"What the hell is going on here?"

            Lieutenant Armstrong looked at the supply depot, a hotel delivery bay modified to the Legion's specifications. The depot had looked perfectly ordinary when Armstrong had come by early that morning. Now, the entire area resembled an armed camp. There were cartons of field rations and heavy-machine oil piled up as barriers, with razor wire strung between them. Farther back was a bunker made of soap boxes, the peak of a helmet visible just above it.

            Despite himself, Armstrong felt a touch of pride that the Omega Mob could accomplish something so quickly. It had never been that way before Phule had arrived.

            "Halt and identify yourself," came a mechanical voice from behind the barbed wire barricade. "Keep your hands in sight, and make no sudden moves."

            "It's Armstrong," said the lieutenant, straining to see the speaker. "Louie, is that you? You know me, Louie. What's the situation here? It looks like you're ready for an invasion."

            "Do not approach closer," said the voice. "What is the password?"

            "Password?" Armstrong frowned. There'd been no password needed to enter the supply depot before-in fact, there'd been nothing to stop any curious passerby from walking up to it from the street beyond. Something must have changed. "Chocolate Harry, are you in there?" he called. Perhaps the supply sergeant would let him in and explain this strange game-whatever it was.

            "There is nobody named Chocolate Harry here," said the voice. "Do not approach closer, and keep your hands in sight."

            Armstrong raised his hands, putting his mouth within range of the wrist communicator. "Mother, there's something strange going on at supply," he said softly. "Can you patch me through to Chocolate Harry?"

            "If I can't do it, nobody can," said Mother's voice. "Keep your pants on, sonny, and we'll hook you right up."

            After a moment, another voice came through the speaker. "Who's there? Make it quick, I ain't got much time."

            "Harry, is that you? This is Armstrong. What in the world is going on here?"

            "You sound like Armstrong, all right, but I gotta be sure," said Chocolate Harry's voice. There was a brief hesitation, then "OK, who led the Galactic League in free flies last season?"

            "Huh?" Armstrong thought frantically. Finally he said, "I don't know. Harry, this is ridiculous-I don't know anything about gravball."

            "Hah! It's not gravball, it's scrumble. That's enough for me, though-you gotta be Armstrong. Ignorantest dude I ever saw when it comes to sports. What you want, Lieutenant?"

            "Harry, I'm right outside the supply depot. The place looks like a fortress. What are you guarding-chips from the casino?"

            "Right outside, hey? You see anybody suspicious out there, Armstrong?"

            "There's nobody here except me! Tell your guard to let me in-I'm on company business."

            "OK, Lieutenant, but hurry-and don't make any funny looking moves. Louie's got an itchy trigger appendage."

            Lieutenant Armstrong stood up and smiled, waving to the Synthian on guard. He moved gingerly through the hastily implanted barriers outside the door to the supply depot, uncomfortably aware of Louie's shotgun aimed at him the entire time. Finally, he reached the door; it opened a crack and he saw the muzzle of a splat gun pointed at him briefly before the door opened wider to admit him. "Come on in, man, have a seat. Fix you a coffee?" Chocolate Harry said, beckoning; his gaze remained fixed on the area outside. Armstrong dashed through the door and plopped himself onto the proffered chair.

            "What the devil is going on here?" demanded Armstrong. "Are we expecting another raid from the Mob?"

            "No, worse than that," said Chocolate Harry, throwing a heavy metal bar into place across the door. "They've finally found me. I knew it was comin', I knew it all along. But they're not gonna just walk in and take me, Lieutenant. They got a fight on their hands if they try that."

            "What in the galaxy are you talking about?" demanded Armstrong. "Who are they, and why are they after you?"

            "It's a long story, Lieutenant," said Harry. "I'll give you the quick run-through. You know I used to ride with the Outlaws?"

            "Yes, of course, we've all heard the story," said Armstrong.

            "Well, then you know the part about me dissing the Renegades, right? The part where I got in so much trouble I had to run off and join the Legion-and before the captain took over this outfit, that was a mighty desperate thing to do."

            "Yes, I've heard that, too," Armstrong began. "The one thing..."

            Chocolate Harry interrupted him. "Well, man, my chicken's done come home to roost. The Renegades are here, and they're gonna fry me good and crisp. Ain't no mistake-Louie heard 'em talkin' to the captain, and he came here and told me right away." Harry was cleaning a Rolling Thunder automatic shotgun while he spoke; nervously peering out the slit between the boards he'd nailed over his window.

            "Well, if they're here, so be it," said Armstrong. "You know as well as I do that nobody can attack one of us without taking on the whole company. We're covering you, Harry. Anybody who thinks they can waltz in and take you has another think coming."

            "Well, I sure appreciate that, Lieutenant," said Chocolate Harry. "Can't blame a fella for taking a few precautions himself, though, can you? These Renegades are mean mothers."

            "Yes, I suppose I can't blame you-you'll have to make it a bit easier for the company to get its supplies, though. I'm sure the captain will help you figure something out. Still, there's one thing I don't understand."

            "Yeah? What's that?"

            "What in space did you do to the Renegades to make them pursue you halfway across the galaxy, years later, to get their revenge?"

            "What did I do? Man, I did the worst thing anybody could have done. There's not a biker alive who wouldn't feel the same way, if you told 'em."

            "And what was that?"

            "I messed with their bikes," said Chocolate Harry, and his voice was like the sound of doom.