"How? What proof have we that he is our employer? Maybe Micah Bolin merely intends this as a rendezvous or transfer point, and some other city hired us."

"Or maybe he doesn't intend to share the loot he carried away," Halley said. "He could have sent us here while his airships are racing as fast as they can in the opposite direction."

"You're saying that you can't trust anyone!"

Halley laughed. "Nowyou're thinking like a privateer!"

Ten minutes later, the clouds around them opened up into a blue-white swirl one hundred seventy kilometers across. The cyclone was not as large or as strong as the Dardenelles, but at its center was the same clear air and relative calm that they had avoided in the larger storm.The enemy of all the cloud cities of Saturn was weather. If a city found itself in a region of precipitation, it would quickly be weighed down to where the temperature would cook everyone onboard. If it blundered too near a storm, it might be pelted by hail. Sometimes, even in clear air, it could encounter a microburst strong enough to twist a support truss into the shape of a pretzel. For that reason, cloud cities flew only in the eyes of cyclones or in the broad, clear flyways of the planetary belts. The cities, which were their destination, were on the opposite side of the storm's eye. The flashing red point of a laser beacon marked their positions.

They contacted Glasgow Approach Control and began a routine that was as stylized as a classic ballet.

Halley threw the switch that would disarm them, and then surrendered control to the city computer.

Cybernetic impulses coursed through their ship to confirm that missiles were indeed useless and lasers inoperative. Finally satisfied that they were helpless, the Glasgow city computer took control of their ship.

Henceforth, any deviation from flight plan would bring instant retaliation.

Their approach to Glasgow-Prime, the capital city of the cluster, took them near where a new cloud city was being constructed. A disembodied support truss hovered midway between two large cloud cities, supported in the sky by hundreds of small balloons. Each balloon was silvered to minimize heat loss and attached to a small fusion generator that provided energy to heat the hydrogen inside. Men and machines crawled across what would one day be the upper deck of the city.

Kimber pointed to the city under construction. "I've always wondered why the cloud cities don't do something like that."

"Like what?" Sands asked.

"Use multiple balloons for buoyancy. Isn't it dangerous to rely on a single gas bag?"

"Redundant bags were tried in the early days. They lack lifting power. Remember, even though a square meter of gasbag membrane does not weigh much, there are a hell of a lot of square meters! If you double or triple up on membranes, you have to lift more. That translates into a weight penalty."

"But the city couldn't be destroyed by a single gas bag failure."

"Not true," Halley said. "Having two or three gas bags means that should one fail, the city would be seriously out of balance. Lose lift in one bag and you could capsize the support truss. Can you imagine 300,000 people whose world has suddenly turned edge?"

Kimber shuddered. "It still seems a dangerous way to live."

"What other choice have we?"

The construction site in the clouds slipped behind them and Glasgow-Prime grew until the gasbag filled the windscreen. Sands scanned the mooring points around the outer edge of the city. There were several airships there. None belonged to Micah Bolin's group. That was hardly surprising. Even at top speed, it would be several days before the big freighters could reach Glasgow.

As they approached the city,SparrowHawk slowed of her own accord. They circled around Glasgow-Prime at a range of one kilometer until an open docking bay came into view. As their ship headed in, Sands could see the maws of several large lasers tracking their progress.

As soon asSparrowHawk was secure inside the landing bay, Sands made his way to the midships hydrogen lock. The rest of the crew remained at their stations. By law, only the captain could set footaboard Glasgow-Prime until he settled with the port authorities.

Sands opened the lock and stepped down onto the landing bay deck. He stood next to his aircraft and surveyed his surroundings. There were four other aircraft in the landing bay. Two of these were passenger vessels making ready to get underway. Sands noted several curious faces staring at him from behind a long row of circular windows. Two smaller winged darts were parked next to the walls of the bay. These were city patrol craft situated on individual catapults with their noses pointed outward. In the event of unwanted visitors, they could be launched in less than two minutes.

Having glanced casually at his surroundings, Sands turned and took in as much ofSparrowHawk as he could see from where he was standing. Once again, he made it seem a casual thing. In fact, what he was doing was checking to see that their flight through the ammonia storm had washed away all of their ersatz markings.SparrowHawk appeared to have been returned to the dilapidated condition she had had before being repainted by Micah Bolin's people. Of course, he would have to check her over carefully to be sure.

A welcoming party of four rounded the tip ofSparrowHawk 's wing and moved toward him. Sands suppressed a smile. The most common mode of dress aboard his home city of Sorrell Three was a pair of drab gray coveralls. The newcomers wore kilts and sporrans, with bonnets set rakishly atop their heads. Their costumes were also uniforms, as evidenced by the badges of rank on their shoulders. That they were military was made even more evident by their sidearms and the riot guns carried by the two enlisted men in the party.

