Stiletto Bits 2

    "Check that again, Orac! There must be an error somewhere." Avon clenched the sides of Orac's casing until a less sturdy material would have cracked.
    * There is no error, Avon. The numbers are correct. I am incapable of miscalculation. * Orac said peevishly.
    "I did not imagine that the error was yours. Nonetheless, the figures are wrong. Tell me the amount as it was the last time I inquired."
    Orac gave its best facsimile of a put-upon sigh. * Previously, the account contained fourteen million, seven hundred and fifty-nine thousand, eight hundred and ninety- two credits. It now is listed as an inactive account, with no assets. *
    "No assets?" Avon's plaintive cry fell upon curious ears.
    While being careful to maintain his cover, Vila edged closer, intrigued. The instant Orac declared Avon recovered from the flu, the computer expert had fled the sick room, snatching up Orac on the way. Blake had protested, as Orac had been investigating weak spots in the Federation suitable for Stiletto's crew to attack. Avon had muttered something about it being safer for all of them if Orac stayed with him. Blake had seethed, but Avon was already out the door when the comment was made and Blake was unable to leave without infecting the rest of the crew.
    Vila had stopped by to tell Blake that he had completed the engineering project begun by the two of them before Blake caught the flu. He had been anticipating a verbal pat-on-the-back, but Blake was too annoyed with Avon to say more than, "Well done, Vila," before he told Vila that he wanted Orac.
    With a bit of persuasion, Vila agreed to find Orac and retrieve it for Blake, once Avon left it unguarded. As Vila was bored, he was looking forward to an opportunity to practice his trade. Which is how he found himself hiding outside Avon's workroom, eavesdropping until the vast sum of money mentioned drew him out of hiding.
    "Avon, where'd you get fourteen million credits?"
    Avon looked up at the thief and scowled. "Where do you think, Vila?"
    "The only time we had our hands on anything like that kind of credits was in Freedom City…"Vila frowned as he thought of the wealth he'd had and been unable to spend before it was lost with Liberator. "Avon, you swore my money was lost and here you had it all along!"
    "No." Avon shook his head. "Your five million blew up along with Liberator, as I said. My money, on the other hand, had been safely hidden in a number of bank accounts under various pseudonyms. It has grown… until now." Avon glared at Orac. "Dammit, Orac, where did the money go? Once I find out who's taken it, I'm going to get it back."
    * I don't believe that will be possible. The Interstellar Revenue Kabala is unassailable. *
    Avon went white. Vila flinched. "That's that, Avon. The IRK never loses."
    Avon snarled, "They haven't come up against me before now. It's my money and I'm going to get it back."
"Nope." Vila settled on his hip on the table beside Orac, ticking off points on his fingers. "IRK agents are superhuman- they have to be, the way they're universally hated, IRK computers are programmed to figure that everyone owes the Federation everything they've got, IRK facilities are better guarded than Space Command Headquarters and finally, even if you got your money back, they'd just reassess your case and take it all away again. There isn't a bank in the universe whose records they can't get into, and everyone lives in terror of them."
    "Vila, I don't care. This perfidious evil must be stopped." Avon's eyes glowed with a righteous fervor rivaling Blake's. "How can men live and strive, knowing an invisible monster, bloated with the accumulated life blood of entire planets, is lying in wait to bankrupt them?"
    "Now, Avon, let's not do anything rash." Vila was on the verge of panic. If Avon joined Blake as a wild-eyed crusader… no, it was too horrible to contemplate. "It's only money, after all," he said weakly.
    "ONLY MONEY!" Avon shouted in horror. " DEATH TO THE seized Orac and ran from the room.
    "Oh, boy," Vila whimpered.

    Blake was annoyed. Not only had Vila not returned with Orac, but no one else appeared to have the time to talk to him. His calls on the intercom were met with polite ‘Yes, Blake, how are you feeling, Blake? Don't worry, Blake," from all, including Avon, which did nothing to reassure him. What were they plotting? Andromeda, as usual, sided with Avon, telling Blake that nothing was wrong. Andromeda was quite capable of lying; she simply didn't do it very well.
