"Tranquility Hilton, how may we serve you today?"

Looks like youth unemployment on the moon is missing at least one girl. "I'm looking for a pad and a bed for the night."

"What size craft?"

"Origin M50."

"Oooh, are you a racer?" the teen asks rather breathlessly.

"No, Ma'am, just a courier type."

"Oh. Well, we have a very nice Revel and York with an executive suite attached. It has a fantastic view and provides direct access to the biodome's finest shops and restaurants..."

Chuckling, I interrupt, "How about a basic hangar with a cot?"

She sounds a bit deflated, "Well, we do offer some SelfLands down on the crater level, direct access to the crater's transport for industrial and ore supplies. We also have a couple VFG Industrial at the basement level, They are meant for miners, but the flyway access shouldn't be a problem for your size craft." The comm glas shows a link and I pull up the rates... they aren't all that different.

Tucked in among the miners, that really appeals to me. On the other hand, I learned a long time ago that there is no ambush like a flyway exit, maybe I better go for something with an outside door. I touch the appropriate points for pay in full and say, "I would like to get one of the SelfLand hangars, please. Sending data and credits."

She is obviously watching her glas for everything to populate, then she says, "Your hangar is number 114, East side third from the north end. The Numbers are painted on the hangar doors. Sending your access codes now, sir."

"Thank you, Miss," I say with what I think is an appropriate smile.

She seems startled and it almost seems that she is blushing, "No, sir, married, three kids."

So much for my guess on her age and perhaps I need to check my smile in a mirror, I sure didn't mean to be coming on to her.

…..

"You're in luck, Buddy," the proprietor of Tranquility East Origin Recyclers says with just a hint of slur, "We had one of last year's 50s come in just a week or so ago. Cockpit all shot to hells, but the powerplant and thrusters are nearly pristine." He plays with a glas and looks up at me, "Ah think I can let you have those two parts for..." his voice trails off, but after a pause he finally says, "Thirty thousand."

I look at him like he is the thief he's trying to be, "I can get them new for less than that."

"Yeah, but I have to break up the set to give them to you, makes the thrusters less valuable to me."

I nod, "I guess I can understand that." He looks satisfied until I continue with a shrug, "I'll wait until I get to a dealership, I only stopped here to see if I could get them cheaper. Thanks anyway."

"Wait!" he nearly shouts as I start to turn away. "Look, maybe I can give you a discount... um..."

I look him in the eye and reply, "You probably paid about 30,000 for the whole derelict, considering how shot up the hull is." I can tell from his expression that I'm not far off the mark, "I'll give you ten and I pull the parts myself."

"Eighteen and not an Imp less."

"Well, I would have given you thirteen, but since you don't want to talk anymore..."

"Sixteen."

"Thanks for your time," I say, again turning for the door.

"Fourteen, but I'm gonna be there to make sure you don't damage anything else."

I turn back to him and nod. "Fourteen it is, and sure, you can watch."

…..

The secondary cooling coil and backup thruster coolant pump are sitting on a small carryall parked beneath my number two thruster. I'm contemplating hiring someone to help me, the coolant soaking into my coveralls from pulling the old parts is only part of what I've dumped on the flooring plates. It's not that it's especially difficult, but it is messy and twice doused with the noxious purple fluid is quite enough.

I keep wondering if somehow they knew I was coming here. The guy at the salvage yard came to terms pretty quickly... might whomever have gotten to him and made him a deal to sell me from that ship?

I'm getting paranoid... of course, I already know that doesn't mean they aren't after me. "Duncan?" I call into the empty bay above me.

"Yes, sir, that's me."

"What is the status on the software reinstalls?"

"The thruster control afterburner controller software has been reinstalled and checksum is good. The powerplant energy distribution router software reinstall is 92 percent complete. You having fun down there?"

"Yeah, I love these coolant baths, makes me feel all powerful and ready to kick in my own afterburner."

"Good thing I can't smell."

"And why is that?"

"If gas comes out of you on fire, you must have eaten REALLY nasty stuff last night."

"Ha, ha."

"You know, there are professionals who do this kind of work."

"And you think I am...?"

"A wannabe who revels in doing it himself."

"Thanks, Duncan."

"Glad to help."

I start to blow a raspberry his way, but get a few drops of coolant on my tongue and start to gag.

"Ah, your maturity matches your skill level," Duncan opines as I find a clean towel to wipe my mouth out with.

"Bite m e."

In the silence, I wonder about Duncan's insights and whether I'm the right person to make sure this highly tuned racer is working right.

