Shortly after Turlon's 29th birthday, he received a summons
to the Sensei's office.  Upon arrival, he found that Red
had also been summoned.  His path and Red's did not cross
all that often, since she was away a lot, and their training
was taking different paths.

"Good to see you, big guy," she said warmly.

Turlon broke out into a smile at the sight of Red, and then quickly
supressed it.  "Nice of you to return, we've got some catching up to do,"
he said awkwardly.  Turlon realized at that moment how much he had missed
Red, whether it was being planet-bound for over a year or just plain like
for the first friend he had in years, he was thrilled to be reunited with
her.

"I'm guessing we'll have time on the ship.  I wouldn't be here
if we weren't flying someplace, right, Sensei?" she said.

"Correct, Daughter-of-the-House," replied Growl.  "Sardis is where
you will fly."

"Sardis?" yelped Red.  "I don't make enough money to land on
Sardis.  That's the most expensive destination in the sector."

"Sardis?" yelped Red.  "I don't make enough money to land on
Sardis.  That's the most expensive destination in the sector."

Turlon whistled and quipped, "Looks like we'll be taking a vow of poverty
shortly after our return."  Immediately Turlon caught himself and
apologized to the Sensei for his remark.

"This is obviously a very specialized mission, we are honored to have been
selected Sensei," stated Turlon respectfully.

"You have, indeed.  R'claw Purr'owma, your role is easy. Escort our
young friend to Sardis, then enjoy yourself and help him in whatever
ways he may require."  The Sensei smiled, "I don't imagine you will
have too much difficulty finding ways to enjoy yourself on Sardis
with a nearly unlimited expense account."

"I don't think it will be a problem, either," said Red.

"Turlon, your job is a bit more complicated," said the Sensei.  "Daughter-of-
the-House, perhaps you should begin preparing for the trip.  Turlon Vantilles,
would you care to accompany me and I will brief you further."

Turlon and Kral'Hiss'Growl retired to the clean room and Growl activated
the jammers and screens.  "Something is going on Sardis.  There is a woman
there, a gambler, who we suspect of possessing Meowr'Hiss.  He wins too
well and too regularly.  We want you to determine if the woman is using
Meowr'Hiss, and if so to convince her to come here or at the very least
to be more careful, since rumours are beginning to circulate about her."

Turlon and Kral'Hiss'Growl retired to the clean room and Growl activated
the jammers and screens.  "Something is going on Sardis.  There is a woman
there, a gambler, who we suspect of possessing Meowr'Hiss.  He wins too
well and too regularly.  We want you to determine if the woman is using
Meowr'Hiss, and if so to convince her to come here or at the very least
to be more careful, since rumours are beginning to circulate about her."

"Under certain circumstances I can be very persuasive, Sensei," Turlon
observed.  "But I will represent you and the dojo with great honor."

"Persuade, yes.  We do not want to drive her to the dark," said
Growl.  "But I have great faith in you."


"Do we have a name or holoimage of this woman?" he asked.  If she did
possess Meowr'Hiss then Turlon expected quite a task ahead of him.
Suspicion among gamblers often resulted in death, and if this woman did
have any edge which would be considered cheating then danger was very close
-- for her and anyone near her.  Not to mention, if the Sensei suspected
talent beyond extraordinary luck then there were others who would certainly
seek to exploit her talents for much more nefarious gains.

"Her name is Mary Finnean, and her image and what we know of her is
on this datachip.  It is not much, I'm afraid."

"It will be sufficient," said Turlon tossing the chip in the air and
catching it.

	*		*		*		*
Turlon read over the tourist info on Sardis and scratched his jawline
nervously.  He didn't like planets which touted safety by denying the
individual self-protection.  Smuggling in a weapon was an option, but that
could cause more problems than he knew he was going to face already.
Perhaps a walking stick could be secured from the dojo, it would add a bit
of class to his unpolished image; not to mention provide a nice weapon
should he need it.

The lift-off date was set fourteen days in the future, so Turlon
had plenty of time to prepare. His measurements were
sent to Raar'HissP, and the clothes would be waiting for him
at the ship.  He packed his gear, including his Fith'Ik, and
considered what weapons he would like to have available at the
ship and which he would actually take planetside.  Kral'Hiss'Growl
provided him with a few spare datachips to take with him so he could
continue his lessons.

In all the preparation for the trip, Turlon was able to catch up to Buck
for some private conversation.  He liked the hot-shot pilot and found
himself growing more and more comfortable with the "outsider."  There was
nothing wrong with his fellow students, Turlon admired their discipline and
pure hearts but it was nice to have contact with someone who was a bit less
encumbered with a conscience.  Turlon had seen a lot as a member of
StarForce Commandos and recognized the importance of having someone who was
just as experienced in the ways of the galaxy as himself.  Buck knew all
about cutting corners when it came to an angular world.

"Buck," Turlon called out catching the pilot walking from the chow hall.

"Van, what's up?" Buck, for reasons known only to himself, persisted
in calling Turlon Vantilles "Van."

Turlon paced about a bit looking around for any prying eyes or perked ears.
"I was wondering if you knew of any local 'businessmen' who dealt in
identities?"  Turlon raised his eyebrows in an effort to convey more than
his words could ever. He knew the dojo could provide him with ID that could
get him in, but he was more interested in acquiring some that could allow
him to move around a bit -- make some waves and catch a couple of eyes.  A
good background could mean the difference between mission success and a
firefight.

"Nope, absolutely not!" said Buck nodding ferociously.  "I have no
contacts at all who would be able to set you up with that sort of
thing.  And they wouldn't be able to do it at a reasonable price
either."  Buck smiled a toothy smile.  "What did you have in mind?"

Turlon feigned looking crestfallen and sighed, "Just a simple SecLev2
background and standard papers would be all anyone could ask for."  Turlon
knew he couldn't afford anything higher and not many places had the
resources to pull off a SecLev5 job.  Once you got into DNA and retinal
scan identities you were talking stuff that BOSS or BRINT was either
running or hunting.  SecLev2 would serve his purposes fine, a standard
check on the main databases would ring him OK, and this job didn't seem
like it would require deeper checking.

"But," Turlon kicked the dust, "if you're not that well connected -- I
understand."  He turned away, "referral fees are always generous in these
matters, you know."

"I will absolutely be unable to help you out in this matter," said Buck.
"But, I might be able to score you a bottle of that Sardisian Highland
Whiskey you were asking about.  It might cost as much as two kilocreds,
and I'd probably need to borrow your ID to prove you're old enough to
buy it."

Turlon put his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders.
"Transporting that kind of liquor could build quite a thirst," he observed,
"I should really go with you to ensure that you don't run into any parched
trouble. Besides, that many creds is going to need to be withdrawn by me
and my ID."