"Good day, Captain," the officer with the insignia of a subcommander said in the same thick brogue the approach controller had used. "Who are you and what brings you here?"

"The name is Larson Sands. I command PrivateerSparrowHawk , last out of Port Gregson. We were en route to the south where we have an employment contract. We've put in for repairs."

"So I understand," the officer replied, glancing toward the ship. "What happened?"

Sands repeated his story about ingesting something solid the previous day. It sometimes happened that conditions in Saturn's atmosphere resulted in the formation of hailstones of ammonia, water, or phosphine ice. When a ship encountered such a 'hail storm,' its engines were sometimes damaged when the solid material was pulled in through the intakes. In truth,SparrowHawk 's reactors were still suffering from overheating during the battle in which Dane had been killed. The portside reactor had suffered the worst.

Its laser focusing rings were warped out of alignment, something that could also result from ice impinging on them.

"How long do you expect to be here?"

Sands shrugged. "That depends on your people. How long will it take to repair my reactor?"

"We'll have the mechanics look at it and give you an estimate."

"Good. I am anxious to be on my way. It won't do to show up late for a new job, you know."

"I suppose not. Any cargo?"

"We're carrying a load of general goods to defray the cost of the flight."

"We'll want to see that."

"I'm sorry, but our holds were sealed at Port Gregson. We cannot open them without being subjected toa heavy penalty. You may check our manifest if you like. And, of course, you'll want to verify that the seals are properly in place to ensure that we aren't trying to smuggle anything aboard Glasgow-Prime."

"That we will want to do," the officer agreed. He turned to the noncom in his party and said, "See to it, sergeant! Make sure to put our own seals in place to see that those hatches stay closed."

"Aye, sir."

The subcommander turned back to Sands. "You realize that all fees have to be paid in advance, Captain?"

"Understood."

"Very well. We make you out to be a vessel of 100 tons. That will be CR 10,000, right now!"

Sands handed over his credit card. The sergeant took it and inserted into a handheld computer terminal.

The terminal beeped once to indicate acceptance. The sergeant handed the card back to Sands.

"Welcome to Glasgow! I hope you enjoy your stay here," the officer said.

"Thank you. Could you recommend a good hotel?"

"Most travelers enjoy the Highland Hilton up on the deck. They treat you right and you've got a good view of the laird's palace."

"The Hilton, you say?"

"That's my recommendation. Tell them Subcommander MacDonald sent you and the proprietor will see that you're well treated."

"Thank you. Are we cleared for entry?"

"You will be cleared as soon as Sergeant Balfallon inspects your ship, Captain Sands. Good day to you!" MacDonald saluted, turned briskly on his heel, and marched back the way he had come. The two guards took their places on either side of the hydrogen lock.

"This way, Sergeant," Sands said, gesturing toward the ship.

"After you, sir."

Chapter 11: Castle and Throne Room.

As Subcommander MacDonald had said, the Highlander Hotel was situated atop the main city deck and across a wide square from the seat of government. As aboard Cloudcroft, government headquarters functioned as the central support for the city's habitat barrier and the primary conduit for delivering heated hydrogen to the gasbag. That was where all similarity between the two ended. The Glasgow capital had been built to resemble a Scottish castle of the Middle Ages. Its turrets and walls were constructed of rough-hewn building blocks that gave the appearance (if not the reality) of massive solidity. The architecture was authentic down to the cobblestones in the courtyard and the crenellations on the battlements. The illusion was further reinforced by the presence of kilted guards on either side of a main gate equipped with drawbridge and portcullis.Sands had seen many cases where Saturnian cities reproduced scenes from Earth, but never one that went as far as the Scots of Glasgow-Prime. He mentioned that fact to the hotel porter who escorted them to their rooms.

"Aye, sir, 'tis the ugliest pile of fake rock on Saturn. I am afraid our ancestors got a wee bit carried away when they built it. Still, the Laird enjoys living there and the tourists all pose in front of the castle for their vacation holos."

"Do you really think castles looked that way?"

"Aye! You can punch up the original on a data screen if you like. 'Tis quite genuine, save that our castle has city offices inside what were once solid walls. If you've an interest, I can arrange a tour."

"Thanks, maybe later." Sands keyed a tip into the porter's personal account, and then dismissed him.

After the man left, he stared at the ugly anachronism for long minutes. As he did so, he wondered whether Macdonald's choice of hotel had been anything more than a coincidence. A suspicious person might suspect that Laird Fitzroy had arranged to have them quartered where he could keep an eye on them.

Their suite contained four bedrooms clustered around a common area and kitchen. Sands had one of the bedrooms to himself, with Halley and Kimber sharing another. That left two crewmen in each of the remaining private rooms. He doubted they would use them for anything more than changing their clothes.

