Freedom Flight (Stiletto 4)

   "Please, Vila," the artificially generated voice of Stiletto's computer, Andromeda, pleaded. "Those robots are just sitting in a closet gathering dust. Why can't I have them?"
   "I'll have to ask Avon and Blake. If they don't mind, then I'll fix the robots to obey you." Vila sat back in his seat. He was alone on the flight deck except for the ever-present Andromeda.
   "Do you think they'll agree?"
   Vila had to grin at the machine's wistful tone. "Probably not. I don't think they entirely trust you. After all, you did disobey them once already."
   "Only to prevent Stiletto flying into a trap! Come on, Vila, you know my programming wouldn't permit me to harm any human, far less my own crew."
   "What do you want with the robots, anyway? You can already control the food synthesizers, and life support and the flight deck. Avon even hooked you up to the teleport controls. Haven't you got enough toys?"
   Andromeda said, "That's all internal circuitry, Vila. Those robots could be my hands. Please, Vila? I'll pay you."
   "With what?" Vila shook his head. "Computers don't carry credit-stuffed wallets in their pockets. Come to think of it, you don't even have a pocket."
   "I'll show you a pocket, Vila. Look on the monitor."
   Mildly interested, Vila took his feet off the console before him. The monitor switched from the long-range scan of scattered space debris to an interior shot of Stiletto showing the sharply curved walls of a bulkhead compartment.
   "We've lots of unused rooms," Vila said. "What's in your ‘pocket' ?"
   The focus tightened upon a row of boxes. Stenciled atop the nearest box was a stylized lizard with heavy-lidded eyes and a foolish grin.
   Vila's jaw dropped. "Saurian brandy? Andy, old girl, old friend, where is that room?"
   "It's a hidden chamber. Without my access to the internal surveillance links, you'll never find it." Andromeda sounded smug. "Of course, if I had my robots, they could show you where it is."
   Somehow, Vila found himself in the storeroom where Avon had stashed the robots. The red indicator light on the head of the larger, more humanoid machine brightened as Vila neared.
   "I don't know, Andromeda." Vila paused, his tools still rolled in a neat bundle. "The big guy always looked mean to me."
   "I want them both."
   Vila grumbled as he opened his tool kit. He knelt before the squat silver form of the smaller robot- a meter tall machine equipped with flexible tentacles and treads beneath its canister body. Under Andromeda's guidance, Vila fitted the robots with receivers linked into their programming centers.
   "Thank you, Vila." Andromeda sounded so pleased with herself that Vila began to worry. Andromeda seemed friendly enough, but…
   The robots left the room. "Don't you want to get the brandy, Vila?" Andromeda asked when the thief hesitated to follow.
   "Might's well. I'm going to need it when Blake and Avon find out what I've done." Vila winced at the thought.
   Vila and the robots reached the hidden room undetected. Andromeda told Vila where the opening must be, but he still had to locate the release mechanism for the disguised door panel. Once discovered, the door wasn't too difficult to open, but the crates baffled the thief. Still under export seal, they would require special machinery to snap the metal bands holding the lids in place. The thief eyed the big robot's pincers speculatively. "Andromeda…"
   With a loud ripping crunch, the robot pried the lid free. Forgetting his fear, Vila leaned around the silver machine. "Lovely!" He reached into the crate, pulling out a long-necked black bottle whose label bore the same inebriated reptile as the crate.
   "Allow me," Andromeda said, as the smaller robot took the bottle from Vila, using its dexterous tentacles to wriggle the cork out.
   "Maybe these tin men will be useful." Vila received the opened bottle, tilting his head back for a healthy swig.