"The importer is very particular about his clientele, I don't think
he'd appreciate it very much if I brought along any uninvited guests,"
countered Buck.

"Understood,"  Turlon nodded.  "I plan on warming up my tile pitching arm while
you talk business," he feigned tossing holo-tiles down a table.

"I can certainly give you a lift into the city," said Buck, "but this
importer is very secretive, and I'm sure you can understand why.
The price of whiskey and all."

"Naturally,"  he conceded.  "Just make sure you see to it that I get a
bottle of impeccable taste, I'm going to Sardis after all.  I may choose to
drink from this well in the future."

"Certainly.  Did you have a particular brand name and region you might
like me to look into for you?  Whisky comes from a great many places,
you know," asked Buck.

"I was thinking about one from a nice mining colony.  Not too rich of a
brew, mind you, but well off," Turlon stated.  "A bottle that would bear up
under scrutiny, so that a connoiseur could verify its bottling with minimal
effort."

"Fair enough.  I think I can find something like that for you," said Buck.
"I lift for town day after tomorrow.  Like to come along?"

	*	*	*	*	*

On arriving at Raar'HissP the pair trooped to the bank, and Turlon
withdrew some cash.  Buck departed for his unknown destination with 2 KCR 
and Turlon's identity papers.

Turlon visited a few shops investigating his options for luggage
then dropped by one of the spaceport bars that had a few gaming tables 
set up.

Turlon watched for a short while, then joined in a Pyramid game.
His luck was poor, and he lost two hands in a row, dropping 100 CR
each time.  He moved on to Tri-Vac with a 50 CR stake.  He immediately
scored a triple sunburst and cashed out with 112CR.  Encouraged,
he tried again. Luck was with him, this time he came up with a
triple star. Tri-Vac was the name of the game, so he went for a third
pass.  His double star beat the house double moon, but without a
triple he couldn't pull his stake.  Letting it ride, he made
a triple moon. Good but not great.  The house black-holed, though,
and he pulled out his stake with 253 CR.  That put him up 65CR
on the day so far.

Moderately satisfied with coming out ahead, Turlon took his winnings and
went shopping for luggage.  He took it as a good sign that luck had latched
onto him.  Checking his watch he realized that he would have to hurry to
catch up with Buck at their agreed upon time.

He made it back just barely on time, but needn't have worried - Buck
was twenty minutes late.  "Your whiskey is on order," he said.  "It'll
be ready in a couple of days.  I'll pick it up when I fly you out for
your departure."  They climbed into the plane and flew home.

	*	*	*	*

Another week passed, and then Turlon packed his gear
and joined Buck on the takeoff strip.  Sensei Growl was there
as well with a packet of reservation information and a stack
of authorized drafts on the Valpercian Planetary Bank.
"There's a half a million credits here," said Growl, "but don't
feel obligated to spend it all or to let R'claw Purr'owma do so.
On the other hand, do spend what you need."

A few hours later, they were safely on the ground in Raar'HissP
and Buck sent Turlon to the ship saying that he'd be along shortly
with the "whiskey."

At the ship, Turlon found Red waiting, as well as a selection of clothes,
and a few miscellaneous toiletries.  The pair spent a happy hour
catching up before Buck arrived.

"Hey Red.  Here's your stuff, Van," he said, passing Turlon a small
bag.  Inside were a set of papers with the name "Jaxon Greenberg,"
which listed the Odin system as a point of origin.  There was
also a small bottle of whiskey.

	*		*		*		*

The takeoff was smooth and a few hours later they were far enough from
various gravity wells to make FTL insertion.  Shortly after that,
Red was satisfied with the status of the various systems, unbuckled
and stood up.  "Not much to do now, we've got about five days to
Sardis."

The trip to Sardis took five days.  Red and Turlon spent the first
few days catching up on old times; even though they both lived at
least part time at the dojo, their paths didn't cross there all
that often.  They also worked out a rough cover story.  They would
pose as employees of an "importer/exporter" in the Belrix sector who
has some assets on Valperce.  Anything more specific than that, they
would try to dodge by making mysterious implications.

They returned to normal space about five hours out from Sardis,
and the approach was routine.  Red set the ship down in a small bay
at the first class starport on the tip of Diamond Isle in the Necklace
Islands.

Turlon took his newly packed luggage, checking to make sure his Nomad
dagger and MiniNeedler were stashed among the expensive simsilk clothes he
had purchased and tugged at his "resort" wear outfit wondering how anyone
could enjoy such a thing.  He stood up straight and called over to Red who
was finishing up the landing diagnostics.

"Do I look like a tourist?," he asked.


"If you loosened up a little bit, you might look like a brick wall," she
said.  "Actually, you look fine.  Just try to relax.  How do you want to
get to the hotel?  We don't have that much luggage, we could take
the shuttle."

Turlon tried to slouch, but his military posture was unyielding.  "I think
no one arrives at a luxury hotel on a shuttle," he said adjusting his
collar.

"Well, maybe not.  The shuttle stops there, but maybe it's just used for
the servants," said Red.  She eyed him critically, "Better.  A little.
I'll tell them to send a car round."

Turlon had an uneasy feeling that he looked ridiculous.  Granted the
merchant was trying to make a sale, bright colors had never been his
personal favorite but the salesman assured him that orange was "in."  Red
hadn't said anything, but she may have just been being nice.  Time would
tell, he supposed.

The hoverlimo arrived shortly and a luggage mech loaded their gear while
Red locked the ship.  The limo got onto the hoverbahn and promptly
cranked up to its maximum speed of around 140 kph.  Red began to explore
the bar.  The trip took half an hour, and Turlon remembered that most
of the best hotels were some distance away from the starport in order
to minimize noise concerns.  The Paradise was actually one of the closest,
but was situated behind a couple of volcanic mountains which blocked the sound.

The first view of The Paradise was dazzling, an elegant column narrow
in the middle, and wider at the top.  The bottom was a sprawl of pools,
casinos, restaurants and more. Beyond it, the sea was visible, shining blue
with a richness that was almost unnatural.

Watching the abundant wealth get closer and closer, Turlon thought back to
the total poverty he witnessed back on Mordor IV with the nomad tribe.  A
little more than a dozen years ago it would have been considered the height
of affluence to have a desert wool tarp for shelter and look at this!  He
had come such a long way, but never would he forget the life lessons he had
learned.

"Think they can handle a couple of classy people like us?" he asked Red in
jest gazing at the opulence.

"Damn straight," replied Red.

They checked in, "You are on the fourteenth floor, and I am desolated to
say that you do not have the optimal view.  Accept my apologies."
Their suite had a spectacular view looking south across the island.
The suite was five rooms; two bedrooms each with attached bath, a kitchen,
a living room, and a dining area.

