„Now you want to send him mine?‟

„You‟re not one of my boys - you‟re a neutral. Maybe

he‟ll listen to you. Come on, Garshak, whaddya say?‟

What I ought to have said was no, but I needed the job.

My mission, should I choose to accept it, was two-fold.

First, to recover the stolen hovertruck and contents, the

missing credits, and if possible the missing Razek, dead or

alive - it didn‟t seem to matter much to Nastur. It was the

hovertruck he wanted.

That was the easy part.

Equally important was to find out what had happened and

convince Lucifer it wouldn‟t happen again, so shipments

could be resumed. Nastur gave me authority to negotiate a

settlement for him. We started haggling about terms.

Eventually we settled on a kind of sliding scale. If I

accepted the job, there would be an immediate,

nonreturnable advance. Nastur would pay me my usual daily

rate and cover all expenses. In addition there would be a

handsome bonus for success in each part of the job.

When agreement was reached, Nastur handed me a bundle

of credits and 1 went to the window and looked down. The

two Ursines were leaning against the Caddy, looking tough

for the benefit of the local street urchins - who didn‟t seem all

that impressed.

I whistled and jerked a thumb and they pounded up the

stairs.

As they lifted Nastur‟s chair I said, „You‟ll be hearing from

me, Mr Nastur.‟

„Make it soon,‟ wheezed Nastur. „Or you’ll be hearing

from me!‟

The Ursines gave me their tough looks and I blew them a

kiss.

„Take care, girls. Don‟t drop Mr Nastur down the stairs.

He‟s worth a lot of money to me.‟

The trio made their way out and I heard grunts from

the two Ursines and curses from Nastur as they staggered

downstairs.

A few minutes later I heard the big hoverlimo roaring

away.

I riffled through the bundle of credits, stuck it inside my

jerkin and poured myself the last of the vragg. I fired up

another Drashig and blew a few more smoke rings as I

considered the job I‟d just taken on.

Did it infringe my private-eye code?

Nastur was a sleaze ball, true enough. But then, all he was

asking me to do was recover stolen property, catch the thief,

and negotiate the resumption of normal business. The last

bit could even be seen as a peacemaking mission. A lot of

blood would be spilt if Nastur and Lucifer got into a turf war.

No, I decided, it was an honest enough job. As honest as I

was likely to find in Megacity anyway.

Full of virtue and vragg in roughly equal amounts, I closed

up the office and hit the mean streets of Megacity.

6

THE BIG SHOP

‘Dragon Lady?’ said Bernice Summerfield.

Chris looked awkward. „It just popped into my head - out

of some old holovid, I think. Anyway, the underworld likes

that sort of thing - criminals have lurid imaginations. I was

just trying to help your scheme along.‟

They were breakfasting in the little sitting room that came

with their suite in a discreet downtown hotel. The place was

shabby on the outside, luxurious inside. It wasn‟t

particularly cheap, but the hovercabbie‟s whispered

recommendation and a bundle of credit notes had procured

them a suite of surprisingly comfortable rooms without the

tiresome formality of registration.

They‟d had an excellent dinner in the little restaurant, and

breakfast had been just as good. Service was quick and

efficient, but everything had to be paid for in cash and at

once.

Chris reckoned they were used to guests making hurried

departures, voluntarily or otherwise.

Bernice finished her herbal tea and sat back. „Now

what?‟

„You tell me,‟ said Chris. „It‟s your plan!‟ Once convinced

that their investigation just might be connected with his

problems, Chief Harkon had offered to take them on as

special investigators. Chris had been ready to accept, but

Bernice had had a sudden inspiration.

„Our enemies have gone to some trouble to make us look

like criminals. Let‟s take advantage of it.‟ She had turned to

Harkon. „What would you do, Chief, if you heard a couple of

really big-time crooks were coming to Megacity?‟

Chief Harkon scowled. „Have „em picked up at the airport,

and find some reason to send them back where they came

from.‟

„You see?‟ said Bernice. „We‟re halfway there already!

Suppose they were technically in the clear - no outstanding

charges or anything?‟

„I‟d try to bluff them. Warn them to keep their noses clean

and their stay a short one.‟

„But you‟d have to let them go?‟

„I guess so. The law‟s the law, and even scumbags have

rights.‟

„Right!‟ said Bernice triumphantly. „So that‟s what you do

to us. Let us go with a stern warning. If you make it nice and

public it‟ll give us some criminal credibility, a chance to

investigate the Project from the inside.‟

After some more discussion the scheme had been

agreed. Chief Harkon had produced a metal box from his

desk, unlocked it, and begun pulling out bundles of

high-denomination credit notes. Apparently this was the

police department slush fund, untraceable money used for

paying informants and bribing politicians.

Chris hadn‟t wanted to take the money at first.

Chief Harkon had insisted. „If you‟re gonna do this, you‟d

better do it right. There‟s just one way to recognize your

big-time crook - conspicuous consumption. They carry cash,

big bundles of credit notes, and they throw it around.‟

Now, next day, they were established in their new roles,

and wondering about their next move.

„The trouble about this scheme of yours is, it puts us in an

essentially passive role,‟ Chris pointed out. „Investigators

investigate - they go round asking questions, stirring things

up. We can‟t really do that. We just have to hang around

looking mysterious and enigmatic, and wait for someone else

to make the first move.‟

Bernice caught sight of herself in a mirror and stood up.

„I can tell you my first move.‟

„What‟s that?‟

„When the going gets tough, the tough go shopping. If I‟m

going to be a Dragon Lady I‟d better start looking the part.

You need a makeover too.‟

Chris looked down at his plain travelling clothes. „What‟s

wrong with me?‟

„You‟re not nearly gaudy enough. Come on, I assume even

Megacity has a shopping district.‟

They went down to the dimly lit foyer, where the sad-eyed

little desk clerk called them a hovercab.

„Be a few minutes,‟ he warned. „They don‟t like coming

downtown these days.‟

As they stood waiting a voice from somewhere around

knee level said, „Everything OK, folks?‟

They looked down and saw a small, bald-headed, big-

eared, hook-nosed figure, the incredibly ugly features con-

torted in what was apparently meant to be a welcoming

smile.

„I‟m Louie. I own the joint. They treating you all right?‟

Bernice nodded. „It‟s everything I expected. You came

highly recommended.‟

„That right? Where you folks from?‟

„Around.‟

Louie seemed perfectly satisfied with the answer. It was

almost as if it was the one he expected.

„And they heard about Little Louie‟s Hotel off-planet?‟

„In certain circles.‟

„You care to tell me who recommended us?‟

„No.‟

Again, it seemed to be the right answer.

„I can tell you something else they said,‟ added Bernice.

„They said it was a place where people didn‟t ask questions.‟

„Absolutely,‟ said Louie. „No offence, Dragon Lady.‟

Bernice raised an eyebrow and Louie said hurriedly, „Sorry,

lady, word gets around. I don‟t usually run my mouth off.‟

„It can be a bad habit,‟ said Bernice icily. „Unhealthy.‟

Little Louie mopped his bald brow and looked about him

for a change of subject, and pointed to an open door leading

off the foyer. Decorators could be seen adding the final

touches to a bar that occupied one corner of the ground

floor.

„We‟re reopening the piano bar tonight. Hadda close for a

while - some drunk wrecked the place.‟

„Happen often?‟

„Hell, no. Most people got more sense than to cause

trouble here. Guy that did it was crazy. He strangled some

fence downtown and then got hisself shot by the cops out at

the spaceport. Lucky for him they found him before I did.‟

The desk clerk called, „Hovercab‟s here.‟

Bernice jabbed Chris in the ribs. „Check it out.‟

Chris looked blankly at her, Bernice scowled at him, and

Chris said, „Right.‟ Racking his memory for scenes from old

gangster holovids, he slid a hand inside his tunic, glanced

keenly around and stalked out into the street.

„Big guy don‟t talk much,‟ said Louie.

Bernice said coolly, „Talking‟s not what he‟s best at.‟

Chris appeared in the hotel doorway and nodded.

Bernice turned to Louie. „What‟s the most expensive store

in town?‟

„There‟s a branch of Nieman-Marcus off Central Plaza.

Or-‟

Bernice cut him off. „Nieman-Marcus will have to do.‟ She

smiled sweetly down at him. „We‟re travelling light. Had to

blast off in a hurry.‟

Louie nodded understandingly. „Happens, sometimes.‟

Bernice nodded and went out into the street.

Louie stared admiringly after her.

„Some dame, eh, boss?‟ said the desk clerk.

Little Louie nodded. „Some dame.‟

* * *

The next few hours were heaven for Bernice, and pure hell

for Chris. The hovercab took them uptown to the gleaming

ciystal towers of Nieman-Marcus. Bernice remembered hear-

ing that the store had started out in a place called Texas on

Old Earth. Originally it catered for newly rich oil mil-

lionaires weighed down with more money than they knew

how to spend. Here in Megacity the place was living up to its

old traditions. Trailed by a sulky Chris, Bernice glided

happily through its scented, air-conditioned atmosphere,

surrounded by luxury goods from all over the galaxy.

Fashion was pretty eclectic in Megacity, blending styles

from many different ages and cultures. Currently the mode

was Earth retro, and Bernice ordered a number of day

costumes and evening dresses, all in black, with suitable

accompanying floppy-brimmed hats, some with veils.

Ignoring his objections, she ordered a number of outfits for

Chris as well. Electronic scanners had already taken their

exact measurements, and while they lunched in the store‟s

penthouse restaurant robot tailors were running up their

new outfits with unerring precision.

By the time lunch was over, their new clothes were

wrapped and ready. Chris insisted on a last-minute visit to

the store‟s flourishing weapons department. In Megacity, as

in Old Texas, most people went armed as a matter of course

and the store‟s array of weaponry was comprehensive.

Chris bought a powerful but compact hand blaster and a

small hideout blaster. He bought a shoulder rig, and an

ankle holster for the hideout weapon. He added a vibroknife

and a neuro-sap.

Despite her protests, he insisted on buying a slimline

matt-black blaster for Bernice.

„It‟s Earth retro, madame,‟ said the Alpha Centaurian sales

assistant proudly. „Modelled on an old projectile weapon, the

Beretta automatic. The power pack fits into the butt, like the

old cartridge magazine, and you activate the weapon by

working the slide. It‟s a precise reproduction!‟

He demonstrated with a flurry of tentacles, sliding the flat

power pack into the weapon‟s handle, and working the slide

with a metallic double click.

In addition, Chris bought her a miniature lipstick blaster.

„Short-range of course,‟ said the assistant. „But so com-

pact! Will that be all, sir, madame? We have some very fine

hand-held atomics, state-of-the-art, I assure you!‟

„That‟ll do,‟ said Bernice firmly. „It‟s just for personal

protection. We‟re not starting a war.‟

„One never knows, does one, madame?‟ said the assistant

brightly. „Not in Megacity! Still, if you‟re sure... Shall I

giftwrap your purchases?‟

„No need,‟ said Chris. „We‟ll wear them.‟ He slipped off

his tunic and strapped on the blasters, put his tunic back on

and slipped the vibroknife and the sap in his pockets.

Bernice stowed away the mock Beretta and the lipstick

blaster and they headed for the lifts.

„Wonder you don‟t clank when you walk, carrying all that

gear,‟ she said, as they floated downward in the glass bubble.

„It was your idea to be gangsters,‟ said Chris. “The weapons

are just necessary accessories.‟

„Well, I hate guns,‟ grumbled Bernice. „I can use them if I

have to but I hate them.‟

„A gun is just a tool, ma‟am,‟ said Chris in a deep cowboy

voice. „As good or as bad as the man who uses it.‟

„Yeah, and a man‟s gotta do what a man‟s gotta do,‟ said

Bernice. „Toys for boys more like. You loved buying all that

hardware...‟

Still wrangling, they went to pick up their other pur-

chases. Then, with Chris loaded down with packages and

parcels and Bernice striding aristocratically ahead, they got

the gorgeously uniformed commissionaire to order them a

hovercab.

In the weapons department the assistant was talking into

a discreet corner comm unit. „Central? Weapons shop at

Nieman here.‟

„So?‟

„Couple of heavy hitters just came in, and got tooled up.

Interested?‟

„Go ahead.‟

„Usual rates?‟

„Sure.‟

The assistant gave a full and accurate description of Chris

and Bernice, and of the weapons they were now carrying.

„Address?‟ asked the voice on the other end.

„No, they paid cash down. Seemed to be loaded.‟

„OK.‟

The comm unit went dead and the assistant went back to

his duties. He had no idea who he had just given the

information to, or what use they might make of it. Nor did he

care. A modest amount of credits would be deposited to his

account at Megacity Miners Bank, and that was all that

concerned him.

Information was valuable in Megacity - and forewarned

was forearmed.

Back in the hotel suite Chris drained his tankard of ale and

flopped back in his armchair like a stranded starfish.

„Shopping!‟ he said bitterly. „I‟d sooner spend six nights in

a sewer on a warlock stakeout.‟

Bernice pushed Chris‟s share of the packages towards him.

„Stop grumbling and go and get changed.‟

„Then what?‟

„A few drinks before dinner. Dinner, and a few more

drinks. Then a night on the town.‟

Chris groaned. „How about an early night? Popcorn, a few

beers, watch a few old holovids

Bernice shook her head. „No chance. The programme for

this evening is wining and dining, champagne and caviar,

ending up in the most expensive nightspot in Megacity. It‟s a

tough job, but someone‟s got to do it.‟

Chris rose and stretched and yawned. „It‟s a helluva way to

run an investigation.‟

Bernice shrugged. „What else can we do? Like you said, we

have to hang around looking enigmatic and impressive,

and hope someone useful approaches us.‟

„I suppose so. We could try dropping a few heavy hints,

though.‟ Loaded with parcels Chris headed for his room. He

paused in the doorway. „About that nightspot

Bernice was happily ripping open parcels. „What about

it?‟

„I think I know just the place…‟

Little Louie looked around his refurbished piano bar, check-

ing that everything was up and running. The windows were

back in again, the walls had been redecorated, and there was

a new piano.

There was even a new piano player, the old one having

resigned on account of stress - even though Louie had

assured him that people hitting other people with his piano

wasn‟t going to be a regular event.

Better get in touch with Murkar, all the same, thought

Louie. Get him back on the payroll as doorman, just in

case.

Louie looked up as his two latest guests came into the bar.

It was quite a sight. The dame was wearing a long black

evening gown with a black silk stole around her shoulders.

She was carrying a handbag and wearing a little hat with a

flimsy veil. Behind the veil her eyes looked big and dark, and

her lips very red.

The big blond guy was all in black too, black suit, black

soft hat, black shirt with a white tie. Louie‟s experienced eye

spotted the small but significant bulges that meant the guy

was heeled. Couple of blasters at least, and probably a sap as

well.

Louie hurried towards them. „Hey, this is an occasion: first

customers since the reopening. Have a drink, on the house.‟

He showed them to a corner table. The dame ordered a

brandy, the big guy a beer.

„Won‟t you join us, Louie?‟ said the dame.

Louie got a beer as well and sat down with them. He raised

his glass. „Well, salud y pesetasV he looked at their

surprised faces. „It means -‟

„I know what it means,‟ said the dame. „Health and

money!‟

„Some guy from New Spain used to come in here,‟ said

Louie. „Said it all the time.‟

The dame took a healthy swig of her brandy. „There seems

to be plenty of money around in Megacity,‟ she said. „I

imagine health might be in short supply.‟

Louie nodded gloomily. „Place seems to be going all to

hell these days. Look what happened to my bar.‟ He told

them of the rising tide of violence in the underworld. Sudden

fierce disputes, savage little gangland skirmishes that never

reached the ears of the police. „Now they say there‟s a turf

war brewing up between Nastur and Lucifer,‟ he finished

gloomily. „Two guys that got along fine for years. Then

someone steals a hovertruck full of booze and drugs and

takes off into Wolverine territory.‟

The big guy looked interested. „Hijack?‟

Louie shook his head. „Get this - the guy that did the

stealing was ripping off his own side! Crazy!‟

„How‟s the Project doing these days?‟ asked the big guy.

„The how much?‟

„The Project. Last time I was here it was just starting up.

Word was it was going to be big.‟

Louie shook his head. „Sorry, you lost me. How long ago

was this?‟

„Quite a while.‟

Louie looked from one to the other. „That why you‟re here

- this Project? To take it over, maybe?‟ He caught the look in

the big guy‟s eye and said hurriedly, „Sorry, none of my

business.‟

„No it isn‟t,‟ said the big guy flatly.

„That‟ll do, Chris,‟ said the dame sharply. „Louie‟s a friend.‟

„If you say so.‟

The dame smiled at him. „Someone in your position must

hear a lot of interesting things, Louie.‟

„I hear all kinds of stuff,‟ said Louie uneasily. „I don‟t pay

no attention. I like to mind my own business.‟

„Of course you do,‟ said the dame. „But if you happen to

hear anything interesting about the Project, do let me know.‟

She put a hand on his arm. „I can be very grateful. Now can

you do me a big favour?‟

Louie gulped. „Sure thing. Like what?‟

„Recommend a good place for dinner.‟

After a lot of discussion they settled on a canal-boat fish

restaurant called the Floating Palace.

„Looks real pretty at night,‟ said Louie. „The fish is mostly

imported from off-planet so it‟s safe enough. Take my tip

though: stay away from the local speciality - fugora-fish

stew.‟

The guy called Chris smiled. Suddenly he looked a lot

younger.

„You don‟t have to tell me about fugora-fish stew, Louie. I

tried it last time I was here. Took me days to get over it!‟

Louie nodded. „We lose a few tourists every year, but

people keep right on ordering it. Beats me.‟

The dame drained her glass. „Let‟s have another drink

before we go. On us, this time, Louie.‟

„Wouldn‟t hear of it,‟ said Louie. „You‟re still my guests.

I‟ll call the Floating Palace, make you a reservation. You‟ll

need a hovercab as well.‟

As Louie bustled away Chris turned to Bernice. „Well, you

certainly charmed him!‟

„I think it‟s this outfit,‟ said Bernice. „It brings out the

femme fatale in me. No big-eared bald-headed dwarf can

resist me!‟ She frowned. „Do you think that blank look was

genuine - when you mentioned the Project?‟

„Looked like it to me,‟ said Chris. „But he‟ll be curious

now and he‟ll ask around. Maybe word will reach someone

who does know something.‟

„I like Louie. I hope we‟re not going to get him killed for

asking the wrong questions.‟

„Or us,‟ said Chris grimly. Suddenly he gasped. „Oh no!‟

A giant form had appeared in the doorway and was look-

ing around the bar. The place was filling up by now, and it

was obvious that the newcomer was looking for someone.

„What‟s up?‟ asked Bernice.

„It‟s an Ogron called Murkar - and he knows who I am!‟

7

THE LAIR

The joint was called the Inferno - it was an underground

cellar deep inside Lucifer‟s territory. It was also Lucifer‟s

HQ.

The doorman was an Ursine thug who I‟d had dealings

with before. He looked worried when I climbed out of my

hovercar and headed for the cellar door.

Flashing red neon from the big INFERNO over the door

illuminated his furry scowl.

„I don‟t know if I should let you in, Garshak.‟

„Do you think you can keep me out?‟

„I can get help.‟

„You‟ll need it.‟

I moved forward and he shrank back. I flashed my winning

smile at him, but that only seemed to make him more

nervous.

„So what‟s wrong with letting me in? Aren‟t my credits as

good as anyone‟s?‟

„For one thing, you‟re a cop.‟

„Ex-cop.‟

„Mr Lucifer don‟t like cops. He don‟t even like ex-cops.

He particularly don‟t like ex-cops who cosy up to that slimy

toad Nastur.‟

„I talked to Nastur on business,‟ I said. „I intend to talk to

Lucifer for the same reason - about something that will save

him money and trouble. You want to take responsibility for

turning me away?‟

Reluctantly he moved aside.

I went down the steps and into a noisy crowded cellar. The

air was thick with jekkarta-weed smoke, the tightly packed

tables were all full, and there was a crowd around the bar

at the far end. On a rostrum in the corner, a little band

was pumping out jazz. The crowd was mostly human or

humanoid with a scattering of Ursines and one or two

members of other species. Lucifer was an equal-opportunity

crime lord. But they all had one thing in common: they were

tough, they were armed, and they were Lucifer‟s troops.

Getting out might prove to be harder than getting in.

Lucifer himself sat alone at a table in an alcove. He was a

Demoniac from a planet called Gehenna, incredibly tall and

skeletally thin, with jet-black scales. His slanting red eyes

were set into a long, narrow skull crowned with two neat

horns. Leathery wings folded neatly across his back, and his

tail was curled around his feet.

I went over to the alcove. „May I join you for a moment,

Mr Lucifer? I won‟t take up much of your time.‟

He looked up at me, amusement in his red eyes, and

decided to respond with equal politeness - which didn‟t

mean he wouldn‟t have me killed if he changed his mind.

„A pleasure, Mr Garshak. Have a seat. Can I offer you

refreshment?‟

„A beer would be fine.‟

Lucifer raised a claw and a waiter appeared by magic.

„Beer for Mr Garshak,‟ ordered Lucifer. „Bring me another

bottle of champagne.‟

The waiter vanished and reappeared with the drinks almost

immediately. I swallowed my beer with a certain amount of

relief.

The offering and acceptance of hospitality made me a

guest, and in Demoniac culture, as in most others, the guest

is sacred.

Lucifer sipped his champagne. „So what can I do for you,

Mr Garshak?‟

„I‟m here on behalf of Nastur.‟

„I am extremely annoyed with Mr Nastur.‟

„I think he gathered that when you sent back his last

messenger‟s head.‟

„The last messenger was arrogant and overbearing,‟ said

Lucifer. „I became somewhat... irritated with him. Perhaps I

was a little hasty.‟

I waved the idea away. „What‟s an odd head between

friends?‟

Lucifer smiled. „You at least seem to be adopting a more

civilized approach. What is your message?‟

„Mr Nastur very much regrets what happened over the

shipment. He‟ll pay any reasonable compensation. He‟d like

to resume normal business as soon as possible.‟

„Is that all he wants?‟

„He‟d very much like his hovercab, and its contents and his

man Razek back, if I can find them, but that‟s my problem.

Getting things running smoothly again is the important

thing.‟

Lucifer considered, steepling long thin fingers that ended

in razor-sharp claws. „Very well. Tell Mr Nastur shipments

may be resumed - so long as there is no more trouble. I

will waive compensation, but in future the toll fee will be

doubled.‟

„Agreed,‟ I said. I reckoned Nastur was getting off light.

Lucifer seemed to be getting bored with the whole subject.

„If there‟s nothing else

„Just one other thing. If there are any survivors of the

shipment business, I‟d like to talk to them.‟

Lucifer frowned. „Why?‟

„Mr Nastur is very keen that I should find out exactly what

happened - so that he can ensure it doesn‟t happen again.

Since none of his people survived the incident - except the

thief, that is - yours are the only available witnesses.‟

Lucifer raised another finger. The waiter reappeared and

Lucifer said, „Get Zeke.‟

Moments later, another Demoniac appeared at the table.

His scales were red, not black like Lucifer‟s. He was half the

height and twice the width. Demoniacs seemed to come in a

variety of sizes and shapes. This one had the level scar of a

fresh blaster burn across the scales of his skull.

„This is Ezekiel, Mr Garshak - Zeke for short. Ezekiel!‟

„Boss?‟

‘This is Mr Garshak. Take him to the bar, buy him a drink,

and tell him anything he wants to know about the trouble

with Nastur‟s last shipment.‟

Zeke nodded and stood waiting.

I got to my feet. „Thank you for your time, Mr Lucifer.‟

Lucifer gave me a stately nod. „Drop by any time.‟

„I‟ll try not to trouble you again,‟ I said. „I‟d hate to

become an irritation - I like my head where it is.‟

I followed Zeke across to the bar, noticing how he parted

the crowds like a battle tank. At the bar he tapped a couple

of shoulders and two stools immediately became vacant. Zeke

snapped his fingers and two tankards of ale appeared.

He studied me for a moment. „You‟re a big one.‟

I looked across the crowded room. Nobody was looking at

me, but everyone knew I was there. It seemed a long way to

the door.

„I‟m not as big as a roomful of armed men,‟ I said.

Zeke nodded. „Nobody is. So what can I tell you?‟

„Tell me what happened. Tell me how you got that burn

scar.‟

„We stopped the hovertruck on the edge of our territory.

This guy Razek was driving, with another guy as guard. Me

and a couple of the boys checked the truck and Razek hands

over the money. Then suddenly he goes berserk, shoots down

my boys. His guard tried to stop him, Razek shoots him,

throws him out the truck and takes off.‟

„Where do you feature in this?‟

„I was round the back of the hovertruck, checking cargo.

When I heard blasting I ran round. Razek took a shot at me.

He missed, but it was close enough to stun me. Then he took

off in the hovercab.‟

I looked hard at him, considering his story. „No,‟ I said.

„Whaddya mean, no?‟

„That‟s not how it happened. Something must have

triggered Razek. You‟re lying, or at least you‟re holding

something back.‟

„You‟re crazy, that‟s exactly how it went down.‟

„The burn scar doesn‟t fit the story either,‟ I said. „If Razek

had shot at you from above, from the hovertruck, the scar

would be slanting downwards. But it‟s dead level. He was on

his feet on a level with you when he fired.‟

Zeke‟s hand moved almost imperceptibly towards his

pocket.

I laid a hand on his arm, like someone emphasizing a point

in a friendly argument. He tried to move his arm off the bar

and discovered he couldn‟t.

„Let me tell you how I think it happened,‟ I said. „I think

you boys were levying a little extra toll. A few cases of

booze, a box or two of drugs, compensation for the guys out

on the street. I think Razek saw what was happening and

snapped.‟

Zeke‟s eyes were cold. „You got no proof.‟

„Just a theory,‟ I agreed. „Would you like to come and

discuss it with your boss?‟

I smiled at him, let go his arm, and took a swig of beer.

Zeke stared down at the bar for a moment, then looked up.

„OK, you‟re right, that‟s how it happened. Whoever was

on checkpoint always took a little extra for themselves.

Nothing much, nothing official, it just happened. Sort of a

local custom.‟

„Go on.‟

‘This guy Razek sees what‟s happening, jumps out of the

truck and goes berserk. Says he‟s already paid the toll and

that‟s it.‟

„And?‟

„Like I told you. He blasts down my boys, shoots his own

guard when he tries to interfere, blasts me when I come

running up. Then he drives away.‟ Zeke shook his head. „It

don‟t make any sense - it wasn‟t even his stuff. And nobody

even cared - even Nastur turned a blind eye. And this guy

kills three men and takes off into Wolverine territory - all

over nothing.‟

I finished my beer and stood up. „You‟re right, it doesn‟t

make any sense.‟

Zeke said, „Lucifer have to know? About what really

happened?‟

„I won‟t tell him if you don‟t.‟

„Thanks, I owe you one. You going after this Razek?‟

„Probably.‟

„Into Wolverine territory? Into the Lair?‟

„If that‟s where he is.‟

„They‟ll kill you,‟ said Zeke flatly. „Kill you and eat you.‟

„Ogrons are hard to digest. At the very least I‟ll give „em a

bellyache.‟

„I heard tell they ate a Chelonian once,‟ said Zeke. „After

that even you‟d taste tender!‟

I nodded and made my way out of the crowded cellar bar.

Once outside I stood for a moment looking at the neon

sign and breathing what passes for fresh air in Megacity.

Well, so far so good. That was phase one completed. Now

for phase two. I got into my hovercar and drove towards

Wolverine territory.

Sometime later I was bending over the drive section of my

hovercar, stopped in a cracked and rutted circular plaza

surrounded by gutted and ruined buildings. The old plaza

and the ruins around formed a circle of blackness in the

perpetual neon haze of Megacity.

This was the Lair, the heart of Wolverine territory.

I had seen and heard nothing as I drove into that circle of

blackness. But I had felt something, felt the pressure of

constant observation from the surrounding darkness. You

could feel the hate and the lust to kill.

When the hovercar choked and stuttered and juddered to a

stop, and I got out to check the drive unit, I sensed scuttling

movements in the darkness around me.

I ignored them.

I fiddled with the drive for a while, gave it a final thump,

and slammed home the cover.

I went back to the front of the hovercar, to the driver‟s side,

reached inside and pressed the starter control. The drive

stuttered for a moment and roared into life.

As I started to get inside, I heard the quick patter of clawed

feet behind me. The blast of the neuro-sap took me behind

the ear and I pitched forward into a black pool.. .

When I awoke I was in the back seat of my own hovercar.

There was a cloaked and hooded Wolverine beside me, his

blaster jammed into my ribs. Another Wolverine was driving.

Their fierce ammoniac smell seemed to fill the hovercar.

I allowed myself to slump sideways, lolling against the

Wolverine on the seat beside me. He snarled and thrust me

away.

I grabbed the blaster with one hand, bending aside the thin

furry arm till the weapon pointed away from me. I clamped

my other hand on to the Wolverine‟s scrawny windpipe,

squeezing hard. His body jerked and convulsed and then

became still.

The Wolverine in the driving seat realized that something

was happening - but by then I‟d wrenched the blaster from

the dead Wolverine‟s hand and jammed it into the driver‟s

ear.

„Keep driving,‟ I said. „A stolen hovertruck just arrived in

your territory. Take me where you‟re keeping it.‟ I gave his

furry ear another jab with the pistol. „If I‟m not looking right

at that hovertruck when we stop, I‟ll kill you.‟

We drove on, following a twisting path through the ruins.

Eventually we reached another, smaller plaza. A hovertruck

sat in the middle, with half a dozen Wolverines hanging

around it.

I wasn‟t surprised that the driver had done as I asked. He‟d

probably been heading there anyway. As far as he was

concerned he was just driving me deeper into Wolverine

territory, to a place where he could count on reinforcements,

where he could kill me more easily. He thought he had

nothing to lose. He was wrong.

I should have killed him, but I‟ve always been too soft-

hearted for my own good. As he brought the hovercar to a

halt beside the truck, I smashed him behind the ear with the

blaster, then reached out and took his own blaster from

inside his cloak.

The other Wolverines had seen one of their own in the

driving seat. They must have assumed the pack had made

another capture.

They drifted carelessly towards the hovercar, wondering

what was going on. I don‟t know quite what they expected -

but I don‟t think they expected to see me climbing out with a

blaster in each hand.

They grabbed frantically for their own weapons but I was

already blasting them down. Only two of them lived long

enough to fire, and both of them missed. I ran between

the still-writhing bodies, jumped up into the hovertruck

and stabbed at the controls, hoping Nastur looked after his

transportation properly. The truck‟s powerful big drive unit

fired up immediately, and I roared away.

I rocketed the hovertruck between the ruined buildings,

doing my best to retrace our route to the old plaza. Once I hit

the main highway I headed back for the lights of Megacity.

I was clear of Wolverine territory and starting to feel safe

again - as safe as anyone is in Megacity - when I heard a

scrabbling sound from the back of the hovertruck. A ghastly-

looking figure climbed into the driving seat beside me. It was

a broad-shouldered thick-set man, blood-stained, bruised

and unshaven, and reeking of booze.

He gave me a dazed hook. „Wha‟s going on?‟

„Mr Razek, I presume?‟

„Yeah, I‟m Razek. Who the hell are you? Why are you

driving my truck?‟

„You lost it, remember? Mr Nastur hired me to get it

back.‟

Razek rubbed his eyes. „That‟s right...‟

„How much can you remember about what happened? I

gather you had trouble with Lucifer‟s people.‟

„I caught them boosting stuff from the truck.‟

„What happened after that?‟

Razek shrugged. „I... dealt with them,‟ he said vaguely.

„Then I took off. The Wolverines hijacked the truck. They

barred the road with rubble and jumped me when I hadda

stop. They beat me up, locked me in the back of the truck

and left me there.‟

„Lucky they did - you got rescued along with the truck. I

assumed you‟d already been killed and eaten.‟

Razek slumped back in his seat. „Gotta get the track back

to Nastur…‟

„Don‟t worry, I‟m taking you there now.‟

I drove the truck downtown to Nastur‟s big warehouse and

an astonished Ursine guard opened the gates to let me

through. I drove the truck across the yard and into the

enormous warehouse. Then I made a few quick preparations,

climbed down from the truck and helped Razek to get out.

Nastur sat in his special chair behind a wooden table,

boxes and crates and barrels piled all around him.

He looked up at me, orange eyes blinking in amazement.

„Mission accomplished, Mr Nastur,‟ I said. „I‟ve spoken to

Lucifer and he‟s agreed you can resume shipments. He wants

double toll, but I‟m sure you‟ll agree it‟s worth it. And here‟s

your truck back, and your driver, both a bit worse for wear.‟

„Amazing,‟ said Nastur. „You really are an extraordinary

fellow, Garshak. Quite extraordinary.‟

„All in a day‟s work,‟ I said modestly. „Since the job‟s

completed, I‟d like payment in full please - right now.‟

To my surprise, Nastur made no objections. „Of course!‟

He snapped his fingers and his Alpha Centaurian account-

ant appeared. He had an old-fashioned cash box bulging with

credit notes clutched in his tentacles.

