The Wizard of Karres

'Sounds good to me, eh, Goth?'

Goth wrinkled her forehead. She should have been asleep, Pausert knew. But something was plainly troubling her. 'I wish we had someone who could premote,' she said uneasily.

'I wish we didn't have to land at all, but we've got to.' Pausert pointed at the fuel readout, which was distressingly close to empty. 'I'm afraid we're quite low on choices around here.'

Now he pointed to the display charts. 'Within range before we run out of recyclable air . . . There's Pidoon, or there's the Dictat of Telmar—and every second person there is supposed to be a spy. Or, right on the edge of our fuel range, never mind air, Imperial sector headquarters. Pidoon does so well because this sector of space is quite empty of habitable worlds.'

'What about this one?' Goth pointed to the chart and a beacon number right on the margin. It was out of their way, but within range.

The captain called up the star map. There was just one habitable world on that beacon, in among a cluster of red dwarfs and dead suns. 'Vaudevillia,' he read.

Hulik began to chuckle.

'What's so funny?' asked Vezzarn, who had stepped across to check some readouts.

'They were suggesting going to Vaudevillia,' said Hulik, trying to smother her laughter.

Vezzarn grinned. 'Your home, this Nikkeldepain place, is pretty far away, eh, Captain?'

'I threatened to run away to Vaudevillia when I was ten,' said Hulik. 'It's the circus-world, Captain Pausert. All the old showboats go there.'

Pausert blinked. Just one of the fabulous lattice ship showboats had ever come to Nikkeldepain in his youth. He could still remember it clearly, however. It had seemed so bright and so wild and exciting compared to life on stuffy Nikkeldepain. He'd thought of running away to join the show himself. The Nikkeldepain Council had turned down the next one's landing permit. Apparently a number of councilors had lost quite a lot of money when the first one had abruptly departed.

Vezzarn grimaced. 'Especially when they're broke. No port charges—because there is no proper port. Mind you, it's a bad place to try to buy fuel, Captain. Cash money only, and at a twenty-five percent premium. The fuel- sellers have had so many bad debts, they won't provide fuel on any other terms. It sounds very romantic to kids, but believe me, Captain, it's a dump. It's barely habitable. Can't even grow its own food. And it rains non-stop.'

The captain looked at Goth, who was looking very speculative. 'Well, we're not going there. And we don't need to tell the Leewit about this place, do we? Let's stick to Pidoon and this Gerota Town.'

Goth shrugged. 'I'm too tired. But it doesn't feel right.'

* * *

Gerota Town was seedy and run-down. 'Not the kind of place you'd want to buy a used flyer in,' said Vezzarn with a sly grin.

The captain looked at the shabby sprawl of two- and three-story buildings that stretched out towards a flat horizon. 'It's a whistle-stop for us. So long as the fuel is okay and we can find that leech, and do some repairs on the airlock . . . within the day we should be out of here.'

They soon found out that this was not to be the case. The fuel available in Gerota Town was Empire standard. But . . .

'Captain Pausert, could you please come across to our offices?' asked the elegantly coiffured, platinum-blond secretary of Pidoon Fuels and Lubricants. There was a faint furrow between her brows, and her tone was quite unlike her earlier obsequious one.

Goth looked tiredly at the captain and rubbed her nose tip. 'Feels like trouble, Captain.'

'Probably papers that need filling in.'

'I don't think so,' said Goth, rubbing her eyes now. 'I'll go with you.'

'You're exhausted. I'll take the Leewit. She slept the last bit.'

Goth nodded.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Captain Pausert and his tow-headed 'niece' walked towards the cluster of offices at Port Control. Above them, the sky was a cloudless and chilly blue. Their reception in the offices of Pidoon Fuels and Lubricants was even colder.

The secretary ushered them in to a sumptuous office. From behind the flamewood desk a man with a baggy face glowered at them. He didn't bother to stand up. 'Captain Pausert, there seems to be some problem with your banking account.'

Pausert leaned over the half-acre of flamewood desk. 'I happen to know that account is at least a half million maels in the black, sir. If you don't want our business, we'll take it elsewhere.'

'Not on Pidoon you won't,' said the jowl-faced executive, grimly. 'We've already put out a credit warning to the other companies, in case you took off and put in a landing elsewhere.'

'But we're very solvent!'

Jowl-face leaned back in his formfit chair. It groaned quietly in protest. 'Oh, you've got the money all right. But your account is blocked. You can't draw as much as a single mael of those ill-gotten gains.'

Pausert gaped. 'Ill-gotten gains?'

'Don't try to come the innocent with us, Captain Pausert.' Jowl-face smirked triumphantly, cocking his head, hearing something outside. It sounded suspiciously like the squeal of groundcar tires. 'The ISS informed the Pidoon police of your nefarious crimes. We were told to delay you here as long as possible. I have electronically locked the door and I have a blaster here.' He raised a Glassite 366 from beneath the desk. 'Don't even think of attempting to escape.'

There were shouts outside. 'That'll be the troopers now.'

The Leewit gave an earsplitting whistle, just as someone pounded on the outer door yelling, 'Open up in the name of the law!'

An entirely satisfactory shattering of glass and small electronic components followed that whistle. Jowl-face, looking in alarm at the trickle of dust flowing from where his blaster's trigger mechanism had been just moments before, pressed a remote door-key frantically. Smoke curled up from the button.

'Havta break it down, Sergeant!' bellowed the voice outside.

Pausert realized just how right Goth's feelings had been. The captain hauled the jowled executive out of his seat. 'Is there another way out?' he demanded.

The man had gone from unpleasant triumph to quivering terror, since he'd discovered that he was trapped— and now disarmed—in here with the two of them. He had a lot of jaw to tremble. It made his speech unintelligible, but they could follow the shaking pointed finger to the door beside the cabinets. While the shoulders of Pidoon's finest pounded against the manager's office door, Pausert and the Leewit crammed their way out of the bathroom window.

It was only after the captain had landed awkwardly on his feet that he realized that the Leewit wasn't whistling or calling a warning because she was too busy biting an oversized uniformed man's hand. And there were ten more of them in the alleyway.

* * *

Bruised, with a swelling eye and a bloody nose, gagged and with his hands forcecuffed, the captain sat between two huge guards in the back of the groundcar. He'd seen the Leewit, similarly gagged and forcecuffed, dragged kicking into the second vehicle. They seemed to be heading out across the landing field back towards the Venture.

The two vehicles pulled up beside the Venture, along with a third transporter which was painted in the colors of the Imperial Customs and Immigration inspectorate. One seldom had trouble with them deep inside the Empire, but their orange-and-gray vehicles always inspired caution.

The Pidoon troopers threw open the doors of the groundcars and pushed the prisoners out. 'March them in front of us,' snapped the customs official. 'The Agandar's accomplices are desperate men, but they're not likely to shoot his chief lieutenant.'

Clearly, Imperial Interservice Security had woven quite a net of lies around them. The Leewit's eyes were as wide with outrage as Pausert felt his mouth would like to be, if he hadn't been gagged. He noticed that the troopers, while making the Leewit into a very small human shield, were being extremely careful to keep their shins