…..

"Howie Aumundsen," the lanky twenty-something answers my query as to his name with a wide grin.

"This is a pretty impressive resume for being so young," I comment, looking down the list.

"Been working on Origins since I was a kid. Worked for my dad un...til..." he voice trails away.

"Yes?"

"Stuff happened. Thats when I hired on with the Lunar Landers' team."

"You started with them in '37?! You couldn't have been more than..."

"Fifteen," he interrupts with a look bordering on anger. "Look, if you don't think I can do the work, why did you call me in?"

"You were recommended, but I don't know the gal who suggested you very well and I have reason to be suspect of everyone."

He shrugs and turns towards the door, "Let me know how that works for you."

"What is your hourly?" I ask before he reaches the portal.

He turns and folds his arms across his chest. "For you? Three times what I usually get. If you give me any more grief about my age, then it goes up to four times."

"That translates to what amount per?"

"900 Imperials an hour." He is really annoyed and I bet he doesn't even want to do it now. However, I don't think any but the most Machiavellian plant would go this far. "How long for a secondary cooling coil and backup thruster coolant pump when the originals have already been pulled?"

"Four hour minimum."

"I can do it in four hours," I snort back.

"Yeah, that's why you called me, isn't it?" he growls.

Again he turns towards the door. This time I let him get it open before I say, "Are you including test and tuning?"

"Its twelve hundred an hour now and eight hours includes everything to get you the hells out of my face. If I get done early, you still pay eight."

I smile and he looks just a hint puzzled. "That works for me," I reply. Pointing at the hangar bay door I finish, "My bird is in there."

He nods and steps quickly that way; I rise and follow him.

…..

Howie is standing before me with his arms folded across his chest. I'm not really sure what his expression means, but he doesn't look angry or frustrated.

"You really weren't joking when you said you had to suspect everyone, were you?"

"Nope."

"So you weren't really giving me a bad time about my age, were you?"

"Nope."

"You might have said that someone was trying to kill you."

I shrug, wondering how he made the jump to that fact.

"I'm done with what you hired me for, but I already spotted a few things I'd like to check, still covered by the eight hours."

"Okay."

He walks back to his toolbox, then returns to the exhaust end of the M50. Not two minutes later, he waves me over. He is holding a plug and pointing to its receptacle on the side of the Xi'An made afterburner.

"You don't have a crew chief, do you?"

"No, I check the craft myself."

"Haven't needed your afterburners for a while, right?"

"Well..."

"Look at this plug. See anything odd?"

"Well..."

He plugs it back into the alien equipment. "How about now?" he asks.

I'm still at a loss and admit it by slowly shaking my head.

"Okay," he says, unplugging the unit again and holding the small black piece up for me to see, "It was actually pretty ingenious, they just added this..." here he seems to magically separate the plug into two segments, the top plugging onto the prongs of the bottom... almost like the receptacle should. He raises the little black top to our eye level and announces, "This little doodad takes advantage of the fact that you have a Xi'An afterburner on an Origin ship. The harness had to have that little pigtail added to communicate with the alien tech for both control and feedback. Take it off and the ship tells you you don't have an afterburner so you won't be able to use it... but if you plug this little thingamajig in, presto, the ship can activate the afterburner, but not control it once it lights.

Onboard testing says it is fine, but it isn't. You fire up the burner, it doesn't sense the control limiter signal, it overfeeds, the zone gets too hot, high density plasma in the feeder mag-ports reaches fusion temp too early, and Booom! At minimum, your tail becomes atomized dust chasing your crippled ship across the galaxy. At worst, you are a non-stellar dust cloud. Someone meant to kill you when you needed the burners."

I nod and comment, "And they probably intend to give me a reason to use them."

"Probably."

He looks at me with what must be something of a reassessment while I just wait. Finally, he speaks again, "You probably fly three or four hundred series normally, right?"

"Yup."

"Well, I crew on these things," he pats the M50's underbelly, "And they are really different animals, especially when you add alien tech. It's little things like this that you need to be careful about. Look, I know we kinda got off on the wrong foot, but I'd like to go over her once to see if anything else stands out to me."

"You just saved my life," I smile, "You're more than welcome to do it."

"Thanks," he says, turning back to the big black bird.

…..

Howie Aumundsen has come to sit beside me, holding four small devices. It is over three hours since he showed me the plug adapter, but now he looks satisfied.

"It looks like there are a lot of people interested in you," he says, laying each of the four delicately on the crate I've been using for a table.

"How so, sir?"

