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Attack of the Bounty Hunters

by Steven Gordon



Foreward: Who are the Graftonites?



	They were the most fearsome gunmen in the galaxy. Everyone knew 
what they were capable of. People trembled in their presence. All it 
took was the mere mention of their name.   

	The Graftonites.  

	It was a curious world, Grafton II, at first an uninhabited, lush 
planet. It was several years before the first settlers started to 
notice something different about themselves. Their reflexes started to 
speed up. They could move and dodge more quickly, and of course, shoot 
more quickly as well. At first, that skill was largely used for 
hunting.  

	But as time passed and their new found abilities matured, word 
spread about what the Graftonites were capable of doing. Graftonites 
suddenly found that their abilities were in demand on other planets.  
Suddenly, the life of a hard working pioneer had little allure for 
these settlers, compared to the life of adventure and excitement (and 
not to mention enrichment) that the galaxy had to offer.  

	Fifty years later, the four most common professions on Grafton 
were pretty much set for centuries to come. In order of popularity:  

	Bounty hunter.  

	Gunman.

	Mercenary.  

	Killer. 

	Graftonites became feared throughout the civilized galaxy for 
their exceedingly quick reflexes. But as individuals they were only a 
threat to those they had been hired to capture, or kill. A capable 
Graftonite gunman could take on three or four other soldiers, outdraw 
them, and kill them all before any could fire a shot.   

	But what would it take to stop an army of Graftonites? They would 
be almost unbeatable.   

	It was fortunate that the Graftonites, fiercely independent by 
nature, had never organized. Each one did his or her own thing.

	At least, until Mo Quandry came along. 



	In a stadium on Quandry's personal property, he stood on a stage, 
surrounded by hundreds of cheering Graftonite gunmen in the bleachers. 
Quandry was a tall, dark haired man, with a single scar running down 
the side of his face. He had a certain hardness in his brown eyes, a 
hardness uncommon even for a Graftonite.  He wore the blue denim that 
was the popular dress of all Graftonites, with a blaster holstered to 
one side, and a traditional Graftonite weapon, the slicer, holstered to 
the other.

	"My friends," he said, standing before the gathering of assembled 
Graftonites. "Our time has come! No longer will we be content working 
for the sheep, living off the  pocket change they pay us for running 
their errands while they get fat and rich. Why settle for a handful of 
credits when it can all be ours!"  

	The crowd roared.  

	Quandry started pacing. He seemed to be looking through the 
crowd, picking out individual faces. "The sheep have nothing but scorn 
for us. But even more than that, they fear us!"

	The crowd roared again.

	Quandry suddenly stopped moving. "As proof, see the spy they have 
placed in our midst!"

	He snapped his fingers, and two Graftonites were instantly at his 
side.  Quandry pointed, and a very surprised looking spectator in the 
audience found himself surrounded by Quandry's men.

	"Bring him up here!" said Quandry.

	The spectator was brought to the stage. One of the guards handed 
Quandry the spectator's blaster.

	"Who sent you to spy on us?" Quandry boomed.

	The man looked frightened, but said, "I... I am no spy."

	Quandry stood for a moment, as if considering that answer. Then 
he looked at the man's blaster. "Not a bad weapon."

	Almost quicker than the eye could see, Quandry fired off a series 
of shots with the man's weapon. They exploded all around him, only 
inches from the man's hands and legs.

	 Quandry aimed the blaster at the man. "Now, who do you work 
for?"

	"The L-league," said the man.

	"You see!" said Quandry. The crowd roared.

	"We will no longer do your bidding while you skulk in the 
shadows, like a coward!" said Quandry. The crowd roared again. 

	"If you want to confront us, you must do it face to face!" said 
Quandry. He tossed the man his blaster, and took several steps 
backwards. "Draw."

	The man sweated, but didn't raise his blaster.

	"Are you afraid?" said Quandry.

	"I don't want to fight," said the man, now trembling.

	"Nevertheless, by trespassing on my property, and spying, you've 
picked a fight," Quandry roared. "Look how cowardly the sheep is!"

	The crowd roared again.

	"Now draw," said Quandry, staring the trembling man down.

	"You can outdraw me. You have faster reflexes, I wouldn't stand a 
chance," said the man.

	"All right," said Quandry. He slowly drew his own blaster, and 
laid it down on the ground. Then he drew his slicer, a long, thin foil. 
He thumbed a contact on it, and the foil glowed as a thin energy field 
enveloped the length of it.

	"Now you have no more excuses," said Quandry. "Draw."

	Still trembling, the man didn't raise the blaster. He took a step 
backwards.

	"You have exactly three seconds before I come after you," said 
Quandry. "One... two..."

	The man raised his blaster, and fired. But he might as well have 
been moving in slow motion, for Quandry dodged out of the way of the 
blast, raised the slicer, and gave a quick, horizontal slice with his 
blade.

	The man didn't even have time to scream. He fell to the ground, 
in two distinct and separate thuds.

	Quandry raised his glowing slicer into the air.

	"This will be the fate of all sheep who oppose us! Let us take 
from them what is rightfully ours!" he yelled. "Together, we will rule 
the galaxy!" 

	"Victory!"  he shouted.

	"Victory!" the crowd shouted back.  

	They shouted it over, again and again, as Quandry continued to 
excite the crowd. With their super reflexes and gunfighting abilities, 
who would be able to stop them?



	 



 

Chapter 1:  The Column Gets Involved



	The League of United Planets was the most powerful coalition of 
colonized planets in the galaxy. It was administered by an elected 
government on the planet August and stood for human rights and 
democratic representation. A very large bureaucracy administered its 
programs and a slightly less large military defended it. In addition, 
the League had a number of external intelligence agencies working for 
it. 

	Stellar Intelligence was the largest, most well known, and most 
respected agency--and the least competent. 

	At the other extreme, the most capable intelligence agency was 
one without the staff or the resources or even the public relations of 
Stellar Intelligence. What it did have was superb operatives. This 
agency was simply known as the Column.

	And in the Column, the most capable agents were known as Level 
One Agents. There were traditionally only eight of those, who were 
known, for a very obvious reason, as "The Eight." And of those eight 
most capable agents, perhaps the very most capable agent in all the 
League was at that moment performing vital work... in an insane asylum.



	For the first time in a very long time, superspy Clifford Croft 
was almost at a loss for words.

	"...just because," Croft finally said. "Do I  really have to 
explain why it's a bad thing to light someone's clothes on fire?"

	Croft was speaking to one of the Column's gamma operatives, a 
fire starter named Red Sally who could literally start fires with her 
mind. They were deep underground, in a secure sub basement in Column HQ 
on August.

	Sally glared at Croft, her blonde hair turning a hint of red as 
the room temperature around her rose slightly. "It's not like I 
actually hurt someone."

	"I don't think the deputy secretary appreciated the first degree 
burn on her right arm," Croft said.

	"First degree? That's nothing," said Sally dismissively.

	"She's an important government official, and important government 
officials don't appreciate being lit on fire," Croft persisted.

	"It was an accident," said Sally.

	"Was it?" Croft said. "Or was it just coincidental that her 
jacket burst into flame when she asked if you were emotionally stable?"

	"I am emotionally stable!" Sally shouted, wisps of steam coming 
out of her blonde hair, which was starting to look more and more red. 
"And I only lit her jacket on fire, if she had only taken it off 
promptly, she wouldn't have gotten a scratch!"

	"The point is that the deputy secretary should never have needed 
a fire safety course in order to visit here," Croft said. "And you need 
to learn that."

	"All right, I'm sorry," said Sally. "I won't ignite anyone 
again."

	"You've promised that before," Croft said. "The doctors think you 
need some practical training."

	"I don't care what the doctors think!" Sally snapped.

	Croft snapped his fingers and took a few steps back from Sally. 
Attendants in metal fire resistance suits and visors came running 
forward, on cue, carrying large books. They stood between Sally and 
Croft, and held the books up, all around Croft.

	"What's this all about?" said Sally. "Say, those are my books of 
poetry!"

	Red Sally was well known in the institute for writing feverish 
poems, mostly involving fire.

	"So they are," Croft said. "Consider this an object lesson in 
controlling your powers."

	"What do you mean?"

	"I have some frank things to say to you," Croft said. "And I have 
some concern how you will take it."

	"I can take some constructive self-criticism, I suppose," said 
Sally guardedly.

	"Good," Croft said. "Because remember that your books are 
surrounding me." The orderlies in the fire protection suits held up the 
books.

	"First let's start with your temper," Croft said.

	"Who says I have a temper!" Sally yelled.

	"Everyone," Croft said. "And I'm not only talking about the 
people you've injured. People are afraid to be around you, Sally. They 
think if they say the wrong thing, they'll burst into flames."

	"Lies!" said Sally, her hair half-red, and positively steaming 
now.

	"So nothing I could say could cause you to start a fire, then?" 
Croft said.

	"No!" said Sally.

	"Well then, Sally, let us talk about your poetry," Croft said. 
"Have I told you that I have actually read some of it?"

	Sally's expression turned grim. 

	"I can't say I think much of it," Croft said, in a carefully 
modulated tone that was just the slightest bit derisive.

	Her hair was all red now.

	"Your poetry has no rhythm."

	A curtain of steam rose from her.

	"And all you do is write about fires. That gets old, real quick," 
Croft observed.

	Sally glared at Croft.

	"And for another, your spelling and grammar are awful. What 
educated person spells conflagration with a u?"

	The air in the room became sweltering hot.

	Croft could see that things were reaching a boiling point, 
perhaps literally. It was time for the final push. "I read some of your 
poems to the guys upstairs, and they actually laughed at the 
amateurish-"

	Sally screamed, and a jet of flames shot out from her hands. The 
orderlies cringed, even in their fire protective suits, as did Croft. 
But the flames shot backwards, not forwards, engulfing an unoccupied 
table and a set of chairs in flames. The flames shot out again, and 
again and again, as Sally glared at Croft, perspiration running off her 
brow.

	Finally, Sally started gasping, and the flames stopped. Orderlies 
rushed forward with fire extinguishers.

	Sally wiped some of the perspiration off of her face. "You see?" 
she said. "I never touched you. I can control it."

	"Why am I here?" Croft wondered aloud.



	Croft was still wondering this as he left the gamma section and 
went to the Column HQ cafeteria. A fellow operative named Preston was 
there. 

	"How did it go?" Preston asked him.

	Croft shrugged. "The usual."

	"Why did you get picked for this assignment?" Preston asked, 
vocalizing a thought that had been on Croft's mind.

	"The Chief volunteered me," Croft said. "I told her one of the 
doctors should do it. I'm not a psychiatrist."

	"What did the Chief say?" Preston asked.

	"She said she wanted Sally trained and she wanted someone who 
could get an aggressive reaction from Sally, and she said I was very 
good at that," Croft said. 

	"She thought you'd be good at getting Sally angry?"

	"No, just people in general," Croft said.

	"Um," said Preston. He suddenly sniffed in Croft's direction. "I 
take it the lessons in fire control aren't going well."

	"What makes you say that?" Croft asked.

	"Well, for one thing, your clothes smell of smoke," said Preston.

	Croft sniffed his clothes, and made a face.

	Croft's wristcomm beeped. Startled, he looked at it; it was the 
Chief calling. He didn't answer it.

	"What are you waiting for?" Preston asked.

	"You don't suppose she could already have been informed about 
some minor non-structural fire damage in the institute?"

	"You'd better answer it."

	Croft did so. The Chief was not calling about the fire damage. 
She was calling him, instead to an unscheduled meeting in a certain 
conference room.

	When he arrived the Chief gave him her warm and familiar glare.  
Mitty Benchly was new to the job of director of the Column, but she had 
quickly taken an instinctive dislike to Croft.  She was a shrewd, 
elderly looking woman with the eyes of a hawk.  

	"Mr. Croft," she said, giving him a warning glare. "The Chief of 
Staff will be joining us at this meeting," she said, indicating a 
dignified, middle aged man sitting in a fine, eight piece suit, flanked 
by aides.  The aides only wore six piece suits. They were obviously 
less important.

	Croft paused. The Chief evidently expected a response, and she 
probably wouldn't appreciate a witty one. 

	"That's, uh, very nice," Croft said carefully. 

	The Chief glared at him.

	"Hello, Mr. Chief of Staff," said Croft.

	The Chief of Staff, seeing that Croft was a mere employee, gave 
him the slightest of nods. It oddly reminded Croft of the same kind of 
greeting he used to get from a mutant shetland pony he once owned.

	"Have a seat," said the Chief sharply. "Lights!"  

	The lights dimmed. "This briefing will be led by our second 
deputy chief analyst for sector intelligence, Sylvia Tane," said the 
Chief , indicating a young blonde woman. "You may begin, Ms. Tane."  

	"What is this about?" Croft whispered to the Chief.  

	"Be quiet and find out," the Chief advised. She raised her voice. 
"Ms. Tane, we're waiting."  

	"Ah, yes," said the young woman. She pressed a button, and an 
image of a blue-green world appeared on the holoprojector. "You are all 
undoubtedly familiar with Grafton II. It's a planet notorious for its 
gunmen for hire. Until now Graftonites have operated individually for 
different employers, some working against our interests, some working 
for them, but most engaged in activities unrelated to our interests."  

	"Until now," the Chief prompted.  

	"Ah, yes." Another holoimage appeared, this one a moving image 
showing Graftonites in battle, firing blasters as they ran and weaved 
across the area in view. They moved so incredibly quickly that their 
images blurred, only solidifying when they stopped to momentarily 
steady their aim.  

	"This holo transcript was taken from Grafton IV, another planet 
in orbit around Grafton. The inhabitants from Grafton IV aren't members 
of the League, but rather are independent, like Grafton II. 
Unfortunately, they don't have the speeded up reflexes of their 
neighbors on Grafton II," said Tane.  

	"What we're seeing, gentlemen, is an attack on the Zytrilium 
depository on Grafton IV," said the Chief.  

	"Groups of Graftonites are occasionally hired to stage armed 
raids," said one of the generals. "As long as it doesn't concern a 
League world, why do we care?"  

	"Because when the Graftonites took the Zytrilium, they didn't 
leave," said the Chief. "They stayed behind and took over the entire 
planet."

	That started some murmuring in the audience. That wasn't typical 
Graftonite behavior.

	"Next image, please!" the Chief said, taking over the 
presentation.  

