Convinced that the ship was gone for good, Turlon stood and helped Red out of the hole. The gravity was going to be taxing, but not insurmountable; it only dictated that they proceed at a steady pace. Turlon was unfamiliar with the Tharon planetscape and asked Red if she knew of any information that could help them. "Do you know where the population centers are located?" He looked at the sky and continued, "If we knew which way the sunset it would give us a bearing." Red pulled her minicomp out of her pack, "I was able to scare up some data on Tharon on the trip out. It's a Type II with a 57% hydro rating. That means we're somewhere near the equatorial belt for this kind of temperature and vegetation. That means we're almost certainly on one of the two major landmasses. Each of which has one major city. Both continents have a mountain range down the middle and the cities are near the mountains. So, we wait for a little while to see which way is north, then walk East or West until we hit mountains or ocean. If it's ocean, we turn around." "Sounds like a plan," Turlon agreed as he spied an area providing some cover for the wait. He lugged the salvaged supplies over and spent a few moments going over what was left of the domes to see if anything was left which may prove useful. Shortly thereafter he joined Red at their "camp" and began to wait for the sun to give them a starting point. He stuck a stick in the ground and marked where its shadow fell, that seemed the easiest way to track the sun's progress. Red said the sun set in the East on this planet. After about half and hour they were able to determine which direction was East. Turlon stood and looked east. It was a long shot, but he figured extreme measures often hinged upon long shots. Standing on the surface of Tharon, Turlon called upon the Meowr'Hiss and called the very visual spectrum to compact so he could gaze far into the east in hopes of seeing a mountain, a shadow, a person...something that might indicate civilization. His sense strained to their uttermost, about 7 kilometers. Nothing came to his sight. He tried again to the West, with no luck. To the south, he found something ... a coastline, about 3 clicks distant. When he came out of his reverie, he saw Red looking at him oddly. Turlon answered Red's stare with "There is some water over there," as he pointed southward. "I say we go west, " he decided and hefted the pack to his shoulder. Red groaned and lifted her pack, then dropped it again. "I can't carry this much weight. Not in two gees." Turlon realized that in this gravity, his own pack might give him problems. They stripped down to a minimal set of gear and set off on a southwesterly course. They soon realized that water would be no problem. There were pools everywhere and the going was slow. It took the pair an hour and a half to cover the three clicks to the coastline. Once there, their progress increased dramatically. Turlon took care to rest often and not push Red beyond her limits. He wasn't too far removed from long marches and the harsh life on the Mordor desert, even though the 2Gs fatigued him, he thought the guys in his unit would tease him for breathing hard, and smiled. At one of their breaks, Red asked, "Shall we try to radio for help? Subspace works pretty good over oceans, too." Turlon hesitated, he wasn't used to breaking silence when on an assignment, but this wasn't StarForce he kept reminding himself. "Sure, bound to be someone out here looking for trouble," he joked. Hopefully, not Redjos and Mary he thought inwardly; at least not yet. Red popped out her communicator and ran a quick SOS through the standard channels. By the time their break was through, there was no response. Turlon hoisted up his gear and stated hopefully, "On our next break we'll make contact." He walked a few minutes before broaching a touchy subject. "Red, what exactly happened back in the dome when I left with Mary." Red trudged along for a moment, "I don't know exactly. When you left, he watched me for a minute, then came over and said something like, 'I should have started this way,' and touched me." Red shivered, "The pain was indescribable. I think I just shut down. God! It was awful." Turlon froze and turned in an awkward moment, "I was careless, I should have realized that and not left you alone. I'm sorry." Not sure how to followup, he started walking again at a quicker pace. Eventually, Turlon slowed again and began to look around the coastline area with greater care. 'Was there any signs of life?' he thought. A footprint, signs of mechanical traces, mining, signage, or domesticated animal trappings? Anything to give him a clue as to whether they were going in the correct direction. The signs of life were abundant, although they all seemed to be related to the native life rather than anything off-planet. At the next break, Red radioed again, again with no luck. As they prepared to start walking, she asked, "Turlon, back at the dome, what did you do? It looked like you just ... never mind." "We'll talk later," he answered. Turlon estimated how far they had traveled, and tried to determine if Red's projections could shed some light on their situation. He had to determine how much further they could go before finding some sign they were going in the correct direction. "A long way," said Red. "Worst case, we could have been dropped about 12,000 km from either an ocean or a mountain range. We're doing what, about 2km/hour? That's a lot of