"Well, based on their radiation signatures, these two," here he points at two of the smallest things, "Are some kind of tracking emitters." Next, he lifts a slightly larger one, "This one is much more complex, it seems to not only be for tracking, but it has some kind of storage and a local antenna, like it is used for transmitting or receiving lots of data at close range."

"Could it be linked to something in the cockpit?"

"Sure," he chuckles, "I didn't presume to look there. But this thing is doing stuff that my gear isn't designed to detect."

I look to the last one, a seeming solid set of rings.

He follows my gaze and answers, "I have no idea what that is. It does appear to be Xi'An tech, but it is not related to any of the parts they've added to the ship's systems. It doesn't seem to radiate anything, generate any EM field, or even create heat. It just doesn't belong, and I'll be hanged if I know for sure why it was put there."

"Do you have a guess?"

He laughs, "Considering all the other stuff we've found, I bet it is meant to respond at close range to some kind of signal, but what it does then is anyone's guess."

I nod, "You do good work."

He smiles agreeably, "Thanks. So, what do we do with these?"

"Well, were I to guess," I say, picking up the third object he had demonstrated, "This is MARC's little tracker thingy. If we don't put it back for now, they will know it is gone and put another one in, just somewhere that I won't find it."

"Mark?"

"Long story, let's just say they are very persistent."

"Okay. So I put this one back?"

"Yes, but show me where so I can pull it if an emergency presents itself. I contract with the Xi'An," here his face clouds, "Nothing evil, trust me."

Doubt is written all over his features, "You know they have an innocent man about to go on trial, right?"

"I know that no one in the situation is as clean as they imply, the Xi'An, the UEE, and someone else one our side, within the UEE, who is out there trying to stir up trouble... and no, I don't really know who."

"Are you a spy?"

I laugh, "Nope, but if things are going to work out, my job is to escort one of the Xi'An who is trying to solve it without more trouble."

He seems to take a dubious view of my words, but gets back to business, "So what do you want me to do with the ring thing?"

"Just like the MARC thingy, let's put it back on, but again, show me where so I can remove it when it is appropriate to do so. I'm not going to work for them forever."

"And these two?"

"No reason I should leave them here, maybe I can put them in one of the void tubes and dump them when I get into the jump lane... that would scramble their eggs."

He chuckles, but there is still a hint of distrust in his eyes.

"Look," I say, "Someone is trying to start a war, and the Xi'An are partly to blame because some of their kind took the bait. Right now, there are people of good faith on both sides trying to cool it off, okay? I work for them, not the hotheads."

"You're an escort, huh?"

"I fly wing for a Xress."

"Really?!" he is interested now. "Are they as fast as the articles say?"

"Brilliantly fast, but they turn like a drunk on a boat at sea."

"So you can really use this at full bore?"

"I'm often black and white and sometimes tunneled for a while while I catch up."

"You said you don't plan on working for them forever... you ever consider any of the Grand Prix races?"

"I actually thought I might try the Cup qualifiers some day."

He lights up again and suddenly exclaims, "I'd be a great Cup crew chief! You've got my mobi from sending me the credits, keep it and I'll crew for you if you try for the Cup!"

I smile and admit, "That's a great idea. If you can put up with a grouchy old guy, I can deal with a bright young one."

He nods and we shake hands.

…..

"Shawn Ryan is calling Kree'Gna." I'm clear of the Castra patrols, headed towards the Castra II Covalex... Kree'Gna and I have often met up there before.

After a while at cruise, Kree'Gna's response returns, "Shawn Ryan, Shē'sueren. I have just entered system, will need fuel. Meet at Habbib's for meal and catch up?"

"Kree'Gna, Shē'sueren. I'll see you at Habbib's Bar. Kree'Gna, athlē-korr," I reply.

Several minutes later I receive his answer, "Until then. Shawn Ryan, athlē-korr."

…..

A shadow falls across our table and seemingly from nowhere a lanky Tev stands barely a meter away, looking down at the both of us. He doesn't hesitate, but begins speaking; the language must be Tevarin because I have never heard the like before. The words take on a rhythm, as if he is singing, reciting a poem, or quoting from some religious text. His black eyes are deep pools, shadows in the light itself. Finally, he ends his discourse and looks at me with what might be interest... or hatred. I don't know Tevs well enough to guess the expression for sure, but my hand has moved of its own accord to my pistol's handle and I wonder if I need to kill an enemy tonight. His eyes might note my defensiveness, because he says, "You do not need that tonight, TOG."