"Not bad," he remarked.  Turlon laid claim to one of the bedrooms and fell
back on the bed springing back to his feet.  "Not bad," he remaked, "if
you're not happy I can go down and threaten the desk clerk for a better
view," he joked.

Checking his watch, Turlon proposed "How does a time to refresh, light
meal, and then hit the casinos for our mission, sound?  this isn't supposed
to be a vacation, after all."

"Fair enough," said Red calling up the room service menu on the tridisplay
wall.  "Umm.  What is our mission.  Or more accurately, what do you want
me to do to support the mission.  Need to know and all that."

"We're here," Turlon began," to make contact with a woman who the Sensei
believes may have gifts that could benefit the dojo.  I'm to make contact
and convince her to return with us."  Turlon realized how simple that
sounded, and added "that is without any unforeseen difficulties, of
course."  He stretched and continued, "I'm hoping you can enjoy yourself,
stay on the periphery and be backup if there is trouble."

"Right," Red flexed her hand and claws popped out and then vanished again,
"Be backup if there's trouble.  Sounds like fun. Are you expecting the
kind of trouble that would be helped if I went armed?  Other than
the Fith'Ik, of course."

"From what I've gathered, Sardis is a bit touchy about weapons, it scares
the pastry eating, jelly belly gamblers, ya know.  We don't want any
trouble with the local law," he explained.  "I'm sure there will be
trouble, our target is a very wealthy woman and where there is money there
are interests of the shady sort."

"I didn't say I'd be obviously armed, but your call," said Red.

"Hey,whatever you feel comfortable with," he answerd.  "I just expect
security to be tight in and around a casino, anything that a security scan
can pick up may cause some unwanted questions.  Not that I wouldn't relish
the chance to break you out of a cell, of course," he trailed off with a
smile.

Turlon went on to restate their covers, which allowed for Red to operate
individually yet remain close.  As business associates they could go their
own ways, and lend the appearance of indifference toward each other which
could prove handy in a pinch.

They clarified the details over the room service dinner and Red verified
that the suite's phones had different numbers before tossing one to Turlon
and clipping the other on her belt.

The pair took the drop tube back down to the ground floor and entered
the casino.  The games were arranged in roughly circular fashion,
with the flashy, low limit games on the outside to draw people in
and funnel them toward the center where the higher stakes games
were located. 

The exception to this was a segement of the outer ring set aside for
the serious gamblers.  The area was set off from the main floor by ropes,
and there were no casual gamblers allowed inside, nor any low stakes
players.  Likewise, the games were not the type favoured by the casual player,
they were the games of skill the professional played.  Unlike the rest
of the casino, this was clearly a place of business.

Turlon bade Red good luck and began to circle the casino.  If Finnean was
here then the cordoned off area would be where she was.  He approached the
roped off area and peered within.

A sudden twinge of concern flared up in Turlon and then vanished. Danger,
there for a moment, and then gone.

Turlon looked quickly about, appearing to be fascinated by the lavishness
of the casino but with a watchful eye toward anyone or thing that looked
suspicious.

He carefully checked the cordoned off area for his quarry, but didn't
see her.  The evening was young, though, perhaps she merely hadn't
begun her night's activities.

In the meantime he decided to try his luck at the tables.  There was
nothing wrong with testing the waters, he thought.  Turlon meandered about
the casino floor perusing the games and keeping an eye out for anyone who
seemed out of place.

He finished his circuit back at the cordoned area, where the games
tended to be the kind that pitted players against each other with the
house taking a small percentage in exchange for serving as an impartial
administrator.  Baccarat, poker, original Fizzbin and Hypercube were most
popular.

Turlon looked for the casino window and converted some of his cash into
betting discs to get down to business.  He might as well try his hand at
some of the games here while waiting for Ms. Mary Finnean.  He looked for
where the crowd was thickest and approached the table to see what was going
on.

Just before their streak went cold, Turlon was again on the move.  He saw a
vacant seat at the Baccarat table and decided to try his luck there.

The stakes began at 1 KCR.  Turlon put up his cash. He nearly won, but
the well-dressed woman to his immediate right had neufe to his huite.
He quickly lost another 2 KCR, and then saw his target enter the area.

Turlon got up from the table and collected his few remaining discs, nodding
politely.  'Not a moment too soon,' he said to himself as he watched Mary
Finnean walk through the arena.  Turlon circled around the other side
appearing not to stare, but looked for the presence of an entourage.

He didn't see any obvious entourage, but he couldn't shake the feeling
that someone else was keeping an eye on her, too.  She moved into
the cordoned off area, and was greeted by name by the attendant
at the entryway.  She moved to what was obviously a reserved table.
A few people were already seated there, and when she arrived, another
attendant swept away a reserved card in front of one seat, and a moment
later a drink arrived at her elbow.

Turlon stole another glance and then began to work his way around the
casino, keeping a watchful eye on anyone who looked to be preoccupied with
Finnean.  He found a watchful crowd around a table that he could blend into
and still keep a lookout for anything unusual.

A feeling began to creep over Turlon that someone was using Meowr'Hiss
in the general vicinity.

Turlon began to focus his concentration on the tendrils which stretched out
from the source of Meowr'Hiss.  His hand went to his chest, feeling the
crystal hanging there and reached out with his mind.

With a sudden rush of clarity, Turlon knew Finnean was using her
psionic powers.

A grin crept over Turlon's face, as he looked around to see if anyone was
looking at him.

Turlon then walked over to the Hypercube table and looked to try his hand.

The starting hypercube pot was 500 CR, Turlon waited for an empty
chair and then anted in. The other two players nodded as he joined
them.  Turlon quckly took their measure, one was a dilettante with
more money than skill; he would lose often and not care.  The other
was a hard-faced woman who knew her stuff; she was the one to beat.
The man dropped out quickly on the first hand, as Turlon and the
women doubled their stakes.  Turlon won, putting him 1.5KCR to the
good. The women  and then Turlon again won in straight hands, bringing
his winnings to 2KCR.

With a tilt of the head to his worthy opponent, Turlon anted up again.  He
looked sympathetically to the man with a hint of encouragement and settled
in for another game.

Turlon lost a double-ante game, won two then lost another double ante.
Then he won again, then lost three running, bringing his total winnings
to 2.5KCR.  He judged the time was right for his move.

Excusing himself graciously, Turlon left the Hypercube table and approached
the table Red at which she was playing.  Turlon caught her attention and
glanced over to the slot machines.  He walked over to a couple of vacant
side-by-side machines and began to pump it full of low denomination discs.

A moment or two later, Red joined him and started dropping half-cred coins
into the machine.  "What's up," she hissed.

