"Yeah, you'd think I'd learn." Tusk remembered the goggles, took them off. He rubbed his eyes, cleared his throat. "Hang in there with me a minute, sir. Now, let's see. Where did I leave off? Did I tell you that Link got this same message?"

Dixter nodded.

"Yeah, right. I went over to his place last night. He answered the message, same as I did. And he got exactly the same instructions, the only difference being that his name was inserted in all the right places. If he wants to join this Ghost Legion, he's got to go to Hell's Outpost."

"I see."

"Link's like me. He figures this stinks like last week's mackerel. So we try to get hold of Gorbag. Last we knew, he was living on Jarun, where he was born. Well, he was out, but we talked to his mate. She says that yeah, he got one of these vids, too, and it was exactly the same message, except that they used a Jarun pilot instead of that Captain Masters to make the pitch.

"Well, you know Gorbag, sir. Nothing scares him. So he flies off to Hell's Outpost to take a look."

"When was this?" Dixter asked.

"About three months ago, Standard Military Time. He came home madder'n hell. Said it was a scam." Tusk shook his head. "Like he couldn't see this coming? But then old Gorbag never was too bright. Says he met these pilots and they wined him and dined him or whatever you do with a Jarun and then they gave him some more coordinates and told him to be there ASAP.

"So he waddles on back to his plane and runs the coordinates and finds out-surprise, surprise-that it's a planet in some godforsaken part of the galaxy that's nowhere near a Lane. And, according to the star charts, the world is nothing but a hunk of dead rock floating in space with no living thing on it, not so much as a bowl full of organic soup."

Tusk's stomach lurched. He was sorry he'd brought that up. He paused a moment for his insides to settle down, wiped sweat from his forehead. Dixter waited patiently.

"Where was I?" Tusk mumbled.

"Soup," said XJ helpfully. "Get it while it's hot."

Tusk glared at the computer. "Anyway, that's what the Jarun found. He went back to the Exile Cafe, to tell these pilots he didn't think this joke was so funny and maybe bounce them around on their heads some to relieve his hurt feelings and, of course, they were long gone. So he's out of fuel and a thousand golden eagles and feels like a damn fool."

"But that's all," said Dixter.

"Yes, sir."

"Then, Tusk, what's the point? They took him for a thousand eagles, but that's an elaborate scam to only pull in that much. They didn't set him up to be hijacked way out there by himself in space; they must have surely known he'd run the coordinates before he flew them."

"Beats me, sir." Tusk massaged his aching temples.

"I'd like to talk to Gorbag. You have his number?"

"Sure, sir, but he's not there."

"Not there?"

"No, sir. Shortly after this, he got a call from a planet on the Corasian perimeter. They're all nervous as a stepped-on cat after that Corasian attack on the outpost. Hiring mercenaries right and left to back up their own defenses. He flew off to join up.

"I see. Has his mate heard from him?"

"Naw. But he's been sending home his paycheck and so she figures he's okay."

"But he hasn't talked to her, hasn't told her where his is?"

"No, sir, but why would he? She knew where he was going. She's got no reason to think he's not there. And if the Corasians are sniffing around, you guys in the navy are bound to want to keep a lid on transmissions."

"Yes, I suppose you're right. Still ..." Dixter's voice trailed off.

Tusk looked at the admiral in concern. "You want us to do anything else, sir? Link's offered to go check it out. We can't leave right now, of course, 'cause we got a job lined up, but-"

"No," said Dixter, shaking his head. "No, I doubt if you'd find out any more than we already have and it might prove-" He stopped, frowned again. "Don't do anything. And don't mention any of this, will you?"

"Sure, sir." Tusk shrugged.

"You didn't happen to get hold of those coordinates they gave Gorbag, did you?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact we did, sir." Tusk was pleased with himself. "The Jarun had 'em filed in his log. His mate looked it up, gave them to us. I'll have XJ transmit them."

"Thanks, son. Thanks for everything. You and Link both."

"Happy to be of assistance. You know, sir," Tusk added, just as Dixter was about to sign off "something did strike me as kinda funny about this."

"Yes, what?" Dixter was back and interested.

"It's probably not important-"

"Doesn't matter. Tell me."

"That planet. When we looked it up in the files, we found out it had a name. Not a number, like you'd suppose with a hunk of worthless rock. But a name. Someone'd gone to the trouble to name the damn thing."

"What did they call it?"

"Val ... Valum .. . What the devil was that?" Tusk reached into one pocket of his work shirt, fished around, came up empty. He dove into the other pocket. "I wrote it down, 'cause I knew I'd never remember. Yeah, here it is. I'll spell it. V-a-l-l-o-m-b-r-o-s-a. You got that?"