	The image of a dark haired man appeared on the screen. "This is 
Mo Quandry, the leader of this new group of Graftonites," said the 
Chief. "As far as we can tell, he's the one who organized this 
invasion." There was more background chatter at the mere mention of the 
I-word.  

	"Invasion, gentlemen. There is no way to minimize it," said 
Benchly. "If the Graftonites are getting organized, and have started to 
invade a neighboring planet, who is to say whose planet will be next? A 
League planet, perhaps?"  

	"The Graftonites are formidable fighters, but we outnumber them 
more than a thousand to one. They only have one planet with a 
population of what, 50 million?" said one of the generals.  

	"Actually, the figure is closer to eight million," said Tane, the 
analyst.  

	"Eight million! What is that against a population of hundreds of 
billions?" said the general.  

	"And they have no space force to speak of," said an admiral. "How 
did they even get to the planet they're invading?"  

	"According to our remote sensors, they used a civilian transport, 
escorted by fighters. No more than 300 Graftonites were involved in the 
invasion," said the Chief. "And Grafton IV, their target, has a 
population of 40 million."

	"You're saying that 300 Graftonites took over a planet of 40 
million?" said a general. "That's impossible."  

	"Facts on the ground would indicate otherwise," said the Chief. 
"They have a quite solid hold on Grafton IV."

	"Have we spoken with their government, sounded out their 
intentions?" one of the civilians asked.  

	"There is no government," said the Chief.  

	The murmuring increased.  

	"What do you mean?" said the civilian who had spoken up earlier. 
"Every planet, even a small colony world, has to have a government.  "

	"There is no government," the Chief repeated. "Tane?"  

	"There is no planetary government," Tane repeated. "You have to 
remember, these are fiercely individualistic people."  

	"Impossible!" said one of the Admiral. "Who provides for 
planetary defense?"  

	"The citizens do. Nearly every citizen has their own airfighter, 
and quite a number own spacefighters," said Tane.  

	"Who provides for social welfare?"  a civilian analyst asked.

	"The citizens provide for themselves," said Tane. "All essential 
services are privatized. Living on Grafton isn't a cheap proposition. 
That's part of the reason that the planet's so underpopulated."  

	"What about schools?"  This question came from the Chief of 
Staff.

	"They're privatized," said Tane. 

	"Privatized?" said the Chief of Staff, looking puzzled. "But who 
sets the curriculum? Who instills the citizen's duty, the social 
conscience, the sensitivity training-"

	"They don't seem to do that very much. Besides basic reading and 
writing, I do know they train a lot with guns," said Tane.

	"Maybe that's when they get the sensitivity training," Croft 
muttered.

	The Chief of Staff looked incredulous.  "Children training with 
guns? What about the justice system, police?"  

	"There is no justice system, or police, or laws," said Tane. 
"There is no crime, legally speaking."  

	"But... what if one civilian gets robbed, or attacked...."  

	"Then that citizen can use his gun and hunt down the attacker," 
said Tane. "That's another reason that Grafton II is underpopulated. If 
you're not good with a gun you don't tend to last long there."  

	"How does the population respond to murders?"  

	"If a particular killer incenses the locals with his choice of 
targets, locals can band together to hunt him down," said Tane. "There 
is a limited form of local government. Water, sewage, and roads are 
provided by limited local authorities, the equivalent of county 
governments here. They function by assessing a property tax, which is 
set on a sliding scale based on the property owner's fighting ability."  

	"Fighting ability? What does that have to do with anything?" a 
civilian asked.  

	"The county authority hires as its tax assessor a gunman, the 
best it can find, but usually someone with average or slightly above 
average gunfighting skills. The tax assessor goes from home to home 
assessing the property tax for each establishment. Before the assessor 
sets the tax, he takes into account how formidable the owner of the 
home is. Because the owner can appeal the ruling by attempting to kill 
the assessor."  

	"How barbaric!" said the civilian.  

	"If the tax assessor/gunman knows he's a faster draw than the 
owner, he assesses a relatively high fee, figuring that the owner will 
find it more reasonable to pay than to go up against him. If the gunman 
thinks the owner is faster than him, then he assesses a relatively low 
amount, figuring that at such a low amount the owner won't think it 
worthwhile to kill someone he hasn't been paid to kill."  

	There was a lot of murmuring now in the conference room.  

	"So there's no central government at all?" asked one of the 
generals.  

	"Sometimes Graftonites get together to discuss issues. When a lot 
of Graftonites, say a 100 or more, get together, it's called a Grand 
Meeting, or Grand Gathering," said Tane. 

	"And that's all the government they have?"

	"About a hundred years ago there was a movement to get a lot of 
Grand Meetings together to elect representatives to form a national 
government," said Tane.

	"What happened?"  a civilian asked.

	"The delegates met, but given their fiercely individualistic 
nature, they could only agree on two things, and disbanded," said Tane. 
"One of them was their planetary national motto, 'Live Free or Die'.

	"What was the other thing they agreed upon?"

	"Not to allow guns in the debating chamber," said Tane.

	The murmuring grew louder.  

	The Chief raised her voice to cut over the side discussions. "We 
have an embassy on Grafton, of course, to represent the interests of 
our people there, but very little information about the current 
situation."  

	"What about our Column operatives on Grafton?" said one of the 
generals. "What do they say?"  

	The Chief pressed a button. An image appeared of a man, lying on 
the ground with a burn in his forehead. "The agency chief doesn't say 
much."  

	"Neither do his deputy operatives," the Chief added. The image 
expanded to show two other people in a similar condition. "Meanwhile 
our embassy staff are huddled in their offices, afraid to come out. 
Since they don't have a government of their own, the Graftonites don't 
think much of the concept of diplomatic immunity, I'm afraid."  

	"Where do we go from here?" asked the Chief of Staff.  

	"We need more information about this Quandry and his intentions, 
and what the situation on the ground is," said the Chief. "That's why 
I'm going to send another agent in."  

	"One agent? Will that be enough?" said a general.  

	"I'm sending the best," said the Chief, looking meaningfully at 
Croft.

   

	Ten minutes later Croft was seated in the Chief's office. He 
started in with his first question even before she took her seat.  

	"Why do I always get the suicide missions?" said Croft.  

	"You're one of the Eight," said the Chief. "You're one of our 
leading trouble shooters."  

	"It's funny that I never hear about any of the other seven being 
sent on these one-way missions," said Croft. "Why don't you send a 
Graftonite?"  

	"I would, if we had a Graftonite operative, but we don't," said 
the Chief.  

	"Why don't we hire one? We've done it before."  

	"Because I need feedback from one of our own, not a Graftonite 
operative," said the Chief. "We've been trying to hire a Graftonite to 
accompany you, but anti-League sentiment is on an upswing there, 
undoubtedly thanks to our friend Mo Quandry, and we'll be lucky if we 
do find someone by the time you land there."  

	"Do you really expect me to outgun a Graftonite?" said Croft.  

	"You'll have to rely on your cunning," said the Chief. "You'll be 
dressed as and will pass as a Graftonite when you're in public. When 
you meet with people in private you'll have a different cover, as a 
League diplomatic official."  

	"I'm going to pose as a Graftonite? Who thought up that crazy 
idea?" said Croft.  

	"I did, Mr. Croft," said the Chief coldly. "Mr. Croft, may I be 
frank?"  

	"By all means."  

	"I don't like you," said the Chief. "I don't like your frivolous, 
headstrong ways. I've read your lengthy service records; my 
predecessors found you irritating too. But you have an uncanny knack 
for survival, and that's something we need here. If it will help stroke 
your precious ego, we're sending you in because we think you have the 
best chance for survival."  

	Croft paused. "That's very flattering. But if you're going to 
send me there, I'm going to need some help."  

	"I was actually thinking along the same lines," said the Chief. 
She appeared to changed the subject. "What did you think of Ms. Tane's 
presentation?"  

	"It was good, what little you let her give," said Croft.  

	"She's very knowledgeable about the Graftonites. One of our top 
analysts in the area," said the Chief.  

	"Are you suggesting I take a non-operative on a mission?" said 
Croft, suddenly comprehending. "I'm going to have a hard time enough 
protecting myself, I can't babysit-"  

	"I'm not suggesting anything," said the Chief. "I am ordering you 
to take Ms. Tane. Your service record indicates a tendency to disregard 
cultural norms and a failure to appreciate local culture-"  

	"We're not talking about a touristy visit here-"  

	"Silence!" the Chief thundered. "You will take Ms. Tane and that 
is the end of it. I need to find out what the Graftons are up to and we 
need to understand their culture to understand them. Ms. Tane will 
provide invaluable assistance. Now, is there anything else?"  

	Croft opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "Yes. A 
gamma operative."  

	"Denied. Gamma operatives-"  

	"-are limited in number and strictly intended for critical A-1 
missions," said Croft. "I know, I've heard it all before. If the 
Graftonites are planning to invade other planets, I'd say that's 
priority A-1."  

	The Chief paused for a moment, considering. Then she looked up at 
Croft, sighing. "Who do you want?"  

	Croft also considered for a moment, then he said, "A telekinetic 
would be nice."  

	"A telekinetic," said the Chief, punching some buttons on her 
keyboard. "You say it as if we had a whole warehouse of such operatives 
available." She pressed another button and the holoimage of two faces 
appeared in the air.  

	"The Clapper and the Bopper," Croft groaned.  

	"Which will it be?" said the Chief.  

	Croft considered, trying to decide which one was less brain 
damaged. Gamma operatives had special abilities, but almost all of them 
had "personality quirks", some more serious than others. The Clapper 
had a tendency to clap his hands continually, which was irritating, but 
was not nearly as annoying as what the Bopper did.  

	"The Clapper," said Croft.  

	"Very well," said the Chief. "There's a freighter leaving 
tomorrow. We've booked special passage for you."  

	"Thanks," said Croft. He got up, and turned to go.  

	"Croft?"  

	"Yes?"  

	"I want regular reports. I intend to run your mission myself. 
There are to be no headstrong actions without consulting me. Are we 
clear?"  

	Croft sighed.  

	"Are we clear?"  

	"Yes, I will only take headstrong actions that meet with your 
approval," said Croft, feeling very much the child.   

	The first thing that Croft did after leaving the Chief was to 
send a quick message using his wrist comm. Then he started deeper into 
the complex towards one of the most heavily guarded section of the 
base--the Gamma section.  He had been there just a few hours ago to 
administer Red Sally's "therapy", and now he had to return there once 
again.

	His ID was checked several times at several checkpoints staffed 
with heavily armed guards, before he finally found himself in a large 
room filled with screaming, shrieking individuals.  

	Croft tried to filter out the noise.

	"No, no, it's my toy, mine, mine, mine!"  

	"I must have 15 raisins with my dinner, not 14, not 16, but 15!" 

	"Do they thank us? Does anyone ever thank us? No, no gratitude."  

	Croft tried to blot it out as he approached a trainer in a white 
uniform. He asked her a question. She pointed to a room down the hall.  

	Croft had just reached the door when a flame spurted out of the 
open doorway, almost burning him. He jumped back, waiting for the flame 
to subside, before entering.  

	"Hey, what do you think you're doing?" said Croft, seeing Red 
Sally as he entered. "You almost burned me!"  So much for the morning 
training session. 

	"Told you (clap clap) you might burn someone (clap clap), told 
you (clap clap)," said a skinny man to one side of the room.  

	"Sorry, I didn't see you," Red Sally grinned, a sheen of 
perspiration on her head as her hair color slowly turned blonde.  

	"We just had a lesson in controlling your powers this morning," 
said Croft.	 "Didn't any of that stick with you?"

	"What lesson?" said Red Sally, looking momentarily puzzled. And 
then, frowning, she concentrated. "Oh, you mean that."

	Croft turned to the Clapper. His real name was Robert Clerk, but 
to everyone here he was just the Clapper. "I'm here on a mission."  

	"Mission?" said the Clapper. His eyebrows perked up, and he 
looked excited, like a pet promised a walk outside.  

	"We're going to Grafton," said Croft. "Have you heard of 
Grafton?"  

	"Is it pretty?" said the Clapper.  

	"Very pretty," Croft assured him, automatically falling back into 
liespeak. Actually, though, Grafton II was mostly untamed forest 
woodlands and mountains. It really was pretty. But the truth wasn't 
foremost in his mind right now. "Come along now."  

	Croft was successfully escorting the Clapper to the door when Red 
Sally said, "Take me with you!"  

	"Not possible, Red," said Croft.  

	"Why not?"  

	"This is going to be a dangerous mission-"  

	"Dangerous?" said the Clapper, his face contorting.  

	Oh oh, wrong thing to say. "Dangerous for Red, not for you," 
Croft corrected. "We're going to a planet of people who like to pick 
fights. With your temper-"  

	"Who says I have a temper!" said Red Sally. Steam rose from her 
hair, which started to turn faintly red again. The room grew warm.  

	"Sally, you're not going to win an argument by committing arson," 
said Croft. "And if you create a tantrum and start a fire again, I'll 
have you put in the ice room."  

	"Oh...." The heat started to dissipate. She took a few steps 
forward. "Take me with you. Please!"  

	"No," said Croft.

	"Please!" said Sally again.

	"No!" said Croft, wagging a finger at her. "Stay!"  

	Sally stopped.  

	"Good girl!" said Croft, in a rich voice intended for puppies. 
"We'll send you a holocard." He turned to the Clapper.  "Let's go."  

	As they left the facility Croft inured himself to the screams and 
yells. But one voice in a forest of conversation caught his ear. "Never 
grateful, never grateful, no.... do not try the first hamburger, not 
the first one, Croft!"  

	But when Croft turned to find the person who had spoken, he was 
gone.   



	Two hours later, after dropping off the Clapper and running some 
other errands, Croft made his way to the roof, on the 392nd floor. It 
was only there that one could appreciate the majesty of August, the 
capital of the League and the Alliance, one great city of skyscrapers 
spread out over most of a continent. Here, near the palace at Sarney 
Sarittenden, the bulk and height of the buildings were especially 
dense.  

	The sun beat down at him and the wind whipped at his body as he 
walked on the crunchy green turf. A man in a chef's hat stood cooking 
on the far side of the roof, on an old fashioned grill. Croft slowly 
walked towards him.  

	"Really, Levi, I don't know what you see in all this," said 
Croft.  

	"I like outdoors," said the man. His name was Levi Esherkol, and 
he was one of the most brilliant scientists working for the Column. But 
he also liked to cook. Levi pressed down on the meat, and the dripping 
juices raised a fire which surrounded the burgers. "Ready, I think."  