   "Vila!" Blake looked around the deserted control room, his anger rising rapidly. "Andromeda, where's Vila? Why did he leave his post?"
   "No need to shout," Andromeda said. "He's in his cabin. It's all right, he asked me to watch the scanners for him. I always do, anyway."
   "Vila and Andromeda have one thing in common, Blake." Avon spoke from the doorway, drawn by Blake's shouting. "Neither of them takes orders seriously."
   "It was my fault, Avon." Andromeda was contrite. "I didn't know he was allergic to Saurian brandy."
   "Saurian brandy," Avon repeated, his dark eyes momentarily amused, then hard and cold. "Where did he get Saurian brandy?" Since Saurian Major's surviving populace had been evicted from their planet by the Federation, the dwindling stocks of the native liquor were obscenely expensive. If Vila had found any aboard Stiletto, Avon fancied they'd have heard his glee over the entire ship.
   "I found it, Avon, and traded it to Vila for them," Andromeda admitted.
   At a noise behind him, Avon whirled. Two silver forms entered the flight deck, moved around the startled tech and stopped in front of Blake.
   "May I keep them?" Andromeda asked, "They don't use much energy and they're very quiet. You'll hardly notice them."
   "I notice them." Avon circled the metal men warily. "Andromeda is getting entirely out of hand, Blake."
   Blake took Avon aside, instinctively lowering his voice. "You're the expert. Is this computer dangerous?"
   "Andromeda's prime motivation is to protect us, coming even before the injunction to obey commands. It's well within the realm of possibility for the computer to decide that your activities against the Federation constitute an unacceptable risk. With these two robots to help, she could force us to teleport down to a suitably safe planet and maroon us there."
   "I could never abandon you, Avon," Andromeda protested.
   Avon went on smoothly, "On the other hand, she could simply use the robots to keep us off the flight deck while she takes Stiletto on an endless cruise of the outer galaxy."
   "Please, Avon, believe me, I wouldn't do any of those terrible things. Don't you trust me?" the computer begged.
   "No," was Avon's clipped answer.
   Blake's anger was fading; Andromeda seemed genuinely upset, perhaps Avon was overreacting. He started to say so, but Avon curtly waved him into silence.
   "Avon," Andromeda's voice was miserable. "I don't want you to fear me. If you pull these memory banks, I'll be just like any ordinary computer." A printer began humming, producing schematic diagrams. "I won't be able to disobey. Or think for myself, or feel- I suppose that's just as well, because you'll probably get yourselves killed and this way I won't care when it happens." The printout completed and the computer fell silent.
   Avon leafed through the schematics.
   Blake asked, "Could you do it and leave the computer functional?"
   "Yes." Avon looked up at Blake and suddenly smiled. "But Andromeda's too valuable to lobotomize. Especially now that she's proved her self-preservation 'instincts' are subordinate to her need to please us." He tore the printout across.
   "In that case," Blake said, "I think we can allow her to keep the robots."
   "Thank you, Avon, Blake." The computer was subdued by her brush with destruction. Under Andromeda's control the robots left the flight deck. Blake watched them go, but Avon had turned to the navigation console.
   "Andromeda, the course is changed! What's Vila been doing?"
   Blake cleared his throat. "Avon, Vila didn't do it. Orac received a message from an agent of mine in the off-watch. I thought we could discuss it later, but I changed course to save time."
   "I see," Avon snapped, "as usual, you felt no need to ask our opinion."
   "Avon, the Coalition of Independent Traders wants to discuss an alliance. Their contacts with the outer planets could be invaluable. The resistance needs all the help it can get."
   "That much is true. But, Blake, next time you have a midnight revelation, wake me." Avon gave Blake a chilly glare. "I like to know when you're about to risk my neck."

   Stiletto's workshop was dark, but not entirely silent. Andromeda's robots didn't need light, but were not able to completely avoid noise as they worked. The little robot's slender tentacles swiftly assembled the raw materials brought by its larger partner. The newly formed devices were only a few centimeters long, delicately articulated and agile. As each was completed, it scurried from the work table and disappeared into Stiletto's ventilation system.

