Chapter 1
"We'll set down after dark," Crais said.
After five full monens he still spoke aloud to the transport pod.
By paying a premium to refuel from transports, he had avoided coming face to face with another being during that entire time. Now, with his supplies gone, his currency low, he would finally be forced to risk contact. He maneuvered the pod into orbit around Riist, a class M commerce planet in the outer most quadrant of Sector 12. Surface scans revealed a handful of freighters and one-man vessels, but no military ships. Not even Peacekeeper wanted beacons could penetrate this far into the galaxy.
The port city of Joobah would be dark in another arn. It would take him that long to prepare himself. Standing inside the cramped shower and toilet stall, he carefully examined the man who stared back at him in the mirror. The goatee had disappeared into a full beard monens ago and the wild shock of black hair now hung halfway to his elbows. A loose, tan overshirt draped a frame some twenty pounds lighter.
He massaged the course, tight beard between his fingers, removed a razor and sculpted it back to its familiar appearance. Starting at his temples, he swept his hair back with both hands and held it there, examining the result before finally letting it fall loose again.
The lack of companionship no longer tormented him. He had grown accustomed to the solitude and the company of his own thoughts. Anger. Remorse. Love. Each of them analyzed, finally to be accepted or let go. In retrospect, he felt he had spent his entire life alone, with the exception of perhaps Tauvo. Yet, even his own brother had never really known him. He had not allowed him to. They grew up surrounded by strangers who wore uniforms that made them look alike, act alike and think alike; and still, they were never truly the same as the others.
He planned to stay on Riist only long enough to take on provisions, refuel and inquire about the Sebaceans on Tarn. Though remote, because of its location, Riist saw the most traffic of any commerce planet in the sector. The shorter his stay here, the better.
Within microts of landing a Viconda trader had already coiled himself at the base of the pod's boarding ramp. The species lack of legs and their hissed manner of speech had always unsettled Crais, yet they often proved themselves to be capable purveyors.
"Help you, sir?"
Crais noted the Viconda's length and kept his distance from the reptiliate. "Supplies, cesium and information. In that order, and quickly." He rested a hand on the butt of the pulse pistol tucked inside his waistband.
The Viconda slank back a metra, bobbing his scaled head in acknowledgement. "I am A'Rhue. I can be of service. Ten percent of the gross. Have you on your way in two arns."
"Five percent. One arn. And a portion of the payment will be barter.a pulse rifle."
"Pulse rifle?" A'Rhue released multiple puffs of air in a semblance of laughter. "Another deserter? Why is it your kind always gives up the pulse rifle first and keeps the side arm?"
Crais strode past the Viconda in the direction of Joobah.
"I accept your terms." A few quick thrashes of his tale propelled A'Rhue back in front of the Sebacean. "I will require the credits up front. You understand that food cubes are the best I can do on such short notice, but the knowledge is free.if I have it."
"I seek information on the inhabitants on Tarn and Mayatta7."
A'Rhue was quick to answer. "Tarn supports the larger population of the two. Your kind has not fared as well on Mayatta7 due to the unpredictability of the weather."
Crais' brow furrowed.
"Heat spells . . . usually only bad enough to keep them inside and uncomfortable. Occasionally a few die. Aside from that, the planet has the better soil and longer planting seasons of the two. You will be forced to refuel again if Tarn is your destination though. Can you afford the cesium?"
"Tarn is the closer of the two," Crais stated with certainty.
"True, but a direct route is inadvisable. The Draegen and the Tah have been at war for three cycles. It will be over soon, but in the meantime the Draegen continue to shoot down anything that violates their air space." The Viconda lowered himself into a thick coil, his head adjacent to Crais' waist. "Unless this transport can outrun a Draeg Cruiser, I suggest you take the long way."
The Sebacean came to one knee, peering directly into the reptiliate's florescent yellow eyes. "You say it will be over soon?"
"The Tah were defeated over a cycle ago, yet they still fight."
Crais nodded. "For how long?"
"Days, weekens, perhaps a monen. Genocide ought not be hurried."
A'Rhue pointed a tiny, clawed arm in the direction of Crais' pulse pistol. "Your side arm might fetch enough credits to refuel on Tyor. Give me a couple of arns to advertise and I could get you more for both the weapons."