    At the very least, she was omitting the fact that Stiletto had changed course and speed radically. Even without access to the flight deck, Blake had noticed the shift which occurred perhaps twenty minutes after Avon left him. Blake was more sensitive to the sounds and vibrations of Stiletto's workings than he had been to Liberator's. As an engineer, he had felt superfluous on the self-maintained, self-repairing alien craft. True, he and Avon had often helped the ship heal itself during emergencies, but human assistance hadn't been necessary, just expedient. In contrast, he had got his hands on every interior inch of Stiletto at one time or another; most recently with Vila's unexpectedly competent aid. Belatedly, he thought that he should have been more appreciative of Vila's efforts. He had sworn to himself that he was going to pay more attention to the human needs of his crew - Vila certainly deserved compliments for finishing the job on his own.
    That could explain why Vila hadn't come back, if his feelings were bruised when Blake brusquely gave him another errand instead of praise. That theory couldn't be stretched to cover the others, though. "Andromeda, where is everyone?"
    The computer said, "Well, they're all on the flight deck, but they're rather busy."
    "Jenna isn't too busy to talk to me, is she? Put me through to her." Blake said. There was a static-filled hesitation before Andromeda connected his intercom with the crew member who had remained on his side even when he had lost faith with himself, his aims and his methods. "Jenna," Blake kept his voice level with an effort. In the background, he had heard Avon and Vila arguing, Avon at his most adamant, and Vila at his most terrified.
    "Yes, Blake?" Jenna was too cheerful.
    "What's going on, Jenna?"
    "Why, nothing."
    Blake could visualize the innocent look on the ex-smuggler's face that accompanied her words. "Jenna." Blake paused to draw a steadying breath. "If you don't give me, now, a very convincing explanation why Stiletto has changed course and speed, then I'm coming up there to get it in person."
    There was a lull in the Avon -Vila confrontation as Blake's ultimatum registered. Vila protested, "But, Blake, then we'd all catch the flu."
    "Yes," Blake replied, "and while you were enjoying the effects, I can guarantee you'd all be too preoccupied to get into mischief."
    "We aren't doing anything you'd disapprove," Jenna told him. "Avon just came up with a really worthwhile target- better than Space Command Headquarters, or Star One, or any number of Pylene 50 factories."
    "If it's that wonderful, let Avon tell me about it."
    Avon's voice took over from Jenna's. "All right, Blake. I had hoped to inform you later, when you were recovered, and, presumably, in full possession of your faculties. As I am the one person who need not fear your biological warfare threat, I will return and tell you, in person, what we wish to do."
    "Why, don't you want the others to hear?"
    "I couldn't care less who hears, Blake," Avon snapped. "Once you understand the ramifications of the proposed mission, you should be its most ardent supporter. It will be far more useful to the masses than bombs or rhetoric, and will add luster to our somewhat tarnished reputation. I will explain when I arrive."
    "You'd better, Avon," Blake growled, but under the bluster he was rather pleased. It seemed that something had fired up Avon's enthusiasm for the rebellion. It seemed it was an independently planned raid rather than a mutiny.
    Avon checked that the intercom was off, then turned to Jenna. "Remember, Jenna, no matter what Blake threatens, this ship stays on course."
    Jenna nodded. "He doesn't always see eye to eye with us on practical matters, Avon."
    Avon grinned. "Then I'll appeal to his ‘Robin Hood' complex."
    Dayna watched Avon leave, then she turned to Tarrant and said, "All right, Tarrant, I went along because you backed Avon, now explain to me why it's so important. I'm willing to attack the Federation any way I can, just to hurt Servalan, but I can't see how a raid on a bureaucrat's office is really going to bother anyone."
    "You would if you'd lived on Earth," Tarrant said.
    "I did, as a child."
    "Ah, but not as a tax-paying adult."
    "So?" Dayna frowned, "What's the big deal? It wouldn't make sense for a government to take too much away from its workers. That would destroy their incentive to produce - why, you'd wind up with people having no pride in their work, and resenting their leaders, and…"She trailed off, silenced by Tarrant's smirk.