walking." The pair continued their trek, pausing every hour for a rest and for Red to try a mayday. After eight hours, the stopped and made camp, exhausted after a day's trek in heavy G. The rotation of Tharon gave it a roughly 47 hour day. They went to sleep in daylight, and woke at dusk to begin walking again. The three small moons gave enough light to walk by and the slightly cooler weather made the going easier. They followed the same basic procedure as before. They had been walking for several hours when Turlon saw something that made his heart jump. Silhoutted against the sky was something possessed of right angles -- perhaps something manmade. As they approached more closely, they saw that it was some kind of loading dock with attached buildings. Turlon dropped to a crouch he had done thousands of times before and motioned Red closer, and down. With as little speech as possible, Turlon gestured to Red to stay here out of sight as he went ahead and scouted the area. He dropped his excess baggage at a safe zone with Red and drew his blaster to approach the building as quietly as possible. The complex consisted of several structures. There was a pier extending out into the ocean, and a track ran down it for a cargo car which was currently resting underneath a roofed shed near a funnel loader. It seemed clear that mining crawlers would dump into the funnel loader and load the car which would then roll out the pier to load a ship. There were another few pieces of heavy equipment in the shed. There was another building which looked to be some kind of ore smelter or refinery. There was third, larger building, with a radio antennae array mounted at one end. Finally, there was what looked like a solar powered hydrox generating station and desalination plant on the shore, with a pipe leading out to the ocean. The entire complex was surrounded by an eight foot chain fence. The geography around the complex was ideal for its job. There was a small bay which would provide some shelter for any ships, and a river flowed into the bay on the far side of the complex. Turlon could see a couple of ugly scars in the forest where the big mining crawlers had passed, although in the darkness he couldn't tell how old the tracks were. Turlon examined the perimeter looking for some signage or markings either on the fence, vehicles, or structures. If there was a corporate sponsor or warning against trespassers it would assist him in the next step. He looked around for any evidence of recent operation, not being familiar with Tharon seasons he wasn't sure if this factory was closed for good, or just the current season. There were a few signs proclaiming this to be the property of the Rogue River Mining Company. The station did not appear to have been used recently, and the crawler tracks had grown over somewhat, althogh he had no idea how long that might take in this fecund climate. Satisfied that the property was deserted, Turlon hustled back to Red. He slowed down as he drew near, Red had been through a lot lately and he didn't need to startle her into letting loose with a volley of laser fire. Turlon briefed her on what he found and posed the question, "Does your map show a Rogue River anywhere?" "Rogue River, Rogue River ... yeah, is that it?" She checked her MiniComp. "We are in the middle of nowhere. The Rogue River empties out almost exactly halfway between the mountains and the end of the continent on the south side of the major landmass." "Figures," Turlon muttered. "But, it's nice to be somewhere -- even if it is nowhere," he said to break the tension. Turlon stretched and helped Red up, "At least we have shelter and hopefully a working communications unit." The two walked back to the fencing and Turlon foraged around for some vegetation or a stick to toss into the fence. He didn't want to add getting fried to his trespassing as he prepared to see what could be of assistance within the mining camp. The fence didn't appear to be powered, and there wasn't even a lock on the huge crawler-sized gate or the smaller personnel gate next to it. They entered the complex. Despite the relative safety of an apparently vacant complex, Turlon didn't relax. He had been in "safe" situations before and knew them to be dangerous. Gripping his blaster tighter, Turlon motioned over to the large building with the array of antennae. "Looks like a good place to start if we're to contact anyone," he said to Red as they began walking. The building was broken up into several small rooms and sealed against the atmosphere. In many ways it was like a more permanent version of the domes they had left. There was a sleeping area, a kitchen with a great many stores, and a fully equipped radio room and control room for the remote equipment. The life support station was there as well, and Red checked it and warned Turlon, "Atmosphere is not clear, keep your mask on. The hydrox cells are full though, I can start the purifiers if you want." "Go ahead," Turlon answered as he began to look around the control room for logs or something else that would put his mind at ease regarding the complex's vacancy. If this was the off season then they could count this as fortune, if there was another answer there could be trouble. He didn't want to disturb too much, it would be much easier to explain to the owners the precariousness of their situation if it looked like they hadn't taken over the complex. Turlon found a logbook, a hardcopy of the work that passed