"Yes." Dixter copied it, spelled it back.

"That's it." Tusk nodded. "Mean anything to you?"

"No, but then who knows what language it's in? I'll run it, let you know what I find out. And "Tusk ..." Dixter's tone was serious, his face grave. "Let me know if they contact you again."

"You think they will, sir?" Tusk was astonished. "Why should they? It's obvious I didn't fall for their little scam."

"I know. But it wouldn't surprise me. Take it easy, son. My love to Nola and the baby." Dixter's image vanished from the screen.

"Wonder what he thinks we've tied into?" Tusk muttered, staring at the blank screen. "Sounds more like a case for the Better Business Bureau than a Lord of the Admiralty."

"Who knows?" said XJ. "Maybe he doesn't have enough wars to keep him busy these days. What was that crap about having a job lined up?"

Tusk was feeling better. He could almost see. "No crap. Looks like we have work. Steady."

"No! Steady work! You better back up all my systems. I may black out from the shock."

"Some women contacted Link yesterday, wants us to transport her and a partner a couple times a week to Akara."

"Rough place. What're they carrying?"

"Briefcases." Tusk glowered. "That's all you need to know. And that's what you'll put in the log."

"Sure thing. You know me. Tact and discretion are the tag end of my serial number."

Tusk snorted. "Tact and discretion, my ass. The only place you'll find those two words is in your spell checker. Say," he added in wheedling tones, "I could sure use a cuppa coffee. How about makin it for me ..

"Go soak your head," snapped XJ.

"Sir John Dixter would like to see you, Your Majesty," said D'argent, entering the king's office with morning tea "He says that it is urgent."

"Can we fit him in?" Dion glanced up from reading a condensed report on the rapidly deteriorating situation in the star system of Muruva, where six planets had just overthrown the dictatorial rule of a seventh. Unfortunately, each one of the planets had decided that now that they were free, they could freely butcher their other five neighbors, and they were proceeding to do just that.

D'argent consulted the schedule. "You have two meetings scheduled this morning-one with the Muruvan ambassadors and one with the representatives of the League of Underdeveloped Planets."

Dion considered briefly. "I'll see the Muruvan ambassadors. Put off the representatives of the league until this afternoon. Back up all my other afternoon appointments an hour."

"The news conference that we're beaming to Muruva, sir? Shall I reschedule?"

"No, I need to come down hard on the Muruvans and I need to do it fast, before the fools nuke each other." Dion glanced at the time. "Send in my advisers on Muruva, then send in the ambassadors. And if they start fistfights in the antechamber like they did at the spaceport last night, call Cato and have him clap the paralyzers on them. I won't put up with this nonsense."

"Yes, sir," replied D'argent, smiling faintly. He glided silently out of the office.

Later that morning, seven angry and quarreling Muruvan ambassadors were ushered into His Majesty's presence and- after a conference-seven chastened and thoughtful ambassadors were led out.

John Dixter watched them go. They were harried and flustered. The king was cool and even grimly smiling.

"Are we sending in troops. Your Majesty?" asked Dixter, taking a seat, refusing any refreshment.

"They have thirty days," said Dion, "to settle their differences peacefully. If not then we'll keep the peace for them. And the first thing we'll do is end all outside interference in their affairs."

"Blockade," said Dixter.

"The major trading partners have all agreed to honor it. The Muruvans could find themselves in serious economic trouble if they don't shake hands and make up. My advisers tell me that the Muruvans' hatred for one another doesn't extend as far as their wallets. I think it's deeper than that, but we'll see what transpires. I take it you have further information on that matter we previously discussed?"

"Yes, Your Majesty." Dixter spent a moment leaving Muruva, assimilating this thoughts. "I heard from Tusk."

The admiral repeated his conversation with the mercenary. Dion listened in silence, absently rubbing the scars on the palm of his right hand. If Dixter noticed this, he pretended he didn't.

"So why not have Tusk and Link check this out, my lord?"

"Because they're too close, Your Majesty. Too close to you," answered Dixter.

Dion shook his head. "You honestly believe that someone would go to all this trouble just for the chance of getting hold of Tusk? To do what?"

"I think that may be part of it, sire. What their objective is, I can't tell you. I can't even venture a guess. One thing I do know, Gorbag isn't working for any of the Outer Systems. I checked."

"So you think . . . what?"

"I think this is how the 'scam' works. These Ghost Legion representatives contact pilots and offer to make a deal if they'll fly to Hell's Outpost. They've got to figure that only those seriously interested or desperate enough will fork over a thousand eagles and make that trip. Already, you see, they're culling their list.