	"Levi, I don't have time for this."  

	"Always time for quality food," said the cook. He handed Croft 
the hamburger. The smell was delicious. Croft's first instinct was to 
bite into it, but then, remembering something he had heard, lifted the 
bun and looked at the burger. "Levi!"  

	"What?"  

	Croft showed him the burger. There was a bug mashed on top of it.  

	"How that get there?" said Levi. "Sorry." He took it away and 
gave Croft another.  

	After careful inspection, Croft bit into it. It was really good.  

	"Eh? Eh?" said Levi, watching his expression. "Use specially 
flavored hickory chips. You like?"  

	"Um," said Croft, chewing a bit and then swallowing. "I like, I 
like. But Levi, about the problem I commed you about-"  

	Levi looked down at Croft's boots. "I look in service, file, your 
boot size 10.1, correct?"  

	Croft nodded.  

	Levi reached behind the grill and handed Croft a pair of black 
boots that looked identical to the one that Croft was wearing. Levi 
looked pleased with himself. "I even got color right!"  

	"Yes, Levi, but I already have boots, and how is this going to 
protect me from Graftonite gunmen?" said Croft. "I was expecting some 
sort of portable forcefield-"  

	"Don't have portable forcefield, certainly not on short notice," 
said Levi.  

	"What do you have?"  

	"Look in boot," said Levi.  

	Croft raised the right boot and looked inside, but only saw 
darkness.  

	"No, left boot!"  

	Croft did the same with the left boot, but only saw the same 
thing.  

	"No, not look!" said Levi. "Feel!"  

	Croft started to put his hand in, but Levi grabbed his arm.  

	"Gently!" said Levi.  

	Croft, nodding, cautiously put his hand in. He felt an unfamiliar 
lumpiness on the roof of the interior of the boot.  

	"The padded area?"  

	Levi nodded. "Gas injector. Step on foot with other foot, and 
injector will send compressed gas injection through skin."  

	"What kind of injection?"  

	"Accelerant. Experimental," said Levi. "May accelerate bodily 
functions fast enough to temporarily compete with Graftonites."  

	"May?"  

	"Experimental," said Levi. "Works on chimps for short periods."  

	"Chimps," said Croft. "Will this make me faster than the 
Graftonites?"  

	"Not sure," said Levi. "Depends on your bodily chemistry, and 
formula."  

	"Maybe I'd better ask a chimp," said Croft.  

	"One more thing. Watch out for side effects."  

	"What side effects?" Croft asked.  

	"Dizziness. Maybe some nausea," said Levi. "Not likely life 
threatening. Only lost one chimp."  

	"Only one?" said Croft.  

	"Not directly related to serum," said Levi. "Chimp fell off roof. 
Wrong to test it up here, but was nice sunny day."  

	"Oh," said Croft. "It still sounds dangerous. Isn't there 
anything else-"  

	"Best can do on short notice," said Levi. "Do you have few 
weeks?"  

	"No."  

	"Then all I can give."  

	"Well, that's all I can ask for, I guess," said Croft. "I'm 
bringing the Clapper, maybe that will help even the odds."  

	Levi gave a short laugh, as if Croft had said something amusing.  

	Croft turned to go, but was called back after only a few steps.

	"Croft?"  

	"Yes?"  

	"Looking for new meat recipes, Graftons famous for. If time, can 
you-"  

	Croft thought about the danger the Graftonites posed to the 
galaxy, and he said, "You bet, Levi. Recipes. Priority one."   





	Actually, Grafton really was famous for its meat dishes. That was 
one of the many useless things that Croft learned on the tedious trip 
to Grafton II. Sylvia Tane was a veritable fountain of information, 
telling him much more than he wanted to know about Grafton. Croft had 
actually briefly been to Grafton once before, very briefly, but he had 
to admit that Sylvia knew a lot more than he did.  

	"Did you know that over 90% of the population are dedicated 
carnitarians?" said Tane.  Carnitarians; that meant they only ate meat.

	"No," said Croft. 

	The Clapper sat quietly, watching the conversation, clapping 
softly. He generally only clapped when he was nervous, or bored, or if 
the weather were just right.  

	"They refuse to eat fruits or vegetables," said Tane.  

	"Fascinating," said Croft. "Is there anything in your database 
that tells us how to win a gunfight against them?"  

	"Gunfight? You're not planning to challenge any Graftonite, are 
you?"  

	"No," said Croft. "I was thinking of the other way around."  

	"It is not uncommon for Graftonites to challenge others to 
gunfights, but only if they feel insulted, or if they don't get what 
they want," said Tane. "My advice is not to insult any of them and to 
give them whatever they want."  

	"I wonder if any of our late operatives insulted the 
Graftonites," said Croft.  

	"I did notice from the holoimages that all of them had their 
blasters out," said Tane. "If someone challenges you, simply refuse to 
fight."  

	"Haven't you ever heard of Graftonite killers? They'll kill me 
whether I defend myself or not," said Croft.  

	"Well, certainly, there are some of those in Grafton society. But 
there is also a strong cultural belief in the fair fight."  

	"The fair fight?"  

	"Yes," said Tane. "That all gunfights should be one on one. That 
a Graftonite shouldn't be attacked by surprise, or sniped at long 
distance."  

	"A code of conduct for a planet of killers," said Croft dryly.  

	"Don't dismiss it so casually, Mr. Croft," said Tane. "I've read 
of instances of Graftonites who disregarded the rules who were hunted 
down and killed by their neighbors. Some of them take these things very 
seriously."  

	"What about the Graftonites who hire themselves out as killers?"  

	"Yes, they also have a code of conduct, of sorts," said Tane. 
"But their victims are almost always non-Graftonites, so the same rules 
may not apply. But as long as no one has been hired to kill you, you 
should be all right. After all, you're a sheep."  

	"A what?" said Croft.  

	"That's what Graftonites call non-Graftonites. Sheep. It's meant 
as a visual metaphor for the weak, those unable to defend themselves. 
It's meant disparagingly, but actually may help us," said Tane.  

	"How?"  

	"Well, sheep are looked down upon, but they're also pitied. If 
someone simply killed a sheep without cause, his neighbors would look 
negatively on that," said Tane.  

	"Uh huh," said Croft, aware that despite what Tane said, any 
Grafton could kill them for any reason he wished. Then another thought 
struck him. "But we're not posing as off-worlders, as least not in 
public. We're supposed to be posing as Graftonites, so we won't even 
have that theoretical protection."  

	"Well, that was the Chief's idea. I can't be responsible for 
that," said Tane.  

	The Clapper clapped twice.  

	It was going to be some trip.   







Chapter 2:  Basking in the Hospitality of the Silencer



	Croft drew his blaster lightning with lightning speed, appraising 
his opponent in the mirror who drew just as fast as he did. Studying 
his stance for a moment, he holstered his blaster and drew it again.  

	"You won't need to do that," said Tane. "We're going to pass for 
Graftonites. Nobody's going to challenge us."  

	Croft gave a short laugh. "Graftonites are always challenging 
each other."  

	"They only challenge people who they think are weak," said Tane. 
"They don't challenge each other unless it's over something really 
important. Since we will be posing as native Graftonites, we shouldn't 
have any trouble."  

	"No trouble," Croft repeated. He drew his blaster again. This 
time, he thought he was slightly faster. Good. He turned away from the 
mirror and set his blaster to the test setting. Tensing again, he drew 
his blaster and fired immediately, hitting a crate some twenty feet 
away. Not bad, but not good; he had been aiming for the crate above the 
one he had actually hit.  

	"No matter how much you practice, you'll never be as fast as the 
natives," said Tane.  

	Croft hadn't told her about the accelerant that Levi had given 
him. It was still experimental, Levi had said. Only to be used as a 
last resort. Croft wasn't enthusiastic about injecting a barely tested 
drug into his system, but if he were faced with a Graftonite killer, he 
would have no choice.  

	"A more productive use of the time would be spent reviewing the 
data on Grafton," said Tane. "We will be landing on Regular in just a 
few hours."  

	"Regular?" Croft said idly, continuing to practice quickdrawing, 
firing, and reholstering his weapon.  

	"Their capital, and, it appears, their only city," said Tane. "If 
you can call a locale of only 50,000 people a city."  

	"Only 50,000 people? And that's their only city?" said Croft. 
"What about the other almost eight million Graftonites?"  

	"They're all spread out, all over the countryside," said Tane. 
"You see, it's things like this you should be learning, and not playing 
with your weapon. I can help."  

	"You want to help?" said Croft.  

	"If I can," said Tane.  

	"Can you move right over there?" Croft asked, indicating the 
crates he had been targeting. "I need to practice on a human shape."   

	When the freighter touched down, Tane said, "I hope you spent at 
least some time figuring out a course of action. The Chief's initial 
orders are to find out more about this Quandry and what his intentions 
are, but we have been given some latitude in how we approach this. I 
suggest we begin by reviewing the local media database-"  

	"Fine, you do that," said Croft. "But I didn't come all the way 
here to review their local media database."  

	"Then what do you plan?"  

	"First we pick up our contact," said Croft. After substantial 
effort Column had ultimately succeeded in hiring a local Graftonite to 
accompany them for a premium. Given the anti off-worlder sentiment, it 
was lucky they had found anyone at all. His name was Tallas Carper, and 
that was all Croft knew about him.  

	"And then?"  

	"We'll drop by a friend's place," said Croft.  

	"May I remind you that we're here on official business," said 
Tane.  

	"I think you just did," said Croft.   

	Croft and Tane stepped out onto the tarmac at the Regular 
Spaceport. Although it was the largest spaceport on the planet, it 
didn't have connecting tubes to the arrival terminal as most spaceports 
did. Most of the traffic that came through Regular was cargo freight; 
if Graftons needed to travel off-planet, they used their own 
spacefighters or small transports.   

	A mile away, Croft appeared in the crosshairs of a sniper scope.  

	"I have him," said the slightly accented voice. "They did send 
Croft, as we predicted. Shall I kill him?" the sniper asked.  

	"Fool!" said his superior, a woman with light brown straight hair 
whose eyes flashed as she grabbed the sniper rifle away from him.  

	The sniper and the other members of the observation team looked 
up at her with surprise.  

	"Don't you think it would be the tiniest bit suspicious to kill 
Croft in so public a place?" said the woman.  

	"Yes Major, but-"  

	"And don't you think that at this range a kill would be far from 
certain? You might only wound him, and put him on alert."  

	"Yes Major, but-"  

	"And wouldn't it be wiser to first find out what he's doing here, 
and what his mission is, before liquidating him?"  

	"Yes Major," said the sniper. "But you are only observing our 
mission and so I thought-"  

	"What you most obviously did not do was think," said Major Nancy 
Kalikov of the Slurian Special Tasks Bureau (STB). "Follow him, learn 
what he's doing and what he knows. Once we find out what he's up to, 
then we may kill him."   



	They entered the arriving building. To Croft's surprise, there 
was no customs inspection. Tane had told him that their luggage 
wouldn't be inspected, but he hadn't believed it.  

	"Customs inspections only occur when there are governmental 
regulations and tariffs regarding imports and exports," said Tane. 
"There are no such rules. This isn't even a public spaceport. It's 
privately owned."  

	But there was one line they had to stand in before they left the 
spaceport. When they got to the head of the line, a bored looking 
Graftonite said, "200 credits."  

	"200 credits? For what?" said Croft.  

	The Graftonite looked at him oddly. "Import tax."  

	"But how can there be an import tax if there's no government?" 
Croft asked, forgetting for the moment that he was supposed to be 
playing the part of a native Graftonite and if he were a native he 
would have known about such things.  

	The Graftonite, who, like all Graftonites was armed, sighed. 
"This spaceport is a private facility. Nothing here runs for free. "  

	"But 200 credits, simply for the ability to walk out of here?"  

	"If you're poor, don't come to Grafton," said the Graftonite. His 
hand casually went down to the area around his holstered weapon. "Are 
you saying that you're challenging the entry fee?"  

	The Clapper's eyes grew round.  

	"No," said Croft quickly, paying for him and Tane and the 
Clapper.  

	"Thank you," said the Graftonite coldly.   

	As they stepped out of the terminal Croft found himself blinking 
in the bright morning sunlight. Everyone around them was wearing blue 
denim pants and jackets, almost as if it were a national uniform. Of 
course, given the ruggedly individualistic nature of the Graftonites, 
there could never be any such thing as a national uniform.  

	Croft, Tane, and the Clapper were clad in blue denim too, all 
part of the Chief's plan to have them pass for Graftonites.  

	"Where's our contact?" said Croft, looking around. There were a 
few Graftonites standing around outside the terminal, but none made eye 
contact with them. Croft keyed up a picture of Tallas Carper on his 
personal data unit, then looked around. He didn't see anyone who looked 
like Carper in the area.  

	"I told him when we were arriving," said Tane.  

	"Did you also tell him to meet us here?" said Croft.  

	"I think so," said Tane. After a pause, as she tried to reconcile 
her memory with what she wanted to believe, she said "I presumed that 
was self-evident."  

	The Clapper clapped twice.  

	Croft sighed and rolled up his left sleeve to reveal his personal 
comm unit, while simultaneously pulling up the comm code for Tallas 
Carper.  

	In seconds he was speaking to their contact.  

	"My name is Clifford Croft," said Croft.  

	"How alliterative," said the stone cold voice on the other end.  

	"We're here, at the spaceport in Regular," Croft said.  

	"Good to know," said Carper.  

	"Why aren't you here?" Croft asked.  

	"I haven't received the first installment of my payment," said 
the even voice.  

	"Our arrangement was to pay you on a weekly basis, at the end of 
the week," said Tane, speaking into Croft's comm.  

	"I'm altering our arrangement," said Carper. "I want to be paid a 
week in advance, effective immediately."  

	Croft put his hand over the comm unit. "Are you sure you couldn't 
find anyone else?"  

	Tane shook her head. "No one wants to work for off-worlders right 
now."  

	Croft took his hand off the comm unit. "Just a moment."  

	He took another device out of his pocket with a small keyboard, 
and started typing away. Then, a minute later, he returned to the wrist 
comm. "Done."  

	"Just a moment," said the voice. Then, "Confirmed. What are your 
instructions?"  

	"How long would it take you to get to the Regular spaceport?"  

	"About four hours."  

	Croft sighed. "Forget it. Just meet us at the following address," 
he said, providing him with a specific location. After signing off, he 
glared at Tane.  