Under Nastur‟s directions he counted out everything I was

owed, including a handsome sum to cover the loss of my car.

I stood watching the notes pile up, hands deep in the pockets

of my trenchcoat. When the counting was finished I grabbed

the thick roll of credit notes and thrust them into an inside

pocket.

„I think I‟ll go down to Happy Mike‟s car lot tomorrow

morning,‟ I said chattily. „He‟s got a nearly new red sport-

hover I‟ve had my eye on for quite some time.‟

Suddenly Razek lurched forward. „This guy gets a load of

credits? What about me?‟

Nastur stared coldly at him. „What about you?‟

„I stopped Lucifer‟s guys stealing your stuff. Ain‟t that

worth something?‟

„You stumble on a little petty pilfering and for this you kill

one of my best men, nearly start a war and then lose an

entire truckload of cargo. You‟re fired.‟

„That ain‟t fair

„Get out of my sight. You‟re lucky I don‟t kill you.‟

„We‟ll see who gets killed,‟ said Razek thickly. „I‟ll kill

you, you fat bastard.‟

He hurled himself at Nastur.

I didn‟t even like Nastur, and I didn‟t owe him a thing now

our business relationship was over. Still, it didn‟t seem right

to stand by and watch a recent client get killed.

That old code of the private eye again, I suppose.

I reached out and grabbed Razek. It was like grabbing a

live power cable. A few minutes ago he‟d been beat up and

exhausted. Now he was throbbing with energy. He glared at

me for a moment, red flames flickering deep in his eyes. Then

he threw me aside - something not easily done - and started

out for Nastur again.

I reached out to pull him back but by now Nastur‟s

bodyguards had got their act together. Caught in the

crossfire from at least three blasters, Razek‟s body, still

upright, writhed and twisted for what seemed an incredibly

long time and then suddenly fell.

I looked down at the body.

„Now there‟s someone who really had an attitude problem.‟

I turned back to Nastur. „I guess I‟ll be on my way...‟

„Not quite yet, Mr Garshak. There is one further item of

business to be settled between us.‟

There was a nasty gleam in Nastur‟s orange eyes.

I waited, hands plunged deep into my pockets.

„When I first came to see you, you dealt rather harshly with

two members of my entourage. Two Ursines. I employ a

good many Ursines, Mr Garshak, and they all seem to feel

that the honour of their species has been impugned. They

have asked if they might be permitted to pay you back if a

suitable opportunity arose.‟

„Like now?‟

Nastur smirked. „Like now. After all, in the interests of

good employee relations, I can scarcely refuse.‟

A bunch of about a dozen Ursines appeared from behind

the piles of crates. Some of them carried clubs and neuro-

saps.

It wasn‟t a bad scheme - from Nastur‟s point of view.

There were enough Ursines to give me a bad beating. When I

woke up - if I woke up - the bundle of credit notes bulging

my inside pocket would have mysteriously disappeared. And

if it ended up back in Nastur‟s tin box, there‟d be no way to

prove it.

„Just how many Ursines do you think you can handle at

once, Mr Garshak?‟ asked Nastur.

I sighed. Sometimes it‟s hard to hang on to your faith in

sentient species‟ nature.

„How many can you spare, Mr Nastur?‟ I asked. „And are

you willing to be the first to go?‟

I took my hands out of my pockets, a heavy blaster in each

hand. One of them covered Nastur, the other the group of

Ursines.

Nobody moved or spoke and I backed slowly out through

the big warehouse gates. Once on the other side I started

shoving them closed. The Ursine sentries came running up.

„Give me a hand here,‟ I called. „Hurry up!‟

„What‟s going on?‟

„Mr Nastur‟s orders. Thieves have broken in - he wants to

keep them bottled up in the warehouse. Get these gates shut

and locked and blast anyone who tries to climb over. I‟m

going for help.‟

As I ran from the warehouse they were ramming the gates

shut. Just as I turned the corner, I heard the crackle of

blaster fire. I grinned. I took the two blasters from my

pockets and tucked them back in the twin holsters under my

arms. I patted the reassuring bulge of the bundle of credit

notes and hurried on.

A few streets away I forced a roaming hovercab to stop by

standing in front of it and waving my arms. By the usual

mixture of threats and bribery, I managed to persuade the

driver to take me home.

Back in the office I broke out another bottle of vragg, sat

on my little balcony and drank to a successful job.

There had been a few hairy moments along the way.

I‟d heard about the value Lucifer placed on good manners,

and I was pretty sure he‟d respond reasonably to a polite

approach.

The worst bit had been using myself for live bait for the

Wolverines. I knew they took prisoners when they could,

sometimes for ransom, sometimes for the pleasure of killing

and eating them later. (Apparently they thought the meat

tasted better if it was eaten fresh, straight after the kill. Or

even before.)

I was pretty sure that they‟d underestimate the strength of

Ogron resistance to a neuro-sap. Not only are we hard to kill,

we‟re extremely difficult to stun.

Of course they might have used a vibroknife or a blaster,

or even a bomb. But they hadn‟t and I was still here, for

whatever that was worth.

I‟d even expected a last-minute double-cross from Nastur,

and he hadn‟t disappointed me. I could have tried a fancy

fast draw from the holsters, but I‟d decided to play safe.

When you need a blaster you need it fast, and the best place

to have it is right there in your hand.

The strangest thing about the whole business had been the

behaviour of Razek. The way he‟d snapped at the checkpoint,

killed his own man and hijacked his own cargo.

The way he‟d gone for Nastur with his bare hands in a

warehouse filled with Nastur‟s bodyguards.

The burning flames in his eyes and the way he‟d tossed me

- me - carelessly aside.

Mulling it all over, I watched the hovertraffic drift by

along the street, and the flickering neon signs of the neigh-

bourhood hotels and bars.

I didn‟t know it was going to be my last peaceful moment

for quite some time.

8

MEGACITY STANDOFF

The giant figure had moved into the bar by now, and was

looking around. Chris hunched up, trying to make himself

small.

Bernice looked at him in surprise.

„Why are you so worried about this character? Who is he

anyway?‟

„He‟s called Murkar and he‟s a cop - at least he was when I

last saw him.‟

„So why does it matter if he knows who you are?‟

„Well, he doesn‟t really. But he knows who I said I was

then.‟

Bernice sighed. „This isn‟t getting any clearer.‟

„When Roz and I were last here we were posing as Pinks.‟

„As what?‟

„Pinks. Agents of the Interplanetary Pinkerton Bureau.‟

„So?‟

„Don‟t you see? We‟ve gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to

pretend we‟re big-time crooks. If Murkar comes along and

reveals I‟m some kind of a cop .. .‟

„But you‟re not, not any more.‟

„I know, but I said I was then!‟

„Don‟t worry,‟ said Bernice consolingly. „He‟ll probably

have forgotten you. Aren‟t Ogrons supposed to be pretty

dim?‟

„Some Ogrons are brighter than others. From what I

remember Murkar‟s no fool - and you should see Garshak.

Oh no!‟

Little Louie had left the bar and was coming back towards

them. The movement had attracted Murkar‟s attention. He

followed Louie over to them.

„Everything‟s all fixed up,‟ said Louie. „I made the

reservation for you - you‟ll get a good table. Hovercab‟s on the

way. Oh, hi, Murkar. I was going to get in touch with you.

Ready to come back to work?‟

Murkar nodded. He was staring intently at Chris.

„I know you,‟ he announced.

To Bernice‟s astonishment, Chris jumped up and shook

Murkar warmly by the hand. „What a memory! OK, I admit

it, I‟m the guy! Hey, Louie, you didn‟t tell me this was a cop

bar.‟

„Murkar hasn‟t been a cop for years,‟ said Louie. „He

works for me now. You two know each other?‟

Murkar was still staring at Chris. „You are called

Christopher,‟ he announced. „I take you to spaceport after -‟

„All right, all right, no need for all the sordid details,‟ said

Chris, still with the same frantic gaiety. He grinned at Louie.

„Last time I was here I got on the wrong side of the police

and got booted off the planet. Old Murkar got the job. I must

say he was pretty decent about it - for a cop.‟

Chris shot Bernice an agonized glance, looked at Louie

and made a tiny jerk of the head. Bernice picked up her

empty glass.

„Did someone say something about another drink?‟

„Coming up,‟ said Louie and hurried back to the bar.

Chris stared up at Murkar. „Listen, Murkar, I need you to

do me a favour. Don‟t tell Louie - or anyone - any more than

I‟ve just told him. You took me to the spaceport, put me on

the shuttle. That‟s all you know about me.‟ He sat down

again.

Murkar gave him a puzzled frown.

Louie came back with the drinks, including a huge tankard

of ale for Murkar. „Sit down and join us, Murkar - you‟re not

working yet.‟ He looked from Murkar to Chris, his face

alight with curiosity.

„So you two met before. What had Chris here been up to,

Murkar?‟

There was a tense silence.

Then Murkar said, „Don‟t know. Garshak say take to

spaceport, put on shuttle. I take, I put!‟

„I guess I‟ll have to ask Garshak,‟ said Louie.

Chris reverted to his menacing gangster persona. „Better

not, Louie. Let the dead past stay dead - it‟s safer that way.‟

Bernice gave Louie her menacing Dragon Lady look.

„Like we were saying earlier, Louie - the people who

recommended this place said nobody asked questions.‟

„Sure, sure, just kidding,‟ said Louie hurriedly. „It was just

the coincidence. None of my business, right?‟

„That‟s right,‟ said Chris, and turned to Murkar. „Is Gar-

shak still around?‟

„Still around.‟

„You ever see him?‟

„Sometimes.‟

„I‟d like to talk to him. Tell him if you get a chance.‟

„I tell.‟

Louie‟s insatiable curiosity got the better of him again.

„I‟m surprised you‟d want to see Garshak again. I mean, if he

deported you

His voice tailed off under Chris‟s cold stare.

„Oops, there I go again

Chris smiled, and Louie relaxed.

„Garshak wasn‟t so bad,‟ said Chris. „He had enough on

me to throw me in jail. He let me off the hook - for a price.

The only condition was I had to be on the next shuttle out.‟

„Sounds like old Garshak,‟ said Louie. „I hear things were

pretty wild in the old days. This new Chief - Chimp Harkon

- you just can‟t do business with him.‟

„We found that out already,‟ said Bernice. „He had us

picked up at the spaceport when we arrived and tried to give

us the bum‟s rush. He couldn‟t make it stick, but he won‟t

like it when he finds out we‟re still here. So let‟s be discreet,

hey, Louie?‟

„My lips are sealed,‟ said Louie. „How is old Garshak these

days, Murkar?‟

„Garshak away. Job for Nastur, find stolen hovertruck.‟

„If he goes looking in Wolverine territory, we‟ll none of us

see him again,‟ said Louie gloomily.

„Garshak tough,‟ said Murkar. „Tough and smart.‟

„That‟s a good combination,‟ said Bernice.

Soon after that the hovercab arrived, and Chris and Ber-

nice went away.

Louie ushered them to the door and then came back to join

Murkar. He leant forward eagerly. „Now then, Murkar, have

another beer. Tell me all you know about this guy Chris. Oh

yeah, and what do you know about something called the

Project?‟

The Floating Palace lived up to Louie‟s recommendation. A

shining crystal barge, it cruised slowly up and down the

waters of Megacity‟s Grand Canal, mooring at regular inter-

vals to deposit customers and pick up new ones.

Chris and Bernice created a satisfactory stir when they

made their entrance. The maître d‟hôtel, an Alpha Cen-

taurian, had been told of their importance by Louie in vague

but impressive terms. He greeted them as celebrities, and

showed them to one of the best tables on the barge.

The imported food and wines were delicious and, on the

slowly moving horizon, Megacity by night was an impress-

ive kaleidoscope of glowing, multicoloured lights. And if, as

Chris pointed out, the phosphorescence of the canal was

caused by an incredible degree of pollution, the barge‟s

glowing bow-wave was no less beautiful for that.

„Why were you keen to see this Garshak again?‟ asked

Bernice over after-dinner brandy.

Chris shrugged. „Like Murkar said, Garshak‟s tough and

smart. And like you said, that‟s a good combination. Garshak

was Police Chief of Megacity for years. He knows where all

the bodies are buried, helped to bury quite a few of them.‟

„Would he know about the Project?‟

„He‟ll know if anyone does. And if he doesn‟t, he‟ll know

where to ask.‟

„Can we trust him?‟

„If we pay him enough. Garshak was corrupt, but in an

honest kind of way. He always gave value for money.‟

„And he‟s an Ogron - like Murkar?‟

Chris shook his head. „He‟s an Ogron not like Murkar -

not like any other Ogron in the universe.‟

He told Bernice about the cruel experiments that had

increased Garshak‟s intelligence to such an extraordinary

extent.

„Most of the subjects died or went mad, apparently. The few

that survived, like Murkar, ended up considerably brighter.

But Garshak was the one big success. He got boosted to

genius level.‟

„So he was lucky then?‟

„Was he?‟ said Chris. „Garshak was a very flashy character

when I met him, fancy clothes and fancy talk. But I always

felt there was something tragic about him. Think how alone

he is. How would you feel if you were the only really

intelligent member of your entire species?‟

„I feel like that all the time!‟ said Bernice. She drained the

last of her brandy. „What now?‟

Chris looked around the crowded restaurant. The crowd

looked affluent and some of them looked tough. But they

didn‟t, on the whole, look criminal.

„I don‟t think there‟s any point staying here - the joint‟s

too respectable.‟

„So what do we do?‟

„You laid out the programme yourself. Drinks, dinner, then

a nightspot.‟

„And you said you knew just the place.‟

„I used to...‟ Chris raised a hand and the maitre d‟ glided

over. „I visited a nightspot in Megacity, years ago,‟ said

Chris. „Place over in Old Town. It was called Raggor‟s

Cavern then, but the name may have changed.‟

The maitre d‟ knew the name at once. „Ah yes sir, Raggor‟s

Cavern. It‟s called Sara‟s Cellar these days. I understand that

the previous proprietor came to a somewhat sticky end.‟

„Extremely sticky,‟ said Chris. „I know, I was there.‟

The maître d‟ looked at him in surprise. „Surely not, sir. It

was a very long time ago!‟

„Maybe I just heard about it somewhere,‟ said Chris. „The

bill and a hovercab please.‟

The maître d‟ disappeared, returning minutes later with the

bill and the assurance that a hovercab would meet them at

the next mooring point.

Chris glanced at the astronomical sum on the printout, and

tossed an even larger sum on the table. It occurred to him

that Megacity must be one of the few places left where credit

notes in hand outranked any other form of credit.

The maître d‟ gathered the notes with eager tentacles.

„If I might be permitted the liberty, sir.‟

„Go ahead.‟

„I understand that Sara‟s Cellar is so expensive that only

the more successful among the criminal element can afford

it. It has the reputation of being an extremely dangerous

place.‟

Chris rose to his full height. He yawned and stretched.

„Is that so?‟ He helped Bernice to her feet.

The maître d‟ looked up at Chris‟s massive form, at the

expensive clothes and at the cold, hard face.

„But then again, sir, it occurs to me that you yourself might

be an extremely dangerous man.‟

Chris only smiled. Bernice picked up her bag and gave the

maître d‟ a haughty stare.

„Sure he is - and I‟m even tougher than he is!‟

The maître d‟ bowed. „We‟re just about to moor.‟

He ushered them out of the restaurant, down the departure

ramp and into the waiting hovercab.

* * *

Once they‟d gone the maître d‟ returned to the crowded

restaurant. He looked around, making sure that everything

was under control.

He greeted an arriving mine president and his mistress,

handed them into the care of his head waiter, and went to

his private office in the bows. He activated a comm unit,

punched in a code.

„Sara‟s Cellar? Get me Sara. It‟s the MD at the Floating

Palace.‟

After a moment a voice said, „Sara. What?‟

„Couple headed your way. Could be trouble. Big fair guy,

medium-sized woman. Well dressed, big spenders, guy‟s

heeled.‟

„Cops?‟

„I‟d say just the opposite. Something odd. The guy said he

was there the night Raggor got it - but he doesn‟t look all

that old.‟

„Interesting.‟ The cool voice sounded amused. „OK, we‟ll

take care of them.‟

„Just thought you might like to know. Professional

courtesy.‟

„Thanks, I owe you one.‟

The comm unit went dead.

The area around the nightclub that had once been called

Raggor‟s Cavern hadn‟t changed much. The same winding,

narrow cobbled alleyway with the same discreet door at the

end. The same sort of surly heavy on guard. Only the sign

was different. In neat flowing red letters it said SARAS

CELLAR.

Chris paid off the hovercab and pushed past the heavy on

the door, shoving a handful of credit notes in his astonished

face. He took Bernice‟s arm, helped her down the steep stone

staircase. The last time he‟d been on that staircase, thought

Chris, it had been choked with broken bodies. He could still

hear the screams and the crackle of blaster fire, smell the

tang of freshly spilled blood.

Inside it was the same old universal nightclub, the tightly

packed tables, the little stage, the tiny dance floor. Either it

was a deliberate attempt at Old Earth retro, or it was, as Roz

Forrester had always said, that nightclubs never changed.

The walls were different, though. They‟d been painted

crimson. Maybe that had been the easiest way to cover up

the bloodstains.

A thuggish-looking waiter slouched up and demanded to

know if they had a reservation. “Cause if not, buddy, forget

it...‟

„I‟ve got a reservation, right here,‟ said Chris, and shoved

credit notes at him.

The waiter sniffed. „Well, I guess we can find you some-

thing.‟ He looked around the crowded room and began

ushering them to an obscure table close to the door. Chris

shook his head.

„Won‟t do.‟

They were here to establish criminal status, and they

weren‟t going to do that hiding in a dark corner.

Chris pointed to an empty table close to the band. „That

one!‟

„That table‟s reserved for a regular customer.‟

„From now on I‟m a regular customer,‟ said Chris. He

went over to the table, pulled a chair out for Bernice, sat

down himself, shoved more credit notes at the waiter.

„Champagne, best you‟ve got. Make it snappy.‟

The waiter shrugged. „Your funeral, bud.‟ He moved

away.

„We‟re not overdoing the act, are we?‟ whispered Bernice.

Chris shook his head. „Big-time gangsters really do act

like this. I used to be a cop - I‟ve watched them. They reckon

there‟s no point to being big-time unless you let everyone

know it.‟

The waiter came back with the champagne, slopped it into

crystal goblets, slouched off.

Chris sat sipping the champagne, looking round, and time

rolled back. He‟d been sitting here with Roz, sipping some

weird drink with live creatures in it, watching an exotic

dancer.

He heard Bernice‟s voice as if from far away.

„Hey, come back.‟

He looked at her and grinned. „Sorry, memory overload.‟

„What exactly happened? When you were here with Roz?‟

„Didn‟t I tell you - back then?‟

Bernice shook her head. „I was away on Sentarion, living

on fruit juice and salad. You told me about Roz and the

Project at St Oscar‟s. But you never said much about what

happened here.‟

„It was our last night in Megacity,‟ said Chris. „Although

we didn‟t know that then. We were looking for a serial killer

we called the Ripper, who was really an alien called Karne.

He was a shape-shifter, the most skilled of them all. He got

stranded after a space battle and he was working his way

back to the home planet.‟

„I know about Karne,‟ said Bernice. „We met later, on

Sentarion. Why did he become a serial killer?‟

„For travel money,‟ said Chris. „As you know, he had vital

information for his people and he was desperate to reach

his homeworld. He‟d establish himself on a planet, find a

suitable victim, kill him, rob him and take on his shape.

When he‟d stolen enough money, he‟d move on to the next

planet, and start up all over again.‟

„And you and Roz tracked him to Megacity?‟

Chris nodded. „He killed a change-booth manager called

Sakis, stole his money and his shape. But that wasn‟t a big

enough score. His next target was Raggor, who used to run

this place. Raggor was a big-time drug dealer who kept lots

of loose cash around. Roz and I were checking out all the

likely joints and we finally got lucky. When we were in here

that last night, Roz spotted someone who looked exactly like

Sakis - and since Sakis was already dead we knew it must be

the Ripper.‟

Bernice shuddered. „I‟m with you so far, but I don‟t think I

like it.‟

„Well, you did ask.‟

„I know. Go on.‟

„We saw the Ripper go into Raggor‟s office. He‟d spun

him some tale about a big deal and got an appointment.

There was an Ogron guard on the door - Murkar, working

undercover - and by the time we got past him it was too late.‟

Chris paused. „You sure you want to know? This is where it

gets nasty.‟

Bernice nodded, and Chris went on with the gruesome

tale.

„By the time we got in the Ripper had gone back to his

Rutan shape. He had to dissect his victims to copy them...

We arrived just in time to see him slice Raggor open. When

he saw us he panicked. He shot out of the office and across

the nightclub in a kind of glowing fireball. The place was

crowded, like it is now. He carved his way through the crowd

and up the stairs, slicing up anyone who got in his way.

The place was like a slaughterhouse, blood and body parts

everywhere.‟

„And?‟

Chris shrugged. „We lost him again. We got ambushed by

a pack of Wolverines outside, and that held us up.‟

„I can see how it would. How did you manage to survive?‟

„Garshak‟s Ogron police turned up and rescued us.

Garshak deported us, that same night. Murkar put us on the

shuttle.‟

„How come you got deported?‟

Chris grinned. „There was some question about what

happened to Raggor‟s loot. Apparently it was still missing –

and we were the only ones who knew the Ripper didn‟t get it.

Garshak didn‟t want us hanging around asking awkward

questions.‟

Bernice drew a deep breath and took a long swig of

champagne.

„I can see why you were so keen to come back here. Blood,

mutilation and murder - this place is just choc-a-bloc with

happy memories for you!‟

Chris swigged his champagne and poured two more

glasses. He signalled to the waiter for another bottle. „It may

have been nasty, but at least it was simple,‟ he said

grumpily.

„What was?‟

„Chasing a serial killer. You knew what you were doing -

what you were trying to do anyway. This Project business -

do you really think it‟s connected to all the recent violence,

or were you just conning Chief Harkon into helping us?‟

„Both!‟ said Bernice expansively. She was beginning to

feel the effects of a long evening‟s drinking by now. „ “They

think they can control it, but they don‟t realize the danger.

Once it gets away from them there‟ll be blood in the streets.

The killing will begin again - and it‟ll spread from here to a

hundred worlds

Chris gaped at her. „Come again.‟

„Thass... that‟s what you told me Roz‟s informant told

her. And that‟s what‟s been happening, isn‟t it - blood in the

streets?‟

Chris frowned. „I suppose so. It‟s funny, though…‟

„What is?‟

„What you just said. I hadn‟t really thought about it before.

It‟s so... large-scale. What kind of crime could have that

effect? Unless

A shadow fell across the table. Chris looked up, expecting

to see the waiter. Instead he saw an immensely tall black

figure standing by the table. It was flanked by two other

figures, one red, the other equally black, both much broader,

but not so tall.

All three had scaly skins, red slanting eyes, and long

narrow heads crowned with neat little horns. Leathery wings

were folded cloaklike over their backs.

To Bernice, in her slightly fuddled state, it seemed as if

Satan himself, with a couple of attendant fiends, had sud-

denly appeared beside them. She did her best to look uncon-

cerned. She opened the handbag on the table before her and

toyed idly with its contents.

„Excuse me,‟ said the devil.

Chris was almost as taken aback as Bernice, but he took

refuge in his arrogant gangster pose.

„Yeah? What‟s your problem?‟

„I‟m afraid you are,‟ said the tall black figure. The voice

was deep and mellow. „You‟re sitting at my special table. No

one ever sits here but me, my employees and my guests.‟

Chris shrugged. „Looks like you‟re wrong about that.

We’re sitting here.‟

The tall figure sighed. „I hope we can resolve this without

unpleasantness. I am prepared to accept that a genuine

mistake has been made. I shall make sure the management

finds you another table, equally good if not better. But this

table is mine.‟

„Not tonight,‟ said Chris flatly.

„Then you leave me no alternative.‟

Chris was tense, ready to make his move. He crossed one

leg over the other, so that his hand was near the blaster in

his ankle holster...

The two flanking devils, clearly bodyguards, were poised.

„One moment,‟ said Bernice.

The devil raised a clawed hand to halt his bodyguards and

turned to her. „Madame?‟

Bernice spoke with exaggerated distinctness. „My associate

and I have come to Megacity on business. It would harm that

business if we were seen to be publicly intimidated.‟

„I sympathize with your predicament, madame. But -‟

„I haven‟t finished,‟ said Bernice coldly.

„I beg your pardon.‟ The devil seemed amused. „Please go

on.‟

Bernice touched her lipstick to her mouth. „This device I

am holding appears to be an old-fashioned lipstick. It is in

fact a miniature blaster. One end is pointed at my lips, the

other end at your heart. If anyone makes a hostile move I

shall kill you.‟

For a moment no one moved or spoke. Then the devil said,

„I am afraid we have reached an impasse. You see, I am

already in business in Megacity. My name is Lucifer. I am a

respected crime lord. My reputation and my business too

would suffer if I were seen to be publicly humiliated. So I

must call your bluff.‟

Bernice fought to keep her voice steady. „It isn‟t a bluff.

I‟ll kill you.‟

„Then my guards will kill you, and your companion.‟

„Don‟t be too sure of that,‟ said Chris.

„Oh yes, I am sure,‟ said Lucifer. „We are three to two. One

of you will die, probably both.‟

„That won‟t help you,‟ said Bernice. „I told you, you‟ll be

the first to go.‟

„Oh, I accept that you mean what you say, madame,‟ said

Lucifer. „But so do I. It seems we must both die...‟

9

AMBUSH

Suddenly Bernice realized that all this was real. They were

all going to be killed - in an argument over a nightclub table

reservation. It was a sobering reflection. She wanted to get up

and run - but she saw that Chris was keyed up for combat.

He wouldn‟t back down now.

A cool female voice said, „Is there some problem here?‟

Keeping the lipstick blaster levelled, Bernice flicked a

quick glance to one side, before returning her attention to

Lucifer.

A tall statuesquely beautiful red-haired woman in a low-

cut evening gown had come up to the table.

„Ah, Sara,‟ said Lucifer. „Just a little dispute about table

reservations. It‟s about to be resolved.‟

Chris, who‟d been staring at the woman open-mouthed,

hastily returned his attention to the situation - and to

Lucifer.

„One way or another,‟ said Chris grimly.

„Peacefully, I hope,‟ said the woman with an edge to her

voice. „We haven‟t had a killing for - oh, it must be several

nights now.‟ She smiled at Chris. „I‟d hate to lose a hand-

some new customer - or a much-valued old one, of course.‟

There was a long tense pause.

Then Lucifer said, „I offer a compromise - for the sake of

the lady with the lipstick.‟

„Please go on,‟ said Bernice.

„One of Sara‟s minions will bring a chair - two chairs,‟

said Lucifer. „And a bottle of champagne. Sara and I will join

you at this table. We will share a drink, we will talk for a few

moments - then Sara will escort you to another table. Instead

of being interlopers, you will have been my guests. Your

prestige will be enhanced, mine will not be diminished - and

Sara will be spared a most unpleasant scene.‟

Before Chris could speak Bernice said, „We accept. A most

generous offer. And I should like to apologize for the rude

and uncouth behaviour of my associate. All I can say is that

he‟s still young - he‟ll learn.‟

„If he lives,‟ said Lucifer. He smiled at Chris, who scowled

back - and shot a reproachful look at Bernice.

Sara had already summoned a waiter and two more chairs

were hurriedly brought to the table. Sara and Lucifer sat

down opposite Chris and Bernice. Lucifer‟s two bodyguards

took position just behind him.

There was yet another tense silence. But then, thought

Bernice, it was what you might call an awkward social

situation. She turned the lipstick blaster over in her hands.

Lucifer nodded towards it. „Could you really have killed

me with that trinket?‟

Unthinkingly Bernice twisted the lipstick case - and blasted

the bottle of champagne from the hands of an approaching

waiter. He gave a yell of alarm as it exploded, showering him

with champagne.

A hush fell on the crowded room - broken by Lucifer‟s

deep laugh. He ordered more champagne and the buzz of

conversation started up again all around.

Bernice decided she might as well brazen things out.

„You see?‟ she said sweetly. „I could easily have killed

you. It‟s quite an effective little weapon at close range.‟

On impulse she tossed Lucifer the lipstick case and he

caught it in a long clawed hand. He held it for a moment, the

business end aimed at her heart.

„Aren‟t you tempted to try it?‟ she asked.

Lucifer smiled. „It‟s not really my style. Besides, your friend

already has me covered under the table - with the

blaster from his ankle holster.‟

He tossed the lipstick to Bernice, who put it back in her

evening bag. „Put the blaster away, Chris,‟ she said firmly.

„And keep your hands on the table. We‟re having a truce.‟

„A lasting peace, I hope,‟ said Lucifer smoothly. More

champagne arrived. When it was poured, he raised his glass

in a toast. „ Salud y pesetas!’

‘Salud y pesetas!‟ said Bernice.

Lucifer refilled the glasses. „And what brings you to

Megacity?‟

„You might say it was a special project,‟ said Chris.

‘The Project, in fact,‟ said Bernice.

Lucifer looked blank. He raised his glass again.

„Allow me to wish you every success.‟

Another silence.

„I see an excellent table has just become free,‟ said Sara. „If

you‟ll come with me?‟

She rose, and Chris and Bernice got up to follow her.

Lucifer rose as well. He took Bernice‟s hand and touched it

to his lips. His hand, and his lips, felt dry and warm - almost

burning.

„I hope we meet again,‟ he said. „I seldom get the chance to

talk to a female of your species. Most humans find me rather

intimidating.‟

„Oh, I wouldn‟t say that,‟ said Bernice. „Personally I prefer

a man With a bit of devil in him!‟

For a moment Lucifer looked outraged, and Bernice

wondered if she‟d gone too far. Then he threw back his head

and laughed - a deep booming laugh that made heads turn

all around.

Sara settled them at their new table, provided yet more

champagne, and went to greet some newly arriving

customers.

Bernice glanced across the room and saw that Lucifer‟s

two bodyguards had occupied two of the vacant chairs.

Lucifer looked up and caught her glance, raising his glass in

salute.

She raised her glass back, and took another swig of

champagne. After all the recent tension, she was starting to

feel nicely relaxed again. She became aware that Chris was

scowling at her.

„What‟s up?‟

„Thanks for all the support. “Rude and uncouth” indeed.‟

„Well you were. I told you you were overdoing it! But

would you listen? Oh no! You had to go right ahead and pick

a fight with someone who appears to be Megacity‟s equivalent

of Al Capone!‟ She chuckled. „Or is our friend over

there really who I think he is?‟

„Depends who you think he is!‟

„Well, who does he look like? Satan, Beelzebub - Old

Nick!‟

„He‟s a Demoniac, from a planet called Gehenna.‟

„There you are, then,‟ said Bernice owlishly. „The devil

himself!‟

Chris smiled and shook his head. „Not really! The planet

Gehenna, and the Demoniac species, were originally given

those names by explorers from Earth.‟

„You can see why!‟

„There‟s a theory that early visits to Earth by Demoniac

explorers started a lot of the old myths. Now Demoniacs tend

to use those old Earth names when they‟re dealing with

humanoids.‟

„Why?‟

„Maybe it‟s some obscure Demoniac joke. Or maybe they

reckon it gives them some psychological advantage. It seemed

to work with you, anyway.‟

„And what does that mean?‟

„You were obviously quite taken with him.‟

„Yes, I think I was, rather,‟ said Bernice. „You know the

old saying.‟

„What old saying?‟

„The Prince of Darkness is a gentleman!‟

„I shouldn‟t rely on it,‟ said Chris disapprovingly. „The

way you were flirting with him...‟

„Me, flirting!‟

„It‟s very dangerous to become romantically involved with

members of alien species,‟ said Chris primly. „Quite apart

from the obvious physical problems, there are the cultural

ones -‟

„At least I wasn‟t drooling over him the way you were with

that red-headed bimbo,‟ said Bernice truculently.

„Not at all,‟ said Chris with dignity. „I had a feeling I‟d

seen her before. I was just trying to remember

„Remember! You were committing her contours to

memory!‟

The beginnings of a promising wrangle were interrupted

by the return of its subject. She sat down at their table,

poured herself some champagne and studied them both

thoughtfully. Or rather she studied Chris, after a brief and

dismissive glance at Bernice.