Turlon curiously looked up and clapped Red on the back gesturing with the
credits he had from his Hypercube winnings and went back to the slot
machine.  They did, after all, know each other and he didn't want to draw
any suspicion beyond that of casual acquaintances; yet their conversation
was less obvious.  "Our target is here at the high stakes poker game, I'm
going to try to make contact," he whispered.  "I feel as if we aren't the
only ones interested in her, keep an eye out and watch my back.  See whose
ears perk up, as it were."

With a word of parting, Turlon left the slot machine and gathered a tall
glass of amber liquid from a waitress tipping her a generous disc in
return.  He approached the restraining rope and looked toward the tension
filled game of skill.

Concentrating, Turlon's mind delved into the complexities of the atmosphere
between himself and Mary Finnean.  The air just outside her ear began to
vibrate with the sound emanating from Turlon's lips, across the expanse she
could hear his whispered words - "Stop cheating."

Mary Finnean jerked as if touched.  She turned the movement into a stretch
and looked around her to see who had spoken.  There was no one close
enough to have said the words, so she surreptitiously took a scane of
the whole area.  Eventually her glance passed over Turlon.

With a sly smile,  Turlon raised his glass in a toasting gesture.

Finnean paused in her scan and looked for a long moment at Turlon,
then returned to her game.  Soon, Turlon felt the tickle that
he identified with psionic usage. 

Once again, Turlon reached out to determine from where this usage emanated.
The far reaching fingers of his mind began to survey the area to locate the
source. Finnean was using her powers again.

He turned and walked to the bar, making sure he remained in sight of
Finnean.  For a while, he thought, the move would be hers.  If she didn't
investigate, or try to make contact with, a man who held her very freedom
in his hands then he would have to expand his scope.  Turlon didn't know
for sure, but guessed that cheating on a planet known for its gambling was
tantamount to a strafing run on a royal palace - lots of bad news ahead.

Turlon waited, and nursed his drink.  He glanced around the casino,
observing the dynamics, keeping a watchful eye on Finnean and the security
types.

A few hours later, hours full of Finnean using her psi, the game broke up.
Unsurprisingly, Finnean seemed to be a winner.  She collected her winnings
and started to drift back toward the droptube.

Turlon rose to his feet and began to walk toward Finnean as she left.  So
as to not appear too forward, Turlon approached casually.  "Miss Finnean,"
he called out, "I believe we spoke earlier?"

"Maybe we did," she said looking Turlon over appraisingly.  "Did you have
something to add?"

"Just a business proposal," he answered, "with stakes much higher than any
around here."

"Sounds interesting," she said.

"We can discuss it over dinner then," Turlon replied.

"And if I say no?"

"You won't," gambled Turlon.  "I could threaten to turn you in to the
authorities, but I wouldn't do that.  You like to win too much to pass up a
chance to beat the odds."

"Turn me in?  For what?  And with what proof?  Still ... when and where?"

Turlon put his hands up in a 'whoa' posture.  "I didn't say I would,
relax."  "Tomorrow night, 8:30 at the Starluxx Collonade."  Figuring that
the hotel restaurant would live up to its five star rating in food as well
as accomodations, Turlon went for convenience.

"So be it.  Whose table do I ask for?"

"Vantilles, Turlon Vantilles," he responded.  Turlon expected a woman of
her means to thoroughly check him out before dinner so it was no use trying
to play any extra cards he had stashed away.  By just watching tonight's
winnings, she could easily buy whatever she wanted in the way of security.

"Very well, until tomorrow then."  She strode off toward the droptube,
hopped into the reverse-gee flow and vanished upwards.

Turlon watched her walk away and realized that he was dealing with a shrewd
woman.  Granted, he knew the secret to her winning but she was skilled
beyond the use of Meowr'Hiss - the lady had a poker face - he had to hand
that to her.  He checked his watch and decided to call it a night.

On his way back to the room, Turlon dropped by the Starluxx Colonnade and
spoke to the maitre d'.  Dealing with stuffy, upper crust types had never
been his favorite thing to do since it was usually inappropriate to
threaten them.  What Turlon hated most was the game - Turlon would ask
about a reservation, the man would say there were no openings, Turlon would
look disappointed and produce cash, the man would suddenly find a table
whose desirability of location was proportionate to the amount offered.

Turlon was pleasantly surprised when the usual routine was not followed.
The maitre 'd consulted his chart and gave Turlon a choice of times, some
early in the evening, some late.  The absolute "best" times were taken,
but an hour or so on either side was available.

In an attempt to glimpse the chart, Turlon peered over and asked
"Nine-thirty, tomorrow?"

"Party of two, you said?  Yes, sir. Would you like to order now, or
wait until tomorrow?" said the maitre d', as he entered Turlon's
room number into his pad and doubtless verified his financial standing
with the hotel management.

"Many thanks, we'll be having the chef's specialty and a bottle of your
finest imported wine," Turlon rattled off like he had seen in countless
holofilms when on R&R.  The finer cuisine was wasted on him, he knew that,
he had eaten enough desertgoat and StarForce rations that boot simleather
would shoot through him like the choicest cut of boravian beef.  This
meeting had to go well if he was to convince her that there was something
beyond these casinos of interest to her.

Turlon thanked the maitre d' and headed up to his room, keeping an eye out
for anything suspicious.

	*		*		*		*

Turlon drifted down to the Hypercube tables the next morning and
waited for an opening.  After a short while, a spot opened up at
one of the tables and he joined in. It was a little hard to get a
read on the players, but neither one looked like quite such an
easy mark as he had had last night.

He quickly lost the first hand as the two others moved on to a second
round, then recouped his losses with a bit extra in the second hand.
He lost the next three hands running.  Down a total of 1K, he realized
that although one player was in his ballpark, the other was out of
his league.

He excused himself and tried for another game.  It took a bit longer
this time, but he found an open spot.  He lost two hands and then
won one, leaving him even for the game.  He lost the next three
in a row, wiping out his winnings from last night.

Cursing his luck, Turlon hoped this wasn't an omen for tonight's meeting.
He looked around for a different game, one that he could get his vector
back on, as it were.

There was Tri-vac, of course.  The stakes in that game varied from
500 to 5000 CR.  He weighed the odds and the risk as he walked, nearly
bowling over a diminutive man who was no more than a metre tall escorting a
statuesque blonde.  Turlon apologized and admired the man's taste in women.
As he tried to figure out what she saw in him, he found himself at the
Tri-vac table.

He decided to start small with a 500CR wager, which he promptly lost.
He won the next two hands straight out then lost two more.  750CR to the
good.  He decided to press his luck some more and lost six hands
in a row before he won again.  Down 1125.  A loss and and two wins.
Up 625CR.  He paused to consider.

Then he settled in for some serious play.  By the end of the day, he
was down 31,656CR and change.  At times he had been as much as 5KCR
up, but then his luck turned.  Added to his 2.5KCR from the day
before, and he was out 29,156.25CR on the trip so far.