	"What?" said Tane.  

	"We'd better go rent a groundcar," said Croft.  

	The groundcar, like everything else on Grafton, was expensive. 
When Croft tried to negotiate the price, the owner said, "Perhaps you'd 
prefer going to my competition."  

	"Where is your competition?"  

	"I have none," said the proprietor. "Only off-worlders need to 
rent groundcars, and we don't get many of those."  

	"But 500 credits a day is outrageous," said Croft.  

	"If you're poor, don't come to Grafton."  

	Croft sighed, paying. It wasn't his money, after all, but he 
disliked being gouged under any circumstances. Plus, he was sure that 
the Chief would micromanage his expense reports.  

	They drove for several hours in silence, only occasionally 
punctuated by brief outbursts of clapping.  

	"Does he always do that?" Tane said irritably after one outburst.  

	"Yes. I've even seen him do it in his sleep," said Croft. He 
stopped at a crossroads to study the onboard map (which had cost 20 
credits extra per day).  

	Then he turned off the paved road onto a dirt road. They had a 
bumpy ride for the next hour.  

	"Roads are one of the few services handled by the local 
governments," said Tane.  

	"Obviously they haven't quite finished the job," said Croft, as 
the groundcar skimmed over a bump.  

	 "Their financial resources are quite limited, as I mentioned 
earlier," said Tane. "As I told you, their only source of revenue is a 
real estate tax on homes with-"  

	"Inferior gunmen, I know," said Croft.  

	After another hour they arrived at turn off the road which had a 
big sign that simply read, "Keep out." And then, in much smaller 
letters underneath, it also read,  "Bodies of intruders will only be 
returned at next of kin's expense."  

	"I think we're here," said Croft, carefully checking the map 
again.  

	"Your friend lives here?" said Tane.  

	"Friend is a strong word," said Croft. "I'm not sure Graftonites 
have friends. Call him an acquaintance." He drove the groundcar past 
the sign.

	"Are you sure he won't consider us intruders?" Tane asked 
anxiously.

	"Oh, he just puts up that sign to scare people," said Croft. "The 
Silencer is a pussycat."

	"His name is the Silencer????" said Tane. "He sounds like a 
professional gunman."

	"I hear he spent millions on focus groups to find the right 
name," said Croft, with a straight face.

	A moment later they came upon an enormous ranch house surrounded 
by evergreen trees. Rows of colorful flowers were planted in front and 
exotic butterflies hopped from one petal to another.  

	A Graftonite stood on the porch.  

	Croft, Tane, and the Clapper cautiously got out of the groundcar.  

	Instantly the Graftonite's blaster was in his hand, though Croft 
hadn't seen him draw it.  

	"I guess you can't read," he said simply.  

	"Wait!" said Croft, raising his hands slowly in the universal 
surrender gesture. "I'm here to see the Silencer."

	"Who are you?"

	"I'm his friend," said Croft, directly contradicting what he had 
said to Tane only minutes earlier.  

	The man gave a hoarse laugh.  

	"What's so funny?" Croft asked.  

	"The Silencer hasn't got any off-worlder friends, sheep."  

	"He does have one, and his name is Clifford Croft," said Croft. 
"If you kill me without asking the Silencer first, he'll be very angry 
with you."  

	The man noticed Croft's tone and paused for a few seconds, 
obviously weighing the pros and cons. Would the Silencer really be 
upset if he shot this intruder? Or was this stranger bluffing? 

	There's no telling what might have happened next if another voice 
hadn't interrupted the gunman's train of thought.  

	"Ted! Put that blaster down," said a woman who had stepped out of 
the front door onto the porch. "What did I tell you about shooting 
people without permission?" 

	They turned to see a woman with brown wavy hair. She was wearing 
the traditional Graftonite blue denim jeans but also a brown leather 
vest, the first non-blue color they had seen anybody wearing since they 
had arrived. She also wore two pearl handled pistols, one holstered on 
each thigh.  

	The Graftonite immediately lowered his gun. "The Silencer's 
standing orders are to shoot-"

	"And my standing orders are to get their names first."

	"I've already gotten his name," said the Graftonite. He nodded to 
Croft. "This sheep claims he knows the Silencer."  

	"He does," said the woman. "And it's not polite to call our 
guests sheep, at least not to their face." She turned to Croft, and 
gave a real smile. "Clifford Croft, what a surprise! What brings you 
here?"  

	Croft turned to face the Silencer's wife, Annie Oakley. It was 
not the name she had been born with, of course, but as the winner of 
the gold medal in the Galactic Trick Shooting competition five times 
running she was entitled to be called whatever she wanted.  

	"Hi, Annie. I'm here to see the Silencer. I need his help," said 
Croft.  

	"John's a bit busy right now getting ready for a mission," said 
Oakley. "But I'm sure he can spare a few minutes for you. Follow me."  

	They followed her into the spacious house through a maze of 
rooms. They arrived at a room filled with equipment and provisions 
where a tall, thin man with dark hair was filling up a rudsack.  He 
happened to be facing away from them when they entered.

	"John, I have some unexpected guests to see you," said Annie.

	"Tell them I'm not here."  

	Croft cleared his throat. "It's a bit too late for that."  

	The Silencer turned around, allowing surprise to show on his 
face, but only for a moment. "Croft. What are you doing here?" he said, 
as he continued to pack.  

	"I need your help," said Croft.  

	"Sorry, I'm off on a mission," said the Silencer. He looked over 
at his weapons rack, picked out two blasters, and weighed one in each 
hand, as if deciding which one to bring. Frowning, he made a decision, 
putting both in the rudsack.  

	"This is important," said Croft.  

	"So is my mission," said the Silencer.  

	"What is it?" said Croft.  

	"Bounty hunt," said the Silencer.  

	"I'm talking about preventing a war."  

	"I'm talking about collecting a big fee."  

	"I see," said Croft. "John, I'm here to talk with you about Mo 
Quandry-"  

	"He's no concern to me," said the Silencer.  

	"He will be if he plunges Grafton into war against the League."  

	The Silencer closed the rudsack, lifted it up, and turned to 
Croft. "As long as he stays off my property, doesn't try to take a cut 
of my bounty, and keeps away from my lovely wife, I really don't care." 
He walked past Croft to Annie, and gave her a perfunctory kiss.  

	"Bye killer," he said to her. "I'll see you in two weeks, maybe 
ten days if things go even easier than I expect."  

	"I'll see you, John," Annie said, watching him go. She seemed 
awed for a moment, but when the Silencer left the room, she quickly 
snapped back to the present. "I'm sorry John was in such a rush, 
Clifford. Would you like a drink before you go?"   

	They sat out on the porch drinking vorsk, a coarse local liquor 
that burned Croft's throat after the first sip.  

	"So you're here about Mo," said Annie. "It's no surprise, 
really."  

	"What's it all about, Annie?" said Croft.  

	"He's been stirring people up, saying we aren't getting true 
value for our labor," said Annie. "He says that we're the best fighters 
in the galaxy, which is true, of course. But the controversial part 
he's talking about is upping our compensation rate."  

	"How, by unionizing?"  

	Annie laughed. "We already have the bounty hunter's guild. No, 
Quandry is saying we should simply go out there and take what we want."  

	"Like he did on Grafton IV," said Croft. "Only he didn't simply 
rob the planet, he actually occupied it."  

	"Yes, that was unusual," said Annie. "His people have effectively 
taken over. They collect the taxes, tariffs, and fees, and are getting 
quite wealthy, I'm told."  

	"How many people does he have there?"  

	Annie shrugged. "50, maybe 100."  

	"He controls an entire planet with only 100 people?"  

	"I suppose," said Annie. "You look surprised."  

	"Well, you people are fearsome warriors, but can 100 of you 
really stand up against a 100,000 man army? Or a blockbuster bomb?"  

	Annie laughed again. "You think in such conventional terms, 
Clifford. Yes, if you lined up 100 of us against 100,000 of you, we'd 
only manage to kill a few thousand of you before we were taken down. 
However, that's not the kind of war that Quandry waged."  

	"What kind of war did he wage?" Croft asked.  

	"You'll have to ask him," said Annie. "I wasn't there."  

	"You seem remarkably unconcerned," said Croft. "Don't you care if 
Quandry drags Grafton into a wider war?"  

	"I'm not involved," said Annie. "In fact, 99% of Graftonites 
aren't involved."  

	"What?" said Croft, looking surprised.  

	"Oh, he has his supporters, and a lot of sympathizers, maybe, 
though since they don't take many polls here, his level of support is 
hard to tell," said Annie. "But if you're asking how many blasters he 
has behind him for action, well, it can't be more than a few hundred, 
maybe a thousand or two."  

	"So you think we're blowing this out of proportion," said Croft.  

	"Not at all," said Annie. "He's gaining strength all the time; 
even I can see it. And a few thousand Graftonites can conquer a lot of 
planets."  

	Croft still couldn't understand how a handful of Graftonites, 
however skilled they might be, could take over an entire planet. It was 
a matter that merited further investigation.  

	"But things didn't really start going crazy until Rel Cadwalader 
was killed," said Annie.  

	"Cad--who?" said Croft.  

	"Cadwalader," said Annie. 

	"Who is he?"

	"Who was he," Annie corrected. "A bounty hunter. He was gunned 
down a few weeks ago."  

	"I would think that can happen in your line of work, even to a 
Graftonite," said Croft.  

	"Yes, but it's seldom done by one's own employer," said Annie. 
"Rel did the mission, but when he went to collect his bounty, his 
employer tried to cheat him, only paying half. When Rel refused to 
accept it, he was gunned down."  

	"Ouch," said Croft. "But I find it hard to believe that a typical 
Graftonite could simply be gunned down."  

	"Anyone can, if you have the element of surprise, and five people 
jump out of an alley with guns blazing," said Annie. "That was the 
other galling thing about it. It wasn't a fair one on one fight. It was 
a surprise hit, and five on one at that. That really rankled people 
almost as much as the hit itself."  

	"What do you mean?"  

	"On Grafton when someone calls out someone else, it's almost 
always one-on-one," said Annie. "It's considered sportsmanlike. The 
combination of Rel's employer first trying to cheat him and then kill 
him in such an unsporting way enraged people here. They kept 
broadcasting holos of the hit over and over on the local networks. It 
was only a few weeks later that Quandry riled up enough supporters to 
invade Grafton IV."  

	"There was a holo recording of the death of this bounty hunter?" 
said Croft.  

	"Yes, I think it was recorded by a security holovid," said Annie. 
"I'm surprised you don't know all this already, this is all public 
knowledge; don't you have any operatives on Grafton?"  

	Croft, remembering the images of the dead operatives, said, "We 
have some, ah, holes in our surveillance network."  

	Annie was about to reply but suddenly frowned as a groundcar 
pulled up in front of the ranch. Her hand instinctively snaked down to 
one of her pearl handled pistols. She wasn't expecting guests.  

	She was silent, watching, as a man in blue denim with his right 
arm in a sling stepped out of the car. Seeing Annie, he nodded 
respectfully, keeping his good arm well away from his holstered weapon.  

	The newcomer turned to Croft. "You Croft?" he asked gruffly.  

	Croft nodded. "You must be Tallas Carper."  

	The man nodded.  

	"What happened to your arm?" Croft asked.  

	"I scratched it," said Carper, suddenly giving Croft an 
unexpectedly hateful glare.  

	"Well, the cavalry is here," said Croft. "Thanks for the drink, 
and the information, Annie."  

	"You barely touched your drink," said Annie wryly. "Feel free to 
give John another try when he gets back."  

	"I may do that," said Croft.  

	As she entered the house Croft turned to face his team.  

	"So now that we're all together, what do we do?" Tane asked.  

	"I think the most obvious thing to do is to pay Mr. Quandry a 
visit," said Croft.  

	"I don't think he likes off-worlders," said Tane. "That may not 
be very safe for us."  

	"Then it's a good thing that the Chief cleverly had us disguise 
ourselves as Graftonites."  

	Carper snorted.  

	The Clapper clapped.  

	"What's with him?" Carper asked, giving the Clapper a sharp 
glance.  

	"He has enthusiasm," says Croft. "Shall we go?"   







Chapter 3:  The Face of the Enemy





	They tapped into one of the local online information networks 
(for a fee, of course--nothing was free on Grafton II), and quickly 
discovered that Quandry was holding a Great Gathering on a ranch in the 
middle of the continent the following day. It was too far to go by 
groundcar, so they had to rent passage on a private transport. With a 
maximum of prodding, Carper located a transport they could rent. Croft 
steeled himself for the outrageous price they had to pay and simply 
billed it to one of the Column's unmarked accounts, but he knew he'd 
have a lot of explaining to do to the Chief afterwards. What kind of 
spy had he become when he had to spend half his time filling out and 
justifying billing forms?  

	During the trip out Croft tried to size Carper up. He studiously 
avoided eye contact with all of them, finding a bulkhead much more 
interesting to stare at. He also defied all of Tane's attempt to start 
a conversation with him.  

	"So, what do you normally do for a living?" said Tane.  

	Carper glared at her. She timidly stared back. When it became 
obvious that she wasn't going to look away, he said, "I answer stupid 
questions."  

	"I'm just trying to be friendly," said Tane.  

	"Be anything you like," said Carper generously.  

	Tane looked at the cast on his arm. "Does your injury hurt you?" 
said Tane.  

	Carper turned to face her. "What are you implying, sheep?" he 
said his voice cold. His good hand strayed close to his holster.  

	Tane started to tremble. "I... I..."  

	"Are you saying I'm weak?"  

	"No, most certainly not!" said Tane.  

	Carper relaxed his good arm, and some of the tension seemed to 
evaporate.  

	"Are we paying extra for attitude?" Croft asked.  

	Carper turned to glare at him now.  

	"The only reason I'm asking is, because if we are, I'm happy to 
say we're getting our money's worth," said Croft.  

	It was a very long and quiet trip in the transport after that.  

	When they touched down in a small, private clearing, they rented 
a groundcar. They drove to an estate of a wealthy rancher who was 
permitting Quandry to use his estate for the Grand Meeting.  

	"As it is a Grand Meeting, or Great Gathering, as it is sometimes 
called, there could be anywhere from 100 to 500 people here," said 
Tane, as they entered a small stadium on the grounds.  

	"Doesn't sound so large," said Croft.

	"On a world of only eight million, with such rugged 
individualists, it's considered significant," said Tane.