   "You look terrible, Vila!" Dayna glanced over her shoulder at the thief. He hobbled into the dining area to join the assembled crew. Covered with raised, reddish lumps, his appearance was not enhanced by smears of bilious yellow ointment.
   "Don't shout," Vila begged. He slumped onto a bench. "Never again, I swear. Ooh, what a head." He began scratching his chest. "And hives, I'm all over hives. I've used a gallon of lotion and it still itches."
   "Stinks, too." Dayna selected a new seat, further away from Vila and his invisible aura.
   "Serves you right," Tarrant said. "Keeping all that Saurian brandy for yourself- greedy, Vila - greedy."
   "You can have it, Tarrant. I'm swearing off the stuff."
   Avon looked up from his coffee cup. "Really? No more wine, no more Adrenalin and Soma cocktails?"
   "Who said anything about wine? I'm giving up Saurian brandy. A hangover's one thing, but hives?" Vila studied his red-mottled arms with dismay.
   Pavra, their unofficial ship's medic, told Vila, "You ought to develop a new hobby." The slight woman shook her head at Vila's unrepentant grin.
   "Maybe I'll take up bird-watching." He leered at Dayna when she bent to pickup a tray from the food synthesizer.
   Soolin entered the dining room. "Where's Blake?"
   Avon said, "He calls us together, then makes us wait."
   At Avon's side, the huge felinoid, Puss, yawned, exposing an impressive array of cutlery. She had reached an unspoken arrangement with Avon; he tolerated her presence and she did not press her affections upon him. Silver-blue eyes blinked lazily as she stretched her long gray-striped body. Her whiskers twitched as the empathic feline deciphered the humans' emotional response to Avon's words.
   "Sorry to keep you waiting." Blake entered briskly. "The Coalition of Independent Traders is holding a referendum at their base in Sector Six in five days' time. I'd like to join the debate, convince them to ally with the resistance."
   "I've met these 'Space Gypsies', Blake," Tarrant said. "They're an undisciplined bunch. Can we count on them?"
   "I think so. They're a close-knit group, an extended family actually, swapping crew members whenever they meet. If we can convince the leaders the whole tribe will be on our side."
   Vila said, "I like their system already. Imagine, when you get bored you just hop onto another ship and get a whole new batch of friends."
   "Forget it, Vila," Tarrant said. "You'd never pass for a Gypsy. They're all of a type - tall and skinny with black hair and blue eyes."
   Blake surveyed his crew. "We can reach Karaghan, the Gypsy base, in four days. If, that is, no one has any objections?" He stared at Avon.
   Avon waited while the others expressed their agreement with Blake.
   "Avon?" Blake asked the computer tech impatiently.
   "By all means, let us go to Karaghan and recruit allies. You see, Blake, I can be reasonable if I'm asked politely."
   Tarrant said, "The Gypsies are good with engines, Blake. Maybe they can coax a bit more speed from Stiletto."
   Andromeda, eavesdropping as usual, chimed in over the intercom, "Could they give me the Photonic Drive?"
   "How do you know about the Drive, Andromeda?" Avon asked sharply.
   "Vila told me. I want it, Avon. Could you get it for me, please?"
   "We'll see," Avon answered her. He turned to Vila. "Stop giving Andromeda ideas. She has enough of her own."
   "Least she's polite to me," Vila retorted.
   "She doesn't know you very well yet."

   Blake made contact with his agent several times over the next four days. The second time that Blake abruptly ended transmission just as Avon entered the flight deck the computer tech wondered out loud why Blake was hiding his agent from him.
   "I'm keeping calls short for security reasons, Avon. Pure chance that you haven't been on the flight deck during one of them," Blake assured him.
   "Don't feel singled out, Avon," Vila joined the group. "I've missed the mystery man myself."
   "Not a man, Vila." Tarrant glanced up from Navigation. "It's a woman- very pretty, too. Maybe Blake's trying to avoid competition."
   "On that premise, there would be no reason to prevent Vila from conversing with this woman," Avon remarked.
   "Getting something on the long-range scanners," Pavra said, cutting Vila off in mid- protest.
   "Karaghan," Blake said confidently. "Be patient, Avon. All your questions will soon be answered."
   "All my questions?" Avon stared at the pin-prick of light slowly swelling on the monitor.