    "Exactly." Tarrant waved at Vila. "Vila wouldn't know about it, but it was a major pain for all Alphas, figuring out what you owed every year."
    Vila shot back, "Why do you think Deltas hate to work? It's 'cause we don't get to keep any of it. First sixty percent is taxed off your income, then another chunk comes out of anything you buy, then more if you try to put aside savings." Vila shrugged. "At least when I stole something, it was all mine."
    Jenna looked up from Stiletto's controls. "You can't make an honest living in the Federation, not the way the rules are set up. I didn't leave the Federation Space Academy intending to fly rust-buckets across the galaxy, but the only non-government carriers had to haul drugs and worse, in order to earn enough to pay taxes on their legitimate cargoes. And in the meantime, colony worlds short of materiel went begging for skippers and ships. There isn't a high profit margin in a hold full of grain, or basic medical supplies, or text-tapes, or any of a million things that people desperately needed and couldn't afford to get legally."
    "It wasn't that bad, surely," Dayna protested, hesitantly.
    Jenna found support from an unexpected corner when Soolin said, "It was." She was as coolly distant as ever when she said, "G.P. might have been less attractive to the mining cartels if the farmers had been able to export their crops and import the technology needed for more than a subsistence level economy."
    Pavra nodded, as grim as Soolin. "We were proud of our self-sufficiency, but we found out that when you have no trading partners, no one cares if your world is destroyed. If there was unrestricted trade among the planets, it could lead to interdependency, perhaps even alliances."
    "All that just by buggering up a few records?"Vila put in. "I told Avon, and I'm telling you, nobody beats the IRK. And I don't want them mad at me."
    "Would you rather have us mad at you?" Tarrant asked sweetly.
    "Yes!" Vila sidled over to Puss, who had been listening to the conversation with puzzlement, made evident by the constant flickering of her ears and whiskers. "You can't arrange it so my whole family gets evicted or put on security's trouble-maker list. The IRK is the Federation, Tarrant. I'd rather fight Puss, bare-handed." He patted the feline on her shoulder. "No offense."
    The cat growled. Empathically, she had gathered that the discussion concerned an enemy to be fought. The consensus among her crewmates, her adopted family, was to attack. Avon felt particularly strongly about this, and Puss gladly embraced any opportunity to impress him with her courage. Especially now, when she needed to atone for passing her illness on to Avon. She flicked her claws out idly, inspecting them for chips or dullness. It was only a coincidence that the splayed paws passed directly before Vila's face.
    Vila ducked. "Hey! You do that again and I won't let you play with Del any more!"
    "Play with Del?" Dayna raised an eyebrow and glanced at Tarrant, who was turning a trifle pink.
    "You didn't bring that scurvy rodent on the flight deck again, did you, Vila?" Tarrant asked, frowning. "Bad enough naming the monster after me, but you aren't going to have it making messes on my panel."
    "No, no, Del is snug in his little house, Tarrant. He's very clean, anyway. I've been teaching him things, he's very clever, really."
    "How smart can a thing with a brain the size of a pea be?" Tarrant muttered.
    "I don't know, how smart are you, Tarrant?" Vila ducked down beside Puss, just in time.

    "Blake agreed." Avon strode onto the flight deck and casually went to his station at the main computer console.
    "That's it?" Vila asked. "You've been gone half an hour and that's all you have to say?"
   "Do you want the gory details?" At Vila's nod, Avon glanced around at all the expectant faces. "You do. Well, now, Blake didn't think the idea was sufficiently idealistic to suit his halo, until I pointed out that all the pursuit ships that chase us are purchased with tax monies, all the Federation troops are paid with tax monies, all the weapons and drugs that enslave entire systems are paid for by tax monies, and so on. After awhile, he decided that the idea was so good, it should have been his own, and he spent the last twenty-five minutes embellishing it." Avon grinned. "In short, we are in business, with our Fearless Leader's full approval."
    Jenna smiled. "Good. Blake needed something to spark his enthusiasm, and frankly, I'm tired of blowing up things."
    "What's wrong with blowing things up?" Dayna inquired. "It can be very satisfying."