„You know you intrigue me, you really do. What is it, a

death wish?‟

„Call it boyish enthusiasm,‟ said Chris. „I was trying to

make a big impression and made a bad start.‟

„You nearly made a bad end as well,‟ said Sara. „Getting

tough with Lucifer, of all people! If he hadn‟t taken a fancy

to your little friend here, you‟d be dead by now.‟

„His little friend happens to be a full partner and colleague,

and the brains of the outfit as well,‟ said Bernice. „I‟ll thank

you to remember that!‟ She looked at the other woman‟s

undeniably impressive figure. „Though if by the adjective

“little” you mean that you could undoubtedly make two, or

even three of me...‟

„I‟ll make mincemeat of you if I have any more lip,‟ said

Sara in an unexpectedly tough voice.

Chris held up his hands. „Ladies, please! Haven‟t we had

enough trouble for one night?‟

He looked so horrified that both women smiled.

„Sorry,‟ said Bernice. „It‟s been a long night.‟

Sara nodded. „They all are here!‟ She turned back to Chris.

„I keep getting this feeling that I‟ve seen you before...‟

„That‟s just what I was saying,‟ said Chris. „Isn‟t it Benny?‟

„It certainly is,‟ said Bernice.

It‟s also the oldest chat-up line in the galaxy, she thought,

but decided it would be more tactful not to say so out loud.

Sara looked intently at Chris. „Have you ever been here

before? To this club, I mean?‟

„Only once, a long time ago.‟

„When was that? Perhaps I was here too.‟

„You couldn‟t have been,‟ said Chris gallantly. „It was a

very long time ago and you‟re not nearly old enough.‟

Sara smiled, clearly pleased with the compliment. „I‟m a

lot older than I look. I‟m a Rigellian - we have a much

longer life span than most humanoids. Besides, there are

certain treatments - ask your little friend about them.‟

Before Bernice could reply Chris said hurriedly, „You‟d

certainly remember if you were here when I was. It was back

when Raggor ran the place - on the night he got killed.‟

„That‟s it!‟ said Sara excitedly. She pointed to a table near

the stage. „You were sitting there - with a small dark-skinned

woman. I remember you now. You‟ve hardly changed at all.‟

Chris nodded. „Where were you? I‟m sure I‟d have noticed

you.‟

„I‟m sure you did. I was on the stage - dancing!‟

Chris remembered the gyrating exotic dancer on the tiny

stage. He‟d been watching her attentively when Roz had

spotted the Ripper.

He blushed. „I‟m sorry, I didn‟t recognize you. You‟re -

you‟re dressed differently.‟

„You mean I‟m dressed!‟ said Sara cheerfully. „And I‟m a

lot older as well.‟ She turned to Bernice. „I started here years

ago, as an exotic dancer. I was a mere child of course!‟

„Of course,‟ agreed Bernice politely. „I take it that, over the

years, you, er, worked your way up?‟

Sara looked at her suspiciously, but Bernice kept an

expression of polite interest on her face.

„You might say that,‟ said Sara. „I moved over to

waitressing, head waitress, maître d’, finally manager.

Eventually they put my name over the door. I don‟t own the

place of course. I run it for a syndicate, but they pay well,

and they‟ve given me a few points - shares that is.‟

„Fascinating,‟ said Chris.

Suddenly Sara frowned. „Weren‟t you and your friend

supposed to have something to do with what happened? You

disappeared straight afterwards.‟

„We didn‟t kill Raggor, if that‟s what you mean,‟ said

Chris. „We stumbled on the murder and nearly caught the

killer. Afterwards the police deported us.‟

„There was something about some missing money, too.‟

„That‟s partly why we got deported. The Chief of Police

needed someone to blame .‟

„Ah well,‟ said Sara. „That‟s all in the past. What about the

present? Why are you back in Megacity?‟

„We‟re here because of something called the Project,‟ said

Chris. „Something that got started back in Raggor‟s time and

has been going on ever since.‟

„Never heard of it,‟ said Sara.

„You‟re sure?‟ said Bernice sharply. „Not a mention or a

scrap of gossip? It‟s very important!‟

Sara shook her head. „Means nothing to me.‟ She was

still looking at Chris. „You seem to go in for small bossy

women.‟

Chris looked puzzled. „I do?‟

„Wouldn‟t you like to try a nice, large, easy-going one, just

for a change? Why don‟t you pick on someone nearer your

own size?‟

Chris was speechless. He blushed again, a deep tide of red

that rose from his neck to his hairline.

The two women watched him interestedly.

„Not too many men can do that these days,‟ said Sara.

„Oh Chris is multitalented,‟ said Bernice. „I‟d leave you

two alone, but I don‟t want to go home by myself, and Chris

won‟t let me chat up the demon king.‟

„If you‟re referring to Lucifer, you‟re too late: he‟s just

left,‟ said Sara.

„Just my luck.‟

„We‟d better go too,‟ said Chris.

„Well, you know where I am now,‟ said Sara. „Come down

and see me some time!‟

They rose. „Can you call us a hovercab?‟ asked Bernice.

„Lined up outside. My customers are all known to be big

spenders.‟

Chris snapped his fingers. „The bill! All that champagne.‟

„On the house.‟

„I can‟t let you do that

„You can‟t stop me,‟ said Sara. „Pay me next time you

come in. We‟ll work something out.‟

„I just bet you will,‟ said Bernice. She grabbed Chris‟s

sleeve and hauled him towards the steps. „Come on, Romeo.‟

He looked down at her thoughtfully. „You know, Sara‟s got

something there.‟

„What?‟

„About small bossy women!‟

„Sara‟s got something all right - and we both know what it

is! Home, James!‟

As they made their way towards the stairs, Bernice noticed

that quite a few tables were empty now. Even Sara‟s

customers had to go home sometime.

„No reactions to mentioning the Project,‟ said Chris as

they climbed the stairs.

„Nothing from Lucifer, nothing from Sara,‟ agreed Bernice.

„Unless they‟re both lying, of course.‟

Chris shrugged. „Looked like genuine puzzlement to me.

We just drew a blank.‟

„So what do we do now? Advertise on the back page of the

Megacity Gazette? “Wanted, news of large-scale criminal

conspiracy, dating back many years. Small reward for

finder.”‟

„We go on looking,‟ said Chris. „Most police work is just a

lot of plodding around asking questions. Why do you think

they used to call them flatfeet?‟

They reached the top of the stairs and went outside the

club, standing under the glowing sign that read SARA‟S

CELLAR.

The night was hot and oppressive with a thin drizzle of

rain. Cabs were cruising around outside, snapping up the

departing customers like hungry sharks. There were quite a

few people before them, but plenty more cabs around.

Bernice settled down to wait, trying to get some

refreshment from the muggy night air. She could see a tall

black figure and two smaller ones making their way up the

alley. Either Lucifer was walking home, or he was making his

way to private transport somewhere nearby.

Maybe he had a fiery chariot parked just around the

corner.

„Don‟t despair,‟ said Chris, continuing their conversation

on the stairs. „Early days yet. We‟ll try again tomorrow.‟

Bernice yawned. „I suppose so, I just hope something

happens soon.‟

Something did.

A rare breeze drifted down the alley towards them and

suddenly Chris sniffed the air. Cupping both hands to his

mouth he bellowed, „Look out! Wolverines!‟

Drawing a blaster from his ankle and another from under

his arm, Chris ran up the alleyway.

Bernice fumbled in her bag, came up with the lipstick,

thrust it back, pulled out her new slimline blaster, and ran

after him.

Lithe dark shapes had appeared on top of the walls that

lined the alleyway. They dropped to the ground and sur-

rounded the three Demoniacs, isolating them in a tight circle.

Caught in a Wolverine crossfire, one of them staggered and

fell. With a curious feeling of relief, Bernice realized that it

was one of the bodyguards.

Chris opened fire at long range and one of the attackers

dropped. At the crackle of blaster fire several of the others

swung round. Bernice saw thin wiry figures, hooded and

cloaked. She caught a glimpse of fierce red eyes in long-

muzzled furry faces, needle-sharp fangs bared in snarls of

fury. The Wolverines all carried oddly shaped weapons, like

truncated rifles.

Chris was firing steadily, and with half the attackers

distracted, the surviving Demoniac bodyguard had drawn his

blaster and was returning fire.

Suddenly the ambush turned into a disorganized rout.

Bernice watched Lucifer grab a writhing Wolverine and

smash him against the wall. Lucifer‟s arm flashed out and

his claws slashed a Wolverine‟s throat, producing a spray of

red. He was fighting unarmed, she realized. Maybe carrying

weapons was beneath him. She saw him stoop, snatch a

blaster from the fallen bodyguard and open fire.

A Wolverine, a little to one side, was taking careful aim at

an unsuspecting Chris. Suddenly Bernice realized that she

wasn‟t here just as a spectator. She was in a shootout. She

raised her blaster and shot the Wolverine down.

Chris fired again, and one of the Wolverines around the

Demoniacs fell. The remainder fled, running straight up the

steep alley walls like giant spiders and disappearing from

view.

Only one giant Wolverine remained, standing between

Lucifer and his bodyguard on one side and by Chris and

Bernice on the other. It could have fled with the others - it

was almost as if it hadn‟t wanted to escape.

Somehow it had lost its blaster in the struggle but it didn‟t

seem to care. It was stalking towards Bernice and Chris, mad

red eyes blazing, foam dripping from its long jaws.

Chris and Bernice raised their blasters, taking careful aim.

Lucifer‟s deep voice boomed from down the alley.

„Don‟t shoot! I want to take it alive!‟

The hell with that, thought Bernice. One step nearer and

I‟ll blast. She raised her voice. „You want this thing alive,

Lucifer old chum, you come and get it.‟

Lucifer, she soon realized, was doing exactly that, pounding

down the alleyway towards them.

„Don‟t shoot!‟ roared Lucifer. „That one‟s the leader. I

want to know who‟s behind this. I want it alive!‟

As if enraged by his voice the Wolverine turned and

lurched back towards him.

Lucifer halted his run, the Wolverine stopped, and the two

confronted each other, just a few yards apart.

„You want me alive, do you, devil?‟ snarled the Wolverine

in a saliva-choked, guttural voice.

Lucifer‟s deep booming tones came in reply.

„Surrender and I shall spare your life - much as it galls

me.‟

„And afterwards, devil?‟

„Tell me who ordered this attack and why, and you shall

have your freedom. I give you my word.‟

The Wolverine gave a terrible coughing roar.

„You want me alive, devil?‟ it repeated. „I want you dead!’

In an incredible, almost vertical leap it sprang high in the

air, hurtling towards Lucifer.

Before it reached him, three blasters fired at once, catching

it in a crossfire while it was still in the air.

The Wolverine‟s body writhed and twisted for a moment as

if supported in the air by blaster fire.

Then it dropped dead at Lucifer‟s feet.

„Fools!‟ he roared angrily. „I told you not to shoot!‟

The surviving bodyguard ran up, and whispered

deferentially to him. Lucifer looked down at the dead

Wolverine.

„My guard very properly reminded me that as the Wolverine

was berserk, and almost certainly drugged, it would not,

could not, have surrendered and might well have killed me.‟

He looked up at Bernice and Chris.

„My apologies, and my thanks.‟

Lucifer bowed, and somehow never managed to straighten

up again. He toppled to the ground, falling across the dead

body of the Wolverine.

10

SHOOTOUT ON SPACEPORT

BOULEVARD

It started out as one hell of a nice day.

I woke up to the comforting feeling of plenty of credits in

my pocket, and not too much to do except spend some of

them.

I got up slowly, showered without even banging my head

on the ceiling, as I usually do, and got dressed.

When I came through into the office, Cat was sitting on

the balcony sneering at me. Cat was a werecat, a giant,

tangled ball of fur, teeth and claws. Werecats are hunters

and scavengers, about the only form of wildlife tough enough

to survive in Megacity. They‟re said to be untamable.

Cat wasn‟t exactly my werecat - he took care of his own

needs. But he had a taste for booze, and occasionally deigned

to accept some of mine. Maybe they wouldn‟t serve him in

the local bars.

There was a little vragg left in the office bottle so I took

the top off and held it out to him. He jumped off the balcony

and I passed him the bottle. He took it in his handlike

forepaws, sniffed it as if he was used to a better class of

booze, and then emptied the bottle down his throat.

Then he tossed the bottle aside, jumped over the balcony

and disappeared. I liked seeing Cat, though it wasn‟t a close

relationship. He was never going to sit on the mat and purr,

and if you stroked him you‟d probably lose some skin.

I went to the bar across the road for breakfast - coffee,

doughnuts and a quick belt of brandy to get me started.

Old Cy the bartender was a wizened little anthropoid,

damn near as hairy as Cat.

„See what happened last night, Garshak?‟ he wheezed as

he brought my coffee.

Cy always said that - there was always some bad news to

be passed on in Megacity.

„What?‟

„Wolverines hit Sara‟s Cellar, killed some big-time crime

lord called Lucifer.‟

„You sure?‟

Cy nodded to the ever-flickering vidscreen behind the bar.

„Saw it on the news this morning. Blood and bodies

everywhere.‟

I finished my breakfast, thinking about Lucifer meanwhile.

I‟d rather taken to him. Still, he was in a dangerous

business. He was probably bound to get blasted eventually. I

wondered who had ordered the hit. Some business rival,

probably.

Maybe even Nastur.

I had another belt of brandy in his memory, and then went

back to the office to catch up on my foot-dangling and to plan

my day.

A packet popped out of the mail tube.

It held an autoguide disc, nothing else. You put it in your

hovercar‟s guide system and it took you where you needed to

go on automatic. Somebody, somewhere, wanted to see me -

presumably a client. Only I didn‟t have a hovercar any more.

The hell with it, I thought - I‟d go out and buy one. I could

afford it. I‟d buy myself some new clothes as well, make a

good impression on my new employer.

I had the clothes run up on the autotailor in one of the

retro clothes shops at the spaceport. By mid-morning I was

strolling along Spaceport Boulevard. I was everything the

well-dressed private eye ought to be. I was wearing a new

trenchcoat, a new hat, and my pockets were still bulging with

credit notes.

It was a fine morning in downtown Megacity - as fine as

mornings in Megacity ever get. The acid rain had eased off,

and a faint haze of sunshine was forcing its way through the

pollution layer.

I drifted into Happy Mike‟s Second-hand Hovercar Lot on

Spaceport Boulevard, looking forward to replacing my old

heap with Nastur‟s money.

Mike‟s sign originally read:

HAPPY MIKE’S HOVERCRAFT - EVERY HOVER A HAPPY BUY

Long ago some local wit had amended it to read:

EVERY HOVER A HEAP OF TROUBLE

Later someone else had crossed out the last two words.

Happy Mike, the enormous and irritable anthropoid who

owned the lot, had never bothered to fix the sign. Maybe he

believed in truth in advertising.

Suddenly I saw my own old heap, the one I was about to

replace, zooming towards me along the Boulevard - which

was pretty puzzling. In fact, considering I‟d had to abandon it

in Wolverine territory when I got back Nastur‟s truck, it was

downright worrying.

Maybe the Wolverines were returning it out of kindness -

but it didn‟t seem likely. If the Wolverines wanted to give

anything back to me, they probably wanted to give it to me

right in the neck.

As the hovercar came nearer I saw that it was crammed

with cloaked furry figures, all clutching short-barrelled laser

rifles, a favourite Wolverine weapon.

Daylight raids like this weren‟t common, but they weren‟t

completely unknown either. The Wolverines had been known

to make a hit on Spaceport Boulevard at high noon before

now, striking swiftly and then heading back to the Lair,

where no one was going to follow them.

There was only one entrance and exit on the lot, and my

hijacked hovercar was going to make it before I did. I ducked

back inside the lot and took cover among the rows of parked

vehicles.

Peering round the side of a battered hovertruck, I saw my

hovercar thump down across the entrance. A handful of

cloaked and hooded figures piled out, and spread out across

the lot.

I took a quick look around, assessing my situation. It was

lousy. The lot was fenced all round with razor wire, and the

fence was high. Mike had strong views on preserving his

property. It was impossible to climb into the lot, and just as

impossible to climb out. The only way out was through the

main entrance, and the Wolverines had left their driver on

sentry duty in my hovercar.

Mike would call the cops when he saw what was

happening, but response time was never their strongest

point, especially when Wolverines were involved. Police policy

these days seemed to be to turn up a safe time after the

crime had been committed, pick up the pieces, often literally,

and arrest everyone who was still around. My Ogron Flying

Squad would have arrived a hell of a lot quicker, but they‟d

been disbanded long ago. The Wolverines would have plenty

of time to get the job done and get away before any police

hovercars arrived.

I was alone, but at least I wasn‟t unarmed, not in Megacity.

I drew one of my blasters from its shoulder holster and

started playing hide and seek around the lot - not an easy

game for someone as big as I am.

Every time a Wolverine caught a glimpse of me - or even

thought it did - laser fire crackled across the lot. Paint was

scorched on some of Mike‟s best buys, chunks were blasted

off, and one or two of the heaps even caught fire. Mike was

just going to love this. But at the moment that was the least

of my worries.

I wasn‟t too concerned about being shot at - I was used to

that, and as everyone knows Wolverines can‟t shoot straight.

Unfortunately they compensate for this by invariably turning

up in force and spraying laser fire across the landscape, on

the principle that they‟re bound to hit something, possibly

even their target. Who or what else gets blasted doesn‟t

worry them.

And that was my real problem - I was badly outnumbered.

It was time to reduce the odds.

I doubled back among the rows of parked hovercars. Black

smoke from the burning vehicles drifted across the lot,

providing a certain amount of extra cover. Suddenly I saw a

wiry cloaked figure peering through the smoke ahead of me.

It was the Wolverine‟s bad luck that it was peering the wrong

way.

I crept up behind it.

Either my creeping up wasn‟t as good as it used to be, or it

sensed or even smelt me. It spun around at the last moment

and gave a harsh cry of alarm, cut off by the impact of my

blaster barrel smashing across the side of its narrow skull.

One.

The cry alerted another Wolverine, which sprang from

behind a burning hovercraft, laser rifle raised. I blasted it

down.

Two.

Which left, if my arithmetic was right, three. Plus the one

in my car.

My plan, such as it was, was to work my way back to the

entrance, killing any Wolverines I encountered, and reach my

own hovercar. If I could manage to dispose of the driver, I

would repossess my heap and get myself out of there. The

hell with any surviving Wolverines - they could walk home.

The plan nearly worked.

I dodged through the rows of hovercars managing to avoid

any more Wolverines until I reached a point on the side of the

main building close to the entrance. My hovercraft still

blocked the way out, and the Wolverine driver was still at the

controls, clutching a laser rifle. I could see the Wolverine‟s

narrow head with its long furry muzzle swinging to and fro

as it tried to work out what was happening on the lot.

No chance of catching it unawares. I‟d just have to charge

the hovercraft, shoot first and straightest, haul out the body

and hope to jump in and blast off before the rest of the

Wolverines realized what was happening.

I poised myself to make the dash - and a guttural voice

behind me said, „Garshak!‟

I swung round and found myself facing all three Wolverines

and their three laser rifles. I‟d been concentrating so hard on

what was ahead that I‟d forgotten what was still behind me.

This time the Wolverines had done the creeping up – and

they were a lot better at it than I was.

The central Wolverine snarled, „Drop blaster!‟

Its eyes glinted madly and its muzzle dripped foam. I

hesitated for a moment, wondering why I wasn‟t already

dead. They‟d have had no compunction about shooting me in

the back, which meant they had something else in mind.

At a time like this time slows up; every second ticks by

with terrible clarity - and every instant of life is precious.

I could get one of them, that was for sure. Maybe two,

though I‟d probably be wounded or dying by then. That still

left two, the third Wolverine and the one in my hovercar. Too

many. They hadn‟t blasted yet, but they would soon...

Could they possibly want me alive? What for? If they tried to

take me prisoner, there was still a chance...

All this flashed through my mind in the seconds between

the Wolverine‟s snarl and my dropping the blaster.

„Don‟t move,‟ said the guttural voice. The Wolverine

called out a command to the one in my heap, and the

hovercraft rose slowly in the air and moved towards us. Were

they planning to take me away in it, back to the Lair? Why

bother? If vengeance was their objective, they could kill me

here and now. Did they want to interrogate me?

I knew nothing they could possibly want to know.

Maybe they wanted the pleasure of killing me slowly.

I had a sudden vision of myself turning, still alive, on a

Wolverine roasting spit. To the Wolverines, the screams of

the victim add savour to the meat.

I decided that if they tried to get me into the hovercar I‟d

grab one of their laser rifles and go down fighting. At the

very least, I could make them kill me.

But why bring the hovercar to me, rather than take me over

to it? It was near enough...

The hovercar roared closer and rose to its maximum

height, directly over my head. Still keeping me covered, the

Wolverines backed away, leaving me staggering in the blast

of the hovercraft‟s down-jets.

I realized what they were going to do.

They were going to land the hovercar on top of me,

crushing me to death. Once again, I couldn‟t imagine why

they‟d bother. Sheer nastiness maybe? Or did they hope to

make my death look like some bizarre traffic accident?

The problem of their reasons was purely academic.

Speaking practically, my options were pretty lousy. I could

stay where I was and be flattened by my own hovercar, or

duck out from under and get blasted by three laser rifles.

I‟d just decided to jump the nearest Wolverine when a

tremendous boom shook the air, and the Wolverine

disintegrated into bloody fragments.

I turned and saw Happy Mike, standing on the steps of his

main showroom. He looked like a gorilla in mechanic‟s

overalls, which was pretty much what he was, and he was

clasping a massive laser cannon with twin barrels the size of

subtrain tunnels.

Another boom, another Wolverine blown away.

The third Wolverine swung its laser rifle round on Mike,

who was busy reloading. As he stuffed giant shells into the

laser cannon‟s breech, I got out from under, grabbed the

Wolverine round its scrawny neck and threw it under the

hovercar - just as the driver finally cut the power. The hover

thudded down - smothering the Wolverine‟s final scream.

That left the driver.

As I snatched up my blaster, a laser bolt fired from the

hovercar blasted the stonework beside Happy Mike‟s head.

I don‟t know how it managed to miss someone as large as

Mike - but, like I said, Wolverines can‟t shoot straight.

I raised my blaster and took aim, but I didn‟t even have

time to fire. At that range and with that weapon, Happy Mike

couldn‟t miss. There was an enormous double boom and the

Wolverine and most of my heap disintegrated in a ball of

flame.

Dodging a hail of hot metal fragments, and flapping my

hands to clear the smoke, I made my way over to Happy

Mike, who was reloading his cannon and looking round for

more targets.

„Garshak!‟ he roared. „What the hell‟s going on here?‟

„That was my hovercar you just blasted, Mike,‟ I said

reproachfully.

„How the hell was I supposed to know that?‟

„You ought to - you sold it to me last year.‟

„So what the hell‟s it doing here full of Wolverines?‟

„I was bringing it to you so I could upgrade,‟ I said.

I nodded towards the still-blazing remnants of my heap.

„How much will you give me on trade-in?‟

For a while there I thought Happy Mike was going to blast

me, but I finally got him calmed down. The story I told him

had a lot to do with it. It was a pretty good story, though I

say so myself, and some of it was even true.

In this version I‟d made a few credits - well, that much

was true - and I‟d been bringing in my hover so I could

upgrade to one of his fine vehicles.

Just as I‟d arrived I‟d seen a gang of Wolverines sneaking

around in his car lot. I‟d naturally assumed they were

planning to steal all the most expensive vehicles, and, no

doubt, to rob and murder Happy Mike himself. As an old

friend and a concerned citizen, I‟d been unable to stand by

and see this happen, and had tackled the villains. In the

ensuing shootout, the Wolverines had attempted to steal my

hovercar to make their getaway - until prevented by Mike‟s

heroic intervention.

I told much the same tale to the cops when they finally

arrived. At first they were even more sceptical than Mike.

They simply assumed I was lying as a matter of routine.

Everyone lies to cops - they expect it. Then again they

couldn‟t prove I wasn‟t telling the whole truth and they

didn‟t much care. My statement gave them a nice simple

story so they could wrap up the case and get back to their

coffee and doughnuts, which is all most hovercops care

about anyway.

They recorded my long lying statement, sent for the blood

hoverwagon to cart off what was left of the Wolverines, and

went away. At the end of the day there were six Wolverines

fewer, which was all to the good.

„Wolverines are getting too damn bold,‟ said the old

sergeant as he got into his police hovercar. „They hit Sara‟s

Cellar last night, blew away a load of fat cats. Not that

they‟re much loss either.‟

The police hover drove away.

After the cops had gone Mike and I got down to some

serious haggling. He flatly refused to give me trade-in credit

on the smouldering remnants of my old hover. He said

he‟d have to pay someone to clear the metal scraps away,

especially since they were all mixed up with bits of barbe-

cued Wolverine.

But he did me a very good deal on a nearly new sport-

hover.

It had power-boost, autoguide and air-conditioning, so I

came out of it pretty well.

You might even say the Wolverines had done me a favour.

When the deal was done, Mike and I sealed it with a few

drinks in the bar across the street. We discussed the state of

things in Megacity, and agreed that everything was going to

hell. No change there... Then I got into my brand-new

sporthover, plugged in the autoguide disc and let it take me

to see my mystery client.

THE SEA-COAST OF MEGACITY.

Most visitors would be surprised to learn that Megacity

even has a coastline. People seem to think that Megacity

covers most of the planet, which, of course, is a ridiculous

exaggeration. It does, however, cover much of one of the

planet’s smallest continents.

Megacity sprawls over much of the island, but it is an

island, and it does have a sea coast. There’s a big industrial

port, which is just an extension of Megacity, but there are

also stretches of wild and empty coastline. Empty, that is,

except for the castles, chateaux, mansions and manor houses,

where the really rich live, when they’re not in their pent-

houses high above Megacity.

Even these unspoilt stretches don’t really rate as beauty

spots. The coast is bleak and jagged and rocky with long

stretches of marshy hinterland. The marsh is quick-marsh -

anything that falls in disappears without trace in a matter of

minutes.

The sea is dull, grey and sluggish and nearly as polluted

as the air and the land.

Still, there are views, of a sort, and the coastal area offers

its rich residents ozone mixed with the smog.

The sea provides little in the way of entertainment. Only

the toughest and most savage marine life forms have survived.

There are none of them that you can eat except, and it’s

not much of an exception, the highly poisonous jugora fish.

Anything else that lives in the sea will probably eat you.

Nor is the coastline necessarily safe. Since most of their

natural food has been poisoned by chemical effluent from

the mines, some of the more ambitious amphibians frequently

come ashore to devour the too-bold tourist or care-

less villager.

In fact the sea offers the tourist a choice between being

poisoned and being devoured. Beaches are rare, and

swimming, or even paddling, is not advised.

from The Rough Guide to Megerra

The journey took me clear of Megacity, which is a rare

experience for me. My new sports model took me along the

rutted freeways, off on minor roads and winding muddy

lanes, and finally over rough open country. She flew over the

roughest terrain like a bird - I was proud of her.

We came eventually to a castle set on a rocky headland. I

recognized the place as soon as I saw it. There‟d been an item

in the newscasts last time it had changed hands. Now I knew

who I was going to see.

Like so many things on Megerra, the castle was a fake,

built By some mad mining magnate who later went bust. It

had thick walls in the local black stone, along with battle-

ments, turrets, towers and all the usual old stuff you see on

historical holovids. It looked as if the original owner had a

sense of the dramatic.

There were massive iron gates in front of the castle, which

opened silently at our approach. The sporthover moved

smoothly up a winding path and stopped at a circular

parking area littered with hoverlimos. Just for once I didn‟t

feel my transport was letting me down.

A white-haired butler type in a dark suit pointed to a flight

of steps. „The master is on the terrace, sir. If you‟d care to

join him?‟

I climbed the steep winding stairs until I reached a stone-

flagged terrace overlooking the sea.

There at the top of the steps, Lucifer himself was waiting

to meet me, black scales gleaming in the feeble sunlight. He

looked sinister as hell, as usual, but not one little bit out of

place.

„Mr Garshak,‟ he said. „I trust I find you well?‟

„I‟m fine. How are you, Mr Lucifer? I must say you‟re

looking pretty well too - especially since you‟re dead,

according to the vidnews.‟

„The reports of my death are gravely exaggerated,‟ he said

solemnly. „I am allowing them to spread for reasons of my

own. In fact I was wounded, but not severely...‟ He paused.

„Forgive me, Mr Garshak - I‟m a little preoccupied, but

that‟s no excuse for being a bad host. Have a seat, sir, and a

drink.‟

We sat down at a table at the edge of the railed terrace. Far

below us the sea looked like a sheet of lead. The butler type,

or another exactly like him, brought our drinks, brandy for

me and something purple and fizzing for Lucifer.

I sipped my drink wondering why Lucifer wanted to see

me - and why I‟d suddenly been upgraded from hireling to

honoured guest.

After a moment Lucifer said, „I hear you have finished

your employment with Mr Nastur, Mr Garshak.‟

„I guess so. I got his hovertruck and his driver back -

though the driver went berserk and he had to have him

killed. And as you know, I negotiated an agreement with you.‟

„You did indeed, sir, and I was impressed with the way you

handled it - and with the recovery of the hovertruck. You‟re

a resourceful fellow.‟ He paused. „Tell me, are you particularly

bound to the service of Mr Nastur?‟

„I don‟t owe Nastur anything.‟

„Are you likely to be working for him again?‟

I shook my head. „We parted on pretty bad terms.‟

„Why was that?‟

„He paid me off for the job OK, but after that he tried to

cheat me. I don‟t like to be cheated. I had to be pretty firm

with him.‟

Lucifer smiled. „I imagine you could do that very effectively.‟

I drank some more brandy. „Forgive me for asking, but

why are you so interested in my career?‟

„I wish to employ your services, Mr Garshak.‟

„To do what?‟

„To discover who is trying to have me killed.‟

11

CONTACTS

Both Bernice and Chris slept late after the excitement of the

previous night. Lucifer‟s guards had promptly whisked him

away in a suddenly appearing black hoverlimo. Chris and

Bernice had been left to deal with the Megacity police, who

had turned up when all the real action was over.

The police had whisked them away to the local station

house to make a statement. Chris had kept it simple. They‟d

been coming out of Sara‟s Cellar when they‟d seen a fellow

customer, who‟d left a little earlier, under attack by a

Wolverine gang. Naturally they‟d gone to help.

The Megacity cops didn‟t seem to think it was natural at

all. They hammered away at Chris and Bernice for ages,

together and separately, trying to get them to admit that they

were mixed up with Lucifer in some criminal conspiracy.

Either that or they‟d been in alliance with the Wolverines

setting up the ambush.

„Didn‟t you and Lucifer have some kind of face-off inside

the club?‟ demanded one detective.

„There was a minor misunderstanding over a table

reservation,‟ said Chris wearily. „It was all cleared up

perfectly amicably.‟

The detective turned to Bernice. „I hear you actually took a

shot at him.‟

„I was showing him this lipstick blaster gadget I‟d just

bought at Nieman‟s,‟ said Bernice. „I wasn‟t too sure how it

worked and it went off accidentally. A waiter got a nasty

shock, but nobody was hurt.‟

When both obstinately refused to change their stories, the

police recorded their statements and let them go. It wasn‟t

until the small hours of the morning that a police hovercar

deposited them back at Little Louie‟s Hotel and Piano Bar.

The hotel was still open - nothing in Megacity ever

seemed to close - and their arrival had caused no particular

stir. As Chris said, it suggested that Louie was quite used to

his guests arriving - or leaving - in police custody.

Now they were having a late breakfast in their sitting

room, discussing the previous night‟s events.

Bernice yawned. „If that‟s a typical night out in

Megacity…‟

„It doesn‟t seem to change much,‟ said Chris. „Roz and I

ran into a Wolverine ambush on the exact same spot, when

we were chasing the Ripper. As soon as I caught a whiff of

Wolverine

„The Wolverines were bad enough, but it was the cops who

really wore me down.‟

Chris, still an Adjudicator at heart, felt compelled to

defend the police. „Don‟t forget, as far as they‟re concerned,

we‟re a couple of bad characters Chief Harkon wanted to

deport. Being hassled by cops is excellent for our cover.‟

„Well, what next?‟ demanded Bernice.

Chris sighed. „Have a bit of patience, Benny. I know a lot

seems to have happened but we‟ve still only just arrived.

We‟ve got to establish ourselves, make a few contacts.‟

„You seemed to be making plenty of contact last night.‟

Before Chris could reply Louie‟s voice came from the

comm unit.

„Some dame on the comm - wants to talk to Chris. You

here?‟

Chris shrugged. „I suppose so.‟

Seconds later Sara‟s voice came from the comm unit.

„Chris? It‟s Sara. From the club, remember?‟

„How could he forget?‟ muttered Bernice.

Chris glared at her and said, „Yes, of course I remember.‟

Rather feebly he added, „Er, hello.‟

„I just wanted to be sure you were all right. I heard about

the trouble outside the club, but by the time I managed to get

outside you were gone. Someone said you‟d been arrested.‟

„Not exactly. Just helping the police with their enquiries.‟

„And you‟re not hurt? Not wounded or anything?‟

„Not a scratch.‟

„I was afraid you might have been killed, like poor

Lucifer.‟

„What?‟

„But you were there. Didn‟t you know? It was on the news

this morning.‟

„He collapsed and his own people whisked him away.