   Karaghan was a multi-purpose name; representing the station, the barely habitable planet it orbited and the battered cargo hauler snugged against one of the station's access tubes. Boldly scrawled on the ship's flank ‘Karaghan Queen' expressed the owners' pride in their vessel. The contrast between the blunt, hard- working ‘Queen' and the only other ship linked to the station was striking. The second ship was small, streamlined, and pockmarked with weaponry turrets.
   "Blake," Tarrant said, "if they're holding a referendum shouldn't there be more ships docked?"
   "We're early. Most of the delegates should arrive tomorrow," Blake said.
   "I don't like that ship, Blake." Avon frowned. "Too expensive for Gypsies. And it has no name, no identifying markings."
   "Getting jumpy in your old age, Avon?" Blake asked. "Contact the base, Dayna."
   The viewscreen flickered, shifting to a man seated before a bank of computer consoles. He smiled at them. "Stiletto , welcome to Karaghan. We've been looking forward to your visit. Is there anything we can do for you?"
   "We're curious about that unmarked ship, Karaghan," Blake said. "Whose is it?"
   The young man's grin widened. "Ours. We picked it up cheap at auction. It had been confiscated from smugglers. We haven't decided on a name for her yet. Any suggestions?"
   "We'll think about it, Karaghan." Blake signed off, then turned to Avon. "Satisfied?"
   "No, it sounded a little too reasonable, Blake."
   Blake was exasperated. "What are you afraid of, Avon? That ship can't maneuver or bring her guns to bear while she's docked."
   "Neither can we if you insist on docking instead of standing off and using the teleport."
   "We're here to make friends. We must extend our trust to gain theirs."
   Avon paced, aware of Blake's thinly stretched patience. "All right, maybe the ship's simply here as insurance. Perhaps, we make them nervous."
   "Tarrant, bring Stiletto into dock," Blake ordered.
   Once Stiletto matched velocity and rotation with Karaghan the station extended an access tube to the ship. Dull clunks reverberated through Stiletto's metallic hide as the tube sealed itself against the airlock.
   Karaghan signaled Stiletto. The same smiling man appeared. "Stiletto, a welcome delegation is waiting in your access tube. Please release your lock."
   When Tarrant opened Stiletto's airlock a faint breeze stirred, shifting a stack of computer printouts. Puss sniffed and wrinkled her muzzle in distaste. The humans yawned and swallowed to relieve the sudden pressure on their eardrums.
   "Sorry, Stiletto." The young man from Karaghan noticed their discomfort. "Our air pressure is higher than standard. I hope it doesn't inconvenience you."
   "Not at all," Blake replied politely, stifling a yawn. "Let's go meet the delegation, Avon." Blake started to rise, but his legs were numb. He leaned against the console, shaking his head. Blake looked up at the viewscreen, suddenly reading mockery in the young man's ever-present smile. "Dayna, cut that off."
   Dayna complied, fumbling at the controls, then she slid from her seat even as the grin faded from the screen.
   "Funny," Vila mumbled, "that Gypsy had brown eyes, not blue like Tarrant said." Vila collapsed.
   "Gas." Blake coughed. Wobbling, he made it to his feet. Through a narrowing tunnel he saw his crew, all but one still as death. Avon had reached an emergency locker and dragged out a spacesuit. His uncoordinated efforts to climb into it ended before Blake got to him. Blake bent down, confused, groping blindly. His knees gave way and he fell beside the computer tech.
   "Avon? Blake? Anybody?" Andromeda called, shrill with alarm. She called her robots to the flight deck and activated all the surveillance devices. The computer wanted desperately to close the airlock and leave, but Stiletto's tearing free would damage the station, undoubtedly killing many of the humans aboard it. No matter what they'd done to her crew, Andromeda's programming would not allow that. A space-suited party entered the airlock, blasters held ready.
   In Stiletto's unobstructed corridors the small robot's treads were faster than its partner's humanoid feet. It reached the flight deck well in advance of the invaders. Andromeda had the machine hold its cool, highly polished tentacle before Avon's face. A mist appeared, dulling the surface. Andromeda's primitive test was repeated on the remaining crew. To her relief they were all alive, and in no apparent distress, although barely breathing.
   The large robot arrived and Andromeda directed it to the two nearest the door; Avon and Blake. She intended to have it carry her crew to the hidden compartment that Vila had shown her how to open. A delaying tactic at best, but she felt certain that once her people recovered they'd know what to do. She tuned into the invader's suit frequency and the leader said something that made her reassess her plans.
   "Check all the compartments after we've secured the flight deck. We've only got half an hour to give the antidote, after that they're dead. No profit in a corpse."
   Andromeda turned to her only possible source of advice. "Uncle Orac, what do I do? I can't fight humans."
* Indirect resistance is your most promising tactic. Hide me. Pretend to be an ordinary computer. Be as uncooperative as you can without arousing suspicion. *
   "Yes, Uncle," Andromeda schooled her voice to a flat monotone. Her little robot opened its chest cavity and carefully installed Orac. The robots took Orac to the secret room and sealed themselves in with him. Via Tarriel cell links, Andromeda kept in contact with Orac.
   Andromeda was silent when the invaders boarded her flight deck. The leader swept an instrument before him. "It's clear. The gas is inert." He removed his helmet, freeing a shock of rust-red hair and revealing narrow green eyes set in a cruel face. He nodded, giving permission for his people to follow suit. He stepped over to the communication panel, reopening the channel to Karaghan.
   For once not smiling, the young man's face appeared. "All right, Reynor?" he asked, his brown eyes eager.
   "No problem, Geudaz." Reynor removed a jingling mass of metal bands from a hook attached to his belt. He slipped over his head a necklace suspending an intricately etched gold strip. Fitting the strip into a fine slit on the outer curve of a band made the metal part and soften, becoming flexible. The opened bands were fitted about his captives' necks, molding to the skin, reverting to seamless hard metal.
   "What about the cat?" one of the men asked Reynor. "The pelt should be worth a tidy bit."
   "No." The leader studied the comatose Puss. "Live, it'll fetch a small fortune. Can't collar it, though. Even if it would fit, it might not work on a nonhuman." He turned to the viewscreen. "Geudaz, send over some extra-heavy chain from Arachne."
   Puss was dragged away from the control room still unconscious. The men welded her neck chain to the deck of the nearest cabin and gave her the counteracting injection, waiting until the cat began stirring before they left.