    "Yes, but they don't stay blown up. I was beginning to feel that we were serving as an unpaid urban renewal subcontractor for the Federation," Jennacomplained. "We'd flatten a base and six months later, there was a bigger and better one in its place."

    By the time Stiletto was orbiting the Federation planet, Lucre, Avon was finding Blake's assistance almost as great an inconvenience as Vila's reluctance. Blake's case of flu was lingering longer than Orac had predicted- of course, Orac insisted that his prediction would have been right if Blake had followed the recommended medical regimen.
    "Be sensible, for once, Blake," Avon argued. As he was the only human immune to the disease, Avon had gone in person to bear the brunt of Blake's displeasure at his omission from the raid. "You simply can't go undercover, sneezing and coughing all the way. That would rather defeat the purpose of a surreptitious operation."
    Blake stopped gnawing his finger and gave Avon a frown. "Then you can wait until I throw off the last of the flu. Another day or two, at most."
    "No." Avon turned his back on Blake, annoyed at the other man's stubbornness. Reluctantly, he turned back when Blake said, "Avon?" softly.
    Avon sighed. "Blake, it's now or never. Lucre processes the tax records for this entire sector, including, by some bureaucratic twist of illogic, all those of Earth citizens who spend more than half of a solar year in the sector. Those records are filed and tabulated here and only the results are transmitted back to IRK headquarters on Earth. This is the weak point in the link, the one place where records can be altered without any trace."
    "Yes, you and Orac already explained that," Blake said impatiently, "but why not wait a few days?"
    "Because Orac also says that the tabulation is complete and tomorrow, at the start of his I-dotting, pencil-pushing day, the chief leech will give the order to transmit the results. We can't wait!"
    Blake went back to chewing on his knuckle, then sighed and nodded. "All right, Avon. This time, I'll stay at home, while you have all the fun."
    "Fun!"
    "Oh, and Avon?"
    Avon paused on his way to the door. "Yes?"
    "Be careful. Remember even pencil-pushers can be dangerous."

    "Vila!" Avon snapped. "Get that thing off the teleport waconsole!" Hes in no mood for cute little animals, not with most of the ship's complement gathered in the teleport room, prepared to attack the IRK.
    "What a grouch." Vila scooped up his hamster and held the curly-haired creature to his face. "I told you, Del, you should stick with me."
    "See that it does." Avon wiped at the console, just in case Del had dropped a few hairs behind. He would rather have left the beast on Stiletto, but Vila had insisted that Del would be useful. Avon didn't believe that, but by making that concession, he'd got Vila to come along.
    Jenna tugged at her costume, squirming in a vain attempt to pull the spangled material into a less precarious position. Dayna gave Jenna a sympathetic smile, while secretly rejoicing that Avon hadn't tried to foist such a awkward garment on her. Vila's smile was wider than Dayna's and his eyes were beginning to glaze as he stared at Jenna. Jenna noticed Vila's admiration and glared at the petty thief before turning her ire on the more ambitious of the criminal duo. "Avon, this is ridiculous. These sequins itch and the damn thing's too small!"
    "The sequins are traditional, and it's supposed to be too small. You and the others will serve as distraction, while Vila gets me into the computer center." Avon maintained a noncommittal expression with difficulty, until Jenna stalked out of the teleport room, then he allowed himself a smile. The smile vanished when Jenna returned with Puss.
    "Now, Avon," Jenna said sweetly, "explain to Puss how traditional her costume is?"
    The great cat was growling softly, with her whiskers flattened against her wrinkled muzzle. Vila noted the odd green light at the back of Puss's ice-blue eyes and prudently tucked Del away in a pocket and slipped to one side, out of the tigris's line of sight.
    "I said your costume was traditional, Jenna. I designed Puss's harness myself. It is a unique combination of practicality and tawdry glitter intended to disguise the fact that Puss is a rational being," Avon paused, to glance at Vila, "unlike some others I could name."
    Puss cocked her head to one side, considering, then accepted Avon's explanation. But she was still slightly annoyed and she backed Avon into a corner until he gave her ears a thorough rub.