"I'll not be unarmed."
"Have you anything else of value?"
Crais rested an elbow on his knee, his eyes fixed on the ground. He looked up to the Viconda and shook his head. "My journey has been long. I have few remaining resources."
"There is another option. The Prowlers that most of your *associates* on Tarn arrive in are worth far more, but your transport would still fetch a tidy sum. I could sell it and book passage for you. You would still be a wealthy man once you reached there. Few ships travel that quadrant so it might take a few weekens to arrange, but you have my guarantee, I will get you there."
Again, he shook his head negatively. "No, I will not be unarmed or without transportation. On this there is no negotiation."
"As you wish." The Viconda held open a leather pouch fasted just below his short, scaly arms. "The credits now, the pulse rifle upon delivery of the cesium and food cubes."
Crais hesitated, but reluctantly removed the credits from his shirt pocket and dropped them into the pouch. He stood as the Viconda also arced upward to his full height. "I will also require fresh drinking water."
"Place your containers on the tarmac. It will be done."
Crais nodded, backed away, turned and boarded the transport.
# # #
He left orbit immediately after taking on the cesium and set a course for Tarn. Just as A'Rhue had said, the shortest, most fuel-efficient route passed directly between the planets Draegen and Tah. If the Viconda's information continued to be correct, and he had no reason to believe otherwise, only the Draegens posed a threat. If he avoided that quadrant entirely there would still be enough fuel to reach his destination, but not enough to leave. The possibility he would not be welcomed on Tarn could not be entirely dismissed. After five monens of dodging the Peacekeepers and Scarrans, less than one solar day avoiding the Draegens should pose no problem. He switched the controls to autopilot for the final two arns before he entered their airspace.
Slipping out of his clothing and into loose exercise trousers, he performed a series of stretches, followed by circulatory stimulants, and lastly, strength moves. The exercise regimen lasted an arn, twice a day, followed by reading, enigmas and other solitary puzzles. He rewrote one letter a hundred or more times. He did not intend it to be read or delivered, yet it occupied his time. It seemed odd to fear writing words that no one would ever see, as though their mere formation branded him. As often as he changed the text, it always began the same: I am your son.
He had changed his mind about what he would reveal to the colonists on Tarn nearly as often as he changed the content of his letter home. Was it better to have his past out in the open than live in fear of its discovery? He feared it was a question he could not answer until the situation was at hand. Still, in the event they rejected him, he had to preserve his options. With over three million Peacekeepers in service during the span of his career, and only one hundred thousand colonists on Tarn, it was possible that no one there had ever heard of Captain Bialar Crais. Yet, it would take only one man or woman with knowledge of his past to turn sentiment against him.
True, they themselves had once been Peacekeepers who killed innocents and destroyed families, yet they could absolve themselves of the blood on their hands by saying they merely followed orders. He too had followed orders, but the methods were his own. Experience taught him that the hardest and the cruelest advanced. There was no room at the top for mercy or any other such weakness. From a young age he chose his path, knowing full well that his soul would pay the price. Over the cycles everything that once was Bialar Crais, son of a Sebacean farmer, slipped further away, until that moment alongside Lieutenant Teeg when it disappeared all together.
The control panel squawked in response to a warning buoy's signal that they were about to enter restricted airspace. Crais quickly pulled his hair back into a tight knot and slipped on his full-length, black jacket. The uniform was a bluff, possibly even a gamble. While some species still feared the Peacekeepers, others shot them on sight.
Instrumentation did not reveal any ships within scanning range so he pushed the throttle wide open and plotted a course straight through Draegen airspace. Although the buoy would transmit a report to the nearest Draegen vessel when the transport pod violated their territory, it was possible that a small craft not bearing a Tah signature might be ignored.
Ahead, an asteroid field, likely the remnants of a Tah moon, maintained orbit between the two planets. Talyn would have flown straight through the debris, but the smaller pod could not withstand the pounding. Just as he altered trajectory to avoid them, a flurry of blips appeared on the tracking screen, closing quickly. On visual they appeared Prowler-sized, armed, and no doubt, Draegen. Sensors warned the ships had just targeted the transport. He immediately opened a comm channel.
"I am Captain Bialar Crais. My destination is Tarn. Acknowledge."