"And I know you from where?"

"You did not know me until now. I am Hornek Tish."

Kree'Gna's weapon is out almost before mine, but the Tevarin stands his ground without reaching for any of the several weapons he has strapped about him. "Do you understand my speech, Ryan?"

"Yeah, you speak clearly enough."

"I mean what I spoke when I arrived here."

"No, not really."

"It is an ancient proverb that translates roughly to:

Judge a being by

the quality of friends who are loyal,

the hatred of enemies who are powerful,

the honor of painfully honest actions,

the strength of defense demonstrated,

the luck granted by the guiding stars,

and the music flowing from the hidden soul.

"I judge you better than my patrons," he continues. "I would ask, do you make music?"

It is an odd question, one with only a small answer, "I haven't played music in a decade or more, and I have no instrument now."

"You played the harmonica, did you not?"

I'm a little surprised that he knows this, but it is true that I once did a passable job of entertaining myself with the mouth harp. "Been a long time, but yes, I did play it. Care to tell me why you want to know?"

"I would have you play now, to know the final measure of you."

"Why should I trust you?"

"Because I could have killed you before you knew I was myself."

"You've tried before."

"Yes, and you have had the stars intervene."

"So now we play music and become friends?"

"No, we will likely still be adversaries. For this time, though, we will share a brief time of peace and misery."

"Like I said, I don't have an..."

He interrupts, holding out a silver object. It is a beautiful old instrument, meticulously cared for... but I have to wonder what poison it has on it that I'm suppose to kill myself with.

Incredulously, I ask, "And I'm supposed to trust that you haven't poisoned it?"

"No, but you are free to clean it or have one of them," here he gestures at the bar's staff, "Do it for you. I have my Djok Nod with me, tuned to play the key this instrument is in. Will you join me?"

"Where?" Then I get it, "Here?!"

"Yes, I have already asked the honorable Habbib if he will allow this and he has said yes."

I look over at the bar's owner and he nods my way as if he knows what I need to confirm.

"I don't know any Tevarin music, or even how you play it."

"You know what humans call blues, correct?"

"Sure. Used to play a lot of it."

"I love blues. I do not play Tevarin traditional, rather I thrive on the pathos of the blues... it suits both our peoples well, do you not agree?"

…..

I realize that we have drawn a crowd when there is a sudden crescendo of applause as we finish the old standard "Martian Mine Blues" and I'm suddenly rather self-conscious. Tish is smiling in that grim sort of way Tevs often have and Kree'Gna is nodding as if to agree with the popular assessment.

"Can you improvise from an unknown tune?" Tish asks.

I shrug, "Probably. What have you got?"

"Still in E," he says, then starts an even bass line that slowly becomes more driving. As he adds the horn-like rhythm part, I take a deep breath and voice a few trial notes. He nods and before long we have made a simple melody and I'm starting to accent it with a little riff or two.

One of the waitresses, Carla, I think her name is, comes over and asks, just loud enough to hear her, "May I sing along?"

"We're making this one up as we go."

"I like to scat," she says. The Tev and I share a glance and both nod to her at the same time.

She starts and I would swear that we were really just waiting for something this creative. Hornek's instrumentation becomes both quieter and more complex. Relieved of having to carry more of the melody, I start accenting the flow more. Soon, you couldn't tell that we hadn't been playing together for years. I notice that the bar is now packed and everyone is focused on us.

The song ends and I swear that the whole station must have heard the patrons appreciation.

…..

"Keep the instrument, you play it better than its last owner," the Tevarin says, refusing the harmonica as I try to hand it back.

The bar has quieted, a fresh steak is cooking for me and Kree'Gna is giving me something of an inscrutable look.

"So, are we friends now?"

"No. You have, however, earned my respect. I give you warning, your ship is compromised."

Reaching into a cargo pocket, I find the plug addition and hold it up, "This what you are talking about?"

He nods briefly, then states, "You are better than they know. Yes, that is what I know of."

"I got lucky."

I have no idea what he is thinking, he voice is almost tone neutral as he says, "I do not believe in luck. Humans make their own luck."

He turns and I watch him go.

"Your steak, TOG," Violi says with just a hint of sashay in her manner.

"Thanks, Ma'am," I reply, sitting back down to address the steaming platter.

…..

Stanton is one of the most boring, even gloomy crossings, jump to jump. The adrenaline rush of Pelles has fallen behind and your overstretched nerves go numb in the sterile corporate system. There has been nothing to agonize over, save only a well armed Crusader Industries merc patrol at the jump's exit. As usual, the Xress reached maximum acceleration before me and I spent a little time catching up. Now we are simply streaks crossing other craft's sensor grids, nothing behind us and little risk of problems before we slow for the final jump into Sol.