Right after that we got scooped up by the cops. I didn‟t know

he was dead…‟

„Well...‟ There was a pause. „I wondered if you might

like to come over to the club for a drink. Or we could have

lunch. Another pause. „And your little friend too, of course -

if she‟s free.‟

Chris glanced at Bernice, who was sitting staring straight

ahead of her. „Benny?‟

Rapidly she shook her head.

Chris turned back to the comm unit. „She is not my little

friend -‟

„Glad to hear it.‟

Ignoring this, Chris went on, „Anyway, she‟s busy.‟

„What about you?‟

Chris looked worriedly at Bernice, who nodded vigorously.

„I‟m pretty busy too - but I think I might manage lunch.‟

„I‟ll look forward to it.‟

The comm unit went dead.

Chris turned back to Bernice. „I‟m sorry, Benny, about

Lucifer. You liked him, didn‟t you?‟

„I scarcely knew him, did I? One near fight and a couple of

drinks.‟

„What about this invitation? Don‟t you want to go?‟

„She wants me there like a hole in the head. You go,

Chris.‟ Bernice managed a grin. „Like you said, we need to

make a few good contacts. You‟ll do much better at

contacting Sara without me around.‟

„I can‟t leave you alone.‟

„Oh yes you can. I can always do some more shopping.

And I want to do some research as well. There must be a

computer library somewhere. This place can‟t be all mines

and nightclubs.‟

„What sort of research?‟

„Just research. I‟m supposed to be a scholar, remember? I

can‟t quite pin it down yet, but I‟ve got a vague idea we

might be tackling this whole Project business quite the wrong

way...‟

„Well, if you‟re sure...‟

„Go!‟ said Bernice impatiently. „It‟s all in the cause of

duty!‟

„All right. I‟ll see you back here later.‟

Trying not to look too eager, Chris hurried from the room.

Bernice lingered over her coffee, wondering whether to

order a hovercab to Nieman-Marcus, or to try to find a

library. She‟d just about come down in favour of shopping

when Louie‟s voice came again. „Call for either you or Mr

Chris.‟

„Who is it?‟

„Party doesn‟t wish to give his name. Says you met last

night at the club.‟

„All right, I‟ll talk to him.‟

A deep voice said, „I was just calling to thank you both.‟

Bernice gasped, too astonished to speak.

The deep voice said, „Hello? Are you there?‟

„Somebody just told me you were dead! It was on the

news.‟

There was a chuckle. „An exaggeration. It would be more

accurate to say I was playing dead. But had it not been for

the intervention of you and your friend, the news story would

be only too accurate. I was calling to thank you, and to ask

you both to come to lunch.‟

„I‟m afraid Chris isn‟t here. He‟s busy.‟

„No doubt he has affairs of his own to attend to?‟

„Well, I suppose you could put it like that.‟

The deep voice said hesitantly, „Forgive me, I am not

familiar with your culture. I don‟t know if it would be proper...

If you would care to come alone?‟

„I should be happy to,‟ said Bernice.

„Excellent. It would mean a journey. I‟m away from

Megacity at the moment, in my place on the coast.‟

„I‟ll be glad to get away. Will a hovercab take me?‟

„That won‟t be necessary: I‟ll send transport. In about an

hour?‟

Bernice hurried to her bedroom, and started sorting

through her new outfits. After all, Lucifer could be an

important contact and she ought to look her best...

There‟s something very strange about going to a nightclub in

the daytime, thought Chris. Even in Megacity... Still, as

Benny says, it‟s all in the line of duty...

He paid off his hovercab at the end of the alley and headed

for the entrance. He seemed to be expected. The heavies on

the door, two exceptionally thuggish-looking Ursines, bowed

respectfully and waved him through.

He went down the familiar stone stairs and into the main

room. The place looked quite different by day. It was lighter,

and the big room was empty except for the staff, wiping

tables, washing floors and polishing glasses.

Sara sat alone on one of the stools along the bar. Chris

walked over to her and she rose, took his hands and kissed

him on the cheek. She was, he realized, almost as tall as he

was.

„I‟m glad you could come,‟ she said.

„Thank you for asking me.‟

They smiled at the ridiculously formal phrases.

„Drink? Champagne?‟

„Beer, please. Anything.‟

She went behind the bar and poured him a beer, got herself

a glass of white wine, and came back to sit beside him.

She sipped her wine. „So tell me what happened last

night.‟

He gave her a brief account of the ambush, playing down

his own part.

She gave him a puzzled look. „Why did you interfere?‟

„It just seemed like the thing to do.‟

„Lucifer was no friend of yours - you were ready to shoot

him yourself in here. Next thing, you‟re risking your life for

him.‟

Chris shrugged. „I was ambushed by Wolverines myself

once, on the same spot. When I saw them coming over the

wall I just reacted without thinking.‟

She studied him thoughtfully. „Do you do that a lot?‟

„React without thinking? I‟ve never thought about it!‟

She laughed.

After a moment Chris laughed too. „Look, I just do what

seems best at the time - there isn‟t always time to think it

out.‟

„Come and have some lunch.‟

She led him to a concealed lift at the back of the room and

they rode up to a penthouse apartment. A cold lunch was

laid out in a sort of conservatory. They ate among waving

green fronds and exotic many-coloured flowers. The food was

light and delicious: cold meat and fish, salads, fruits, and

there was champagne.

Chris looked around. „This must be the only green garden

in Megacity!‟

„One of the few. Everything has to be brought in from

off-planet: soil, nutrients, plants, flowers - air! It helps me to

endure living in Megacity.‟

Chris nodded. „Sometimes I wonder how anyone stands it.‟

„So what brings you here?‟

„Why do you ask?‟

„I‟m interested. Perhaps I can help you.‟

„I want to find out about something called the Project.‟

„You mentioned it last night. What is it?‟

„Something very dangerous. Something that started here a

long time ago...‟ Chris told her the little he knew about the

Project. „There‟s a possibility it‟s linked to the recent wave of

violence, but that‟s just a theory.‟

She considered for a moment. „I‟ll see what I can find out

for you. I know a lot of people who know a lot of other

people. If the Project is as big as you say, someone knows

something.‟

„Be careful,‟ warned Chris. „Years ago it was very dangerous

to talk about the Project. Maybe it still is.‟

„I‟ll be careful.‟

„You must be wondering why I want to know all this.‟

„I didn‟t ask. If you want to know, I‟ll try to find out for

you.‟

„Why?‟

She leant forward and kissed him.

Chris drew a deep breath. „That seems like a pretty good

reason.‟

She stood up, taking his hands and drawing him to his

feet.

„Maybe we can think of a few more.‟

Bernice Summerfield had changed her outfit three times,

deciding her first choice was best after all, when a worried-

looking Little Louie appeared at the door to their suite.

„There‟s a devil downstairs for you,‟ he announced.

„I‟m sorry?‟

„One of those scaly guys - a Demoniac. Most people call

them devils. Not to their face, mind you - they reckon it‟s

insulting.‟

„Right,‟ said Bernice. „I‟ll be right down.‟

Louie gave her a worried look. „You sure you know what

you‟re doing?‟

„I think so. Why?‟

„Those Demoniacs are pretty scary. They keep to them-

selves mostly - and most people like it that way.‟

„Thanks, Louie. I‟ll be all right.‟

„Shouldn‟t you wait for Mr Chris?‟

„Mr Chris is busy.‟ Bernice smiled. „Urgent private affairs.

It‟s all right, Louie - I‟m only going out for lunch with a

friend.‟

She followed Louie down to the foyer where, as he‟d

informed her, a devil was waiting. This one was smaller and

broader than Lucifer, and his scales, instead of being black,

had a reddish tinge. Bernice recognized him as one of

Lucifer‟s bodyguards from the night before. He bowed as she

appeared.

„My name is Ezekiel, madame. Zeke, if you prefer. If you

will come with me?‟

Watched by a still-worried Little Louie, he led her outside

to where a big black hoverlimo was waiting. It looked,

thought Bernice, uncomfortably like a hearse.

Ezekiel opened the passenger door, settled her in the

back, and got into the driver‟s seat. The hoverlimo zoomed

smoothly away.

As Bernice settled back into the luxuriously padded interior

of the hoverlimo, Ezekiel‟s voice came from the front.

„Drinks, drugs, and a variety of light refreshments are

available in the locker in front of you, madame.‟

„Nothing, thanks, I‟ve not long had breakfast.‟

„If you touch the button on the armrest to your right, it will

activate the vidscreen.‟

„Thank you.‟

She touched the button out of curiosity, and a small

vidscreen in the partition ahead of her came alive. It seemed

to be showing Megacity‟s version of a rolling news service.

There was a sensational report of the ambush outside

Sara‟s Cellar with a dramatic commentary over after-the-

event footage consisting mostly of gruesome shots of dead

Wolverines.

Next came an interview with the Mayor, who deplored the

rising tide of violence in Megacity, and promised stern

measures to deal with the growing menace of the Wolverine

street gangs.

This was followed by an interview with Chief Harkon. He

deplored the violence as well, and gave a pledge of increased

police activity.

Immediately afterwards came reports of another outrage,

a Wolverine attack on a used hovercar lot on Spaceport

Boulevard.

This featured burning hovercars, and a gorilla-like indi-

vidual called Happy Mike, brandishing the fearsome laser

cannon with which he‟d blown the attackers away. When

more dead Wolverines appeared on screen, Bernice switched

off with a shudder.

„Isn‟t there any good news in Megacity?‟

„Very little, madame,‟ said Ezekiel solemnly. „It has always

been a dangerous and violent place - and lately things seem

to have been getting worse.‟

„Can‟t think why anyone stays on this ghastly planet,‟ she

muttered. „Perpetual bloodshed, and smoke instead of fresh

air.‟ She was talking to herself, but Ezekiel heard her and

replied.

„Profit, madame. There is a great deal of money to be made

in Megacity. As for the atmosphere, we Demoniacs feel quite

comfortable here.‟

„How come?‟

„Our homeworld of Gehenna consists largely of active

volcanoes. There is just as much smoke in the air, but for

different reasons.‟

Bernice settled back and watched the smog-ridden streets

of Megacity flashing by. Streets gave way to big boulevards,

boulevards to freeways, until at last they were streaking

through open countryside. The countryside surrounding

Megacity was about as scenic as the city itself, thought

Bernice. Flat desolate marshland over which rolled banks of

grimy fog.

They emerged at last on to a bleak and rocky coastline,

ending up at what looked very like Bluebeard‟s Castle. As

they arrived they saw a flashy-looking red hovercar come out

of the castle gates. As it passed them Bernice caught a

glimpse of a hulking figure at the wheel. Then the hovercar

streaked away across the marshlands, disappearing into the

fog.

The hoverlimo went through the castle gates, climbed a

narrow winding road, and stopped at a round open space.

Bernice got out and followed a white-haired butler up

some stone stairs to the terrace, where Lucifer was sitting at

a table, gazing out over the dull grey sea.

Lucifer rose, took Bernice‟s hand and touched it to his lips.

As before, his hand and his lips felt almost burning.

He showed her to a seat, and sat down again.

„It was good of you to come.‟

„My pleasure. But should you be entertaining visitors?

You were hurt…‟

„Not badly. Apparently a laser bolt grazed my skull. I was

stunned, but it didn‟t take effect until a little later. We

Demoniacs have notoriously thick heads.‟

It didn‟t take effect until you allowed it to take effect,

thought Bernice. You wouldn‟t let yourself collapse until the

fight was over.

„Let me offer you an aperitif,‟ said Lucifer. He snapped

long clawed fingers and the butler brought purple foaming

drinks in tall glasses. „This is one of my planet‟s wines,‟ said

Lucifer. „I believe some humans find it quite palatable.‟

Bernice found the wine very palatable indeed. It had the

tingle of champagne with the kick of an excellent brandy.

She drained her glass at once, largely through nervousness,

and the butler immediately refilled it from a silver flask.

„I could grow very fond of this stuff,‟ she said.

Lucifer smiled. „I am glad. But if I might advise caution?

The usual limit for humanoids is three.‟

„Then you have to get them down off the chandeliers,‟ said

Bernice. The purple wine was already producing a pleasant

mild euphoria. Under its influence, Bernice blurted out the

first thing that came into her head. „Can you fly?‟

Lucifer rose to his full height, and spread the stubby wings

that lay folded on his bony shoulders. „With these? On this

planet, no.‟ He folded his wings and sat down. „We manage

fairly well on our homeworld, however. The gravity is lower,

the atmosphere thicker, and the exploding volcanoes provide

constant updraughts of warm air. Flight is one of the things

we sacrifice when we leave Gehenna.‟

„Don‟t you miss it?‟

„Sometimes.‟

„Why leave then?‟

„Career opportunities on Gehenna are limited,‟ he said

gravely. „Not that life is dull. The planet is newly formed in

geological terms, and the surface is still changing. But one

must expend a great deal of energy in simply surviving. It

can get very monotonous avoiding constant earthquakes,

suddenly appearing chasms and streams of molten lava.‟

„I can see how it might,‟ said Bernice.

„So some of us leave Gehenna in search of more rewarding

lives,‟ said Lucifer.

„Are you all -‟ Bernice realized what she was about to say,

and suddenly stopped.

„Criminals?‟ Lucifer shook his head. „We make good

scholars, soldiers, administrators. But this sector of the

galaxy is human-dominated, and most humans find us

rather intimidating. It tends to hold back your promotion if

people faint when they see you. Crime, however, offers rapid

rewards - and an intimidating appearance can be a positive

advantage.‟

„I‟m sorry,‟ said Bernice suddenly. „All this is really none

of my business

„Not at all. I find your conversation refreshing. As I told

you when we first met, I seldom get the chance to talk to

human females. The few I do meet tend to be cautious and

formal...‟

„You mean they don‟t try to steal your reserved nightclub

table, threaten to shoot you and ask you outrageously

personal questions?‟

„Rarely! Now, let me ask you some questions of my own.‟

He leant forward, fixing her with slanting red eyes. „Why

are you and your companion pretending to be desperate

criminals when you are no such thing?‟

Bernice tried to stall. „What do you mean?‟

„Your act last night was quite convincing. But that was all

it was - an act. You are neither a criminal nor a killer.‟

„How can you be so sure?‟

„I am both,‟ said Lucifer. „That‟s how I know you are

neither.‟

It would be insane to trust him, to tell him the truth,

thought Bernice, and promptly decided to do just that.

„We came to Megacity to uncover a criminal scheme called

the Project. We posed as criminals because we thought that

might make it easier to find out what we wanted to know.‟

„You mentioned this Project last night. What can you tell

me about it?‟

„Not much.‟ Bernice told him the little that she knew. „I

hope this doesn‟t mean we end up on opposite sides.‟

Lucifer shook his head. „This Project is nothing to do with

me - I know nothing of it. Besides, it is impossible for us to

be enemies now.‟

„It is?‟ Suddenly Bernice felt very pleased - and rather

alarmed. „Why?‟

„Because of the blood debt.‟

„I‟m sorry?‟

„You and your companion saved my life last night. Now I

am sworn to your service. If I can, I will help you to find your

Project...‟

12

REUNION

As I left Lucifer‟s castle, a human female arrived in a black

hoverlimo. She was no one I‟d seen before, and as I drove my

new red sporthover back towards Megacity, I wondered idly

who she was.

Then again, Lucifer‟s private life was no business of mine.

It was his professional life that concerned me - presumably

that was why someone was trying to kill him.

I was pretty sure that the Wolverine ambush outside Sara‟s

Cellar was an attempted hit. Assassination to order was a

Wolverine speciality, which meant someone had paid for the

attack. Which meant, in turn, that someone wanted Lucifer

dead pretty badly - a Wolverine hit squad doesn‟t come

cheap. Wolverines are good at their work and Lucifer had

been lucky to walk away.

He‟d told me a couple he‟d met at the club had helped him

fight off the Wolverines. He‟d been lucky there too - good

Samaritans are hard to come by in Megacity.

Lucifer had also told me that the Wolverines‟ leader was in

a weird kind of state. Berserk, he called it. Wolverines are

your cool, sneaky kind of killers. They attack when they‟ve

got you outnumbered and their style is to hit and run. Their

only loyalty is to each other, to the pack. Capture one and

offer a deal, and he‟ll sell out his employer to save his own

hide without even thinking about it.

Lucifer said this one had been in a killing frenzy. He also

said it looked like a skoob high - only skoob hadn‟t been

around for years. It was one drug at which even Megacity

drew the line. I‟d pretty well stamped it out during my time

as Police Chief, and nobody had dared import it since.

Until now, anyway.

I began thinking about the Wolverine attack on me at

Happy Mike‟s hovercar lot. I remembered that one of my

Wolverine attackers had mad eyes and a muzzle that dripped

foam...

I‟d assumed it had been a simple revenge attack. I‟d

hurt their sensitive feelings by recovering Nastur‟s stolen

hovertruck. But then again, that wasn‟t typical Wolverine

behaviour. To them murder is strictly a matter of business.

Sure, they‟d hold a grudge. They‟d kill me if the chance

came up and they could do it safely, and without too much

trouble. But to risk mounting an attack in broad daylight on

Spaceport Boulevard ...

Would they do that if nobody was paying them? I started to

think about who might want me dead - and about who knew

where I might be on that particular morning.

I remembered telling Nastur about having my eye on a red

sporthover in Happy Mike‟s used-hover lot.

At this point in my series of brilliant deductions I noticed I

was being followed.

It was a big black hoverlimo and it was gaining on me fast.

At first I wasn‟t particularly alarmed. I assumed it was the

one I‟d seen delivering the human female to Lucifer‟s castle.

I assumed that until the black glass window slid down and

the Wolverine in the back started blasting at me with a laser

rifle.

Luckily for me he was overeager. He fired too soon but not

too straight - the laser bolt seared a black line across the red

paintwork of my new sporthover.

I spun the sporthover around in a tight turn. Before he

knew it I was around behind him. I had my own window open

by now, and my blaster in my hand. I zoomed

up alongside, fired through the open window and saw the

Wolverine slump back.

But there was still the driver. He slammed the big hover-

limo into my lighter sporthover, sending me spinning away

out of control, off the road and over the marsh.

I fought to regain control, got the sporthover stabilized -

and saw the hoverlimo zooming towards me again. I couldn‟t

match it for weight and power. All I had was manoeuvrability.

I hit the rise-jets, shot straight up in the air, and the

hoverlimo slid underneath me. I cut the power and the

sporthover dropped on to the hoverlimo roof, slamming it

down into the marsh.

Pinned down by the added weight of the sporthover, the

limo started to sink. That was fine by me - except that I was

sitting on top of the hoverlimo, and, unless I got out of there,

I was going under as well.

I hit the rise-jet control again - nothing happened.

The hoverlimo sank lower - and so did I.

I heard a frantic squealing from below and looked out of

my window. The Wolverine driver was trying to get out of

the limo - but it had already sunk too far, and the door was

blocked with glutinous mud.

I hit the controls again - still nothing. The jolt on landing

must have damaged the circuits.

With a sinister sucking sound, the hoverlimo sank lower. I

heard a mud-choked scream from the driver, we sank lower

still...

The sporthover‟s power drive caught and we lurched into

the air - just as the limo disappeared beneath the mud.

I headed thankfully back for the road, and sent my

battered sporthover limping back towards Megacity.

Back in town I headed straight for Happy Mike‟s car lot.

Fortunately, I found him in a good mood. He‟d recorded his

vidnews interview, and was happily playing it over and over

again. With the aid of some of my remaining credits, I

persuaded him to let me trade in the sporthover for a nearly

new Oldshover. It was grey, beat-up looking, but with an

excellent drive unit. I was beginning to see disadvantages in

being too noticeable.

I stopped off at a liquor store to replenish my supply of

vragg and then headed back for the office to do some serious

thinking.

Cat was back on the balcony, so I poured him a saucer of

vragg, and a slug for myself.

I started thinking about the latest attack. They‟d picked me

up on the way back from Lucifer‟s castle, which suggested

that someone was having the place watched. Someone,

maybe, who was worried about Lucifer, worried about me,

and doubly worried about the two of us getting together.

I mulled things over for a while and decided I needed to

talk to Nastur. I also needed some backup - which meant I

needed Murkar back on the payroll.

I knew he‟d been working for Little Louie on and off, and

decided to go and look for him at Louie‟s hotel.

When I got there I found Louie in the foyer arguing with a

big blond guy who looked vaguely familiar.

„You mean you just let her go off?‟ the guy was saying.

„So what was I supposed to do?‟ protested Louie. „She

wanted to go. It wasn‟t like she was kidnapped. Some devil

turned up with a hoverlimo and off she went.‟

Suddenly I remembered the woman I‟d seen arriving at the

castle. I broke in on the argument.

„Are you worried about a medium-sized lady in a black

dress with a hat and a veil?‟

„That‟s right,‟ said the blond guy. „Have you seen her?‟

„If it‟s the same one she‟s visiting a Demoniac called

Lucifer at his house on the coast.‟

„Is she all right?‟

„As far as I could tell she was fine.‟

The big guy was staring at me. „It‟s Garshak, isn‟t it?‟

I looked hard at him and realized we‟d met before some-

where. „That takes care of me. What about you?‟

„Chris Cwej,‟ he said. „We met when you were Chief of

Police.‟

Suddenly it all came back to me. This big blond guy and a

small dark woman. They‟d turned up in Megacity, claiming to

be Pinks on the trail of a serial killer they called the Ripper.

They‟d found him, too, although not until he‟d carved up

Raggor, and made a shambles of Raggor‟s Cavern. Their killer

had fled the planet and I‟d packed them off after him.

It had all happened a long time ago.

I looked at the big blond guy, remembering. The little dark

woman had been the boss in those days. I remembered how

she‟d bullied me in my own office. The blond guy looked

older now, and harder. He‟d grown up.

„How‟s your partner?‟ I asked. „Tough little dark lady.‟

„Dead,‟ he said briefly. „I‟ve got a new partner now.‟

Suddenly things came together. „Did the two of you help a

Demoniac called Lucifer fight off a Wolverine ambush? Last

night, outside Sara‟s Cellar?‟

„That‟s right. How did you know?‟

„I‟ve just been hearing all about it,‟ I said. „Lucifer hired

me to look into it.‟

„Hired you?‟

„That‟s right. I‟m a private eye these days.‟

The big guy drew a deep breath and turned to Little Louie.

„Is the bar open, Louie?‟

„Sure,‟ said Louie. „We never close.‟

„Can I buy you a drink, Mr Garshak?‟ the big guy asked.

„By all means, Mr Cwej.‟

„Is this a private party?‟ asked a female voice. „Or can I

come too?‟

The woman I‟d seen at Lucifer‟s castle had come into the

lobby. Outside, a big black hoverlimo was pulling away.

The big guy grabbed her shoulders. „Benny! Are you all

right?‟

„I‟m fine,‟ she said coolly. „I‟ve just been having lunch

with Lucifer. I thought you were the one in danger. How are

you?‟

The big guy blushed. „Fine, fine,‟ he said hurriedly. „Sara

was very helpful

„I just bet she was.‟

„This is Mr Garshak, Bernice. Roz and I met him when we

first came to Megacity. He was Chief of Police then. Now

he‟s a private eye. He‟s working for Lucifer. Mr Garshak,

may I introduce Bernice Summerfield - sometimes known as

the Dragon Lady.‟

She looked at me and nodded. „I saw you. You left just as I

arrived.‟ She turned to the big guy. „Lucifer wants to help

too, Chris. He says he owes us a blood debt.‟

„Maybe we can all help each other,‟ I said. „How about that

drink, Louie?‟

„Come this way,‟ said Louie, and ushered us into the bar.

It was empty at this time of day, and we settled ourselves at

a corner table. Louie brought the drinks, vragg for me, ale for

Chris, white wine for the lady, and discreetly made himself

scarce.

We raised our glasses in a silent toast, sipped our drinks

and looked thoughtfully at each other.

I turned to Chris. „So who are you chasing this time?‟

„I wish I knew,‟ he said. „It‟s all rather vague.‟

The woman, Bernice, said, „Have you ever heard of the

Project?‟

I shook my head. „What Project?‟

Chris sighed. „That‟s part of the problem.‟

He told me how his old partner, Roz Forrester, had picked

up something about some big-time scheme or scam or

conspiracy called the Project, when they first came to

Megacity. How they‟d had no time to follow it up then, but

he‟d come back to look into it now.

„Why?‟ I asked.

„I promised Roz we‟d come back and check it out some

day. She can‟t now, so I have. It was unfinished business.‟

I looked at Bernice. „And you?‟

„I‟ve been friends of Roz and Chris for a long time. I didn‟t

want to get involved at first. But as soon as I so much as

talked to Chris someone tried to kill me - and killed a young

friend of mine instead. I got fired from my job and framed on

trumped-up charges. Now it‟s personal.‟

„We‟d like to hire you as well,‟ said Chris. „Can you help

us find the Project?‟

I shook my head. „Against the private eye code. One client

at a time. Unless...‟

„Unless what?‟ asked Bernice.

„Unless there‟s a connection.‟

Chris frowned. „Why should there be?‟

„Lucifer was attacked by Wolverines - so was I. You know

Lucifer, I know Lucifer, I know you.‟

„Chance, surely?‟

„Or serendipity,‟ I said. „Sometimes I think there‟s no such

thing as coincidence.‟

„Something else,‟ said Bernice. „Senseless violent crime

has been rising steadily ever since Chris and Roz were first

here. I think it‟s got something to do with the Project.‟

„Why?‟ I asked again.

„Instinct! Post hoc -‟

„Is not necessarily propter hoc,‟ I said.

Chris looked baffled.

Bernice explained. „Because something happened after

something else, it doesn‟t necessarily mean it happened

because of that something else.‟

„Maybe not,‟ said Chris. „But Roz Forrester‟s informant,

the one who mysteriously committed suicide, said the Project

was bound to get out of control and there‟d be blood on the

streets. He also said it would spread to hundreds of other

worlds.‟

I downed my vragg and signalled to Louie for another

round.

When the drinks had come and Louie had gone I said,

„You were talking about senseless violence.‟

Chris nodded. „So?‟

„If it is getting worse - and I agree with you, it is - I can

think of a possible reason.‟

Bernice leant forward. „Let‟s hear it.‟

„Did you ever hear of a drug called skoob?‟

Bernice looked blank but Chris said, „Yes of course -

skoob! I‟ve heard of it, but I never encountered it. I went to

some lectures on the history of it when I was... when I was

in my old job. It had been stamped out on my homeworld by

then.‟

„It was supposed to have been stamped out everywhere,‟ I

said. „Nowhere would tolerate it, not even Megacity.‟

Bernice said, „ So what is this stuff?‟

„It was discovered on some godforsaken jungle planet,‟

said Chris. „Extracted from the root of some rare plant. The

natives used it in their religious ceremonies.‟

„And what does it do to people?‟

„Produces an immediate incredible high, followed almost

at once by acute withdrawal symptoms,‟ I said. „The addict

will pay any price, do anything, to get more. If he can‟t he

goes paranoid.‟

Chris said, „But even if he does get more, he passes into a

state of even more violent paranoia. Skoob spread right

through this section of the galaxy, but it caused so much

havoc that every planetary government cooperated in

stamping it out.‟

„Even the drug lords banned it in the end,‟ I said. „What‟s

the use of customers who are likely to kill you if you don‟t

supply them, and almost certain to kill you if you do?‟

„And you think someone‟s smuggling it in again?‟ asked

Bernice.

„It‟s possible.‟

Chris shook his head. „It‟s hard to see how. The plant

would only grow on this one planet - something to do with

unique soil make-up. The problem was so bad that a number

of planetary governments formed an alliance to deal with it.

They invaded the planet, rooted out and burnt every last

skoob plant, and put the planet under permanent

quarantine.‟

„That was a long time ago,‟ I said. „Maybe they missed a

plant or two and the stuff re-established itself. Maybe the

quarantine authority grew lax, or got corrupted, and a nice

quiet little skoob industry started up again.‟

Bernice leant forward eagerly. „Or maybe someone dis-

covered how to synthesize, the stuff, manufacture it

artificially.

Perhaps that was the Project! Maybe they thought they‟d

found a way to control the side effects. That could have been

what Roz‟s informant meant. So they used Megacity as a test

market - but the side effects started creeping back.‟

„Steady on,‟ said Chris. „It‟s a nice little theory, but that‟s

all it is, a theory. We haven‟t a scrap of proof.‟

„We might be able to get some,‟ I said.

„Where?‟ demanded Bernice.

„A while ago a nasty piece of work called Nastur lost a

shipment of booze and drugs,‟ I said. „He lost it because one

of his own men went berserk. It went missing in Lucifer‟s

territory, and ended up in Wolverine hands - after which a

number of Wolverines went berserk. Nastur was desperate to

get the shipment back - which was why he hired me. Since

then attempts have been made to kill Lucifer - and to kill

me.‟

Chris looked baffled. „Why?‟

„As for Lucifer, could be a lot of things - he‟s not short of

enemies. But for me - maybe just because I knew about that

shipment. Maybe because someone was afraid I‟d found out

too much.‟

„So where is this shipment now?‟ demanded Bernice.

„Nastur‟s warehouse. I recovered it, and gave it back to

him.‟

„What did you do that for?‟

„That was what I was paid for. At the time I thought it was

just a routine shipment. Perhaps it is.‟

„And perhaps it isn‟t!‟ said Bernice. She looked from me

to Chris, her face alive with excitement. „I think we ought to

find out, don‟t you?‟

„Wonderful!‟ I said. „I suppose you‟re going to turn up at

his warehouse and have a little chat with him?‟

„Yes,‟ she said. „That‟s exactly what I‟m going to do.‟

13

RAID

The brown-furred Ursine on guard outside Nastur‟s ware-

house slumped against the doorpost and yawned. A big black

hoverlimo slid quietly around the corner. Hurriedly the guard

straightened up, tried to look tough and alert. Could be

someone important, and it wouldn‟t do to be caught slacking.

Things were pretty tense around the place these days. For

some reason old Nastur was in a hell of an evil mood - and

that same bad mood had spread all the way down the chain

of command.

The limo sighed to a halt and a big fair-haired human got

out of the back seat. He opened the door and a female got

out. Like the man, she was dressed all in black.

The big man slapped the roof of the hoverlimo and it

drifted away. The woman looked at the guard and said,

„Nastur.‟

He gaped at her and the big man said, „The lady wants to

see Nastur, dummy. Go and tell him she‟s here.‟

The Ursine guard gaped some more. „Listen, I don‟t think -‟

„You‟re not equipped to think,‟ said the woman coldly.

„Just go and tell Nastur he‟s got a visitor.‟

The guard reached out for the touchpad in the post, giving

the signal that opened the small door set into the large one.

The door opened and he went inside.

* * *

In the big floodlit yard a black-furred Ursine, one of the

sub-bosses, was checking packing cases against a list.

He looked up. „So why ain‟t you outside?‟

„Visitors for Mr Nastur, boss,‟ said the guard importantly.

„Names?‟

„They didn‟t say.‟

The sub-boss sighed. „They didn‟t say. Number?‟

„How‟s that?‟

„How many?‟ said the sub-boss wearily. „You did count

them? Or were there more than three?‟

„No, just two,‟ said the guard, relieved. „Humans, a big

guy and a small dame.‟

„They got an appointment?‟

„How‟s that, boss?‟

The sub-boss sighed again. „I know, they didn‟t say. Why

don‟t you just chase them off? Mr Nastur doesn‟t want street

bums coming round bothering him.‟

„These aren‟t bums, boss. They arrived in this big black

limo and they‟re dressed real sharp. They look like they‟re

important.‟

The sub-boss frowned. He was no more anxious than the

guard to make any mistakes, not with Nastur in his present

foul mood.

„You‟re sure there are only two? Maybe they‟ve got an

army hidden in the limo.‟

The guard shook his head. „They sent the limo away.‟

„OK, let‟s take a look at them. Send them in.‟

The guard went out, and the sub-boss called over two

human bodyguards. „Visitors. Watch „em.‟

The bodyguards nodded, picked up their laser rifles and

stood flanking the door.

The sub-boss watched as the two strangers came into the

yard. The sentry retreated outside, closing the door behind

him. The visitors, whoever they were, were trapped. They

might find getting out a lot harder than getting in.

The sub-boss studied the two strangers. The woman,

clearly the one in charge, glanced casually around the

yard. She didn‟t seem impressed. The big man, standing

protectively behind her, looked around as well, but his

survey was very different. The sub-boss saw him checking

the number of guards, their position, the weapons they

carried, escape routes and cover in case of trouble. This

was a professional.