    "Avon, Tarrant says he won't wear the… "Pavra's voice trailed off as she entered the teleport room. She took in the scene with wide eyes and jaw dropped slightly. She rather liked her own outfit, the long, multi-colored robes and flowing scarves weren't too dissimilar to her own taste and Dayna's short, silky, white, one-sleeved tunic appeared natural on her, matching the gracefully curved platinum-colored bow and quiver of silver-tipped arrows, but the others… Avon and Vila in matching, none-too-clean drab green maintenance coveralls, Jenna in a skin-tight, iridescent scarlet bodysuit, cut high on the thigh and plunging on the neckline, covered with gold sequins in paisley swirls and Puss, encircled by gilded leather straps and buckles liberally festooned with thumb-size, red, cabochon-cut rhinestones? She shut her mouth with an audible snap. "On second thought, I think Tarrant will fit right in."
    "He'd better get down here now," Jenna warned. "I'm not going to stand here looking like an idiot all day."
    Vila opened his mouth, then closed it as he decided the witty come-back he had in mind wasn't all that witty, taking into account Jenna's narrow-eyed glare in his direction.
    "Tarrant!" Avon snapped open the internal communication. "If you aren't here in thirty seconds, we're going without you."
    Tarrant's reply came, "I'm not going anywhere dressed like this!"
    Jenna leaned over Avon's shoulder to speak into the pick-up. "We don't care if you're stark naked, Tarrant, get in here."
    Tarrant's arrival was met with silence. Even Avon, who had got the specifications for the costumes from Orac and fed them into Andromeda's replicators, was taken aback. Although covered from neck to toe, Tarrant appeared less dressed than Jenna.
    "I may kill you for this, Avon," Tarrant said through gritted teeth. "You can't expect me to be seen in public in this? Half the planet will be laughing at me. I'd rather be stark naked."
    "Then the whole planet would be laughing at you," Vila said, smirking, suddenly quite pleased with his own smelly garment. At least he wasn't inside an electric-blue body-suit with three-inch wide blazing yellow stripes running up his sides from ankle to armpit to wrist. The just barely visible outline of an athletic supporter at the crotch was the finishing touch. Vila stared at Tarrant's mid-section and began to laugh, helpless to control himself, laughing harder when Tarrant's face went a deep burgundy that clashed with the suit.
    "Avon." Tarrant turned to the only one who wasn't laughing. Even Puss had produced curled whiskers and suspicious snuffling noises. Avon was smiling, but he'd gone no further than that. "I know you want a distraction, but I think the others will be enough. Perhaps it would be better if I stay on board, in case we need a quick exit."
    "No. Andromeda is quite capable and Blake has all the bridge systems fed into the recreation room computer where he can monitor them, in the unlikely event a problem arises. Jenna will do her part, but it may be that some of the guards will not be… her type. You are insurance. I like to cover all eventualities. And, as the only hope of success lies in the IRK not finding out what we have done, ever, we need to be certain none of the guards remembers Vila or myself."
    Tarrant looked down at himself. "If it was any other mission…"
    "But it's not any other mission, Tarrant," Avon said, silkily. "It's the IRK. This isn't just money, or rebellion, we're talking about here, Tarrant, it's striking back at the tax man."
    Tarrant's spine straightened. "My father had a space runabout when I was a child, Avon. I loved that little ship, until one year the tax assessor revamped the regulations and took it as a penalty. I'm with you, Avon." He looked down at his suit and sighed. "Just don't let anyone I know see me."
    Dayna moved closer and linked arms with Tarrant. "Oh, I don't know, the color is you, Tarrant. It does wonders for your eyes."
    "Doesn't do anything for mine," Vila muttered.
    Avon turned on the intership communications. "Blake," he said, "we're ready."
    "Good luck." Blake sounded wistful. "I wish I could be there to see you off."
    Avon glanced around the room. "Perhaps it's just as well that you can't."

    "Now, you all know what to do?" Avon asked one last time.
    "Yes, Avon, don't worry," Dayna was looking around with sparkling eyes, enjoying the excitement swirling all around.