Turlon was not pleased.  He had come so close to a big payday only to see
it vaporize.  It was time to walk away, and try again later -- if at all.
Coming to Sardis presented itself as an opportunity to make some quick
cash, he now saw the folly of his ways.  Had he learned anything back at
the   dojo?  There was no such thing as success without sacrifice, and
while he had been doing real good on throwing his money away it was his
blind ambition to get something for nothing that had led him to this
lesson.

He checked his watch and decided to watch the fools have their money
surgically extracted for a change.  Turlon milled about the casino and made
small talk with some fellow onlookers.

Soon enough, it was time for him to prepare for his dinner date.

Turlon returned to the room to get dressed for his meeting with Mary
Finnean.  Stepping out of the refresher, Turlon eased into his dress
clothes and struggled with the collar fastener.  Upon deciding that he was
as presentable as he was going to get he turned to grab the Fith'Ik.  Then,
he thought twice about taking the weapon since that it be awkward and
inappropriate for a finer dining establishment.   Fortunately, Turlon
wasn't concerned about making any glitzy tabloid holo-report.  He strapped
it to his back and headed out toward the drop tube.

He arrived a few moments early and after waiting a short time was shown
to his table.  The tables were arranged on a series of slowly rotating
disks, themselves arranged on rotating circular tracks, so that the
overall effect was much like that of a orrery.  On his table was projected
a proposed menu for two, with suggested wines and a few touchboxes for
him to select between various options.  Turlon perused the options
for a few moments, until he caught some motion in his peripheral
vision and looked up to see Mary Finnean stepping onto the disk.

Finnean was dressed well, although not in an overly feminine style.
She looked businesslike, and rather tough.  Though not ugly, one
could not say that she was pretty either.

Turlon stood at her approach and with an outstretched hand offered a seat.
"Good evening, Ms. Finnean," he said awkwardly.  Sitting, Turlon spoke up
"Look.  I'm not some glad-hander, schmoozer type who is going to waste time
with some rehearsed sales pitch."  He sat back and continued, "Small talk
is for small minds and I know you've played with enough jackals down
there," he gestured toward the casinos, "to recognize when you're being
fogged with comet dust."

"I'm more comfortable in a half shell in a desert storm than sitting here," 
he admitted, "so how about we order and get down to talking business?"

"Fine.  I see you've got some suggestions listed here." She looked
at the menu choices, "I like the fresh fish with the Viognier."

Turlon looked the holomenu rotating the selections on their axes trying to
determine which was most palatable.  He decided on a braised filet of beef
with brunnenberries, just because he liked the sound of brunnenberries.

"I am here as a representative of an important man from Valperce," he
began, "who recognizes your unusual talents."

"Go on," she said.

"There are ways to refine your powers, to hone them so they may reach their
ultimate potential," Turlon explained.  "I don't need to tell you what
riches can be acquired through the fully developed gift which you possess.
At the same time, others will recognize its potential; those with much more
nefarious and exploitive goals.  If we are aware of you, there will be
others; probably some who are watching us at this very moment."  Turlon
paused as the wine steward appeared and served them an expensive bottle
imported from deep inside the Federation.

"Whoever caused these abilities to awaken from their dormancy did so for a
purpose, and they will be back," he warned, "you can, however, take control
of your life and choose for which purposes you will use them.  I have been
sent to invite you to return with me to Valperce so that you can learn how
to best utlilize your gifts in safety."

"And why should I trust you.  Even if I have 'gifts' as you call them,
why should I believe that you know anything more about them than I do?"
she asked, sipping the off-planet Viogner.  "What is your goal, if it
isn't nefarious and exploitative?"

"In answer to your first question, I found you.  I could sense you were
tapping into your power, and I called you on it.  I am just a student, I
don't claim to know all the answers, but I do know the way to finding
them."  Turlon glanced over at some flaming entree being delivered to a
nearby table.  "You are being offered an opportunity to understand the
question all of us have asked ourselves 'Why me?'  There is good and there
is evil, and those who do not choose to follow a path will be either swept
along and used as pawns by the dark of heart."  Turlon amazed even himself
at how much of the philosophical underpinnings he could vocalize.

"As for my goals, they exist only in your best interest.  You've done quite
well for yourself being able to tell when others are bluffing, you know
whether my intentions are pure or not."

"Not that I'm saying I believe any of this, you understand," she said, then
paused as the waiter cleared the salads.  "You say you found me, but
maybe you're bluffing.  I'm a good gambler, that's all.  You say I'm
cheating, I say prove it.  Even if I accept the idea of these gifts
why should I believe that you have have them."  She closed her eyes,
"I sense you eating dinner.  Booga-booga."

Turlon smiled as he lifted his wine glass, reminding himself to stay calm.
"I am here," indicating the restaurant with a gesture of his hand," because
I caught you red handed and told you so."  He leaned forward elbows on the
table, "you don't strike me as a woman who accepts dinner invitations from
just anyone."  He looked around for prying eyes, and satisfied that no one
was watching, reached out and grabbed the table vase with his mind.  Gently
it rose as his right hand reached out to meet it from its brief mid-air
suspension.  He sniffed the Sardisian rose hybrid, "there is much patience
and skill involved in growing the perfect rose," he said setting it back on
the table.

Mary's eyes narrowed. "Yesss," she hissed. She leaned back and closed her
eyes for a moment.  Turlon felt the buzz of nearby Psi use. Then Mary
opened her eyes.  She leaned forward and her manner changed. "I think
I can trust you, I hope I can trust you."

"When you talked about something awakening this in me, you were truer
than you know.  I found," her voice dropped, "a Forerunner device.
It awakened the power in me, but it is designed to do more than that!"

"You can," he confirmed.  "Does anybody else know about this device? and
more importantly where is it now?" Turlon whispered.

"A friend of mine does, a pilot.  The device is off-planet.  I'm not
sure I should tell you more than that," she said.

"At least it sounds like it is safe," he remarked.  "It could be
devastating if such a device fell into the wrong hands."  Turlon paused and
said, "you sound concerned, has anyone else tried to contact you?"

"No. I came here and started acting high-profile like I've been in
the hopes that someone would notice it, someone like you." She sipped
her wine, "I love Viognier, don't you? You see, don't know what the device
does exactly, but it has cradles for people to lie in, and I know
that unless all the cradles are full the device doesn't function
properly."

"Meaning you aren't the only one this device has 'gifted'?" concluded
Turlon.

"No, meaning that when I lay down in the device, I could ... intuit
some of its functions.  And I could tell that until all the cradles
were full with gifted minds, it would not achieve full functioning.
It also became clear to me that the gifts were always there in mind,
just sleeping." She finished, "Gifts they may be, but not of the
machine."