through the station. The entries were spaced at irregular intervals throughout the year, but it looked like maybe half a dozen mining crawlers worked the area and returned to the base for a pickup of their cargo. There didn't seem to be any personnel stationed at the base, rather the miners would call for a pickup when they arrived. The notations seemed to indicate that they would also place orders for whatever they needed and have it shipped out to them at the same time. The miners themselves seemed to have some means of communication, since there seemed to be at least two of them present for each pickup most of the time. Pleased at what he figured was good news, Turlon went over to the communications console and initially tried to contact some authorities with a standard emergency call. If this failed, he decided he'd try some of the mining company's suppliers. The console wasn't powered yet, the power systems were coming online slowly and most of the output was going to the life-support. Red told him about half an hour. Turlon prowled around for a while and discovered nothing else of much interest. Then Red called him and said communications was up. Turlon tried to sound as unmilitary as he could, not wanting to give himself away, "Help! we need assistance. Is there anybody out there?" The reply came back quickly, "This is Kranston control. Unidentified mayday, what is your situation and location?" "Stranded, but not urgent," he replied. "Two of us, no injuries. We've found shelter at Rogue River Mining. Request pick-up." "Check. Rogue River Mining, the station at the mouth of the river? Hold on," there was a pause for a minute, then a new voice piped up. "Howdy, I understand y'all are stranded at one of our pickup stations, that right?" Turlon looked to Red for confirmation of their location and snapped out a "Yes sir!" with verve. "We were on foot but secured shelter here, await pick-up when convenient, no emergency." "Well, we weren't planning on coming out there for another ... month or two, I think. How many of you are there?" asked the man. Turlon replied that there were two. "Only two? Well, we could send out a little rescue boat, I suppose, if y'all don't want to wait that long." Turlon grinned, realizing that bureacracy lived even outside StarForce, "We'd rather not. It hasn't been the most enjoyable time planetside, if you know what I mean." He stretched and added, "Rogue River Mining has been gracious in their absence, but we don't want to take advantage of their hospitality." "Hell boy, that's what that stuff is there for. Y'all aint from around here, are ya? You got everything you need, but if you don't want to rest for a couple of months, you don't want to. I'll see if someone wants to come out and get you. Say, son, what do I call you anyway?" Turlon paused briefly, thinking about the downtime and as inviting as it sounded decided against giving Redjos and Mary any more of a head start. "We appreciate the invite, but have some unfinished business to take care of. We work for an export company out of Valperce and you know how bosses can be if you're late. If you could get someone here within the next couple of days we'd be grateful. You can call me Jaxon, Mr?" he trailed off. "Jake Powers, Mr. Jaxon. Let me poke around some and call you back." Powers signed off. Turlon thanked the man and returned to Red to tell her of the good news. It appeared that they had the blessings of the company to use their facilities so Turlon suggested taking an inventory of supplies in case their stay was a bit longer than they liked. They found the place was well stocked with food and liquor, all of which were setup to work off of an automatic inventory system. There was also a large selection of entertainment tapes and games. About half an hour later, the radio set chimed. "Powers here, someone'll get started pretty soon. You're about 11 kiloclicks out, though, so it's going to be about a standard week before anyone can get there. Anything special you want brought, or any messages sent?" Turlon tried not to show any disappointment. A week wasn't unbearable considering the amenities they discovered already at the base. The message, however, was welcomed; "Yes, can you send a message to Kral'Hiss'Growl on Valperce. Tell him that negotiations for the product did not go as planned. The Red Van is well, and we will be returning soon to investigate further leads." Turlon then asked Jake, if he could, to bring with him a listing of any ships heading to Sardis this week and the next so they could get an idea on export routes and contractors. He briefly explained about their need to get back home as well as trying to get some information for their boss, despite their problems. The chit-chat was forced, but everyone enjoys the opportunity to complain about their boss Turlon found out. "Right, I'll see what I can find," said Powers. "Thanks," said Turlon genuinely before signing off. Naturally, they needed someway to get back to Sardis and hopefully Jake Powers would be able to provide a listing of ships going back to that part of space. It would also provide valuable information as to whether Redjos and Mary had left Tharon, even their destination if they returned to Sardis. Turlon wasn't interested in a vendetta, but there was some unfinished business. Who was Redjos? Who was behind his 'gifts'? Was Mary the pawn she pretended to be? All questions that Turlon hoped to find answers to someday. As Turlon left the