    "Dayna…"Avon stopped when he realized that the girl was paying no attention to him, instead watching in rapt admiration as a short man with thick black mustachios and a heavy black blindfold tossed knives at a woman tied onto a rotating wheel decorated with balloons. So far, he'd popped six balloons and not nicked the lady.
    "It's her first circus, Avon," Vila said, shrugging.
    "It's a carnival, not a circus," Avon corrected, absently. Tarrant and Jenna were nearly as bemused as Dayna and he was beginning to wonder if his brilliant plan was going to end with all of his team lost in the bright lights of the midway.
    "Carnival- circus- what's the difference?" Vila asked. Delta amusements were even wilder than this, so he was less distracted than the others.
    "A circus has at least one elephant," Avon replied.
    "Well, learn something new every day. But how do you know they don't have an elephant?" Vila inquired.
    Avon turned back to Vila. "Because even this pitiful excuse for a business has a computer keeping their records and Orac has told me that they do not purchase sufficient quantities of feed for an elephant. Besides that, Vila, elephants are extinct."
    "If we don't get started soon, we'll be extinct," Vila pointed out.
    Avon nodded and reached out to Jenna and Tarrant, who were starting to stray. "In an hour, Vila and I will be in position. You will be ready to do your part, won't you? And try to bring Dayna. I'd hate to have to tell Blake that she's run off to join the circus."
    "Carnival," Vila said, quietly.
    "Yes, Avon," Tarrant grinned. He'd discovered that his new outfit was not entirely without its advantages - he'd noticed more than one young woman appreciating it. "We apply for jobs at the blue-striped tent, and after they've accepted us, we get free passes to the show and go to the IRK building and offer them to the guards, distracting them until you and Vila can sneak into the building."
    Avon nodded. "Simple enough."
    "Too simple," Jenna said, listening to them, while watching the midway. "How can you be sure we'll be accepted? After all, we really aren't performers."
    "Orac told me what sort of acts this…carnival…lacks. They haven't a fortune-teller," he pointed to Pavra, who with her flowing robes and slanted eyes and olive skin, looked impressively inscrutable, "or a large wild animal act," he indicated Puss, "and while they have a sufficiency of marksmen and equestriennes and acrobats, they haven't an archer, or a tigris rider." He looked at Tarrant and shrugged, "The owner is rumoured to like young men, Tarrant. Smile, and you should be on the payroll."
    Tarrant grinned brightly. "Right, go on then."
    "Oh," Avon said over his shoulder, "don't be too friendly to the owner, or he may not want to let you out of his sight."
    Tarrant's grin faded. "Thanks, Avon."

    "It was lucky for us that a carnival was in that vacant meadow by the IRK building, wasn't it, Avon?" Vila said, while leaning over the side of a crate that he and Avon were supposed to be loading onto a hover-van.
    "Luck had very little to do with it, Vila. The IRK is as popular here as anywhere else in the known worlds. As a result, the building has been threatened by arsonists and bombers innumerable times. No one in their right mind would build on the adjoining sites."
    "Still lucky that the circus stayed here."
    "This is a heavily populated world. Vacant plots of land near urban areas are rare. Orac said that meadow is hired out to traveling performers approximately fifty percent of the time."
    "All right, so you had everything figured out," Vila conceded, "as usual." Vila scratched under one arm. "But you didn't have to be quite so authentic with these maintenance coveralls. Mine smells like something died in it." From Vila's left breast pocket came a high-pitched sneeze. "Poor little Del." Vila unzipped the pocket, allowing an inquisitive pink nose access to fresh air.
    "Keep that animal hidden, unless you want to be the something that died in that coverall." Avon lifted his head and glared at Vila. "And I do not intend to be the only one loading this van."
    "We could stop and have a cuppa- that'd look natural," Vila commented, then sighed and joined Avon in lifting the crate onto the bed of the hover-van. "This isn't good for my hands, you know," he complained softly.
    "Shut up. They're here," Avon whispered, noticing the gaudy arrival of Stiletto's crew. The last two crates went up with commendable speed and the hover-van driver drove off, sending a shower of sand and gravel over Avon and Vila.
