prepared to follow Rebo out into the corridor beyond. The twosome wasn’t the fi?rst to exit the decontamination chamber, that honor fell to a young man who rolled under the steadily rising door, but the couple were able to secure a position toward the front of the pack. That advantage, signifi?cant though it was, couldn’t make up for the fact that the Circus Solara performers had superior numbers. The beast master, the strongman, and a particularly well-built rigger led a phalanx of twelve people who pushed the rest of the passengers out of the way. The beast master took particular pleasure in elbowing Norr as he passed by her, thereby throwing the sensitive into a durasteel bulkhead and effectively putting her out of the race. But Rebo wasn’t so easily defl?ected, and, while unable to block the circus performers, did manage to keep up with them. Elbows fl?ew, poorly directed blows were defl?ected, and the air was thick with grunts and heartfelt swear words as the mob surged down the fi?lthy passageway to the point where a hatch had been welded shut more than a thousand years before. At that point the group had no choice but to turn left. The bullet-pocked bulkheads to either side of them were covered with grime, peeling paint, and countless layers of head-high multicolored graffi?ti. Below that, barely visible beneath the grime, phrases like watch your step!
hinted at a more civilized past.
Then they were through a large opening and in the ship’s main hold, a space that the earliest passengers would never have been allowed to visit, much less live in. But that was back before Shewhoswims had been forced to seal off most of her vast body lest the now-barbarous humans do even more damage to her precious operating systems. What light there was originated from high above, and rather than the stillsmoldering campfi?res the previous set of passengers typically left, there was nothing to see but piles of rubbish. And the gloom that circled beyond.
True to common practice, and the runner’s predictions, the beast master and the rest of his fl?ying squad immediately struck out for a distant corner. Once in their possession, and with more than thirty people to call upon, the triangular section of deck would be relatively easy to defend compared to a spot out in the middle of the hold.
Once Rebo confi?rmed that the troupe didn’t have plans to seize control of the water supply themselves, he let out a sigh of relief and took the opportunity to drag some likely looking debris over to the point where the faucet protruded from the steel bulkhead. A large puddle had formed there—
and it shivered in sympathy with the vibration produced by the ship’s power plant. Then, as more people fl? ooded into the cavernous hold, the runner was forced to forgo scavenging in order to take up a defensible position next to the faucet. Norr arrived shortly thereafter—followed by a heavily burdened Hoggles. “Damn,” the variant said, as he dropped the packs next to the puddle. “Those things are heavy.”
“Uh-oh,” Norr said, as she rewrapped her fi?ngers around the long wooden staff. “Here comes our fi?rst set of visitors.”
Rebo already had the four men under surveillance and nodded politely as they approached. They had the look of merchant adventurers, a common breed aboard the great ships, and were well armed. “What’s the deal?” the largest member of the group demanded as he eyed the pistols that dangled at the runner’s sides. “What are the weapons for?”
“There are more than thirty members of the Circus Solara on this ship,” Rebo explained patiently. “They threatened to attack us.”
“But they won’t if you control the water,” the man ventured.
“That’s the idea,” the runner agreed.
“So, what about us?” the smallest of the group wanted to know.
“You can take all the water you want,” Rebo replied evenly, “so long as you don’t pass any along to members of the troupe. If you do, we’ll cut you off.”
“And you don’t plan to charge us?”
“Nope . . . That would be wrong.”
“It sure as hell would be,” the fi?rst man commented fervently. “We’ll be back with our canteens.”
“Sounds good,” Rebo replied. “We’ll see you later.”
The men left, word spread quickly, and it wasn’t long before a large contingent of circus performers had threaded their way between the newly created encampments to form a semicircle in front of the water faucet. The rest of the passengers saw the action and stopped whatever they were doing in order to watch. Not because they favored one faction over the other, but because the question of who controlled the water was important, and everyone had a stake in the confl?ict.
Most of the troupe were in mufti, but a few wore full makeup, which made them look more menacing somehow. The beast master had chosen himself as spokesman for the group. His voice was little more than a growl, and his eyes seemed to glow with hatred. “Give the woman to us, leave the area, and we’ll let you live.”
Rebo nodded gravely. “Generally speaking, I like a man who comes right to the point—but I’m afraid that you constitute the exception to that rule. I suggest that you return to your corner.”
“Or what?” the beast master demanded belligerently.
“Do you think you can shoot all of us?”
“No,” the runner replied evenly. “That would be unrealistic. I am pretty fast however, so I think I can kill fi?ve or six of you before you can close with us. Then, given Bo’s expertise with that war hammer, two or three more will go down. Oh, and don’t forget the woman you want so much. . . . She’s good for at least a couple more. That puts the price for water at ten people. So, if that’s acceptable to you, make your move. Which one of you clowns would like to die fi?rst?”
But, before any of the performers could reply, Norr pointed upward. “Jak! Look!”
The runner looked up into the maze of girders that crisscrossed the top of the hold, spotted a fi?gure silhouetted against one of the lights, and knew he’d been suckered. Even as the beast master kept him busy one of the troupe’s trapeze artists had worked his way into position and was about to fi?re a long-barreled rifl?e.
But Rebo carried the long single-shot Hogger for exactly that sort of situation—and knew he could make the shot with his spectacles on. Unfortunately the runner’s spectacles were stored in his pack, and the would-be assassin amounted to little more than an out-of-focus blur. That’s what the runner was thinking as he brought the long-barreled pistol up into position and the acrobat fi?red. There was a fl?ash, followed by a loud report and a clang, as the lead ball nipped the top of Rebo’s right shoulder and fl?attened itself against the bulkhead behind him.
