Glitz smiled, hoping to dampen the worry he knew Dibber would feel. He was a good lad most of the time, but a while ago he'd started trying to think for himself. Glitz was sure that was what had got them locked up for the past six months. The skin cell traces he himself had left on the safe were obviously just a technicality that would never been considered otherwise. 'Maybe you're right about one thing, Dibber. We need to make a quick profit, which we can then invest. Trade, in other words.'

'We'd have to sell something first,' Dibber said slowly. 'But the last of the siligtone went ages ago.'

'We don't need to waste your time hawking scrap metal,'

Glitz reminded him encouragingly. 'They never found the crystals that went missing from that shipyard, did they?'

'You mean the ones we nicked from their safe?'

Glitz winced. Dibber had such a simplistic view of the cut and thrust nature of their business. 'I mean the navigation crystals which we were accused of appropriating.' But which, Glitz recalled with relief, the prosecution had never been able to prove were in that safe to start with. At least the sentence for cracking an empty safe was rather less than they would have got if the loot had still been on them. Glitz took a swig of something wet and alcoholic to help his throat along. 'As luck would have it, I do believe I know where we might find them.'

Dibber shrugged. 'Still in that wrecked ship where you hid them, I suppose.'

Glitz couldn't deny that. Well, he could, but there wouldn't be much point in denying it to his own partner in crime.

'Exactly. Where, since nobody knows they don't belong there, they're merely treasure trove. Finders keepers, Dibber. We go to the breakers' yard, find the crystals, and keep 'em perfectly legally.' Glitz couldn't resist a laugh. He'd certainly outsmarted the law this time!

The standard trade negotiations had gone well, Mandell thought. He had expected the Veltrochni to hold out for better shipping routes, but they didn't. They were too clever to be so petty, he reminded himself sourly.

The Veltrochni Ambassador and her entourage all had a blue and red mottled highlight to their leathery skin, showing that they were all from the same clan. Blood is thicker than water, people said. It seemed to be a universal constant among sentient species that they trusted family most.

'Madam Ambassador,' Klein said. 'I believe that concludes the business for today. If you'd care to join me, I believe the news media will be waiting outside with a few questions.'

Most normal people hated that part of the job but, being President, Klein loved the attention. Except, Mandell recalled fondly, for the time someone innocently asked him about his secretary's baby. Mandell had nearly burst a blood vessel trying not to laugh.

'If that is the custom here,' Ambassador Brokhal replied, not sounding too happy at the prospect. She and Klein rose, followed by the assorted bodyguards, civil servants and lawyers. 'One moment,' she added, surprisingly smoothly for a being with a voice that sounded like it gargled with pebbles.

'My government has instructed me to ask about the whereabouts of a relic that was stolen from Veltroch a decade ago.'

'Why should we on Vandor Prime know?' Klein asked, more surprised than he had a right to be.

'Our intelligence reported it had been brought here. Several recent communications we sent have remained unanswered.'

Klein looked baffled, but recovered, and smiled sympathetically. Remember your image, Mandell thought. 'I was not aware of any such message -'

'Then your staff is incompetent,' Brokhal said bluntly. 'You should replace them.'

'There is always a constant review of performance going on... But as to this theft, I'll have my own intelligence services look into it. If there is some Veltrochni property here, they'll find it.' Klein turned back to Mandell. 'You think your people are up to it?'

'I'll see to it at once, sir. You can rely on me.'

Brokhal snorted. 'You mentioned your media... ?' President Klein gestured towards the door, and both human and Veltrochni entourages filtered out into the Forum. .

Mandell remained standing at the side of the conference table, as the others left, surrounded by their own groups of bodyguards. He had spent a long time learning to read aliens'

body language and psychology; he had felt it was necessary if he was to be the best negotiator he could be. Knowing how others thought meant he was negotiating from the position of strength, and that was what made him the best he could be.

Negotiating from strength had always been best, and always would be.

Reading Veltrochni non-verbal signals was difficult, but certainly within his capabilities. The flattened dorsal spines were definitely a bad sign. That meant they were not in the mood for any nonsense, and made him a little jittery. It probably wasn't going to be possible to just brush this under the carpet and be done with it.

Left alone in the conference room, he helped himself to the dregs of the coffee pot. Why couldn't they just write it off as experience? 'Felchin' troublemakers,' he muttered, stabbing at the communications panel on the desk. 'Get me the Justice Division.'

The Speculator Speculator was vast, dating from a century when bigger had been considered not just better, but essential. It was a jumbled collection of massive structures; several city blocks built around each other. The gargantuan size had once been deemed necessary to support the hundreds, or even thousands, of people who would need accommodation and workshops in which to begin the work of terraforming their destination planets. was vast, dating from a century when bigger had been considered not just better, but essential. It was a jumbled collection of massive structures; several city blocks built around each other. The gargantuan size had once been deemed necessary to support the hundreds, or even thousands, of people who would need accommodation and workshops in which to begin the work of terraforming their destination planets.

Now fewer than half the viewports set into the scarred hull were still lit. A couple of the building-sized protrusions on the hull were torn open and rimmed with frost. The hollow pit that ran deep into the length of the ship was webbed with immense chains and metal cable. Sections of scaffolding and rails disappeared down into the blackness of that pit.

'What the fipe is this?' Handley asked more aloud than he probably should have. 'Noah's Ark?'

'It's just about old enough,' Nausch answered. She joined him at the chart tank, which was now displaying a view of the derelict ship. 'Records list the Speculator Speculator as a terraformer ship launched from Earth's LaGrange shipyards over a thousand years ago.' as a terraformer ship launched from Earth's LaGrange shipyards over a thousand years ago.'

'It's been out here that long?'

Nausch's heart-shaped face shifted into a vague facial shrug. 'She was a sleeper ship. Sublight all the way.'

Things were certainly built to last in those days, Handley thought. This was the first time he had actually encountered a sleeper ship. There were standing orders for all GalSec colony worlds about how to deal with sleeper ships or generation ships. The latter were to be contacted and gently repatriated as if it was a first contact situation. The former were to be inspected for malfunctions and safety. If they were still operational, they should be allowed to carry on undisturbed to their destination, where a contact team would meet them. In cases where the destination had since been colonised or found to be unusable for some reason, the navigation computer could be reprogrammed to a more suitable landing point.

Still, it should be interesting to have a look round such an antiquated vessel. The novelty should do his crew's morale some good as well. 'Alter course to intercept. Standard inspection.'

'Ops to bridge: new contact, bearing zero-zero-zero.'

'What's happening?' he asked, swinging on to his feet.

'Something coming out from the Speculator Speculator,' Nausch said.

She checked the chart tank. 'Somebody must be awake over there - there's a shuttle coming to meet us.'

Handley was both thrilled and chilled. This would be the first contact with people who been asleep for a thousand years. There was so much they could learn from each other...

'Have they hailed us?'

'No, but that's not surprising, since their shuttle is a thousand years old. Half their systems probably don't work.'

'All right,' said Handley. 'Contact base and tell them what's happen-' There was a distant booming sound, and the floor vibrated. 'What was that?'

'Particle beam impact,' someone shouted. Handley couldn't believe it. Who was firing on them? 'Raise shields!'

A tremendous blast of sound suddenly exploded around the control crew. The lighting died, but for the sparks from exploding consoles and power lines. The instrumentation tore itself apart with sharp cracks. A distant booming howl echoed through the corridors. 'Damage report!' Handley yelled.

'The communications antennae have been destroyed.

Engines are going critical. We have to shut down or blow up!'

'Cut engine power. Who the hell is out there?'

'It's the shuttle, sir,' Nausch said disbelievingly. Handley realised that they must think his ship was hostile. After all, he hadn't hailed them before turning to intercept.

Everyone staggered as the deck shook. 'That was no weapon shot,' muttered Handley.

'They're trying to dock,' announced Nausch. 'I've disengaged the automatics. That should keep them out for a few minutes longer.'

Handley nodded. He had just been about to give that order.

'You take the conn, and try to figure out a way to call for help. I want everyone who's able to meet me at the main hold.' Maybe, he thought, if he could just keep making plans and giving orders quickly enough, he wouldn't have time to be scared.

'Yes, sir.'

Handley grabbed a laser pistol from the weapons locker, and ran to the main hold. There, he took up a position by the inner doors to the main airlock. The remainder of the crew, with one or two exceptions, were squeezing themselves behind any available pillars or equipment here in the hold.

Another impact made the floor quiver as Handley checked his pistol. He had been under fire before, so he knew how to cope with the strain. At least, he knew how to cope with it as well as anybody could. However, being trapped while the very environment was being destroyed around you was quite a different matter. At this rate the attackers would destroy the ship with their obvious bungling before they could even get in.

The floor rocked again, and this time he could hear the thuds of catches taking hold, and the hiss of air flowing. The enemy had managed to dock. There were muffled grunts and footfalls from the other side of the airlock, but nothing that gave any clue as to who they were or why they were attacking.

A dull clang came from the door, as if something had been attached to the metal. Handley momentarily froze, then, realizing what the attachment must be, leapt for better cover.

He was still in mid-air when the shrapnel suddenly ripped outwards. Handley felt hot claws rake his back, and then a sickening crunch as he landed badly. The pain hadn't caught up with him yet, though it would be just a matter of moments until it did. That gave him time to roll to his feet, and recover his gun.

Handley felt himself pale as the first visitor loomed in the hatchway. This was no colonist recently awakened from hibernation, but a towering beast that had the look of coming straight from the dawn of time. Formed not entirely unlike a strategically shaved gorilla whose forehead could be used as a snowplough, it was dressed in rough clothes, hobnailed boots, and a thick leather jerkin. It also carried an alarmingly large hand-blaster.

'Ogrons!' The terrified realisation was the last one of Handley's life.

Chapter Four.

The roars and howls of spacecraft drives tore the air apart for miles around the Jewelled City's spaceport. Sonic booms were the least of the problem, but the din did make it relatively easy to walk around without being discovered. Glitz found out, by heart-stopping accident, that it was quite possible to walk right past a security guard who was facing the other way, without him hearing anything.

'There's a nice Solardyne 200 over there, Mr Glitz,' Dibber said, not needing to worry about being overheard among all this noise. It was a beautiful ship, Dibber thought. Sleek, fast and very flash.

'Business before pleasure,' Glitz replied, in a tone that suggested he was just as keen to try out the Solardyne.

Dibber knew they wouldn't be taking that ship today. If they were going to a scrap planet, even the most stupid criminal knew to go in a grotty-looking ship.

In fact they sought transport to the third moon, which was small and settled centuries ago by miners. The place had long since been mined out, and the inhabitants almost starved, never getting back above the poverty line. For the moment, however, the government subsidised them by sending ships so old that their scrap value exceeded their profit margin, and allowing the populace to dismantle them and sell the scrap.

'That's more like it,' Glitz said approvingly, pointing to a squat short-haul freighter that was slumped in a tie-down area at the edge of the landing field. It was chunky, with stubby wings to help stability in atmospheric flight. It looked as if it hadn't been moved in months, which meant it wasn't likely that the owner would come round to move it for another few months.

'That'll never fly,' Dibber opined. It wasn't that he wanted to be a pessimist, but his old mum had always told him that it was better to expect the worst and get nice surprises from time to time, than the other way round.

'Course it will,' Glitz retorted. 'It's got engines, hasn't it?

There aren't any holes in it that I can see.'

'It looks pretty old to me, Mr Glitz. Probably on its last legs.'

'Well, so long as they can still move it, who cares? We are are going to a scrapyard after all; we can always claim we're bringing the ship in for a quick payoff. Then we just nick another one from there to come back.' That made a certain amount of sense, Dibber noted; Glitz's schemes usually did, at first. It was later on that they tended to fell apart. going to a scrapyard after all; we can always claim we're bringing the ship in for a quick payoff. Then we just nick another one from there to come back.' That made a certain amount of sense, Dibber noted; Glitz's schemes usually did, at first. It was later on that they tended to fell apart.

Pack-Mother Brokhal of Pack Zanchyth was the Ambassador to the whole Delphinus group of star systems, and thus travelled between them rather than adopt an official residence on one of the planets. Although there were larger, more powerful and, above all, newer ships available to her, she preferred to reside aboard the Dragon Zathakh. Zathakh. It was an older model Dragon, but still serviceable. She chose it for a much simpler reason, though: it was, in a manner of speaking, a family heirloom. It was an older model Dragon, but still serviceable. She chose it for a much simpler reason, though: it was, in a manner of speaking, a family heirloom.

This ship had served Pack Zanchyth for generations, and had become something of a fixture to the whole clan.

Comfortable on the command couch which she had played on as a cub, she waited as her son brought her the transcript of the message from the humans' central GalSec government.

Both she and Klein had petitioned them: Klein for their support, Brokhal for their agreement to let the two sides worry out the problem themselves.

Flight Director Trelokh, her son, handed her the message cube. She scanned it quickly, picking out the pertinent bits with ease. As she had hoped, the GalSec government overall was looking on this as a private matter between the two planets. 'Excellent,' she murmured.

It was a good thing that the rest of galactic society wouldn't interfere, since no one in the Veltrochni government wanted the stolen cylinder to be discussed anywhere else in the galaxy. It was too big a threat to her people for that to be allowed. She knew that the humans didn't understand that, but their understanding wasn't necessary. Just their cooperation.

Glitz looked around the freighter cockpit in wonder, as Dibber took the ship into an escape orbit. Whatever gods had tossed him into that rehab colony must have decided he'd earned a change of luck. Although the freighter had looked like an antiquated pile of junk from the outside, the interior was clean and sophisticated. The owner was probably either a smuggler trying to look inconspicuous, or a legitimate mark trying not to attract the attention of thieves.

Ah well, Glitz reflected; if the owner cared that much about the ship, then no doubt he would have it insured. Everyone's a winner, he thought happily. His luck was definitely taking a turn for the better.

Mind you, he was still lumbered with Dibber for an assistant. He wasn't a bad lad - and he was a much better shot than Glitz, too. A good trigger man was always handy in a tight spot... but Glitz couldn't decide whether he was too smart for his own good, or a couple of fingers short of being a full right-hand man. Still, for some reason he had stood by Glitz for the past few years. Glitz sometimes felt a little pang of guilt at the way he treated Dibber, but not for long. That's what the chain of command was for, after all; to pass on woes.