communications console, he relayed the information to Red about sending Kral'Hiss'Growl a message and their week of relative leisure. Fortunately, Turlon could settle down for some rest, study, and practice while he waited. After the events of the last few days, the week of rest was very welcome. Mary spent a lot of time in a durafoam command chair playing Fleet Commander Seven: Attack of the Space Goats. Of course, the first night she got roaring drunk. "Turlon," she said when she was deep in her cups. "What's going on here. I mean, I saw you vanish. You say I was hallucinating, but then how did the door open? It was locked!" Turlon could see that she wasn't going to give in on this point as he tried to divert through various avenues. The drink had somehow given her laser beam focus, much to his chagrin. "Well," he began, "you know I was in StarForce." A dreamy nod of her head and slurred 'Yesh' allowed him to continue. "I wasn't just in StarForce, I was a StarForce Commando. We," he paused for effect, "were entrusted with some tasks that required special techniques in order to carry out." By this time Turlon was enjoying his captive audience, "And as a general practice we would have to enter into secured areas. It's an old trick I was taught to deal with electronic locking mechanisms using subspace pulses of gamma waves." He hoped the liquor combined with enough double-talk and military secrecy would be enough to sidestep this issue. "Subspace gamma-pulse? Fine. But from where? You just call up gamma waves out of the ether?" Red giggled. "Abracadabra -- poof, gamma-wave pulse?" Turlon silently cursed himself for trying to out-tech a techie, his best bet -- to act cavalierly, "If I told you that, it wouldn't be a secret, now would it?" He cracked a smile and tapped his temple while walking away. The next few days passed in a slightly uncomfortable silence. Red seemed to both a little hungover and a little hurt, and the two gees were probably harder on her than they were on Turlon. She didn't sleep well. On the seventh day, a little after lunchtime, the communicator chimed again. "Hey there y'all, Jake Powers here, I'm about another half-hour out, so fire up the welcome wagon!" Turlon answered with verve and began to gather up their belongings. He rummaged around and tried to pick out the foodstuffs that he preferred in hopes that Jake Powers had similar tastes. Hospitality wasn't Turlon's strong suit, but he owed this man a lot. Of course, pre-prepared mining meals wasn't exactly gourmet but what could one expect? Twenty minutes later, Powers' yacht moved into the bay. It was a largish ship, but clearly one not designed for cargo. About eighty feet long, it was sealed against the atmosphere except for a narrow strip of deck around the bridge. Powers, presumabley it was he at the wheel, eased the boat up next to the dock, the cycled out the hatch in his filtermask. There was an automoatic system for roping the ship to the pier, and when that was done, he walked up to the living quarters and cycled through. "Jaxon"?" he asked, "I'm Jake Powers." Turlon stood and offered his hand, "It's good to meet you." He turned and deferred to Red, "This is my friend Red, we appreciate the prompt service Jake. This isn't the most forgiving planet when you're marooned." "Hell, it aint the most forgiving planet when you *aint* marooned," said Powers. "Well, ya'll want to get started right away, or rest up a few hours?" "If you're ready to go, we're ready. Right Red?" Turlon asked. "Allright then, let's grab your things and power down," said Powers. The trio loaded the yacht and then Powers told the other to make thereselves comfortable. "As long as I'm here, I'm going to run a quick maintainence check and restock. Shouldn't take more'n hour or two." He grabbed a dolly loaded with mealpaks and started to roll it out the door. "Here, let me help you with that. It's the least I can do," offered Turlon. "If you want," said the man. They rolled the dolly out to the storeroom and topped off the stores. Powers walked about the building checking seals and windows with a hand-held meter, looking for leaks. Then he went to the radio room and started a series of diagnostic tests. He left them running while he went outside and checked some of the other equipment, finally going down to to the hydrox plant and running a set of diagnostics there as well. Everything checked out, so Powers started the shutdown to standby. "Alllright, let's get back to the ship and get moving." Once onboard, Powers popped the magnetic docking lines and eased the ship out into the bay. He made small talk with Turlon and Red whenever they were on the bridge for the next hour or so while he piloted the ship out into the open sea, then he turned on the autopilot and joined them in the stateroom. "Drinks?" he asked and poured out everyone's requested libation. Settling into a chair, he asked, "Now, tell me, how did you come to be stranded out at my pickup station?" "As I told you earlier, we're in the imports business and had some clients who had an artifact our employer was interested in," Turlon began. He continued, "Talk about a business deal gone bad, they must have taken offense at our offer. The next thing we knew we were stuck wandering around until we saw your station." "What happened, though? This is out in the middle of nowhere, and stranding you is very nearly murder." Powers slowed down and started again, "Who were these folks? There isn't anything