We pass much too close for my liking to Hurston, its orbit having it as close to the system transit lane as it ever comes. Looking at the polluted browns of industrial discharge laden atmosphere, I'm disgusted and wary. I don't trust those people, the misers of Hurston Dynamics; anyone who falls into their hands is as bad off as the penal slaves in an RRS colony. Even at cruise, I see more of that planet than I ever want to.

…..

For some reason, this time through the jump to Sol, Duncan is unexpectedly quiet and I'm temporarily lost almost in reverie as everything about me becomes different. I have no music on per se, but my ears still hear a flowing, undulating rhythm with bright accents, as if the ship herself is playing an opus all her own. My body feels the heavy bass of the powerplant's pumps, amplified and distorted by the very quantum nature of the lane. I am at peace, wondering how long I can feel this way.

…..

The UEEN entry patrols check us out, then let us leave in peace.

"Shawn Ryan is calling Kree'Gna."

"Yes, Shawn Ryan?" Kree'Gna responds casually.

"Do you know if you'll be here long?"

"No, Shawn Ryan. I suspect it will not be long, but I do not know."

"Fair enough. We headed for the Embassy?"

"Yes. We bear the Emperors words."

"Think there is going to be trouble?"

"You are nervous? This isn't like you, Shawn Ryan."

"They have been after me so long, perhaps you should have Athas Mgren end my contract before I get too paranoid."

"You need a rest, my friend."

"Am I likely to get one?"

The comms are silent.

"Kree'Gna?"

"No, Shawn Ryan, you are not. Not for some time yet."

I sigh and answer, "Kree'Gna, athlē-korr."

He too sounds tired, "Yes, Shawn Ryan, athlē-korr."

…..

"Terran 171-4DLR17, we confirm you are a registered diplomatic escort." The UEEN Lieutenant on today's arrivals scan duty is in a Tracker, holding about fifty meters off my nose, his three patrol mates are rather slowly orbiting us. Kree'Gna has already gotten a once over and been cleared.

The lieutenant continues, "However, your M50 appears to be xeno modified, we need to scan it for allowed technology. Please shut down your shields and stand by."

I toggle the shield settings to "off" and as the field dissipates, I key up and reply, "Roger that. Shields down, scan away, Lieutenant."

We've just jumped into Terra, after two weeks of runs, looping into Xi'An space and back; runs so uneventful as to be boring. Sure, we've gotten stopped by UEEN and Xi'An scan teams after every jump... well, every one they have patrols monitoring. For all my worries, though, we've had no attacks... nor even a hint of excuse to hit my burners. From what I can tell, all our racing across the galaxy hasn't led to any progress in the Jenk Gallen case. Kree'Gna says Emperor Kray has decided to insist that Gallen be tried as a spy and I have no reason to doubt this.

The open comms cackle to life, "LR17, that is some rig you have."

I would guess the lieutenant is somewhat in awe, but I hear this so often that I'm almost blasé about it. "Thanks, sir. Are we free to go?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Not that I could afford that, but what does a courier like that go for?"

"Lieutenant, I honestly don't know, the Xi'An did the upgrades so I could do my job better... they never told me the price."

"Yeah, that I understand. Thanks anyway. You are clear to proceed."

"Thanks, sir. Have a safe patrol."

Kree'Gna has been listening and calmly says, "Go for cruise."

"Copy, Throttles up." My M50 screams after his leading Xress, and without pursuit we remain in a simple wing formation.

The feel of the stars here is familiar. I know I've been in just about every system in the UEE, several Banu and most of the allowed Xi'An as well... even the lawless ones like Cathcart, Pyro, Hades, and Pelles... but in no other system does the Great Banner feel as much like an old friend as it does here. The constellations are all in their proper places led by the Great Goose herself, the stars that together point north when I sit again upon the Torre Nor uplands.

It's been a while since I could set my craft down on firm ground and get a good meal, I'm hoping Kree'Gna will be at the embassy long enough to fly by the house... er... well, hangar and hole in the ground.

…..

Answering my queston, Kree'Gna replies, "Yes, I could use a sleep cycle even if I don't need to layover. You are free to go down to Terra for a cycle, I'll contact you with a departure time."

"Thanks, Kree'Gna; I really need the rest."

"As do I. Shawn Ryan, athlē-korr."