    "Hey! He promised us a tip for helping him!" Vila said. He was the picture of outraged innocence.
    "Yes. Well, I suppose the lesson here is never to trust a Federation lorry driver. Take that for your tip, Vila." Avon brushed at the grit on his coverall, succeeding in smearing it further. "Follow me." He walked toward the entrance of the IRK building slowly, with the attitude of one facing a never-ending supply of boring work.
    Vila scratched a bit more, just for local color, then picked up his battered tool kit and followed, with a weary slump to his shoulders.
    "Yes, of course we know what building this is," Tarrant was saying while smiling broadly enough to disguise his acute nervousness about being unarmed (and nearly nude) in front of a pair of armed Federation guards. They were IRK guards, dressed in IRK green and not, hopefully, up to the sadistic standards of traditional Federation troopers, but they were Federation no matter the color of their uniforms.
    Jenna sidled up, with a little extra shimmy in her walk. She'd resolved that she was going to have fun on this mission, and watching Federation guards' eyeballs pop was amusing enough for starters. "We don't think it's fair, the way people treat IRK workers. After all, it's not as if you were auditors." She reached the nearest guard and tapped him lightly on the chest with a pair of pasteboard tickets. "Everybody loves the circus, and circus people are the friendliest in the galaxy." She smiled and tossed her hair over her shoulder, then went for the big finish by inhaling until she felt a stitch snap.
    "What do you think, Buck?" One guard said to the only Fed. whose uniform had an extra brassy pip on the shoulder. Extra pip was in obviously in charge, equally obviously it was a relaxed sort of ‘in charge'.
    "I think that we're all on night shift for the next two weeks," the other man replied. His ingrained frown deepened. "Wouldn't you know it, the only time anybody wants to give me something, I can't use it."
    "There are matinees," Dayna said. She was leading Puss on a gilded leash and the big felinoid waited until the guard was looking at her to yawn, exposing all her teeth. The cat had listened while Avon explained that any violence would ruin his mission and she had agreed, reluctantly to obey, but she was bored. She cocked her head to one side, hopefully watching the guard's nervous step backward with uplifted gun. If the guards started something, it wouldn't be her fault, would it?
    Jenna took the leash from Dayna with a sharp, "Sit Kitty, be a good girl." At the dirty look evoked by the baby talk, Jenna leaned forward to say, "You-know-who won't be pleased if you cause trouble."
    Puss wilted. Being bored was tolerable, being in Avon's bad graces was not. At least not in Puss's viewpoint.
    "Kitty's perfectly tame," Jenna said, "Here, you can pet her, if you like." Hazel eyes met ice-blue eyes as Jenna silently warned the cat to behave.
    The men gathered in front of the door shifted, looking to Buck for permission. "Hell, why not." Buck shouldered his weapon and stepped forward. "I never did touch a live animal before." He reached out to Puss and by luck, found the scratch spot alongside her jaw. She slitted her eyes and purred. "Hey. She likes it!" He was pleased with himself for his success and moved a little further away from the door he was guarding. "Come on guys, try it."
    Behind the knot of green-clad guards vying to pet the tigris, two other green-clad men shuffled forward. Avon looked over the Feds to meet Tarrant's eyes. Tarrant nodded.
    "If we had a bit more room, we could give you a sample of the show now," Tarrant said.
    "We shouldn't go…" Buck started, reluctantly, to object.
    "Just a few meters away," Dayna urged. "So I can do my target shooting and my friends can show off, too."
    Pavra came forward and held out a pack of well-worn cards. "And if someone could find a table where I could lay out my cards, I could read your futures."
    Buck looked at the happy, smiling faces of his friends and surrendered. "All right, Bill, you and Phin go get a table."
    The door was locked wide open to allow the table-bearers through and the other men crowded about Puss. In the confusion it wasn't surprising that no one bothered to check the credentials of two drab maintenance men who walked into the IRK processing center.
    "That was too easy, Avon," Vila commented, looking nervously about the gray-green corridors they traversed.
    "Would you prefer it to be more difficult?"
    Avon stopped in front of a door. "Open this."