out here that I know of. How'd you get out here anyway?" "Murder is putting it nicely," Turlon commented. "Real unpleasant guy, name of Redjos" he began and recounted the story to Jake. Turlon kept things as tame and standard as possible, they had looked into acquiring a collection of ancient pottery and when a price couldn't be struck that was amenable he and Red threatened quashed the deal, demanding to be taken back to Sardis. Redjos became angry and locked them off ship, even destroying the domes they had used for shelter. "The life of an importer," Turlon mused indicating that shady characters were the norm. "Redjos? Hmm, we'll see about him, I think. So ya'll flew in via spacecraft. That would explain it, I guess." Powers thought for a moment. "Pottery? Wonder why he was stashing it out here, there're no intelligent indigenous natives. Sounds fishy." Turlon grunted in the affirmative, "we have some unfinished business, as you can imagine." "By the way, did you get that schedule of flights off Tharon back to Sardis I asked you for?" Turlon asked. "Yeah," he fished around in a pocket and came up with a flimsy. Here you go, we'll be back in a week, if we push it, and the 'Yamamoto' lifts the next day. She's bound for Spica and then on to Sardis. The next ship is a week or so after that." He handed Turlon the flimsy. Turlon pocketed the flimsy and thanked Jake. "So, what's your story? I've been around and there aren't many who'd pick up a couple of strangers in need. You're not from Tharon originally, are you?" "Born and bred," said the man, slapping his heavily muscled thigh. "On a world like Tharon, you help out where you can. Life is tough, and next time you might be the one needing a pickup. Besides, there's only a few million of us and we don't get many visitors, so odds are you're only a few steps removed from any one needing a hand." He leaned back. "That's one of the reasons I like frontier worlds like this, folks are more neighborly." Turlon thought back to his own home and the nomads he lived with. He supposed what Jake said made a lot of sense, they had very little but were very gracious as a people. "Well, we certainly appreciate it, " he answered. "Is there anything we can help you with? it's only fair." "The ship pretty much runs herself. I've got the sensors and such piped in here. We'll drop anchor in another ... four hours and get some sleep, then start up and do it all over again. Do you fish?" Turlon thought back to the desert "fishing" he was used to. Strange how words kept their meaning even when a vital part was removed, he didn't think Jake would understand the finer points of lowering the coiled roots of the Lybernum tree into the Mordor crevasses hoping to entice a desert jackal to bite. "Never tried before," he replied. "It passes the time," said Powers. "They aint exactly fish and you can't eat 'em, but it passes the time." "Sounds like it'll work," commented Turlon. The next few days passed quickly. Turlon was able to study, rest and get to know his rescuer. Jake Powers, he learned, *was* Rogue River Mining for most practical purposes. His father had been a crawler man, and Jake had been able to scrape up enough contacts and cash to build his first trading depot. From there it had grown in scope. Jake explained the operation, "Those big crawlers go out into the wilderness for months at a time. Some of the miners take their families with them, but more often they don't. The crawlers usually have a mining rig -- a mini-smelter -- to reduce the ore. Then when they've got a full load on, they've got to get it to market. That's where I come in. I build the base camp, and they come in to unload and sell the ore. Sometimes, they've been out there alone for months and want a little human contact, so they try to arrange to arrive at the same time. They have a little booze-up, maybe a few fist fights, whatever. Then the ship arrives and loads up. The miners go back out and the base gets restocked. The ore comes back here for refining, and then goes to it's final destination. The operation mostly runs itself." The boat they were on was Powers' personal yacht, and it was plenty large for each of them to have their own stateroom. It was child's play for Turlon to find some time to talk to Red alone. Red was on edge, both from the physical discomfort of the high G, but also from the feeling that Turlon was giving her the runaround. Turlon tried to soothe her and put his cards on the table, telling her that, yes, there was more going on that she knew, but that it was not his secret to tell, and when they returned to the Dojo Sensei would hopefully make it clear. Red didn't like that answer much, but it did clear the air between them, and for the rest of the trip, she tried to be as cheerful as the "gravity" of the situation allowed. Turlon knew his explanation wasn't sufficient, but words were never his strong suit. A lot of the stuff he didn't fully understand himself, so Sensei was going to have to fill them both in when the time was right. Fortunately, it seemed like Red was the forgiving sort and she wasn't stupid. She knew, he felt, that whatever happened back there wasn't something trivial and its implications were great. She also knew that whatever it was that Redjos did to her wasn't something to be taken lightly. Turlon hoped he could tell her everything, but that was up to Sensei. Tharon from the comfort of the yacht was a far different beast than Tharon on foot with rescue