Someone would always be on guard at the ship, of course, but those off duty could be expected to head straight for the fleshpots.

Having learned all he could from staring at the pile of fake masonry across the square, Sands sought out the room's computer terminal. He keyed for a listing of airships currently in port. Bolin's airships would still be days in transit, but if the loot were to be divvied up aboard Glasgow, the recruiter would need other ships to haul it away. It was forthose ships that Sands searched.

After reviewing two years of shipping data, he reluctantly concluded that he could find no discernable pattern. Disappointed, but not surprised, he entered an instruction asking that he be notified whenever an airship was granted docking clearance. When Bolin finally arrived, Sands planned to be waiting for him in the landing bay.

After shutting off the data terminal, he crossed through the common room and knocked on the women's door. Kimber answered the knock.

"Anyone for sightseeing?"

"Not me," Halley replied. She was busy unpacking her kit bag and had clothes spread all over the bed.

"As soon as I straighten out this mess, I'm going to stretch out and catch up on my beauty rest. Take Karen with you."

"How about it, Karen?" Sands asked. The question was for the benefit of any unseen listeners they might have. He and Halley had agreed that until things became more settled one of them would accompany their guest at all times. For her part, Kimber accepted the chaperonage with good grace, figuring it to be a condition of her parole.

"Sure," Kimber/Karen replied in her slightly irritating accent. "Do you think we can find some shops? I could certainly expand my wardrobe."

"Why not? We can afford it."He waited while Kimber combed her recently shortened hair, and then offered her his arm. They strolled out of the suite, looking as though they did not have a care under Saturn's rings.

Three hours later, they sat in a sidewalk cafe across from the castle. Several brightly colored packages were heaped on the empty seats beside them. They had found a shopping arcade one level below the city deck where Kimber had outfitted herself with a wardrobe appropriate to her new identity.

"Thank you, Lars," she said gesturing toward her purchases. "I don't know when I've had more fun shopping for clothes."

"You're welcome," he replied. "I imagine you don't often buy fluorescent greens and purples."

"Of course I do!" she said with a chuckle in her best Karen Colin voice. "Those are my favorite colors."

"Of course. I forgot."

The smile disappeared and she looked at him with serious blue eyes. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"Ask and I'll tell you whether I mind or not."

"Why did you become a privateer?"

He stared into his drink and shrugged. "Boredom more than anything else. My father wanted me to take over the family winery. I thought there was more to life than worrying about commodity prices. When I was eighteen, a friend and I went down to the landing bay to watch the ships load. We stopped in one of the port bars where a first mate off a privateer was buying drinks for anyone who would sit with him. He was spinning yarns about his adventures. After a few hours, the mate told Harry and me that he could use a couple of strapping lads to round out his crew. We weren't feeling any pain, so we both signed on right in the bar."

"It sounds like you were shanghaied!"

He smiled. "Close to it, I suppose. We were certainly in a state of diminished capacity. Unfortunately, not so diminished that we could get out of it afterward. The mate proved to be a lot less friendly after we sobered up. Those first few months were some of the worst of my life. Yet, by the time my contract lapsed, I had found that I enjoyed the life. It's far more exciting than growing hydroponic grapes."

"Isn't it dangerous?"

"Sometimes. Mostly the people who hire us find ways to avoid fighting. They have a strong enough incentive. No one wants to risk another accident like Nuevo Chicago. Still, diplomacy occasionally fails and we have to fight."

Kimber nodded. "Halley told me about New Philadelphia. I'm sorry your brother was killed."

He shrugged. "It happens. A person's luck has to run out sometime."

"Is that why you hate the Alliance?"

"One of the reasons," he agreed. "Certainly the biggest one."

"And the other reasons?""I don't like what they're trying to do."

"What's that?"

"They want to bring back the bad old days. I think that's a mistake."

"I don't follow you."

He gestured at the castle across the square. "Look at that monstrosity! Hell, the original was obsolete seven or eight centuries before the sun flared. Yet, the Scots went to all the trouble to building that replica as a monument to the dead past. In their own way, the Northern Alliance is doing precisely the same thing, except their monument is even more monstrous. They're attempting to transplant the traditional terrestrial nation-state to Saturn!"

He took a sip of wine that his father would have considered a candidate for disposal. At best, it would never have worn the label of one of Sorrell Three's major wine houses. He continued: "The nation-states of Earth were built around the concept of territory. That was only natural. Being rooted to a single spot, the people of the time tried to control as much territory as possible. They drew boundaries to keep unfriendly strangers at arm's length. As a result, virtually every war ever fought on Earth was a boundary dispute."