Relieved that things are going so well, I reply, "Kree'Gna, athlē-korr."

The Xress heads for an open bay on the Xi'An Embassy and I point my little nose for home.

…..

Looking down from 20,000 meters, the whole of the Torre Nor uplands is bathed with bright afternoon sunlight; it seems to glow in verdant greens interrupted by occasional puffy white clouds scattered like spilt popcorn on an emerald lawn. At the edge of the horizon, however, rises a threatened storm; the first big one of fall, or so the forecast says. I can see its towering thunderheads climbing almost to my elevation... I'd guess that late tonight or tomorrow is when it should hit.

For just a moment, I wonder if I shouldn't head back to the Embassy... then the moment passes and I make my call and begin my descent.

…..

Once upon a time, I loved to anticipate the big storms when they swept through. Well, when they swept through while I was on the ground. Rain sometimes falls so hard you can barely see objects scant meters away, and a step outside is the immediate equal to standing under a waterfall. Torre Nor is temperate, the climate moderated by the vast onshore flow from the warm ocean. There isn't any snow, but in the late fall and into the winter we occasionally get these monsters that can produce high winds, flooding, and rarely even hail.

Now, I'm looking at the hangar and wondering what I should do. The Aeroview folks have apparently been here, the doors open with a smoothness that is encouraging. Inside, I see for the first time my new 315p; it looks like they have the paint-job wrong... again... but it is still good to see her. Beside her is the damaged 350r, they will likely not pick her hulk up until the replacement is brought over and my mod parts replaced.

Mindful of my main exhaust, I hover into place and pivot slowly to face outwards... then down, down, down, seemingly inch by inch, until my gear takes the ship's weight and I shut the systems down. The heavy bay doors slide shut and I'm safe inside without incident.

…..

I'm hardly out of the ship when Dean Olivian strides up, "Welcome back, Shawn!"

He is all smiles and I hope I'm not going to have to endure a bunch of talk about he and Jurdi.

"Hey, Dean, how goes the battle?"

"Odd you should put it that way, but it goes pretty well... I hope."

"You hope?"

"Let's get you out into the fresh air, then if you're staying the night I'll get you settled and fill you in. You hungry?"

"Yeah, actually, I am."

"Jix. I was just about to test some barbecue; Jurdi dropped off some freezer meat... and, well, I kinda like the taste of fresh meat that has roasted over a low fire."

"Is she here?"

"Jurdi? No, she's staying in town right now; she does swing by for updates and I suspect just to breathe the air out here. I especially think she didn't want to be in here tonight so I could stay. Did you know there's a storm supposed to drop in this evening or early in the morning?" I nod and he continues, "Yeah, well it was agreed that I would do better waiting out the storm here and she would take the little ones back to Prime."

"Makes sense to me." Looking around, I continue, "The fields looked good on the way in, any problems?"

"Not with that. Your crew does great work and I've been taking care of them. After we've eaten, maybe we can discuss a few other things I've taken the liberty of doing."

Trying not to look too concerned, I respond, "Sure. How long until the meat is done?"

"I'll go check now," he replies with a big grin and jogs off to the side door.

…..

"I can't eat any more," I happily groan, "Seven excellent skewers of mostly meat and I'm FD&H."

"FD&H?"

"Fat, dumb, and happy."

Dean chuckles, "I see."

"So, what did you want me to wait on finding out about?"

"Well, there were some visitors three days after you left."

"And...?"

"Lawyers, all sure of themselves."

"Joy." I remember Carl's comments... he had known that I had threatened that weasel from the law firm, now it had come back to roost. "I can guess..."

"Well, probably not."

I look at him, wondering what might have happened. "Go on."

"They said that you had threatened their partner and that they were here to make sure you knew they were going to go ahead with everything."

My heart sinks and I wonder if I have long to keep my land.

Dean continues, "Well, without you around, I figured you had delegated management to me to deal with whatever came up. And, well, I did. I hope you aren't mad, but I called my old lawyer, one who has made out quite well by working with me over the years and after I explained it to him, he took the case. He is still one of the league's best... and best paid... attorneys and for good reason. He was on them like white on rice and informed me last week that we are counter suing. Yesterday, he called and told me they want to settle for what you supposedly agreed to after you scared the be... er... stuff out of that shrimp. I said I needed to wait until I heard from you, but that I figured they were getting off a little easy. He agreed and you should have heard him laugh, but if you really did agree to those terms, then he figures you really should settle."

"Dean," I say, smiling, "Thanks. I owe you one."