"Good," he said relieved.  Turlon thought that if this machine operated on
Meowr'Hiss then its capabilities were unfathomable to even speculate on.
"Where did you get this device and have you given any thought as to what
you're going to do with it?"

"I found it," she said shortly. "And I don't know what to do with it,
since I don't know what it does."

"I'm no mekwizard, but I'm pretty sure I know someone who could help figure
it out," he offered.

"I know how to figure it out.  We hop in and it tells us." She looked
at Turlon appraisingly. "You've obviously got gifts.  So do I.  So we
sit down and the machine does whatever it does.  The interface is
on a plane that only those like us can see."

"You are a gambler," he softly exclaimed.   "I, however, am not quite so
risky.  I don't know anything about the contraption, but I do know that
neither of us is well versed enough in Meowr'Hiss, which is what we call
it, to take a chance with that much unknown."  Turlon fidgeted, "what if
something goes wrong?  I'm in no rush to be some vegetable.  Why don't we
take the apparatus back to Valperce where scholars in our mind gifts can
investigate its purpose?"

"Because I don't know how far I can trust you! I'm a gambler, sure. I've
only got one card at the moment -- the machine.  I give you that
and I've got nothing."

"It seems that so far you've been making the right calls, you can up the
ante or play it safe," he stopped a busboy serviced a nearby table.
"Either you can trust me, or you can come back with me and meet my teacher.
After talking with him, you'll have a better understanding and be able to
make a more informed decision."

She hesitated for a moment, then, "No.  I can't do it.  You come
with me and my pilot friend, and when we arrive you can decide for
yourself what to do next.  Look at it from my point of view." She ate a few
bites, then continued.  "You come here, I have no idea who you are or where 
you come from. The first thing you do is threaten me.  Now you want me to 
fly off with you somewhere?  I don't think so."

Turlon leaned back in his seat and folded his arms in thought.  He
countered, "So you're expecting me to trust YOU completely.  How about we
take my pilot so I don't end up stranded on some planet somewhere."

"I think that sounds allright.  Yes, that's fine," she said.  "You
bring your pilot and I have mine. Things are nice and even."

"Sounds like a plan,"  Turlon confirmed.  "When will you be able to go?"

"As soon as you like," Mary said.  "My pilot is on the planet and
we can be ready to go as soon as he plots a course.  Actually," she
amended, "it'll take him a few days to get the course plotted. So
anytime after about three days."

"Agreed," he concurred.  Turlon continued matter-of-factly, "we'll be
expecting the coordinates as soon as he finalizes them."

"What do you mean? We'll all go in our ship, right?"

Turlon answered, "Naturally, we'll follow you.  It does no good for me to
be marooned on a planet somewhere with a pilot and no ship."

"It doesn't do me any good to just give you the coordinates, either.
That's the whole secret, isn't it?"

"It's the secret of the situation that has me concerned," revealed Turlon.
"I'll discuss it with my pilot and give you an answer when I meet your
pilot and see your ship, say tomorrow?"


"Fair enough.  Dessert?"

"A little too rich for me," Turlon had seen gastronomical  masterpieces
going hither and yon all evening.  His resolve, however, was not as strong
as he would have liked as the persuasive server worked his magic and
convinced Turlon to try a "light" pastry when the cart was wheeled over.

Finnean had a fruity-frothy something and a cappucinco.  Talk turned,
somewhat uncomfortably, to more casual issues. Finally, Mary took
her leave. "You can contact me through the front desk after you've
talked to your pilot."

"That I will," he said while scribbling across the screen of the datapad as
the waiter stood patiently by.  Turlon looked to the rigid server and
whispered an "At ease,"as he left the Starluxx Colonnade.

Turlon made his way back to the room and found Red reading Popular Avionics
from some chipzine sold in the gift shop.  Her "How was your date?"
elicited a scowl from Turlon which made her smile all the more.  "We've got
a busy day tomorrow," he began. Turlon recounted much of the dinner
conversation conveniently leaving out the talk about Meowr'Hiss and
couching it in discussion about an ancient device that the Sensei may find
important.  He related his suspicions about Mary Finnean and the unknown
variable, her pilot, relying upon Red to second him as well as provide
insight about any anomalies during the flight.  Their rendezvous with the
secret duo was scheduled for tomorrow, he relayed.

"Any questions?" he asked realizing that the thumbnail sketch was nothing
more than just background.


"Not really.  We're supposed to follow these folks somewhere and look
at something which Sensei may find interesting," Red said.  "They
want to keep it a secret, so they want us to go with them on their
ship.  You don't want to go with them, for reasons which seem pretty
clear.  You want them to give us enough info to get their on our own."

"Here's the problems I see.  If they just give us the destination,
then it'll take me a while to calculate our jump.  If they just give
us the final frequency data, we're jumping blind; if they want to
kill us they could have us jump into a sun or a black hole.  What
about a physical link and a warp field synchronization?  That way
we'd get there at the same time?  Otherwise, we'd beat 'em there."

"You're a quick study, Red," Turlon commented.  "And it's these insights
I'm counting on you for.  I tried to secure the coordinates for us to
either follow them or transport them, but no dice."  He got up and walked
over to the window and glanced out, more a force of habit than anything.
He continued, "I don't want to, but I'm afraid we're going to have to rely
on them doing the flying as passengers.  I've arranged a meeting tomorrow
with her pilot and their ship.  I want to know if you think you can fly it,
just in case we have to keep ourselves from being marooned planetside.  If
you can, then we know we've got an out."

"Mary said it would take three days for her pilot to plot a course," Turlon
relayed.  Turlon spoke about his limited knowledge of Planetology and
recognized that he'd be no help trying to determine where they may be once
they touched down.  "That much time could have us all the way across the
galaxy, so I'm sure that doesn't give us a clue.  But, if you make friends
with the pilot then maybe he'll talk FTL drives or whatever you flyboys
talk about and you'll get a read on where we are."

"It'll be easy enough for me to play the bad guy and you 'convince' me to
hop on board for an adventure.  If I insult his ship and you defend it then
you ought to be on his good side," Turlon planned.


"All right, we'll play it that way," she said.

"In the meantime, I better contact Sensei and inform him about our change
of plan first thing in the morning," said Turlon while stretching.

"Allright," she said. "On the Ultrafast that's a one way time of," she
closed her eyes for a second, "about four days."

	*		*		*		*

The next morning, Turlon encrypted a message to go out on the next
Ultrafast Courier to Valperce.

===
Sensei Kral'Hiss'Growl ,

I was able to find the item I was sent for.  However, it has come to my
attention that there is an ancient artifact which could enhance the value
our initial investment.  Red and myself will be pursuing this lead, and
hope to acquire more information to maximize profits.

