Thanks to the fact that the sniper was armed with a muzzle-loader rather than a repeater, there was no followup shot—which provided the runner with the opportunity to return fi?re. The momentary pain, followed by the sudden rush of adrenaline, combined to produce an instinctive response. The big handgun jerked in Rebo’s hand, the 30-30 slug fl?ew true, and the out-of-focus blob seemed to wobble. Then, as the loud boom echoed back and forth between the ship’s steel bulkheads, the trapeze artist fell. There was a sickening thump as his body hit the deck. That was followed by a clatter as the muzzle-loader shattered, and the force of the impact sent pieces of the weapon skittering far and wide.
“So,” Rebo said, as he lowered the still-smoking Hogger.
“He went fi?rst. . . . Who would like to go second?”
The beast master and a couple of others might have taken their chances, but the rest of the crowd had already begun to back away, and that forced the more ardent performers to withdraw as well.
“You can have all the water you want so long as you leave us alone,” Rebo told them coldly. “But the next time you try something like this we will cut you off. And, oh by the way, when you want water send one person to get it. And send the same person each time.”
“We’ll get you for this!” the beast master threatened, as he backed away.
“That will cost you twenty hours without water,” the runner replied mildly. “Would you like to double that?”
There was no reply as the performers faded into the surrounding murk, although Norr could “see” the thought forms they had created and knew the danger was far from over.
“Damn,” Hoggles said, as he peered up into the latticework of beams and girders above their heads. “We need eyes on the top of our heads.”
“Yeah,” Rebo agreed soberly. “We do. Maybe we can build a shelter with a bulletproof roof.”
Norr took a look around. “At least there’s plenty of materials. Let’s get to work.”
None of the three noticed the ancient security camera mounted high on the opposite bulkhead, or the fact that it panned slightly as if in response to some invisible hand before zooming out to a wide shot. In the meantime, Shewhoswims broke orbit, accelerated out toward the edge of the solar system, and began to calculate the next jump. She was only vaguely aware of what the humans were up to, and so long as they did minimal damage to her body, was not especially interested in their activities. The stars were not only more compelling but a good deal more predictable, and that was a virtue in her opinion. The AI hummed while she worked.
The ship’s Security Control Center had once been home to a force of fi?fty—men, women, and androids— charged with everything from crime prevention to crowd control. As such, the interconnected compartments included an offi?ce for the watch commander, a ready room complete with six bunks, a lounge that boasted its own auto chef, a well-stocked armory, and a high-tech surveillance facility where the video provided from more than fi? ve hundred cameras was constantly monitored. But those days were long gone by the time the brothers Mog, Ruk, and Tas moved into the facility and took up residence. More than two standard years had passed since the day when Mog experimentally entered his birth date into the keypad outside the Security Center and watched in openmouthed amazement as the much-abused hatch cycled open. A more philosophical person might have marveled at his good fortune, or wondered how many thousand such attempts had failed prior to his, or pondered why that particular sequence of numbers had been chosen to protect the facility. But Mog wasn’t much of a thinker—nor were his half brothers Ruk and Tas. What they were was criminals, who—
having botched a robbery—were on the run from the law when they happened upon the crowd that had gathered to watch a shuttle lift from the Planet Derius, and impulsively dashed up the ramp. But, not having prepared themselves for the trip, the siblings soon discovered that they had exchanged one life-threatening situation for another.
Still, the ship carried a plentiful supply of the one thing criminals can’t get along without, and that was victims. Because, while many of the merchants, religious pilgrims, and other travelers were armed against the possibility of petty theft, they weren’t prepared to deal with ruthless predators like Mog, Ruk, and Tas.
However, vulnerable though they were, the other passengers outnumbered the brothers, which was why Mog thought it best to locate a defendable hideout prior to initiating what he thought of as “the harvest.” But when the hatch to the Security Control Center magically opened before him, the criminal realized that he had something of greater value than a simple refuge. Here was a compartment to sleep in, an alcove full of neatly racked weapons, and a roomful of magical windows. Strange but wonderful devices that allowed the criminal and his two siblings to monitor their prey before venturing out to attack them.
The benefi?ts of Mog’s discovery, and the rather crafty manner in which he employed them, produced what could only be described as a rich harvest. Armed with high-tech weapons and an ability to watch their fellow passengers from a remote location, it took the brothers less than three weeks to slaughter all of their fellow passengers and confi?scate their valuables. In fact the trip was so profi?table, that when it came time to leave the ship, the brothers elected to stay aboard. Now, after more than two years of living in the Security Control Center, Mog and his brothers had accumulated so much loot that it occupied most of what had once been the lounge. There were pots full of gold cronos, sacks of gunnars, boxes fi?lled with jewelry, canisters of rare spices, bottles of exquisite perfumes, and bolts of silk. “We’ll be rich when we land.” That’s what Mog liked to say, but neither he nor his siblings had any real desire to put down on their native planet and confront the authorities there. Not yet at any rate. Now, as Mog and Ruk sat in front of the two dozen surveillance screens that still functioned, they were evaluating the latest fl?ock. Because each brother had been fathered by a different man, they had very few features in common. Mog was a big hulking brute with a bushy beard. And while slim when compared to his brother, Ruk had developed a bit of a paunch of late and was eternally in need of a bath. He eyed the screen as he scratched a hairy armpit. “So, brother Mog, what do you think?”
“I think we’re looking at slim pickings,” the older man said cynically. “The group in the back corner doesn’t have more than two gunnars to rub together. And, while the merchants will no doubt yield a crono or two, I daresay the rest are likely to disappoint.”
“But not the women,” Ruk growled.
“No,” Mog said agreeably. “Even the homely ones are good for a little fun.”
“I want that one,” Ruk said eagerly, as he pointed a grimy fi?gure at Norr.
“You can have her when I’m done,” Mog said airily.
“That isn’t fair! You always take the pretty ones!”