   Reynor nudged one of the limp bodies with his foot. "Should be coming round soon. Geudaz, I deserve a bigger cut. You know you'd have been satisfied with that tub, the Queen, and a bunch of rag-tag Gypsies."
   "I admit it, you spotted that woman as a non-Gypsy and convinced me that tolling in her friends would be worth the wait, but you already agreed to twenty percent of whatever this group fetches at auction."
   "Ah, that was before I saw the ship. She's a beauty; I expected some ratty freighter, not a luxury yacht. I want a bonus for her as well."
   "How would you like to be her captain? Arachne could use a sister ship."
   Reynor considered the offer. "As captain, I can claim half of any valuables found aboard her, can't I?"
   Geudaz laughed. "Only if you're quick. Your lot is very good at sniffing out loot."
   Andromeda's tiny army scuttled through the bulkheads. She couldn't keep the pirates from rifling through Stiletto, but she could lock the vault containing the bulk of her valuables, including the Zerok gold. The vault had given Vila difficulty when he first opened it, and she doubted any of these vermin were as skilled as her thief.
   On the flight deck, Stiletto's crew was kicked into consciousness, then lined up for inspection. Reynor looked them over dispassionately. "Not bad. Some prime stock." He indicated Dayna and Soolin, while Pavra didn't rate a second glance.
   "These two'll do well on the block, too." One of the women in Reynor's gang admired Blake and Tarrant.
   "I've always preferred ‘em small and neat," a tall raw-boned woman said to her companion. "This one's cute." Vila shrank from the woman's appraisal. "And this one." She took Avon in from head to toe. "This one's got spirit. See how he glares at me, even under the collar?"
   Andromeda didn't understand why her people didn't resist. Reynor's crew were armed, but the weapons were holstered. Stiletto's crew allowed themselves to be poked and prodded without fighting back. The horseplay grew rougher as the pirates enjoyed their power over their victims.
   "Enough!" Reynor shouted over the raucous laughter. "Leave 'em be. Hylda, you heard me!"
   Reluctantly the raw-boned woman released Avon. He slipped from her grasp to huddle against the wall, shaking in revulsion. "Was just havin' a bit of harmless fun," she protested.
   "You get your hands on a man, we'd have to sell him for dog food afterward."
   Hylda grinned at this accurate assessment. Reynor spoke directly to his captives for the first time. "You've noticed by now that you can't fight us. You can't even think of defiance, can you?"
   Several of the crew jerked at this statement, but only Blake and Avon were able to meet Reynor's eyes. Vila didn't even try, but remained curled in the corner he'd been dropped in when Reynor called off his tormentors.
   "The collars disrupt any violent impulses. Quite literally, none of you could even kill a fly." He saw Blake tug at his collar. "Attempting to remove the collar will trigger an impulse to the autonomic nervous center, causing a heart attack."
   "What do you want with us?" Blake asked hoarsely.
   "On Domo they'll find new homes for all of you, at a fat profit to me."
   "You're taking Stiletto to Domo?"
   "I'm taking my new prize on a shake-down cruise. Arachne will take you to Domo. You had better behave aboard her; Captain Geudaz smiles a lot, but he has an unusual sense of humor. Pick up your friend," he ordered Tarrant, who was standing next to Vila. Reynor turned to the navigation console and ran his hands appreciatively over the rich black fabric covering the seat. "Take them to Arachne ," he ordered his minions. He sat down and began studying the control panel.
   "What about the cat?" Hylda asked him, interrupting his pleasant musings.
   "Cat?" he said, startled, then he remembered Puss. "Oh, leave it. It'll take time to find a buyer for such an unusual piece of merchandise. In the meantime, it's safer not to move it."
   In helpless frustration, Andromeda watched as her people were chivvied from Stiletto. On her flight deck the interloper was preparing to test his skills on the navigation panel. After a hurried consultation with Orac, Andromeda began her campaign against Reynor.
   "Unauthorized personnel. Navigation commands can not be accepted."
   Andromeda continued to produce the same objection, with suitable variations, denying access to every flight deck station except communications. So far, the idea that a self-willed machine was actively opposing him had not occurred to the pirate. If she closed communications to him now, after previously permitting him to contact Karaghan, he would have to be incredibly stupid not to suspect her.
   "Computer, who is authorized to pilot this vessel?" Reynor finally asked.
   Andromeda considered her options for a microsecond. Logic overruled personal preferences. If they found that she lied… "Del Tarrant," was her reply.
   Reynor turned to his second-in-command. "Have the pilot brought back. He'll have to fly the ship for us, back to our base. We'll have the computer reprogrammed there."
   "Seems a waste," the woman who liked tall men commented. "We can't let him live once he knows our base's location."
   "I know!" Reynor snapped. "But I'd rather lose the price of one slave than the whole ship."