Will contact you as soon as possible with an update on negotiations.

Turlon Vantilles
Valperce Imports
===

That done, he called Finnean. After the initial pleasantries, Turlon and 
Mary got down to brass tacks.  "You'd like to see the ship, right?  Do you 
want to meet here or at the spaceport?"

"The spaceport will be fine," he answered.  "Which concourse?"

"The ship is in bay G-112, the 'The Matador'," came the answer. "We'll
be there pretty much all day.  Stop by whenever you like."
Turlon thanked her and ended the communicator connection.  He turned to
Red, "looks like our hosts are ready for us at our convenience.  I don't
trust them, of course I don't trust anybody."  Red's arched eyebrow
prompted "with some notable exceptions," as he corrected himself.  "We'll
be going down to G-112 and looking for The Matador," he relayed, "ever
heard of it?"

"Nope, but let's see what I can find." Red plopped down and
accessed the Starport datasystems.  "Hmm, she's listed as claiming
Dasterian registry, which is interesting but not all that surprising
I guess.  Looks like she displaces about 250 tons.  No outstanding
warrants or anything. Well, none here at least," she amended.

"Dasterian registry?" he asked looking over her shoulder.

"Yeah, out of Daster IV.  It's a little planet run as a personal
dictatorship by a guy named Hiram Georgia.  It's not part of the TUFP,
or of anything really.  Most folks think that the TUFP is just waiting
for Georgia to die, then they'll try to get it to go democratic and join
the TUFP.  A lot of folks get their ship registered there since there's
no chance of them being called up for miliary service in time of crisis,
the fees are low, the background check perfunctory and given the
extraterritoriality of starships, having a non-TUFP or Mek'Purr registry
can be handy for some things.  Some ships have been 'Dasterian' for their
entire life and never actually been to the planet."

"I see," remarked Turlon.  It seems as if this pilot was a bit of a rogue.
First off, Turlon wasn't overly fond of anyone who dodged military service,
but that was just one reason for choosing this registry, Red said there
were many others.  None of which seemed especially honorable, in Turlon's
way of thinking.

"How about the pilot? do we have a name," Turlon asked.

"Let's see, yes. Redjos.  That's all, just 'Redjos.'," she said.

"Charming," he muttered.   Turlon stood tall and began to pace.  "'Beware a
man with one name, for there is part of his past he wishes to hide," he
mumbled the old Mordor desert proverb aloud.  "Think you can fly his bird?"

"Depends.  If it's fairly standard, then I should be able to do it.
You can usually crew ships that small with just a couple of folks,"
she said. "On the other hand, if it's a custom job, or from some
corner of the galaxy where things are all different, or has the controls
labeled in some language I don't read, it could be tricky."

"Understood," he agreed.  "I'm going to make another run at getting the
coordinates, and if that fails then we'll have to ride with them, we can
then use our earlier plan.  Follow my lead and come to my rescue when I
screw up," he joked.  Turlon grabbed his Fith'Ik and crawled into its
straps, "shall we pay our guides a visit?"

"I'm game," said Red grabbing her own blade.

The trip out to the spaceport was much like the trip in, only in
reverse.  They quickly found their way to the correct bay and
buzzed the ship.  Finnean's face appeared on the screen, and
after identifying them, she let them in.

In many ways, 'The Matador' resembled the Firebird; both ships were
small and designed for speed, singled decked, and streamlined for
atmospheric work.  Finnean waited for them at the main hatch.

Turlon gave a once over to the ship before approaching the hatch.  "Mary
Finnean, this is my pilot, Red.  Red, Mary Finnean," he said nonchalantly.

"Good to meet you," said Mary.  "Come on in.  My pilot's Redjos. He's
on the bridge. Right here," she led them through a few meters of
narrow cargo hold then stepped into the bridge.  The layout made it
immediately cleary that the ship was designed to be run by a single
person, since only a single chair occupied the entire bridge. The
chair, in turn, was occupied by a well-built human male. He stood
to be introduced.  He and Turlon were of a height, and although
Turlon might have massed slightly more, Redjos was giving up points
on muscle to no one.

Turlon sized him up as a formidable adversary, while he may be involved in
many pursuit that reek of short cuts and easy life it was plain to see that
Redjos knew hard work.  Right hands were exchanged in a firm shake and
Turlon spoke.  "Thanks for inviting us aboard, Mary has filled you in?"

"She has," said the man in a measured voice. "I'm calculating the course
now," he indicated the computer that dominated the bridge. "We should
be ready to lift within a couple of days."

"The she's also told you about my skepticism.  I'm probably a little bit
more concerned rocketing off to an unknown destination than you are having
a couple of strangers signed up for a tour," reasoned Turlon.

"It's her play," said the man.

Turlon glanced to Mary Finnean, "You know my views on this.  Don't take it
personal, but I wouldn't trust my own mother in a similar circumstance."
He looked over at the computer and quickly glanced around the small
cockpit, "Still won't give us the coordinates to follow you?"

Redjos looked at Mary, then back at Turlon, "No."

Turlon sighed and addressed Mary while staring at Redjos with laser-like
intensity, "Mary, you ride with Red and I'll ride with flyboy here.  Then
your little worries about us getting there before you and my worries about
being stranded are solved.  Since quite frankly, I don't think this piece
of spacedrift will be able to make the round-trip."

"No good," said Mary. "We go together."

"I don't know, Turlon, the ship doesn't look like it's in too bad shape,"
said Red.  "The hull wasn't badly pitted, which is a good sign."

"All that tells me is that it's been freshly repaired to pass safety
inspections," Turlon spat out, "probably from some graveyard."  He crossed
his arms,  "Tell you what, Red gets a tour of the ship and if it passes her
inspection then I'll defer to her recommendation."

Redjos typed a few commands into the console, then rose from his chair,
"OK. Bridge.  Fairly standard."  He stepped through the hatch. "Cargo
space. 23.5 tons." He pointed up, "Meteor gun," he said using the
usual name for the small caliber Novaguns that most ships carried.
He pointed through a hatch to starboard. "Crew quarters."  He walked aft
through the relatively empty cargo space.  "Guns," he said pointing
to a blister on the roof.  "Port torch drive," pointing to
a hatch, "built into the wings."  He opened an aft hatch, "Mek space."
He edged past three Meks in their bays, "Mech, Com, Power."
Passing by two more hatches starboard, "Workshop. FTL control elements."
He thumped a couple of panels, "Port screens and EW/ECM. Port Fuel.
Matching on Starboard." He popped open a hatch to show a cramped chamber 
with another hatch further aft. "Power plant."

"Antimatter, nice," commented Red.