    "That's all I ever do anymore, is open doors for you, gAvon," Vilarumbled. "Do I look like a doorman?"
    "No, the uniform isn't right. Hurry."
    Vila muttered, but worked without looking up. There were quite a few locked doors to slow their progress. Passing the secretarial pool they were further inconvenienced by a call for their services as maintenance workers. Despite his fears, Vila did enjoy watching Avon replace light globes for secretaries- especially as the secretaries treated Avon the same as any underling. The aroma clinging to the two thieves warded off any extended duties and they were soon on their way once more. Vila smiled as he bent over one last door to the inner sanctum, the head pencil-pusher, as Avon had dubbed their unsuspecting victim. "How's it feel, Avon?"
    "What?" Avon asked, distracted from his position as look-out.
    "Being a Delta janitor."
    "Well, the work is light, but the social aspect is depressing."
    "You noticed. Ah." Vila twirled his probe with pride and opened the door. "Voila!"
    "Where did you pick that up?" Avon swept past Vila, sweeping the room in a hurried glance, checking for monitors or late-working employees.
    "Voila? It's an old Delta word. It means let's get done and get the Hell out of here." The further into the complex they went, the more frightened Vila had become. The omnipresent posters depicting a smiling IRK agent repossessing homes hadn't helped any.
    "Vila!" Avon sounded very annoyed.
    "What? I didn't do anything." Vila looked around to be certain.
    "Open this." Avon gestured at a large metal rectangle taking pride of place on an imposing walnut desk.
    Vila walked around the thing and puzzled over it. "This is a new one on me, Avon." He poked and prodded at the box, felt along its sides and seams and came to the conclusion that the only possible point of attack was the round hole near the top. He peered into the hole using one of his probes for light. Then he looked up at Avon. "Avon, you aren't going to like this."
    "What? Do you mean to say that there is a lock you can't open?" Avongrowled.
    "No, of course not," Vila huffed, insulted. "It's just that I can't open it with any of the tools I brought. You see, how it works is, they drop in a ball of the right weight and it releases the mechanism. I can get it open without the ball, but not without leaving marks."
    "Which is exactly what we don't want." Avon turned, surveying the office. "I don't imagine anything here could be used in stead of that ball."
    "Would be pretty stupid to leave the key with the lock, wouldn't it?" At that moment, Del came up for another breath of fresh air, and Vila automatically stuffed the hamster back down into the pocket.
    "Vila," Avon purred and walked toward his fellow thief, eyes fixed on Vila's pocket. "Vila, do you suppose that …"
    "No," Vila squawked, fingers intertwined protectively above his pocket. "No, Del could get caught in there. Besides, maybe he's not heavy enough, or too heavy."
    Avon reached out to tug Vila's hands away from his pocket. "Vila, if we don't get that box open, then we'll have gone through all this for nothing. Don't you want Del to have a chance to save the day? Imagine, Del the Rebel Rodent."
    "Tarrant wouldn't be able to make nasty cracks about him then, would he?" Reluctantly, Vila opened his pocket and released the squirming animal. "But if he gets stuck, I'm taking this box apart, marks or no marks."
    "Agreed."
    Little Del stood in his master's hand, investigating the opening for a few seconds then popped into the hole, tiny pink feet scrabbling at the smooth metal sides. Vila watched until the animal had got past a bend, then he listened, ear held tight to the opening.
    "Well?" Avon asked impatiently.
    "Hang on, he's still moving. Give Del a bit of time."
    "We may not have much more." Avon stalked back and forth. Depending on a hamster for the completion of a meticulously planned mission. He shook his head- computers were so much more reliable. At a snap, Avon whirled, to face Vila's beaming face and an opened computer interface.
    "The winna and new champion!" Vila held Del's paws up in a victory bow, before Avon pushed him and the hamster aside.
    "This is more like it." Avon smiled and busied himself at the console. He was occupied for several minutes, changing data streams and erasing his tracks. Finally, he leaned back in the leather-upholstered desk chair and grinned at Vila.
    "Done?" Vila asked.
    "Done." Avon rose, and carefully reset the chair to its original position. "Put the lock back, Vila, and we can go home."