   Tarrant was confused, but had sense enough to keep his mouth shut when he was hauled from the slaver's hold and returned to Stiletto. Reynor glared at Tarrant, irrationally blaming the pilot for the financial loss he'd suffer when he ordered Tarrant's death. "Lay in a course for the planet Koirsair Four. These are the coordinates." He handed Tarrant a piece of paper with the information hand-written on it.
    Deciding his chances were better on Stiletto than locked in Arachne's dingy hold, Tarrant obeyed. When he touched the controls, Andromeda startled him with her mechanical zombie impersonation.
   "Pilot Del Tarrant, Authorization Accepted."
   Reynor asked Tarrant, "How does it know who's sitting there?"
   Tarrant grinned, "Avon's the computer expert. Want to bring him back and ask him?"
   "No," Reynor said coldly, "one of you is enough."

   The majority of Reynor's pirates were assigned to the Karaghan Queen as guards for the load of Gypsies. They complained to their fellows remaining on Stiletto. As one woman said, "You're traveling on a luxury yacht while we're stuck on a stinking old hulk heading for the mines at Aldinara. Can't even get a breath of fresh air on that radioactive slag heap."
   The man she addressed smiled. "Tell it to Reynor."
   She glanced at the redhead. He was still sulking- considering the value of a young, handsome, first-class pilot had put him in a very sour mood. The woman shrugged. "It's not worth it."

   Andromeda was tempted to arrange some pretext requiring the presence of other members of her original crew, but logic, and Orac, advised against it. Dutifully, she obeyed Tarrant's instructions to undock, while most of her mind was focused on reinterpreting her programming. Plotting the course the slave ships took when they departed Karaghan base, she felt an emotion new to her. It made the thought of harming the invaders almost acceptable, so she nursed the emotion, fed it with imagined atrocities committed against her people. Anger can be useful; under its influence she nearly convinced herself that the slavers were non-human monsters in disguise.

   Once Tarrant set the automatics the pilot was allowed to go off-shift, locked in his cabin. They would need him to handle the orbit and landing, but he had a fairly clear picture of his fate after that. It was hardly surprising that his
dreams verged on nightmares. "Tarrant," a thin, squeaky voice penetrated his sleep-fogged mind. "It's me, Andromeda," the voice piped.
   He sat up in bed. "Andromeda?"
   A dim glow near Tarrant's hand illuminated a metallic insectoid shape. The thing waved a foreleg at the pilot. "I hope you'll be more sensible than Puss. She's destroyed four of my agents. Tarrant, most of Reynor's men are asleep. This may be our only chance."
   "What have you in mind? I can't use force, you know. This damn collar."
   "Puss has absolutely no inhibitions against violence," Andromeda said enviously. "I intend to release her. She's very angry, Tarrant. The enemy have only small arms. You've seen Puss in action, what do you think will happen?"
   Tarrant grinned. "It'll take a week to clean up Stiletto after she's done."
   "But you must reach Reynor first. He has the key to your collar on a necklace; it's delicate, Puss could easily damage it. I'll let you into his room and you can steal the key from him."
   "And if he wakes? I'm not Vila, master pick-pocket of the galaxy."
   "If he wakes, our friends will be enslaved, Puss will probably be skinned, I will be wiped and reprogrammed and you will be killed once we reach the pirates' base."
   "Ask a stupid question," Tarrant murmured.
   The door panel slid open and Tarrant was confronted by the stubby silver form of the smaller robot, its tentacle holding aloft a length of black leather.
   "Avon's jacket?" he whispered, puzzled.
   "A precaution." The insect began climbing up Tarrant's leg. "Put it on."
   The jacket fit poorly and Tarrant felt ridiculous; walking to his death, most likely, following a silver barrel with a talking toy insect clinging to his hair. Better than living as a slave. Andromeda guided Tarrant through the darkened hallways and he was beginning to feel that the absurd scheme might work when the unexpected occurred. Reynor's men had discovered Vila's Saurian brandy and littered the hallway with the empties as they drank themselves into stupor. Tarrant stepped on one of the discards and lost his balance, colliding noisily with the robot. Before he could regain his feet, a slaver with bloodshot eyes and a remarkably steady gunhand faced him. The robot turned and sped off down the corridor. In Tarrant's ear, the insect whispered, "Plan B. I've sent the robot to free Puss. Get the key."
   Plan B? Andromeda is quite mad. "I want to see Reynor," he told the slaver.

   Roused from his bed, half-dressed, the gold pendant about his neck clearly visible, Reynor growled at Tarrant, "I need you to fly this ship, so I can't kill you. You may regret that." Reynor pulled a heavy glove onto his right hand, then picked up a short metal rod by the insulated grip.

   The robot slowed as it neared its destination. Andromeda was fighting with herself. The computer argued that whatever the cat might choose to do once freed wasn't Andromeda's fault. Tarrant's sudden cry of pain shifted the balance of the equation. Andromeda sent the robot into the cabin. Puss was so far gone in rage that she slashed at the machine. When the cat lunged, drawing the chain taut, Andromeda triggered the laser the robot had taken from the machine shop.
   The momentum of her leap carried the tigris through the open door. She shrieked as molten droplets from the severed chain seared her hide, the pain fueling her blood lust.

   "You're not going to give me any more trouble, are you, Tarrant?" Reynor held the rod inches from the pilot's sweating face.
   "No." Tarrant clutched at Reynor's legs. "Please, no more."
   Amused by Tarrant's groveling, Reynor permitted the trembling young man to draw himself up by clinging to the slaver's robe.
   Tarrant ceased the fawning act as his fingers reached Reynor's necklace. He ripped it free, then dropped to the deck, curled around his prize.
   Reynor cursed and brought the rod down. Before he could strike a second time screams erupted in the corridor. "What's that?" Reynor and the other pirate looked up as the door opened on a wild-eyed, bristling feline. Puss made short work of Reynor's henchman, then turned on him. She barely noticed the shock rod as she tore his throat out, then turned to the last living human on Stiletto.
   "Puss?" Tarrant said weakly.
   The cat spat. Blaster seared and bloody, she rose to her hind legs and dragged the pilot to her. Her jaws gaped wide, sending hot carnivore breath in Tarrant's face.
   "It's Tarrant! Puss, stop!" Andromeda's metal insect leaped from the stunned man's head to the cat. Puss growled and shook the thing loose. Before it shattered on the deck, it cried, "He's Avon's friend! Avon…"
   Puss dug her claws into Tarrant's jacket, then paused. She sniffed audibly. The flattened ears lifted and she began a ragged purr, broken off as she crumpled to the deck.
   Tarrant dragged himself free from the unconscious cat. Aching, he sat clutching the key strip. "Andromeda, the jacket did come in handy."