Scans detected a surge of thermal energy from the Draegen ships, weapons coming on line.
"Acknowledge and identify," Crais repeated firmly.
He banked the pod sharply in anticipation of the attack. The first shot missed his bow by hentas.
"Cease fire," he shouted. "I wish to surrender."
A second shot disintegrated a small asteroid. The force of the blast pitched him against the hull and then dropped him to the deck. He scrambled back to the controls and accelerated straight into the field. Tiny chucks of iron peppered the hull as he maneuvered through the belt. He steered for the largest iron mass and tucked in behind it for protection. His attackers quickly realized the tactic and began to pound the one km-sized planetoid with fire.
Although the Draegen ships had made no direct hits on the pod, sections of the asteroid's perimeter began to crumble under the assault. Crais saw the boulder coming, but there was nowhere left to go. The piece struck just below the treblin side hatch, sheered off a stabilizer flap and then crushed one of the atmospheric sensor plates. The pod veered sharply to the right, took a second solid hit to the underside and spun out of control. Within microts Tah's gravity began to drag the crippled transport down into its atmosphere.
He quickly disabled all systems except environmental support in a futile attempt to bring the power back online. According to the kelva reading, the power coils were undamaged, yet would not ignite. The cesium tanks still read 93 percent of capacity, so they had not ruptured, but the fuel was not reaching the coils.
If he could hold the craft's nose up and maintain thrust long enough to find a flat stretch of ground, he might be able to land; however, he had to have propulsion. Unless he changed the trajectory of descent, the transport would either burn up in the atmosphere or disintegrate on impact. As the speed of descent increased, the pod's violent vibrations threatened to tear the hull apart.
"Switch to fueling reserve," Crais shouted at the craft as he flipped the toggle to bypass the main fuel supply. "Increase the supply to maximum." The small reserve tank that kept the cesium feed uninterrupted during mid- flight refueling fed from a separate line on the underside of the ship. At minimum thrust the backup supply could power the pod for a quarter arn, less than half that at maximum.
The microt the panel showed power, Crais pulled the craft out of its steep dive. The pod bucked and pitched, the effects of the damage to the treblin stabilizer flap costing precious time and cesium.
"Calculate estimated remaining fuel at present rate of decline to planet's surface." He growled in response as the resulting schematic forecast he would still lose thrust a full metra above Tah's surface. An uncontrolled landing was difficult under the best of circumstances, and this was not the best of circumstances. He laid in a steeper rate of descent to preserve fuel and braced himself for impact.
# # #
The pod came in on its belly and sliced through a metra of mud and foliage, which now completely obscured the view screen. The hull remained intact and rested in 12 to 15 denches of water. Sensors confirmed a breathable atmosphere.
A wave of warm, moist air rushed in as the hatch door popped open. The boarding ramp slapped the water and found solid ground. Crais quickly shed his long coat and, from the ramp, tested the bottom with a severed tree branch. The water was at most knee-deep, thick with vegetation and dense, waist-high grass. He stepped carefully from the ramp and slowly sloshed around the pod's perimeter, surveying the damage, or surprisingly, the lack of it. Other than the missing flap and crumpled sensor, the visual damage consisted of dents and scrapes.
He worked his way around the rear of the transport and suddenly froze. From the boarding ramp, a crouched figure with a pulse rifle rested casually across his knee, stared back. The intruder's eyes dipped to Crais' holstered pulse pistol and then up, waiting.
He might have been Sebacean, Crais could not tell. "What do you want?" he asked, his hand poised close to his pistol.
The man grinned, stood and retreated a step, keeping the gun barrel pointed skyward. He was half a head taller than Crais, younger, bald except for a circular hank of black hair at the back of his head that was tied with a strap and then hung full and loose to the middle of his back. "Unless you've got leathers all the way up to your mivonks, I suggest you get out of that water. There's kree-kree in there.
"Kree-kree?" He cast a suspicious eye down at the water before wading toward the ramp and stepping up. "Who are you?"
The stranger bent slightly at the waist and dipped his head, his dark eyes remaining fixed on Crais. "Ke'air Masahje, at your service. Defender of Tah. Pilot and Anjeluh constituent. Son of Orskin and Kintera. "
"Yes, well . . . that is most impressive," Crais grunted. He stepped back inside the hatch and removed the treblin access panel adjacent to the main fuel feed. As he suspected, the line was completely pinched off, which was actually fortunate, because had it ruptured, the cesium would now be gone and he would be stranded.