uncertain. The colors were interesting, and the sea fauna strange but beautiful. The seven day trip passed before they knew it. At Kranston they were met by the Marshall, a soft looking older man named Jason Rockwell. Turlon had the sneaking suspcion that the softness was only skin deep, and that the Marshall was tougher and smarter than he let on. He took the pair's deposition and asked if they wanted to file formal charges against the Redjos and/or Finnean. "Not that I'm sure how much good it will do. Jake called ahead and we hunted up the ship -- easy enough to do, they were hanging around in orbit. When we contacted them, they boosted out at high speed and went supra-light. They're out of my jurisdiction, but if you want to file a complaint I can kick it up to IPA and see what they can do." "That's alright," answered Turlon. "I'l deliver the message myself," he said with right amount of ambiguity. Turlon let it hang at that, he felt sure the Marshall and Jake knew exactly what he meant. Powers told them that they'd stay with him until the ship lifted. "This may seem, ah, indelicate, but how were you planning on paying for your tickets? You're looking at about 4.5 kilocreds each for Low Passage." "Is there somewhere we can wire for funds?" Turlon asked. "Sure, I'll front you that," smiled Powers. "There's a daily courier out to Spica, and daily out from there to the other systems in the sector, so you're looking at a day or so to Spica, then two days out to Sardis, then that back. Plus a day or so to verify, so that's a week. You'll miss the first passenger ship out, I'm afraid." Turlon sighed, "If that's the only option, then there isn't much else we can do." "I don't suppose there are any ships heading to Sardis looking for some workers," he added. The procedures for such a transfer were well in place. Turlon produced his identity card and verified himself four different ways, and encoded the password used at the Sardisian bank. The whole thing was electronically countersigned by the bank and encoded, then readied for burst transmission to the courier. Then there was nothing to do but wait. Jake Powers didn't look too surprised when Turlon produced identification and verification under his correct name. The man wasn't born yesterday, and life on Tharon bred him to be rough around the edges. He figured out long ago that Turlon and Red were not being completely honest with him, and Turlon knew he knew. "Jake, I owe you and explanation," he began. "I guess you do at that, son," said the man. Turlon jerked his head to the side to indicate that they should take a walk, and he began "As you now know, my name is Turlon Vantilles." Turlon spoke frankly with Jake Powers and told enough of the truth to convey the urgency for his earlier deception. Jake Powers was a man who knew people, and he also knew the need for secrecy for the safety of both involved. Turlon confided that while he was employed by an imports company it wasn't pottery but some piece of supposed ForeRunner technology that he came to investigate. When Redjos and Mary Finnean didn't like his refusal to participate in some kind of mad scientist experiment they attacked Red and himself. After a brief fight, he and Red found themselves running for their lives as Redjos turned the ship's guns on their camp thinking he left them for dead. While it wasn't the best way to greet a saviour, Turlon didn't know if Redjos was monitoring communication frequencies so broadcasting his real name wasn't an option. Powers listened carefully nodding at times, and asking a few questions. "Was this piece supposed to have originated on this planet? I don't think we've got any ForeRunner sites here." "That, I don't know. I was pushing to take it to a more controlled environment, but they wanted none of that," he answered. Turlon paused as someone walked by, "I don't have to tell you that letting yourself get hooked up to a machine around questionable characters is a recipe for danger." He then went on to speculate that since they showed their true colors, all that they said was suspect. "It may have been something Redjos dreamed up in his spare time, I don't know." "Who can say, but if what you've said is at all verifiable, then he won't be back here anytime soon. And if he is, he'll find it pretty hot." Powers slapped a fist into his palm. "We've got a right neighbourly planet and we aim to keep it that way." "If I find him first, my friend," Turlon patted Jake on the back,"your planet won't have to worry about dealing with him." There was no softness in his eyes when Jake looked at the taller man and said, "I believe that." The return conversation was much less serious as Turlon felt he had cleared the air with Jake. The two men talked of Tharon and Mordor, mining, and people in general. "A Change is as Good as a Rest", the saying goes. For Turlon and Red, the saying proved true. Out of danger and comfortable (well, as comfortable as possible in 2 gees), the time flew by. In four days, the verification of credit arrived and they promptly booked passage on the next ship out for Spica, the "Aeneas", leaving four days hence. On the day of departure, Jake shook their hands and saw them safely on board. The Aeneas was primarily a freighter with some room for passengers. Her cruising warp was a pokey 12 LY/day, not bad for a big ship but painfully slow to those used to flying in the fast small ships like Red's. At that speed, the relatively short jog to Spica took five days.