	The bleachers filled up rapidly. They looked for seats.  

	"Watch it, sheep," said a Graftonite, pushing past Croft.  

	Croft checked his anger, probably saving his own life. He saw 
some available seats and went for them, but by the time he got there 
another Graftonite walked right in front of him and sat down. "You're 
blocking the view, sheep," said the Graftonite, staring at him.  

	They eventually found seating on the upper edges of the 
bleachers. As they sat down a pair of Graftonites sitting in front of 
them turned around and looked distastefully at them. "I didn't know 
they allowed your kind here, sheep."  

	Croft looked at his denim clothes, and turned to Tane and 
muttered, "This disguise is working really, really well."  

	Just how were the Graftonites able to determine that they were 
off-worlders just by looking at them? Croft resolved to find out.  

	He tapped the man in front of him on the shoulder.  

	That was a mistake. The man whipped around, his blaster pointed 
at Croft.  

	No one spoke for a moment. The man waited for Croft to draw. 
Croft slowly raised his hands and gave a watery smile.  

	"You got a death wish, sheep?" said the Graftonite.  

	"I just want to know what makes you think we're off-worlders," 
said Croft.  

	The man snorted, shook his head, and turned around to face 
forward.  

	Croft looked at his companions; Tane looked frightened out of her 
wits; the Clapper looked idiotically content; and Carper looked like he 
wished he were somewhere, anywhere else.  

	In a few minutes the bleachers were filled.  Croft took a quick 
count of the audience; there were well over 1000 people there. Maybe 
Annie Oakley had underestimated Quandry's appeal.  

	A tall, dark haired man with a scar running down the side of his 
face stepped out into the arena, flanked by several guards. He had a 
blaster on one hip and a slicer strapped on the other. His image was 
amplified on holograms projected above and around the arena.  

	Croft recognized him immediately. It was none other than Mo 
Quandry. Quandry stood there for a moment, boldly basking in the 
attention of the crowd.  

	Immediately, there were wild cheers from the audience. The 
cheering went on for a while, until Quandry gestured with his hands for 
it to subside. Reluctantly, the audience went silent.  

	"Thank you, my friends," said Quandry. "As many of you know, I'm 
a man of action, not words, so let us get down to business. By now you 
have all seen the following." 

 

	The large floating holograms suddenly showed a grainy side 
street. A Graftonite could be seen standing there, in the middle of the 
conversation.  

	"You can't be serious," said the Graftonite. "I delivered on my 
end of the contract. Now you pay up."  

	"I'm afraid I can only afford to pay half," said the man the 
Graftonite was speaking to. While the Graftonite's features could 
clearly be seen, the other man was largely off camera--only his hands 
and body could be seen.  

	"That's not acceptable," said the Graftonite.  

	"I was afraid you might say that," said the man.  

	Suddenly, the image they were watching panned wide to show the 
image of blasters poking out of several surrounding buildings. They 
discharged almost simultaneously, even as the Graftonite was drawing 
his weapon.  

	The Graftonite fell to the ground, his eyes open, as blood 
dripped from his body. Dark boots walked by his face.  

	"If I had known Graftonites worked so cheaply, I would have hired 
more of you," the figure chuckled.  



	There were screams and roars in the arena as the image faded. It 
took Quandry several minutes to quiet them down far enough so that he 
could be heard over the amplification system.  

	"You see!" he yelled. "They didn't even give him a chance! That's 
the way the sheep fight!"  

	He was greeted by more yelling and jeers.  

	"But now see how we fight!"  

	A new holographic image appeared, that of Graftonites running and 
shooting in a different setting. Dimly, Croft guessed that these must 
be scenes of the invasion of Grafton IV. The Graftonites there didn't 
have the accelerated reflexes of their cousins on Grafton II. But they 
did have a substantial standing army. How did these Graftonites conquer 
the planet so easily?  

	The answer wasn't forthcoming from the holo that was being 
showed. Graftonites jumped and shot and ran rapidly, moving almost too 
quickly for the holo to record. But what they were shooting at and what 
the overall tactical position was couldn't be determined. The images 
were also put together from small clips, making it difficult to clearly 
see the larger picture.  Intentionally so?

	But the clips served their purpose.  

	"See what happens when we unite, when we take the fight to the 
sheep!" said Quandry.  

	There was a thunderous applause.  

	"There will be no more jobs for piddling fees, no more 
exploitation of our labor!"  

	There was more applause. The Clapper, unable to restrain himself, 
started joining in.  

	"We took Grafton IV like it was an apple waiting to be plucked!" 
said Quandry.  

	The crowd roared again.  

	"But never let it be said that we do not seek peace," said 
Quandry.  

	The crowd was silent, expectant.  

	"I propose a new... paradigm for dealing with other planets."  

	There was widespread laughter at Quandry's use of the word 
paradigm.  

	"Since we are stronger, more equipped, and yes, superior, in 
every way, to other planets, we will suggest to each inhabited planet 
that they pay us a... fee, a fee for protection," said Quandry.  

	The crowd roared with approval, clapping wildly. So did the 
Clapper.  

	"If a planet peacefully pays its assessed fee every year, we too 
will leave them in peace," said Quandry. "But if they do not, they will 
feel our wrath!"  

	The crowd roared.   



	In a room deep inside the stadium, a group of Graftonites looked 
at the monitors.  

	"Where?" said one of the Graftonites, the one in charge. His name 
was Janson Rocco, and he was Mo Quandry's chief of staff.  

	"I had it a moment ago," said one of the Graftonite security men, 
panning the image across the stadium bleachers. Suddenly, he saw what 
he was looking for, and stopped the panning. "There!"  

	The image showed Croft, Tane, and the Clapper, sitting around 
other Graftonites. To an uneducated eye, the image didn't look odd, 
especially when everyone was clapping. But it was when everyone stopped 
clapping that the oddness became apparent--the Clapper didn't stop 
clapping.  

	"Sheep, sir," the security man reported.  

	Rocco snapped his fingers. "I want them removed."  

	"Alive?" The security man inquired.  

	"At least one of them, yes, for questioning," said Rocco.  

	"Do you care which one?" said the security man.  

	"Not really," said Rocco, turning away.   



	Two men suddenly materialized on either side of Croft and his 
team. "You will come with us."  

	The other Graftonites in the audience, who were still listening 
to Quandry, turned to give Croft a withering stare.  

	"Did we sit in reserved seats?" said Croft, giving a little 
smile.  

	"I'm not going to ask again, sheep," said the Graftonite coldly.  

	Croft looked over at Carper, who was carefully looking away. 
Perhaps their bodyguard, with only one good arm, didn't feel fast 
enough to take on two of his countrymen. Were they going to be taken to 
a quiet place to be killed? Possible, but unlikely. The Graftonites 
didn't seem to go in for the subtle approach. If they wanted him dead, 
they could shoot him right here. The other Graftonites would probably 
applause such a move. No, they were probably wanted for interrogation. 
That didn't sound very good either, but their options were limited. 
Croft knew he could never outdraw a Graftonite, much less two of them. 
All right, they would play along, for now.  

	Nodding, Croft got up. Tane, the Clapper, and Carper followed.  

	They were led to a small room without windows where a serious 
looking Graftonite awaited them. They weren't disarmed, which only half 
surprised Croft. After all, the Graftonites would probably love it if 
they tried to draw their weapons. The two Graftonites stood guard 
behind them, undoubtedly silently hoping for this turn of events.  

	"Who are you?" asked the Graftonite behind the desk. It was 
Rocco, Quandry's chief of staff. 

	"My, ah, name is Clifford Toft," said Croft. "I'm from Regular."  

	"The truth, sheep," said Rocco, in bored tones.  

	"All right," said Croft, giving Tane a I-told-you-so look. "My 
name really is Clifford Toft. I'm leading a special diplomatic envoy 
from the League."  

	"You've got some nerve showing up here. What are you doing here?"  

	"Assessing the situation," said Croft. That seemed to be what a 
diplomat would say, right? He was abruptly aware that if the man behind 
the desk didn't like his answers, he wouldn't leave the room alive.  

	"Assessing..." said Rocco, looking away as if he were thinking, 
weighing options, alternatives. Croft felt as if the decision came out 
the wrong way, he would be dead.  

	Rocco turned back to Croft. "And what have you assessed so far?"  

	"Um," said Croft, not sure how much leeway he had to lie, even 
for a diplomat. "I was... impressed that Mo Quandry is looking for a 
peaceful solution."  

	Rocco gave Croft a cynical stare. He considered for a moment 
longer. Then he nodded. "All right," he said. He snapped his fingers. 
His guards opened the door.  

	"Is that 'all right, you can go?' or 'all right, shoot them'?" 
said Croft.  

	"I think you'll find out when you get outside that door," said 
Rocco. "Now get out of here and hope we never meet again."  

	Croft got up slowly. "How can I hope we never meet again if I 
don't know who I just met?"  

	"The name is Janson Rocco. I'm Mr. Quandry's chief of staff," 
said Rocco.  

	"Really? Could you arrange a meeting with Mr. Quandry?" said 
Croft.  

	Rocco chuckled. "The only time you and Quandry will meet is if he 
shows up at your funeral. Now get out of here before I change my mind."  

	Croft nodded, slowly leaving. But he noticed that Rocco gave 
Carper a disproving stare as they left.  

	After they had left, one of the security men said, "What shall we 
do, boss? Shall we tell Mr. Quandry-"  

	"You will tell Mr. Quandry nothing!" Rocco snapped. "I don't pay 
you to talk."  

	"Yes sir."  

	"I will tell Mo what needs to be told. For now, simply follow 
them. There's something not quite right about that so-called diplomatic 
envoy." 

  

	Croft drove the groundcar off the grounds of the ranch. "We'll 
never be in danger," said Croft, his voice in a whiny imitation of 
Tane's.  "We'll pass for Graftonites. No one will figure out who we 
are."  

	Carper chuckled. 

	Tane reddened. "It was the Chief's idea," she said.  

	"And you assured me it would work," said Croft. "It almost got us 
killed."  

	"I don't understand how they recognized us as being off-
worlders," said Tane.  

	"Well, maybe we should ask an on-worlder," said Croft. "How were 
we recognized?"  

	There was silence in the groundcar. Croft carefully pulled over 
to the side of the road and turned to Carper. "I'm talking to you."  

	Carper gave Croft a withering look. "It should be obvious, even 
to a sheep."  

	Croft kept his anger in check. "You're an employee; answer the 
question, em-ploy-ee," he said, purposefully dragging out the last 
word.  

	Carper's face darkened, and anger flared in his eyes. He didn't 
speak for a moment, but when he did, his voice was soft. "It should be 
obvious. It's everything. It's the moron with the idiotic expression on 
his face. It's you and the woman with your defeatist body language and 
feeble expressions."  

	"If I'm translating this correctly, then, we don't act arrogant 
enough to be Graftonites," said Croft. "Hm, where did I go wrong?"  

	Tane said, "There are probably subconscious facial cues embedded 
in the Graftonite culture-"  

	"Shut up, Tane," said Croft. "The only thing that matters is the 
end result, which is that our cover is blown."  

	"We still have our secondary cover as diplomats," said Tane, not 
showing any offense.  

	"Somehow I don't get the impressions that these guys put much 
weight in the concept of diplomatic immunity," said Croft.  

	"Then why did they let us go?" Tane asked.  

	"I don't know," said Croft. "Maybe they're not ready to create a 
bigger diplomatic incident by killing a League diplomat."  

	"From Quandry's announcement, it sounds like he's ready to 
blackmail the League for a major cash infusion," said Tane.  

	"Yes, that's how it appeared, didn't it?" said Croft. "Or maybe 
he was just saying what they wanted to hear, to drum up more support 
for his cause. And that's not the only thing."  

	"What do you mean?" Tane asked.  

	"Isn't it curious that this incident with the murdered Graftonite 
seems tailor made for Quandry's purposes?" said Croft.  

	"Well, bounty hunters do get killed, even Graftonite ones," said 
Tane.  

	"Yes, but seldom in a way calculated to incur maximum ire among 
the Graftonites, and seldom is it conveniently recorded on a holodisk," 
said Croft. "Did you notice anything else unusual about that holoshow?"  

	"What do you mean, unusual?"  

	"Have a look," said Croft, producing his own holoprojector. He 
had had the sense of mind to record the event as it unfolded. Now it 
produced a smaller version of the shooting they had seen in the 
stadium.  





* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *





	A quarter mile back down the road.....  

	"What are they doing?" asked one of the Graftonites with the 
field glasses.  

	"Just sitting there, in the ground car," said the other.  

	"Just sitting there?"  

	"Yeeeep."





* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *





	Another quarter mile farther back....  

	"What are they doing?" said one of the agents.  

	"The Graftonites tailing them are just sitting there, watching 
Croft, who is also just sitting there."  

	"Just sitting there?"  

	"Da."





* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *





	The holorecording of the execution of the Graftonite Rel 
Cadwalader finished playing in the groundcar.  

	"Well?" said Croft, turning to Tane.  

	"Well what?" said Tane.  

	"The Chief said you were good," said Croft.  

	"Stop taunting me and tell me what you think you see," Tane 
snapped.  

	"Watch." Croft slowly replayed the events,  providing the 
commentary.  

	"Here we clearly see Cadwalader's face... then the camera pans 
directly left... but for some reason we only see the body of his 
employer, not the face. If the camera went left, how did the head get 
lopped out of the picture? Now watch as the camera pans out to show the 
blasters appearing." The image replayed. "Do you see it?"  

	"See what?"  

	"There's no way a camera positioned in such a way to catch 
Cadwalader could also pan the entire alley. It would have had to 
capture areas outside of its view, or be able to see through walls," 
said Croft. He moved the replay forward again, to show the body of 
Cadwalader on the ground, and the black boots standing by the fallen 
Graftonite's face. "Isn't it convenient that the security cam panned 
down once again, so that we couldn't see the face of the attacker?"  

	"Maybe the security cam was a multitasking unit that took a 
variety of pictures, and those were the images that Quandry selected."  

	"Why? Why would Quandry purposely obscure the pictures of 
Cadwalader's employer and attackers?"  

	"I don't know," said Tane.  

	"And how do you explain the wide angle shot?"  

	"It could be from another camera."  

	"It... could... be... from... another... camera...," said Croft, 
slowly and derisively, like a mentally retarded person.  

	"Obviously, you disagree," said Tane coldly.  

	"Obviously," said Croft. He closed his eyes, and reclined his 
head.  