"Once the pilots reach Hell's Outpost, the representatives look them over. Probably gather all sorts of information, scan their planes, that sort of thing. Then they feed the pilots these weird coordinates. If the pilot swallows it, they've got him or her. Probably meet them once they get there, if they don't, like Gorbag, they see to it that he's offered another job. And when he takes it, they intercept him, make it worth his while to join up."

"Again I ask you, my lord," Dion persisted, "to do what?"

"I don't know, sire, but they're up to something, following Tusk's lead on Gorbag, I did some checking on the other people I had under my command. All of them have received this same message. About a hundred of them flew to Hell's Outpost. Since then, they either took the Ghost Legion up on their offer-in which case they left one night and never came back-or they took other jobs and-same scenario-they've now dropped out of sight. But they're sending home money. Lots of money."

"Someone's building his or her own space corps."

"Looks that way. And it's big. And selective. They've only taken the best. Some people went to Hell's Outpost and are now wandering around in plain sight looking for work. Never got a call. And this Ghost Legion didn't use my list alone. They've apparently searched the galaxy."

"And could you hide a force that big?"

"Easily, Your Majesty. Especially on someplace like this planet Tusk found. Off Lanes, on the outer fringes. A hunk of cold rock. Not even the Corasians would be interested in it. And that's how it checks out. I studied the reports. But as Tusk says, there are a few things odd about it."

Dixter referred to notes. "It was discovered thirty years ago by the famous space explorer Garth Pantha. You wouldn't remember him; you were too young. But almost everyone my age would, who watched the vids. Pantha was not only a damn fine spacepilot, but a brilliant physicist and natural scientist, and"- Dixter smiled-"one hell of a charmer.

"He was a celebrity. Had his own vid show. Because of his celebrity status, he moved in high circles. Very high circles. He was a favorite of your uncle's. King Amodius made Pantha a knight of the realm."

"Then he was Blood Royal."

"Yes. But the really interesting thing about Pantha was not the living of his life, as the poet says, but the manner of his leaving it. He died in some sort of mysterious space accident about eight years before the Revolution. The galaxy was stunned by the news. His death made headlines for days after. They even had a final transmission, showing him calmly reporting that he'd had engine failure and requesting assistance. But since he was way out in some remote part of space, he knew no one'd reach him in time. He said good-bye to his wife and family. It was a real heartbreaker.

"The Royal Space Corps sent out rescue planes, but when they reached his last known coordinates there was nothing there. Some time later, they found the wreckage of his space-craft. Of course, no one ever knew what really happened, but Pantha'd always said that if he was marooned in space facing a slow death, he'd end it with a bang. And that's likely what he did."

"I see," said Dion thoughtfully. "And when he died was he near the Ghost Legion's coordinates?"

"No, Your Majesty," said John Dixter. "Nowhere in the area."

Dion frowned. "Then I fail to see ..

"I know, I know." Dixter sighed, rubbed his hand across his face. "It doesn't seem to get us anywhere. And maybe Garth Pantha doesn't have a damn thing to do with any of this. But as Tusk said, there's something odd about all this. Pantha discovered scores of new planets, new systems. And he gave lots of them names. It made good copy for his vid show. And this one he called Vallombrosa, which is one of the old languages- Italian, I think. It means-"

"Vale of Shades," said Dion.

Dixter stared. "I'm impressed, Your Majesty. You came up with that faster than the computer did."

"The computer didn't study with Platus," said Dion, smiling at the memory. "Milton. Paradise Lost. Satan 'called his legions, Angel forms, who lay entranced thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks in Vallombrosa ...' Vale of Shades."

"Or, as we would say today, 'Valley of Ghosts,' " said John Dixter quietly.

Dion looked up. "Ghosts again."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Dixter was grim. "Ghosts again."

"And you consider this important?"

"I think it's damn important. Look at what's gone on. The Ghost Legion seeks information about Snaga Ohme's. Ghostly somethings evade the very latest in security devices and break into Snaga Ohme's. The Ghost Legion is recruiting and, for all we know, hiring the very best spacepilots. And they give as coordinates a dead planet called the Valley of Ghosts by a dead explorer."

The admiral leaned forward, illustrated his words with a motion of his index finger on the desk. "And what really scares me is that no matter where we start the circle, Dion, it ends up with you. The space-rotation bomb, Tusk and Link-even the fact that Pantha was once friends with your family. I don't understand it, I admit that. But I don't like it. Somewhere there's a key. We're missing it. I think we need to find that key, and find it fast."