Redjos ignored her, "Through there, crawlspace and FTL field generator."
He led them back into the workshop and pointed at a hatch on the far side,
"Starboard torch." He opened a hatch fore and passed through. "Sick bay
with Mek."  Continuing north through another hatch, he led the
way into a spacious, by spacer standards, cabin. "Crew quarters."
He opened a hatch in the port side and they were back in the cargo
space.  "That's it."

Turlon looked at Red and then back to the Redjos and Mary.  "We need to
talk," he said while walking to the main hatch and summoning Red to follow.
Exiting the craft, Turlon led Red away a short ways down the concourse and
whispered en route, "What do you think, can you fly it in a pinch?"

Red considered, then nodded decisively. "Yes.  It's got a non-standard
layout, but the critical systems look ok."

Turlon paused briefly, "I don't know what to expect, and I cannot order you
to do something outside the Sensei's initial commands."  He scratched his
head and looked back at The Matador, "If the ship is safe then I don't
really have any excuse not to go, there is something out there that has
great significance.  Are you up for an adventure?"

Red shrugged, "That Redjos is kind of creepy, but ... yes.  I'm here
for the duration." Imitating Redjos terse speech, Red finished,
"It's your play."

Turlon chuckled, "Then it looks like we're on."  He spun around and walked
back to The Matador and buzzed the commpad.

"Well?" asked Finnean, stepping through the hatch.

"When do we leave?" he shot back.

"Redjos?" said Mary.

"Day after tomorrow. 0800," drifted back from the bridge.

"See you then," Turlon assured her.  "Any help on clothing, legal hurdles,
or resistance wherever we're going.  I hate to be unprepared."

From out of the bridge floated, "High-G."

Mary said, "Yeah, High-G.  Law shouldn't be a problem.  Temp is normal."

"Good," said Turlon as he rejoined Red and returned to the hotel.

	*		*		*		*
Red and Turlon showed up an hour early on the day of the launch and
were greeted civily by Mary and grunted at by Redjos.  They were shown
to their bunks and lockers and made ready for the launch.

The launch was made without incident, as was the short trip to outside
the gravity well.  After the warning klaxon sounded and everyone was
strapped in, the FTL insertion was made.  When the all clear was sounded,
Finnean addressed Red and Turlon.  "We've got about four days now.
Anyone want to play some cards?"

Turlon glanced over to Red and conceded, "Sure, what do you want to play?"

"Poker?" said Mary.

"I'm game," said Red.

"What stakes?" asked Mary.

"I have a few credits left," answered Turlon.  "If you promise to take it
easy on us."

Even without the benefit of psionics, Finnean was a damn good card
player.  After a few hours of low stakes play, Turlon was down a
few creds, Red down a few more, and Mary up.  Redjos didn't join
the party, seemingly content to stay on the bridge.

"So now that we're in transit can you tell us where we're going?" asked
Turlon.

Mary considered, "If your pilot is any good, she'll know once we
land anyway.  High-G, not quite 2 Gees, atmosphere is toxic, cyanide
in the air." She stopped and looked at Red.

Red closed her eyes, "Four days in space, 2 Gees, cyanide atmosphere.
If it's inhabited, that makes it Tharon.  That's the only planet with
200 light years that fits the description."

"Delightful," Turlon murmured.  "How did you stumble upon the apparatus
there? can it be moved?"

"You'll see," said Mary.  "Cut the cards."

Turlon stood and passed the cards to Red, "You ladies do whatever it is you
do, I'm going to visit with Redjos."  Turlon walked toward the cockpit.

Redjos was on the bridge seated on the only chair with his eyes closed,
either asleep or deep in thought.

Turlon entered quietly and with a booming voice barked out "TEN-HUT!"

"This is my ship, I give the orders," said Redjos without opening
his eyes.

"Yeah," he answered, "that's what your boss outside said."

His eyes flickered open, "My ... associate."

"Right.  Associate in the air, chauffer on the ground;" Turlon stated
matter-of-factly.  "Been there myself back in StarForce, you ever serve?"

"That's none of your concern, is it?"

"It concerns me when my life is on the line," he shot back,"I'm not in the
habit of trusting cowards."

Redjos turned to look at Turlon for the first time, "Being in the
StarForce is no guarantee a man isn't a coward."

"Only the foolish and the brave enter StarForce, " Turlon stated," the
foolish never make it out alive.  The scared never take the chance."

"Spoken like a true StarForce drone."

"I thought so," he grinned.  "I pegged you as a washout, was it the apron
strings that held you back?"

Redjos tensed, then relaxed, "Boy, you are treading on thin ice.  But then
brains was never you StarForce grunt's strong suit, was it?"

Turlon shifted his weight to the right, "I never claimed to have more
brains than guts." He turned to leave said over his shoulder, "But at least
I got some of each," before rejoining the ladies.

Red was losing a few creds to Mary, but didn't seem to be too upset
about it.  "Have a nice chat?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said clasping his hands solidly and bringing them to chest
level, "I really think we're bonding well" he said with a shake.

Red lashed her tail in amusement.

"He's a piece of work, Mary" commented Turlon as he flopped down in a
semi-comfortable chair to the side and closed his eyes.

There was a flash of something behind Mary's eyes, but quite what,
Turlon couldn't say. Instead she said, "He's not so bad once
you get to know him."

Turlon catalogued whatever it was, and made a mental note to pursue it.
Pushing buttons was stock and trade in the Commandos and Turlon took pride
in excelling in it.  "That is a luxury I hope to never have to experience,"
he replied flippantly.  "So where did you dig him up? win him on a bet?"

"He found me, actually," said Mary.  There was a strange pause, and then she
hurried on, "Well, sort of.  I needed a pilot, he needed someone to
help finance the ship.  It worked out."

"How convenient, " said Turlon through closed eyes.  "Whatever could a
drifter with a debt the size of Mordorian yak see in a wealthy woman with a
limitless source of income?"

"Maybe the same thing that woman with a moderate source of income saw
in a pilot with his own ship?" she replied, then laid down her hand
and collected a few more creds from Red.

Turlon smiled, "Perhaps."  He folded his hands across his chest in a pose
of great relaxation, "So how did you end up on Tharon to find this device?
You don't strike me as the explorer type."

"Tharon? What do you mean?" she said, looking at Turlon with the same
cool glance that she used when playing cards.

"I mean exactly what I said," he stated with equal coolness.  "The way I
see it, we're partners of sorts.  You need us and we need you, which means
no secrets."  Turlon reached out with his mind as his fingers danced over
the crystal hanging around his neck.  Expanding outward in waves he looked
for that tell tale sign of life, that which operated through its own
motion, thought, and apart from the inanimate.  He wondered about stowaways
and any other surprises this twosome may be keeping secret.

He found the three of them in the cabin, and a moment later Redjos.
Then there was nothing.  They were alone.