The sub-boss said bluntly, „You armed?‟

The woman said, „Of course we‟re armed.‟

He nodded towards a nearby packing case. „On top of the

case there. Slowly.‟

Covered by the two bodyguards, the woman took a slim

blaster from her bag and tossed it on to the packing case.

The big man took a heavy hand blaster from under his arm

and put it carefully beside the woman‟s one.

The sub-boss approached and without being told the big

man raised his arms, holding them out from his sides.

Quickly and efficiently the sub-boss patted him down. He

turned to the woman. „You too, lady.‟

The woman raised her arms. „You can look but don‟t

touch.‟

The sub-boss walked around her, until he was satisfied

that there was no sign of the bulge of even the smallest of

blasters.

„OK. Now what do you want here?‟

„We want to see Nastur.‟

„Who does?‟

„We‟ll tell him that.‟

The sub-boss shook his head. „It doesn‟t work like that. I

gotta have a name the boss will recognize. Your name, a

contact name, whatever.‟

The woman said, „Tell Nastur Miss Dragon and Mr

Christopher are here to see him. Tell him we come from Emil

Malek.‟

The sub-boss said, „You better be telling the truth, lady.‟

He turned and walked into the cavernous warehouse.

He found Nastur is his usual place in the back, sitting in

his special chair, surrounded by boxes, crates and barrels.

His two underbosses, both human, were with him. Some

kind of conference was going on.

Nastur glared at him with orange eyes. „Well?‟

„Something‟s come up, Mr Nastur.‟ Briefly he told of the

arrival of the two strangers. „The dame calls herself Dragon,

the guy‟s called Christopher.‟

„Two people walk in off the street and you expect me to

see them?‟

„You want them thrown out, I‟ll throw them out. You want

them killed, I‟ll have them killed. Only…‟

„Only what?‟

„They look convincing, they sound convincing and they

gave Malek‟s name. It‟s up to you, boss.‟

Nastur pondered, blinking furiously.

As she stood waiting for Nastur‟s hairy henchman to

return, Bernice Summerfield wondered what the hell she

was doing here. It was all the more puzzling, since the

whole scheme had been her idea - she‟d had to talk the

others into it.

She was reminded of the old story about the man who took

off all his clothes and jumped into a patch of stinging nettles.

Asked afterwards why ever he‟d done such a thing, he

replied, „Well, it seemed a good idea at the time!‟

And there was the other story about the man found fast

asleep in a blazing bed. Asked if he knew how the bed had

caught fire he said, „Hell no, it was on fire when I got in.‟

Now, belatedly, she was wondering if her scheme would

really work. It all depended on whether she could keep this

Nastur character convinced and interested for long enough.

Garshak had warned her she wouldn‟t even get an audience

without a contact name. Reluctantly, he had given her one -

that of the legendary Emil Malek, rumoured to be the current

head of the equally legendary Combine.

A loose amalgamation of the Mafia-type organizations

on a hundred worlds, the Combine was the largest known

criminal organization in the galaxy. The Capo di Tutti Capi

- the Combine was deeply conservative and clung to the

old Mafia terminology - was a shadowy figure called Emil

Malek. Even to know his name was a kind of criminal

credential.

So far the Combine had left Megacity alone. Murderously

efficient where it had to be, the Combine preferred to make

its money as peacefully as possible, and Megacity had been

considered too violent and undisciplined. But Megacity was

also immensely profitable and, again according to Garshak, a

Combine takeover was something every Megacity crime boss

dreaded.

Claiming to come from Emil Malek was a dangerous

gambit. It just might buy them a hearing and even a measure

of protection. Or it might, of course, provoke immediate

execution, depending on how paranoid Nastur turned out to

be.

The henchman appeared in the doorway of the warehouse

and summoned them with a jerk of his head. Dropping back

into her Dragon Lady persona, Bernice stalked towards him,

Chris following behind. The two bodyguards fell in behind

them both.

Their guide led them through an enormous shadowy

warehouse, stacked with boxes, crates and barrels of every

shape and size. Filled, presumably with stolen goods,

thought Bernice. Hovertrucks were parked around the sides

of the warehouse area and she kept an eye out for the one

they were interested in. Garshak had described it as well as

he could - old, grey, dirty, battered and scarred with laser

bums. But one old hovertruck looks much like another, and

the warehouse was full of them.

„I can tell you exactly where you‟ll find that hovertruck,‟

Garshak had said. „Right next to Nastur himself. If I‟m right

about what‟s in it, he won‟t let it out of his sight.‟

They came up to a little group of figures, gathered under a

light-globe in the centre of the warehouse. Dominating the

group was the extraordinary figure of Nastur. Gross, slimy,

toadlike, he sat in his specially made chair, which, according

to Garshak, he never left, and was staring at her with huge

orange eyes.

Not far away, to Nastur‟s left and her right, was a battered

old grey hovertruck, its sides scarred with laser burns.

So far, so good, thought Bernice.

She and Chris came to a halt just before Nastur‟s chair. He

waved the henchman away, but the two armed bodyguards

remained.

Bernice met Nastur‟s orange glare with her best Dragon

Lady stare and inclined her head very slightly. „Mr Nastur? I

bring greetings from Emil Malek.‟

Nastur made no reply. The eyes blinked once, that was all.

Bernice plunged ahead with her carefully prepared spiel.

„Mr Malek feels that it is time for him to extend his

operations to Megacity. For this reason he has dispatched

me to initiate discussions with certain prominent local

businessmen such as yourself.‟

Nastur spoke for the first time in a wheezing, unctuous

voice that fully matched the unpleasantness of his

appearance.

„I am honoured indeed, Miss... Miss Dragon? But what if

I do not wish for the privilege of allying myself with Mr

Malek?‟

Bernice gave him her most sinister smile. „Mr Malek tends

to take the position that those who are not with him are

against him.‟ She paused to let this sink in and went on,

„He prefers, where possible, to follow a policy of friendly

association. But if this is not possible there is an alternative

policy that serves equally well.‟

„And that is?‟ hissed Nastur.

„Extermination.‟

There was an angiy growl from Nastur‟s henchmen. He

held up a broad flipper-like hand to silence them.

„Mr Malek has been happy to ignore events in Megacity for

many years. May I ask what has caused this change in

policy?‟

„You must ask Mr Malek himself,‟ said Bernice. „I imagine,‟

she added casually, „that recent increases in Megacity‟s

profitability, due to the Project, might have something to do

with it.‟

„The Project?‟

Nastur seemed genuinely puzzled - just like everyone

else, thought Bernice. „You could scarcely hope to keep

something of such scope as the Project a secret for ever,‟

she persisted.

„I know nothing of any Project,‟ said Nastur dismissively.

„Just as you know nothing of the trade in the drug skoob?‟

Nastur‟s eyes flicked towards the battered old hovertruck.

„That is another matter. What do you know of skoob?‟

„There is very little that Mr Malek does not know.‟

Nastur examined her thoughtfully. „I think you are lying

Garshak drove the big black hoverlimo around the back of

the warehouse yard and sat it down close to the fence. He

grinned to himself, remembering what a job it had been

persuading Happy Mike to let him hire it.

„Bad things happen to hovers when you get your hands on

them, Garshak,‟ Happy Mike had growled.

Garshak had promised to return the hoverlimo the very

next day - without a scratch.

He got out of the limo, climbed carefully on to the roof and

took a flying leap over the fence, clearing it by millimetres.

He hit the ground on the other side and rolled over into a

patch of shadow. He crouched there for a moment, waiting,

hoping nobody had heard the thud he‟d made on landing.

Somebody had.

He heard a nervous voice from somewhere nearby.

„You hear that?‟

A bored voice said, „Hear what?‟

„Sounds like something jumped over the fence.‟

„Werecat probably.‟

„Hell of a big werecat.‟

The nervous one appeared around the corner of the

building, a human guard with a laser rifle. Garshak let him

get past the patch of shadow, reached out and grabbed his

ankle and yanked him off his feet. The guard gave an

astonished squawk. As he hit the ground a huge fist hit him

behind the ear and he collapsed.

The squawk brought the second guard running. He tripped

over his friend‟s body, and as he scrambled to his feet

Garshak rose up out of the shadows and chopped him down

again. After dragging both bodies into the shadow, Garshak

moved on. Good thing they were both humanoid, he thought.

Rabbit-punching an Ursine was like hitting a tree.

Garshak knew exactly where he‟d originally left the truck

and was hoping Nastur hadn‟t bothered to move it. If his

theory was right, Nastur wouldn‟t want to risk drawing

attention to that particular shipment. Garshak had decided

that Nastur was probably keeping the skoob-smuggling

operation secret from most of his own people, hiding the

stuff in everyday shipments.

Garshak moved silently forward between parked hover-

trucks and stacked bales and boxes until he heard Bernice‟s

voice. He edged nearer until he was close enough to see her.

She and Chris were standing in front of Nastur and a group

of his people. Just to one side of them was an old grey

hovertruck scarred with laser burns. The truck he‟d hauled

out of Wolverine territory.

Garshak listened for a moment. Bernice was putting on a

pretty convincing act, he thought.

„It‟s no use your asking me any more questions, Mr

Nastur,‟ she was saying. „I have no intention of answering

them. I have delivered my message. If you are not interested

in Mr Malek‟s proposition, there are others who will be. I

have been instructed to contact a Mr Lucifer next.‟

She was playing it pretty cool, thought Garshak admiringly,

but it just wasn‟t working. Nastur was still suspicious

and he wasn‟t buying her pitch.

„You will contact nobody,‟ hissed Nastur furiously.

„Certainly not that vile and unspeakable devil Lucifer.‟ He

managed to calm down. „To be honest I am not sure what to

make of you, Miss Dragon. You know too little to be what

you claim you are, and too much about my affairs for your

own good. I am not sure what your real purpose is, but you

will tell me. Oh yes, you will tell me. In fact, before very

much longer, you will be begging to tell me. I can be most

persuasive.‟

Garshak bared long fangs in a silent snarl. He had already

seen victims of Nastur‟s powers of persuasion, some dead,

some still alive. They all had vital parts missing. Nastur liked

to use a vibroknife.

Garshak glanced quickly across at Chris, to see his

reaction.

Chris didn‟t move or speak, but he looked poised, ready.

He‟d better be, thought Garshak grimly.

He started creeping towards the hovertruck...

Nastur glared angrily at the human female before him. He

was sure she was lying. But if she was not what she claimed

to be where did she find the courage to defy him? It actually

seemed as if she was not afraid of him - which was utterly

ridiculous. Everyone was afraid of him!

„I warn you not to do anything foolish, Nastur,‟ she said

contemptuously. „Allow us to leave now or you will be very

sorry.‟

Nastur‟s temper snapped. „It is you who will be sorry.

Seize her and bring her over here to me. If the man moves,

kill him. And bring me a vibroknife

The hovertruck drive unit roared into life and several

things happened very quickly.

As the nearest guard reached for the female she reached

into the bag she carried, produced a small shining object and

shot him in the head.

The big man stooped with incredible speed, rose with a

blaster in his hand and shot down the second guard.

As Nastur‟s two underbosses clawed for their blasters, a

heavy hand blaster boomed twice from the hovertruck cab

and they both fell.

A massive figure leant out of the open cab door, blaster in

hand, and a hated voice roared, „Chris, Bernice, over here!

Anyone else moves and I‟ll smear Nastur all over this

warehouse!‟

Nastur quivered with fury. „Garshak!‟

The two humans sprinted for the hovercab and jumped

inside.

Doors slammed and the hovertruck gathered speed.

Trapped in his chair, surrounded by the dead bodies of his

guards, Nastur watched helplessly as the hovertruck zoomed

across the yard and straight through the still-closed gates.

Amid a shower of wood and metal fragments, the hover-

truck vanished into the night.

Nastur began screaming orders. „Personal bodyguard

squad, here to me. I want the gate guard and his sub-boss.

The rest of you, get after them. Take anything that moves but

catch them. Kill Garshak and the two humans and get that

hovertruck back.‟ He grabbed a trusted aide by the arm. „You

- go to the Lair and hire every Wolverine you can find. Same

orders for them. I want Garshak and his friends dead and the

hovertruck back here. Tell them I‟ll pay top rates, whatever

they want!‟

Hovercars, hovertrucks and even the odd hoverbike began

roaring through the shattered gates.

When everyone had gone, the warehouse was silent and

half empty. Nastur sat in his chair, bodyguards around him.

Before them stood the two Ursines - the gate guard and

his sub-boss.

Nastur‟s orange eyes turned on the gate guard.

„You let them in.‟

The sub-boss said, „He checked with me, boss. It‟s not

really his fault.‟

The implacable orange eyes turned on the sub-boss. „You

brought them to me.‟

Resigned, the sub-boss said, „He checked with me, I

checked with you, you said bring them in. Your decision,

boss.‟

„So it was all my fault,‟ said Nastur. „I suppose all I can

really say is, be more careful next time.‟

The sub-boss didn‟t speak. Black-haired Ursines are

brighter.

The brown-furred gate guard said, „Thanks boss, we sure

will!‟

„No you won‟t,‟ said Nastur.

„Boss?‟

„There won‟t be any next time,‟ said Nastur.

He waved to his bodyguards and they blasted the two

Ursines down.

14

GARSHAK’S STING

As the hovertruck rocketed along the highway, Bernice said

indignantly, „This wasn‟t the plan, you know!‟

Garshak glanced over his shoulder, alert for the inevitable

pursuit. „It wasn‟t?‟

„You were supposed to sneak into the hovertruck, check it

for this skoob drug, take away a sample and sneak out, while

I made a dignified exit!‟

„The only exit you were going to make would have been in

a body bag,‟ said Garshak. „Probably several different body

bags! I saw it was all going wrong so I improvised.‟

„Just as well you did,‟ said Chris. „He saved both our lives,

Benny.‟

„I know,‟ said Bernice. „I‟m babbling because I‟m still

scared.‟ She touched Garshak‟s huge hairy hand where it lay

on the steering wheel. „Thanks.‟

„My pleasure.‟ Garshak glanced over his shoulder again.

„The question now is, where do we go? My place and your

hotel will soon be swarming with Nastur‟s boys. We need

somewhere safe where we can check out this truck and plan

our next move.‟

„Lucifer‟s castle,‟ said Bernice instantly. „We‟ll be safe

there if anywhere.‟

„You think he‟ll take us in?‟ asked Chris.

„Of course he will,‟ said Bernice confidently. „Garshak‟s

working for him, isn‟t he? And if this drug business is behind

the attack on Lucifer - he‟s involved in this as much as we

are. Besides, he owes us, remember? All that blood-debt

stuff.‟

„Right,‟ said Garshak. „Lucifer‟s castle it is.‟

He swung the hovertruck at the next junction, heading out

of Megacity towards the marshlands.

Back at the warehouse, Nastur‟s men were slowly trailing

back.

To Nastur‟s rage they all told the same story of failure. The

stolen hovertruck had got away too quickly - they had lost

the trail.

There was no sign of the hovertruck or its passengers

anywhere near Louie‟s hotel or Garshak‟s office.

Nastur‟s aide reported that the Wolverines were out in

force looking for Garshak and his two accomplices. „They

were very keen,‟ said the aide. „They hate Garshak so much I

think they‟d kill him for free.‟

„They‟ll have to find him first,‟ snarled Nastur.

The truck stood in the floodlit circular area below Lucifer‟s

castle. Bernice, Chris and Lucifer watched while Garshak

made a swift and efficient search of the cargo.

It didn‟t take him long to find what he was searching for.

One of the bales of jekkarta weed had already been torn

open, and in a hollowed-out nest inside there were traces of

glowing green granules. Garshak produced a long knife and

ripped open another bale. Inside this was a smaller, tightly

packed parcel. He punched a hole in it with his knife and

green granules trickled out.

Garshak jumped out of the hovertruck and handed the

package to Lucifer. „Skoob,‟ he said. „One drug smuggled

inside another. Someone opened that first bale and got at the

skoob. First Nastur‟s man, then later the Wolverines. It sent

them berserk. But there‟s plenty more skoob left in the

cargo, millions of credits‟ worth. No wonder Nastur was so

desperate to get his hovertruck back.‟ He turned to Lucifer. „I

think he was afraid your men had stumbled on the secret,

too, at the checkpoint. That‟s probably why he tried to have

you killed. Me too. When I‟d got the truck back, he was afraid

I might have looked inside and discovered his secret.‟

Lucifer nodded gravely. He looked at Chris and Bernice.

„It looks as if we have found your Project. Nastur must

have been smuggling this filth into Megacity for years.‟

In the baronial dining hall of Lucifer‟s castle the butler

served drinks and a variety of food.

Lucifer raised his glass of foaming purple wine. „To the

end of the Project!‟

They all drank.

Bernice said, „I‟m more than happy to drink to that. How

are we going to achieve it?‟

„I shall achieve it,‟ said Lucifer grandly. „I shall destroy

Nastur, take over his organization, find and cut off his source

of supply. From now on it is war between us.‟

„Why not let the police do it?‟ suggested Chris. „Skoob

smuggling is something no administration can afford to

tolerate, not even in Megacity.‟

Lucifer looked shocked. „My dear Christopher, I am a

professional criminal. I couldn‟t possibly go to the police.‟

„We can,‟ said Bernice. „You needn‟t be involved at all.

Chris and I can go to Chief Harkon and tell him we‟ve got

proof that Nastur has been smuggling skoob.‟

„There‟s a slight problem with that,‟ said Garshak.

„Which is?‟

„All the evidence of skoob smuggling we‟ve actually got is

currently outside there in the courtyard. We don‟t want to get

Mr Lucifer arrested, do we? After all, he‟s your friend and

my employer.‟

There was a moment of baffled silence.

Then Bernice said, „In that case we shall just have to get

the evidence back where it belongs - won‟t we, Mr Garshak?‟

Garshak groaned.

* * *

Next morning Chris and Bernice sped to Megacity Police HQ

in one of Lucifer‟s hoverlimos, accompanied by several armed

guards. Chief Harkon received them in the ornate office that

had once belonged to Garshak.

„I was wondering when I‟d be hearing from you two. Are

you getting anywhere at all? As far as I can see, things have

got worse, not better, since you arrived! The Mayor‟s giving

me more grief as each day goes by.‟

„How would you like to bust up a skoob-smuggling racket,

Chief?‟ said Bernice. „Wouldn‟t that make you the hero of

the hour?‟

„Sure it would,‟ said Harkon. „But skoob hasn‟t been seen

in Megacity for years.‟

Chris took a small plastic-wrapped packet from his pocket

and handed it over. „Careful, there‟s a little hole in the top

there.‟

Harkon shook the packet and a few shining green granules

trickled out into his hand.

„Skoob!‟ he whispered. „Where did you get this?‟

„We think someone‟s been smuggling it into Megacity,‟

said Bernice. „It may account for the outbreaks of violence.‟

„Who‟s doing this?‟ demanded Harkon. „Where can I find

him?‟

„We can tell you who he is and where he is,‟ said Chris.

„Catching him with the goods might be a little more

difficult.‟

„Why will it be difficult?‟ said Harkon, seeing his triumph

slipping away. „What‟s going on?‟

„Don‟t worry, Chief,‟ said Bernice. „I‟ve got a plan.‟

Nastur‟s warehouse was in a state of siege. The shattered

main gate had been barricaded and there were armed guards

everywhere - as many as could be spared from the task of

hunting Garshak and his two human associates.

Nastur sat in the warehouse yard in his usual chair, raging

at his men as they made their useless reports.

„They must be somewhere,‟ he snarled. „I know they‟ve

not left the planet - we‟ve had the spaceport watched by the

Wolverines.‟

As if on cue a cloaked and hooded figure emerged from the

shadows.

„Well,‟ hissed Nastur. „Have you found Garshak yet?‟

„No, Garshak,‟ said the Wolverine. „Search clubs, bars,

hotels, spaceport, everywhere. No Garshak.‟

„Useless fools!‟

Under the hood, thin lips drew back from the long muzzle

in a low snarl.

„I‟m sorry,‟ said Nastur hurriedly. „I know you‟re doing

your best. This matter is very important to me.‟

You had to watch your step with Wolverines. They were

good servants and efficient killers, but they were touchy.

Offend them and you might find yourself on the receiving

end of their attentions.

„Not find Garshak,‟ said the Wolverine. „Find man and

woman.‟

Nastur leant forward eagerly. „Where?‟

„Police headquarters. Go to see Harkon.‟

Nastur felt a pang of unease, and then told himself he had

nothing to fear. Garshak‟s friends were in no position to

complain to the police. Hadn‟t they destroyed his property,

stolen his truck, killed his bodyguards? All the same, it was

worrying... In the old days there had been few problems

with the Megacity police that a bundle of credits wouldn‟t

solve. But Chief Harkon had a disturbing tendency towards

honesty.

Nastur was still brooding over this new development when

one of his bodyguards said, „Boss?‟

Lost in thought, Nastur didn‟t reply.

„Boss!‟ said the bodyguard again.

„What is it? Can‟t you see I‟m trying to think?‟

„Sorry, boss, but I thought you were keen to find Garshak,

and that hovertruck he took?‟

„Well, of course I am! What about it?‟

„I think that‟s the truck coming down the street right now.

And it looks like Garshak‟s driving it.‟

The

bodyguard

pointed,

and

Nastur

stared

in

astonishment. Through a gap in the barricade he could see

the missing hovertruck coming slowly down the road towards

him.

Nastur raised his voice. „Guards, here, all of you! Cover

that hovertruck!‟

A dozen armed bodyguards came running out of the

warehouse and took positions grouped around Nastur, laser

rifles trained on the hovertruck. It stopped outside the

improvised barricade.

Garshak stuck his head out of the window.

„Well, are you going to shift that barrier or what?‟

Nastur‟s bodyguards looked at their boss for instructions.

„A couple of you move the barrier,‟ ordered Nastur.

Once he got Garshak and the truck safely back inside his

warehouse, he mused, neither would ever be seen again.

When the barrier was clear Garshak drove the hovertruck

slowly forward. Halfway through the gap where the gate had

been the truck stopped.

„What are you doing?‟ screamed Nastur. „Move it in here!‟

Garshak leant out of the cab. „First we need to talk.‟

Nastur glared balefully at him.

„Well?‟

„We need to discuss my finder‟s fee.‟

„Finder‟s fee? You have already been paid once - over-

paid. You steal my hovertruck, bring it back and expect to be

paid again?‟

„Different fees for different jobs,‟ said Garshak blandly.

„You hired me to get your hovertruck back - I got it back.

First job, first fee. The two strangers hired me to steal it from

you, so I stole it. Second job, second fee. I stole the truck

from the strangers. Now I‟m offering to sell it back to you.

Third job, third -‟

„All right, all right,‟ said Nastur. „Get that hovertruck in

here. I want it off the street and out of sight.‟

Garshak shook his head. „First I want your promise that

you‟ll call off your people - and the Wolverines as well. No

point in earning another fee if I don‟t live to spend it.‟

„Very well, I give you my word. Now will you get that

hovertruck in here?‟

„We still haven‟t agreed a fee.‟

„How much do you want?‟ snarled Nastur.

„Ten per cent of the value of the hovertruck‟s cargo,‟ said

Garshak. „And I mean ten per cent of the real value - the

stuff that‟s hidden inside the jekkarta crates.‟

„Ten per cent!‟ screamed Nastur. „That‟s outrageous, Gar-

shak. That - that stuff is worth millions -‟ He broke off.

After all, it didn‟t really matter how much he promised. He

had no intention of paying Garshak anything at all. He was

going to kill him at the very first opportunity.

Nastur smiled horribly. „You drive a hard bargain, Gar-

shak, but I agree. Just bring the hovertruck into the yard,

will you? There‟s a good fellow.‟

Infuriatingly, the truck still didn‟t move.

„Maybe I ought to keep the stuff and sell it myself,‟ said

Garshak thoughtfully. „Why settle for ten per cent when you

could have a hundred per cent? I mean, I don‟t even know for

sure that the stuff in the hovertruck is really yours.‟

„Of course it‟s mine,‟ screamed Nastur, goaded beyond

endurance.

„You‟re quite sure about that?‟

Nastur’s

scream

became

a

bellow.

‘Everything in that

hovertruck is mine, smuggled in by me and me alone, and

paid for with my own credits. I own it and I intend to be the

one who sells it!’ He calmed himself with an enormous

effort. ‘Now - get that hovertruck in here.’

„If you insist,‟ said Garshak. He drove into the yard, and

halted the hovertruck just in front of Nastur‟s chair.

Nastur smiled again, rubbing flipper-like paws together.

He raised his voice in a stream of orders.

„Get the barricade back in place. Get the hovertruck inside

the warehouse - and kill Garshak!’

There was a crackle of blaster fire, and Garshak ducked

back inside the hovertruck. The firing, however, came not

from Nastur‟s bodyguards, but from the blasters of the squad

of Megacity police who jumped from the back of the

hovertruck.

Several of Nastur‟s bodyguards fell dead or stunned, and

the rest turned to run back into the warehouse. They found

themselves facing the blasters of still more police, who came

pouring from inside. Some of the guards tried to resist.

Caught in a crossfire, they were immediately shot down. The

survivors threw down their rifles in surrender.

A police hoverwagon drove into the yard. Chief Harkon,

Chris and Bernice got out, accompanied by still more police-

men.

Chief Harkon stood in front of Nastur, looking down at

him, hands on hips. „I‟ve waited a long time for this, Nastur.‟

He cleared his throat. „I hereby arrest you on charges of

smuggling the noxious drug known as skoob, with intent to

distribute it in Megacity

„You are making a mistake, Chief Harkon,‟ said Nastur

calmly. „I have no idea of the contents of that truck - and

whatever they are, they have nothing to do with me.‟

„Is that so?‟ said Chief Harkon. „And how do you account

for its presence here in your warehouse yard?‟

„Some rogue called Garshak just drove it in here. He told

me the truck contained skoob, and offered to sell it to me for

an outrageous price.‟ Nastur did his best to look virtuous.

„Naturally I told him I wasn‟t interested.‟

„Is that the truth now?‟

„My guards will testify to it - those you haven‟t already

killed. As I said, Chief, you are making a terrible mistake.

I‟m afraid I shall be forced to sue the administration.‟

„Will you, now?‟ Harkon raised his voice. „Mr Garshak!‟

Garshak jumped down from the hovertruck. „Chief

Harkon?‟

„Do you have the prisoner‟s confession?‟

„I do, Chief.‟

„Nonsense,‟ said Nastur indignantly. „I made no confession.‟

Garshak

produced

a

police

recorder

from

his

pocket,

held

it

up

and

touched

a

control.

Nastur’s

angry

voice

boomed

out. ‘Everything in that hovertruck is mine, smuggled in by

me and me alone, and paid for with my own credits. I own it

and I intend to be the one who sells it!’

Garshak switched off the recorder and handed it to

Harkon. „That will do nicely, Mr Nastur,‟ said Harkon.

„Admission of ownership and confession of intent to

distribute.‟

Nastur made one last desperate attempt to wriggle free.

„I think you‟ll find that recording is useless to you, Chief

Harkon. Such a confession is admissible only if recorded by

an authorized police official, and Garshak is no longer -‟

He broke off as Garshak turned back the lapel of his coat

and revealed a large and battered star bearing the word

„Deputy‟.

„Take him away,‟ said Harkon. Four policemen picked up

Nastur‟s chair and carried it and the now speechless Nastur

over to the waiting police hoverwagon.

Chris and Bernice were congratulating Garshak.

„Well done!‟ said Chris.

„Brilliant!‟ said Bernice.

Garshak surveyed the battered hovertruck. „I‟ll be glad to

see the last of that thing. It‟s caused me a lot of trouble.‟ He

looked down at Bernice. „And as for this latest mad scheme

of yours

„Well, it worked, didn‟t it?‟ said Bernice triumphantly. „I

think we deserve a celebration. Any chance of a lift back to

Louie‟s hotel, Chief?‟

„With pleasure,‟ said Harkon. „I shall have to detain Mr

Garshak a little longer. I need a statement from him - and for

today at least, he‟s still a deputy.‟ He reached up and patted

Garshak on the shoulder. „An excellent piece of undercover

police work, Mr Garshak. Would you care to consider rejoin-

ing the force in an official capacity?‟

* * *

Later that evening, the celebration was in full swing. After an

excellent dinner Chris and Bernice adjourned to the piano

bar.

„Hear about Nastur?‟ asked Louie as they came in. „Busted

for dealing skoob!‟ He shook his head disapprovingly. „Serve

him right too - that stuff‟s murder!‟

Murkar, back on duty as doorman, nodded solemnly in

agreement.

Bernice ordered champagne, and she and Chris went on

discussing the skoob affair.

„You know,‟ said Chris, „I‟m still not positive this skoob

smuggling really is the Project - the one Roz got on to.‟

Bernice didn‟t want anything to spoil the celebration.

„Oh come on, Chris, it must be. Everything fits! The

crime-against-humanity bit, the upsurge in violence.‟

„Still

several

loose

ends,

though,‟

said

Chris

argumentatively.

„Such as?‟

„Nastur couldn‟t have been selling skoob back when Roz

and I were first here. According to Garshak, he wasn‟t even

in Megacity.‟

Bernice shrugged. „Maybe someone else was just setting

the racket up then. Nastur could have taken it over later.‟

„Maybe so,‟ said Chris. „But what about the St Oscar‟s

connection? Why such a big reaction when they discovered

we were coming to Megacity to look into the Project?‟

„The Advanced Research Department is involved some-

how,‟ said Bernice positively. „Maybe they were the ones

synthesizing the drug, or trying to. Just the sort of thing they

would do. I only hope the police come up with the link. If I

can prove they‟re involved in drug trafficking, I can make

them drop all those fake charges and reinstate me.‟

Garshak appeared in the doorway, stopped for a few words

with Murkar and came over to join them. He ordered a mug

of ale, drained it, and immediately ordered another.

„Harkon‟s been working me to death,‟ he said. „He wants

me to come back on the force.‟

„Will you?‟ asked Chris. „You must miss the job. I do.‟

„I‟m not sure. I was only a poor corrupt police official,

Chris, not a noble Adjudicator like you. And I‟ve come to

enjoy my freedom.‟

Bernice took a swig of champagne. „Garshak will know,‟

she announced, looking defiantly at Chris. She turned to

Garshak.

„How long has this skoob-smuggling racket been going

on?‟

„It hasn‟t,‟ said Garshak. „We stopped it before it even got

started.‟

They looked blankly at him.

„How can you be sure?‟ asked Bernice faintly.

„This was the first and only shipment. The only one in

existence as far as we know. Somehow it got overlooked

when the United Planets had their big purge. Nastur found

out somehow and managed to get his hands on it. His Alpha

Centaurian accountant made a full confession. They planned

to sell off most of it, and keep some back to try to synthesize

more.‟

„Did you come across any mention of St Oscar‟s University

on Dellah?‟ asked Bernice hopefully. „Was something

called the Advanced Research Department involved in the

synthesizing?‟

Garshak shook his head. „The synthesizing part was just in

the planning stage. They needed to sell off some of the drug

first to finance the research.‟

„So there‟s no way the skoob smuggling could have got

started back when we first met?‟ asked Chris. „Or be the

cause of the upsurge in violent crime?‟

„I don‟t see how,‟ said Garshak. „It‟s all very recent, and

not enough of it got out.‟

Chris sighed. „You know what this means, Benny?‟

„Oh yes,‟ said Bernice bitterly. „We‟ve been charging up a

blind alley - risking our necks playing crimebuster - and it‟s

all for nothing.‟

„Not nothing,‟ objected Chris. „We‟ve helped to break up an

ugly racket and save a lot of lives.‟

„We haven‟t tracked down Roz‟s mysterious Project,

which is what you came here to do,‟ said Bernice gloomily.

„We haven‟t got the goods on St Oscar‟s either - which I

need to do if I‟m ever going to get my job back.‟

„We‟ll just have to start all over again,‟ said Chris. „Chief

Harkon will help - he owes us now.‟

Bernice brightened a little. „Lucifer will help as well. So

we‟ve got the cops and the robbers on our side!‟

„I‟ll even help as well,‟ said Garshak. „I suppose I come

somewhere in between!‟

„We need a break,‟ said Chris broodingly. „A thread to pull

on that will untangle the rest.‟

„Hey Chris!‟

He looked up and saw Louie calling from the bar.

„Call for you on the comm. Some dame.‟

„Excuse me,‟ said Chris. He got up and went to the bar.

„Now then,‟ said Garshak. „Tell me all about this Project.‟

Bernice swigged more champagne. „It‟s a long story. It all

started when Chris and Roz first came to Megacity…‟

Chris followed Louie‟s directions to a corner comm booth

and said, „Chris here.‟

„How‟ve you been, Chris?‟ said a female voice. It was

Sara.

„Busy,‟ said Chris rather guiltily. „I‟ve been meaning to

call…‟

„I thought you might like to come over and see me,‟ said

Sara.

„I‟d like to, Sara, I really would, but I‟m pretty busy just

now.‟

There was a moment of silence.

Sara said, „If it‟s any inducement - I‟ve found someone

who knows something about the Project...‟

15

THE BREAK

It was late when Chris arrived at Sara‟s Cellar, and once

again he was greeted as an honoured guest. Word seemed to

have got around among the staff that he and the boss were

more than just good friends. The heavies on the door waved

him through and when he went down the stairs the maitre d‟

greeted him with a bow.

The place was packed, every table full, and a group of

assorted life forms were pounding out strange alien rhythms

from a dais in the corner. They finished their number and a

buzz of conversation filled the room.

„Madame Sara is expecting you, sir,‟ said the maître d‟.

„You‟ll find her by the bar.‟

Sara was perched on a stool with her back to the bar.

Elegant in a silver evening gown, her red hair piled high, she

was surveying the crowded room with a professional eye.

Chris slid on to the stool beside her and kissed her briefly

and a little awkwardly on the lips.

She smiled at him. „Ale or champagne?‟

„Champagne,‟ said Chris. „Definitely a night for

champagne.‟

Sara glanced over her shoulder. „Ramon!‟

The hovering barman brought a bottle, opened it, filled

two silver tankards and slid discreetly away. Chris looked at

the tankards in mild surprise.

„If you‟re going to drink champagne, drink it,‟ said Sara

cheerfully. „No point in sipping at the stuff.‟

She took a swig from her tankard and Chris did the

same. The cool, sparkling wine was delicious and Chris

felt a sudden surge of wellbeing. He smiled - and then

immediately frowned.

Sara cocked her head. „What is it?‟

„I was thinking it‟s nice to relax. Life‟s been a bit stressful

lately.‟

„So why the frown?‟

„I seem to be getting a taste for the high life!‟

„What‟s wrong with that?‟

„I‟ve still got a job to do. I can‟t afford to get too relaxed.‟

He winced as the group broke into another noisy number.

„What do you think of the band?‟

Chris raised his voice above the incessant pounding noise.

„Very... striking! I particularly like the octopod on the

double bass.‟

„They‟re the Antares Hot Five - they play something

called jazz. Old Earth retro is all the rage just now.‟

Chris nodded. He leant forward, his lips close to her ear.

„You said you had some information for me.‟

„Relaxing time over already?‟

„I‟m sorry...‟

„That‟s all right. I like a man who keeps his mind on the

job.‟ Sara drained her tankard. „Come along.‟

Chris swigged down the rest of his champagne, burped,

and followed her. To his surprise she led him behind the bar

and down a steep flight of stone steps.

He found himself in a long cellar which ran under the

whole of the nightclub. The walls were whitewashed, the

floor stone-flagged. Stone pillars, worn smooth with age,

supported the roof.

The cellar was stacked with wine racks, liquor crates and

beer barrels, some in plastimetal, others in old-fashioned

wood. Nearby, a stooping figure in a leather apron was lifting

a wooden barrel on to a trestle. Chris saw that the man was

thickset, broad-shouldered and beetle-browed, with a heavy

jaw. He was very old, his brown face seamed and wrinkled,

his massive skull bald except for a fringe of snow-white hair.

Judging by the way he handled the heavy barrel he was still

immensely strong.

Chris looked around the cellar. „Very impressive.‟

„You‟re standing in just about the oldest place in

Megacity.‟ Sara explained that the club had been built on the

site of an old native tavern. The cellar had survived all the

changes of name and ownership. They went over to watch

the old man.

„Sam here‟s my cellarman,‟ she explained. „He‟s the only

one knows how to look after traditional Earth Ale.‟

The old man knocked a wooden bung from the top of the

barrel, picked up a plastic jug, and began pouring a colour-

less liquid slowly into the barrel.

„What‟s he doing?‟ asked Chris.

The old man looked up. „This stuffs called finings,‟ he

said. „Made from fish guts. You pour it into the beer, let her

settle, and it works through and clears out all the impurities,

leaves her clear and sparkling.‟ He gestured scornfully at the

plastimetal barrels. „This modern stuff comes all ready-

refined, but you need the old ways to get the real flavour.

They‟ve been doing it this way on Earth for hundreds of

years.‟

Carefully he tipped in the remains of the jug.

„Fascinating,‟ said Chris politely. „It‟s very kind of you to

let me see your cellar, Sara

„I didn‟t bring you down here to see the cellar,‟ said Sara.

„I brought you here to see Sam.‟ She smiled at his look of

puzzlement. „I asked everywhere about this precious Project

of yours. Either nobody knew, or nobody was talking. And

all the time the answer was right here under my feet! I‟d

better get back upstairs. I‟ll leave you and Sam to talk. Come

and say goodbye before you go.‟

She went back up the stone steps, leaving Chris staring

dubiously at an old humanoid stooping over his barrel.

What could an old codger like this possibly know about the

Project?

The old man straightened up, arching his back to relieve

the strain. „Don‟t recognize me, do you?‟

Chris shook his head. „I‟m sorry. Should I?‟

„We met once. Not for long, and a long long time ago.

Seems like I‟ve changed a lot more than you have.‟

„I‟m sorry,‟ said Chris again. „When did we meet?‟

„A long long time ago, back when you first came to

Megacity. In a beer hall downtown, remember? Four drunk

miners came in and started getting tough with your lady

friend.‟

„Yes, I remember,‟ said Chris slowly. He looked at the old

man. „Were you-‟

„I‟m the one your lady friend kicked in the balls,‟ said the

old man bluntly. He laughed wheezily. „I couldn‟t walk

upright for a week! Then you came back from the bar and

clobbered two of the others and me and Sev made a run for

it.‟

Chris didn‟t quite know what to say. „I‟m sorry I didn‟t

recognize you at first. I never really got a good look at you.‟

„I saw all I wanted to of you - and your lady friend. Say,

that was one tough little dame. How‟s she doing?‟

„Dead,‟ said Chris briefly.

„Dead, eh?‟ said the old man. „Tough.‟

Chris decided it was time to get down to business. „Sara

said you knew something about the Project.‟

For a moment the old man didn‟t reply. He cleared his

throat. „Thirsty work, talking.‟ He took two tankards from a

shelf and went over to another barrel. „This one should be

about ready by now.‟ He turned the spigot and drew off two

mugs of ale, passing one to Chris. They both drank. The beer

was cool and delicious and Chris found himself draining the

tankard at one swallow.

„Best part of my job, testing the ale,‟ said the old man.

„Good stuff, hey?‟

„Best I ever tasted,‟ said Chris. „About the Project...‟

The old man finished his beer and refilled both tankards.

„Give me some time, boy. I‟ve been clammed up about the

Project so long I got to work my way round to it. I wouldn‟t

be talking to you now if Miss Sara hadn‟t asked me to.‟ He

took another swig of beer. „Back in those days Megacity was

a lot wilder, and so was 1.1 came here to work in the mines,

made good money for a while. Then I got fired for drinking

and fighting. I hung around in bars till I‟d spent all my

savings, then I drifted into being pretty much of a lowlife.

Robbery, mugging, stuff like that. I‟d always been stronger

than your lot so I ended up working mostly as a leg-breaker.‟

Chris nodded. He was familiar with the pattern from his

Adjudicator days. „Who for?‟

„Whoever. Mind you, I was never a killer. Just low-level,

hired muscle, when the big boys wanted somebody leant on.‟

The old man shrugged. „I got tired of it in time and got out.

Started working behind the bar instead of leaning on it, and

ended up down here.‟

Chris sighed. Probably the old boy didn‟t get much chance

to talk about the old days. He was quite capable of telling

Chris his entire life story.

„The Project,‟ Chris prompted gently.

„Around the time you was here first, there was a sudden

upswing in the leg-breaking business. There was something

big called the Project starting up and everyone was talking

about it. Then word came down that everyone hadda stop

talking about it. Quite a few people were killed just to make

an example - lot of hovercabbies, barmen, guys like that.

Anyone who was still talking about the Project after that got

a beating. If they didn‟t learn from that, they were killed.‟

„And did it work?‟ asked Chris. „I‟d have thought it was

impossible to stop people from talking.‟

The old man chuckled. „It took a while, but it sure as hell

worked in the end. Came the day nobody was talking about it

- from then till now.‟

„Where did we come in?‟

Sam shrugged. „The guy who hired me, Sev, told me you‟d

been asking too many questions. At first they were gonna kill

you, but they were afraid to do it because you were Pinks. So

Sev hired me and a couple of others to discourage you. As

you know, we didn‟t do too well at it.‟

„Did anyone report back what had happened?‟

„I sure as hell didn‟t. I just laid low till I could walk

upright again.‟

„Perhaps nobody did - and soon after that we left anyway,‟

said Chris thoughtfully. „Maybe they thought we‟d been

scared off...‟ It was time, he thought, to ask the really

important questions. „So, what was this Project? Who was

running it?‟

„No idea,‟ said old Sam.

Chris‟s heart sank. Was his only lead about to fizzle out?

Sam saw his disappointed face. „Look, all the guys doing

the shutting up had strict orders to shut up themselves -

about what they were doing, and why they were doing it.‟

„What about this Sev, the one who hired you? Did he

know?‟

„Maybe he did know and talked too much. He was found

in a back alley with his throat ripped out not long after.

Mostly they used Wolverines for the killing.‟

„And you never heard a name? Some big crime lord or

gang boss?

„Never. Except…‟

„Except what?‟ asked Chris eagerly.

„I heard rumours an outfit called Custodiex was providing

some of the hired muscle for the beatings. Big private

security setup. Worked for them myself for a while.‟

Chris drained his tankard and handed it back to the old

man.

„Thanks, Sam.‟

„Sorry I couldn‟t tell you more.‟

„It‟s a start,‟ said Chris. „Maybe it‟ll lead somewhere.‟

He reached in his pocket but the old man shook his head.

„No need. It was a favour to Miss Sara.‟ Sam grinned

reminiscently, shaking his head. „That was some kick - I can

still feel it now. Pity about that little lady friend of yours.‟

„Yes,‟ said Chris. „It is.‟

The old man went back to his work, and Chris went

upstairs to find Sara. She was sitting back at the bar and she

looked up eagerly as he approached. „Was Sam any help?‟

„Quite a bit. He‟s given me somewhere to start, anyway.‟

Sara glanced at the still-hovering barman. „More

champagne?‟

„I‟d better not. I need to get moving on this.‟

„I‟ll be working here till the small hours,‟ she said. „After

that I need my sleep. If you‟d care to come round one

afternoon. Afternoons are the best time here.‟

„Afternoons are wonderful here,‟ said Chris. „I‟ll come as

soon as I possibly can.‟ He leant forward and kissed her

hard.

„You‟re getting better at that,‟ she said.

„Practice,‟ said Chris solemnly. „I need much more practice.‟

He turned and moved away through the crowded bar.

Quite a few people besides Sara watched him go.

„So there you are,‟ concluded Chris. „As you can see, he

didn‟t really tell me much.‟

„I don‟t know,‟ said Garshak. „He may have told you more

than he realized - more than you realized as well, come to

that.‟

It was next morning, and they were having an early drink

in Louie‟s bar - to counter the effects of all the late-night

celebratory drinks they‟d had the night before. Garshak, who

had ended up sleeping in the hotel, had joined them.

Bernice swigged her coffee and brandy and shuddered.

„Stop being so bloody enigmatic, Garshak,‟ she said irritably.

„I can‟t cope with that and a hangover. Who told who more

than who realized about what?‟

„I‟ve been thinking,‟ said Garshak calmly.

„Well I‟m glad somebody has. The rest of us don‟t seem to

be too good at it.‟

„Please explain, Mr Garshak,‟ said Chris, polite as ever

despite a pounding head. Champagne and old ale just didn‟t

mix well, he decided. Especially when you were drinking

both by the tankard.

Garshak beamed at his haggard audience. One of the many

irritating things about Ogrons is that they don‟t get hang-

overs.

„Just look at the people - the three most important people -

who you‟ve been asking for information about this

mysterious Project,‟ he said. „Lucifer. Sara. Me.‟

Bernice nodded and immediately wished that she hadn‟t.

„So?‟

„A crime lord,‟ he said. „A lady who runs the nightclub

patronized by the criminal elite. And me, an ex-police chief

and present-day private detective.‟

„Get on with it, Garshak,‟ muttered Bernice. „What‟s your

point?‟

„We none of us knew anything about it!‟

„Yes, we realize that,‟ said Bernice through gritted teeth.

„That‟s our problem, rather, isn‟t it?‟

Chris frowned, wishing his brain didn‟t feel like setting

plasticrete. „Are you saying we‟ve been asking the wrong

people?‟

Garshak shook his head. „Not at all,‟ he said infuriatingly.

„In a sense, you‟ve been asking exactly the right people.

Lucifer, Sara and I are probably three of the best-informed

, people on criminal affairs in all Megacity. But not one of us

knew anything about the Project. Surely you can see what

that single fact tells us?‟

„No I bloody well can‟t,‟ snarled Bernice. „And if you

don‟t tell me right now in simple language -‟

Garshak slammed a huge hairy hand on the table, making

the glasses, Chris and Bernice all shudder and jump in the

air.

‘If the Project was any kind of straightforward criminal

scheme we’d have known about it! One of us would have

heard

of

it

for

certain,

and

probably

all

three.

But

we

haven’t!’

There was a moment of silence.

Then Bernice said, „Hang on. Are you saying the Project

isn‟t a criminal scheme.‟

„Yes - or rather, yes and no.‟

„Garshak!‟

„Obviously something that can be called a crime against

humanity, something that‟s going to cause blood in the

streets, must be in some way criminal. But not in the sense

you‟ve been using the word - the everyday professional

sense.‟

„What you‟re saying,‟ said Chris slowly, „is that, although

the Project is a criminal scheme, it isn‟t necessarily some-

thing devised by or operating among professional criminals

- like Nastur, or even Lucifer?‟

„That‟s right,‟ said Garshak. „Except in a fringe kind of

way on the lowest levels - as demonstrated by the

involvement of your friend Sam.‟

„So, not criminals, but people prepared to employ

criminals?‟

„Precisely. All that grandiose stuff about suppressing any

mention of the Project - it‟s just not the way criminals

think.‟

„Then who does?‟

„Governments,‟ said Garshak. „Or very large and powerful

corporations who think like governments. Run by people

who don‟t commit crimes with their own hands, but who are

perfectly prepared to pay others to do the dirty work - if the

stakes are high enough.‟

„Of course!‟ said Bernice. „We‟ve been looking in the

wrong direction. Down in the gutter with the killers and drug

smugglers, instead of up in the penthouses with the fat cats.‟

„Who do you think might be involved?‟ asked Chris.

Garshak shrugged. „Almost any of the leading citizens of

Megacity. The City Council is stuffed with the rich and

powerful - and they didn‟t get where they are by being

overscrupulous.‟

Bernice nodded. „There‟s an old saying - “There‟s no

completely honest way to make a billion credits”!‟

„Something else,‟ said Garshak. „Didn‟t you say Sam

mentioned Custodiex?‟

Chris nodded. „What are they?‟

„Executive security for millionaires and top corporations.

Custodiex would never stoop to working for ordinary

criminals - ordinary crooks don‟t earn enough to pay

Custodiex fees!‟

„Well, we can investigate Custodiex for a start,‟ said Chris.

„Anyone else?‟

„We could try the Wolverines,‟ said Garshak. „They don‟t

keep written records - but someone in the Pack might

remember and be willing to drop a name for a price. One

thing about Wolverines is they‟re consistent - they‟ll sell

anyone out to anyone!‟

„We can‟t talk to Wolverines though,‟ objected Chris. „You

especially, Mr Garshak!‟

„I can if I can figure out a way to stay alive long enough!‟

„You know what I‟m going to do?‟ said Bernice. „Research!

I‟ve been so caught up in all this macho derring-do I forgot

I‟m supposed to be a scholar. I‟m going to research the fat

cats - millionaires, politicians, big corporations.‟

Garshak looked sceptical. „Research? How will that help?‟

„Well, if we accept your theory, and I think we must,

we know two things about the people behind the Project.

They‟re rich and powerful - and they‟re in trouble.‟

„Roz‟s informant said the Project was bound to go wrong,‟

said Chris.

„Exactly. I can research that informant‟s death as well -

and all these other violent crimes. Oh, and I can also check

for anyone with a link to St Oscar‟s

Bernice felt ideas coming thick and fast now.

„Garshak, you‟ve got us back in the game. You‟re a

genius!‟

„I know,‟ said Garshak modestly.

„You know what this calls for?‟ said Bernice. „Champagne!‟

She waved towards the bar. „Champagne, Louie!‟

„Coming right up,‟ said Louie. „Call for you, Chris, that

dame again.‟

Chris went off to the comm booth and Louie brought and

poured the champagne.

When Chris returned to the table his face was grave.

„What‟s happened?‟ asked Bernice. „Is Sara all right?‟

„Yes, but old Sam isn‟t. Someone went down into the

cellar last night and smashed in his head with a mallet...‟

16

INVESTIGATION

The Megacity cops were there in force when Chris and

Murkar arrived in the cellar of Sara‟s Cellar. As a tribute to

Sara‟s importance, Chief Harkon himself was in attendance.

He was surveying the crime scene, Sara by his side, when

Chris came down the steps.

Chris had stood for a moment at the top of the steps,

taking everything in.

A white-overalled crimetech crouched by Sam‟s body. The

old man lay face down in front of one of his own barrels. He

was sprawled out in an untidy heap, a pool of blood around

the shattered skull.

Nearby lay a wooden mallet, its head sticky with blood.

Chris remembered seeing that same mallet in old Sam‟s hand

the night before. A couple of overturned ale mugs lay on the

floor nearby.

Chris felt suddenly envious of Chief Harkon and his

men. The study of the crime scene, the waiting for forensic

evidence, the search for methods and motives. Above all the

questioning of witnesses and suspects, the flicker in some-

one‟s eyes that told you he was lying - but could you prove

it? The old game of good cop and bad cop, to persuade

someone to talk when it was clearly in his own best interests

to clam up...

Violent death was always a tragedy, but to an investigator

it was the start of the hunt. And once a cop... But he wasn‟t

an Adjudicator any more. Investigating Sam‟s death wasn‟t

his job.

„Just another motiveless murder, I‟m afraid, Miss Sara,‟

Harkon was saying, as Chris and Murkar reached the bottom

of the stairs. „We seem to get more and more of them these

days. Some drunk sneaks into your cellar to steal booze, Sam

catches him, the thief grabs the mallet

Chris greeted them both, and introduced the giant figure at

his side. „I want you to take Murkar on for a while, Sara,‟ he

said.

Sara looked puzzled. „Why? What for?‟

„To keep an eye on you. I‟ll take care of his salary - I just

want you to keep him around for a while.‟ Before she could

argue, Chris turned to Chief Harkon. „With respect, Chief, I

can‟t agree with you about the crime.‟

Not surprisingly Chief Harkon took immediate umbrage.

„Is that so, young man? And how much experience do you

have of police work?‟

„I was an Adjudicator for several years, remember.‟

Harkon glared suspiciously at him. „Being an Adjudicator

is a job for life, isn‟t it?‟

„Usually.‟

„So why did you leave?‟

„Corruption. Not mine, other people‟s.‟

Harkon nodded. „That can happen. So what‟s your theory?‟

„I don‟t think someone just came in off the streets and

killed Sam. Sara‟s security is pretty good.‟

„Someone already in the club, then?‟ argued Chief Harkon.

Chris shook his head. „Not likely. Sara knows most of her

customers. Some of them are criminals, but they‟re not thugs

or lowlifes. Isn‟t that so, Sara?‟

She nodded. „This place is neutral ground - people just

don‟t cause trouble here.‟ She smiled at Chris. „Well, not

usually.‟

Harkon looked dubious. „Not all your criminal clients are

so high-class. Miss Sara. What about bodyguards, hangers-

on, people like that?‟

„That‟s quite true, I couldn‟t guarantee all of them. All the

same, I don‟t think they‟d dare - their own bosses would kill

them.‟

„There‟s something else,‟ said Chris. „Old Sam was a

tough nut. He‟d been a hard man in his time, and he was still

pretty strong. I got the impression that mallet was never far

away. If someone had broken in, I‟d bet that the thief would

be the one who ended up with a split skull.‟

Harkon sighed gustily. „So how did he get himself

killed?‟

„By someone he knew,‟ said Chris. „Someone he trusted.

Sam was very proud of his ale, and I imagine he always

offered visitors a drink - just as he did me last night. I think

Sam turned away to fill a mug and his visitor snatched up

the mallet and killed him.‟

„So you had a drink with him last night, did you?‟ snapped

Harkon. „Maybe it‟s you I ought to be arresting!‟

Chris just stared at him. He was so used to being on the

investigating end that he‟d never even thought of himself as a

possible suspect.

He looked so comically dismayed that, despite the tragic

circumstances, Sara laughed outright.

„It‟s all right, Chief Harkon, I can vouch for Chris. I came

down to see Sam after Chris left, to thank him for helping,

and he was alive and well and in the best of spirits.‟

„I‟m not sure you‟re an unbiased witness,‟ grumbled

- Harkon. „Did anyone see Sam at all after that? No one

noticed he hadn‟t gone home?‟

Sara shook her head. „Sam pretty well lived in the cellar.

He often slept there. He did his work in his own time -

sometimes nobody saw him for ages.‟

„So he could have been killed any time in the night.‟

Harkon swung round on to Chris. „This help he was giving

you...‟

„Remember when Professor Summerfield and I first came

here? We told you we were were looking into something

called the Project - that was why false charges had been

trumped up against us? We thought it might even be

responsible for the rise in violent crime in Megacity.‟

„I thought we‟d solved all that with the skoob bust.‟

„Unfortunately not - that was a blind alley. The Project is

something else and it‟s still going on. Sam knew something

about it - not much, but something. I think he was killed just

for talking to me.‟

„Is that so? And would you happen to know who by?‟

„I know that too,‟ said Chris calmly. „Give me some

authority and I‟ll prove it to you.‟

„What kind of authority?‟ asked Harkon suspiciously.

„Make me a special deputy, the way you did Garshak.‟

Harkon thrust his hand into his pocket and took out a

battered silver star.

„It just so happens I‟ve got Garshak‟s badge right here, him

having no further use for it.‟ He tossed the star to Chris.

„Raise your right hand

A few minutes later, Chris was duly sworn in as a

Megacity Special Investigator.

Chief Harkon gave him a satirical look and said, „All right,

Sherlock - get started!‟

Chris turned to Sara. „Is your barman still on duty - the

one who served us champagne last night?‟

„Ramon? Yes, he‟ll be clearing up the bar ready for

tonight. Why?‟

„Could you send him down here, please? Take Murkar

with you. Oh, and Chief, can you lend me your recorder?‟

Harkon unclipped the black box from his belt and handed

it to Chris, who slipped it into his pocket. While Sara was

away the crimetech came over to them.

„Anything?‟ asked Harkon.

„No DNA on the mallet - according to the molecular

scanner whoever used it was wearing thin plastic gloves.

Blood coagulant factor says he died nine hours ago.‟

„Couple of hours after I talked to him,‟ said Chris.

Ramon, the barman, came down the steps, followed by the

giant figure of Murkar. Chris studied the man thoughtfully.

Slim, dark, shiny-haired and soft-footed, he was the perfect

barman, efficient and almost unnoticed. He was nervous

now, but perhaps that was natural.

„What‟s all this about? It‟s terrible what happened to Sam,

but I don‟t know anything about it. I was upstairs, all

evening. People saw me, lots of people

„It‟s all right, sonny,‟ said Chief Harkon soothingly. „Just

routine enquiries. We‟ll be talking to everyone - just so

happens you‟re the first.‟ He smiled encouragingly at the

nervous barman. „Between you and me we think some

varmint sneaked in off the street and killed him.‟

Chris stared grimly at the barman. „Unless it was someone

closer to home. When did you last see old Sam?‟

„Fairly early last night. I came down to get a case of

champagne. He was fine then, fiddling about with one of

those old wooden barrels. Sam sure loved his ale.‟

„And that was the last time you saw him?‟ asked Harkon

mildly.

„Afraid so, Chief.‟

„Then take a look at him now,‟ snarled Chris. Grabbing

Ramon by one thin shoulder he dragged him over to the

body. Ramon looked down, shuddering at the sight of the

shattered skull in its pool of blood. „No, please

„What‟s the matter? Don‟t you like looking at your work?‟

Ramon backed away. „I don‟t know what you‟re talking

about - I didn‟t do this.‟

„No? We‟ll find the bar gloves, Ramon - wherever you‟ve

hidden them. Then we can match the gloves to the mallet and

your DNA to the inside of the gloves.‟

„That‟s impossible Ramon broke in suddenly.

„Impossible because you destroyed the gloves? Fed them

into the garbage-shredder?‟

Ramon made no reply.

„I‟ll tell you exactly how it happened,‟ Chris went on.

„You came down here late last night when the place was

closed. You had a chat with Sam and he gave you a mug of

that ale he was so proud of. You emptied the mug. When

Sam turned round to give you a refill you grabbed the mallet

and smashed his head in.‟

„Why would I do that? Sam was a friend of mine.‟

„You killed him because he talked to me about the Project,‟

said Chris. „What I want to know is, who told you to do it -

and who paid you?‟

„I don‟t know what you‟re talking about.‟

Chris grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into a quiet

corner of the cellar.

„Listen, I‟m going to give you one last chance to save

yourself.‟ He nodded back towards Harkon, who was chat-

ting to the crimetech. „Chief Harkon‟s old and lazy. You

heard him: he‟d just as soon write this off as murder by some

unknown robber. Just tell me who set the killing up. I‟ll tell

him you‟re innocent and you‟ll walk.‟

Ramon brooded for a moment. „I heard you and Miss Sara

talking last night, about this Project. Don‟t mean nothing to

me, but I called it into the Grapevine.‟

„The what?‟

„You don‟t know about the Grapevine? How long you been

a cop in Megacity?‟

Chris grinned. „First day on the force. Tell me about this

Grapevine.‟

„It‟s a kind of central information service, all computerized.

Been around for years. How it works, if you hear

something interesting you call it in. Could be anything,

gossip, scandal, a job being planned, a deal going down.

Customers call the Grapevine to see if there‟s any info on

record they might like to hear. If they want the info they buy

it, and the Grapevine pays the supplier a percentage.‟

„How?‟

„The credits appear in your account - could be big, could

be small, depends on the info.‟

„So you called the Grapevine.‟

„That‟s right.‟

„And?‟

„Couple of hours later I get a call back, not from them but

from the customer. They want me to - take care of Sam.‟

Ramon shrugged. „I‟m in big financial trouble. I got gam-

bling debts, a bit of a habit

„So what did you do? Say it!‟

„OK, OK... So I went down to the cellar and bashed his

head in with his own mallet. I hated to do it -1 liked the old

guy. But I had to kill him. It was him or me, right?‟

„Who was this customer? Who paid for the job?‟

„No idea.‟

Chris grabbed him by the lapels and shook him hard.

„Don‟t lie, Ramon. Even a louse like you wouldn‟t commit

a murder for someone he didn‟t know, someone who might

refuse to pay up or even turn him in. You knew who you were

dealing with all right.‟

„OK, OK,‟ gasped Ramon. „I‟ll tell you.‟

Chris let him go. „Well?‟

„It was a big security outfit called Custodiex. They knew I

worked here. I‟d done a few jobs for them before. It‟s all their

fault - they made me kill old Sam. I didn‟t dare refuse - they

know too much about me. Don‟t tell them I told you or

I‟m dead.‟ He grabbed Chris‟s arm. „You‟ll fix things with

Harkon for me, like you said?‟

„We‟ll go over and see him now.‟

They walked back over to Chief Harkon.

„Well?‟ he asked. „How did your little chat go?‟

„It went fine, Chief. Ramon here made a full confession.‟

„That‟s not true, Chief, I denied everything.‟

Chris took the recorder out of his pocket and touched a

control. Chris‟s voice came out, followed by Ramon‟s:

„So what did you do? Say it!‟

„OK, OK... So I went down to the cellar and bashed his

head in with his own mallet. I hated to do it - I liked the old

guy. But I had to kill him. It was him or me, right?‟

Ramon stared at him in outrage. „You promised!‟

„I lied,‟ said Chris.

He switched off the recorder and slipped it back in his

pocket. Chief Harkon called over a policeman and Ramon

was dragged away, still protesting.

„Well done,‟ said Harkon. „How did you know it was

him?‟

„I was pretty sure Sam was killed because of the Project.

Ramon was the only one close enough to overhear Sara

mention it to me. Can you give me a lift in a police hover,

Chief? I‟ve got to go and see a man about security . ..‟

‘It was a big security outfit called Custodiex. They knew I

worked here. I’d done a few jobs for them before. It’s all their

fault - they made me kill old Sam. I didn’t dare refuse - they

know too much about me. Don’t tell them I told you or I’m

dead.’

Chris switched off the recorder.

The managing director of Custodiex, a plump, well-

groomed man called Siros, sat back in his chair and gazed

around his luxurious penthouse office as if for inspiration.

„I‟m shocked, officer, absolutely appalled. Naturally the

poor fellow must be deranged.‟

„Don‟t give me that, Siros,‟ snarled Chris in his bad-cop

voice. „When that record comes out in evidence, your outfit‟s

in a world of trouble.‟ He paused. „If it comes out, that is.‟

Siros raised an eyebrow. „Is the matter in any doubt?

Perhaps some accommodation could be reached

Chris pretended to consider. „Well, we need the record -

but not necessarily all of it. Ramon confesses to the actual

murder earlier on. I‟m pretty clumsy with these things - I

might accidentally erase the bit that mentions your

company‟s name.‟

Siros smiled understandingly. „Of course! Perhaps a

contribution to the Police Benevolent Fund? No doubt credit

notes would be more convenient?‟ He reached for his wallet.

„Let‟s say -‟

„Let‟s say nothing of the kind.‟

„Then what do you want?‟

„For a start, I want the name of your client. The one who

hired you all those years ago to suppress any talk about the

Project. The one who keeps you on a retainer to stamp out

any more talk that comes up.‟

There was a long pause. Then Siros said carefully,

„Naturally, the affairs of this company are highly confidential.‟

„Naturally.‟

„However, if I were to mention, in passing, the name of

one of our oldest and most valuable clients

„Go ahead and mention.‟

Siros spoke a name. „You said for a start,‟ he added. „Is

there something else?‟

„Don‟t tell your clients about my visit or our deal. You got

rid of old Sam, but Ramon was clumsy and got caught.‟

„Agreed.‟

„And don‟t take on any more Project work. No more

beatings, no more murders. If I hear about anyone else being

hurt or killed for talking about the Project - and if it happens

I will hear - I‟ll know where to come.‟

„What do we tell our client?‟

„Just stall. The Project will be smashed soon.‟

„Indeed!‟ Siros lowered his voice. „You don‟t happen to

know what the Project actually is, do you, officer?‟

„Don‟t you?‟

„All we were given was the name. It‟s a condition of our

employment that we make no attempt to find out.‟

Chris rose to go. „Oh, just one more thing. You‟d better

start praying for the health of the lady who runs Sara‟s Cellar

- the place where Sam and Ramon used to work.‟

„And why should I do that?‟

„Because if anything happens to her, anything at all, I‟ll

come back here and kill you.‟

17

BLOOD FEAST

Bernice Summerfield sat at Chief Harkon‟s desk in the

faded luxury of Garshak‟s old office surfing the Meganet.

Information of every aspect, past and present, of the city‟s

life could be found there. Business, politics, crime, scan-

dal. Files of the Megacity Gazette from the very first issue

to the latest edition. Police records, company records,

financial records. Some of the more confidential items were

code-protected but the police computer could gain access

to almost every file.

It was Garshak himself who had suggested that she make

use of police facilities. He had driven her to police head-

quarters in an old hovertruck he‟d acquired and persuaded

Chief Harkon to let him install her at the computer.

Harkon had agreed with remarkably little persuasion.

Since the great Nastur skoob bust, Harkon‟s credit with the

Mayor had improved no end, and the Chief knew how much

of that success he owed to Garshak, Chris and Bernice.

Now Chris had just helped Chief Harkon to catch a

murderer, so he and his friends stood even higher in

Harkon‟s favour.

Garshak had helped to design the police information-

retrieval system in his days as Chief of Police and he had an

unrivalled knowledge of the way it worked.

He had given Bernice a thorough grounding in the system,

and then left, saying, rather puzzlingly, he had some shop-

ping to do.

Before leaving he‟d warned Bernice not to try to access

any files for the Project.

„You‟ll just be told that no such files exist,‟ he told her,

„but you‟ll set off a warning system at the same time. If they

trace the origin of the enquiry, someone will call round with a

bomb or an atomic bazooka, and I don‟t want my old office

blasted - or you either, of course.‟

Bernice settled down to her work. She punched up the

statistics for violent crime at the time of Roz and Chris‟s first

visit to Megacity. As she studied the stream of data she

thought that this was the kind of detecting she liked, sitting

comfortably at the computer in an office surrounded by

policemen.

She wondered how Garshak was getting on out there on

the mean streets of Megacity...

I was kind of relieved when me and my hovertruck reached

the Plaza in one piece. I kept thinking of Happy Mike‟s

remark that bad things happened to hovercars in my hands.

He‟d repeated it with colourful emphasis when I‟d returned

his precious black hoverlimo. Unfortunately two of Nastur‟s

heavies had used it as a barricade in a shootout with the

cops during the raid. It had been slightly damaged by blaster

fire. Well, quite extensively damaged actually. It hadn‟t been

easy persuading Happy to hire me the hovertruck but I

needed it for my plan - such as it was.

It might seem strange to feel relieved when I‟d just driven

into the single most dangerous place in Megacity, but I‟d

been worried that the Wolverines might try to take me and

the hovertruck out with mines, bombs or heavy artillery. It‟s

hard to have a meaningful discussion with a laser cannon.

I reckoned they‟d held off so far because they were curious

about what I was up to. Wolverines hate anything they don‟t

understand. They‟re always afraid you might somehow be

putting something over them.

I looked around me. My surroundings weren‟t any more

cheerful than they‟d been on my last visit. The same cracked

and rutted circular plaza surrounded by gutted buildings.

The Plaza and the ruins all around formed a great circle of

blackness, dimly lit by the glow from the surrounding neon

lights of Megacity.

I got out of the hover, peeled off my trenchcoat and threw

it inside. Underneath I was wearing the traditional costume

of my people - coarse open shirt, leather trousers and jerkin,

and high boots. It‟s best to feel comfortable when you may

have to fight hand to hand. I‟d left my twin blasters behind -

they‟d be no use to me here - and I had a big fighting knife at

my waist.

I made, though I say it myself, a splendid barbarian figure.

I folded my arms across my chest and waited.

The Wolverines appeared out of the darkness. Soon I

was surrounded by a great circle of them, thin, sinuous,

cloaked figures, teeth and eyes shining beneath their hoods.

There looked to be about fifty of them, maybe more, which

meant several packs had gathered. It was more Wolverines

in one place than I‟d ever seen before, or wanted to see

again.

They all stood there, glaring hate at me. They all had sharp

claws and long yellow fangs, and there were knives and

blasters and laser rifles beneath those cloaks.

They studied me for a long time, trying to work out what

was going on. One of them called, „Time to die, Garshak!‟

As the snarling crowd surged forward, I bellowed, „I claim

the Blood Truce!‟

That stopped them in their tracks. I‟d appealed to an old

Wolverine tradition.

Some people regard Wolverines as no better than savage

beasts, claiming they have no culture - but they‟re wrong.

The Wolverines have a primitive culture of their own, and a

few basic traditions to which they cling very strongly.

One of them is the Blood Truce. Its purpose is to provide a

way for Wolverines to settle disputes other than by the

traditional method of violence. When Wolverines fight each

other, they fight so savagely that battles go on till there‟s no

one left alive. In primitive times on their home planet of

Lupus II, the Wolverines came close to wiping themselves

out.

Hence the Blood Truce.

The Wolverines broke up into angry arguing groups. As far

as I could tell, some packs felt that the Blood Truce only

applied between Wolverines, others that a custom was a

custom and it was wrong to go against it. This dispute

raged for some time. Wolverines have a reputation for being

taciturn but they can be incredibly garrulous among them-

selves. They chewed over the problem for some time. I

waited patiently. It was better than having them chewing over

me - which might still be their next move.

Then someone shouted, „No Blood Truce without Blood

Offering!‟

Others joined in. „Blood Offering! Where is Blood Offering?‟

Once again they began moving forward menacingly.

This was what I was waiting for. „Wait!‟ I called.

I went to the back of the hovertruck and threw it open.

Inside was the finest and fattest marsh ox available that

morning in the Megacity meat market. I heaved the body on

to my shoulders - no easy feat even for me - staggered to the

centre of the Plaza and threw down the carcass with an

almighty thud. As soon as I got my breath back, I gave the

ritual cry. „I bring the Blood Offering!‟

That really started a riot. Wolverines will eat anything,

including, some say, each other, but they really love marsh

ox.

More arguments broke out. The Wolverine packs I‟d never

really tangled with were all for taking the Blood Offering and

tucking right in. Some of them even started building a fire.

(Wolverines don‟t really cook, but they like to char the

outside of their meat as a gesture towards being civilized.)

Wolverines from the packs I‟d reduced in numbers over

the years - there were quite a few of those - felt no Blood

Offering could wipe out the debt. The pack who‟d set up the

ambush at Happy Mike‟s place were yelling the loudest.

Finally someone shouted, „The Old One! Let the Old One

speak!‟ Old Wolverines are pretty much a rarity. As soon as a

Wolverine gets too old to fight, some other Wolverine kills

him. But one or two survive as pack elders, revered for their

wisdom and experience. Presumably, the old white-furred

Wolverine who moved creakily forward into the firelight was

one of them.

„Garshak!‟ he croaked. „The blood of those who died

at the hovercar place cries for vengeance. You must fight

their pack-brothers. If you live, you may make the Blood

Offering!‟

If I died they‟d eat my marsh ox and me as well, probably,

but it would have been tactless to say so. Each Wolverine is

linked in a special brother-bond to one or two others. The

main question was, how many pack-brothers had survived?

Three Wolverines stepped forward. All three carried laser

rifles. I had no blaster, and I‟d have stood no chance in a

firefight even if I had. Immediately I drew my fighting knife,

tossed it aside, and stood looking at them expectantly.

They‟d have shot me down if they dared but custom

decreed we fight on equal terms - well, three-to-one equal

terms anyway.

All three threw down their laser rifles.

The leader of the trio sprang at my throat. I clamped my

hands around his windpipe and choked him to death.

So far so good - but the process gave the two survivors

time to attack, one from the front one from behind.

I grappled with the one in front, holding fangs and claws

away from me. Meanwhile the one behind was clamped to

my shoulders, trying to tear through the stiff collar of my

leather jerkin and get his teeth into my neck. If he managed

to bite through an artery I‟d bleed to death in minutes.

I threw myself high in the air and landed on my back, my

attacker underneath. The impact of my weight stunned him

and broke his grip. I rolled free, grabbed the Wolverine in

front and snapped his neck. Whirling round, I grabbed the

still-dazed one on the ground and did the same to him. Then

I snatched up my knife, cut the head off the dead marsh ox

at a single stroke and tossed it on to the fire.

Wolverines crowded round, knives appeared from under

cloaks and soon the carcass was cut into bloody fragments

and tossed on the fire. The cooking technique, such as it

was, was to chuck your bit of meat on to the blaze, watch it

sizzle for a bit and then lift it out with your knife. Getting

badly burnt was all part of the fun.

I speared a choice chunk from the flames and tossed it to

the Old Wolverine. Knocking another Wolverine aside, I

speared a smaller chunk for myself and crouched beside the

Old One, who was tearing eagerly at his charred and bloody

meat with his few remaining teeth.

Heat from the blazing fire beat against our faces and all

around eyes and fangs and knife blades gleamed in the

firelight.

I tore at my chunk of charred and bloody marsh ox. „Long

ago, perhaps when even you were young, men paid the

Wolverines to kill other men who spoke of a thing called the

Project. Do you remember this?‟

Munching a chunk of meat, he nodded silently.

„I want the name of the one who ordered the killings.‟

He went on chewing, staring at me with glazed old eyes.

There was no particular reason why he should answer. But

there was no particular reason why he shouldn‟t. What did a

batch of long-ago contract killings mean to him?

He croaked a name. „The man was called Kragg.‟

I tossed him the rest of my chunk of meat, rose and strolled

casually towards my truck. Nobody tried to stop me. For

tonight at least I was an honorary Wolverine.

I got in the hovertruck and drove carefully home. Nobody

bothered me, nobody tried to kill me. I called a police

contact, got him to check a name on the files, and changed

into more civilized clothes. I had a date to meet the others at

Louie‟s bar and compare notes. I was feeling pretty good.

Just before I left I went out to the borrowed hovertruck, to

pick up my coat. After searching the whole truck from top to

bottom I realized that, Blood Truce or no Blood Truce, you

can never trust a Wolverine.

One of the hairy bastards had stolen my brand-new

trenchcoat.

Bernice sat at her corner table in Louie‟s bar, full of pride

and brandy, and looked smugly at her two friends. „Well, how

did we all get on?‟

They looked equally smugly back at her.

„You first,‟ said Chris politely. „How did you get on? You

seem to have been celebrating already!‟

„How did you manage with my computer?‟ asked Garshak.

„Pretty damned well,‟ said Bernice smugly. „I checked

figures for violent crime around the time of Chris and Roz‟s

first visit to Megacity. They held steady - high but no higher

than usual - for quite some time. Then they started to climb,

slowly at first and then faster, and they‟ve been climbing ever

since.

„I checked the violent offenders and found that they were

nearly all miners or ex-miners. I checked again and found

that a statistically - statistically - higher proportion of

them came from just one company. Oh, and I checked a

suicide, a jumper, who landed in Mineral Plaza. He was a

scientist in the service of the same company.‟

She looked triumphantly at the table. Chris and Garshak

looked back with expressions of polite interest.

„I ran some more checks on that particular company and

found an interesting pattern. It‟s one of the oldest companies

on Megerra. It was in the lead for a time and then it got a bit

stagnant - it was falling behind. Then it had a sudden

upsurge, started making fantastic profits. Then it levelled off,

then it started to decline. Now it‟s really struggling again. Bad

labour relations, high turnover, huge unexplained research

expenses, lots of workers fired for fighting, or going berserk

and

smashing

company

equipment.‟

She

paused

impressively. „And the name of that company is -‟

„The Devlin Mining Corporation,‟ said Chris.

„Commonly called DevCorps,‟ added Garshak.

„Bugger!‟ said Bernice. „How the hell did you two smart-

arse Sherlocks come up with the right answer as soon as

me?‟

They mollified her and explained.

Garshak gave an account of his expedition to Wolverine

territory, playing down the horrifying risks he‟d run.

„The old Wolverine told me a man called Kragg had

ordered the original wave of killings - the ones that started

while you were still here, Chris,‟ he added. „I checked him

out on police files and discovered he was Security Chief for

DevCorps.‟

Chris told of his detection of old Sam‟s murderer, and of

the way he‟d blackmailed the truth out of Siros.

„He said DevCorps had been paying Custodiex to suppress

all talk of the Project for years. Still are.‟

„Why didn‟t DevCorps use Custodiex to hire the Wolverines

as well?‟ asked Bernice. „Why risk using their own

man?‟

„They had to,‟ said Garshak. „Custodiex will hire human

thugs - even killers - discreetly at several removes. But even

they draw the line at dealing with Wolverines. DevCorps had

to handle that direct - probably still do.‟

„Did you get anything out of the Wolverines, about the

Project itself, what it actually was?‟ asked Bernice.

Garshak shook his head. “The Wolverines weren‟t even

interested. They don‟t care why they kill people, just as long

as they get paid.‟

„How about you, Chris?‟

„I‟m pretty sure Siros was telling the truth. Even Custodiex

don‟t know what the Project actually is.‟

„Neither do we,‟ said Bernice. „But we‟re going to find

out.‟

„How?‟ asked Garshak.

„DevCorps is due for a visit from the Interplanetary

Business Inspectorate.‟

Chris looked baffled. „And what might that be?‟

„You‟re looking at it,‟ said Bernice.

18

TOUR OF INSPECTION

They had to take Bernice‟s plan to the Mayor in the end.

Harkon flatly refused to mess with anything as rich and

powerful as DevCorps without the sanction of higher

authority.

Chris and Bernice went with him to the Mayor‟s office

next morning to plead their case.

His Honour Markos Ramarr, Mayor of Megacity, listened

to Bernice‟s exposition with a worried frown on his hand-

some face.

When she‟d finished outlining her theories he turned

aggrievedly to Chief Harkon. „I thought we‟d cracked this

violent crime problem, Chief. I thought it was all down to

skoob smuggling?‟

Harkon wished desperately that this were true, but he

came through loyally in support of Bernice‟s theory.

„Only a few cases, sir, and those the most recent. If the

lady‟s right the long-term rise is down to this thing they call

the Project - run by DevCorps.‟

„And this Project does what?‟

„That‟s what we want to find out,‟ said Bernice.

„But DevCorps is one of the oldest and most respected

firms on the planet! I can‟t believe they‟d do anything

criminal.‟

„Three different leads point to them, Mr Mayor,‟ said

Chris. „You know what they say: “Once is happenstance,

twice is coincidence - but three times is enemy action!”‟

Bernice leant forward persuasively. „All we‟re asking you

to do is let us take a look. If there‟s nothing there, then that‟s

what we‟ll find and we‟ll go away.‟

„So, you want me to say you‟re from this...‟

„Interplanetary Business Inspectorate,‟ said Bernice.

„Megerra‟s in the Interplanetary Union, isn‟t it?‟

„Well, nominally,‟ said the Mayor. „We‟ve never really had

much to do with them.‟

The Union was a loose confederation of planets in this

sector of the galaxy, set up to foster good relations and

restore trade after the chaos and confusion of the war. The

Union had prospered and now some members were in favour

of closer federation, and a common credit system. Some

even advocated planetary union. Megerra, however, clung

on to independence, ignored most of the Union directives

from New Brussels, and occasionally threatened to pull out

altogether.

„So much the better,‟ said Bernice. „The Union is always

spawning daft directives and crackpot committees. All we

want you to do is call DevCorps - do you know their

president?‟

„I most certainly do. Joseph Devlin is an old friend of

mine.‟

„Call Mr Devlin then, and tell him that the Interplanetary

Union have saddled you with a couple of bureaucrats on

some kind of inspection visit. Ask him if he‟ll talk to them

and show them around, just to keep them happy and get

them out of your hair.‟

Ramarr still looked dubious. „I don‟t know... Look, who

are you people anyway? I don‟t know if you‟re crooks, cops,

or what! Who do you work for? Hell, I don‟t even know your

names!‟

„My name is Christopher Cwej, and this is Professor

Bernice Summerfield. We‟re just private citizens, sir.‟

„And what‟s your interest in this Project?‟

„A long time ago I came to Megacity with a friend and she

stumbled across the Project. We had some urgent business at

the time and we had to leave, but I promised her we‟d come

back someday and look into it.‟

„And you‟re not a cop?‟

„Not really, not any longer, though I used to be an

Adjudicator. Recently, I‟ve been working for Chief Harkon

as a temporary deputy.‟

Ramarr turned to Bernice. „And you‟re this friend, right?‟

„No, Mr Mayor. The friend Chris mentioned is dead now.

He asked me to help him to look into the Project. In a way

I‟m taking her place.‟

Ramarr shook his head. „A daring duo of freelance crime

fighters!‟ He sighed. „Chief Harkon tells me you gave him a

lot of help on the skoob business, so I guess we owe you

something for that. All the same, I don‟t like the idea of

prying into the affairs of a long-established and perfectly

respectable mining company…‟

A message flashed up on the readout screen set into his

desk.

Ramarr stood up. „Urgent call. If you folks will excuse

me...’

Harkon stood up. „Would you like us to leave, Mr Mayor?‟

„No, no, stay where you are. I‟ll take it in the sanctum.‟

Ramarr rose, opened a concealed door in the panelling

behind his desk, and disappeared.

Chris looked at Chief Harkon. „Do you think he‟ll go for

it?‟

Harkon sank back into his chair. „I‟m not sure. He‟s not too

happy about the idea.‟

„He‟s a politician,‟ said Bernice. „No politician likes to risk

upsetting the fat cats.‟

The wait seemed to drag on for a very long time. At last

the Mayor emerged, his face grave. He studied them for a

moment and then his face broke into a politician‟s warm

smile.

„Well, this must be your lucky day! That was Joe Devlin

on the comm link, calling me about something quite

different. In a moment of weakness I just casually mentioned

this visiting committee... He said fine, send them along.

He‟s out at the mining complex today, so we fixed an

appointment later this afternoon.‟

„That‟s splendid,‟ said Bernice. „Could I ask you one more

favour?‟

„Well?‟

„Could you possibly lend us one of the mayoral hover-

limos - just to make us look more official?‟

„OK, OK, if that‟s what you want. Now if you‟ll forgive

me...’ Clearly anxious to be rid of them, he ushered them to

the door. „I‟ll send the limo round to your hotel this after-

noon,‟ he said. „See my secretary in the outer office. She‟ll

make all the arrangements.‟ Giving them all a warm smile

and a hearty handshake, he bustled them out of his office.

The mayoral hoverlimo parked outside Louie‟s Hotel, and a

tall, thin, fair-haired chauffeur got out, and walked into the

gloomy foyer.

An ugly dwarflike creature approached him and the

chauffeur said, „Am I in the right place? Little Louie‟s Hotel?‟

„Correct. I‟m Louie.‟

„I‟m supposed to pick up a couple of VIPs. You sure this is

the right place?‟

„Yeah, yeah, they won‟t be down for a while yet. The

dame‟s still getting ready.‟ He reached up and grabbed the

chauffeur‟s elbow and steered him into the empty bar. „You

got time for a quick belt.‟

The chauffeur looked tempted and worried at the same

time.

„I can‟t afford to get booze on the breath.‟

Louie winked, and reached for a tall white bottle of

colourless liquid. „Don‟t worry. Got a bottle of Algolian

vodka here. Hell of a kick, not a whiff of liquor.‟

He poured the chauffeur a generous slug, handed him the

glass and went to the door and peered out. „Hey, better knock

it back quick. I think I hear your VIPs coming.‟

The chauffeur emptied the glass, gasping as the vodka,

ice-cold and fiery at the same time, spread its warm glow

through his body.

Louie came hurrying back into the bar.

„False alarm. Time for another!‟

He poured the protesting driver a second big drink, nipped

back to the bar door and called, „Quick, they‟re coming!‟

Automatically the chauffeur drained the second glass. This

time the glow seemed to rise into his brain and he felt

consciousness slipping away.

He saw a massive figure coming towards him and saw with

bemused surprise that it too wore a chauffeur‟s uniform. It

was like looking at himself in a magnifying mirror. His other

self caught him as he slid gently towards the ground...

Garshak lowered the unconscious chauffeur on to a couch.

„When he comes round, tell him he had a few drinks too

many so you covered for him and found the VIPs another

driver. Tell him no one will say anything if he doesn‟t.‟

„Right,‟ said Louie. He looked up at the massive figure

incongruous in the chauffeur‟s uniform. „What‟s the caper,

Garshak? Payroll? Bank job?‟

Garshak patted him on his bald head with a massive hairy

hand.

„Believe me, Louie, you don‟t want to know!‟

Chris and Bernice came into the bar.

Bernice looked down at the unconscious chauffeur. „It

worked then?‟

„Sleeping like a babe,‟ said Louie. „Good old Mickey Finn

gets „em every time.‟

Garshak touched his cap. „Your carriage awaits!‟

Bernice was wearing a sober, grey costume. Her hair was

scraped back and she wore large old-fashioned glasses. Chris

wore a dark suit this time with a white shirt and a black tie.

It had been easy enough fitting themselves out in these

rudimentary disguises. Getting Garshak‟s uniform made to

measure in time had been more of a problem.

They followed Garshak out of the hotel and he opened the

passenger door of the hoverlimo. They got in, he got into the

driver‟s seat, and the hoverlimo purred smoothly away.

As the hoverlimo sped north, Chris and Bernice studied reels

of flimsy computer printouts - hard copies of all the

information about DevCorp Bernice had been able to extract

from the files.

„They‟ll only show us what they want us to see, remember,‟

said Chris. „We‟ll get the standard sanitized VIP tour.‟

„We‟ll just have to find a way to see the things they don‟t

want to show us,‟ said Bernice. „This is the only way we can

get inside. DevCorps‟ security is massive.‟ She nodded at the

massive figure in the front seat. „Don‟t forget our ace in the

hole!‟

The big hoverlimo sped on and on, and even Megacity was

left behind at last, the neon-lit streets thinning out and

vanishing until they were driving through bleak and rocky

countryside.

The marshes and the sea of the south had been desolate

enough, thought Bernice, but the north part of the continent

was a thousand times worse, bare rocky landscape, ripped

and churned by years of opencast mining. She knew from

her researches that the DevCorps mining complex was the

nearest to Megacity itself, embedded in the range of black

mountains that cut off the northern end of the continent.

The road began to climb, and at last they could see the

range of jagged black mountains, looming up before them.

The road rose even more steeply, winding to and fro across

the mountainside.

Finally Garshak called, „There it is!‟

The DevCorps Mining Complex was a grim and forbid-

ding place. The road led steeply up to massive metal gates set

into the mountainside itself. The gates swung open as they

drove up, and then closed behind them.

They found themselves on the edge of a massive complex

of buildings, a miniature city built on to a mountain plateau.

An elegantly dressed young woman was waiting to greet

them.

„Welcome to DevCorps. If you will come with me... Your

chauffeur can park over there, in the company garage.‟

The hoverlimo moved obediently away and the aide led

them to a waiting groundcar, a small, glass-walled, buglike

vehicle.

„This is our VIP tour vehicle,‟ said the aide. „Everything is

fully automated and there is a full audio commentary.‟

Chris and Bernice looked at each other in dismay. They

knew that their freedom of action was going to be limited.

But they had hoped for a tour on foot, with a chance for at

least one of them to slip away and investigate anything that

looked interesting. They‟d get nowhere locked inside a glass

bubble.

„This is all very kind,‟ said Bernice, „but it isn‟t exactly

what we came for. We are Interplanetary Union officials, not

tourists. We had hoped to have a meeting with your president

to discuss the economic situation, and the present business

climate in Megacity.‟

The aide went on as if she hadn‟t spoken. „At the

conclusion of the tour the vehicle will deposit you at a lift.

The lift will take you to the presidential suite, where Mr

Joseph Devlin the Third, our company president, will be

waiting to meet you.‟

Bernice looked at Chris, who shrugged. There seemed to

be no way out. They got into the little groundcar and it sped

away.

„Well, it‟s all down to Garshak now,‟ said Bernice. „We‟re

trapped in this flying goldfish bowl.‟

„Garshak can do it,‟ said Chris. „He won‟t let us down.‟

They were speeding past row upon row of identical little

houses, each one with its identical patch of artificial grass.

„Welcome to DevCorps,‟ said the glass bug in an un-

bearably sweet voice. „We are now passing through the

workers‟ housing area, where there is accommodation and

excellent recreational facilities for hundreds of DevCorps

workers and their families.

„At the heart of this area is the famous Medcorps Com-

plex, where generations of our miners, their wives and their

children have been able to benefit from the finest of medical

care...’

„Oh shut up,‟ said Bernice.

The tour bug was remorseless. It took them through vast

engineering workshops where massive pieces of mining

machinery were serviced and repaired. It took them through

rock-processing factories where the ore was crushed and

minerals were extracted.

It took them to the rock face where machines drilled and

ripped and tore the heart out of the mountain itself.

They saw long lines of grim-faced miners climbing into

shuttle trains that took them into the heart of the mountains

to drive and maintain the machines.

They saw other trains deposit weary men, helmeted

and overalled and grimed with rock dust, who climbed

wearily from the carriages and trudged towards showers and

dormitories.

They saw jostling crowds of men waiting for the hover-

buses that would take them into Megacity for their long-

awaited good time. Many of the men looked dour and angry

and once or twice they saw fights break out.

All the time the tour bug‟s unbearably sweet voice bom-

barded them with interesting mining facts and fascinating

production statistics until their brains felt numb.

At last, at long, long last, it stopped in front of a set of lift

doors in a rock wall. „I hope you have enjoyed the tour,‟

shrilled the bug, and its door slid open.

Wearily, Bernice and Chris climbed out. The lift doors

slid open, revealing a luxuriously decorated interior. They

exchanged glances, went inside, and sat down on comfort-

ably padded benches.

The lift doors closed and the lift shot upward for what

seemed to be a very long way. When it stopped, the doors

slid open and they got up and stepped out into a large and

luxuriously furnished anteroom. There were soft carpets,

silk-draped walls, fine paintings and valuable antiques.

There were also three black-uniformed security guards

who were covering them with blasters and a very large

hard-faced man in plain clothes who seemed to be in charge.

„Stand very still please,‟ said the large man. „Just a

formality.‟ He searched first Chris and then Bernice with

rapid impersonal efficiency.

“This is ridiculous,‟ snapped Bernice in her best civil

service voice. „We are Interplanetary Union officials. Why

should we carry weapons?‟

The big man ignored her, nodding towards a set of double

doors on the far side of the room.

„Through there - the boss is waiting for you.‟

On the other side of the doors was an even more luxurious

office with a picture window on one side overlooking the

mining complex. There was a massive desk at the far end of

the room. Over the desk hung a floodlit full-length portrait of

a neat, plump little man in old-fashioned formal clothes.

Behind the desk sat a neat, plump little man in formal

clothes of a more modern cut. He rose and bowed.

„Professor Summerfield? Mr Cwej? I am Joseph Devlin the

Third, president of DevCorps.‟

He saw that Bernice was looking at the portrait.

„You admire the painting, Professor Summerfield?‟

„It‟s a very good likeness.‟

„It is - but not of me. That is Joseph Devlin the First,

founder of DevCorps. Incidentally, the gentleman who

escorted you in is Mr Simeon Kragg, a direct descendant of

the Simeon Kragg who was my grandfather‟s chief security

officer.‟

„Fascinating,‟ said Bernice. „A real family business.‟

She had an obscure feeling that things had somehow gone

wrong. Nevertheless, she launched into her cover story.

„It‟s very good of you to see us, President Devlin. We are

here on behalf of the Interplanetary Business Inspectorate

„Nonsense,‟ said Devlin. „Don‟t waste my time with

pathetic lies.‟ The plump face looked suddenly vicious. „You

are here on behalf of nobody but yourselves. A daring duo of

freelance crime fighters - prying into something that doesn‟t

concern you.‟

Chris took a step forward and the three security guards

raised their blasters. They had positioned themselves so that

he and Bernice could be caught in a triple crossfire - a

crossfire that would not endanger Devlin or Kragg. Chris

relaxed, waiting.

„If you knew who we were, why did you let us come here?‟

„I was curious to see you,‟ said Devlin. „Just once.‟

„Fair enough,‟ said Bernice. „But did you have to subject

us to that incredibly boring tour?‟

„I wanted you to see the grandeur of the institution you

were insolent enough to attack,‟ said the little man seriously.

„Sadly, you seem to lack the intelligence to appreciate it.‟

„Your glorious institution is in trouble, isn‟t it?‟ said Chris.

„Ever since the Project started going wrong?‟

„The Project made this company the greatest on Megerra,‟

said the little man furiously. „Once the glitches are sorted

out, it will do so again!‟

„And how are you going to sort out these glitches?‟ asked

Bernice. „Are those Advanced Research Department people

at St Oscar‟s being much help?‟

„They assure me that in time -‟ Devlin broke off, staring

hard at Bernice. „You‟re fishing, Professor Summerfield. You

know nothing about the Project.‟

„We‟ve a very good idea of the harm it‟s done,‟ said Chris.

Devlin laughed. „Perhaps you do. But as to what it is, how

it works, what it can do - you know nothing!‟

„Enlighten us!‟ said Bernice.

Devlin shook his head. „You‟ll just have to go on guessing

in the short time you have left.‟

A comm unit bleeped on Kragg‟s wrist. He held it to his

ear.

„We‟ve got another berserker, sir - in the computer centre.

Seems to have smashed the place up.‟

„Find the man responsible and punish him,‟ snapped

Devlin. „But first I want you to deal with these two.‟

„What do you want me to do with them, sir?‟

„Oh, just take them down to the gates, escort them well

clear of the premises...‟ Joseph Devlin smiled. „Then kill

them.‟

„With the greatest of pleasure, sir,‟ said Simeon Kragg.

He smiled at Bernice in a way that made her shudder, and

she looked at him in horrified fascination.

A little red flame seemed to dance deep in his eyes.

19

DOWNLOAD

I drove slowly over to the enormous garage and parked the

hoverlimo in the first space I found. I sat there for a moment.

No one seemed interested in me so I got out of the limo and

looked around.

There was a brightly lit, glass-walled waiting room in a far

corner of the garage and I walked over towards it. There was

a desk with a comm unit with a man in an overall behind it.

Men in chauffeurs‟ uniforms were sitting about talking -

waiting till their bosses needed them.

I went to the doorway and said, „Computer room.‟

The man behind the desk looked up. „Yeah?‟

I took a disk from my pocket. „Computer room. Boss

forget disk. Important. Computer room. Where?‟

„Give the poor guy a guide stick,‟ said one of the chauffeurs.

„Otherwise he‟ll be wandering around for a week.‟

The man took a plastic rod from a rack in the wall, slgtted

it into the comm unit, punched in coordinates, took the rod

out and handed it to me. „There you go. She‟s set for the

computer complex - it‟s through that door over there. Loud

beep right way, no beep wrong way, OK?‟

„OK,‟ I said. I took the rod and went off in the direction

he‟d indicated. As I moved away I heard one of the chauffeurs

say, „I knew the city once used those guys as cops, but

chauffeurs! I‟m surprised they can even drive.‟

I heard their raucous laughter as I moved away.

I let the guide stick take me along a maze of corridors until

I came to an inner complex within the complex, with the

words COMPUTER DIVISION on a locked door. I waited by the

door until someone opened it to come out. I moved into the

space and took him by the arm. „Computer boss?‟

„Sorry?‟

„Boss computer man here?‟ I squeezed his arm, hard

enough to hurt.

„OK, OK, no need to break the arm. The head of the

Computer Division is over there - in his office.‟

„You take.‟

„You can‟t just go in there -‟

I squeezed again and he yelped. Sometimes I don‟t know

my own strength. „Important message for computer boss,‟ I

said. „You take.‟

„All right, all right, I take!‟

I took his arm in a firm but friendly grip and he led me

across a long room filled with computer banks to a corner

office with an opaque glass door.

He tapped on it and an irritable voice said, „What is it

now?‟

My unwilling guide opened the door and said, „Sorry to

disturb you, Professor, this - this driver insists on seeing

you.‟

„You go - message private,‟ I said. I let go of his arm and

he scuttled thankfully away.

Inside the room, a tall thin man with a long neck and a

bald head was working at a computer terminal. He looked up

irritably.

„Well?‟

I closed the door and went inside the room. „Computer

boss?‟

„I am Professor Taine, head of the Computer Division, and

I am very busy. Now, what do you want?‟

I stepped close to the desk, reached out and clamped one

hand around his scrawny windpipe. „You!‟ I said. I squeezed

- not too hard, humans are very fragile - and he went first

red and then purple. I relaxed my grip and he sucked in air.

„I have a very simple proposition for you, Professor,‟ I

said. „Do exactly as I tell you and you continue to breathe.

Disobey me and you stop. Is that clear? Just nod.‟

He nodded as best he could. Retaining my grip, I moved

round until I was standing behind him at the terminal.

„Do you have the access codes for the Project?‟

He sounded shocked. „Those codes are all highly classified.

You shouldn‟t even -‟

He broke off as I squeezed, a little harder this time.

„You‟re forgetting the proposition, Professor,‟ I said

reprovingly. „Do you have the Project codes?‟ He nodded.

„All of them?‟ He nodded. „And this is the master terminal?‟

He nodded again.

„Excellent!‟ I said. „Let‟s go to work.‟

I must say, the professor really did very well. He followed

my instructions exactly - I hardly had to squeeze at all.

When someone tapped on the door and asked if he was all

right he shouted, „Go away, I‟m busy!‟ without any prompting

from me.

The task I was giving him was both complex and

unorthodox and even with his full cooperation it took some

time. Finally, however, it was finished.

I sent, or rather had the professor send, a final message:

„All data received?‟

After a worryingly long delay the reply came back: „All

data received and transferred.‟

I gave a sigh of relief.

„Well, we‟re done. Thank you for all your help, Professor.‟

I let go of his neck and he fainted, which was just as well,

really. He‟d had a very trying time, and I‟d have hated to

distress him further.

I picked up his chair and smashed his computer to

smithereens.

Still carrying the chair I went out of the office and walked

quickly through the main computer room smashing every

computer I could reach. I left the computer division and

hurried back towards the garage, hoping I‟d memorized the

return route correctly.

Alarms were ringing all around now and a squad of armed

security guards were pounding towards me. I stepped back

into a doorway and pointed back the way I‟d come.

„Thank goodness you‟ve come,‟ I squealed in as high and

nervous a voice as I could manage. „He‟s in the computer

room. Hurry! He‟s smashing the whole place up!‟

They pounded away and I moved on towards the garage.

I wondered if I‟d make it.

I wondered what was happening to Chris and Benny.

In a sense it didn‟t matter - the job was done now. But it

would be nice if some of us made it back alive!

There was a glint of triumph in Bernice‟s eyes as Kragg and

his three guards marched her and Chris towards the garage.

Something told her that Garshak had done it. Live or die,

they‟d already won. Of course, it would be nice to live. But

they weren‟t dead yet - and Garshak was a survivor if ever

there was one.

When they arrived at the car, Kragg was suspicious to find

no chauffeur in the driver‟s seat.

„Where‟s your chauffeur?‟

„No idea,‟ said Bernice. „He knew we‟d be a while - I

expect he went off to look for something to eat or drink.‟

Kragg glared suspiciously at her. „Is the chauffeur one of

you? Was he in on this?‟ A sudden thought struck him. „Is he

the one who smashed up the computer room?‟

Chris shrugged. „I doubt it. He was just the Mayor‟s

chauffeur. He came with the car.‟

„What was he like?‟

„Tall, thin, fair-haired,‟ said Bernice. „Bit standoffish and

finicky.‟

Kragg nodded. „That‟s Toler, the Mayor‟s regular driver.

He knows his way round here. Check the refectory and the

bar.‟

The man started to move away, but Kragg called him back.

„No, wait, this way‟s better. No reason Toler should get it

for nothing - it‟d upset the Mayor.‟

„The crash‟11 look all wrong without the chauffeur,‟

objected one of the guards.

„No it won‟t,‟ said Kragg triumphantly. „It happened like

this. We escorted our guests back to the Mayor‟s hoverlimo -

no Toler. The lady got stroppy, refused to wait while we

found him, ordered the guy to drive her back to Megacity.

Dangerous road, strange limo, guy can‟t handle it, they go off

the edge. Tragic accident! Much less believable if Toler‟s

driving - he knows the road backwards.‟

„The gate guard will see this guy‟s not driving,‟ said the

second guard.

„The gate guard will see what he‟s told to see,‟ said Kragg.

He turned to the third guard. „You drive. Take them to a

dodgy spot in the road, put the big guy in the driver‟s seat,

blast them both and send the limo over the edge.‟

„Very neat,‟ said Chris.

Bernice nodded. „Old Toler had a lucky escape.‟

„Glad you approve,‟ said Kragg. „Get in!‟ He looked at the

three guards. „Do it quick and neat and get back here on

foot.‟

He studied Chris and Bernice almost hungrily, and once

again they saw the red flicker in his eyes.

„Wish I could come with you but I‟ve got to sort out this

computer maniac.‟

Their murders efficiently arranged, he strode away.

Menaced by the blasters of the guards, Chris and Bernice

got in the back seat. The mayoral hoverlimo was so large that

there was plenty of room for them to sit in the middle,

leaving room for a guard on either side. There was even

another equally roomy passenger seat behind them. The third

guard got into the driving seat, and soon the hoverlimo rose

and glided away. The gate guard saluted the mayoral crest as

the gates opened and the limo glided through, lurching out

on to the steep and winding road.

Bernice looked out of the hoverlimo and shuddered. It was

a good spot for an accident...

Chris decided it was time to make his move. He stood a

better chance in the relatively cramped conditions inside the

limo than out in the open where the guards would have a

clear field of fire. If he could grab one of those blasters...

Suddenly the head of the guard to his left jerked forward,

rabbit-punched by a huge hairy fist.

Seconds later the head of the guard on Bernice‟s right did

exactly the same.

Huge hairy hands caught each one by the back of the neck

and hauled them over the back of the seat into the rear

section.

Concentrating on the dangerously winding road, the driver

became aware that something was going on.

„You OK?‟ he called, and a vague grunt answered him. He

drove on until he reached a narrow curve over a steep drop.

He set down the limo.

„This will do, right? Don‟t want to take them too far. We

gotta walk back, remember!‟

Receiving no reply, he turned, and almost fainted from

shock.

There was no sign of his fellow guards but his two

passengers were still there - with a huge and monstrous

third passenger grinning at him from between them.

With a yell of fear the guard reached for the door.

As he got it open, something hard hit him behind the ear,

and he fell out of the car.

Chris rubbed his knuckles. „My turn, I think.‟

„You‟re welcome,‟ said Garshak. „I‟ll just get out and

chuck these three over the edge.‟

„Just out,‟ said Bernice.

Garshak paused. „What?‟

„Just chuck them out of the car, not over the cliff edge.‟

„It‟s what they were going to do to you.‟

„We‟re not them.‟

Muttering something about sloppy human sentimentality,

Garshak dragged the other two guards from the back of the

car and tossed them carelessly beside their fellow. He jumped

back into the driver‟s seat and the big hoverlimo zoomed

away.

Suddenly realizing what had happened, Chris thumped

Garshak between the shoulder blades. „Hey, we did it!‟

Bernice jumped up and kissed him on the top of his bald

skull.

The hoverlimo lurched dangerously.

„Stop that!‟ yelled Garshak. „Or there really will be an

accident!‟

He threw the hoverlimo round the steep curves, heading

back towards Megacity.

„How did you get back there?‟ asked Bernice.

„I‟d just reached the garage when I saw you being marched

back under guard. I thought the front seat wouldn‟t be too

safe so I sneaked into the back section. Lucky it‟s such a big

limo.‟

Suddenly Chris remembered. „Did you get the Project

data?‟

„I did.‟

„All of it?‟

„As far as I know.‟

„What did you get?‟ demanded Bernice.

„Damned if I can tell you. I was too busy sending it to scan

it. Medical stuff, mostly I think.‟

„What kind of medical stuff?‟

„I don‟t know, I tell you. Let‟s get back to the station and

find out.‟

The hoverlimo rocketed onward through the darkness, and

soon the great blur of multicoloured light that was Megacity

appeared ahead.

„Never thought I‟d be so glad to see the place again,‟ said

Bernice.

„Nothing much wrong with old Mega,‟ said Garshak. „You

just have to know it to love it!‟

He drove the hoverlimo straight to police HQ and grabbed

the first available policeman.

„Take this limo back to the Mayor‟s garage, returned with

thanks. That‟s all you say. You haven‟t seen anyone. You

don‟t know a thing.‟

„Not too far from the truth,‟ grumbled the cop. But Garshak

was still a legend in the Megacity Police and he obeyed

cheerfully enough, jumping into the limo and driving away.

Garshak led them up the stairs at a run to his old office,

where they found Chief Harkon pacing to and fro.

„What the hell‟s going on, Garshak? I‟ve got orders from

the Mayor to arrest you all on sight. Did you really smash up

DevCorp‟s computer room?‟

„Me?‟

„You fit the description!‟

„I do?‟

Harkon glared at him. „You do! How many Ogrons in a

chauffeur suit do you see running around?‟

„Coincidence,‟ said Garshak blandly. „Did we get the

data?‟

„How the hell do I know?‟

„Didn‟t you check the computer?‟

Harkon shrugged. „I set things up for downloading the way

you said. I‟ve been kept busy fielding angry calls from the

Mayor since then!‟

Garshak went back to his old desk and punched codes into

the computer. Data began to flood across the screen. He

touched a control and hard copy began whirring from the

printer.

The three of them studied it as it streamed out. There was

so much data that it took them quite some time to absorb it

all. The whole story of the Project was there from first

conception, through early success, down to present disaster.

„So that‟s it,‟ said Garshak at last. „Fascinating.‟

Benny‟s head was swimming - and her spirit was chilled.

Beneath the flood of immensely complex technical data the

full horror of the Project was beginning to emerge.

„Fascinating and horrible,‟ she said. „However did you get

hold of all this stuff, Garshak?‟

„Simple. I persuaded a nice computer professor to give

me all the necessary access codes, and then introduced

a self-replicating polymorphic virus protocol. It created a

wormhole in their firewall so that the packets of data were

accepted as low-grade routine security transmissions and

downloaded without question.‟

„Garshak, you‟re a genius!‟

„I know!‟

„I still don‟t understand it,‟ complained Harkon.

„Chromosomes, genomes, dominant and recessive genes...

What the hell were these medical guys actually doing?‟

Bernice tried to explain. „You know of genetic engineering,

of course, Chief?‟

„I‟ve heard of it - don‟t mean to say I know what the hell it

is. Dammit, I‟m a cop, not a scientist.‟

„It‟s the direct modification of chromosomes to produce

permanent changes in a species. You can modify existing

organisms, even create entirely new ones

Harkon held up his hand. „You lost me already, lady. All I

want to know is what were these guys doing, and how come

it bumped up my violent-crime statistics?‟

„Look at it this way,‟ said Garshak. „All intelligent life

forms evolved from some kind of primitive species, right?‟

„I guess so...’

„And back in those primitive days, you had to be savage to

survive. It was kill or be killed.‟

Harkon nodded.

„Right,‟ said Garshak. „Now, that kill-or-be-killed reflex is

overlaid, controlled, by what we call civilization. But it‟s still

there in all of us. What the Project did to those who were

experimented on was to boost it, make it dominant again.

Any kind of threat produced a sort of throwback, a savage

who only knew one way to respond - by killing.‟

Harkon was horrified. „So that‟s it!‟

Garshak nodded. „It‟s a simplification, but that‟s basically

it. I think the reaction must produce some kind of chemical

imbalance. The subject‟s whole perception of reality must

change. And of course, the reaction would be hereditary.‟

Bernice shuddered. „It‟s even worse than I thought.‟

„Worse than anyone could have thought,‟ said Chris. „No

wonder they were prepared to go to any lengths to cover it

up.‟

„So what do we do now?‟ said Garshak. „How do we

handle it?‟

Bernice fished through the reams of computer paper. „See

this? There‟s a board meeting here in Megacity in a few days -

at DevCorps‟ head office in Mineral Plaza.‟

Chris frowned. „Doesn‟t Devlin own the company out-

right?‟

Bernice rooted through more paper. „He certainly acts as if

he does, doesn‟t he? But according to this he sold forty-

nine per cent of the shares to a consortium of Megacity

businessmen just a few years ago. It happened when the

company got into serious financial difficulties and he was

desperate to raise money.‟

„So now he‟s got a board of directors to answer to,‟ said

Chris.

„And just look who‟s on it, Chief!‟ said Garshak. He

showed Chief Harkon a familiar name on the list.

„I think we ought to attend that meeting,‟ said Bernice.

„There are one or two things about their company and its

president that the board members ought to know.‟

The others listened attentively as she explained her plan.

„But it all depends on you, Chief Harkon,‟ she said.

Harkon had fallen silent, stunned by the sheer scale of the

horror they had discovered.

„Me?‟ he said. „What the hell am I supposed to do?‟

„I know you‟re the one with most to lose,‟ said Bernice.

„But we can‟t really do it without your help. The question is -

are you with us?‟

20

PAYBACK

The DevCorps annual board meeting was held in the

boardroom at the top of the DevCorp Tower overlooking

Mineral Plaza.

A group of Megacity‟s richest and most important

businessmen were gathered around the long table, listening

to President Joseph Devlin‟s address. The president stood at

the head of the table. As always, Simeon Kragg, his chief

security officer, stood deferentially behind him.

The directors were not a happy group. They had invested

their money largely because of the Devlin name, and because

of the company‟s astounding success in the past. This

year, however, as for so many years before, profits were

down, dividends reduced. Yet President Devlin continued to

promise them vast profits, next year, always next year, and to

patronize them as if it was a positive privilege to be allowed

to lose your money by investing it in the oldest firm in

Megacity.

„And so,‟ Joseph Devlin droned on, „I can assure you that

in the future, the very near future -‟

A clear female voice rang through the boardroom. „I

shouldn‟t make any more extravagant promises for the

future, President Devlin. I don‟t think you have one.‟

The astonished directors saw that a strangely assorted

group had appeared in the doorway of the boardroom.

There was a smallish, smartly dressed, dark-haired female,

a very large, fair-haired young man, and, of all things, an

enormous Ogron in a long trenchcoat.

Next to them was Chief Harkon in full dress uniform.

President Devlin stared at the group disdainfully.

„I take it these criminals are under arrest, Chief Harkon?‟

„No one‟s under arrest as yet, Mr Devlin - though some-

one may well be very soon. For the moment, I simply wish to

warn you all that my men are guarding the exit. No one will

be allowed to leave this boardroom until Professor Summer-

field has finished what she has to say.‟

Mayor Ramarr leapt to his feet. „What the hell‟s going on

here, Chief Harkon?‟

„Sit down, Mr Mayor. You‟re here because you‟re a

director of DevCorps and you‟ll listen with the rest.‟

„This will cost you your job, Harkon.‟

‘Sit down.’

Slowly Ramarr sat.

Harkon turned to Bernice. „Professor Summerfield?‟

Bernice had been elected spokesperson by the others on

the grounds that, as an academic, she was used to lecturing

people. Now she surveyed the astonished DevCorps

directors as if they were a class of exceptionally dim first-

year students.

„I propose to deliver a brief lecture on the history of

DevCorps,‟ she said crisply. „Please pay attention. The

information I am about to give you is of vital importance to

you all, to Megerra, and to many other planets. The subject is

complex, but for the moment I shall try to be as simple and

as concise as possible. Later, hard evidence and complex

scientific proof will be provided for everything I intend to say.‟

She paused, gathering her thoughts, and then began.

„As you all know, the Devlin Mining Corporation is one of

the oldest firms on the planet. For a long time it was one of

the most prosperous, but, as old firms will, it began to

stagnate. To revive its fortunes the president‟s grandfather,

father and currently President Devlin himself have had

recourse to one of the most abominable of crimes - illicit

genetic manipulation. Hiring Professor Vashtar, a scientist

whose work had been banned on every civilized planet, they

began a programme of interference with the DNA of their

workers, and of their workers‟ unborn children.‟

There was a low murmur of astonishment. Bernice went

on.

„Even Professor Vashtar himself finally realized the

dangers of his work. He attempted to confess to an associate

of Mr Cwej. Professor Vashtar died that same day. He threw

himself, or was thrown, from a window in this very

building.‟

Instinctively every director looked at the long-since-

repaired window. Then they returned their gaze to Bernice.

She smiled grimly and went on with her lecture.

„The horrifying programme of genetic manipulation

continued. It was carried out, without the knowledge or

consent of the workers concerned, under the cover of an

elaborate programme of medical care.‟

A tall, white-haired man interrupted. „This is a monstrous

allegation. Why would anyone, any company, do such a

thing?‟

„Profit,‟ said Bernice crisply. „After all, that justifies every-

thing, doesn‟t it?‟

The tall man fell silent, and Bernice continued.

„The original intention was to create the ideal miner, some-

one capable of working longer and harder than any normal

man. This vile scheme was code-named “The Project” and its

very existence was shrouded in secrecy. In the early days

garbled stories somehow leaked out, and rumours inevitably

began to spread, especially among Megacity‟s thriving

criminal community. They were intrigued because they

believed the Project to be some incredibly profitable crime -

which indeed it was, at least at first, though not in the way

they thought.

„In a relatively short time, however, these rumours were

ruthlessly suppressed, by a sustained campaign of

intimidation and murder.

„For a time the Project actually succeeded. The productivity

and the profits of DevCorps soared - until an atavistic

mutation occurred. A dominant killer gene appeared. As a

result, workers were created who were not only stronger and

more determined than others, but completely savage and

ruthless. Men capable, under certain pressures, of killing.

Men who reacted to any frustration with savage violence.‟

Bernice paused again, looking around her fascinated and

horrified audience.

„Such men do not make good employees, gentlemen. They

fight with their supervisors and their fellows, and eventually

they have to be discharged. They often drift into crime. But

even hardened criminals have little or no use for men like

these - men who kill not for profit, but for pleasure, or for no

reason at all. Thanks to the Project, a considerable number

of these men are now at large in Megacity. They are largely

responsible for the brutal and senseless crimes which you

hear of every day, and for the tide of violence which Chief

Harkon and other police chiefs have struggled in vain to hold

back. Others of these men have left the planet. Since the

killer gene is dominant, it will almost certainly be passed on

to their children and their children‟s children - to spread the

killer strain on hundreds of other worlds.‟

Again Bernice paused. Devlin stood white and silent.

„Faced with potential disaster, you might expect any normal

man to abandon such a scheme. President Devlin has not

done so. He has poured company money - your money - into

the Project, in an attempt to make it successful again.‟

An angry murmur ran around the boardroom. Bernice

realized that at last she was hitting the directors where it

hurt.

„Most recently President Devlin has hired amoral research

scientists at St Oscar‟s University on Dellah, my own

university, in an attempt to salvage this mad plan. I believe

that illegal experiments have been conducted on human

subjects in an attempt to bring the killer gene under control.

Like President Devlin, these scientists have not hesitated to

defend the secrecy of the Project with cold-blooded murder.‟

The tall white-haired man jumped to his feet. „I am Aled

Klamath, vice-chairman of this board. Is this incredible story

really true?‟

By now Joseph Devlin had recovered from his shock.

„Of course it isn‟t,‟ he sneered. „These ridiculous allegations

are based on stolen data, illegally obtained and

misinterpreted by those too ignorant to understand them. A

jumped-up teacher, an off-world adventurer and an Ogron!

Will you take their word against mine?‟

Aled Klamath looked steadily at Bernice. „I‟m sure I speak

for my fellow directors when I say we find ourselves quite

unable to accept such wild accusations. I suppose it is

possible that some well-meant attempts at medical welfare

went a little awry, but I‟m sure the errors can be corrected. If

we avoid overreaction this great company can still

survive

Bernice shook her head. „You people don‟t give up, do

you?‟ she said. „It‟s over, I tell you. We have proof -

unassailable, incontrovertible proof.‟

„I find it very hard to believe that.‟

„Try!‟ said Chris. „We have full and detailed evidence, held

on the computer files of the police. Everything can and will

be proved.‟

„You‟re a part of this mess now, all of you,‟ said Bernice.

„Now you have to help clear it up.‟

„And what, exactly, are we supposed to do?‟ Klamath

asked.

„Close down the Project at once. Trace everyone who has

been subjected to genetic manipulation. Warn the authorities

on other worlds where necessary. Finance research to see if

the condition can be cured, or at least alleviated.‟

Aled Klamath looked outraged. „Do you realize the sheer

complexity of what you are asking us to do?‟

„Oh yes,‟ said Chris cheerfully. „It‟s an enormous task. But

then, the Project is an enormous crime.‟

Klamath glanced around the table at the horrified faces of

his fellow directors. Then he shook his head. „It‟s out of the

question. The expense alone would bankrupt the company.‟

„It‟s certainly going to cost an enormous amount of

money,‟ said Bernice. „The sale of the assets of DevCorps

will cover some of it, but all the rest of you will have to

contribute. I‟m sure the Megacity Council will help - won‟t

it, Mr Mayor?‟

Ramarr shook his head determinedly. „It will do no such

thing. This is purely a commercial matter.‟

Bernice Summerfield was beginning to lose patience. „I

think it‟s about time you all stopped whining about what it

will cost you to put things right, and started thinking about

what it will cost you if you don‟t.‟

„And that is?‟ asked Klamath coldly. „Suppose we ignore

your demands?‟

Garshak spoke for the first time. „We are prepared to put

this information out on the Meganet, to make it instantly

available to every planet in this sector of the galaxy.‟

„Do you think they will believe you?‟ asked Klamath.

„Are you willing to gamble that they won‟t?‟

„Do you think tourists will still come to Megacity where

any passer-by may suddenly turn into a murderous maniac?‟

asked Bernice. „Will investors put money into companies

whose miners may turn killer?‟

Chris Cwej spelt it out for them.

„The tourists will stop coming. The investment funds will

dry up. This city - and this planet - will die.‟

There was an appalled silence.

After a moment Klamath said, „If the problem can be

tackled on a city, indeed on a planetary level... Mr Mayor?‟

„It would have to be discussed in full council,‟ said Ramarr

slowly. „But if the wellbeing of the whole planet is involved,

then I suppose…‟

Bernice sighed inwardly with relief. They were seeing

sense at last. It was going to be all right.

Suddenly Joseph Devlin screamed, „Don‟t listen to her,

you fools! The Project is still viable - it just needs more

time, more work. We‟re close to a solution. The situation can

still be saved.‟

For a moment, if only because the directors so desperately

wanted to believe him, it looked as if he might sway them

back to his side. Devlin pressed home his brief advantage.

„The effects of the Project were never as bad as she‟s

claimed. All this talk of murderous maniacs... Hysterical

nonsense!‟

„Is it?‟ said Bernice. „And what if I were to tell you

that one of these genetically manufactured maniacs, one of

these killers created by the Project, was here, in this very

boardroom?‟ She pointed to Simeon Kragg. „This man is

Devlin‟s security chief. Yesterday he arranged to have me

and my associate murdered on a word from his boss - and he

enjoyed doing it! Look at him! He‟d like to kill me now.‟

The horrified directors watched as Simeon Kragg stalked

towards her, hands reaching for her throat, red flames

flickering deep in his eyes.

Benny sensed Chris and Garshak tense beside her - but it

was Joseph Devlin who diverted Kragg‟s attention.

„Kragg, no! Keep away from her, you fool. You‟re just

playing into her hands.‟

It was a fatal mistake. Kragg swung round on his

employer.

„You stupid, arrogant little idiot!‟ Kragg‟s voice was strained

and hysterical. „Don‟t you see it‟s all over? I tried to

warn you, my father tried to warn your father, but none of

you listened. None of you damned Devlins will ever listen.‟

He glared at the horrified directors, the red flames burning

brighter in his eyes. „If you want proof of what she‟s been

saying, look at me! My father was the result of one of his

damned experiments. Do you know he was so loyal, so

devoted, that he actually volunteered? And what happened?

They turned him into a killer. He murdered my mother and

then killed himself. But first they produced me - a child of

the Project!‟ He laughed. „She‟s quite right. I‟ve killed for

DevCorps time and time again. Killed and enjoyed it.‟

„Be silent, Kragg,‟ screamed Devlin.

Suddenly Kragg leapt forward and seized Devlin from

behind, his forearm locked around the plump neck. Chris

and Harkon tried to pull him off but Kragg, in his killer

frenzy, scarcely seemed to notice their efforts.

Bernice looked up at Garshak. Surely he had the strength

to wrest Kragg away from Devlin?

Garshak looked back at her impassively. He didn‟t move.

Kragg thrust his knee into Devlin‟s back and jerked hard

once, snapping the little man‟s neck with an audible crack.

He hurled the body to the ground.

Police flooded into the room, and Kragg was dragged

struggling away. Devlin‟s body was hauled out like a sack of

garbage.

Garshak looked down at Bernice. „Congratulations - a

very convincing demonstration.‟

Bernice gave him a horrified look. „I didn‟t mean to get

anyone killed.‟

„Perhaps not. But all the same, Devlin‟s better out of the

way - and I rather think we‟ve finally made our point!

They‟re beginning to accept the situation.‟ He grinned

savagely. „As the old Ogron proverb has it, “When you have

them by the balls, their hearts and minds will follow!” „

Klamath rose and said unsteadily, „Due to the sudden and

unexpected demise of President Devlin, I declare this meeting

closed. I suggest we reconvene in a few days to discuss what

measures we can take to deal with this terrible

situation.‟

He looked appealingly at Bernice. „I am not sure what your

role is in this unhappy affair, Professor Summerfield, but you

seem to be exceptionally well informed. I trust you will be

able to assist us further?‟

Bernice shook her head. „Chief Harkon and Mr Garshak

have all the details you need. My associate Mr Cwej will help

as well. Personally, I think it‟s time I went home.‟

She headed for the door, followed by Garshak, Chris and

Harkon.

Mayor Ramarr hurried to intercept them. „Many

congratulations! I hope I don‟t have to say how shocked I am

by all this.‟

„You‟d getter not say anything at all, you treacherous

creep,‟ said Bernice. „You shopped us to Devlin, when he

called you, that time in your office. You sent us into a trap.‟

„That isn‟t true!‟

„Oh yes it is!‟ said Chris. „He knew we were fakes as soon

as we arrived. He called us a daring duo of freelance crime

fighters, a phrase he must have picked up from you.‟

„You‟re on the police computer files, Mr Mayor,‟ said

Garshak sinisterly. „Everything‟s documented. I‟d advise you

to give Chief Harkon here very full cooperation in future.‟

Followed by her friends, Bernice swept triumphantly out.

It took Bernice a little time to say goodbye to Megacity.

She had a farewell dinner with Lucifer in his castle by the

sea.

„I‟d like to ask you to visit my homeworld Gehenna with

me,‟ he said as they said goodbye on his moonlit terrace.

„But you might not survive the experience.‟ He smiled,

touching her cheek with his long clawed hand. „I‟d like to ask

you to spend your last night on Megerra here with me too,

but you probably wouldn‟t survive that either.‟

„Pity,‟ said Bernice. „Mind you, it would be a hell of a way

to go.‟ She rose on tiptoe, kissed him just once on his hot dry

lips, and went down the steps to her waiting hovercab.

She had a farewell drink with Sara and Chris at Sara‟s

Cellar. Chris was staying on in Megacity for a while, to help

the reformed DevCorp close down the Project - at least, he

said that was why.

Sara took Bernice to see her conservatory - and to ask if

she minded about Chris staying on.

Bernice shook her head. „Chris was a great big kid for a

while,‟ she said. „He formed a romantic attachment for every

female he met - first Roz, maybe me a little. Now he seems

to have grown up hard and fast. Too fast. He deserves a good

time.‟

Sara smiled. „Well, I‟m a good-time girl.‟

„I hope so.‟ Bernice hesitated. „He won‟t stay for ever, you

know. Chris used to be Roz‟s Squire - now she‟s gone he‟s a

full-blown knight errant. One day he‟ll hear of a lost cause or

a maiden in distress and you‟ll find him sharpening his

sword and polishing his armour.‟

„I‟ll deal with that when it comes,‟ said Sara. „I know

exactly what Chris needs right now - the love of a bad

woman!‟

„Can‟t argue with that,‟ said Bernice. „Let‟s get back to the

bar before he finds one.‟

Then she had another farewell drink with Louie and Garshak

and Murkar at Little Louie‟s Hotel and Piano Bar. She made

Louie flush scarlet by kissing him goodbye on top of his bald

head. Then she left with Garshak, who was to drive her to the

spaceport.

When they‟d gone, Louie beckoned over Murkar and some

other friends, and treated them all to drinks.

„See that?‟ he asked them. „Me and the Dragon Lady are

real close. I was in her mob, you know. She and Big Chris are

heavy hitters, real big-time. Now Chris has moved in with

Sara over at the Cellar. Me and them two and Garshak took

down Nastur. And I helped all three of „em do the big

DevCorps job, planned it right here. Ain‟t that right, Murkar?

First we snatched the Mayor‟s chauffeur

Meanwhile Garshak and Bernice were having a final drink in

the spaceport bar.

„What will you do now?‟ she asked.

„I‟m not sure. Harkon wants me to come back as Assistant

Chief. Now he‟s got the goods on Ramarr, he‟s planning to

run for Mayor next election. If he wins he‟ll give me my old

job back.‟

„Is that what you want?‟

„I‟m not sure. I was a pretty bad cop for a very long while.

I rather like being a good private eye.‟

An amplified voice called, „Shuttle for Station Alpha now

boarding.‟

„That‟s me,‟ said Bernice. „You know, I think I’m going to

miss you, Garshak.‟

Garshak raised his glass. „Likewise. Well, here‟s looking at

you kid! We‟ll always have Megacity!‟

They finished their drinks and Bernice walked away.

Demoniacs and Ogrons, she thought as she joined the

shuttle queue. I wonder if there‟s something weird about my

tastes...

EPILOGUE

On a warm summer evening a lot of travel time later, Bernice

staggered up to her rooms at St Oscar‟s, dumped her travel

pack and threw herself wearily into a chair.

Joseph, her porter, floated in and brought her a large

brandy without being asked, which Bernice saw as a certain

proof of machine intelligence.

„Many urgent messages,‟ piped Joseph. „Mr Irving Braxiatel

was very insistent that you call the moment you return.

Activate vidicom?‟

„Very well.‟

Minutes later the vidicom chimed discreetly and a jubilant

Irving Braxiatel appeared on the screen.

„Welcome back, Bernice!‟ He beamed. „Well, you‟ve

nothing to worry about! Suddenly all the opposition to you

collapsed. All charges and allegations dropped unreservedly,

formal apology from the faculty, large ex-gratia payment to

compensate for any distress and inconvenience - oh, and the

Advanced Research Department people want to offer you a

substantial fellowship.‟

„Do they now?‟ She yawned.

„Well, aren‟t you pleased?‟

Bernice could see he was hurt that she didn‟t seem to

share his sense of triumph.

„Of course I am, Irving, and grateful as well. It‟s just I‟m

so tired from the journey. Thanks for all the good work. We‟ll

talk tomorrow.‟

The real good work had been done in Megacity, she

thought, but it would be unkind to say that to Irving

Braxiatel. The Advanced Research Department‟s change of

heart and their sudden generosity followed a sharp message

from Chief Harkon in Megacity enquiring about their precise

involvement in the DevCorp Project.

This had been followed by an even sharper one from

Professor Summerfield. In this she informed them that she

would soon be placing certain facts in her possession,

concerning dealings between the Advanced Research

Department and the Devlin Mining Corporation, before the

Faculty Ethics Committee.

The vidicom chimed again. A tubby, red-faced man with

white hair and a neat white beard appeared on the screen.

„Professor Summerfield? I am Jarl Kedrick of the

Advanced Research Department. I take it you‟ve heard the

good news? I just want to be sure our little misunderstanding

has been cleared up.‟

„Not quite yet,‟ said Bernice. „I intend to clear it tomorrow,

though, before the Faculty Ethics Committee.‟

She smiled sweetly at him. „I‟d start packing if I were

you.‟

„But our offer is most generous. I fail to see why -‟

„Jeran,‟ said Bernice.

„I‟m sorry?‟

„An Ootsoi kid called Jeran. He had a crush on me and my

bike and he got swatted like a fly. You don‟t even remember

him, do you, you callous bastard? Well, you‟re going to pay

for Jeran.‟

She flicked off the screen and poured herself another

brandy.

Just about the time she finished it, and was contemplating

a third, the vidicom chimed again. This time a tall, thin,

olive-skinned, silver-haired humanoid was on the screen.

„Professor Summerfield? I am Santos Silvera, the Director

of the Advanced Research Institute. I gather you have just

had a rather unfortunate conversation with my Security

Chief, Jarl Kedrick.‟

„Unfortunate

for

him,‟

said

Bernice

truculently.

„Unfortunate for you as well - you can start packing too.‟

„It could also be unfortunate for you, Professor Summer-

field. We are a very powerful organization, and we shall

survive the unfortunate DevCorps affair. We may never be

friends but do we have to be enemies? Why not at least make

a deal? We offer very generous terms in return for a little

discretion. Our full support in the faculty, a cash bonus and

an extremely generous fellowship.‟

„No. It‟s payback time.‟

„By the way, the lava lamps you objected to have gone

from your favourite bar - together with a number of other,

similar installations. That operation is now abandoned - it

turned out to be more trouble than it was worth.‟

„Sorry, it‟s still not enough.‟

„There must be something extra I can offer you. Something

you want enough to make you change your mind.‟

„If there is, I don‟t know what it is.‟

He surveyed her thoughtfully. „Then perhaps I do. We may

not be so far apart after all. Goodnight, Professor Summer-

field.‟

The screen went blank. Soon afterwards a mixture of

tiredness and brandy sent Bernice off to sleep in her chair.

When the explosion came it was so loud it shook the room

and shocked her into wakefulness. She went to her window

and saw a fiery glow coming from the direction of the

Advanced Research Department building.

After a moment she switched on the campus audio

channel. There was a few minutes of music and then an

excited voice said, „Here is a news flash. Reports are just

coming in of the sudden and shocking death of Jarl Kedrick,

Security Chief of the Advanced Research Department. It

appears that when Mr Kedrick got into his groundcar and

switched on the drive, the vehicle promptly exploded. Mr

Kedrick was killed instantly. The cause of the explosion is not

yet known. We‟ll bring you further news as it comes in.‟

The music resumed and Bernice switched off the audio.

The vidicom chimed again and the screen lit up.

Instead of a face there was one word on the screen.

„Deal?‟

„Deal!‟ said Bernice out loud, and the screen went blank.

Pouring herself one last brandy, she raised her glass.

„Cheers, Jeran!‟

Then she smashed the glass into the fireplace and went to

bed.

Document Outline

Front Cover

Back Cover

PROLOGUE IN MEGACITY

1 VACATION

2 ESCAPE

3 CRIME SHEET

4 WELCOME TO MEGACITY

5 MEGACITY EYE

6 THE BIG SHOP

7 THE LAIR

8 MEGACITY STANDOFF

9 AMBUSH

10 SHOOTOUT ON SPACEPORTBOULEVARD

11 CONTACTS

12 REUNION

13 RAID

14 GARSHAK’S STING

15 THE BREAK

16 INVESTIGATION

17 BLOOD FEAST

18 TOUR OF INSPECTION

19 DOWNLOAD

20 PAYBACK

EPILOGUE