	"What are you doing?"  

	"Thinking," said Croft. He opened them again. "We've got to dig 
some more into this."  

	"Why?"  

	Croft ignored the question. "But before we do, we have one last 
matter to deal with." And he was looking at Carper as he said it.  

	Carper showed no visible reaction.  

	"We were confronted by two Graftonites in the stadium today," 
said Croft. "And you didn't lift a finger to protect us."  

	"Why would I?" said Carper, looking angry and puzzled at the same 
time.  

	"Hm, I don't know, maybe because we're paying you to?" said 
Croft.  

	"That's not what I was hired for," said Carper.  

	"Really?" said Croft. "What exactly were you hired for?"  

	Carper shrugged. "To be a guide."  

	"To... be... a... guide," said Croft, in that same slow, derisive 
tone he had formerly reserved for Tane. "Tane? You made the 
arrangements to hire him, didn't you?"  

	"Y-yes."  

	"Well?" said Croft.  

	"Well, what?"  

	"What terms did you hire him under?" Croft asked.  

	"He, um, was hired to guide us," said Tane. "But I presumed he 
would also protect-"  

	Croft interrupted her. "Tane, have you ever heard the old saying, 
when you PRESUME, you PRE-pare our SUM-mary execution?" Without waiting 
for a response, he turned to Carper. "All right, how much would it cost 
to hire you for what we really hired you for?"  

	"For what?"  

	"Bodyguard," said Croft promptly.  

	"Five hundred thousand."  

	"Five hundred thousand?" said Croft, disbelievingly.  

	"Five hundred thousand a day," said Carper.  

	"Five hundred thousand a day," said Croft, in a mocking tone.  

	"Payable in advance," Carper added.  

	"Oh, that goes without saying," said Croft, in an even more 
mocking tone. He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "Isn't that 
a bit above market rates, even for Grafton?"  

	"I don't think so," said Carper. "Given the anti off-worlder 
sentiment, I don't think you'll be able to hire anyone else on 
Grafton."  

	"But you know full well we're not going to pay you half a million 
credits per day."  

	"Yes," said Carper, giving an unfriendly smile.  

	"Then... why?"  

	"Because you're sheep," said Carper. "I don't like you. And I 
certainly don't want to protect you."  

	"Then why are you working for us at all?"  

	Carper raised his bandaged arm. "My last job knocked me out of 
commission for a  few weeks. This is easy money."  

	"Easy money," said Croft. What was he being paid for, if not to 
protect them? "You've been paid for the entire week in advance?"  

	"Yes."  

	"Consider the next six days a gift," said Croft. "Get out of the 
car."  

	Carper stared at Croft. "Drop me off back at the transport."  

	"No, Croft!" said Tane. "The ch-" she broke off, looking at 
Carper. "The boss said we had to keep him on."  

	"We'll see about that," said Croft.   





* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *





	"Of course you have to keep him on," said the Chief. "He's a 
local, he knows the situation on the ground." The holo of her image 
scowled at him. Croft had rented a few rooms at a nearby ranch for the 
night (at skyhigh rates, of course) and was now duly reporting to the 
Chief.  

	"He's also hostile, and won't lift a finger to help us," said 
Croft.  

	"Croft, you look at everything in black and white. He may be a 
little antagonistic, but he can also be a source of information," said 
the Chief.  

	"I'm not keeping him on, he's just as liable to shoot me in the 
back."  

	"You are keeping him on, unless you want to be recalled 
immediately and subject to court martial!" she said, glaring at him.  

	Court martial? What did she think this was, the military? More IQ 
problems at the top. But Croft resisted the impulse to comment. The 
moment passed.  

	"What else do you have to report?"  

	"I think there's something fishy about that holovid of 
Cadwalader's death."  

	"So? What implication could that have?"  

	"I'm not sure, until I investigate more."  

	"I think your time would be better spent meeting with local 
opinion leaders and gauging Quandry's level of support."  

	"Isn't that something that the real embassy staff can do?"  

	"The real embassy staff are holed up in their embassy, afraid to 
come out. This is a job for you, Croft."  

	Croft sighed. "All right."  

	"Anything else?"  

	"One thing. Your orders that we pose as Graftonite  hasn't 
worked. Not a single person has been fooled."  

	"A tribute to your skill as an infiltrator, I suppose," she said.  

	"You have a nice day," said Croft, cutting the contact. He 
frowned for a moment, as if listening to empty air. Then he walked 
silently to the door, and then quickly opened it. Tane came tumbling 
in, as if she had been standing by the door.  

	"So I guess there's no need for me to reiterate our orders," said 
Croft dryly.  

	"We're to interview local opinion leaders," said Tane.  

	"Yes," said Croft. "Starting with friends and relatives of 
Cadwalader."  

	"Croft, we're supposed to focus on opinion leaders."  

	"Who's to say that they aren't opinion leaders?"  









Chapter 4:  The Tragic Story of Rel Cadwalader



	"Get me the station chief," Croft said irritably, staring into 
the small comm unit.  

	"The Chief is busy at the moment," said the operative at the 
other end. "Can I take a message, Mr..... er,"  

	"Croft. Clifford Croft. Level One agent," Croft.  

	"You're one of the eight?" said the operative. "I'm sorry, sir, 
just a moment."  

	"Bureaucrats," Croft snorted. He had been trying for the past 20 
minutes to get through to someone in a position of authority at the 
Column branch on the planet Whenfor. Tane had done a little research 
and discovered surprisingly little about the death of Rel Cadwalader, 
but she had managed to find out that he had been killed while on a 
mission on Whenfor.  

	The station chief appeared on the comm. Croft identified himself 
and repeated his request. "And I need this done ASAP."  

	"I'm sorry, Mr. Croft, but we're a little shorthanded at the 
moment-"  

	Croft peered around the image of the station chief to see the 
people in the background. "Is that Preston? Get me Preston."  

	"Mr. Preston is preparing for-"  

	"Now," said Croft, in a low voice.  

	Preston shortly appeared on the screen. "Hey, Croftie, what's 
happening?"  

	"Preston, I need some information quickly," said Croft. "I need 
you to find out everything you can about the death of one Rel 
Cadwalader."  

	"Cliff, I'm on a stakeout that starts tomorrow-"  

	"Which dovetails perfectly with my needs because I need results 
by tomorrow," said Croft. "This is important, Preston."  

	Preston sighed, then nodded.  

	"Good. I'm downloading a holo and some other information which 
might be useful," said Croft, pressing a button. "Can you also do some 
digging through the Grafton database network as well?"  

	Preston shook his head. "I certainly won't have time for that. 
Why don't you ask the Database Espionage division?"  

	"Because by the time I get all the proper approvals-" Croft 
caught himself in mid-sentence. "Wait a minute, I have an idea. Croft 
out." He terminated the contact, and started another.  

	The irritated face of Levi Esherkol appeared on the screen. In 
the background could be seen bright sunshine, and a grill. Levi wore 
his white chef's hat.  

	"Who bothering me now-" he started to say, but then his growl 
turned into a smile. "Croft! How did accelerant work?"  

	"Much as I'm delighted to be your first human test subject, Levi, 
I haven't had the opportunity to try it yet," said Croft. "I'll try not 
to test it near the edge of any rooftops," he added, remembering what 
had happened to that errant chimp.  

	"Um," said Levi, turning to flip some burgers on his grill.  

	"Hard at work, I see," said Croft.  

	"I work hard, I deserve break," said Levi philosophically.  

	"Well, it's good that I'm catching you when you're just coming 
off a break, because I need a favor," said Croft.  

	"Did you get those Grafton meat recipes I ask for?"  

	"I'll have them right after you do a little digging into the 
Graftonite network," said Croft.  

	"I a chemist, not a-"  

	"Computer expert. Electronics experts, physics expert, mechanical 
engineering expert," said Croft. "I'll keep the list short because 
we're both busy. You know as well as I that you're a genius in every 
kind of science. You're so smart that you complete a full day of work 
for the Column in a matter of minutes, which is why you have so much 
time to putter about with your food. The only thing that puzzles me is 
why a brilliant mind like yours is obsessed with cooking."  

	"Cooking, good cooking, hardest thing of all," said Levi, 
applying a pinch of unidentified seasoning to the burgers. "I have to 
work on the mashed potatoes soon, can get to point?"  

	"I need you to tap into the Grafton network and find out 
everything you can about the late Rel Cadwalader."  

	"Late? You kill?"  

	"No, I didn't get there in time to do the honors," said Croft. 
"He died a particularly suspicious death."  

	"What am looking for?"  

	"Anything suspicious."  

	"Um," said Levi, turning again to apply the seasoning. A fire 
leapt up out of the grill, forcing him to move some of the burgers to 
the edge of the grill. Obviously, Croft had bumped up against the 
limits of the cook's attention span.  

	"Levi?"

	No response.

	"Levi!"  

	"Yes?" said the cook  

	"Did I mention I need this by tomorrow?" said Croft.  

	"Uh...."  

	"Thank you, Levi," said Croft, disconnecting.  

	He turned to find Tane standing patiently in the background. 
"Now, who can honestly say the Column is dysfunctional?" said Croft.  

	"We're supposed to be checking with local opinion leaders," said 
Tane.  

	"And so we shall," said Croft.  "Have you set up that appointment 
with that Anderson fellow?"  

	"Yes, he's agreed to meet us," said Tane.  

	"How nice," said Croft.  

	"Well, you know how people here feel about off-worlders. It's 
amazing that anybody's willing to meet us," said Tane. "Still, as the 
publisher of one of Grafton's largest news services, perhaps he's a 
forward-thinking journalist."  

	"We can only hope," said Croft, his tone betraying his distinct 
lack of interest. "Shall we collect our baggage and go?"  

	"Baggage?" said Tane.  

	Croft opened the bedroom door, and the Clapper, a big smile on 
his face, rushed out, clapping vigorously.   

	They were able to take the groundcar to their destination, the 
home of the Cargon Press Syndicate. Carper knew the way there so he 
drove, but Croft kept a wary eye on him.  

	When they arrived, Croft was surprised by the strong layer of 
security they had to pass through--the whole building was fenced off, 
there were not one but four guards at the front gate, and an ugly 
turret, presumably for air defense, protruded from the roof. However, 
much to Croft's surprise, neither he nor Carper were disarmed. Croft 
guessed that on Grafton, politeness was more important than security.  

	Before they entered the building, Croft nodded to the Clapper. 
The Clapper gave a wide, idiotic, ingratiating smile.  





* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *





Several hours earlier, Croft had come into the Clapper's bedroom. He 
had been smart enough to get separate bedrooms for each of them; it was 
well worth the expense to get a solid night's sleep away from the 
nearly constant clapping.  

	"I need your help," said Croft.  

	"Help?" said the Clapper, looking puzzled.  

	"Have you wondered why I brought you on this mission?" Croft 
asked.  

	"Why you brought me?" said the Clapper, like a parrot.  

	"It wasn't just for your conversational skills," said Croft. 

	"You like talking to me?" said the Clapper, breaking out into a 
great grin as he clapped again.

	"Yes, it's great fun, especially with all the applause," said 
Croft. "But what I really need is an edge over these Graftonites, if 
I'm forced to fight one."  

	"You have Grafton man for that (clap clap)," said the Clapper.  

	"No, Grafton man isn't going to (clap clap) help," said Croft, 
imitating the Clapper as a way of peacefully venting his frustration. 
"But you are going to help."  

	"I am?" said the Clapper, surprised by the concept.  

	"You are a telekinetic," said Croft.  

	"Te-le-k-"  

	"No, don't try to pronounce it again, just leave the 
multisyllabic words and other heavy lifting to me," said Croft. "But 
it's occurred to me that if you can move objects, that you can also 
move people."  

	The Clapper considered. Then he nodded.  

	"If a Graftonite attacks me, or is about to attack me, I want you 
to move him."  

	"Move him?"  

	"Push him to the ground. Knock him off balance," said Croft.  

	The Clapper looked puzzled.  

	"Anything to give me an edge. I can never be as fast as they are, 
but if you knock them off-balance at a crucial time, that could give me 
the edge I need. Do you understand?"  

	The Clapper gave a broad smile.  

	"I hope you understand, and you're not just giving an idiotic 
smile," said Croft. "Because if an assassin gets me, can you guess who 
he's going to go after next?"  

	The Clapper considered this one... "Uh... the talking lady?"  

	"Before the talking lady."  

	"Other Grafton?"  

	"Before the other Grafton."  

	The Clappers grin faded. "Me?"  

	"Clap Clap!" Croft clapped twice. 





* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *



	They entered the building housing the Cargon Press Syndicate. 
There was an armed guard at nearly every turn in the corridor. Croft 
wondered why there was a need for such heavy security. This was a press 
organization, not a bank.

	He was still puzzling over this as they were led into Tolbar 
Anderson's office. He was a tall, bearded man with thinning hair. Like 
every other Graftonite, he wore a blaster, of course.  

	"Mr. Toft, sit down," said Anderson. "It's so nice to meet an 
off-worlder."  

	Tane, in setting up the interview, had used their "diplomatic 
envoy" persona.  

	"I'm surprised to hear you say that," said Croft. "I didn't think 
off-worlders were especially welcome right about now."  

	"Well, some people may feel that way, but one thing you learn on 
Grafton is that there's no unanimity of opinion," said Anderson. "We're 
too individualistic to agree on anything in very large numbers."  

	"That's part of the reason I'm here," said Croft. "I'm trying to 
gauge the level of support that Mr. Quandry has."  

	"It's hard to tell, we don't usually take opinion polls," said 
Anderson. "They're too dangerous."  

	"Dangerous?" said Croft.  

	"People don't like being annoyed with pesky questions around 
here, Mr. Toft," said Anderson. "I imagine you have holo marketers on 
your planet?"  

	"Well, those of us with listed numbers do," said Croft. He didn't 
have enough down-time at home to experience it personally; nor was his 
number listed. But he knew the practice of unsolicited holo marketing 
existed; banks of holomarketers worked 25 hours a day, calling to sell 
their piles of worthless junk. Holomarketing was very irritating, and 
numerous laws were passed against it; but that didn't slow the industry 
one bit.  

	"Just as we have no polling, we don't have unsolicited marketing 
on Grafton," said Anderson. "Most people will simply ignore an 
unsolicited contact, but then you've got your deadly 10% to worry 
about."  

	"The deadly 10%?"  