"Ke'air Masahje," the figure repeated from the hatchway. "And you might be?"
"Crais. Bialar Crais," he answered, without looking over.
"Well, Bialar Crais, I suggest you completely shut down the power in this ship and accompany me to Anjeluh before nightfall. If the water can cool the hull sufficiently by then, the Draeg may miss it during their flyovers. It it's still here tomorrow we come back and fix it."
"We?" Crais stopped and shot him a curious glance. "This ship is my only way off this swamp and I do *not* intend to leave it."
Ke'air Masahje approached and settled on one knee alongside the Sebacean, who continued to inspect the damage inside the panel. "Were you warned not to fly through Draegen airspace?"
"Yes, I was," Crais articulated in a loud, succinct voice.
Ke'air grimaced and shook his head. "But you did it anyway, didn't you?"
Crais clamped the fuel line in two places and then selected a prism blade from the tool compartment to remove the damaged middle section. He had begun to cut when a hand dropped on his shoulder and pulled him around.
"You listen to me good, Bialar Crais. The Draegen are nothing but Drak on two legs. They like the dark. Nightfall . . . that's when they come. If there is so much as a trad of power coming from this ship, they will find it and blow it up."
Crais knocked the offending hand from his shoulder and turned back toward the panel.
"And if you do manage to fix it, what then? You ain't gonna make orbit before they blast your eema back outta the sky. Tell you what . . . I get mad too when they shoot me down, but I don't get frelling stupid over it. I got no more time for you, my brother. You either come now, or you stay here and die."
"I am *not* your brother," Crais turned and snarled. "Now get off my ship."
The Tah stood and stared, his mouth and brow scrunched into a curious wrinkle. He shrugged and after several microts, walked out onto the boarding ramp. "Before you go getting yourself killed, you better let me show you something out here."
"What is it?" Crais growled as he stepped through the hatch.
He never saw the fist coming.
"We'll set down after dark," Crais said.
After five full monens he still spoke aloud to the transport pod.
By paying a premium to refuel from transports, he had avoided coming face to face with another being during that entire time. Now, with his supplies gone, his currency low, he would finally be forced to risk contact. He maneuvered the pod into orbit around Riist, a class M commerce planet in the outer most quadrant of Sector 12. Surface scans revealed a handful of freighters and one-man vessels, but no military ships. Not even Peacekeeper wanted beacons could penetrate this far into the galaxy.
The port city of Joobah would be dark in another arn. It would take him that long to prepare himself. Standing inside the cramped shower and toilet stall, he carefully examined the man who stared back at him in the mirror. The goatee had disappeared into a full beard monens ago and the wild shock of black hair now hung halfway to his elbows. A loose, tan overshirt draped a frame some twenty pounds lighter.
He massaged the course, tight beard between his fingers, removed a razor and sculpted it back to its familiar appearance. Starting at his temples, he swept his hair back with both hands and held it there, examining the result before finally letting it fall loose again.
The lack of companionship no longer tormented him. He had grown accustomed to the solitude and the company of his own thoughts. Anger. Remorse. Love. Each of them analyzed, finally to be accepted or let go. In retrospect, he felt he had spent his entire life alone, with the exception of perhaps Tauvo. Yet, even his own brother had never really known him. He had not allowed him to. They grew up surrounded by strangers who wore uniforms that made them look alike, act alike and think alike; and still, they were never truly the same as the others.
He planned to stay on Riist only long enough to take on provisions, refuel and inquire about the Sebaceans on Tarn. Though remote, because of its location, Riist saw the most traffic of any commerce planet in the sector. The shorter his stay here, the better.
Within microts of landing a Viconda trader had already coiled himself at the base of the pod's boarding ramp. The species lack of legs and their hissed manner of speech had always unsettled Crais, yet they often proved themselves to be capable purveyors.
"Help you, sir?"
Crais noted the Viconda's length and kept his distance from the reptiliate. "Supplies, cesium and information. In that order, and quickly." He rested a hand on the butt of the pulse pistol tucked inside his waistband.