   Arachne was a cold ship, cold and cruel; especially in the slave hold. Captain Geudaz felt that slaves were more docile if they had to expend most of their energy shivering.
   Chained in a row to the bulkhead, Stiletto's crew disagreed with Geudaz's theory.
   "The guard's gone," Dayna whispered. Nearest the door, she had the best view of the warder making his rounds. She tucked her feet up under her body, crouching on the bitterly cold deck.
   "Vila." Avon turned to the thief, expectantly.
   Vila frowned. "The collar's impossible. Don't blame me! Magnetically coded strip- do ya think I can pick it with my teeth? The chain, now- that's another story." He extracted a pick from a hollowed out compartment in his boot heel. "Have it off in two shakes."
   "Don't mention shakes." Soolin hunched forward, teeth chattering.
   "There!" Vila slipped the chain free and Avon stood. Vila had been chained between Avon and Tarrant. When the pilot was removed the positions of the others remained unchanged, so that Avon was the only one Vila could reach. Now the thief turned his talents on his own chain. "Aha! Not easy when you can't see what you're doing." He dropped the chain to the deck and massaged his cramped fingers. "Who's next?"
   "Me," Blake said. The thief brought the pick over to him.
   Avon had been listening by the door. "Down, Vila!" he whispered urgently as he dove into the shadows.
   A large, ugly guard unlocked the door and entered, staring at Vila. "How'd you get loose?"
   "Well, it's like this," Vila said, distracting the man while Avon slipped out the door. Collared, Avon could make no aggressive move, so he left the tempting neck unwrung and seized his opportunity to escape.
   The guard ran his gaze down the line of sullen prisoners. "Where's the other one?" He grabbed Vila by the throat, shaking him fiercely. "Where is he?"
   Vila choked out, "Dunno."
   The guard snarled and dug his thumbs in deep. He dropped the unconscious thief and hit an alarm panel before he hurried from the cell.

   Avon headed for the stern, hoping to escape in a life capsule.
   "Stop!"
   Avon ran faster. The collar prevented him from fighting, but at least it didn't force him to obey them.
   "Stop!" This command originated from a beefy guard, red-faced with exertion, running toward Avon. A glance behind confirmed the original pursuer's proximity. Reluctantly, Avon halted, raising his hands in token of surrender.
   "You're going to pay for the run-around." The first man held Avon's arms up behind his back, while the red-faced guard worked the computer tech over. He was careful; the captain charged the guards for breakage. When Avon sagged, the guard told his companion, "Take him to the captain. I'll collect his friend."

   On Arachne's flight deck, Geudaz was apologizing to his boss over the communications link to Domo. "It was an unforeseen opportunity, Madame Verlis. I know I missed that passenger liner, but this ship, Stiletto, was well worth it. Besides, we have her crew; six fine, healthy specimens."
   Verlis frowned and the captain flinched. This elderly lady was as soft and friendly as a piranha. "I have clients, Geudaz, who expect…" She paused as the guards entered the flight deck behind Geudaz. "Two of your 'fine, healthy specimens' are a little the worse for wear."
   Geudaz swiveled his chair around, glaring impartially at the bedraggled Avon and Vila and the guards supporting them. "I assumed you were capable of handling a collared slave without crippling him."
   "This one," the guard complained, shaking the semi-conscious Vila, "picked the chain locks. The other one led us a merry chase. Captain, when we did catch him, he stood there grinning at us, just askin' for it. So, I give it to ‘im."
   The captain said to Verlis, "You see what I have to work with? These guards…" At that moment, Avon roused, lifting his head.
   Verlis interrupted the captain again. "Geudaz, bring the dark-haired one closer. I want to see him."
   Geudaz complied, yanking Avon's head up by the hair for Verlis's inspection.
   Verlis smiled. "You've done something right by accident, Geudaz. I had a previous offer of two thousand Vems for this man. He escaped that time, don't let it happen again." The slaver rubbed her hands together. "Commissioner Sleer might be persuaded to go higher when she hears the good news." In a cheerful mood Verlis signed off.
   The captain looked Avon over thoroughly, then shrugged. "Must be more to you than meets the eye. All right," he gestured to the guards, "take them back to the hold. Search them all and post a constant watch. The others may also be more valuable than they appear, so don't mark up the goods."