	"Not a precise figure," said Anderson. "But it represents the 
fraction of the population who will feel strongly enough to shoot the 
solicitor."  

	"Even holosolicitors?" said Croft. "What do they do, shoot the 
offending hologram?"  

	Anderson took a deep breath. "No, they trace the offending call, 
go down to the offices, and execute one or more of the salespeople. 
It's really put a crimp on the unsolicited marketing business."  

	"I can imagine," said Croft. "So you have the same problem with 
polling?"  

	"To a lesser degree. Polling doesn't irritate people as much as 
unsolicited sales pitches, but every so often you run across an angry 
Grafton, and, well-"  

	"What about solicitations from beggars?" said Croft suddenly.  

	"Beggers?"  

	"Your poor?"  

	"There are no poor people on Grafton, Mr. Toft," said Anderson. 
"If someone's poor-"  

	"They shouldn't come to Grafton, yes, I think I've heard that 
before," said Croft. "But what if someone happens to be a poor 
Graftonite?" 

	"A poor Graftonite?" said Anderson. "What do you mean?"

	"Poor. No credits," said Croft. Didn't Anderson know the meaning 
of the word? 

	"Oh, that kind of poor," said Anderson, brightening. "I thought 
you were referring to marksmanship. No, we don't have that kind of poor 
on Grafton."  

	"You mean because you have a social safety net, welfare payments-
"  

	Anderson gave a short laugh. "Mr. Toft, we have virtually no 
government, so we certainly have no payments as you describe. No, if a 
Graftonite is poor, he gets a job. Usually, if he's a good shot, he 
gets a job in our traditional export industries--bounty hunting, 
repossessing important objects, people removal, etcetera etcetera."  

	"What if he's not a good shot?" said Croft.  

	"Then he might get a job in our small business community," said 
Anderson. "Not all of us are gunmen by trade, you know."  

	"What if he can't get a job in your small business community? I'm 
surprised your lack of a social welfare system hasn't caused people to 
turn to crime."  

	"No, Mr. Croft, we don't even need police for that, the poor 
don't turn to crime," said Anderson.  

	"Why not?"  

	"If a Graftonite is a good shot, he can easily get a job in one 
of our traditional lines of work. If he's a bad shot and tries to steal 
from one of his fellow citizens, he'll quickly be killed," said 
Anderson. "The good marksmen can make more money working off-planet, 
and they know it. The bad marksmen won't live very long if they try to 
steal from the good marksmen, and they know it. It's a perfect system 
that leaves our society almost crime free."  

	"So what happens to the poor, bad marksmen?" Croft wanted to 
know.  

	Anderson gave a cold smile. "They often attempt to do something 
beyond their means."  

	There was an awkward pause for a moment. Then Croft tactfully 
changed the subject. "So your journalists must be from that other 
category, people who have turned to business and who aren't, as, ah-" 
he was unsure how to phrase it without causing offense.  

	But Anderson, understanding his meaning immediately, gave a big 
laugh. "You needn't worry, Mr. Toft, I don't get offended easily. But 
you're totally wrong; our journalists aren't gunmen who can't cut it; 
quite the opposite, we only employ journalists from the top ranks of 
our marksmen community."  

	"Why? Why would you need to?" Croft asked.  

	"Because-," Anderson stopped. "I keep forgetting. You have, I 
believe they are  called, libel laws on your League planets, correct?"  

	Croft nodded.  

	"So if the press publishes something objectionable, a person may 
sue in court to seek recompense, correct?"  

	"Something like that."  

	"Well, we don't have any courts on Grafton."  

	"No courts?" said Croft, surprised. "Oh--you have no government, 
so I guess that follows."  

	"Correct. So since we have no way of pursuing legal remedies 
against reckless journalists-"  

	"You kill them," said Croft, immediately understanding. "The 
writers. That's why you have such tight security here."  

	Anderson nodded. "You never know when someone will get ticked off 
by an article. One time many years ago someone came in here, guns 
blazing, demanding to know who did the weather. Didn't like our 
forecasts."  

	"What did you do?"  

	"I shot him," said Anderson. "But only in the leg. He was 
obviously mentally deranged. His family had him shipped off-planet to 
an asylum, I believe." Anderson paused. "But as you see we have to be 
very careful of what we write about."  

	"So sensitive topics have to be covered by your best gunmen?" 
Croft asked.  

	"No, the degree of sensitivity is not the most important factor," 
said Anderson. "The most important thing is who we're going to write 
about. If we're writing about someone who doesn't have a reputation, 
we'll assign that to one of our junior journalists. But if we're 
writing about, say, one of our Olympic marksmen, we'll only give that 
to a senior columnist, or perhaps even our managing editor, if the 
subject of the article is a silver medalist or above."  

	"I see," said Croft. "I guess that aggressive journalism isn't 
exactly the order of the day."  

	"Not at all! People wouldn't subscribe to our database if we 
weren't aggressive," said Anderson. "But we pick our fights."  

	"Meaning you only cover those who aren't good shots."  

	"I wouldn't put it as blatantly as that, but there is something 
to what you say," Anderson admitted.  

	"So, how did you cover the death of Rel Cadwalader?" Croft asked.  

	Anderson grimaced. "Is that what you're really here to talk 
about? How did you know?" He looked from Croft's face to Tane, to the 
Clapper, to Carper, and back to Croft again.  

	"Know what?" said Croft, looking puzzled.  

	"Then you don't know," said Anderson. "If so, it's just a funny 
coincidence you came here to talk to us. Though I heard that some of 
the other press syndicates had the same problem."  

	"What problem?"  

	"The family said they didn't mind us writing about what had 
happened to their son. But when we started digging for details, we got 
the word."  

	"The word?"  

	"Don't," said Anderson.  

	"So the family told you not to investigate?" said Croft. "Does 
Cadwalader come from a family of marksmen?"  

	"The request didn't come from the family," said Anderson 
uneasily.  

	"Anything you say here is strictly confidential," Croft assured 
him.  

	"Well, it doesn't really matter  if you know, as long as it 
doesn't get around that it came from me," said Anderson.  

	"You have my assurance it won't," said Croft.  

	"It was Mo Quandry," said Anderson immediately. "You have 
probably heard of him."  

	"I've heard the name, somewhere," said Croft. "Why did this 
Quandry care what you wrote about Cadwalader?" said Croft. "Did 
Cadwalader work for him?"  

	"No. There was no direct connection between the two. That was one 
of the things we wanted to look into. Understand, Mr. Croft, that off-
planet deaths at the hands of sh-, begging your pardon, one of your 
kind, is pretty rare. That piqued our curiosity enough to investigate 
the matter. But Quandry shut us down. Said if we looked into it any 
more he'd send one of his Olympic marksmen after us. He has gold 
medalists working for him. We took him seriously."  

	"Huh," said Croft. "What do you think he's really up to?"  

	Anderson shrugged. "There's obviously something about the death 
he wants to keep quiet. Maybe there's some details about it that would 
prove embarrassing to him."

	"Such as?"

	"I don't know," said Anderson, shrugging. "Right now we're too 
busy working on other articles to investigate further. We're working on 
a great human interest piece right now about a former silver medalist 
who's gone past his prime."  

	"Coincidentally, the target of that article won't be someone who 
can shoot back at you."  

	"Not very effectively," Anderson grinned.  "And now, my time is 
quite limited. I wish you well, I really do." He stood up suggestively 
to signify that the interview was over.  

	Croft thanked him and got up to go.  

	"Mr. Toft?"  

	Croft turned around.  

	"One last parting piece of advice. Do you plan to live a long 
life?"  

	Croft considered. "I hope to."  

	"Would you like some advice for staying alive?"  

	"If it's good advice."  

	"If you want to live, get off Grafton."  

	Croft raised an eyebrow.  

	"Don't get me wrong, I'm not threatening you," said Anderson. 
"It's Quandry. He's stirring people up. There's no telling what will 
happen to off-worlders when things explode."  

	Croft touched his blue denim. "But I'm traveling incognito."  

	Anderson laughed and showed him to the door.  

	As they drove back to their lodging, Croft said, "All right, what 
did we learn?"  

	The Clapper clapped.  

	"Ok, you learned a new rhythm," said Croft. "Sylvia?"  

	Tane said, "I don't think we learned anything about Quandry's 
level of support."  

	"But we did learn that he's hiding something about the death of 
Cadwalader."  

	"That's off-profile for our mission," said Tane. "We should be 
focusing on who we will interview next."  

	"Good! While you're doing that, I'll check in with Preston and 
Levi."   



	Croft called them the following morning. He spoke to Preston 
first.  

	"Well?"  

	"There's no police report," said Preston.  

	"No police report?" Croft frowned.  

	"We located the alley where the incident happened, based on the 
holo you sent. No one in the area claimed to witness the incident or 
even hear the sound of blaster fire."  

	"They could be lying, they probably don't want to get involved," 
said Croft.  

	"Possibly," said Preston. "But I also did a quick forensics sweep 
of the crime scene. There was no sign of blaster fire."  

	"Are you sure?"  

	"There's no sign of blaster fire in the area around the 
incident," said Preston definitively.  "If the marksmen only hit 
Cadwalader, that would make sense. But if any stray energy bolts 
missed, and hit the walls around him, there should be residual scorch 
marks."  

	"A Graftonite marksman might not miss his target."  

	"But supposedly the ones who killed Cadwalader were ordinary 
people," said Preston.  

	"Supposedly," said Croft. He paused, then said, "What did you dig 
up on Cadwalader's employer?"  

	"Nothing," said Preston.  

	"Nothing?"  

	"Nothing I could find in a day," said Preston.  

	"So let me get this straight. Nobody saw anything; nobody heard 
anything, there's no police report, no sign even of a firefight, and no 
sign of Cadwalader's employer. Your conclusion?" Preston wasn't a 
genius of course, not even in Croft's league, but he was one of the few 
people level headed enough that Croft at least listened to.  

	"One possibility is that whoever killed him was so powerful, so 
connected, that they were able to cover up a murder without leaving any 
traces."  

	"But not so powerful or smart since they overlooked a 
holorecorder," said Croft.

	"I couldn't even find any sign of a holorecorder in the area," 
said Preston. "Perhaps the killer taped the execution as a warning to 
others."  

	"Or perhaps Cadwalader wasn't killed," said Croft. "Perhaps 
Quandry staged this event to stir up the Graftonites and gain support 
for his agenda."  

	"That's the other possibility," said Preston.

	"That's what I'm starting to think," said Croft slowly.  

	"So what do you do?" said Preston.  

	"I find Cadwalader."  

	"That sounds dangerous," said Preston. "I mean, he's a 
Graftonite. What happens if you find him and he's not in a friendly 
mood?"  

	"I'll tickle him," said Croft. "Thanks, Pres."  

	"Be careful, Croft," said Preston. "These Graftonites are really 
quick."  

	"Quick witted?" said Croft, raising an eyebrow. "I don't think 
so. Worry about them, not me. Croft out." He pressed a button, 
terminating the link, and then made another call.  

	All Croft saw was a big cloud of steam, making him wonder if he 
had connected properly. But in seconds the hissing steam cleared, 
showing Levi pouring something into a large pot.  

	"Levi," said Croft.  

	"Eh?" said Levi, looking up. "Why you always call when I 
cooking?"  

	"Maybe because you're... always cooking," said Croft. "What did 
you find out?"  

	"Did not tell me I would have to infiltrate private networks," 
said Levi.  

	"Private, public, what difference does it make?" said Croft.  

	"No public data networks on Grafton. Many private. Had to break 
into several of them. Only gave me one day."  

	"Let me guess, it took you two hours," said Croft.  

	Levi shook his head, as he sprinkled something into the pot. 
"Only one hour; what you think I am, retarded?"  

	Croft sighed. "Levi, what did you find out?"  

	"Dead man not very dead."  

	"I had already surmised that. But how did you find that out?"  

	"Still withdrawing credits from private account."  

	"Wouldn't that be a bit conspicuous?"  

	Levi gave Croft a pitying look. "First he transferred money to 
alias account. Then he started doing withdraws. If was doing it under 
real name would not have taken me one whole hour of work."  

	"Where is he, Levi?" said Croft.  

	"Wires traced to this location. Uploading," said Levi, hitting a 
button with a large wooden soup spoon. "Since I do work for you, will I 
get medal too?"  

	"Sure, Levi." Croft eyed the flashing indicator to one side 
indicating the upload was complete.  

	"What about meat recipes?" said Levi.  

	"Still working on it, Levi. I'll talk to you later," said Croft. 
Then, as if remembering something, he said, "Good work."  

	Levi grimaced.  

	"Out." Croft cut the connection. He sat in silence for a moment, 
then went into the other room where Tane and the Clapper were.  

	"I've been making a list of names of people I think we should 
talk to," said Tane. "There's the head of the bounty hunter's union, a 
local industrialist, an olympics official-"  

	"I have a name for you to add to the list," said Croft. "Rel 
Cadwalader."  

	"You want to talk to a dead man?" said Tane.  

	"Dead men don't withdraw money from their account several days 
after they've died," said Croft, showing Tane the readout.  

	Tane looked at it. "It could be a number of other explanations, 
such as someone else taking his money. But you're right, from the looks 
of it, it's certainly suspicious, to say the least."  

	"The least," said Croft.  

	"If he did withdraw those sums, that means he's still alive, and 
exposing him could unravel Quandry's plans."  

	"Good thinking," said Croft dryly.  

	"We should inform the Chief and ask for instructions."  

	"No," said Croft. "I'll handle this myself."  

	The Clapper clapped.  

	"Let me amend that," said Croft. "The Clapper can come too. You 
stay here."  

	"You want me to stay here?"  Tane asked.

	"It could be dangerous."  

	"Oh," said Tane. "I really think we should talk to the Chief 
first."  

	"You are absolutely forbidden to talk to the Chief first," said 
Croft.  

	"Why? She might approve of your plan," said Tane.

	"She also might not," said Croft. "If she agrees to my plan, 
there was no need to contact her. If she disagrees, then contacting her 
was a bad idea. Either way, there's no useful reason for contacting 
her."  

	"But-"  

	"But me no buts," said Croft. "And not a word about this to our 
tame Graftonite guide, you understand?"  

	Tane nodded.  "You don't trust him?"

	"I don't trust anyone," said Croft. 

	Tane gave him a hurt look.

	Croft sighed. "But, in a relative way, my level of distrust for 
Carper is measurably deeper than my distrust of you. Does that make you 
feel better?"