The Viconda slank back a metra, bobbing his scaled head in acknowledgement. "I am A'Rhue. I can be of service. Ten percent of the gross. Have you on your way in two arns."
"Five percent. One arn. And a portion of the payment will be barter.a pulse rifle."
"Pulse rifle?" A'Rhue released multiple puffs of air in a semblance of laughter. "Another deserter? Why is it your kind always gives up the pulse rifle first and keeps the side arm?"
Crais strode past the Viconda in the direction of Joobah.
"I accept your terms." A few quick thrashes of his tale propelled A'Rhue back in front of the Sebacean. "I will require the credits up front. You understand that food cubes are the best I can do on such short notice, but the knowledge is free.if I have it."
"I seek information on the inhabitants on Tarn and Mayatta7."
A'Rhue was quick to answer. "Tarn supports the larger population of the two. Your kind has not fared as well on Mayatta7 due to the unpredictability of the weather."
Crais' brow furrowed.
"Heat spells . . . usually only bad enough to keep them inside and uncomfortable. Occasionally a few die. Aside from that, the planet has the better soil and longer planting seasons of the two. You will be forced to refuel again if Tarn is your destination though. Can you afford the cesium?"
"Tarn is the closer of the two," Crais stated with certainty.
"True, but a direct route is inadvisable. The Draegen and the Tah have been at war for three cycles. It will be over soon, but in the meantime the Draegen continue to shoot down anything that violates their air space." The Viconda lowered himself into a thick coil, his head adjacent to Crais' waist. "Unless this transport can outrun a Draeg Cruiser, I suggest you take the long way."
The Sebacean came to one knee, peering directly into the reptiliate's florescent yellow eyes. "You say it will be over soon?"
"The Tah were defeated over a cycle ago, yet they still fight."
Crais nodded. "For how long?"
"Days, weekens, perhaps a monen. Genocide ought not be hurried."
A'Rhue pointed a tiny, clawed arm in the direction of Crais' pulse pistol. "Your side arm might fetch enough credits to refuel on Tyor. Give me a couple of arns to advertise and I could get you more for both the weapons."
"I'll not be unarmed."
"Have you anything else of value?"
Crais rested an elbow on his knee, his eyes fixed on the ground. He looked up to the Viconda and shook his head. "My journey has been long. I have few remaining resources."
"There is another option. The Prowlers that most of your *associates* on Tarn arrive in are worth far more, but your transport would still fetch a tidy sum. I could sell it and book passage for you. You would still be a wealthy man once you reached there. Few ships travel that quadrant so it might take a few weekens to arrange, but you have my guarantee, I will get you there."
Again, he shook his head negatively. "No, I will not be unarmed or without transportation. On this there is no negotiation."
"As you wish." The Viconda held open a leather pouch fasted just below his short, scaly arms. "The credits now, the pulse rifle upon delivery of the cesium and food cubes."
Crais hesitated, but reluctantly removed the credits from his shirt pocket and dropped them into the pouch. He stood as the Viconda also arced upward to his full height. "I will also require fresh drinking water."
"Place your containers on the tarmac. It will be done."
Crais nodded, backed away, turned and boarded the transport.
# # #
He left orbit immediately after taking on the cesium and set a course for Tarn. Just as A'Rhue had said, the shortest, most fuel-efficient route passed directly between the planets Draegen and Tah. If the Viconda's information continued to be correct, and he had no reason to believe otherwise, only the Draegens posed a threat. If he avoided that quadrant entirely there would still be enough fuel to reach his destination, but not enough to leave. The possibility he would not be welcomed on Tarn could not be entirely dismissed. After five monens of dodging the Peacekeepers and Scarrans, less than one solar day avoiding the Draegens should pose no problem. He switched the controls to autopilot for the final two arns before he entered their airspace.
Slipping out of his clothing and into loose exercise trousers, he performed a series of stretches, followed by circulatory stimulants, and lastly, strength moves. The exercise regimen lasted an arn, twice a day, followed by reading, enigmas and other solitary puzzles. He rewrote one letter a hundred or more times. He did not intend it to be read or delivered, yet it occupied his time. It seemed odd to fear writing words that no one would ever see, as though their mere formation branded him. As often as he changed the text, it always began the same: I am your son.
He had changed his mind about what he would reveal to the colonists on Tarn nearly as often as he changed the content of his letter home. Was it better to have his past out in the open than live in fear of its discovery? He feared it was a question he could not answer until the situation was at hand. Still, in the event they rejected him, he had to preserve his options. With over three million Peacekeepers in service during the span of his career, and only one hundred thousand colonists on Tarn, it was possible that no one there had ever heard of Captain Bialar Crais. Yet, it would take only one man or woman with knowledge of his past to turn sentiment against him.
True, they themselves had once been Peacekeepers who killed innocents and destroyed families, yet they could absolve themselves of the blood on their hands by saying they merely followed orders. He too had followed orders, but the methods were his own. Experience taught him that the hardest and the cruelest advanced. There was no room at the top for mercy or any other such weakness. From a young age he chose his path, knowing full well that his soul would pay the price. Over the cycles everything that once was Bialar Crais, son of a Sebacean farmer, slipped further away, until that moment alongside Lieutenant Teeg when it disappeared all together.
The control panel squawked in response to a warning buoy's signal that they were about to enter restricted airspace. Crais quickly pulled his hair back into a tight knot and slipped on his full-length, black jacket. The uniform was a bluff, possibly even a gamble. While some species still feared the Peacekeepers, others shot them on sight.
Instrumentation did not reveal any ships within scanning range so he pushed the throttle wide open and plotted a course straight through Draegen airspace. Although the buoy would transmit a report to the nearest Draegen vessel when the transport pod violated their territory, it was possible that a small craft not bearing a Tah signature might be ignored.
Ahead, an asteroid field, likely the remnants of a Tah moon, maintained orbit between the two planets. Talyn would have flown straight through the debris, but the smaller pod could not withstand the pounding. Just as he altered trajectory to avoid them, a flurry of blips appeared on the tracking screen, closing quickly. On visual they appeared Prowler-sized, armed, and no doubt, Draegen. Sensors warned the ships had just targeted the transport. He immediately opened a comm channel.
"I am Captain Bialar Crais. My destination is Tarn. Acknowledge."
Scans detected a surge of thermal energy from the Draegen ships, weapons coming on line.
"Acknowledge and identify," Crais repeated firmly.
He banked the pod sharply in anticipation of the attack. The first shot missed his bow by hentas.
"Cease fire," he shouted. "I wish to surrender."
A second shot disintegrated a small asteroid. The force of the blast pitched him against the hull and then dropped him to the deck. He scrambled back to the controls and accelerated straight into the field. Tiny chucks of iron peppered the hull as he maneuvered through the belt. He steered for the largest iron mass and tucked in behind it for protection. His attackers quickly realized the tactic and began to pound the one km-sized planetoid with fire.
Although the Draegen ships had made no direct hits on the pod, sections of the asteroid's perimeter began to crumble under the assault. Crais saw the boulder coming, but there was nowhere left to go. The piece struck just below the treblin side hatch, sheered off a stabilizer flap and then crushed one of the atmospheric sensor plates. The pod veered sharply to the right, took a second solid hit to the underside and spun out of control. Within microts Tah's gravity began to drag the crippled transport down into its atmosphere.
He quickly disabled all systems except environmental support in a futile attempt to bring the power back online. According to the kelva reading, the power coils were undamaged, yet would not ignite. The cesium tanks still read 93 percent of capacity, so they had not ruptured, but the fuel was not reaching the coils.
If he could hold the craft's nose up and maintain thrust long enough to find a flat stretch of ground, he might be able to land; however, he had to have propulsion. Unless he changed the trajectory of descent, the transport would either burn up in the atmosphere or disintegrate on impact. As the speed of descent increased, the pod's violent vibrations threatened to tear the hull apart.
"Switch to fueling reserve," Crais shouted at the craft as he flipped the toggle to bypass the main fuel supply. "Increase the supply to maximum." The small reserve tank that kept the cesium feed uninterrupted during mid- flight refueling fed from a separate line on the underside of the ship. At minimum thrust the backup supply could power the pod for a quarter arn, less than half that at maximum.
The microt the panel showed power, Crais pulled the craft out of its steep dive. The pod bucked and pitched, the effects of the damage to the treblin stabilizer flap costing precious time and cesium.
"Calculate estimated remaining fuel at present rate of decline to planet's surface." He growled in response as the resulting schematic forecast he would still lose thrust a full metra above Tah's surface. An uncontrolled landing was difficult under the best of circumstances, and this was not the best of circumstances. He laid in a steeper rate of descent to preserve fuel and braced himself for impact.
# # #
The pod came in on its belly and sliced through a metra of mud and foliage, which now completely obscured the view screen. The hull remained intact and rested in 12 to 15 denches of water. Sensors confirmed a breathable atmosphere.
A wave of warm, moist air rushed in as the hatch door popped open. The boarding ramp slapped the water and found solid ground. Crais quickly shed his long coat and, from the ramp, tested the bottom with a severed tree branch. The water was at most knee-deep, thick with vegetation and dense, waist-high grass. He stepped carefully from the ramp and slowly sloshed around the pod's perimeter, surveying the damage, or surprisingly, the lack of it. Other than the missing flap and crumpled sensor, the visual damage consisted of dents and scrapes.
He worked his way around the rear of the transport and suddenly froze. From the boarding ramp, a crouched figure with a pulse rifle rested casually across his knee, stared back. The intruder's eyes dipped to Crais' holstered pulse pistol and then up, waiting.
He might have been Sebacean, Crais could not tell. "What do you want?" he asked, his hand poised close to his pistol.
The man grinned, stood and retreated a step, keeping the gun barrel pointed skyward. He was half a head taller than Crais, younger, bald except for a circular hank of black hair at the back of his head that was tied with a strap and then hung full and loose to the middle of his back. "Unless you've got leathers all the way up to your mivonks, I suggest you get out of that water. There's kree-kree in there.
"Kree-kree?" He cast a suspicious eye down at the water before wading toward the ramp and stepping up. "Who are you?"
The stranger bent slightly at the waist and dipped his head, his dark eyes remaining fixed on Crais. "Ke'air Masahje, at your service. Defender of Tah. Pilot and Anjeluh constituent. Son of Orskin and Kintera. "
"Yes, well . . . that is most impressive," Crais grunted. He stepped back inside the hatch and removed the treblin access panel adjacent to the main fuel feed. As he suspected, the line was completely pinched off, which was actually fortunate, because had it ruptured, the cesium would now be gone and he would be stranded.
"Ke'air Masahje," the figure repeated from the hatchway. "And you might be?"
"Crais. Bialar Crais," he answered, without looking over.
"Well, Bialar Crais, I suggest you completely shut down the power in this ship and accompany me to Anjeluh before nightfall. If the water can cool the hull sufficiently by then, the Draeg may miss it during their flyovers. It it's still here tomorrow we come back and fix it."
"We?" Crais stopped and shot him a curious glance. "This ship is my only way off this swamp and I do *not* intend to leave it."
Ke'air Masahje approached and settled on one knee alongside the Sebacean, who continued to inspect the damage inside the panel. "Were you warned not to fly through Draegen airspace?"
"Yes, I was," Crais articulated in a loud, succinct voice.
Ke'air grimaced and shook his head. "But you did it anyway, didn't you?"
Crais clamped the fuel line in two places and then selected a prism blade from the tool compartment to remove the damaged middle section. He had begun to cut when a hand dropped on his shoulder and pulled him around.
"You listen to me good, Bialar Crais. The Draegen are nothing but Drak on two legs. They like the dark. Nightfall . . . that's when they come. If there is so much as a trad of power coming from this ship, they will find it and blow it up."
Crais knocked the offending hand from his shoulder and turned back toward the panel.
"And if you do manage to fix it, what then? You ain't gonna make orbit before they blast your eema back outta the sky. Tell you what . . . I get mad too when they shoot me down, but I don't get frelling stupid over it. I got no more time for you, my brother. You either come now, or you stay here and die."
"I am *not* your brother," Crais turned and snarled. "Now get off my ship."
The Tah stood and stared, his mouth and brow scrunched into a curious wrinkle. He shrugged and after several microts, walked out onto the boarding ramp. "Before you go getting yourself killed, you better let me show you something out here."
"What is it?" Crais growled as he stepped through the hatch.
He never saw the fist coming.