	"Why do you distrust me?" said Tane.

	"It's nothing personal," said Croft. "But I never met you before 
last week. You work for a different organization with different 
agendas."

	"Stellar Intelligence and the Column both work for the League," 
said Tane. "You have a very suspicious nature."

	"When you get back to August, check the database for the list of 
killed in action agents. They were the trusting ones," said Croft. He 
turned to the Clapper. "All right, it's showtime."  

	The Clapper bounced up and down with a big smile on his face.   



	Their destination was far enough away that they had to rent air 
transport and a ground car at the other end. As Croft negotiated with 
the owner of the transport the Clapper wandered off and muttered 
something, but Croft didn't pay attention; the Clapper often muttered 
to himself. Similarly when they arrived in the transport and Croft 
again negotiated to rent a ground car, the Clapper went off on his own 
for a few minutes. But like any obedient pet, he didn't stray far. When 
Croft was ready to go he found the Clapper muttering and fidgeting by 
the back of the groundcar.  

	"Let's go," said Croft simply.  

	Several hours of driving later they arrived at a large ranch 
surrounded by woods in all directions.  It was very... isolated.

	"Are you ready?" said Croft, turning to the Clapper.  

	The Clapper gave a watery smile and nodded like an eager puppy.  

	"I can't tell you how much confidence you give me," said Croft, 
getting out of the ground car.  

	As they moved towards the ranch somebody stepped out on to the 
front porch. It wasn't Cadwalader; Croft had studied his holo and this 
didn't look like him.  

	The man looked at Croft coldly. "What do you want?"  

	"I'd like to talk to the owner of this home," said Croft.  

	"About what?"  

	"A business proposition," said Croft.  

	"He's not interested. Go away," the man suggested.  

	"How does he know? I haven't even told him what it is yet," said 
Croft.  

	"Don't push your luck, sheep," said the man. His hand strayed 
down to his blaster. "Leave now while you can."  

	"Ok," said Croft immediately. He started back to the groundcar, 
still keeping an eye on the Graftonite.  

	A curtain of uncertainty crossed the Graftonite's face, as if he 
were weighing several different courses of action, and then he drew his 
blaster. "Just a minute," said the Graftonite, changing his mind. 
Croft, seeing the rapidfire motion of the man's hand, instinctively 
ducked behind the groundcar as a blaster bolt whined over his head.  

	This was it. Pressing hard against the side of his boot, Croft 
heard the slight hiss of the accelerant being injected into his foot.  

	Suddenly he felt a warm current of electricity run through his 
body. Casting aside all caution, he jumped over the car, pulled out his 
blaster, and started firing. As he fired, he couldn't help but jump and 
dodge in different directions. It was if he were all rubbery and 
bouncing around like a toy. None of his shots came near the Graftonite.  

	But if he was having trouble hitting the Graftonite, the 
Graftonite was having the same trouble hitting him. All of Croft's 
jumping and weaving around made him a difficult to hit target, even for 
a Graftonite. Still, the Graftonite's bolts were closer to Croft's 
bouncing form than Croft's shots were to the perfectly still 
Graftonite.  

	A shot whizzed over Croft's shoulder. "Clapper!" he shouted, 
still bouncing around and shaking as he fired again.  

	The Clapper looked out of the car window. He didn't even come 
out. Suddenly, the Graftonite spun around, facing away from Croft. He 
turned around again to face Croft, blaster firing, but then he spun 
away again. Soon he was spinning like a top, with blaster bolts firing 
aimlessly.  

	"Hee, hee hee hee!" cackled the Clapper.  

	Croft gritted his teeth and willed himself mightily not to move. 
For a moment, he managed to still himself so that he was only 
vibrating. He aimed carefully, breathing slowly, and squeezed of a 
discrete shot.  

	The Graftonite stopped spinning and fell to the ground, a smoking 
hole in his chest.  

	Croft collapsed to the ground, breathing heavily. But at least he 
was facing the ranch when the front door opened and out stepped not one 
or two but three Graftonites.

	Three Graftonites! Croft felt exhausted. There was no way he 
could take them.  

	All had blasters in their hands.  

	"What's going on?" said their leader. He looked at the body on 
his porch and then to Croft.  

	Croft, trying to act as normally as possible, got to his feet.  

	"He wasn't being very friendly," he said, in a cold voice.  

	"Who are you?" said the Graftonite, squinting angrily at Croft.  

	"I'm looking for Rel Cadwalader," said Croft, trying very hard 
not to shake from the aftereffects of the drug. If he had the Clapper's 
help, could he take these three on? Probably not. His hands started 
vibrating. In a moment, like it or not, he would start bouncing around 
again.  

	"Wrong answer," the leader snarled, raising his blaster.  

	Suddenly he gave a scream. His arm holding the blaster was on 
fire.  

	Suddenly, everyone noticed a young woman with reddish blonde hair 
standing to one side. Faint wisps of steam rose from her hair.  

	"Drop your weapons if you want to live!" she yelled, grinning 
like a maniac.  

	Thus challenged, the other two Graftonites instinctively raised 
their blasters, but the woman was quicker, sending bursts of flame at 
all three Graftonites. Flames burst out in other directions as well, 
but it was the Graftonites who were the main targets. Their entire 
bodies lit on fire and they ran around screaming, until they collapsed.  

	Croft only got a partial view of this spectacle as he was too 
busy jumping and bouncing around. It was several minutes before he 
could still himself again. Breathing heavily, he gripped the edge of 
the groundcar to keep himself still and stared at the smoldering 
bodies. He looked up at the woman and tried, despite the drugs in his 
system, to speak in a level voice.  

	"Hello, Sally."  

	Red Sally, her hair bright red now under the morning sun, gave a 
little smile.  

	"I suppose it's too much of a coincidence that you just happen to 
be here several hundred miles from the nearest town on Grafton at the 
same time as we are," said Croft.  

	Sally gave a wider grin as she went to the groundcar and closed 
the trunk. The trunk. She had been in the trunk.  

	Croft looked at the Clapper. The Clapper cringed.  

	"You brought her," said Croft. "You smuggled her on the transport 
while I was negotiating with the pilot, and did the same with the 
groundcar." How could he have been so dumb to fail to keep a closer eye 
on the Clapper?  

	"Don't blame him," said Sally, walking casually up to Croft. Her 
body was still steaming. "I made him do it."  

	"I thought we left you on August," said Croft.  

	"Why do I never get any action?" she said, making a face.  

	"Do you remember what you were assigned to do on August?" Croft 
asked.  

	"I was assigned 'fire control exercises'," she said, making a 
face.  

	"Do you remember why you were assigned these exercises?" Croft 
asked.  

	"They said I couldn't control the flames," said Sally. "But 
they're wrong!"  

	"Have you looked around recently?" said Croft.  

	The ranch was on fire. Actually, not just the ranch, but the 
plants and trees around the ranch as well.  

	"Oh," said Sally. "A little bit of collateral damage. Sorry about 
that." She considered. "Wait, what am I doing apologizing? I just saved 
your life!" Her hair started to steam again.  

	"Thanks for that, but I was handling the situation well enough on 
my own," said Croft. He felt strong enough to stand now. He got up, 
took an experimental step, only felt a slight tremor. Good. He made his 
way over to the body of the lead Graftonite.  

	"Perhaps I should have stood aside and watched how well you 
handle those three Graftonites," said Red Sally. "It would have been 
very instructive."  

	"Instruction is what you need," said Croft. "I'm taking you back 
to the transport and arranging a flight back to August for you."  

	"I'm not leaving!" said Sally, as sparks of fire spit out of her. 
"You need me!"  

	"I could certainly use you if you could control your instincts," 
said Croft. "But the first time a Graftonite gives us a dirty look, 
you'll burst into flame. That's not very inconspicuous."  

	"Inconspicuous, who cares?" said Sally, taking a few steps 
forward to avoid the new brushfires around her.  

	"You may think you did well taking these three out, but what if 
you don't always have the advantage of surprise, or if there are five 
or ten of them?" said Croft. "We can't always afford to go in with guns 
blazing, or in your case, torches burning." He paused. "Now, are you 
cool enough to get into the car?"  

	Sally nodded.  

	"Are you sure? They made me put a hefty deposit on it, and I 
don't want any scorching on the seats."  

	Sally nodded again.  

	"All right then, let's go," said Croft.  

	Before leaving he looked at the ranch. There was flames 
everywhere. No way to investigate further. Then he turned to the 
bodies, which were lying blackened on the ground. Something caught his 
eye about the leader. He gingerly turned over the body with his boot. 
The face was burned, but not completely.  

	Croft took out a datapad and stared at an image, and then at the 
burned face.  

	"What is it?" said Sally.  

	"Well, I don't think we'll have to spend any more time searching 
for Rel Cadwalader," he sighed.  

	He stood up and eyed the raging fires around them. What a day.     







Chapter 5:  A Visit to the Quandry Ranch



	"But I didn't kill him," Croft explained for the fourth time.  

	"His death might have been avoided if you hadn't gone off on this 
unauthorized mission," said the frowning holoimage of the Chief.  

	"It was Sally," said Croft. "Her presence on my unauthorized 
mission was most definitely unauthorized. So don't blame me. Besides, 
we found out a crucial fact: Cadwalader was alive."

	"Was is the operative word," said the Chief. "And then there's 
the body."  

	"What about it?"  

	"Why didn't you recover the body? That would have been concrete 
evidence that Cadwalader hadn't died in some shootout on Whenfor."  

	"Well, I can't deny that," said Croft. "But while I wouldn't have 
flinched at the thought of carrying around a charred corpse, if we had 
publicized what we found, there might have been some uncomfortable 
questions asked."  

	"Such as?"  the Chief asked.

	"Such as how did said corpse get burned almost beyond 
recognition? I suppose I could have told them that a supersecret gamma 
operative with pyrotechnic mental powers (from a section we don't even 
acknowledge the existence of to the outside world), burned him to a 
crisp. But even if we put aside the security breach involved, I think 
such as disclosure would have served Quandry's purposes."  

	"How so?" The Chief asked.  

	Croft wanted to slap his head and frustration and call the Chief 
an idiot, but resisted the impulse. "Quandry is basing much of his 
campaign on the fact that Cadwalader was killed by outsiders under 
unfair circumstances. If we reveal that an outsider, namely big red 
here, burned him to death before he had a chance to fire his weapon, 
that wouldn't have significantly improved the situation," said Croft.  

	"We could attribute his death to another cause--an accidental 
fire, perhaps," said the Chief.  

	Croft made a face. "The Graftonite who rented us the transport 
and the Graftonite who rented us the groundcar knew we were in the 
area. Sooner or later the incident would be traced to off-worlders."  

	"Do you think that will happen now?" the Chief asked.  

	"I'm not concerned them that they will publicize it, if that's 
what you're asking," said Croft. "If they do, they will also have to 
answer some uncomfortable questions as well, such as how this formerly 
dead person was killed a second time. So I think this situation is 
basically a no-win for either side." Croft brightened. "A tie. That's 
not so bad, is it?"  

	"I don't see it that way at all," said the Chief. "You had the 
chance to discredit Quandry and failed."  

	"I keep telling you it was Red Sally. Don't blame me if you can't 
put a lock on the looney bin," said Croft.  

	Clap, clap! "I heard that!" came the Clapper's voice from the 
background.  

	The Chief paused, as if straining for another thought, and then 
she slumped, and sighed. "Well, what's done is done."  

	"I've found that to be true too," said Croft.  

	"Then continue on your original mission," said the Chief.  

	"Ah, can you refresh my memory....?"  

	The Chief glared at him. "Meet with local elites and attempt to 
gauge Quandry's popularity. Try to find out what he's up to and see if 
local leaders can be brought over to our side. I know that Tane has 
come up with a credible list of local leaders for you to meet with."  

	"Very credible, I'm sure," said Croft. "All right. Just one more 
thing. As I might have mentioned, it's entirely possible that this 
incident will be traced back to me and my cover, what little I had, 
will be blown. What do I do if a bunch of Graftonite gunmen come after 
me?"  

	The Chief raised an eyebrow. "You're a level one agent; I'm 
surprised you need to ask."  

	"We're not talking about your typical adversaries here," said 
Croft. "I think a Graftonite on life support could shoot quicker and 
faster than any off-worlder can."  

	The Chief paused, and tried to think of an answer. "Well, as a 
diplomatic envoy you should have diplomatic immunity," said the Chief.  

	"I'm not sure that will mean very much to Graftonite killers," 
said Croft.  

	"It will have to do," said the Chief. "I've spent enough time on 
this matter as I can. Report back at regular intervals. And one more 
thing, Mr. Croft." She leaned closer into the pickup for emphasis. "No 
more slipups." Her holoimage faded.  

	Croft turned to Tane, who had been standing in the background. 
"Simply delightful, wouldn't you agree?"  





* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *



	"Dead?" said Quandry, looking stunned. "How?"  

	"We're not sure," said Rocco. "He and the guards we put on him 
were burned."  

	"Burned," said Quandry, looking puzzled. How had that happened? 
"How odd. Do you think someone is trying to tell us something? Is there 
any idea who did this?"  

	"Actually, we're fairly sure," said Rocco. "There were some sheep 
in the area at the time." He pressed a button, and a holoimage of Croft 
appeared.  

	"Who's that?"  

	"The sheep who appeared at your rally. Says his name is Toft, a 
League ambassador."  

	"Yes, I remember your mentioning him," said Quandry. "He had a 
lot of guts, showing up here. But surely he couldn't have killed 
Cadwalader."  

	Rocco pressed another button, and an holoimage of Carper 
appeared. "He's not alone."  

	"The sheep has hired some local muscle?" said Quandry. "Perhaps 
that explains things. Who is he?"  

	"I checked him out. Tallas Carper. Strictly small fry," said 
Rocco.  

	Quandry said nothing for a moment, staring into space.  

	"What do you want me to do?"  

	"I'm thinking," said Quandry. He stared a moment longer.  Then he 
turned and faced Rocco. "Kill him."  

	"Carper?"  

	"The sheep."  

	"If he really is a diplomatic envoy, that could put us at odds 
with the League," said Rocco.  

	"One would hope," said Quandry.  

	"Isn't that a bit ahead of schedule?" said Rocco.  

	"Not any more," said Quandry.  

	"And what about Carper?"  

	"He's not a priority. But when you send someone to eliminated 
this sheep, make sure he's good enough to take Carper too, just in 
case," said Quandry.  





* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *